Thanks for all the support so far; I really, really appreciate it. Without further ado, here's book 4. First chapter is sort of a filler but things will pick up really quickly.

From the notebooks of I. Emmawor Locke

FOREWORD

It is with great enthusiasm that I embark on my first journey in a series of quests to understand the properties of the universe. For me, science is the true purpose of the existence of mankind. Many would ask, why am I not in Ravenclaw House, if I value knowledge that much?

If you knew how I came across this knowledge, then there would be no more doubt about why the Sorting Hat placed me in Slytherin when I was eleven. Alas, it is because of my means to those ends that I must keep silent.

Nevertheless, dear reader, I doubt you could hurt me. Despite my controversial methods, I have never done anything…illegal. Or perhaps I have, but have never left any evidence. It matters not. No one shall ever know. In any event, for safety's sake, I request that some of my marked discoveries remain unpublished until after my death, for though I am no Seer, I can foresee that the lawsuits and troubles my more… interesting notes will surely bring me far outweigh any money I may make from them. Very few could even hope to understand my ideas, but I am confident that nearly everyone can find some form of offense.

The Horcrux

The secrets of the darkest art

With them I shall never part

For the eyes of only me

Descendants for eternity

Betrayal is just that – a curse

A traitor creates his own hearse

But beware, the secrets read

Must be kept and not be said

And now! The choice is yours

Be safe or cursed forevermore

Turn now before it is too late

Or carry on and seal your fate

If going on is the path you take

These secrets learned shall help you make

Immortality for a mortal man –

But the sacrifice will leave you damned

The living soul remains intact

Contained in life – a natural fact

The violation is – to tear it apart

For an eternally beating heart

To split the soul requires force

From an act so evil, with no remorse

The taking of a human life

End their own, and increase your strife

Your final act is their death knell

Send another's soul to hell

In doing so, create your own

And live in it – and you alone

Take the piece that you have felled

And rip it out – the scripture's spell

Your earthbound soul, never replaced

Conceal the fragment in a solid case

Hide your soul and guard it well

In two places your life shall dwell

Protect it from all around

Do not ever let it be found

Your body parts, but a fraction remains

Tethered physically to the living domain

Unchanged shall be body and face

In the living, forever hold your place

But not all is what it seems

The fractured soul is on extremes

The heart as cold as ice shall be

But rages chaos and instability

Know now! A dependent parasite

The container dies, the soul takes flight

And forever be destroyed

And left will be an empty void

Regret shall be your only cure

Much pain you shall endure

Or otherwise, beware these three

That will damper your immortality

One: the venom of the Serpent King

The cure is rare in the making

Two: the fiends of flame

Cursed fire that bears its name

The last is both the beginning and end

To take the guardian and lose the friend

And both shall lay and breathe one breath

He conquers you – and that is Death.

"Artemis, what is that?" his father asked.

"An old scroll I found. I can't understand it, however," Artemis lied smoothly. Yes…I can't understand why wizarding culture places so much emphasis on such primitive rhyme and meter, at least… "Only a few of the runes are familiar, and even then they don't translate properly."

"Oh, that?" his father asked. Artemis Sr. knelt down and took it from his son's hands, examining it carefully with the practiced hand of an experienced moneymaker. Finally, he proclaimed, "I think I remember this. It's been in the vaults for generations. My father – your grandfather – informed me of its existence shortly before he died. He said it was extremely important and dangerous, and that it contained an extremely deadly secret that we had to keep safe. He never knew why or what the secrets were, though – neither did my grandfather, or great-grandfather…or any of your ancestors, really. I would destroy it, but I didn't want to accidentally release some sort of hidden curse or potentially ruin something that might possibly be the next greatest discovery of the ages."

"Well, it isn't as if we can get arrested for something we don't know," Artemis said. "As far as I'm concerned, the object itself hasn't actually hurt anyone. Even if the Manor was subjected to an Auror raid, this scroll can't incriminate us, since there is no direct proof that it is Dark. For all anyone knows, you might be right – this could have been just a valuable historical artifact that someone picked up on a world tour."

His father nodded. "Pretty much. It's a smart way to keep a secret, I'll admit – it's rather difficult to give away information that you don't know. To be honest, if I hadn't known that the scroll was so important and dangerous, I would have had it auctioned off to some collectors. Something of that age would have definitely fetched millions of Galleons."

"But you're afraid that whoever gets his hands on it might actually know what they're doing, and use it against us," Artemis completed his father's thoughts for him.

"Right you are. Well, we might as well keep it safe for now, since all we know is its worth and not why. Who knows – perhaps you'll come up with some sort of innovative way to decode it."

Too bad Artemis already had.

True to his word, Butler had begun a summer training program for Artemis. "If you're going to be running around ex-convicts, regardless of their innocence, you had better be ready."

When his parents had heard the news, they were both elated that Artemis finally took his physical education seriously.

"Isn't it wonderful!" Angeline gushed. "Maybe you'll even be able to play Quidditch at school!"

Artemis didn't bother to point out that a) he didn't want to play Quidditch or any sport, b) he wasn't very keen on getting himself hurt for fun (what sick sadist thought Bludgers were a good idea? Honestly), and c) all the spots on the Slytherin House team were pretty much set for the next three years, anyway. Artemis had no interest in using his physical strength for anything more than he had to, and was only taking Butler's course for basic survival due to his experience in things that he technically wasn't supposed to be doing anyway.

Artemis Sr. had been quite pleased, as well, but for different reasons – the more practical side, as he put it. "A great deal of good wizards have lost their lives simply because they couldn't run fast enough." That was definitely true, Artemis thought with a wince.

At first, things had been extremely difficult for Artemis. It was only then that he realized just how out of shape he really was, having never done a joule of genuine labor for all thirteen-going-on-fourteen years of his life. Butler had tried to begin with a basic white belt training unit from Madame Ko, only to realize that even that was too much for his young charge.

So now, Artemis was forced to spend his time running laps and doing push-ups instead. (He had been mortified when he realized that he couldn't even do one decent push-ups). "You might be able to start Madame Ko's training program if you keep this up throughout the entire summer," Butler teased.

Artemis had hated every single minute of this. He knew it was good for him, but it took so much effort on his part. Now he knew how it felt for "mortals" to understand his level of thinking.

At least it was a good distraction for his parents from the Animagus project. Artemis wondered how many of his other friends were doing their "summer homework from Professor Zabini." Blaise would definitely be trying to make the potion – he was pretty decent in that class and knew how to follow instructions. In any case, he was the ringleader of their group when it came to becoming an Animagus. Artemis wondered what his friends would be. Blaise being a monkey was a continuing joke in their group, although Artemis wouldn't be surprised if it had been actually true.

And what would he be? Artemis shrugged and took another tablespoon of the potion. It tasted bad, but it was not much worse than spending the entire summer "working out." He supposed he would find out later, and began meditating.

By July, though, Artemis had gotten slightly better. He had become more enduring, developing his slow muscle bit by bit. He could run 1.6 kilometers without collapsing by now, although his time was still atrocious in Butler's point of view (9 minutes and 54 seconds was his personal record). And he could do ten whole push-ups. Kind of. The final five were "Artemis-style" push-ups (meaning that his elbows barely bent).

He would never gain as much muscle as Butler, but he could care less. In fact, he did not care if he emerged from Butler's training program as thin and aristocratically built as before. All Artemis wanted was to be strong enough to survive the next time a troll came along.

His voice had cracked during that time – at least it was at home, with only understanding adults around and a slightly immature teenage Juliet to tease him, not at school where things would be ten times as embarrassing. Artemis had begun puberty…right on schedule, too. Dear lord. At least he had been prepared for it.

Artemis supposed that he should consider himself one of the lucky ones. All he had to go through was a voice change and a growth spurt (and possibly some teenage hormones affecting his mind later. Thinking about things scientifically always helped). He had seen some of the older girls at school reduced to tears over something as trivial as acne. Although he had been quite unsympathetic at first, he now understood why it was such a big deal. (In Blaise's own words – "a face as beautiful as mine should not have to suffer.")

Perhaps it was just genetics, or good (to the level of practically obsessive-compulsive) hygiene on his part. Or maybe the pimples were too afraid to share the same face as his vampire smile. Artemis grinned. Now there was an excuse to keep smiling.

Puberty was bad enough on its own, but now his mother began force-feeding him more and more food, claiming that he was a growing boy. Artemis Sr. had unsympathetically chuckled at the scene and completely ignored the torture that his wife was imposing on her own son!

Thanks a lot, Father.

You're welcome, son.

At least the half-foot height gain that ensued somewhat helped. However, his thin frame never really filled out. Rather, his rapid vertical growth accompanied by a practically constant girth throughout the entire process left him with an even lankier appearance than before.

Angeline continued to complain that his growth was too similar to an elastic rubber band as an excuse to feed him more.

Artemis would counter by correcting her definition of elastic growth.

"Firstly, the true physical definition of 'elasticity' is the ability of an object to return to its original state after it has been deformed. As you can clearly see, I have not yet returned to my original height before my growing phase began. Secondly, when rubber bands do stretch, their lengths and widths are indirectly proportional. However, my width has been completely constant, and has not shrunk at all. Thirdly, I have actually gained weight at a statistically healthy rate directly proportional to my height gain, so there is no need to worry. Thus, I advise you to look into concrete quantitative evidence instead of simply making qualitative judgment from the heavily biased viewpoint of a mother towards her offspring alone. That is all."

Unfortunately, logical reasoning never seems to work with mothers. Or parents in general.

What a pity.

As a sort of apology of his lack of action against his wife's oppressive mothering (or rather, his inability, as Artemis realized after repeated failed attempts to oppose such a strong-willed woman like Angeline), his father had begun his Legilimency practice again. They were now working on speed – to be able to read a person's mind at a quick glance – eye contact for less than a second. Artemis was doing well, but he still needed consistent practice on a mind already well-trained in Occlumency like his father's. So far, he could pick up some smaller memories, but the more well-guarded ones still took time to search for.

Also, Artemis' father had also taken him up on a little bit of wandless magic training. Professor Snape had promised them many years before, but with all of the drama involving someone trying to kill Harry Potter or at least putting him in danger of some sort, they had never got around to that.

It required a lot of concentration and calming of the mind. That was easy.

"Accio wand," he said. His wand came sailing back into his own hand.

Artemis had the concept down in a day, much to his father's awe. He even managed to perform some simpler spells nonverbally as well. Closing the curtains, opening the curtains, levitating a teacup from the top drawer to the table, opening his books…magic would make him so lazy.

"I'm not surprised, Artemis. Your great intellect allows you to pick up magic – especially mental magic – more quickly than most people."

"I know that the Ministry is unable to tell that I'm performing underage magic in our home because they can't differentiate between different Traces," Artemis began carefully. "How do they even track the Trace, anyway?"

"Well," Artemis' father said, completely unaware of his son's manipulative machinations for once, "all wizards are automatically registered in the Ministry files the day they purchase their wands. The Ministry's detection spells are not that advanced, however, which is why they can't distinguish between magical signatures or how old it is. They can only tell where they come from. It's a flawed system, because it basically means that only children that come from non-magical households get punished for underage magic, while the more lenient households who do not enforce that rule can claim that it was the magic of an adult instead."

"I see," Artemis said.

"There's numerous ways to get around that by masking your magical signature, too," Artemis' father continued obliviously. "Wizards over the centuries have invented potions and spells for that purpose, though many of them don't work now because the Ministry hires people to invent stronger trackers to counteract that. There's always ways to doubly counter even those tracking spells, however."

That was probably not the best fact to tell Artemis Fowl II. Luckily, his father did not catch the mischievous grin and the slight darkening of his face for that second, or the metaphorical thunder and lightning that crackled ominously outside.

One month later

He now appreciated his parents for bringing Muggles into their world – wizards, due to their magic, had become complacent, and thus most were relatively out of shape. He would never have learned these things from house-elves. It was evident that he would never be as strong as Butler, but…

Artemis grit his teeth as he keeled over in another fresh wave of pain. Admittedly, this had not been one of his more brilliant ideas. He only felt grateful that Butler had forced him into improving his physical strength the Muggle way, or he would never have survived this – at best, he would have come out with a damaged mind (which was, in his opinion, definitely a fate worse than death.) Under the Cruciatus Curse, he could shut down his own consciousness, but in this case, he had to remain alert.

Simply put, the Ministry automatically kept track of every magical person born. Everyone's magic exuded a unique blueprint, and while Ministry technology was nowhere as sharp as Artemis' computers (hence why they could not detect differences in who cast magic) it could detect magic nonetheless, as well as how old the person was based on the amount of time that certain magic had been in existence. If a strong magical source and a weaker magical source were together, the detectors would attribute whatever magic was cast to the stronger source. Thus, a magical child surrounded by magical parents would have his or her magic attributed to the older wizards (and if the child was somehow the one stronger, the foolish Ministry would think it to be the parents nonetheless). A magical child, on the other hand, would overpower a house-elf or a goblin simply because they were smaller. And all magic could be cancelled out by a powerful set of wards, such as the ones around Hogwarts.

But Artemis couldn't carry around an adult all the time, and even if he could ward himself somehow, it wouldn't help if he was alone. The wards themselves exuded magic, allowing any sort of magical detector to find him, and only if he was in an established magical building could he pass it off as his surroundings. Should he have to hide in a forest somewhere, this method would not help at all.

The solution? Fake or hide his own magical signature. And since faking his magical signature was pretty much suicidal, he would have to go with the second option – which was only slightly less risky and painful.

It had taken Artemis one month. One week to do all the research he needed (which wasn't much; he already had plenty of information on magical signatures following his father's rescue from Russia), and three to engineer a solution. Which was a stretch, even for Artemis. A lot of it had been luck; everything in the Universe was layered with some level of uncertainty and randomness and it just so happened that a lot of the paths Artemis chose at random were correct on the first try.

The potions and spells would coat his body in a permanently reflective layer, so that whatever magic Artemis radiated would automatically rebound back into his body. This was why the process was risky. Wizards naturally had to release magic, or else they would collapse under their own energy. But Artemis had planned for this. He had added a second component to the anti-Trace shields, which would channel that reflected energy to his wand instead of his body. Thus, Artemis could maximize his own magical efficiency without overloading his own core in the process.

(Unfortunately for Artemis, there really was such a thing as being too smart for his own good.)

From the notebooks of I. Emmawor Locke

Magical Signatures

I shall take this opportunity to temporarily diverge from my current train of thought, due to the complexity that it shall take later on. Instead, I shall focus on something quite simpler – the Magical Signature.

Every individual capable of using magic sheds some energy of their own, similar to how all living things radiate body heat. Magical signatures, however, are very clear-cut and easy to distinguish. Whereas infrared radiation is a form of electromagnetic radiation, and radiates similarly no matter where it is, magical energy has the ability to be more varied. To distinguish two different magical energies from one another is as simple as distinguishing a gamma ray from a radio wave, given the proper tools, of course. By now I hope that you have purchased (or, if you are too cheap to buy one yourself, have borrowed or stolen a copy) my Magical Applications textbooks on science, because if you do not know what a gamma ray is, you will be in a world of pain when I make later references.

The magical signature is determined by genetic code, and is unique to the individual. Just like how no two individuals share the same set of fingerprints, even twins, the magical signature can be used to distinguish a wizard, even one that is disguised, either by Polyjuice Potion or some other form of Transfiguration.

That is not to say that a magical signature cannot be faked. I have tried this before, on a simulated body, and with success. However, to fake one's magical signature is an extremely dangerous thing, for it drains the magical core extremely rapidly, and can cause many lethal side effects after extended use. The reason is, repeated changes to the magical signature can eventually create an entirely new magical signature – but residing in the same body. As the two magical energies battle for dominance over one body, the force may be enough to cause extreme physical damage, usually within the brain. To fake one's magical signature repeatedly is akin to exposing oneself to radiation repeatedly in hopes of mutating one's DNA: it will happen, but the mutated cells would more likely cause cancer than changing one's appearance.

The safer route to cheating the magical signature system is to either hide or duplicate one's own magical signature – although this is quite taxing as well. Unlike faking a magical signature, which never went past simulated-body tests, hiding or duplicating a magical signature was not very difficult or damaging, to either a test body or myself. Frankly, I do not feel inclined to demonstrate how doing either of these things would be possible – only that it is, and that I have succeeded in doing both. If you are intelligent enough to figure out how it is done, then I applaud you, and ask for your contact information. Otherwise, you are out of luck. There is only one hint: it does not involve a spell, or incantation, or even a wand at all.

Well, I now see that I have excluded about 99% of the population. Well done. (We are too dependent on our wands, in my opinion…but that's a different paper.)

I find that research into magical signatures would be an extremely profitable investment on the Ministry's part. It would reduce the amount of false-positives in the Trace. For example, one of my…acquaintances, who lived with Muggles, was visited by a house-elf that performed magic in the vicinity. This acquaintance was subsequently blamed for the magic that the house-elf performed. If the Trace also incorporated magical signatures, such things would not be happening.

I would be happy to help the Ministry of Magic rectify this situation. As I enjoy my privacy, negotiations may be discussed through external communications.

Also, perfection of control over magical signatures would make Tracking Charms much more effective. Normally, to find an individual, one would have to catch them first and then place the Tracking Charm. This is only useful in the case of a paroled criminal. But a criminal – or any person, really – that has never been caught with a Tracking Charm can be found as long as one has had a sample of his or her magic. Remnants of a spell performed should easily provide this information. I believe that Hogwarts preserve residual magical signatures for several years before they are dissolved into the structure, and less enchanted buildings hold them for even longer. Muggle houses could potentially preserve this residue for many decades, before it finally escapes into the environment.

There are probably many other uses for the Magical Signature, but I am feeling too selfish to list them at the moment.

An Undisclosed Location

"Interesting," he whispered to himself, examining his hands. They were bony, cold, and skeletal. His fingertips were cold, but nothing could change that; in his youth he had always had cold fingers, whether it was in the summer or the winter. Initially the pixie had offered to return to him a human body, but he had declined. His human body…he had looked like his worthless father. And he would rather resemble a great beast, a great monster, than stoop to that level again. He no longer needed the advantage of a handsome appearance. In his youth, he had been weak, penniless…nothing to prove himself with except for his power, his intelligence, and his appearance. In his youth, he had needed his appearance to win over those who believed they had power over him, because of their wealth and position.

Now, was no more. He no longer needed to cater to their whims. He had his own reputation now. He did not need that Muggle's face, not when he could have his own – a monstrosity, true, but a monstrosity that could strike fear into the hearts of man with a single look. And was that not the purpose of his rule? In his school days he had controlled his fellows with his handsomeness. But now, it was with an even better power – intimidation.

The pixie's magic was certainly strong, though. Strong enough to restore his youth…but that was about the only thing those fairies could do, wasn't it? Healing. Talking in multiple languages. And their hypnosis, their Mesmer…well, was that not just a combination of the Imperius Curse and the Confundus Charm?

And even then they had to constantly recharge their strength, and follow some very inconvenient rules.

Pathetic.

He, however, was not stupid. For all her lack of magical strength, the pixie was incredibly intelligent. He was actually glad, glad that she did not have wizards' magic, because then she would really be a threat. As it was, though, her brain was no match against a well-aimed Avada Kedavra. Her kind may have had an extended lifespan and automatic healing, but in the end, they were mortal, just like anything else.

"I hope you're satisfied," she smirked, deliberately leaving out his title. She knew that she was currently indispensable to him; as meager as her powers were, they were clearly different from wizards' magic. Imagine that. An elfin being not bound to follow a wizard's orders (though bound, nonetheless, to her own people's rules). Her magic would be an easy way around any sort of human wards.

So now they were both stuck. She was stuck as his servant – and he was stuck with her as his servant. If she could be even called that. He had not Marked her; he could not. Her magic, despite being inferior, had protected her from the brand. And now, he would have to watch her carefully – as they dealt with one another directly, she would be as privy to his secrets as he to hers. In the end, all it would come to was who could kill the other first once both of their whims were satisfied.

"For now," he whispered back.

(White pawn to e3.)

Somewhere, Harry Potter woke up with a scream.

A/N: In the words of Ed Byrne, my favorite Irish comedian (sorry Dara): "You can't win an argument with a parent."