"Shall we finished what we started?" The being within him crowes in delight and he nods. As they walk away, Hermione pauses, unsheathing her wand for the first time and pointing it at the dead wizard’s form. The acrid smell of burning flesh fills the air, and flash gold across the corpse’s forehead: "and if it does not contain All, then All is Nothing." The writing in their own marks echoes it, and their magics purr in satisfaction as they cross the threshold of the doorway.