Growing up Pureblooded

A Horcrux

A chime sounded, and both Sirius and Narcissa reached for their wands, only to relax as they saw Cassiopeia step out of the fireplace, triumph shining brightly from her eyes. She clutched the diary in her hands. "I've done it!" she cackled as she strode towards her niece and nephew and sat down on the sofa. She laid the diary on a side table. "Done what, Aunt Cassie?" Narcissa asked, pouring the older witch a cup of tea. "I've figured out what the diary is, of course," Cassiopeia replied, taking the cup and saucer from Narcissa's hands. 'Thank you, my dear.' "Don't keep us in suspense," Sirius urged her. "What is it?" "The diary is a Horcrux," Cassiopeia said simply. Sirius frowned. "That word sounds vaguely familiar, but I'm not exactly sure what it is. How about you, Cissy?" The blonde witch shook her head. "I don't know either."

Cassiopeia sighed melodramatically. "What do they teach them in these schools nowadays?" she wondered aloud. "A Horcrux is an enchanted object in which a wizard has enclosed a portion of his own soul. So long as the Horcrux continues to exist, the wizard cannot die." Narcissa gasped. "Is that why the Dark Lord was able to return?" "Indubitably," Cassiopeia replied calmly, and sipped her tea. "If the Horcrux is what's keeping Riddle alive, then destroying the diary ought to kill him!" Sirius said excitedly.

"Yes, if it's only the diary that's keeping him bound to the world of the living," Cassiopeia said. "However, if that is truly the case, I find it very strange that Riddle would be so careless with it. A Horcrux ought to be kept in a secluded fortress under heavy protective enchantments with at least a few dragons standing guard, not handed over to schoolchildren as a plaything." Sirius frowned. "Are you sure that the diary really is a Horcrux?" "There is no doubt in my mind," his great-aunt replied. "Once I had an idea of what I was looking at, a few relatively simple tests were able to prove it conclusively." "It seems very unlike the Dark Lord to be so careless," Narcissa observed.

"Indeed," Cassiopeia replied. "Sadly, I cannot be certain as to why Riddle has embarked upon the course of action. He may simply be mad. However, it is theoretically possible that he feels comfortable using his Horcrux as a weapon because it is not unique. He may well have made more than one." "More than one Horcrux?" Narcissa was surprised. "But why, if only one is sufficient to make him immortal?" "Security," Sirius replied. "No matter how well you hide and defend a Horcrux, there's a chance that someone will manage to destroy it. The more Horcruxes he has, the more invincible he becomes."

Narcissa nodded. "That makes sense. How does one go about making a Horcrux anyway? Is it very difficult?" "There are certain rituals and incantations involved," Cassiopeia explained. "The key element appears to be murder." "MURDER?" Narcissa and Sirius responded in unison. "Murder," Cassiopeia repeated calmly. "The cold-blooded murder of another human being necessarily fractures the soul of the perpetrator. The ritual simply takes that broken-off bit and encloses it within a specially-prepared receptacle." "That's awful," Narcissa whispered. "And to think of repeating that more than once!"

Sirius furrowed his brow. "Riddle's murdered countless people. He might very well have made hundreds of Horcruxes." "Fortunately, Sirius," his great-aunt replied, "I do not believe that to be possible. Most theorists consider the soul to be finite. Any given soul can only endure so much fragmentation before not enough remains even to animate a body, much less perform magic. It's impossible to say without any experimental data exactly how many Horcruxes a single soul could support, but theorists estimate that the limit might be as low as three, or as high as twelve." "What's the largest number of Horcurxes that any one wizard has ever made until now?" Narcissa asked. "One, to my knowledge," Cassiopeia replied.

Sirius frowned. "Then how can you be sure it is even possible to make more than one Horcrux?" "I can't," Cassiopeia said simply. "There is, however, an infallible experiment we can perform to determine whether or not Riddle has done so. If we destroy the diary, and Riddle dies, we shall know that he made only the one. If he survives, then we shall know that he made more." "Even that won't tell us how many he made," Sirius pointed out. "Nor will it show us where they are or even what they are." "You are correct, Sirius," Cassiopeia said. "If we should determine that Riddle successfully created other Horcruxes besides the diary, then we shall have to pursue other avenues of investigation in order to locate them." "Ought we really to destroy the Horcrux so quickly?" Narcissa asked. "Is there no further way it can be of use to us?"

A cruel glint appeared in Cassiopeia's grey eyes. "Well, I had thought that perhaps we could allow the diary to possess someone, and then use a combination of Legilimency, Veritaserum and the Cruciatus Curse to learn everything that this piece of Riddle's soul knows." Sirius only stared at her in horror at the suggestion.

Cassiopeia harrumphed. "It was only a thought," she said defensively. "Honestly, we could snatch some Muggle off the streets and perform the experiment in a controlled environment. There would be minimal danger to us." Sirius shook his head firmly. "That would take us down to Riddle's level. I won't allow it." His great-aunt rolled her eyes. "Gryffindors." She sighed deeply. "In that case there is nothing more we can learn from the diary, and we might as well destroy it." "There's no Dark ritual you can perform with it in order to locate the other bits of Riddle's soul?" Sirius asked cheekily. "If there were, don't you think I should already have performed it?" Cassiopeia snapped. "I don't know," Sirius replied with a smirk. "You might have needed a half-pint of blood from the handsome head of a noble, pureblood family." Cassiopeia and Narcissa both groaned. Sirius only laughed. "So how do we go about destroying the Horcrux?" he asked his aunt. "Fiendfyre is the simplest way," the witch replied. "I could have done it myself, of course, but I thought you might want to do the honors, Sirius."

Sirius thought about that. He would very much enjoy the opportunity to take some revenge on his best friend's murderer, the wizard who had tried to kill Aries twice, but if Aunt Cassie was right about Riddle having made more than one Horcrux, Sirius would have other chances. He thought someone else needed the opportunity more at the moment. "What do you think, Cissy?" he offered gallantly. "Would you like to strike a blow to the Dark Lord?" Narcissa's pretty eyes gleamed and a small smile crept across her face. "Thank you, Sirius," she said. "I think I should like that very much."

They went out onto the terrace and laid the diary on the stone floor. Narcissa pointed her wand at the diary and torrents of flame came bursting out from its tip. The fire was so hot that it singed the fringes of her robes. Unearthly screams poured out of the diary the moment the flames hit it, producing a sound so terrible that even Cassiopeia appeared to be shaken. Once the screams fell silent, Narcissa stopped the fire with a flick of her wrist. The scorched remnants of the diary lay on the terrace, little more than a pile of ashes. Cassiopeia Summoned them into a small bag and stuffed it into the pocket of her robes. Sirius gave her a questioning look. "I wondered whether perhaps the remnants of a Horcrux might have some use in potion-making," she explained. "I thought a few experiments couldn't hurt."