Disclaimer: You all know I didn't come up with this. Gosh. It's all JK Rowling's, except for a few of the Fizzywink names, which belong to myself and Cornelia Funke, author of Inkheart… a book I would recommend checking out. Oh, and the entire focus of the chapter belongs to Philip Pullman, an amazing writer who wrote some of the most in depth fiction books in the history of mankind.
By the way, the word "Fizzywink" is copyrighted by Jarlaxle Baenre and Isadora Johnson (even though she doesn't know it yet). If you use it without our permission, we'll sue you and get rich. You've been warned.
Chapter Ten
Dumbledore's Last Mark
Harry gazed around in awe. Books stacked on shelves nearly a hundred feet high towered over his head, with old-fashioned rolling ladders to access the ones above. Balconies jutted out here and there, with comfortable armchairs and tables for patrons to sit and read. Ron asked the question that was just forming on Harry's lips. "How do we get up there?"
Hermione led the way to the librarian's desk. An old, kind-looking woman with spectacles sat examining the Daily Prophet. She looked up as they approached.
"And what can I do for you, dears?" she asked kindly. "You'll be wanting Fizzywinks, I suppose?"
"What's a Fuzzlekink?" Harry asked suspiciously.
In response, the librarian reached beneath her desk and with drew three balls of fluff the size of his fist. One was purple, one glaringly red, and another pale yellow. Upon closer examination, he saw that they each had two tiny, clawed feet and a beak-like snout, upon which was perched a pair of miniature glasses. The snouts were rounded, getting narrower toward the end.
"Hello," the purple one said politely to him.
Harry started in surprise. "Huh- hi," he stuttered back. It was a talking ball of fluff.
The librarian looked kindly at them. "You haven't used Fizzywinks before, have you, dears?"
The three of them shook their heads dumbly.
"Well, then. These are your guides to the library. If you request a book, they can take you to it, or bring it to you. When they sit on your shoulder, they give you the ability to fly. It's awkward at first, but you get used to it."
A moment later, a tickle-me-pink Fizzywink zoomed in and alighted on the librarian's shoulder. "Good afternoon," it said courteously. Then he turned to the woman. "Eleanor, the package you were expecting from the American Library of Magic has arrived. It's waiting for you whenever you're ready."
"Thank you very much, Rosenquartz. I'll be there in a moment." Speaking to Ron, Hermione, and Harry, she said, "Just offer them your hands."
Harry tentatively stretched out a hand to the purple one. It oblidgingly hopped aboard. "My name's Azlewick," it said with an Irish accent. "What may I call you?"
"Harry," Harry said, still slightly apprehensive. He had never seen anything like it before, including Ginny's Pigmy Puff, Arnold, though that came fairly close. "Um, pleased to meet you."
"The pleasure's all mine, good fellow. Now, what can I do for you?"
Harry wanted to get out of earshot of the other wizards using the library before he stated just what he was looking for. Ron had picked up the red Fizzywink, Hermione the yellow one, and they were making similar awkward introductions to Fenoglio (red) and, aptly named, Fluff, (yellow).
He shrugged. "Just browsing, for now," he said nonchalantly, and, with a slightly unnatural air of innocence, he stalked off among the bookshelves.
When he was sure he was quite alone, he addressed his Fizzywink, Azlewick. "I was wondering…" his voice trailed off. He wasn't sure what the Fizzywink would tell people.
"Yes?" said the purple ball of fluff, "I know where everything is, or if you just have a general subject in mind-"
"Could you find me something on Horcruxes?"
Harry didn't know whether Fizzywinks could go pale and clammy, but if they could, he would have guessed that this one would. However, the Fizzywink saluted with his tiny-clawed leg, stretched a minute pair of wings that appeared from all the fluffiness, and soared off among the bookshelves. Pleased that the creature had taken his odd- if not downright morbid- request without question, Harry settled in a ground-level chair to wait.
Five minutes later, the Fizzywink returned, three heavy, dusty, and morose volumes flying above him, unsupported. Zooming towards Harry, Azlewick muttered something. The books dropped heavily to the table in front of him, barely missing hitting the tiny librarian.
"Right-o," he said, resuming his perch on Harry's shoulder, "The top one there is a fifteenth century encyclopedia of sorts, and we don't know who wrote it. There's a whole chapter on Horcruxes. The second one is more modern, written in nineteen-twenty, by the wizard known as Albert Einstein. He had a theory on something called relativity… something to do with making or destroying Horcruxes or something like that. And the third by Bishop Aidan Myriel of the seventeenth century, called Defeating the Forces of Evil, though I think it might be in Latin, which no one bothers to learn anymore… a perfectly good language going to waste…"
He trailed off, looking disgruntled. "Anyway, proceed, my dear fellow; don't let my rambling stop you. Though why you would want information on Horcruxes, I wouldn't know. Not to make one yourself, I hope?"
"No," Harry said, hefting the first huge volume and flipping through the pages. He found Horcruxes after "Honata, Shiro," and began, rather apprehensively, to read.
A Horcrux is a magical object created through the use of the Dark Arts by evil witches or wizards who wish to avoid death. To do so, they conceal part of their soul within an object—the Horcrux—that is usually hidden away in a safe location. Thus protected, they become immune to death while it exists. The exact mechanism of why this works is not fully explained.
The destruction of the creator's body does not result in death, but leaves the creator in a state of half-life, barely more than a shadow or smoke.
Horcruxes are not invulnerable. Destruction of the physical Horcrux removes the protection it provides, and the Witch or Wizard again becomes vulnerable to death through physical destruction.
Creating a Horcrux is an evil and violent act. The soul of the creator must be torn into at least two pieces to provide a portion of the soul to conceal within the object. To do this, the creator must commit murder, which rips the soul apart, then cast a spell to infuse one part of the soul into the intended Horcrux. This magic is the most evil and unnatural of the Dark Arts
There is no apparent limitation on the nature of items that can be made into a Horcrux. Its creator would likely choose a durable object, because its destruction removes the protection from death that it provides to its creator.
Harry scanned the rest of the chapter, but found nothing he didn't already know. It was mentioned that Horcruxes were not invulnerable, but it didn't say how to destroy them. He turned to the next book.
This one was black, with a tattered binding and small text. This was written by Albert Einstein, Harry thought as he lifted the cover. I had no idea he was a wizard…
He looked down the table of contents, turned to page six hundred and seventy-two, and began reading.
The first three paragraphs were simply introductions to Horcruxes, just like the book before. Harry skimmed over these, disappointed. However, the next section, entitled Energy Equals Mass Times the Speed of Light Squared, got Harry's attention.
Energy as we know it is defined as the capacity for work. This means that in order to exert energy, an object must be able to do work. However, my researches have led me to the conclusion that mass is also a form of energy, and it is through this form of energy that the destruction of Horcruxes comes.
The energy that it would take to destroy a Horcrux is equal to the object's mass times the speed of light squared-
Here Harry had to turn the page. Placed carefully between the two sheets of parchment was a slip of paper that looked like it had been ripped off the corner of a scroll. He extracted it gingerly. Only two words were written on it.
Propero Luminarium
Harry's heart began to beat a tattoo inside his chest. The handwriting was loopy, with an elegance that Harry had seen many times before. Handwriting that Harry would recognize anytime, anywhere.
"Dumbledore," Harry muttered in amazement, staring at the scrap of paper. "Dumbledore."
"Would you like books on Albus Dumbledore, my good fellow?" the Fizzywink asked sleepily. "There's a whole section on him, there is…"
"No," Harry said dazedly, clutching the piece of parchment as though afraid it would disappear. "No, I just… I need a book on these words. Propero Luminarium. Or maybe an encyclopedia of spells that would have this in it."
"Right then," he said cheerily. "See you in a bit."
Harry was left to sort out his whirling thoughts. Dumbledore had written this note and put it in a book. Harry knew his late headmaster far too well to think that he might have left it there by accident, which meant that this small, seemingly insignificant piece of parchment was there for a reason. Maybe Dumbledore had foreseen the possibility of his death in his quest against Voldemort, and put this here in the hopes that someone else would uncover the Dark Lord's secret and come looking for information, and they would find this and know how to use it.
It hit him then that Dumbledore could have written the words specifically for him; the headmaster had probably known that if Harry needed more information and the he wasn't around to give it, he might come here.
Azlewick returned, interrupting his brooding, with a thick, newer-looking book: a volume in a huge encyclopedia. Harry looked up "Propero Luminarium" and turned the pages until he found it.
Propero Luminarium: Latin. Swift Light. This incantation is one of the five Evanescent Spells (see Amoria, Praeter Excessum, Gaudium, Admiratio). Known as the Spell of Euphoria, the most supported theory behind it is that it spins the caster off into a world that moves millions of times faster than the speed of light, until his or her soul disintegrates and becomes a part of the great, ever-shifting mass of Dust, as dubbed by acclaimed wizard Philip Pullman. The theory of Dust states that every living thing in the universe originated from and will eventually turn back to a stream of elementary particles, particles that, in a simple term, are consciousness (for a more detailed explanation, please read Elementary Particles or the His Dark Materials Trilogy, both by Philip Pullman). After the spell is lifted, most of the caster's original Dust is returned to his spirit, his essence, but theories, based on people who have been changed upon their return to the world, assume that some of the Dust must have either been left behind or replaced by others, for those who venture there are never quite the same.
Harry sank back against the wooden back of his chair, eyes closed. He had no doubt about it; this Propero Luminarium was the way to destroy the Horcruxes. Dumbledore had left the note to find.
He had made up his mind.
Someday, sooner or later, he was going to venture in to this unexplained, ethereal world from which he could return drastically changed.
The world of Dust.