The Tale of the Three Brothers
England, 1230 CE
Having a penchant for dramatics, Death donned his cloak and picked up his scythe and met the brothers on a bridge at twilight.
He could’ve shown his true face, the one that looked so like the youngest brother. But that just wouldn’t have been as much fun now would it? He’d hardly interacted with humans for a millennia, give him a break.
Death knew that the eldest desired power, the middle desired to conquer, and the youngest wanted to evade.
But he also knew their hearts, their intentions.
The eldest, Antioch, wanted power because he believed he deserved. Death knew that power would corrupt him. He was already a combative man, granting him some instrument of great power could either make it worse or teach him a lesson. Death gave him a wand. Fifteen inches, crafted of Elder wood with hair from a Thestral tail as its core. The wand was more powerful than any in existence. Elder wood was notoriously difficult to tame and Thestrals were instruments of Death himself.
The second brother, Cadmus, wanted to bring souls back. He wanted to humiliate Death. He was righteously angry. He’d lost the love of his life and could not see the truth of death, he could not see the point. Death, on some level, understood his anger. But he also couldn’t allow souls to escape. So, he picked up a stone from the riverbank, imbued it with his power, and dubbed it the Resurrection Stone. He gave it to Cadmus with the hope that speaking to his wife would help him understand that death is but the next great adventure.
The final brother was not arrogant, he did not seek power, he did not seek to humiliate or destroy. He merely wanted something that would allow him to go forth from this place without being followed by Death. He wanted to watch his children and grandchildren grow. Death felt some kinship with Ignotus. He felt something in his blood and magic, something familiar, something powerful. In that moment, Death could see a timeline, stretching out in both directions. He saw his own blood and power that he’d passed to his youngest son, Henri. He saw that essence travel through generations and come alight in Ignotus soul. He saw it stretch into the future. He saw a day 800 years away where that power, that magic, that blood would find itself in a little boy with bright green eyes and dark messy hair.
Comforted by the knowledge that the youngest brother’s line would continue, that, one day, that little boy would come, Death concealed his features and handed over his own cloak.
Antioch and Cadmus left first. Ignotus stayed behind, feeling some sort of pull to this deity.
Once he was alone with the youngest brother, Death revealed his true form. He stood before Ignotus like a mirror. Lightly tanned skin, golden brown eyes, messy dark brown curls.
“You look like me,” Ignotus said.
“I do,” Death confirmed, “I have not spoken my true name in many years, and I will not do so now, but know that one day, I will reveal my true self to a child of your line. Eventually, when you greet me at the end of this life, pass that cloak down to your eldest child, tell them to do the same at the end of their life.”
“I will,” Ignotus promised, “it’s been an honor to meet you Lord Death,” he said with a bow of his head, “I look forward to the day I greet you as a friend and pass on from this life.”
“Care not to make haste,” Death said with a soft smile, “enjoy this life for what it is but know that when the time comes, I will indeed greet you as a friend.”
Ignotus returned the smile, bowed his head once again, and took off down the road.
* * *
A week passed and Death felt he’d made the right decision. Antioch hadn’t yet harmed anyone with the wand, Cadmus had spoken to his wife and seemed to understand that there is, in fact, something that comes next, and Ignotus had simply continued on as if nothing much had changed.
Then Antioch reached a tavern and Death understood.
Antioch had been travelling, Death thought he was simply enjoying the world. Death was wrong.
When he reached the tavern, he called out for a wizard named Pollux Black, a wizard with whom he had a quarrel. With the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail. When Pollux was dead, Antioch made his way to an inn where he spent the evening boasting about how powerful his wand was, telling everyone who would listen that he’d stolen it from Death himself.
Death had already meddled in the mortal world too much, he could do nothing to stop what would follow.
That night, as Antioch slept, Castor Black, the twin brother of the man Antioch had killed, snuck into the inn, stole the wand, and slit Antioch’s throat. And so, Death claimed the eldest brother for his own.
On some level, Death wasn’t surprised. He’d known that power could corrupt, he’d understood that Antioch, more than most, would allow power to corrupt. But he’d hoped that Antioch would learn his lesson. He’d hoped that the wizard, talented in his own right, would understand that power comes from one’s own soul, not from their weapon of choice.
Now, an incredibly powerful weapon was loose in the world. Death could see already how this weapon would wreak havoc and could do nothing to stop it. He kept telling himself that, one day, that boy would come and re-unite the trinity.
With that knowledge in mind, Death sat back to watch the other two brothers. Cadmus had only spoken to his wife once. He’d confirmed for himself that there was something after, that what one did in this life mattered. Then, he’d focused on raising his son. But when Cadmus’ son grew up, got married, and moved away, Cadmus was left alone. He was taken over once again by grief, missing his wife and questioning everything. He called her forth once again, seemingly not caring that being pulled into a plane where she no longer belonged was painful. He wasted away under the power of the stone and, soon after, took his own life. And so, Death claimed the middle brother for his own.
It was many years later when Death watched Ignotus pass the cloak to his son. On the 19th of May 1292, Ignotus smiled as Death approached. He greeted Death as an old friend, went with him gladly, and, as equals, they departed this life.
* * *
Ignotus’ son had married and had a daughter named Iolanthe.
Iolanthe grew up knowing her grandfather, understanding that Death is so much more than what people think. She understood that these deities with immeasurable power are, at their core, the same as any other.
She was incredibly proud to be a Peverell but understood that she was a woman and would be expected to take her husband’s name. She was somewhat comforted by the fact that her great uncle had children who would carry on the name, but she also knew that they didn’t understood what it meant to be a Peverell. Her grandfather had told her stories about his older brothers, how they were arrogant and angry and how they’d thought one could defeat Death. What an absurd concept.
So, when Iolanthe met Hardwin Potter who happily listened to her speak about what it meant to be a Peverell and how her grandfather had called Death a friend, she quickly fell in love.
Though Iolanthe became a Potter, Hardwin offered to give their children both names and to pass down the fables and magic of both families.
When her father grew old, he passed down Death’s cloak which Iolanthe then passed down to her eldest and so it continued.
Death watched as his cloak was used for any matter of practical reasons; to hide from intruders, to spy on enemies, to conceal one’s presence in an unfamiliar place.
Then, one day, he saw a little boy with messy curls who looked so like that boy he’d seen when he spoke to Ignotus many, many years before.
But this boy had the wrong color eyes.
His name was James.
James Fleamont Hardwin Peverell Potter.
Instead of waiting until he was about to greet death, Fleamont Potter chose to gift the cloak to his son before he left for school. There was a war brewing and Fleamont was protected behind the wards of Potter Manor, but he had no way of ensuring his son would be protected at school a full country away.
Death spent the next seven years watching in amusement as his Cloak was used to stash dungbombs in professors’ offices, to pour color changing potions in goblets all around the Great Hall, to sneak out to meet lovers and friends, to keep secrets.
He watched as four boys became men.
He watched as they learned their friend’s deepest secret and immediately began planning how to make his life easier.
He watched as three young boys crammed themselves under the cloak to go visit that fourth boy in the hospital wing every month, without fail.
As they got older, Death sent just a touch of his magic toward the cloak, enlarging it just enough that it would cover their feet as they made the trek down the moving staircases and through the stone halls to make it to that hospital wing.
Then he watched James leave school. He watched as the Cloak began to be used for its old purposes again; to conceal a soldier during war, to protect oneself from an enemy.
* * *
Then it happened.
Lily, the beautiful young woman with eyes of such a distinct green that Death would recognize them anywhere, told James and Regulus she was pregnant.
Death could feel it in his magic, the one to Unite the Hollows was coming.
But then, Death remembered why he could never be content.
As 1979 left and 1980 sat on the horizon, Death collected Regulus Arcturus Potter Black for his own.
His young friend hadn’t even been born yet and, already, he was touched by death.
Then fate intervened and the boy became even more acquainted with Death.
Death knew that this boy would be his Chosen. He wanted to protect him. He couldn’t see everything, but he knew in his heart that, despite the love he was surrounded by at this very moment, he would grow up very much alone.
For the first time in a very long time, Death reached out to his peers. This boy would be powerful in his own right, that much was obvious, but Death wanted more. Death knew he deserved more.
Lady Magic ensured Death that the young boy would not be alone for long. That, eventually, he’d meet friends he’d call family. Lady Fate apologized for her interference but explained that there were two boys who had been marked by the prophecy, even though she knew it would be the Potter boy who’d fulfill it.
Lady Fate, feeling awful for marking Death’s chosen and knowing in her heart that both boys would be harmed by her actions, asked Lady Magic for a gift of her own.
Lady Magic happily agreed. She loved magical twins. They were always wonderful people, leaning on each other’s magic, sharing power, and guiding each other’s conscience.
Despite not sharing blood, the Potter boy and the Longbottom boy would share magic. Lady Magic and Lady Fate ensured that neither boy would ever truly be alone.
Death was thankful for the help Ladies Fate and Magic gave, but the was very little that could lift his soul in times of war.
The population of Magical Britain was being systematically destroyed by a madman who also happened to be intent on evading Death.
Death was pissed, to say the very least.
But then, Hadrian James Arcturus Ignotus Peverell Potter Black was born.
Death could feel his power immediately.
It was warm and welcoming while still rolling off the infant in crashing waves.
His eyes, the same green as his mothers, stood out against his tanned skin and pitch-black hair.
In his first year of life, he knew incredible love. He met milestones with Neville, his brother in all but blood. He made his family laugh by rapidly shuffling through hair colors, he spoke his first words and crawled like a madman and loved and was loved so fiercely.
Then he watched as that old man who had already claimed the Wand as his own asked to borrow the Cloak.
A week later, a young man left his master’s side, absolutely terrified and begged forgiveness from his old headmaster.
The man he’d sold his soul to was after his first and truest friend.
He begged the headmaster to send the young family into hiding, and so he did.
But the headmaster believed himself to be infallible. He thought that his way was right, and his plans were best.
He cast a fidelius around Potter Cottage in Godric’s Hollow. A good charm, to be sure, but far too reliant on the will of one human.
It might’ve been safer for the young family to hide at Potter Manor behind lockdown wards, but the headmaster brushed that thought aside. This way, his way, was the right one.
He was wrong.
On Halloween 1981, Death claimed James and Lily Potter as his own.