𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧 | 𝐭.𝐦.𝐫

𝟏𝟖

It was a suicide mission. It should've been a suicide mission. The thing about suicide missions is that you don't get out alive.

So, imagine his surprise when their gamble pays off more than they thought and he lives. The thing about being a Slytherin is that even if it was a suicide mission they still had contingency plans at bay, should they ever live of course.

He was supposed to die there. The shock never failed to wear off, no matter how long it's been since then, or even how far he's gone from the place. It holds him still on some occasions, but not long enough to be detrimental. He moves on, as he should.

He can't contact anyone he knows. Rule number one of living as a runaway if you want to keep your terribly kept life.

He was supposed to die there. What's more left for him?

He was ready to leave everything behind when he made that choice.

No life or new life, what did it matter, what difference did it make?

So he runs away. Like the coward his brother always called him to be.

The plan follows through. He's assumed dead and the Dark Lord does not know any better. No one knows any better. Other than them.

It's been over a decade since their last find and triumph. Only one out of many that he knows is out there. It was a blind hunt. He's made progress. Much more than if he'd remained in the isles.

He's known more about the subject than anyone else the others had thought him a madman by the nature of his pursuit. The soul was certainly something only madmen made chase of.

Great thinkers had all made their own consensus of what it was and Herpo the Foul had spat on them all and split his own.

It was less of a method of self-preservation than it was degradation.

The soul in its essence was man's will and wit. Some even call it the rational soul. Were they even worth to call half a man if they were half without a soul? They were certainly no god.

In some sense such a metaphysical thing would be the presence whose consensus tied them down to the physical prospects.

The irony of the soul is that not even it's presence would contend you were with one.

That was certainly the case with Voldemort and his splendid ideas.

When it was becoming clear that it was only by some sheer chance—he dared not call it luck—he even came across the knowledge of the Dark Lord's secret, and by way the nature of the thing, he decided to let it be. He'd gotten ahold of one without anyone the wiser, that was more than he can ask for.

If it wasn't for someone knocking some sense into him he'd probably dissolve into that infamous madness and lose his mind just for a search. He still kept an eye on the lookout, it's how he got into the business after all, but not as much as he used to before.

Underworld dealings had become his bread and butter. Handling dark artefacts were second nature and what were the chances he'd come across something he'd been coveting for some time? It certainly made good money.

After years he'd made a web of connections all over the world from his travels. Greece, Egypt, Turkey, India, China. He went anywhere he could to get a better grasp on what he needed to destroy, among other things.

He had nary an idea where he would find the next one. Not unless he could get ahold of Voldemort's wraith and wring out information quickly.

He knew some probably remained in the British Isles, but that was his vaguest idea. Where it was or it remained with, he got nothing from the locket. And it's not like he wanted to remain there for someone to spot and ruin his cover. In a way it's better than some old, stuffy townhouse.

The locket came by him by chance, as an errand, and after that he had nothing to go off after. He had never been close enough with the Dark Lord to learn more.

With the ban on anything remotely Dark befell Britain, there was nothing for him to turn over in his search. He couldn't even access the Black Library after every effort.

Travelling the world was more than he ever dreamed of even when he was a child. Getting the Dark Mark seemed to be the end of his world until the opportunity to change it all stared at him in the eye. And even in the end it wasn't without help from the most unexpected faces.

To the enormity of the world he's seen, horcruxes became the last thing on his mind with the troubles he'd faced to get this far in this trade, but an adventurer like him rarely has to turn which way for the wind to bring change and with it trouble.

Still, he does not stop. The search is still on.

For now, he is trying to get his money's worth risking his life from acquiring such a gem of a find, or so he says.