Chapter 6: Horizons and Horcruxes
1960
The Balkan Mountains stretched out like the rugged, fractured limbs of an ancient entity, their imposing forms cloaked in the enigma of the night. The moon, a mere sliver in the ink-black sky, cast ghostly shadows over the desolate landscape. Though Albania was largely unfamiliar territory for many wizards, it was a familiar escape for the enigmatic Lord Voldemort. Tonight, he was here for a specific purpose, a purpose that had driven him relentlessly—the reclamation of the lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. It was a relic of unparalleled power, one he had loaned to a companion years ago, and the time had come to take it back.
His footsteps, silent as a whisper of darkness, left no imprint on the forest floor as he approached her secluded dwelling. The path to her sanctuary was shrouded in layers of charms and enchantments, a formidable fortress only a master of the Dark Arts could perceive, let alone penetrate. Yet, for the Dark Lord, such barriers were little more than an ephemeral nuisance.
As he reached the door of her concealed abode, it seemed to creak open as if of its own volition, a silent invitation into the inner sanctum of her world. He stepped inside, the ambient gloom giving way to reveal the enigmatic figure he sought. Nagini, her presence as mysterious as ever, stood before him, a perplexing blend of grace and peril. The room in which she resided was dimly lit, with the faint glow of arcane texts and artifacts casting eerie, dancing shadows upon the walls. But what truly captured Voldemort's attention was the Diadem, resplendent upon a regal pedestal at the far end of the room, its glimmering form an unmistakable beacon in the gloom.
"Nagini," he greeted, his voice a low, insidious purr that hung in the air like a sinister promise, "I've come to reclaim what's mine."
Nagini, her gaze fixed upon the intruder, responded with an air of calm that bordered on indifference. "I expected you much sooner, Tom. Did you find what you were looking for in the elusive pursuit of immortality?"
Voldemort's crimson eyes remained transfixed on the Diadem, his thoughts shrouded in a veil of enigmatic anticipation. "I'm getting closer every day," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of sardonic amusement, "and you? Did you find your answers?"
A heavy sigh escaped her lips, a sigh that seemed to carry with it the weight of countless struggles and unfulfilled desires. "My quest remains incomplete," she confessed, her voice holding a note of resignation. "My curse is as relentless as ever."
The admission of her enduring torment piqued Voldemort's curiosity, and he turned his attention fully upon her, his eyes gleaming with a cold fascination. "What do you desire, Nagini?" he inquired, his voice a subtle seduction that danced upon the air.
"To live as long as possible," she whispered, her words a haunting echo of her innermost yearnings.
A crooked grin curled upon Voldemort's lips, a chilling reflection of his sinister delight. "Ah, you're more like me than you care to admit," he mused, his voice carrying an undercurrent of amusement.
"No," she countered, her voice gaining strength as she asserted her truth, "I don't mean just to exist, Tom. I mean to live, to breathe, to enjoy a human existence."
Voldemort's grin widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "But Nagini, you seek lesser things while I seek greatness. I'm planning to return to Hogwarts," he declared with a calculated certainty that left no room for doubt. "I intend to claim another relic of the Founders, a relic of immeasurable power—Gryffindor's sword."
Nagini regarded him with a mixture of intrigue and wariness, her eyes probing his with an intensity that betrayed her curiosity. "Why?" she asked, her voice a soft yet persistent inquiry that echoed through the room. "Why do you collect these things?"
A dark chuckle escaped Voldemort's lips, a sound that reverberated with an unsettling blend of amusement and malevolence. "I'll show you," he murmured, his voice a promise that hung heavily in the charged air between them.
Without another word, Voldemort extended a hand towards Nagini, gesturing for her to follow as he led the way into the inky abyss of the Albanian night. Their footfalls made no sound on the uneven terrain as they ventured deeper into the desolate countryside. Moonlight filtered through the canopy of ancient trees, casting spectral shadows that danced upon the forest floor.
They moved with a seamless, almost eerie synchronicity, their connection palpable in the air. The night seemed to hold its breath as if anticipating their next move.
Their journey led them to a forsaken clearing, where the world beyond was a distant memory. Here, they found what they sought—a lone shepherd, a mere puppet in the twisted theater of fate. The man, a hapless Muggle peasant, gazed up at the unexpected visitors with eyes that mirrored his profound bewilderment.
Voldemort's wand was already poised, his pale fingers gripping it with a merciless determination. "Avada Kedavra," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand dark incantations.
The man's life was extinguished in an instant, his body falling to the earth with a finality that left his eyes frozen in a grotesque tableau of stunned bewilderment.
With the deed done, Voldemort withdrew the Diadem from its secure hiding place, cradling the ancient relic in his hand. He recited the incantations with a whispered reverence, his voice weaving a sinister tapestry of dark magic. The ritual unfolded with a gut-wrenching intensity, as if the very fabric of the universe quivered in response.
Nagini watched in silent fascination as Voldemort's soul was wrenched apart once more, the agony of the process etched onto his features. Yet, there was a glint of triumphant satisfaction in his eyes as he felt another piece of his fractured soul find its abode within the Diadem.
"Now, I'm even closer to eternal life," he proclaimed, his voice a potent blend of arrogance and ambition. He turned his crimson gaze towards Nagini, the Diadem gleaming in his grasp like a malevolent trophy.
She regarded him with a mixture of terror and awe, her eyes reflecting the eerie radiance of the moonlight. Her voice, when she finally spoke, carried a note of reverent inquiry. "And what price did you pay for it?"
"A fragment of my soul," he confessed, his words a chilling testament to the depths of his obsession. He seemed to savor the sensation, as if the very act of rending his soul was a macabre indulgence.
Nagini nodded slowly, her expression a complex tapestry of emotions, caught between terror and admiration. "It's a terrifying power, Tom," she conceded, her voice tinged with a deep sense of awe. "But you wield it like a maestro, orchestrating the very symphony of darkness itself."
Driven by an irresistible compulsion, he closed the distance between them, his actions guided by a force beyond his own comprehension. The kiss that ensued was a culmination of emotions—urgency, desperation, and a strange blend of understanding and misunderstanding. It was a kiss that sealed a pact unspoken, solidifying a connection that defied easy definition.
As their lips parted, Voldemort found himself wrestling with conflicting emotions, his thoughts a tempestuous maelstrom of desire and ambition. "I must go to Hogwarts," he finally uttered, his voice laden with a sense of purpose that had driven him relentlessly. His crimson eyes bore into hers, searching for something he couldn't quite define.
Nagini, ever the enigmatic counterpart to his dark ambitions, nodded in acquiescence. "Of course."
From the depths of his robes, Voldemort produced Slytherin's locket, a relic of immeasurable power and significance. He placed it delicately in her hand, his touch lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "Keep it safe. I have a feeling our paths will cross again soon."
She accepted the locket, her fingers brushing against his as their gazes remained locked, an unspoken connection binding them in that moment. "I have the same feeling, Tom. Go claim your destiny. But remember, there's more to life than just living forever."
In that lingering gaze, there was a profound understanding, an acknowledgment of the complexities that entwined their fates. Voldemort took one last, lingering look at Nagini, the Diadem clasped firmly in his hand, before vanishing into the obsidian night with a mere whisper of Apparition, leaving behind a space fraught with unanswered questions and a connection that defied the boundaries of time and destiny.