The Greater Good
Sunday, September 15th, 1996
“Anything?”
“Nothing.”
For the worser part of their Sunday off, instead of finishing the last of their homework with the rest of the Sixth Years the Quartet had, rather predictably, after explaining the problem with the triangle-eye symbol to Draco, chose to instead investigate it thoroughly through a visit to the library. Using the cloak to sneak into the Restricted Section whenever Madam Pince’s eyes had turned away from them, they had gathered quite a good amount of books on different symbols in history or ‘Dark Mark’s and anthologies on the ‘Peverell’ family, Draco recalling how Gaunt had claimed the ring held the ‘Peverell Coat of Arms.’
They hadn’t yet found anything to match those claims, however, and Ron had repeatedly tried to beg them all to stop and turn to homework instead, claiming that Gaunt had clearly been mad so why should they trust anything he said.
“But it’s our only lead, Ron,” said Harry for what felt like the millionth time. “And I think we’re getting closer… I can feel it.” His friends had long since accepted it to be a losing battle when Harry said he could ‘feel it’ and rubbed at his forehead beneath his bangs.
“Wait, look here,” Hermione pointed down at a line in the book she was currently reading - Magical Mysteries -, suddenly, beaming with delight as she read aloud, “‘The Tale of the Three Brothers is believed by some to have merit to it, with many believing the Peverells to be the real life relatives of the original brothers, based upon their coat of arms similarity to the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.’ And look!” She turned the book around, grin getting even wider as she showed them two images beneath the words of the exact same eye-like symbol. “They’re identical!”
“Blimey, Hermione,” Ron leaned over towards her, grinning with pride at his girlfriend’s smarts, as usual. “That explains everything! How’d you find it?”
“Well, I thought ‘Magical Mysteries’ would help as we are in the middle of one, aren’t we? I just looked at the index for pages with the Peverells name and they actually come up a couple times, always talking about how they’re believed to be the original three brother’s.” She turned to Ron and Draco. “Ignotus Peverell has the symbol on his grave, apparently, and is thought to have once owned the Invisibility Cloak.”
“Er - Hello?” The two wizarding children and intelligent witch turned to Harry, suddenly realizing he probably had no knowledge of what they were talking about. “Who are the ‘three brothers’? How exactly does this explain everything?”
“Oh, right, you wouldn’t know the story,” Ron said awkwardly, leaning back in his seat, and Draco leaned forwards.
“It’s an old tale parents usually tell their kids in the Wizarding World. Like a bedtime story.” He was interrupted by Hermione leaning farther than him, however, lifting the book and flipping it to the chapter entitled ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’ and showing it to him.
“It’s in the book Dumbledore gave me! Combine this with the ring in the memory he told you to watch, and he must have wanted us to know about the Peverells.” Harry shook his head, spreading his hands out.
“But who were the Peverells?”
“Here,” Hermione shoved the book into his hands. “You read it, and then it will make sense.” Harry raised a questioning eyebrow at his three friends, confused why a children’s story would possibly make this all make more sense, but they were all eyeing them expectantly, so instead he lifted the book - pausing for only a moment to frown at the symbol at the top of the page - and began to read…
There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure. And Death spoke to them.
He was angry that he had been cheated out of the three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.
So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.
Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.
And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.
Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so talking with wonder of the adventure they had had and admiring Death's gifts. In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.
The first brother traveled on for a week more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible. That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden upon his bed. The thief took the wand and for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat.
And so Death took the first brother for his own.
Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him. Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as to truly join her.
And so Death took the second brother for his own.
But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.
Harry looked up from the book, slowly closing it, and frowned at his three friends, blinking at him expectantly.
“I still don’t understand.” he said blankly.
“Well, I’m not sure there’s more to understand,” Hermione said, frowning down at the book. “Other than the Peverells were the three brother’s, and Gaunt’s related to them.”
“Which means Riddle is. Granger,” Draco leaned closer to the book. “Could you reread that line again?”
“Sure. ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers is believed by some to have merit to it, with many believing the Peverells to be the real life relatives of the original brothers, based upon their coat of arms similarity to the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.’”
“That,” Draco snapped his fingers, pointing at a spot on the page, and Ron and Harry both leaned closer to see his nail pointed at ‘the Deathly Hallows.’ “What are the ‘Deathly Hallows?’” Hermione shook her head indicating she didn’t know, and flipped through the book back to the index, running her finger down the page through the d’s, before stopping and flipped back to an entire chapter bearing the title in stylish bold, ‘The Deathly Hallows.’
“Oh, well that makes some sense, I suppose,” she said as her eyes darted across the page.
“What is it?” Harry asked, eyes focusing on the image, again of that symbol of a triangle, circle, and line.
“The Deathly Hallows are a name for the gifts Death gives to the brothers in the story; the Elder Wand, said to ‘conquer all, even Death.’ The Resurrection Stone, said to ‘bring back the dead to the world of the living,’ and the Invisibility Cloak, ‘to hide you from Death’s eyes.’ And here, it says, ‘The mark of the Deathly Hallows - also known as the Peverell Coat of Arms - has been most commonly used throughout history to mark oneself to other ‘believers’, meaning people who seek the wand, stone, and cloak. It is believed, that with all three united, one becomes Master of Death.’” Sbe looked at them all expectantly, as if that was supposed to solve all their problems.
Draco blinked at her from across the table, saying, “So they’re real?”
“Well,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Maybe to someone like Luna Lovegood. This all feels very fantastical, doesn’t it? The ‘Master of Death.’” She shook her head, but Ron leaned forward, eyeing the page she had been reading with a very in depth look, as if he was thinking hard on something.
“I dunno, Hermione,” he said, tapping a finger on the triangular eye. “If Dumbledore wanted us to find these things - these ‘Deathly Hallows’ - then he must’ve surely thought they were real, right?”
Hermione swallowed hard, suddenly looking very pale and stricken. “Well… Dumbledore really wasn’t… all there, was he?”
“What do you mean?” Harry immediately asked, sounding a little more demanding than he had intended as he straightened up in his seat, for any word against Dumbledore was a word against him, in his mind. “Dumbledore was brilliant. If he believed in these Hallows, then we should too.”
“Yes, well, Harry, I’m beginning to think Dumbledore could’ve made…” She hesitated, her hand creeping towards her bag, and looked him straight in the eye as she said, voice wavering, “Mistakes.”
“What do you -” Harry cut himself off when the resounding bang of her slamming Rita Skeeter’s book on Dumbledore onto the table. She immediately began to flip through the pages, moving past pictures and snippets of letters or newspaper cutouts pasted onto the pages before arriving at one with a pair of men roaring with laughter.
The first, undoubtedly, had to be a much younger Dumbledore - maybe even Harry’s age - as he could recognize those piercing eyes anywhere, even when filled with such joy, The man beside him, however, he did not know. He was handsome, with long golden hair framing his face and a sort of smug air to him even through a picture, but Harry had no way of knowing who it was until he, like his friends, leaned over and read the caption underneath the photograph.
Albus Dumbledore (left), shortly after his mother’s death, with his friend Gellert Grindelwald (right).
“Grindelwald!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head up to lock eyes with Draco as Ron blurted out, “But he was a Dark Wizard, wasn’t he?” to Hermione.
“You told me Dumbledore fought Grindelwald,” Harry said, “and took his wand. This wand,” he reached up into Draco’s sleeve, and he didn’t react, having become dazed and in a state of shock. He pulled out the fifteen inch long wooden wand and showed it to everyone.
Hermione was still frowning deeply. “I think you boys should read the whole chapter,” she said, turning the book around to show them the chapter the photograph clearly went with, entitled ‘The Greater Good.’ “You’ll - er - find it enlightening.” were the careful words she chose as Ron went up to move to the other side of the table and they all huddled around the book, reading intensely through the chapter.
They read about Dumbledore’s success throughout school, where he befriended Elphias ‘Dogbreath’ Dodge, and intended to take a World Tour with him following their schooling, only to learn of the death of his mother, Kendra. They learned he had two siblings, a younger brother and sister, whom he left for Godric’s Hollow to care for, only he and his brother, Aberforth, were never seen together, and it seemed his sister, Ariana, was something of an insult, always locked away in their home for her ‘ill health.’
None of it was making any sense, and to make matters worse, Grindelwald came into the picture next. Apparently, he was Dumbledore’s neighbor’s grandnephew, whom Bathilda Bagshot - his neighbor - was inviting home for the summer. A well known future Dark Wizard, who would be ranked number one if it weren’t for Voldemort, living down the road from the greatest good wizard of all time - or so Harry thought.
He had gone to Durmstrang, earning a reputation similar to Dumbledore’s in his brilliance, but being expelled when even his actions went too far for Durmstrang, and now he was in Godric’s Hollow, where he had, horrifyingly, come into close contact with and befriended Albus Dumbledore, so much so that the boys couldn’t let themselves be apart even in nights, sending letters back and forth whenever new ideas struck them.
Although the subject of those new ideas… they weren’t at all the brilliance one would expect. Instead, he talked of wizard dominance over Muggles. How it was in their right to rule, and in Muggles nature to be ruled, as wizards were superior. Even though it seemed to Grindelwald this meant violence and to Dumbledore this meant protection, the belief that wizards were superior. That their pursuit would, and should always be, ‘For the Greater Good.’
It was horrific, and Rita wasn’t even done yet.
Two months later, thank Merlin, Dumbledore and Grindelwald separated, only to be reunited for their legendary duel. Bathilda believed this was due to the death of Ariana, which both boys had witnessed, the latter departing from Godric’s Hollow at once in a state of distress.
Dumbledore and his brother fell out afterward, even getting into a brawl at the funeral, Aberforth blaming his brother and Dumbledore blaming himself for the little girl’s death. But how did she die? That seemed to be the biggest mystery, beyond why Dumbledore and Grindelwald took so long to face each other, wasting time and lives in the years he spent rising to power.
Slowly, all three boys backed away from the book and Draco slammed it shut, closest to it, as if trying to snap away all of the secrets held inside. To shut out the evil Rita had selfishly exposed to the world. Ron rubbed at his forehead, looking suddenly very exhausted, and Harry backed away to a bookshelf, staring hard at the book, gaze getting more and more angry by the second.
“Boys,” they all shook their heads, Draco lowering his into his hands and Ron groaning as he sank back down into his chair. Harry didn’t move a muscle other than a jerk of the head. “Ron - Draco - Harry, it’s not… I know it doesn’t make a very nice reading -”
“Yeah, you could say that -” Harry scoffed while Ron snapped at her, “Not a ‘nice reading?’”
“Are you seriously going to sit there and justify all of this?” Draco practically chucked the book back at her, but she caught it and winced, not in pain, but in sympathy for him. “That letter - that’s worse than bloody Voldemort, that is!” To emphasize the anger in his rising voice, none of the Quartet could ignore that this was the first time Draco had said Voldemort’s name.
“No it’s not,” Hermione looked down at the book sadly. “And the letter… Well, ‘For the Greater Good’ became Grindelwald’s slogan, right?” Draco nodded. “He must’ve gotten the idea from Dumbledore. Some say it’s even written on the walls of Nurmengard.”
“What’s Nurmengard?” Harry asked, his voice dry, as if it hadn’t been used for days.
“The prison Grindelwald had built to hold his opponents. He ended up in there himself, once Dumbledore had caught him. But Harry, Dumbledore wrote all that stuff to him when he knew him for not even a year. When he was still really young -”
“Same age as we are now,” said Ron in a sort of haunting manner that made them all go quiet for a moment, thinking of how Dumbledore, such a forthright and good person as an adult, had talked of dominance over Muggles as a seventeen year old. How could a person so thoroughly change, without any of the bad left over?
“I’m not trying to defend what Dumbledore wrote,” Hermione finally said, frowning at the book sitting on her lap, no doubt thinking of how close to Muggle-kind she was, wondering if she fell into the population needed to be ruled over. “All that ‘right to rule’ rubbish, trust me, I know, but… his mother had just died, he was stuck alone in the house -”
“Alone?” Draco barked a laugh. “Can’t have been alone. He had a brother and sister, didn’t he?”
“He’s right,” Harry muttered, though in his anger it came out more like a growl.
“He changed, Harry, he had to have. Maybe he did believe these things when he was seventeen, but the whole of the rest of his life was devoted to fighting the Dark Arts! How is that different from Draco?” She gestured to the Slytherin in front of her, once again sticking out like a sore thumb at a table of red, who threw up his hands in an instant, glaring.
“Hey! Don’t bring me into this! I never sent a letter to Voldemort telling him we should rule over Muggles!” Again, it was a testament to his anger he was able to say his name with no fear, but Hermione was now glaring back at him, fists clenched.
“But you did call me a Mudblood.”
“Hermione,” Ron rose to his feet, tugging at his girlfriends hand, “Maybe you should -”
“I’m simply stating a fact, Ronald,” she said, unexpectedly pulling out his full name so that he flinched back a little, surprised. “And trying to show these two,” she gestured to Harry and Draco, frowning at her, not so much glaring anymore. “That Dumbledore changing is possible. Especially when he had over eighty years to do it.”
All four of their eyes drifted down to the book, staring up at them, so that the fact of Albus Dumbledore was smiling, almost winking without actually moving his eyes, up at all of them, mocking them in their confusion over the crumbs he had left them and the black hole of secrets that were contained beneath the cover of the book.
“Maybe we’re all just frustrated and confused,” Ron said, then rubbed his stomach, for it was well past lunch and they had never gone down for it, “and hungry.”
“You’re right,” Hermioen smiled over at him briefly, squeezing his hand. “We’re all just angry at Dumbledore for not giving us more to work with but a cigarette lighter, a book, a wand, and a bottle.”
“Several bottles,” Draco added, frowning as he thought of the line of bottles still awaiting them on McGonagall's desk. “All those memories…”
Memories.
“Maybe,” Harry swallowed hard. “If we’re so desperate for answers, we should look at the memories Dumbledore gave me?”
Hermione’s eyes widened as she looked at him in horror. “No, not yet Harry! That’s special, I have a feeling Dumbledore wanted you to save those -”
“Until when?” he demanded, seemingly the only one in the Library still furious, the others having found ways to calm themselves. “Until we watch the last Tom Riddle memory? Until we read the last page in that damn book? Until we figure out what the bloody fuck this means?” He picked up the still open copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard and brandished it at her face, pointing right at the symbol for the Deathly Hallows, or the Peverell Coat of Arms, or whatever it was. “Until I’ve completed the damn Prophecy and either died doing it or killed Voldemort myself, and only myself?”
His friends all winced, saddened and horror struck, as he began to cry, but he didn’t seem to notice, still yelling blindly at his friends.
“How is it that you got to see him last?” Harry pointed a finger at Draco, whose eyes widened as he flinched in his seat under his gaze. “That you got to speak to him, and he told you what to do, when he never told me? Just risk your life, Harry, because Albus Dumbledore’s telling you to and you know you can trust Dumbledore, of course. But don’t think I’m going to trust you, of course, because I never give you any answers, no, no, no. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? You have to learn a lesson, or solve a riddle - oh ho, ho,” he laughed, maddingly, banging a fist against the bookshelf beside him. “Tom Riddle. Can’t give me any answers about him, can you, Dumbledore?” He was now yelling at the sky, as if Dumbledore himself could hear them from up in heaven, if he even deserved to go there. “Just another riddle for me to solve, is he?”
Slowly, Harry sank to his knees, raking his hands through his hair and now becoming painfully aware of the hot tears running down his cheeks, and wiping those away too, furiously. His friends watched in silence, then Draco slowly rose from his seat to kneel beside him, rubbing circles into his back as he whispered into his ear.
“He told me he cared for you, Harry. In his last words, that’s all he had to say.” whispered Draco.
“Then why,” Harry looked up at his friends painfully, green eyes that had seen too much pain and felt too much sorrow in sixteen years then a man should in his whole life. “Could he never tell me that himself?”
With that he stood up, turned, and looked ready to leave but Draco grabbed his hand and stopped him.
“No.” he said sternly and Harry looked down at their interlocked hands then up at his friend in confusion.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Not letting you walk away,” and with that he dragged his friend forward and pushed him down into his seat, sitting beside him and taking his hand once more, then picking up Rita Skeeter’s book and setting it down between them.
“Draco -” “No,” he said sternly once more, looking Harry in the eye. “We’re going to figure out this mess together, because if nothing else Dumbledore left all of this to us for a reason. He must’ve known we could figure it out.” he looked around at the table, where Hermione and Ron had sunken into their seats again, also keeping their hands tightly interlocked. “Because we’re all friends, and this is what we do, right?”
“Always have,” Hermioen agreed, nodding and smiling, and brought the still open Magical Mysteries book towards her, continuing to scour over the chapter on the Deathly Hallows.
“Now I thought I noticed something in Dumbledore’s letter,” Draco said, flipping through the pages of the Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore before stopping on page 463, where the letter sat before them. He ignored all the horrific things Dumbledore had written and instead pointed down at the ‘A’ in Dumbledore’s name.
“Look there,” Harry, Ron, and Hermione all leaned closer to where Draco was pointing to get a better look at the triangular symbol they recognized too well, which they had first thought to be a strangely written ‘A.’
“He’s written that symbol into his signature,” Harry said, frowning around at the table of friends. “But why?”
“‘... has been most commonly used throughout history to mark oneself to other ‘believers’, meaning people who seek the wand, stone, and cloak.’” Hermione quoted, finger running along the line on the page in her book.
“Does that mean Dumbledore was telling Grindelwald he wanted to go looking for these Hallows?” Ron asked and she nodded, grinning.
“It has to!” she suddenly frowned down at the page. “Which means Dumbledore believed in them, doesn’t it?”
“Which means they had to have been real,” said Draco, finishing her thought. “And if he left you that book,” he pointed at The Tales of Beedle the Bard, “then he must’ve wanted us to find them, right?”
“He must’ve,” Harry agreed, “And Invisibility Cloaks exist, don’t they? I have one, Mad-Eye has one, you can buy them anywhere.”
“But that’s because they’re charmed,” Draco said, snapping his fingers at Harry. “Mom always told me that this one was so powerful, even Death couldn’t find you in it.”
“And he never did, did he?” said Ron, picking up Hermione’s book and idly flipping pages in the story. “Not until he took the Cloak off and passed it to his son.”
“So the Peverell line continued…” Hermione said distantly, still scouring over the book before her. “It says here Ignotus, the original owner of the Cloak, was buried in Godric’s Hollow,” she looked up, frowning, “Dumbledore lived in Godric’s Hollow, didn’t he? That’s what it said in the book.”
“I lived in Godric’s Hollow,” Harry suddenly blurted, and they all looked around at him, stunned. “I was born there, remember?”
“You were,” Ron said, realization dawning in his eyes too. “It’s part of the story! You-Know-Who got taken down in Godric’s Hollow, how could I forget!” Harry swallowed awkwardly at his birthplace being referred to as ‘part of the story’ but nodded anyway.
“There must be something significant about it, there must be. Didn’t that say the symbol is on Ignotus’s grave?” Harry asked and Hermione nodded, eyes flicking down for a moment to find the specific line. “There’s probably something important there, but what?”
“Maybe the Hallows are there?” Ron said, perking up in his seat, with eyes suddenly lit up with an idea. “Think about it; the Peverell’s hid the Hallows in Godric’s Hollow. It makes sense, right?”
“I suppose…” Hermione said, nodding along. “But if Dumbledore wanted us to find them there, we’d have to go there, and we’re in school.” all three of the boys groaned in unison.
“Hermione, not everything revolves around school!” Ron exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “And Harry’s got an Invisibility Cloak, right? Let’s pick a weekend, maybe a Hogsmeade one, and take the cloak to sneak up into the hills where Snuffles was squatting two years ago, and take some Thestral’s down to Godric’s Hollow. We find the Hallows, bring them back to the school, and no one is any the wiser!”
“Yes but you’re forgetting something, Ron,” Hermione said, “The Death Eater’s are going to be looking for Harry and Draco. As soon as they step out of Hogwarts their lives are in danger.”
“Oh, right…” They all fell silent, for Harry wanted to say he didn’t care if Voldemort himself came - this was their chance at answers, finally, but he couldn’t put his friends in danger like that, especially Draco, who’d surely be killed on sight by any Death Eater, and didn’t have whatever happened to Harry’s wand at Malfoy Manor to help. Once again, they were on the threshold of discovery, but held back by another issue.
“How about Harry and I finish watching all of the memories in the Pensieve,” Draco interjected, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sure more mysteries will pop up along the way. Then, and only then, will we talk about escaping the school to search for the Deathly Hallows,” he shook his head, running a hand down his face. “Merlin’s beard… What kind of mess have you Gryffindors wrapped me into this time?”
Though he sounded clearly annoyed, the other Gryffindors in question smiled fondly at each other, though Hermione frowned suddenly and, stretching an arm across the table to lay on Draco’s shoulder, said softly, “I’m sorry I yelled earlier. What I said wasn’t kind, even if I was simply trying to prove a point. We,” she shook her head, raising it to the sky, clearly blinking away tears before looking back down and saying sincerely, “We have to stay united, at the very least. Remember what Dumbledore said? About how unity and friendship could defeat Voldemort?”
They all nodded, smiling softly, because even if they’d just read a world of horrific truths about Dumbledore, remembering his wisdom filled speeches from years prior felt like a wave of relieving water to it all.
“He was right,” Harry said, looking up at his closest, most united friends in the world with a smile.
“I agree,” Draco said, squeezing his hand.
“Me too,” said Ron, smiling lovingly at his girlfriend, who blushed and nodded, nestling her head into his neck.
They decided to make their way to the kitchens and ask Dobby and Winky for some leftovers from lunch, then, all four stomachs growling angrily, and gathered up the discarded books, Harry sneaking under the cloak and carefully placing the ones from the Restricted Section back, and for a moment all of their worries were forgotten when they laughed and ran down the - empty, for it was the weekend - halls of the castle like the teenagers they were before tickling the pear and climbing through the portrait hole.
For a moment, Harry even forgot the Deathly Hallows, Rita Skeeter’s awful book, the Peverell family, Gellert Grindelwald, the Tom Riddle memories, or Dumbledore’s teenager pursuit of the ‘Greater Good’ even existed.