In the northwest of Cumbria, there stood an ancient castle that had been abandoned for many years.
Built on a hill, it had its back to a towering mountain that was almost impossible to climb.
There was no main gate. To get inside, one had to go around to the south side and climb a rope ladder—that was the only way in. Legend said the castle's owner had harmed countless people and, fearing someone would one day come seeking revenge, had deliberately designed it this way.
Of course, the owner had been dead for several centuries, and no one had lived here for just as long. Several of the upper windows had been sealed, tiles were missing from the roof, and ivy sprawled wildly, clawing its way over the entire castle...
In recent years, however, rumors about the place had become quite detailed. It was said that the castle had become a vampire's lair. Twenty years ago, on a certain night, a group of university students had tried to break in for a bit of adventure and vanished without a trace—until, more than ten days later, their mummified corpses were found together in the town of Carlisle, ten miles away. Naturally, the castle's two latest visitors did not believe such groundless tales.
After a tiring journey, they had come here in search of a quiet place to rest.
...
"Wormtail, water!"
A cold, shrill voice rang out from inside the castle.
Its owner was a black-cloaked figure. His skin was so deathly pale it was almost nauseating, as though he weren't truly alive at all; even his voice carried a chill that seeped into the bone.
"Y-yes… yes, Master!" the short, balding man beside him stammered. His hair was streaked with gray, his bald scalp gleaming, and his eyes were filled with fear and cowardice.
He raised his wand with trembling hands, pointed it at the cup before him, and whispered, "Aguamenti."
Then he hurriedly picked up the cup, ran over to the dark figure, and held it out to him, hands shaking.
The black silhouette took a hard swig and then—
"Wormtail… I told you… not to put so much honey in the water…" he snarled.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I'm terribly sorry, Master!" The short wizard bowed over and over, his voice quivering with fear. "I'll pour you a fresh cup right away…"
"No. Get out!" the dark figure snapped.
The short man bolted from the room, leaving the dark figure alone in the castle.
Silence settled over the place again.
...
Voldemort drained the honey water from the cup in great gulps.
The complaint about too much honey had been a lie. Voldemort had only wanted to get rid of Wormtail so he could have some peace.
The last time he had travelled like this was over a year ago, when the Ministry of Magic still hadn't realized he had returned and Nagini was still by his side. Now Nagini was dead, and the fools at the Ministry buzzed around him like mosquitoes—infuriatingly persistent.
The honey had been stolen two days earlier when they passed a farm… They hadn't even dared kill the Muggles who chased after them, because if a single Muggle turned up dead, those pigs at the Ministry would certainly track them here.
The defeat at the Department of Mysteries had been far too devastating. Now, Voldemort could only flee across Britain like a stray dog, running from the constant pursuit of the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix.
As he brooded, Voldemort reached into his pocket and drew out a small goblet. It had two finely worked solid-gold handles, and engraved on the body were exquisite symbolic patterns—a badger carved upon it...
"This is the last one," Voldemort murmured to himself.
During the battle in the Department of Mysteries, the sudden destruction of two Horcruxes had subjected his soul to agonies beyond imagining… and that had ultimately led to his defeat along with the Death Eaters. After the battle, he had immediately dispatched his most trusted Death Eaters to seek out the remaining Horcruxes, but every one of them had been captured by members of the Order of the Phoenix or the Ministry... By the time Voldemort realized what was happening, two more Horcruxes had been destroyed.
Adding Nagini, who had died more than a year ago, this was now the only one left...
If it too were destroyed, he would truly face the threat of death.
He had to hide it, hide it in the safest place in the world... He could not allow Dumbledore to destroy it as well!
The thought brought on a fit of harsh coughing. This body was far too weak—much weaker than his previous one.
...
"No matter what, Dumbledore must die!" Voldemort thought to himself.
It was the only way.
Once Dumbledore was dead, the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic would fall into chaos and become easy to crush...
The giants had already submitted to his rule, though they still lurked in the Pyrenees; the Dementors had done the same, and Yaxley had led them to Greenland; and then there were the countless Inferius he had hidden in several different locations...
If the plan to kill Dumbledore succeeded, all of this would come crashing down on the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic as a spectacular surprise.
As for the Death Eaters—though they might not all be truly loyal—once Dumbledore died, they would certainly crawl back to him, falling to their knees and begging for his forgiveness...
But at the moment, very few Death Eaters were worth trusting.
Those who had spent years locked away in Azkaban, like Bellatrix and Dolohov, might have been loyal, but now they were all back in Azkaban once more. Lucius was loyal too—despite his slick, calculating nature—but he was in far too deep to escape, and he too was now imprisoned in Azkaban. And of course, there had once been little Barty, but Voldemort still did not know how exactly he had died, or when he had been replaced...
The ones still alive… Wormtail. That fool had already betrayed his friends; he would not dare betray him.
And… Severus Snape… Though he had once doubted Severus, ever since receiving his warning before the battle at the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort had come to fully believe in his loyalty.
So he had entrusted that most crucial plan to him.
As long as Severus succeeded… there would still be a chance to turn everything around.
Voldemort touched the golden cup hidden inside his robes, then closed his eyes. After a full day spent on the run, he needed rest.
...
In one corner of the ancient castle, a strange rat was scurrying through the gaps in a wall.
It was a very peculiar rat: one of its hind paws was missing a little toe, and one of its front paws looked as though it were made of silver...
The strange rat seemed to be searching desperately for something...
At last, it stopped in front of a silver rat statue.
"Squeak, squeak!" it called softly a few times, then turned and left.
About a minute after the rat was gone, the silver rat statue suddenly vanished into thin air…