Voldemort was genuinely a little afraid. Looking back on the first half of his life, spanning several decades, he could see that Fate had never once been on his side.
He had the finest bloodline, descended from Slytherin, one of Hogwarts' founders, and the Gaunt family to boot. Yet he had been forced to grow up in that filthy orphanage.
It had never had much to do with being a Half-blood. The Gaunt family had also had a woman who married a Muggle for love, and yet they had been able to live such a happy life in the Americas and establish Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He had met the finest wizard in the world, Albus Dumbledore.
This was a man who could even accept a Werewolf afflicted with the terrifying, contagious Werewolf Venom. There were so many students in his school who admired and longed to study Dark Magic. He was so accepting, and yet he couldn't accept an orphan like him, who had only a slight personality flaw?
There had been so much.
Fate had never favored him.
He...
Was truly afraid.
In the more than seventy years of his life, he had hardly ever gambled. Every plan he made had relied on his abilities to climb step by step, and his understanding of Magic to forge ahead one step at a time.
But now, a gamble had been laid out before him.
If he lost, he would die, and everything he had nearly succeeded in accomplishing would come to an abrupt end once more.
If he won, all he would get was a woman?
A woman who...
Might be the only person in the world who cared about him.
No, not even that! Tom Riddle knew all too well that he had killed the Bella