"Does that wand know it has a new master, Riddle? Because I think it does. It recognizes me, right along with its brethren."
Voldemort snarled, the Elder wand raised even higher, like a scorpion ready to sting. "You lie, Potter. This wand is mine, and I'll take the rest of the Hallows from your corpse."
Harry laughed, derisive and triumphant. "You can't kill me, Riddle. I am the Master of Death, but more importantly- and firstly- I am a Gryffindor."
"What does that have to do with anything?!"
"Tell me, Riddle- in fact, Riddle me this-" Voldemort's face contorted in rage "- have you ever heard of the two deaths? I would guess not, since you're so terrified of it. The first death is when your cold body is lain in the ground. Your second death is when the last person alive who knew you has their first death. It's when you're forgotten, when nobody alive has ever even heard of you. Forgotten, consigned to oblivion- never to effect the world again."
"I'll ensure both your deaths are quick, then." was sneered back- supremely confident, there was no doubt Voldemort thought it would be so. The crowd completely hushed at that, and eerie silence enveloping the shattered Great Hall, even as the false dawn's fingers curled through the sky.
"You don't have the power, Riddle. I'll even tell you why. Gryffindor is the house of the brave, of the courageous. Some define that as acting even when scared to do so, some may define it at stupidity in the face of overwhelming odds. But the end result is that a Gryffindor will fight on, odds don't matter, fear doesn't matter- they do not fear death, they invite him to fight by their side and reap just that bit longer, one last defiance against the threads of fate."
Harry smiled, sharp and sure. "I'm not the Master of Death because of any wand, cloak, or stone, Tom Riddle."
"I am the Master of Death because legends never die."