Echoes of the Hollow
The vault door groaned open, it’s weight dragging against the stone like an ancient creature stirring from slumber. Dust curled into the air, glittering faintly in the low light. Harry stepped inside without hesitation, his footsteps soundless but heavy in the weight of what lay ahead.
The magic of the vault was familiar, but now, it thrummed beneath his skin like the hum of a far-off storm. Harry didn’t need to look to know the hallows were aware of him, even though they were separated- locked away and scattered like forgotten dreams.
ASomewhere far beyond the vault, in the places where time and space stretched thin, they felt it:
The Elder Wand, deep within Grindlewald’s possession, hummed faintly in its prison, as though it felt it’s true master walking this world once more. The Resurrection Stone, hidden within the Gaunt Ring, flickered ever so slightly, it’s dark magic stirring, drawn to Harry’s presence. The Invisibility Cloak, folded carefully among the Potter’s legacy, shifted ever so slightly, as if they too waited sensing the time was drawing nearer.
They were scattered, separated by fate, but they remembered. And they, like Harry, knew that the day of reunion was inevitable.
He didn’t call to them, but he could feel them-Their restless stirrings, each pulse, a reminder of what was to come. The Hallows were always drawn to him, just as death had also been.
The vault was empty of treasure or wonder, save for the pedestal in the center of the room. Time had worn it down, cracked the stone, but it hummed with power nonetheless, a forgotten heartbeat wanting to echo once more. Harry stepped toward it, his heart beating in rhythm with the hum.
It was there, beneath layers of stone and ancient charm, that the Hallow’s presence had once been sealed. But now, as the pedestal’s magic unlocked, they could feel him-drawn together like iron filings to a magnet.
Harry didn’t hesitate. He placed his hand on the pedestal, and the vault seemed to breathe around him. It felt like when he got his first wand, all those universes ago. Cold shadows stretched across the stone floor, inching toward him like waiting hands.
But Harry, ever indifferent, stared ahead, unshaken.
He knew the Hallows would return to him- someday.
They always did.
The vault door began to close slowly behind him, as if to remind him that, for all the power of the Hallows, there would never be a way back. Not for him. Not for any of them. Not for Death.