Has the Dark Lord gone mad?
Peter sat trembling in the living room on the ground floor, listening to the strange bursts of laughter coming from Voldemort upstairs.
Normally, once the Dark Lord had gathered a bit of strength, he would quietly remain in the room on the second floor, carrying out whatever research he had been working on, something Peter had tried several times to investigate but never managed to uncover.
But this time was different.
Everything had been quiet earlier. Yet before Peter even had the chance to go out and look for food, the Dark Lord suddenly burst into wild, manic laughter.
The sound filled Peter with immediate dread.
If the Dark Lord had truly gone insane and lost the last shred of reason he once had, he might very well cast a Killing Curse on Peter without a second thought.
But if the Dark Lord wasn't mad...
Wouldn't that mean his recent research had succeeded?
Peter had no idea what exactly he had been researching, and even now he still didn't know what the clay jar was for.
But he was certain of one thing. Whatever it was, if it had made the Dark Lord devote so much effort to studying it and celebrate so wildly once it worked, it had to be something extraordinary.
In the past, Peter might have been delighted.
The problem was that now he was a spy.
...
This was the Horcrux of Herpo the Foul.
The moment Voldemort touched the clay jar, he realized it.
The magical runes carved on its surface confirmed it. They were a record left by an ancient wizard who had destroyed the soul contained within the Horcrux and proudly documented the achievement.
But was Herpo truly dead?
That was the question Voldemort had been studying all this time.
According to historical records, Herpo had long since died beyond any doubt.
But in Voldemort's eyes, as the second wizard in history to create a Horcrux, that conclusion was far from certain.
In fact, when he first began making Horcruxes, he had already realized that the world's laws of death imposed limits on their power.
That was why he had been forced to create one Horcrux after another. Unlike Herpo the Foul, who had only created a single Horcrux before being destroyed by a united group of wizards.
Yet as he created more and more Horcruxes, Voldemort gradually became aware of the existence of Limbo.
His deep rejection of death, however, had always kept him from studying it. To the Voldemort of the past, Limbo belonged to the realm of the dead.
But after sensing the existence of Marvolio, he had no choice but to study Limbo through Herpo's Horcrux in order to strengthen his control over his own Horcruxes.
What he hadn't expected was that, while examining Herpo's Horcrux, he suddenly sensed a faint fluctuation from another soul.
It did not belong to him.
It belonged to Herpo.
In that moment, Voldemort became certain that Herpo might not be truly dead.
Or rather, he had not completely died. A fragment of his soul was hidden within Limbo.
Once he realized this, Voldemort began working out how to enter Herpo's Limbo.
His deep familiarity with Horcruxes meant that every new attempt deepened his understanding of Limbo. With each step, he drew closer to Herpo.
And today, with the knowledge and power he had accumulated, he finally found him.
Holding the clay jar with both hands, Voldemort slowly closed his eyes. Vast, malevolent magic gathered around his palms as he searched relentlessly for a flaw, attempting to pierce the barrier of the illusion.
Suddenly, his soul felt a faint pulling force.
Not only did Voldemort not resist it, he eagerly followed the pull, tracing it forward.
A dizzying sensation immediately overwhelmed him, as though his soul had been thrown onto a constantly twisting track.
Soon the sensation faded.
When Voldemort opened his eyes again, he found himself in a strange place. It looked like an ancient circular altar.
The space was small, yet covered in all kinds of strange symbols.
After studying them for a moment, he realized they were not Ancient Runes, but something closer to a magical formation.
And at the very center of the altar stood a clay jar.
Compared to the one he had found, this jar lacked the ring of runes carved around the outside and appeared far more solid and intact.
"Young man, who exactly are you to have entered a world that belongs solely to me?"
A white-haired figure appeared above the clay jar.
His eyes were filled with yellow sclera, and the cold indifference within them made his gaze look even more like a snake's than Voldemort's.
Voldemort, however, broke into a wide grin. His pale face radiated naked aggression.
The sight made Herpo frown in displeasure.
"My apologies. I forgot to introduce myself."
Although he said the words, there was not the slightest hint of apology on Voldemort's face.
He gave a slight bow.
"Voldemort. You may also call me Lord Voldemort, Lord Herpo."
"If the historical records are correct, I should be the second wizard in this age to create a Horcrux."
"In my search for the secrets of the soul, I found your ruined Horcrux."
His eyes swept contemptuously across the surroundings.
"And I also found where you have been lingering on in misery. Or rather, the grave of your final fragment of soul."
Herpo's face darkened instantly.
After his Horcrux had been destroyed, his physical body had been surrounded by wizards and killed in an instant by more than a dozen spells.
Fortunately, he had created only one Horcrux. The soul power remaining in his body was still considerable. By burning that power, he managed to follow the mark left by his Horcrux within Limbo and survive inside his own Limbo.
But calling it survival was generous.
In truth, he was trapped in the crack between life and death. Unable to live, yet unable to die.
(Similar to the infant-like Voldemort soul Harry sees in Limbo in the seventh book.)
Yet such words should never have come from a young man who had inherited his path of Horcrux research.
"The fact that your soul could reach this place proves that your research into the soul has achieved impressive results."
Herpo gripped the serpent-shaped staff in his hand tightly, his eyes flashing with danger.
Although his remaining soul power was limited, he was confident that this arrogant young man would not be able to withstand it.
"But young man, you will soon pay a price for your arrogance. A price you cannot bear!"
"What price?" Voldemort spread his hands calmly, completely unconcerned by the threat.
"This price!"
The power Herpo had gathered erupted from his staff.
Battles in Limbo involved no spells. Everything depended purely on collisions of soul power, almost like a Muggle fistfight.
But the moment his attack struck, Herpo immediately sensed something wrong.
"Your soul… how can it be so chaotic!"
Across from him, Voldemort let out a savage grin as an even more massive surge of soul power swallowed Herpo whole.
"Soon, you will become part of me as well!"
"You are destined to… go mad… demon…!"
Herpo's soul seemed to drown, shattering into countless fragments that transformed into brilliant crystalline light before merging into Voldemort's soul.
"A demon?"
The smile on Voldemort's face twisted even further.
"I've always been one."