PROLOGUE
Tom Marvolo Riddle. Voldemort felt a flicker of annoyance when he remembered the only thing his family had left him. That irritatingly common name. But then, the name had led him to his roots, and that journey had been...beyond satisfactory.
It was on that path that he had acquired for himself the one thing that truly made him unique. Not his blood lineage, not his descent from Slytherin, not his new name that wizards everywhere feared.
His very essence. The fraction of his soul that lived within the Locket of Slytherin, the locket his desperate mother had parted with, the locket that was always supposed to be his birthright.
He had acquired it, and made it undeniably his when he bestowed upon it a part of his soul. It would protect him, and in turn, he would protect it.
In the unlikely event of his death, he would die knowing that the locket had been destroyed; for he, and he alone, had the right to own such a priceless artefact ripe with history.
