This had not been her original plan. They had meant for his hands to get dirtied, not hers. His soul was scarred enough, there was no reason to marr hers at all. He looked down at the wand in her hand and recognized it instantly. The sight of it was enough to fill his stomach with lead—Dumbledore, holding on to the most powerful wand in the world for all this time, a wand crafted by Death itself; wielded by a man who loved lemon drops and singing frogs, a man who sent children to their deaths with twinkling eyes. 