Prologue

“I Know what that is! That’s an invisibility cloak,” Ron exclaimed. “They’re
really rare.”

The fabric of the garment was unlike anything Harry had ever felt. It was
almost fluid-like, and cool to the touch.

He shuddered as he wrapped it around himself and checked his reflection in

the mirror.

All that he could see was his own floating head and surprised expression. Even
when he turned, there was no indication that the rest of his body was there.

Reaching for the hood, he pulled it up, concealing himself entirely.

‘Peverell,’ a voice seemingly whispered in his mind and Harry froze.

He was glad that Ron could not see his reaction as he shuddered when the cold
of the fabric ran down his spine.

When did it become so cold?

“Harry?” Ron called.

Harry remained still as he listened for the voice once more, certain that he had
not simply imagined it.

It reminded him of the snake he had conversed with in the zoo, though this
time, he could not see what it was that had spoken to him.

It had not been a voice that whispered the same way any other would. No, this
had clearly occurred in his mind, and that was somehow more alarming to the
boy.

“Harry, where did you go?”

From within the cloak, Harry shook his head, deciding that he must have
imagined.

However, if that was true, why did he so vividly remember the word Peverell.
What did it even mean?
“I’m here,” Harry assured his friend, forcing a smile as he removed the cloak
and placed it on the bed.

Ron returned the gesture and offered his box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavoured
Beans.

“I’d be careful with the red ones,” he warned as Harry took a red one to
sample. “It could be strawberry, or it might even be blood.”

Harry grimaced as he bit into the confection and an unpleasant taste filled his
mouth.

“Blood,” he confirmed, eliciting a look of sympathy from Ron.

Not one to waste food, Harry finished the sweet but refused when Ron offered
him another.

“You have more presents to open,” the redhead pointed out.

Harry eyed the humble pile of gifts, not knowing what to think or how to react.

He’d never really received presents before, and the experience was proving to
be quite overwhelming.

“I think that one is from my Mum,” Ron murmured, his ears turning red as
Harry unwrapped a burgundy jumper with a large ‘H’ knitted in the front.
“Sorry, she makes all of us one every year.”

“It’s brilliant,” Harry replied with a bright smile.

It was.

To think that someone had gone to the effort to make this especially for him
was warming, and he doubted that Ron understood just how much receiving
the jumper meant to him.

Harry had often wondered what his mother had enjoyed. Would she have
made him jumpers like this?

Tentatively, Harry removed his pyjama shirt before putting on the garment and
revelling in the softness of the wool Mrs Weasley had used.
He’d never had new clothes for himself, so being able to enjoy something that
Dudley had not worn out was a first for him.

Harry found that he enjoyed it more than he could have anticipated.

“I think they’re from Mum too,” Ron groaned as Harry unwrapped a tin
depicting a creature he was unfamiliar with flying through the night sky.

Within, he found a selection of homemade biscuits.

Not wasting a moment, he took a piece of shortbread and bit into it, the
sweetness a rather rare concept for him growing up.

“It’s great,” he assured his friend sincerely. “Your Mum didn’t have to do any
of this.”

Ron simply shrugged in response, though he was undeniably happy that Harry
was pleased with his gifts.

“She’s like that,” he replied. “It makes me miss home. Mum is a brilliant cook.”

That was a sentiment that Harry did not understand.

No amount of time could pass that it would be too soon that he had to see the
Dursleys again. It was him that had done the cooking for them for much of his
life, and he wondered who would be doing that and all the housework in his
absence?

Not Dudley.

His cousin only ever ate food and would likely starve before managing to
prepare a meal for himself.

For him, it took a monumental effort to heave his mass from the couch, let
alone do anything else that required physical labour.

Harry smirked at the very thought of the obese boy sweating in the hot sun as
he pulled weeds from the flowerbed.

“Do you fancy a game of chess?” Ron asked eagerly, pulling him from his
thoughts.

Harry wasn’t very good at chess, but he nodded.

Packing away his presents and finishing getting dressed, the two of them
headed to the common room, finding it strange that it was so empty.

Fred, George, and Percy were somewhere in Hogwarts, but the less Harry
knew what the twins were up to, the better. They had a habit of being places
they shouldn’t and causing trouble wherever they found themselves.

Percy Weasley couldn’t be more different.

He was a stickler for the rules and spent much of his time chasing his younger
siblings around the castle, trying to ensure they behaved.

It was something he failed miserably at, much to the delight of Ron.

Harry didn’t believe he hated Percy, but even Harry found him to be quite
overbearing at times.

“You win again,” he snorted a few hours after they had settled in by the fire.

“You’re getting better,” Ron replied encouragingly.

“Yeah right,” Harry chuckled as he began setting up his pieces once more.

“It’s lunch time!” Ron declared; his statement followed by a deep growling that
emanated from his stomach. “Shut up, Harry,” he grumbled when Harry
laughed.

“Come on, let’s get food.”

Ron all but sprinted back to the dormitory to return his chest set before the
two of them made their way to the Great Hall where they were greeted by
Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and several other teachers
Harry did not yet know.

Fred, George, and Percy were there too, along with a few other students that
had not gone home for the holidays.

“I trust you have all enjoyed your mornings,” Dumbledore greeted those
gathered around the table.

The response he received was lukewarm at best.

Harry supposed that around this time, most of the students that were here
would usually be sitting down with their own families to enjoy a festive meal.
Instead, they would be making do with the company of the professors that
taught them, and others they did not know very well.

Even the Ron’s spirits had fallen somewhat, but for Harry, this was
undoubtedly the best Christmas he’d had, that he remembered.

Up until this morning, he’d never received any gifts of any note, and had to be
satisfied by picking at the paltry leftovers of the Dursley’s dinner after Dudley
and Vernon had all but ravaged the food that Harry had mostly prepared.

It had been slim pickings, and he remembered once picking at a turkey carcass
to sate his hunger.

Harry shook his head of that thought.

It only served to remind him that he did not have any that he considered
family, and that he was here now where the spread laid out before him was
enough to feed everyone gathered several times over.

Despite the mood of the other students who would rather be at home, there
was nowhere else Harry would rather be than at Hogwarts. The only exception
to this would be if his parents were still alive, but once more, he moved on
from those thoughts quickly.

He had learned long ago that yearning for them would serve him no purpose.
He still thought of them often and wondered what kind of people James and
Lily Potter were.

Thanks to Hagrid, he now at least had photos of them that he could look upon
fondly, but that was all they ever would be; a few photos, and the pleading of
his mother that plagued his dreams.

“Would you like some more turkey, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“No thank you, Professor,” he replied.

He was full.

It was an odd sensation and one Harry was sure he would never get used to.
“How about a snowball fight?” Fred or George offered.

Harry had yet to figure out the differences between the boys. Even Ron could
not tell one brother from the other.

“Come on, Harry,” Ron urged excitedly.

Harry grinned at the redhead’s infectious smile and nodded.

“Come on, Higgins, you too,” one of the twins instructed as the two of them
hoisted the only boy present trimmed in robes of green and silver. “It’s
Christmas. Even you must like Christmas.”

Higgins scowled, but he did not protest as he was marched from the Great Hall
with Harry trailing behind them anticipating his first every snowball fight.

(Break)

“I have never seen a student so pleased to be here for the holidays,” Minerva
commented, pulling Albus from his thoughts.

“Indeed,” the headmaster sighed wistfully.

Minerva offered him a pointed look.

“I warned you, Albus. The day we left him with the muggles. He is such an
unhappy boy.”

“But he is safe,” Albus returned. “There are still those that would wish harm
upon him, and I would see that he does not follow James and Lily.”

“Do you truly believe he is in danger?”

“More than you could know,” Albus murmured sadly. “Harry will need to be
strong. I fear I cannot protect him forever.”

“Protect him from what?” Minerva pressed.

“Many things,” Albus answered cryptically as he stood and took his leave of
the Great Hall.
Minerva was never one to simply allow him to walk away from a conversation,
and she followed, catching up to him as he reached the staircase in the
Entrance Hall.

“Many things, as you so eloquently put it, is vague, Albus,” she whispered.

Albus offered the woman a slight bow.

“Right now, everything that concerns Harry is rather vague,” he replied

thoughtfully, the words spoken to him by Sybil Trelawney a decade ago playing
over in his mind.

Tom was out there somewhere.

How? Albus did not know, but he had no doubt the man yet lived and was
simply biding his time before he returned.

Harry would be his prime target, but until he reached his majority, the boy
would be safe.

Such a thought offered Albus little comfort, and he hoped beyond hope that it
would be many years before Britain would hear from Tom Riddle again.

Harry would need to be ready.

For now, Albus was watching him closely.

Thus far, he had proven to be a quiet boy, one he had not endured an easy life,
but seemingly kind and as courageous as his father before him who had stood
between his wife and son and one of the most dangerous men in recent
memory.

Harry had done the same for Miss Granger, proving that he was already of
exceptional character.

Returning the cloak to him at his young age was something Albus had
considered carefully, but by right, it was his, and the only thing he had that had
belonged to the Potters.

Despite it being what it was, the only place it belonged was with Harry.
Albus had studied the cloak closely, and though he had no doubt it was indeed
the very same one spoken of in The Tale of the Three Brothers, it had yielded
nothing to him.

For the most part, it appeared to be nothing more than a powerful invisibility
cloak that would retain its magic, but Albus could almost feel something else
lurking beneath the surface, and yet, he could not access it.

He frowned at the thought.

Possessing the Hallows had once been a dream of his, but it seemed that it was
not meant to be.

The Elder Wand certainly boosted some of the spells he wielded, but it too had
not yielded spectacular results for him.

As with the cloak, it appeared there was more to it, but the wand showed no
signs of loyalty to him as his own did. There was no connection, no bond.

The wand did as it was bid and did so quite superbly, but for Albus, it was
mostly just another wand.

He hummed to himself as he pondered it, eliciting a questioning look from

Minerva.

“Have you heard a single word I have said?” she questioned exasperatedly.

“I’m afraid I drifted off,” Albus chuckled.

Minerva’s lips thinned in irritation.

“I asked if you thought that it would best that Potter remains here instead of
returning to those ghastly relatives?”

It was something Albus had considered, and he shook his head.

“I do not,” he answered. “There are strong protections in place at Privet Drive,

and it would be foolish to not take advantage of them.”

“It cannot be safer than here,” Minerva huffed.

In truth, the protections around the Dursley home was as infallible as they
came.
The blood protections would keep Harry free from any wizard who wished him
harm, and not even Tom could get to him there until Harry reached his
majority and they collapsed.

Hogwarts was indeed an exceptional building, but it had its vulnerabilities.

In the many decades Albus had been here, dozens of students had found ways
in and out of the castle without being detected, and Tom likely knew the castle
better than any.

No, it would not do for Harry to remain here indefinitely.

As unpleasant as his life could often be, it would serve him well in the years to
come.

Tough times created tough men, and if there was any that needed to be
resilient in the future, much to Albus’s sadness, it was Harry Potter.

(Break)

For several hours they had played in the snow, and Higgins, who had been
placed on a team with Harry and Ron, showed them a spell to make the perfect
snowballs to pelt at the twins’ fortified position.

It had been the most fun Harry had ever had, and he wasn’t ready for it to end.
But with their fingers numb and the sun having gone down, the battle could no
longer continue.

They had headed back to the castle where they had been given hot chocolate
to warm themselves up before returning to their common rooms.

It was late now, and having showered, Harry was ready to turn in for the night.

Ron was already sleeping loudly when Harry climbed into bed, frowning as his
fingers brushed against the cloak he had placed under the pillow.

It was still cold, though very different from the chill of the snow.

The cloak was almost comforting, the coolness seemingly seeping into his very
being.

‘Feed me.’
Harry froze as the gravelly, weakened voice sounded in his mind.

He had thought he had imagined it earlier from the excitement of his first real
Christmas, but there was no mistaking it this time.

‘Peverell.’

There it was again.

Harry did not know who or what a Peverell was but the cloak was asking him
for something.

“Blood,” he murmured.

He did not know how the answer had come to him. It was as though he simply
knew what the cloak wanted from him, and tentatively, and perhaps foolishly,
he picked at the small wound on his knuckle that had come courtesy of one of
his own exploding chess pieces earlier this morning.

Harry watched in fascination as the drop of blood fell onto the cloak, and the
redness of the viscous fluid spread throughout the garment, staining the entire
thing before it vanished.

Able only to release a gasp, he pushed himself away from the cloak as it threw
itself over him of its own will.

Once more, the coldness washed over him, but this time, he felt his mind being
pulled into a void, and despite his best efforts, he could not prevent it from
happening.

When his vison cleared a moment later, his mind was awash with an array of
thoughts he did not understand.

His own were there, but they were jumbled with those of another that also
seemed to belong to him.

Harry had seemingly found himself occupying the mind of someone else.

Fear gripped him as he wondered if the person knew, but the thoughts that
were not Harry’s own continued without faltering, none of which showed any
awareness he was there.
Harry blinked.

Everything around him was in a grey hue, or he merely couldn’t see colour
anymore.

Two men were looking at him oddly, and if Harry was honest with himself,
there was a part of him that was terrified.

Both were deathly pale, their eyes hardened, and skin marred with a litany of
scars shaped into strange symbols.

Harry recognised the men and their markings, though he had no recollection of
them himself. It was the third man he found himself within that knew them;
the men his brothers and the symbols a runic language few even knew existed.

He had created the runes, and as Harry took each of them in, he was surprised
by the meaning behind them.

Death…Summoning…Sacrifice…Servants…Master…Blood…Magic…Pledge…
Chosen…

The list went on.

In the mind he shared, he knew what the intent behind the symbols were, but
his own thoughts could barely comprehend anything he had seen.

“You seem troubled, brother,” one of the others spoke, frowning in Harry’s
direction.

“It is a fool’s errand, Antioch,” Harry replied. “You know as well as I that such
things should not be meddled with.”

“But it will work?” the third brother questioned.

Harry’s gaze shifted down to a large piece of parchment that was adorned with
more symbols comprised of several different languages he had never seen but
could read effortlessly.

Well, the man whose mind he was in could.

“It will, Cadmus, but at what cost?”

“You take your own findings to closely to your heart, Ignotus,” Antioch
chuckled. “We must have faith that Fate has a plan for us.”

“Even Fate would not provoke Death like this,” Harry murmured worriedly.

“And if we do not?” Cadmus pressed. “Our lands are plagued by war, famine,
and disease. We are already dead if we do nothing.”

“Then why should we not just perish?” Harry fired back. “I would sooner wait
for Death than bring him to me. This magic, it will be a curse upon our line, I
can feel it.”

“Our line will cease to exist if we do nothing!” Antioch said hotly.

He always had been the more brash of the three.

Ignotus liked to think of himself as the thoughtful, measured brother, the one
who brought wisdom to their various undertakings.

Antioch was a man of action and thought little of the consequences until they
were upon him. Nonetheless, he was courageous, chivalrous, and talented in
combat.

He’d had endless amounts of practice of it throughout his life, after all.

Cadmus was as cunning and ambitious as any could hope to be. Even if he was
prone to bouts of melancholy since he had lost his beloved intended a few
years prior.

Despite this, he possessed an incomparable, strategic mind that had saved

their lives through countless times of need over the years.

Ignotus was the final piece of the puzzle.

He was the scholar amongst them, the quieter brother who observed, learned,
and thrived in his own way.

Were it not for him and his particular set of skills, they would not be where
they were now, on the cusp of undertaking their most dangerous venture yet.

“You are right,” Harry conceded with a sigh. “I will begin the preparations, and
then perhaps we may see an end to our foes, and a chance to live. Our prayers
to Fate and every conceivable deity have yielded only more suffering. We can
only hope that the Reaver will hear our pleas. Now, leave me. I have much
work to do.”

The other brothers did so, and Harry checked over the notes on the parchment
once more, murmuring under his breath to confirm each symbol was correct
for a final time.

When he was confident no mistakes had been made, he stood, rolled up the
etchings and made his way outside.

Drawing his wand, he murmured a spell that cleared the courtyard he found
himself in of all debris, and he set to work on the painstakingly long process of
carving the symbols into the concrete.

Harry could not be certain how much time had passed, but when he looked up
after completing the final rune, the sun had risen and had reached its peak for
the day.

That was when he noticed where he was.

It was a church that loomed over him, not the largest he had ever seen, but
still a foreboding place.

Godric’s Hollow

Godric?

Could it be that the sign hanging on the arched door of the church referred to
Godric Gryffindor?

Hermione had told Harry the story of the four founders when she had been
perusing a copy of Hogwarts: A History shortly after Halloween.

How common a name was Godric anyway?

Harry didn’t know, but it was not something he was free to ponder for long as
he made his way back inside the church and waited for Antioch and Cadmus to
return.
He must have dozed off because only what seemed to be a moment later, he
was violently shaken awake by the two men, and the sun was no longer visible
through the window.

It was night-time once more.

“Have you finished?” Antioch demanded excitedly.

Harry nodded in response, yawning as he gestured for the two men to follow
him.

When they reached the courtyard, they inspected his work, the runes glowing
in the moonlight.

“Incredible,” Cadmus whispered. “You have certainly outdone yourself this

time, brother.”

Harry nodded tiredly as he admired his own work.

He had no doubt that his own hands could not have created such intricate
symbols so precisely in the concrete.

“So, this is it then?” Antioch asked.

He had suddenly become uncharacteristically nervous as the magnitude of

what they were going to attempt set in.

They had worked tirelessly for years on this, and the efforts had led them to
this moment.

The Peverells were looked upon as protectors of these lands, and thus far,
throughout the generations, the family had managed to fend off attempted
invasions, disease, and war.

Now, the entirety of Britain was plagued with all three in both the muggle and
magical world.

Something needed to be done to rid their island of them, and this was the
Peverell’s last resort and final stand to restore the much-needed order.

“It does not have to be this way,” Harry replied.

“What other choice do we have?” Cadmus questioned.

“There is none,” Antioch said resolutely. “If we wish to cleanse our world, it is a
step we must take. Tonight, we place our lives and those of the people we
watch over in the hands of the Reaver. No price shall be too high and no task
insurmountable. Fate and those we called upon have abandoned us, brothers.
It is to the great other we must turn.”

The words were ominous, and already, Harry could feel a shift in the air around
him.

It had grown suddenly colder, and yet, there was no wind to account for it.

It was magic he could feel brushing against his skin, seemingly probing at him
as though it was testing his very soul.

Despite this, he found himself nodding his agreement, albeit tentatively.

“When there is no longer light to show the way, a darker shadow shall come to
play,” he whispered, removing a circular pendant from within his rough spun
robes.

It depicted both the moon and sun, and Harry felt a wave of fondness wash
over him as he simply stared at it for a moment before tucking it back against
his chest.

“Let’s be done with this before we lose our nerve,” Antioch urged as the
temperature dropped once more. “Do you have all we need?”

Again, Harry nodded as he began removing various items from within his
robes, enlarging them and handing a few to each of the other brothers.

A tiny phial with a few drops of clear liquid within and a knife made of bone
and carved with runes were included with the most important of the three.

“You are certain this will work?” Cadmus asked as he eyed the purple orb
curiously.

“It will,” Harry assured him as he looked at his own.

It was made of a roughly cut gem of sorts, and just like the skin of the two
men, odd symbols had been etched into it.
“Then it is a good thing that I trust you with my life, brother,” Cadmus replied
with a nod.

Harry felt a grin tug at his lips before he moved each brother to where they
needed to stand in the array of symbols.

“Are you ready?” he asked nervously.

Both men nodded, likely unable to speak from the nervousness they felt.

Clearing his throat as he made his way to where he needed to be, he gave each
of them a tight nod and raised his knife, taking a calming breath as he did so.

With a nod, all three cut deeply into their palms and placed the phials against
the wound before Harry drew his wand.

Pointing it towards the sky, he centred himself; not an easy feat when his
blood was being spilled so freely.

“Tonight, we call upon the Reaver, to plead for his assistance in ridding us of
our plights. We stand as your faithful servants and pay the price with our blood
and souls. We bow to your wisdom and only ask that you bestow your
guidance and blessing upon so that tomorrow may be brighter. Do you hear
our plea?”

At first, nothing happened, but the more his vision began to swim, the colder it
grew.

Although Harry understood the words that had past his lips, they were spoken
in another language that was unfamiliar to him. Ignotus evidently knew it well,
and just as Harry began to believe that the three brothers would perish,
another wave of cold washed over him, spurring him on to continue.

“You hear are plea, and we place yourselves at your mercy.”

Gesturing for Antioch and Cadmus to follow his example, he began murmuring
an incantation as he pointed his wand at the purple orb.

Another disturbance, this one feeling very wrong.

It was as though something vile, against nature itself was trying to invade
Ignotus’s body, and Harry felt sick as its presence overwhelmed him.
This magic, he did not understand, nor did he wish to.

It felt unclean, as though it did not belong amongst them.

Even after the incantation was finished and the purple orbs glowed eerily, the
festering magic remained within Ignotus who was struggling to remain
conscious now.

“Now is the time brothers. On my count.”

Antioch and Cadmus nodded as they gripped their wands tightly, both having
turned a shade of pale that should not be possible for any living person.

“One…Two…Three… Avada Kedavra!”

Each brother had pointed their wands at the other to their right, but Harry was
no longer focused on his surroundings nor the odd limbo he found himself in.

Those words and flash of sickly green light brought back the nightmares he had
always suffered from.

The only thing missing had been the mocking laughter that had followed, and
the sound of his mother’s lifeless body thudding to the floor.

It was the very same spell that had been used to murder Lily Potter, and as
Harry found himself staring at three ghostly figures, the realisation of what had
happened set in.

The three brothers had killed each other, yet they somehow remained here,
well, an essence of them did at the very least.

Their bodies were where they had collapsed amongst the glowing runes that
were carved into the concrete around them; the runes in the purple orbs and
carved into their flesh having begun to glow too.

Harry could not begin to comprehend what had happened, nor what the
intention was, but he was pleased to no longer be occupying Ignotus’s mind. It
had been an odd experience and one he did not wish to repeat.

Before he could ponder the development, however, another figure entered the
courtyard of the church, the cold that followed leaving Harry feeling like he
would never be warm again.
Whatever it was beneath the cloak that hid it from view was something Harry
knew he should not be seeing.

The figure paused as it reached the glowing runes in the concrete, its gaze
sweeping over them before it looked up at the kneeling brothers, tilting its
head curiously.

“Fools,” it murmured, the voice sending a shiver through Harry. “You have
interfered with things that you cannot hope to understand.”

“We have not done so lightly,” Ignotus spoke, his voice faltering in the
presence of this being. “We called upon you when no other would answer our
prayers. We our fools, but fools that only wish to see our people safe, our
lands free of invaders, and the disease gone with them.”

“Noble fools then,” the figure conceded. “You have nothing to offer me that I
will not claim from you for myself. Even your trinkets cannot protect your souls
from me forever.”

“It is not our intention to avoid the inevitable. This is a measure to ensure that
we are not taken before our time.”

“It is I that decides your time!” the figure returned sharply. “Only death can
summon me, and yet, you have managed to trick me, for now. Speak. What is
it you ask of me?”

“Just help,” Ignotus replied simply. “You must see what has become of our
lands.”

“As Fate has decreed,” the figure pointed out. “it is not my place to interfere,
even if I was inclined…”

The figure stopped speaking and fell silent for several moments whilst it looked
towards the sky.

Harry did not have the slightest clue as to what was happening, but it nodded
to itself sometime later before looking at each of the brothers in turn.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon.”

“What does that mean?” Antioch demanded.

“It means that I have had a change of heart,” the figure replied almost
mockingly. “It appears that Fate does have a use for you, after all. You have
your part to play, as will your descendants.”

“Our descendants?” Cadmus pressed.

Harry got the impression that the figure was smiling beneath its hood.

“You will be long dead before Fate will have need of them,” it said dismissively.
“Having tricked me so cleverly, you are each to be granted a gift of your
choosing.”

“What is the catch?” Ignotus asked.

The figure unleashed a bark of laughter.

“You are indeed wise,” it praised. “My gifts come at a price, but that price
depends on what it is you will choose. You may benefit from them temporarily,
but I will claim your souls the moment the opportunity presents itself.”

“That’s it?” Antioch snorted. “You will claim our souls? We all know that we
will one day die.”

“Indeed, but what remains of your life will not continue as you know it,” the
figure warned. “You will have my assistance, but in return, you will pledge
yourself to me. You will serve my purposes if called upon, and your
descendants will be beholden to Fate. Choose your gifts wisely, for they may
be yours now, but the survival of your very blood may well depend on them.”

“Then I want a wand,” Antioch demanded. “A wand more powerful than any
other in existence.”

“Very well,” the figure replied as it summoned a branch from a nearby elder
tree and shaped it into what Antioch had requested. Removing something
within its robes, the newly crafted wand glowed a brilliant green as the two
were combined.

“NO!” Ignotus despaired. “You fool, Antioch!”

The other brother said nothing as he looked upon the wand greedily, though
he frowned.
“I feel nothing from..”

He screamed as he collapsed to the ground, and the cloaked figure laughed

once more as Antioch writhed for several moments before falling still.

“Now, you choose,” the figure instructed Cadmus.

The man shook his head.

“Do you not believe for one moment that you have any say in this!” the figure
hissed. “Choose!”

Cadmus looked as though he wished to be anywhere else but where he found

himself.

The figure, however, would not relent and simply waited for the man to
respond.

It took several moments of defiant silence before Cadmus shot a look at his
trembling sibling and swallowed deeply. Knowing there was no other option
available to him, he deflated.

“I want something that will allow me to bring back the dead.”

Although he had been cowed, he could not hide the slight hint of smugness he
made his request with.

Even the figure seemed to be taken aback by the request before it nodded and
conjured a small, black stone from thin air.

“It is yours, take it,” it commanded.

With a trembling hand, Cadmus did so and the was only a brief delay until he
screamed the same way Antioch had.

He collapsed to the ground in a heap and the figure looked on in satisfaction.

“Now, it is your turn,” it declared, turning towards Ignotus.

Ignotus wore a thoughtful yet concerned expression.

He had witnessed what had happened to his brothers and was in no doubt that
he would be subjected to the same trauma no matter what he chose.
With a nod to himself, he exhaled.

“I wish to have a way to remain undetected,” he decided. “I want to be able to

hide from anything, including you. I have no doubt that these gifts are tainted
in some form, and that you will have used all the cunning you possess to
punish us through them. I want nothing more than to be able to hide from you
until it is time that we meet again.”

His request was met with silence before the figure burst out in a fit of raspy
laughter.

“You are a wise man,” it eventually replied. “For a mortal, your work is
impressive and you have quite the keen mind. There is only one thing that will
serve your request.”

With that, the figure tore away a large part of its own cloak and threw it
towards Ignotus.

Harry balked as he recognised the silvery, fluid fabric.

It was the very cloak that he possessed.

“Know this,” the figure said warningly. “You may be able to avoid even me
whilst beneath it, but the time will come that your soul comes into my
possession.”

Ignotus offered the figure a bow.

“It will,” he agreed, “and when that day comes, I will submit myself to you
willingly. You heard and answered our plea, and for that, I am grateful. You
have given us the tools to right the wrongs in the world. All I ask is that I have
enough time to see my tasks through until the end. This cloak will ensure that”

The figure merely stared at him for a moment before nodding.

“Perhaps you will succeed,” it mused aloud, “but I urge you to remember my
words well. The gifts may be yours now, but there is no promise it will remain
that way. My own magic was used to create them, and it will take my magic to
wield them. I expect you will experience some unexpected changes with your
own. Use the gifts wisely, my servant. Your debt will be paid to me when I
possess the entirety of yours and your brother’s souls.”
Ignotus frowned.

“It cannot be so simple,” he murmured. “Our souls will already be yours. Why
would that be the price to pay?”

“Accept your gift, and serve me as you vowed to,” the figure replied, ignoring
the question. “Remember, these may have been gifted to you, but it will be
others who will need them. Fate is not to be taken lightly, and I expect she will
play her part in things to come. Take it.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then not even your pathetic piece of soul in your trinket can save you,” the
figure answered gravely. “Your magic is waning, and even the phoenix tears
you acquired will not be useless,” it added, gesturing towards the small phial in
Ignotus’s hand. “I have one against my very nature and granted you life.”

“Why?” Ignotus pressed frustratedly.

“It is as I already said, Peverell, you and your brothers have your parts to play.
Now, I will not tell you again. Take it.”

Ignotus eyed the piece of fabric hovering in front of him before he cautiously
did so, and Harry could only look on as he collapsed to the ground as the final
brother to succumb whatever magic they had invoked.

He watched as each brother seemed to be caught in a fever dream, each

groaning before the essence of each was propelled back into their bodies, and
yet, they remained unconscious.

Harry frowned as each of the gifts from the cloaked figure began drawing
blood from the wounds they’d cut into their hands, and the purple orbs
exploded causing Harry to shield his eyes against the burning light.

Having drank their fill, the wand, the stone, and the cloak ceased supping on
the blood of the three brothers as an odd, almost human shadow entered
each.

One piece of soul for each trinket from the brother that had chosen it.

Harry shuddered at the feeling of darkness that washed over him.

This was wrong.

He didn’t know why, but what had happened felt so very wrong.

It was only then that he realised that the cloaked figure had yet to leave, and
as he looked towards it, he once again felt an unnatural coldness wash over
him.

He couldn’t be sure if it was the fear of being looked at so intently by whatever

this thing was, or the magic that was permeating the air around him.

Regardless, Harry dared not move, even when the figure offered him a nod and
left the courtyard.

Before he could even breathe a sigh of relief, he felt himself pulled into the
same void he’d experienced in his dorm room, and when he opened his eyes a
moment later, he was back on his bed, his breathing laboured as he wondered
what had just happened.

He shuddered again.

Despite no longer being in either Ignotus’s mind or the courtyard, the cold
remained with him and he pushed the cloak away as he tried to make sense of
what he had seen.

Had it all been true?

Was the cloak he possessed been given to Ignotus Peverell by Death?

Harry didn’t know what to think, let alone believe.

He had a headache, and his head was full of thoughts he could not
comprehend.

He remembered what he had seen, down to the symbols that Ignotus had
carved into the ground, and even the ones etched into the skin of Cadmus and
Antioch.

Harry was certain he had understood them whilst he was in Ignotus’s mind, but
now, they were just senseless images, as was just about everything else he had
seen.
He wished he could forget everything he had experienced, but he knew it
would stick with him for the rest of his days.

No, he needed to understand, needed to make sense of what it was. And

though he no longer understood what he had witnessed, he frantically reached
for a quill and parchment and began scratching away, filling page after page of
his now incoherent thoughts.