1996
“Because I made sure of it, of course.” The man returns and rests his chin on his hands, his pointy elbows on his desk. “You are the last descendant of Ignotus Peverell, and as such, you are destined to become what the humans nowadays dubbed the ‘Master of Death’. Obviously, I do not have a master, nor do I require one, but we’ll keep the title for now, shall we?”
I hesitate. “Erm…Who is Ignotus Peverell?” I then ask.
“Oh, right. You did not grow up with these stories. Well then, let me tell you a tale Miss Potter, that all little Wizards grow up with.” He snaps his fingers, and suddenly both of us sit in luxuriant leather chairs; the desk is gone.
“There were once three brothers who were travelling 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 three new victims, for travellers 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 travelled on for a week or 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 truly to 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, equally, they departed this life.”
I sit at the edge of the chair, fascinated by the story. I have never heard a wizard's children's tale before.
“And that youngest brother, Miss Potter, was Ignitus Peverell, your ancestor.”
“My Cloak”, I start.
“The very same.” answers the man without me having to ask.
“But, why am I here?” I ask.
“Right, we spent enough time getting distracted already, didn't we? Now another descendant of the three brothers, from the second brother actually, would be your adversary. Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort, as he now calls himself. And he has been giving me a lot of work, you know? A lot of people not yet meant to die.”
“What's that got to do with me, though? I already accepted that I’d have to fight him, to try and kill him. There isn't anything else I can do, is there?” I interrupt.
“You don't want to fight him, though, do you? You don't want to die.”
“I don't”, I admit. “I'll just have to try and survive though. It's not like anyone is giving me a choice in the matter.”
“And that's exactly why you're here. I am giving you a choice. If you fight him, you're going to die; your headmaster knows that; he knows you have to die, so Mister Riddle can be defeated.”
“What? Why?”
“Have you ever heard the term ‘Horcrux’? Of course, you have not. It's not exactly common magic. A Horcrux is essentially a piece of one's soul bound to an object. Not Mister Riddle made quite a few of those Horcruxes. This is why he won't die; as long as there is a piece of his soul left, he’s able to stay alive, even if his body is destroyed. You could, of course, hunt those Objects down and destroy them, but there is one Horcrux even Mister Riddle himself does not know he made. It was an accident, if you will. That night he came to your house to kill you, he splintered his soul, and when his body was destroyed, that piece of his soul latched onto the next best thing.”
I shake my head. “Are you suggesting it's possible to make a human into a Horcrux?” I ask.
“Yes. It is a first, true, but it is possible. So your headmaster, Mister Dumbledore, when he realised what you were, decided you'd have to die. Obviously, I do not want my favoured human line to die out, so here we are. Depending on your choice, you might actually spare me a lot of work, too.”
“And what choice is that?”
“Easy. It’ll allow you to stop it all before it starts.”
“How?”
“You’ll go back, of course.” the man smiles at that.
“Back where?”
“Back in time.”