Summary: Voldemort creates his first Horcrux.
Word Count: 2,171
Rating: throws a dart PG works.
AN: This story included a lot of looking things up. For my latin: Click Here it's all variants of "soul" and "split." For my Time Line: Here. I also used the Black Family Tree. Um...yeah. This is the story that actually makes me wish I could draw, so if you have an artistic talent, like this story, and want to just be nice and practice (or you, like me, want to see some of this drawn out because in your head it looks cool), drop me a line and feel free--and you'll have to do it for free, unless your on Gaia, I might buy ya something with my pixelated gold, otherwise, I'm broke. Anyways! Feedback is food!
"What was that for?" he asked angrily.
"Have you seen Tom?" Alphard asked.
"Who?" Cygnus sneered. Alphard glowered at him.
"Tom."
"You mean Voldemort?" Alphard shook his head and sighed.
"Yes, yes, where is Voldemort?"
"He's your friend not mine," Cygnus retorted.
"Yes well, you're the one who is about to pop the question to him, you seem to see more of him than I do," Alphard growled. Cygnus smirked.
"Well, that sounds like a personal problem. Give it a rest, it's Easter, he's sure to be around here some where. Now if you'll excuse me…" Cygnus disappeared in the crowd to go find the girl from earlier. Alphard sighed and glanced out the window. Rain was battering it and lightning filled the sky. Alphard was worried, for a year now Tom had been disappearing more and more, and he was afraid that showing Tom his father's library over Christmas was a huge mistake. He had stayed in there reading books that Tom knew were extremely illegal for almost the entire time. And that strange ring that he had started wearing…
Alphard sighed and made his way towards his dorm. He was probably just over exaggerating things, Cygnus was right, it was time he gave it a rest. Tom was a big boy and could take care of himself.
Tom Marvolo Riddle stalked down the hallway on the second floor. Very few people were around, being crammed in the library studying for O.W.L.s or their N.E.W.T.s, or sitting in their common room lamenting the terrible weather on this Easter weekend.
As it was, Tom was supposed to be in the library with a few of his fellow Slytherins studying. He was the top in his class for Defense Against the Dark Arts and everybody was hoping he'd help them. But Tom, no, not Tom, he despised that name, Voldemort was on his way to take care of his own business. Reaching the bathrooms Voldemort looked around. No one was approaching from either side of the hall. He quietly opened the door to the Girl's Restroom and slipped in. Glancing around, he checked underneath each of the stalls and found no one. Not even the ghost of that disgusting Mudblood was around. No doubt she was haunting that Bornby girl, or whatever her name was, again. Nodding in satisfaction Voldemort cast a few complex locking charms on the door to the bathroom before heading to the sinks.
"Open up," he hissed at the small snakes sketched into the tap which began to glow with a brilliant white light and spin. Next second, the sink began to move; the sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into. Smirking Tom pulled out his wand and preformed a repelling spell on himself. He jumped down the opening and slid down the dark and slimy pipe. After a while he found himself sailing out of the pipe and landing on the ground with a wet thud. Standing, Voldemort lifted his wand.
"Lumos." His wand lit up the area, exposing rat bones, mud, and slime. But he remained clean, if a little tussled up. He took a few rat bones and transfigured them into torches which he lit and affixed to the walls. It wasn't the best lighting, but for his purposes, it was all he needed. He began to clear an area next to the pipe, free of the rat bones and small amounts of snake skin. He worked quietly and efficiently. When he was done he pulled a book out of his robes. A miniature version of the Black Family crest was branded into the corner of the leather cover. He transfigured a few rat bones into a podium and placed the book on it, opening to a page filled with gruesome images of people tearing ghostly images of themselves out of their bodies in great pain. To him, it was his greatest feat, being able to steal the book from the Black Family over the Christmas Holiday when Alphard and Cygnus introduced him to their family. Walburga was charmed by him, forgetting, even, that she was engaged to her cousin while he stayed. Voldemort grinned to himself and lifted his hand, carefully placing next to the book the gold-and-black ring he had stolen from his idiotic Uncle when he went to kill his father. Turning to the book, his professor's words rang through his head.
"Of course, this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic…"
Voldemort had played dear sweet never-wrong Tom and reassured his teacher, of course it was, merely a curiosity. If only Slughorn could see him now. If only his weak mother and fool of a muggle father could see him now. He'd defeat the odds, defeat death, he'd be the strongest Wizard known to man, and once he was, he could take over Hogwarts, let his pet, his basilisk free. It would be a great day indeed. He would rule not just the Wizarding World, not just England, the world would be his play toys, and he would be immortal.
Breathing heavily in excitement, Voldemort's eyes darted across the page describing the ritual of making a horcrux. It seemed so simple, so easy, but from the pictures it was easy to tell that however easy in theory it was, the actual practice could kill him.
The first step, of course, was to kill. But he had already done that. Not once but thrice, in cold blood. Those fool Muggle relatives, he disposed of them, disposed of all traces of his tainted blood line. He was the heir of Slytherin, living Muggle relatives would never do.
The next step was a bit harder. He had to visualize, he had to see his soul in its pieces, he had to find its core. Closing his eyes, Voldemort took a deep breath to calm down, searching his being for that glimmer of a soul. Was it like a memory? A wisp air that looked tangible. No, it had to be more than that. It wasn't in his brain, no, its core was his heart, and it would be silver, smooth and liquid like. Opening his eyes, Voldemort looked back down at the book; he believed he had it, in his mind's eye. The silver liquid that ran through his veins, through his very being, that was his being. And sure enough there seemed to be rifts between the silver, darker silver and a lighter one, not mixing properly, staying separated. That's what he wanted. That was the rift he was looking for. Glancing down at the book to make sure he understood the rest, Voldemort picked up the ring, keeping in mind the river of liquid silver, not mixing, but flowing with each other. He touched his wand to his heart and closed his eyes once more. He wanted to extract the lighter silver. He wanted to obtain that silver liquid and pour it into the solid ring; he wanted the ring to have his life.
"Scidi Animam Edere!" Voldemort shouted tearing his wand away from his heart and touching it to the ring. A small gold thread connected the two and instantly Voldemort dropped his wand and the ring while letting out a scream of agonizing pain. The string between his heart and the ring remained as Voldemort clutched at his chest, doubling over. The pain seemed to increase.
Squinting through watery eyes, Voldemort watched as a thin stream of silver liquid traveled down the gold string, encasing it in it's brilliance and making it's way, slowly, to the ring.
The pain kept increasing as Voldemort screamed and shouted, his entire body rebelling, his entire being rebelling. He fell to his knees and slime splattered up, covering him—the strain had made the repelling charm disappear. Voldemort clawed at his chest and began to tear off his robes, as if they were causing the pain. The first offending garment out of the way, Voldemort began to claw at his undershirt, fighting to get it off, to claw the skin underneath it. The silver liquid was nearing the ring and the pain was intensifying.
Some how he managed to tear his shirt off. He scratched at his chest, where his heart was, where the pain seemed to come from, he clawed at his arms, at everything in reach, screaming and falling completely into the slime and muck. Images flashed through his mind, images he thought he should remember, images he couldn't grasp, and underneath it all was the river of silver, the lighter shade draining out of his body and into a lifeless object. The pain increased and the memories slowed. He could see himself stumbling upon the word Horcrux in a Magick Moste Evile. The frantic searching of the library, to know what this unmentionable evil was, even scouring the forbidden section. He saw himself talking to Professor Slughorn, then in the Black Family Library, the Grandmother Violetta telling him of the demons that would get him for reading the book about horcruxes. His memories sped up again, finding the chamber, opening it, setting loose the basilisk, killing the roosters, being in an orphanage, the burning wardrobe, the hanging rabbit.
Voldemort rolled through the muck and slime screaming, his fingers clawing at his chest, his arms, his neck, anything they could reach, angry red marks covered his skin, blood blossomed in some of the deeper scratches, tears poured down his face as he screamed until his throat gave out on him and all he could make were faint gasps and groans. It felt never ending, and for a while, Tom Marvolo Riddle worried that it would last forever. Finally the pain ended. It seemed like it took hours. Possibly days. Voldemort crawled over to where the ring lay in the slime, and placed one hand over his heart and one hand over the ring. It was difficult. He was too weak to support himself and fell. He pushed himself up on his elbows and tried again panting, a trickle of blood coming from his mouth, sweat and slime covering his body, and his eyes bloodshot, tears still pouring from the remnants of his pain.
"Clausum," he croaked. A blinding white light flashed from the ring. Once it had dimmed Voldemort's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.
Alphard looked up. It was late. Very late. School was starting back up and no one had seen Tom Marvolo Riddle in three days. He sighed and let his head fall into his hands and massaged his face. If Tom wasn't back in an hour, at midnight, then he'd have to go to Slughorn. Enough was enough. He stared into the dying fire of the common room and sighed again.
"Where are you?" he muttered. That's when he heard the entrance to the common room open. Alphard jumped up and ran towards the opening in the wall. There stood Tom. His eyes were so blood shot they seemed to glow red. His hair was in disarray, as were his clothes, which seemed like they had been torn off of him and he merely had enough energy to toss them on his shoulders.
"Merlin's Beard, Tom?" Alphard exclaimed grabbing the other boy as he pitched forward.
"What happened to you? We should get you to the hospital wing, you look terrible."
"I'm okay," the other replied hoarsely. He coughed and repeated himself, his voice stronger this time.
"Tom—"
"Voldemort." Alphard stopped and stared at the other boy as he interrupted.
"What?" Voldemort's head shot up and stared him right in the eye. For a moment Alphard could've sworn that his eyes weren't bloodshot, they were actually glowing red.
"My name is Voldemort," he hissed, almost like a snake. Alphard blinked and nodded.
"Yes, Voldemort, I'm sorry. Come; let me help you to bed. You look like you could need a good night's sleep." The two boys stumbled towards the dorms together.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore stared down at the black and gold ring in his hand and glanced around the house. It was obviously a home that had never been taken well care of, and had been abandoned for quite some time. If it weren't for the magic humming around the place, Albus Dumbledore was almost positive that the plants would've broken the place down by their own accord. He glanced back down at the ring and lifted it up in the light. It was heavy, and almost seemed alive.
"Oh Tom, I should've known, I should've stopped you," he whispered quietly to himself, before pocketing the ring and leaving the hovel.
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