The Seven Part Soul
Voldemort reached the Minister's office and in a matter of minutes dispatched the bodyguards who were outside. He tsked at them as he stepped hovered over their fallen bodies. "Ants," he spat.
He blew the door off its hinges and inward into the office. He grew enraged when she appeared armed and the curses she flung told him she was willing to fight to the death. This wouldn't do if making his last and final horcrux took as much out of him as the others had. But then he remembered that events favored Lord Voldemort, and so he returned killing curse with killing curse. The office was alit with green light.
"You're more powerful than your pitiful husband," he growled glancing at the wound on his left arm, the hex had managed to pierce his defenses. "But not powerful enough."
In a split second, his killing curse had struck its target, and Voldemort peered into the dying eyes of Narcissa Malfoy. Speaking the incantation--Contanima, Voldemort touched his wand to her necklace. His body convulsed with pain as the piece of his soul that did not want to obey crossed the void and entered its resting place.
Voldemort looked around, surprised that he was not on the verge of passing out like he was after creating his fifth horcrux from the murder of Lucius Malfoy. But he knew it had worked. And how couldn't it? He had done it five other times.
Howling in ecstasy, Voldemort secured the necklace inside his robes until he could send it to its hiding place.
His soul had now been split into seven distinct pieces. And although his diary had been destroyed by the unlikeliest of sources, it didn't change the fact that his soul had been split into sevenths. His immortality was no assured, his destiny all but attained. He strolled from the office, eager to return to battle.