DISCLAIMER: I do not own Artemis Fowl, Harry Potter, or Bioshock Infinite. They are owned by Eoin Colfer, J.K. Rowling, and 2K Games (Ken Levine) respectively.
For those who haven't read the prequel and don't wish to, here's a brief summary:
Harry Potter is an eight-year-old street thief in London; after wizards stumble upon his hiding spot, he panics and accidentally apparates to Ireland, specifically the grove where Artemis is lying in wait for an unsuspecting fairy. Artemis is curious about how Harry suddenly appeared at that spot, so he kidnaps both Harry and Holly, who was performing the Fairy Ritual at the grove at the same time. Thanks to a copy of the Book and a hidden alcove in Fowl Manor that activates due to Harry's presence, Artemis discovers crucial information about the fairy and wizarding civilizations and is able to formulate the perfect plan to extort both groups.
Through a series of circumstances, LEP Commander Root and Albus Dumbledore ally with each other while Briar Cudgeon, Lucius Malfoy, and the Ministry of Magic forge their own alliance. The former group is discredited when their hostage negotiations with Artemis fall apart, with Butler knocking out the combined LEP-Order-of-Phoenix task force. The latter group sends in 2 trolls - a fairy one and a wizarding one. Quirinus Quirrell, who is currently hosting Lord Voldemort's spirit, follows the second troll; seeing that both are handily defeated by our heroes, LV possesses one of the fallen trolls and fights Harry. Harry defeats LV and gains vital information on who he is, along with how LV survived all these years.
Harry and Holly escape afterwards, but Artemis cons Cudgeon and the Ministry into sending him the gold. The LEP imposes a time-stop and sends a bio-bomb to wipe out all living things in Fowl Manor; the wizards add a similar set of black wards. Both are touted as being fool-proof, but Artemis circumvents these measures and survives. So, he gets to keep his gold.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore tries and fails to kidnap Harry and return him to the Dursleys. Distrusting wizards but unable to stay with the fairies, Harry runs off to the Irish streets. Holly returns to the LEP. Fortunately, the two stay in contact via a fairy communicator; Harry also managed to transfer the Fowl Manor alcove to his bag before escaping, so he can train himself in magic.
We pick up five years later...
The sun set early in Knockturn Alley, and Edwin Burke was closing the shop after yet another prosperous day. Ever since the Potter-Fowl crisis five years ago, business had been booming as even the neutral Pureblood families had begun arming themselves with dark artifacts out of the fear of a pending Muggle invasion. After all, if Harry Potter himself had been kidnapped by the Muggles, who was to say that their precious children, the heirs to their legacies and fortunes, would not be next? Even now, they only had Dumbledore's assurance that the boy was alive and free of Fowl's grasp.
Fowl had successfully become the bogeyman in purebloods' Muggle-horror-stories. "Eat your broccoli, Daphne, or Fowl and his man-mountain will lock you up in the dungeon." "Draco, hold still while I pin these robes, or I swear that I will sell you to Fowl! You know what those Muggles would do to children like you - they would bleed you dry in order to steal your magic." "If you perform underage magic, Fowl will come to your house at night and snatch you from your bed!"
The recession and Goblin rebellion following Fowl's successful extortion scheme had further intensified the paranoia and resentment in pureblood circles. Neutral families such as the Greengrasses had actually joined the Malfoys and other "former" Death Eaters in Muggle-baiting and Muggle-hunting. After eight years of steady decline, the number of attacks on Muggles was once again rising sharply.
The Light tried pinning the blame on Fowl and the Irish alone. They averred that the Irish magical and mundane governments were to blame for hindering the British government's efforts to bring Fowl to justice. They asserted that it was important to blame the right individual for the entire mess; after all, the British Muggles had nothing to do with this situation. But a majority of British wizards could not get past the fact that a mere Muggle - someone who was supposed to be weaker and lower than them - had bested their government, had beaten THEM. Their wounded ego did not allow them to see reason. So, ironically, the Light was actually at an even lower point currently than it had ever been during Voldemort's reign of terror.
But Burke did not care about any of that. As far as Burke was concerned, only profits mattered, and gold was flowing into his pockets as never before. 'At this rate, I can settle down and hand this business off to my nephew in another two years. Merlin knows I've handled this store long enough.'
He was shaken from his musings when the door bell chimed, and a female figure entered the shop.
"Welcome to Borgin & Burke's. Shop's closing - unless, of course, you can give me a good reason to keep it open a bit longer," Burke said pompously.
"I'll need proof that you're a wizard as well - and not one of those Mudbloods either, since my fine establishment can't be seen hosting their kind."
The figure stepped out of the shadows, and Burke was struck by her blue eyes. Burke had only met the Dark Lord himself one time, but he still remembered the way that his red, slitted eyes had a way of staring straight through you and discovering your deepest, darkest secrets, your worst fears. He remembered how even as the Dark Lord thoroughly dissected you, you had no way of escaping that stare - there was something magnetic about it.
This lady's blue eyes had a much stronger effect. Had Burke been a religious man, he would have compared it to being in front of St. Peter in front of the gates of heaven. Those eyes laid his soul bare, and Burke could feel them judging his merits and sins. And Burke, the amoral business-man that he was and had been for his whole life, felt that they found him wanting.
After a seemingly interminable moment, the eyes blinked and looked away, and Burke found that he was able to breathe once again. He took a good look at the lady's face - a young, beautiful lass, probably no older than sixteen. Yet those eyes just did not belong on such a youthful face; from those eyes, he had been expecting someone ancient.
The lady walked towards his shop counter sensuously. Burke's eyes raked over her figure lasciviously, and he unconsciously licked his lips. A trace of disdain flashed through the all-knowing blue eyes.
"Wand, please?" he reiterated.
The woman casually flicked her left arm, and a black wand appeared. She held it up to Burke to inspect.
'Smart girl - knows not to let go of her weapon. That's proper pureblood breeding right there.'
Burke made a show of inspecting the wand; in reality, the woman had already passed his test simply by possessing a wand holster and holding onto her wand during the inspection. Half-bloods and Mudbloods would have removed their wand from their back pant pockets and given it up to him without a second thought. 'Fools.'
"Well, that seems to be in order, miss. How can I help a fine lady such as yourself today?"
The woman cleared her throat and responded, "Yes. You are well-known for collecting rare, powerful artifacts, such as the Hand of Glory. I am partial to jewelry myself, so what do you have in the way of ornaments?"
Burke smiled wolfishly. "Ah, yes, you've come to the right place. We have all manners of...special...jewelry. For example, if I could direct your attention to this wonderful necklace..."
And so, for the next half-hour or so, Burke displayed his vast collection of cursed jewelry to the lady, starting with a necklace that strangled its wearers and culminating with a bottle that could poison any fluids placed into it. Throughout the tour, the lady remained impassive, even when Burke detailed the myriads of horrific ways in which some of the products could kill their owners. 'Definitely has the stomach for it - probably a jilted lover, looking to off her ex. Man was an idiot for giving up someone as ruthless and good-looking as this.'
"This is all well and good, Mr. Burke. But do you happen to have a golden locket, purportedly created by Salazar Slytherin himself?"
Burke froze at that and looked at the lady suspiciously. "As a matter of fact, I used to. Got it off a tramp at a basement price, but it got stolen decades ago. Most valuable piece in my collection too. Where did you hear about it?"
"The 'where' is inconsequential. All that matters is whether or not you still have it in your possession. If not, then can you tell me about when it disappeared - who was working for you, who visited the shop that day, etc.?"
"Listen, madam, I am not responsible if I somehow lost your property. Obviously, you didn't guard it well enough; I didn't know that it was yours, and you're not liable for reimbursement."
The lady brushed off his concerns. "You misunderstand, Mr. Burke. I want to HELP you recover it, so long as we can split the profits. It was...a family heirloom of inestimable value, but now that it has been sullied by others' hands, I simply want to extract as much value as possible."
She paused. "Especially given the economic crises that we've been facing recently."
'Once again, thank you Fowl,' Burke thought.
"How much would you say that this locket would be worth?" Burke asked casually.
"Enough to make Fowl's ransom seem like pocket change."
Burke's greedy eyes lit up, and he scrambled his brain, trying to remember everything he could about the day on which the locket disappeared.
"T'was a busy day - busier than usual. The Wizengamot was debating a series of Muggle-protection acts, and our customers were antsy to buy as much soon-to-be-contraband as possible before they got passed. Back in those days, the worst that the Dark families had to fear was that the government would crack down on imported dark artifacts and that Mudbloods would take over the government. None of this Fowl and Muggle-invasion nonsense."
He continued, "I remember that even around noon, the locket was still in my glass cabinet, in its place of honor. I'd placed all sorts of charms and wards around it - the withering curse, blood-boiling curse, and so on. To further stymie thieves, I had three duplicates of that entire cabinet, locket and all, nearby. I mean, we are talking about a locket created by Salazar Slytherin himself!"
"In the evening, something odd happened - one of the perimeter wards triggered, and I rushed to the main cabinet. No one was there, and the locket seemed fine. But at closing time, the cabinet was smashed, and the locket was gone."
The lady closed her eyes in thought. After a few moments, she asked, "Were there any insects in the area?"
Burke looked at her bemusedly. "Why would that -"
"Please answer the question, Mr. Burke. It could be vital to figuring out how your locket was stolen."
"Yeah, a dead cockroach, nothing more. I had my assistant, Riddle clean it up immediately. Can't give customers a bad impression after all."
"Wait, your assistant was Tom Riddle?" the woman interrupted sharply but knowingly; it was almost as though she was confirming a suspicion.
"Yes. How do you -"
"Did your wards guard against animagi by any chance?"
"Of course they did! Anyway, I'm pretty sure that I would have seen a bloody dog or moose barrel through the front door and smash the cabinet."
"How about cockroaches?"
Burke paled. Of course! He had never considered the possibility of an insect animagus. "So, you're saying that the dead cockroach was..."
"An insect animagus. And a mere distraction - the perpetrator knew that you would rush to the right cabinet and true article in the event of a breach."
"And Tom helped me reinforce those wards - I turned to him because he was bloody brilliant at warding and well, everything," Burke whispered, his face ashen.
"Precisely." The woman's lips curved upwards.
Burke pounded on his sales desk furiously. "The bloody, no-good Mudblood! I gave him a job. I -"
"Now, now, Mr. Burke," the woman said condescendingly. "I'm sure that Lord Voldemort would most displeased were to hear you speak so poorly of him."
Burke flinched at the name. "The Dark Lord? What does he have to do with Riddle?"
"Everything. Your bloody 'Dark Lord', the so-called champion of the pure-bloods, is an arrant hypocrite. Lord Voldemort is clearly an anagram of 'Tom Marvolo Riddle'. Obviously, you wizards don't have the brain-cells to recognize such a childish play of words."
Burke bristled. He'd been mistaken - even if this woman was a pure-blood, she was one of those bloody Light-siders. "That's it - get out of my shop. We don't serve your kind here," he sneered.
The woman merely stared at him coolly.
Burke pulled out his wand. "Get out of my shop, yer tramp. I don't know what your game is, but I will curse the daylights out of you if you don't leave."
Burke was starting to feel afraid. Back in the day, he had built a reputation as an accomplished duelist; it was a part of the reason that even his darkest customers dared not attack him. His reputation had also been a great stimulant for the business as dark-siders throughout Europe clamored to buy products from the Terminator.
It was possible that this woman was just ignorant. Those all-knowing blue eyes belied that possibility.
'A Cruciatus should get her scampering out here. Or maybe an Imperio - I could have fun with her,' he thought spitefully.
But before he could lift his arm to begin the necessary spell movements, Burke heard the loud sound of a - what were those Muggle things? brills, krills? no, drills - revving on behind him.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Burke. You should have picked your acquaintances and business partners more carefully," the woman said coldly, blue eyes weighing him mercilessly.
Burke screamed as a drill burrowed straight through his chest, just below his heart. As a haze of pain filled his head, he heard a loud roar, and his body was picked up and flung into the air. He crashed into the pile of jewelry that he had been showing to the woman.
Gasping and struggling to get up despite the massive blood loss - there was frigging hole in his chest -, he froze in horror at the sight before him.
A green glowing-helmeted...thing...stood before him, with a bloody drill in one hand and a gun in the other.
"Mr. Bubbles, would you kindly dispose of this refuse?"
With mounting horror, Burke watched the thing lumber towards him. It let out load moans as it came to a stop before his broken body. For a moment, Burke dared to hope that those moans signified remorse or reluctance.
His hopes were promptly dashed as the thing's green lights changed to red, and it roared.
The last thing that Burke saw in this world was a Muggle drill crashing down on his head and burrowing through his skull full-force.
Elizabeth watched the entire process dispassionately. She watched the Big Daddy completely eviscerate Burke beyond recognition, throwing different parts of his body around the room. She watched the Big Daddy let loose a victorious roar afterwards. She watched it calm down and stroll back towards the tear, which lead back to Rapture. Back to where its Little Sisters were.
She picked up Burke's wand from the spot that he had dropped it when the Big Daddy had launched its surprise attack.
"Good riddance, Fink."