His life was in ruins.
Everything he had worked for, accomplished.
The war was over.
Death Eaters were in prison, heavily guarded once more.
The Dark Lord Voldemort dead.
Gone, finished.
Everything was done, his life had just begone.
Yet, it felt like it just ended.
The years flew by.
Gone in a second.
Yet those seven years had seemed so long.
He was so alive then.
Now, he was staring at ruins.
Ruins of his life.
Yet, everything that was supposed to be was there.
But it was all ruins.
A ruing home. A castle. The yard.
His life.
Gone. Fading to be ruins to be covered by dust.
Mere stones of what he had imagined it to be.
His life began so many years ago.
And it ended when his task ended.
In ways, Voldemort had completely killed him.
He died with his enemy.
Everything he worked for.
Everything he created.
Everything he wanted.
It was all ruins.
Dust and rubble. Half ruined stone buildings.
That was his life.
He had hoped for a castle. Like Hogwarts.
After Voldemort.
A family: A wife and children.
Ruins.
It meant nothing to him.
He was ruined.