Nothing is impossible
A/N: Thanks to Bibliopole7 and Winterblume who've helped translating my story from german to english so I can upload it here. :) If you should notice any mistakes, please don't be shy and tell me! My english isn't perfect. Feel free to review!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and my target is not to earn money with it. A big thanks to J. K. Rowling for these magnificent books.
Loneliness and hate
The thick, ink-black blood oozed from the deep wound the basilisk tooth had ripped into the diary. It was his blood. Blood of his soul part which currently was on its way to die forever. He hadn't realized that his own ‚weapon' could destroy him. He was now one step further away from death. A bit less alive … Even though he'd already been dead for a long time. Long before he had created his first horcrux his soul had started to wither more and more. Wither through loneliness and hate. That didn't mean he couldn't have been ‚resurrected', because he quite could've been. But in his young years he already had a fatal goal in sight: Immortality. And how else should he achieve it if not by creating a horcrux? The horcrux was the deadly means to an end. The horcrux finally downed his salvation. How else could he have combat his fear of death? Yes, Tom Marvolo Riddle had fears. He feared death and love, because they meant weakness. A weakness his mother has succumbed to.
He would be the first to succeed in living forever. He would split his soul into seven pieces like no one before. That was cruelty. True inhumanity. Slowly he rips out his soul, piece by piece, to transfer the pieces into cold, lifeless objects worthy enough to accommodate his soul. Seven times his soul would suffer. With every soul part also a piece of himself died. A piece of his own humanity – for murder rips the soul apart.
But it didn't bother him. His own salvation didn't bother him in the least. How great was his self-value when he didn't stop at himself and his own soul towards the dark path to power and immortality? It was important for him to exist, no matter how, so that he could take revenge on the world which only put him through agony and misery.
The misery to grow up lonely with ordinary, unworthy muggles solely his mother was too weak to cope with the disgrace of her husband whom she could only bind to herself with the help of love potions ... She died broken hearted.
And this heart couldn't be fixed by anything in this world. Not even a tiny, defenseless child, growing in her belly, could counteract. How great must have been her despair …
She couldn't possibly foresee what would become of her little baby: the greatest and most powerful black wizard of all times, who would thrust the world into a cruel and disastrous war.
Should she be accused for it? Was she to blame for the fate of her son? No. Tom Marvolo Riddle was formed. His environment formed him. Muggle children who teased him, a father who didn't want him. A mother who died without him ever comprehending why.
He never really asked why. He just couldn't understand it. For he didn't know love, only loneliness. Didn't know that love was the key to luck. But he was never happy. Not one single day in his life. Not an hour, a minute, not even a second. Did he deserve pity? Should he've been showered with love as much as possible? Could his broken soul have been healed? Would this have changed his fate?
Maybe.
For nothing is impossible.
