Prologue:

The Deathly Hallows. "Three legendary objects owned and likely created by the Peverell brothers. Together they are said to make one 'master on death.'"

That is the story that had been told for centuries in the wizarding world. There may have been many variations and speculations over the years, yet those two things seemed so remain consistent, as if everyone had been basing a story off of those two sentences for as long as anyone could remember. But naturally, as with any good story, no one could have known how the true tale had actually unfolded. But now you shall.

The wind howled through the trees, shaking them a though there was gold it hoped to dislodge from the branches. The rain pelted down, making it nearly impossible to see through the already dark area. The wind and rain beated against the shutters of a large manor, a peculiar place really.

Nestled in the forest of the English countryside, the humongous, magical manor loomed like a lone castle, well hidden and defended. There were gargoyles on the gutters, snarling at no one in particular, flapping their wings in anticipation. The house has been masterfully painted green and silver, elegant and cold. The tall black gates remained locked, though almost purely a formality, as nearly one one ever visited the estate. The most obvious reason why was that, in addition to being in the middle of the forest, there was no path leading to the mansion. It was almost as if anyone who came through those gates simply appeared there. The entire manor shrouded in mystery and magic, pelted by the elements on that dark night, seeming invincible, was clouded by a very tense feel.

Undetectable from the outside, deep in the dungeons, a woman lay on a king sized bed, illuminated by a large fireplace. She had silver hair, thin pale lips, and a skinny frame. She looked like she was on the brink of death. Despite this, she was undeniably beautiful. She had the sort of look of someone who had been around long enough to have a lot of wisdom, enough to know that she didn't need to put effort into her appearance. She was naturally gorgeous, and she knew it.

But on this dark night, her face was twisted in pain, her mouth in a grimace, her eyes squinted as though to block out the world. The servant waved her wand frantically, conjuring up blankets and towels. The woman then began screaming, throwing her hair back to the ceiling. The servant snapped to her side and began giving her instructions.

Outside the door to that very room, a middle aged man stood in tense anticipation. He paced back and forth, listening to the screams of the woman, listening to his three daughters come into the world.

At long last, the servant girl opened the door. Laid out in a neat little row on the bed were three infant girls, each fast asleep. Their father stared at them for a moment before turning to servant with anticipation and sorrow. She looked down and gave a quick nod of confirmation. The woman had vanished into thin air, and the father left alone. He had known this would happen. He was warned, but he still couldn't have helped to hope that his lover would have made an exception for him, but the deal had been fulfilled. There was no going back, even though he knew what was to come would proceed many past horrors. But now was not a time to think of that. Instead, he took the children, and proceeded to care for and comfort then throughout the stormy night. He may have been afraid, but if there was one thing Salazar Slytherin would never do, it was back out of a deal, no matter what the cost.