AN: Story for round 2 of QLFC season 7
Main prompt: Virgo (August 23-September 22). Virgos are logical, practical, and systematic in their approach to life. This earth sign is a perfectionist at heart and isn't afraid to improve skills through diligent and consistent practice. Write about a character(s) striving to attain their concept of "perfection" OR write about a character(s) who is usually logical, practical, and systematic meeting someone the exact opposite of them: illogical, impractical, and spontaneous.
Opt. prompts: regret, passion, crimson
He could feel his heart skip a beat when he began reading the book. The things it described, the methods, the end result, it all seemed so perfect to him. It was the final solution to all his problems. No more long experiments with various potions. Gone would be the days of late-night scouring for spells at the restricted section. With this one book, he could finally achieve his dream of perfection in the most fitting way possible, by attaining immortality. For truly, what is an immortal, if not perfect?
The plans were in motion. He had yet to find a sacrifice, but that would be the easiest part. His diary would be the perfect first candidate. Once the chamber had been opened and the beast released, he would simply wait for the first victim to arise and use their death as a means of splitting his soul. And that would only be the first of many. Luckily, that old fool Slughorn easily fell for his charm and silver tongue and had spilled the beans on the limit for the spell. But he didn't care about the limit. In order to achieve perfection, one must naturally sacrifice some of their own impurities. If anything, he was cleansing himself.
Two down, five to go. He recalled the murder of his father. Such a pathetic Mudblood. He felt no regrets watching him die, even if they did share the same blood. He pondered briefly whether his lack of regret came from the fact that his soul was not whole inside of him, or if he simply did not care at all about what he had to do in order to achieve his dreams. The process itself was mildly unpleasant, but nothing to cry in pain over. He felt stronger, more confident. He felt invincible. And he was still nowhere nearly done.
The old man's answer was expected, but still disappointing. He had hoped he would manage to convince Dumbledore to allow him to teach, which would, in turn, give him easy access to a good part of his Horcruxes should the need arise, and he would be free to create new ones in relative secrecy. After all, who would ever assume that the greatest threat to humanity was being created in the safest place for all wizards and witches? But alas, he would have to be content with being able to store the diadem in the Room of Requirements. While he did not doubt that one day, someone would manage to learn of the room's existence and the means by which one can access it, he was certain they would never suspect there is anything wrong with one, dusty, old piece of jewelry.
He took a deep breath as he crossed the bridge. While he was unsuccessful, he still felt satisfied. Everything was slowly coming together, and it wouldn't be long before his ultimate goal would be achieved. As he was walking, he felt a chill wind against his skin. Briefly touching his cheek, he recalled how, during his school days, he was often regarded as 'handsome'. He doubted anyone would think that now. His skin was paler than ever, and his eyes had begun turning a shade of crimson red. Not that he cared what other people thought of those changes. His looks had never concerned him, and if a pale complexion was the price of immortality, then so be it. On the inside, however, he felt as if something was lacking. As if his passion was somehow dimmed and blotted out. He still had the will, but was starting to lack the drive. Luckily, he only had one more Horcrux in mind.
He did not remember much from his time as a disembodied soul. He remembers how he got to that point. Godric's Hollow, the father, dying a "heroic" death (a fool's death if Voldemort was concerned), the mother, sacrificing herself, him, raising his want and casting the spell on that hopeless baby and then...nothing.
How it happened or why, he did not know. He felt anger, confusion and that tiny bit of fear run through him. As he lied there, waiting for something to happen, he cursed himself most of all.
He had attacked the boy prematurely. That must have been it. He should have waited until he had seven pieces of a soul to work with. Surely having a perfect number would account for something.
He did not know how long he stayed there. He only knew that, at some point, he became attached to a silly Hogwarts professor named Quirrell. While not his own body, this container would have to do until further developments were made. And at that moment, a new emotion surged through him, one he has never experienced before. A need for revenge. Revenge against Harry Potter.
Nothing worrisome happened in the next several years. Sure, Quirrell was destroyed, his plan with the stone failed and he was once again reduced to an indescribable form, but he was still there, alive. The Horcruxes worked perfectly. Then, in late May of 1993 he felt...different. Odd. As if an old itch had returned once more. As if a part of hid just disappeared. He had disregarded the feeling as merely a consequence of his current form, if one could even call it a form.
It wasn't until 1996 that he felt it once more. The itch. Again, he was unaware of its origin or purpose. An illness, perhaps? A curse? Impossible. He would know. No, this was something else, something special. Something dangerous.
It wouldn't be until 1998 that he would finally connect the dots.
Bellatrix reported to him, saying how the boy and his friends had broken into her vault at Gringotts. His mind raced, connecting all the loose ends. The old man's unusual interest in his private life, the boy's seemingly random journey, the itches. His eyes widened, and his nostrils flared as he immediately Disapparated. He needed to check, he needed to know. As he examined the cave under a cliffside, he got his answer. And with that answer, came fear. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt it. The fear of death. His immortality, his perfection. Gone! He looked over to Nagini. She would need to be protected and kept close to him at all times. He inhaled deeply in order to calm his nerves. It didn't matter. He was still invincible, still unbeatable. He would not allow anyone to stand before him. Not even the so-called "Chosen-one". And with that, he Disapparated and returned to his underlings, knowing that the endgame was near.
AN: Hope you enjoyed! Not my best work, but I am proud of it. See ya next time!