Horcrux.
As the na suggests, it is an object that holds a fragnt of a soul.
The process of creating a Horcrux begins by splitting your own soul and sealing part of it inside an object outside your body. That object becos the Horcrux.
This way, even if your body is attacked or destroyed, you cannot truly be killed. A fragnt of your soul remains in the world, untouched. With the right steps, you can even return to life.
Simply put, a Horcrux is the key to resurrection after death.
“So this is... why you said I hadn’t truly won?”
Draco took the book from Dobby, ignoring the elf’s hesitant expression and the way he seed about to stop him from opening it. Flipping through the pages, Draco quickly found what he was looking for—information on the taboo subject of Horcruxes.
There was a reason this magic was branded as forbidden. It wasn’t only because of its power to defy death.
Every spell, no matter how miraculous, follows the principle of exchange. To forge a Horcrux, one must not only tamper with the soul but also commit murder. Only by taking a life can the soul be torn apart and bound to the object.
In other words, it was a way of sacrificing others’ lives to secure one’s own continued existence.
That was why this dark magic had beco taboo, a secret kept from public knowledge. If soul magic were easier to master—and if the Ministry of Magic hadn’t gone to such lengths to suppress it—the Unforgivable Curses would surely be counted as four instead of three.
After all, Horcruxes were Voldemort’s specialty, and the Ministry had banned them out of fear that a second Dark Lord might rise in Britain.
Under these circumstances, it was no surprise that even Hermione—the know-it-all—couldn’t find a trace of information in any book, not even in the Restricted Section. In fact, there was nothing to find there anymore. Soone, worried that students might be tempted to follow the sa path, had quietly removed the material long ago.
Which ant all of Hermione’s hard work had been for nothing.
Outside of Hogwarts, only an ancient wizarding family like the Malfoys could still possess records about Horcruxes. And Draco now held one of those records in his hands, a book stripped of its title, its pages steeped in a dark, ominous aura.
Inside, it detailed the thods of creating a Horcrux.
“No wizard has ever tried to make more than one? Not just because of lack of talent... but because no one knows what the consequences would be?”
Draco, who had no desire to create one himself, found his attention drawn to this passage. A warning, a reminder. But clearly, Voldemort—arrogant and brilliant—had ignored it. And judging by what Draco knew, he had indeed created more than one.
“So the real question is—just how many Horcruxes did the Dark Lord make?”
“More importantly, he must have left a plan for resurrection, even if his defeat back then had been sothing he never foresaw.”
Having learned what he needed, Draco snapped the book shut, a faint urgency rising in his chest.
Especially after his battle with Lockhart and the sixteen-year-old Voldemort, Draco cared more about his actual combat ability than about magical theory alone.
In particular, Voldemort’s ability to duel with both hands at once stuck in his mind. Draco wanted to master that skill for himself.
But it wasn’t as simple as just “using both hands.” The technique was difficult—so difficult that, for the first ti, Draco had spent a long stretch of ti practicing without success.
He straightened, about to head for the family’s training chamber, when he rembered that he wasn’t alone.
Astoria Greengrass was still there, quiet and unobtrusive, not once interrupting him.
Yet her expression looked... peculiar.
...
Anyone else might have felt irritated or resentful after being ignored for so long, even if they didn’t show it outright. But Astoria didn’t seem upset at all. She hadn’t even hinted to Draco that she was still there.
Though “quiet” wasn’t entirely right. Astoria seed fascinated by everything in the room.
Her curiosity stretched even to Dobby, who stood nearby watching her warily. To Astoria, a House-elf who was not only close to Draco but even called him a friend was sothing worth puzzling over.
Her attention also wandered across the shelves of dragon books, the Nimbus 2000 leaning by the bedside, the Muggle suitcase oddly tucked into a corner, and the steaming cup of sothing fragrant left on the desk.
All of it drew in her bright blue eyes. Beneath her graceful manners, it was clear she carried a boundless curiosity.
That sa curiosity made her reach out for the cup on the desk. Mischievous eyes flicked toward Draco, who was still focused on his book, as if making sure he wasn’t watching.
She clearly wasn’t as fragile as her delicate appearance suggested.
Unfortunately, the taste of the drink nearly made her lose all composure on the spot.
She didn’t spit it out, but her small tongue poked out slightly as she gagged, breaking her careful poise. Her eyes filled with embarrassnt and regret—she felt she had been terribly rude.
“What’s wrong? Do you feel unwell?”
“...No, I’m fine.”
“???”
Handing the book back to Dobby, Draco looked up and caught sight of Astoria’s scrunched little face. Her attempt at feigning calm only made him blink in confusion. That didn’t look fine at all.
Just as Astoria was flustered with embarrassnt, a knock ca at the door.
“Children, I know you’re having a nice talk, but it’s ti for dinner. There’s always tomorrow—Draco has already promised to take you to Diagon Alley for your school things.”
Hearing the amused voice outside, Draco glanced at Astoria’s face lighting up with expectation and couldn’t help tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Since when had he agreed to that...?
Reviews
All reviews (0)