Chapter 292: The Tale Of The Three Brothers

Quinn opened his eyes and stared at the painting of a deer nibbling on lush green grass with stretches of green land in the backdrop.

The deer seemed to notice his gaze; it looked up at it with its doe eyes, staring at him as he gazed at it. The deer dipped its head again to nibble at the grass with its eyes still at Quinn, who cracked his neck; that seemed to scare the deer as it ran away deeper into the painting, eventually taking a turn and disappearing into the frame.

Quinn chuckled. The painting was one of his creations: the only magical painting he had placed in his personal dwellings (dorm, AID office, bedroom at the West manor, and the Headboy Suite.) He had made it one Sunday as a way to spend his afternoon, and ever since fateful day years ago, the "nibbling dear" would run away when he would make any movements.

He took a deep breath and looked down. He was sitting down on his bed, had no shirt on, and could feel the dampness on his skin. He stared at his hands, resting on his crossed legs— and there sat the Ressurection Stone floating in the space between two hands.

The only root of the Stone's origins was found in the fable of "The Tale of the Three Brothers."

. . . . .

There were once three brothers who were traveling along with a lonely, the 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 . . . . 'twas Death itself.

And Death spoke them—

He was angry that he had been cheated out of 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 being 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.

And so was born the Death Stick, the Elder Wand, the strongest wand known to humanity.

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.

So came into existence the Soul Conduit, the Resurrection Stone, an artifact capable of channeling souls back to the mortal plane.

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 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 could never 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.

. . . . .

Quinn had the wording memorized by heart.

He believed the fable to be what it was— a fairytale for children, crafted to be told to children to make them sleep at night, "scaring" them to be up at night.

But . . . where there was smoke, there was a fire.

If the fable was the smoke, then the existence of the three Death Hallows was the fire— a blazing hot fire. The existence of the Elder Wand, Ressurection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility gave the fable a very real origin.

Moreover, the Peverell Brothers were real and had legacies living through the ages to this very day.

Antioch Peverell, the eldest of the three Peverell brothers, the owner of the Elder Wand, had died and had left no children to succeed him. But his brothers, Cadmus, the second brother, and Ignotus, the third brother, did leave children behind, who had children of their own, so on and so on . . .

Cadmus Peverell, the owner of the Ressurection Stone, left behind his legacy in the form of Gaunts. The Gaunts, through their daughter, Merope Gaunt, brought to life Tom Marvallo Riddle, popularly known as Dark Lord Voldemort.

Ignotus Peverell, the owner of the Cloak of Invisibility, left behind his legacy in the form of the long-living family of Potters with the latest installment in the form of the twins, Harry and Ivy Potter.

As such, Quinn had come to believe that the three Deathly Hallows were creations of the three exceptionally magically talented Peverell brothers. He believed that Antioch was a wandmaker, crafting the world's most potent wand-type magical focus.

Ignotus, he(Quinn) believed, was the least talented of the brotherly bunch and created which, in Quinn's eye, was a spectacular piece of magic. It was challenging to craft artifacts that lasted one or two decades, much less centuries, and in the case of Cloak of Invisibility, more than a millennium— which was even more impressive as Cloaks of Invisibilities were always working their magic of invisibility making the wear and tear much worse than artifacts, who didn't see continuous use.

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And finally, there was Cadmus, who Quinn believed was the most magically inclined. The man had worked with soul magic and had created an artifact that could call upon the souls of the dead.

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But . . .

The Resurrection Stone was strange.

Cadmus had taken his life, driven into insanity. Quinn didn't know the exact reason behind the insanity— it could be because of a mental imbalance from having his wife so close to him, yet out of his reach, suffering by being in the mortal world . . . or it could've been that Cadmus was drawn insane from the use of the Ressurection Stone that accomplished something not natural . . . maybe there was a price for summoning the soul of dead.

For why Cadmus, who loved his wife, would keep her in the mortal world even though he could see her suffering.

Quinn didn't know if this had actually happened or if it was just part of the fable . . . but he couldn't take the risk, especially not with the Sin curse's grip around his Soul. So he had withheld from summoning a soul and only had studied the magic that had been cast on it, feeling it through his Soul— understanding its intricacies, figuring out the fundamentals behind what made the Ressurection Stone it was.

"Man, this is tough," he said.

The Ressurection Stone was a complex artifact. From the time he had obtained it to when he had arrived at Hogwarts, he hadn't been able to sense any openings that would tell him how it was made— only that thing he could feel was that a bit of magic and some imagination of the dead person would summon the soul. It was only after hours on end, day after day of strenuous work with the Stone, that he was finally able to sense something of use.

His reaction? "Souls are interesting things." And yet it was so intricate that every step he made needed to be taken with precaution. Every time he implemented something he learned, he had to question his decision to the point of paranoia.

His soul had gotten stronger than before, it wasn't much, but he could feel that his connection to magic had improved. It felt more smidge reactive to his wishes.

However, to this day, he had no idea how to get rid of the curse . . . but that didn't mean he had no progress.

«Of course, I am the bes— . . . . . .»

Quinn smiled.

He had found a way to snuff the voice out.

After the Draco Malfoy incident, he had started to put his time into the Ressurection Stone and figuring out soul magic— which had frighteningly low magic books— he could only get his hands on TWO! And he had tons of books on every subject. The two books he had weren't that useful and were full of vague stuff, spiritual bullshit, and religious jargon, trying to get him to adopt their ways.

The only option he had left was to pioneer his way into soul magic, and the Ressurection Stone was a valuable yet potentially risky asset.

Quinn cupped his hands, and the cold Ressurection Stone fell into his hands. He took the Deathly Hallow pendant piece in one hand and touched the Stone to the pendant for it to disappear.

He got up from his bed, and the sheen of sweat over his body vanished like a puddle of water under the summer sun. Soul magic, for some reason, was tough on the body— he felt tired.

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"Well, Uglymort turned progressively ugly when he messed with his soul," he chuckled.

«He must know a lot about soul magic. I wonder if I let the curs— . . . . . .»

Quinn pulled a black shirt from the hanger and buttoned himself up.

"I'm hungry. . . yeah, yeah, I know, hungry, Gluttony. . . shush!" Quinn snapped his finger, and the voices quieted down. He looked at the clock, it was almost dinnertime soon, so there was no need to go poaching in the Kitchen.

"I wonder what Marcus has in his stash," he muttered and was about to leave when something caught his eyes.

". . . Is that a man?" he moved to the "nibbling deer" portrait, and his doubtful surprise turned into a smile when he carefully observed the painting. "Oh my, got bored with the grass, huh."

It wasn't a man, but the deer standing on its hind legs with his forelegs on the trunk of a small tree reaching for a low-hanging lush red apple, trying to crunch on its with its exposed bite.

"You got it, come on, get the apple," said Quinn in anticipation. "It's quite tasty, so don't give up."

The deer jumped and successfully snatched the apple.

"YES! Well, done!" Quinn clapped once, ecstatic. "Now, enjoy the fruit of your labor and indulge in something of the next level."

He watched with a grin as the deer hungrily chomped down the apple in two bites.

"Oh boy! Now, I'm getting hungrier," he turned, picked up his outer robe, and walked out of the room.

The deer's eyes turned to gaze "outside" the frame before it looked away and went prancing across the painted lands.

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Quinn West - MC - Looking forward to some chomping himself.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Let's show the Sin curse, mrwhosetheboss(lol), shall we?

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