Chapter 107 – Horcruxes
I was laying on the sofa, placed before our cabin's fireplace, reading one of the ancient codexes of Salazar's, detailing his views on muggles and their constant witch huntings, growing in frequency every year. Quincy was sitting opposite me, her legs resting above mine, her face hidden behind a similar book. We have been at it for hours now, and I was so immersed in Salazar's words that when she exclaimed, I almost jumped up.
"Found something!" Sitting up, holding the book, she let her fingers run over the lines she was reading, "A Way of False Immortality: The Horcrux. To create a Horcrux is to delve into the forbidden art of splitting one's soul, a path that leads to the most heinous form of dark magic. The very act of committing murder tears the soul apart, and it is in that moment of wickedness that a sorcerer can imprison a fragment of their own soul within an object."
"Err... then we are not really whole anymore, huh?" I grimaced, making her shrug and continue reading it.
"This object becomes the vessel for their malevolence, anchoring them to the mortal realm even if their physical form is destroyed. The creation of a Horcrux is an abomination against nature, a twisted pursuit of immortality through the foulest means. As long as the Horcrux remains intact, the dark wizard or witch can never truly be defeated. They become a spectral menace, always lurking in the shadows, waiting to return and rejoin the living as a deformed beast."
"No wonder the news said he was back... He must have had one..."
"I am sure of it. You told me what Herpo said to you when you met him for real! He asked for immortality, and he was given the knowledge of how to create it! My guess is that Salazar himself had knowledge of Herpo's doings. He was part of the bloodline, just the same. He just refused to dabble in it. I am especially sure after reading about what comes next. Listen!" She continued, sounding excited, "However, one must understand the grave consequences of such dark practices. The very act of splitting one's soul leads to a state of spiritual mutilation, diminishing the humanity within. It is a path paved with darkness and despair, and those who embark upon it risk losing not only their soul but their very essence. It is not true immortality but a wretched weakening of your existence. When your end finally comes, what awaits you is nothing but limbo. Undeath, a forever state where neither the dead nor the living will see you as you doomed yourself to an eternal, shadowy existence. That is not immortality; that is the retribution of magic itself. Just ask the one who created the technique itself, Herpo The Foul..."
"That nonexistence... that would explain Herpo..." I murmured, thinking about it for a while, breaking the silence after a minute. "He did say that he managed to incorporate his memories into his bloodline... maybe his spirit is in that shadowy limbo state, neither living nor dead. He just can't come back from it."
"Then how did, well, HE, come back?" She asked me, but the moment she finished, she had already found the answer: "He has more than one!"
"Most likely. It would explain the Order's moves and why we saw them head into the Room of Requirements. They were searching for his Horcruxes! They know he is unkillable until he has any of them remaining. Maybe they thought it was the last ones, that is why my Father fought him... but evidently not."
"Do you think Snape knew?"
"Hmph! I don't want to know! He was trusted; my Father told me I could trust him, but... really? Could I? In the key moments, he never helped me. No... I only trust you."