Nothing In This World (BEING EDITED)

XXVI.

Chapter XXVI: I Know, He's Worth It
Warning: Explicit language, blood, violence, and talks of underage sex.

Fourteen years ago

Deep within the ominous chambers of Riddle Manor, Lord Voldemort stood before the ancient ornate cauldron, his crimson eyes gleaming with a sinister determination. His quest for immortality had led him to a dark and treacherous path-one that involved the creation of Horcruxes, but this time, Voldemort had a different plan in mind. He sought to create a Horcrux that would become the vessel for his younger, more powerful self-Tom Riddle, the wizard he once was.

The room was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the flickering light of the ominous green flames dancing in the fireplace. Voldemort's pale, snake-like hand hovered over the cauldron, clutching a delicate crystal vial containing a swirling, silvery substance-the essence of his soul.

Whispering several ancient incantations, Voldemort began the intricate and perilous process of splitting his soul. As he chanted, the vial trembled, and a thin, wisp-like substance emerged, swirling and writhing, as if it had a life of its own. The Dark Lord's face twisted with both pain and anticipation as he poured the soul fragment into the cauldron, where it mingled with a potent mixture of dark enchantments.

The room suddenly filled with a blinding light, accompanied by a chilling wind that seemed to sap the warmth from the air. Shadows danced and whirled, and slowly, a figure began to form within the cauldron-a younger, more vibrant version of Voldemort himself.

The figure took shape, and soon, a young adult version of Tom Riddle emerged, his features sharp and handsome, his eyes blazing with an unsettling intensity. This Tom Riddle possessed all the cunning, intelligence, and charisma that had once made him a formidable adversary. He was part of Voldemort that had been good-a being untainted by the physical and emotional decay that had plagued Voldemort over the years.

"We must kill the boy, then and only then will I live forever." Lord Voldemort says, his red eyes peering out into the open room filled with death eaters.

Deep within the dimly lit chamber of Riddle Manor, Voldemort sat upon his throne-like seat, surrounded by his loyal Death Eaters. The air was heavy with anticipation as his pale, snake-like eyes surveyed the room, each gaze met with a mixture of fear and reverence.

"My Lord, wouldn't it be best if we waited to kill the boy?"

"My faithful followers," Voldemort hissed, his voice carrying an air of authority and malevolence. "Tonight, we shall rid ourselves of the one who has dared to challenge my supremacy-Harry Potter."

The Death Eaters leaned forward, their masked faces betraying a mix of eagerness and trepidation.

"Perhaps we should wait for Severus, my Lord,"

"Silence!" Voldemort commanded, and the room fell into an immediate hush. "Only I can live forever."

Bellatrix Lestrange, her wild eyes gleaming, leaned closer, eager to hear the Dark Lord's words.

"I suggest that we target those close to the Potters, those who offer them protection and support," Voldemort explained. "By eliminating his parents, we shall weaken him, rendering him vulnerable and ripe for the taking."

"Might it be wise, my Lord, if we strike when the child is older? Let him grow up thinking he's safe and attack when he least expects it."