This is not a tale of War.
Nor of Plight.
This story is not about Sickness, Sadness, Or Ruin.
It is not about Chaos.
It is about Chaos' opposite.
It is about Balance.
This story is about Death.
Once upon a time, three brothers, were travelling along a long, twisting road at twilight.
They reached a deep and dangerous river where the waters ran fast and strong, and anyone who attempted to swim across would drown.
Well-versed in the forms of magic, the brothers conjured together a grand bridge with their wands, and moved to cross the deadly river.
Halfway though the bridge, a hooded figure appeared before them. The figure was the spirit of Death, cheated from her prize.
Death cunningly pretended to congratulate them and offered to award them with gifts of their own choosing.
The eldest brother, a brutal man, asked for a wand more powerful than any other in the world.
Death granted his wish by fashioning the Elder Wand from a branch of an elder tree sitting nearby on the banks of the river.
The second brother, an arrogant man, chose to further humiliate death, and asked for the power to recall the dead back from the grave.
Death granted his wish by crafting the Resurrection Stone from a smooth rock picked from the riverbed.
The third and youngest brother, who was the most wise of all the three, did not entirely trust Death, and asked for something to enable him to live his life without fear of Death.
Death, despite herself, was impressed at the young man's guile, and reluctantly, handed over her own Invisibility Cloak.
The three brothers took their grand prizes and soon went about their separate ways.
The eldest brother travelled to a village where a rival of his lived. He demanded a duel and fought the wizard using the Elder Wand, instantly killing his foe.
Leaving his enemy dead in the dirt, the eldest brother walked to an inn not far from the duelling site and spent the night there.
Drunken from heavy drink, his confidence, and lust of the Elder Wand's power, the eldest brother boasted of the great and powerful wand, gifted to him from Death herself.
That very night, an unknown murderous wizard who had heard the eldest brother's boast, crept into the inn as the brother was in a deep, drunken sleep.
Driven by greed, and a want for the wand made by Death herself, the wizard slit the oldest brother's throat for good measure, and stole the wand away.
And so Death claimed the first brother.
The second brother returned to his home where he lived alone.
Turning the stone thrice in his hand, the figure of the long dead girl he had once hoped to marry, appeared before him.
Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him by Death's power over her soul.
Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there, and her new life was one of sorrow and suffering.
Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, hung himself by the neck so as truly to join her.
And so Death claimed the second brother as her own.
Death searched for the youngest brother as many frustrating years passed on, but never succeeded in finding him.
It was only when the third brother reached a grand old age, that he took off the Cloak of Invisibility, and gave it to his child.
The youngest brother greeted Death with a smile, and together they departed this life as old friends.
Though Death had claimed the three brothers, she found great amusement in what fate befell those that held her unique gifts.
Some found greatness.
Others, well, others simply found Death herself.
And so Death did not take back the artifacts she created.
Instead she left them in the mortal world.
And she swore that should there ever be a mortal man with enough power, enough confidence, and enough wisdom, to successfully wield and master all three of her relics, that such a man would surely be her equal.
And so she would remove from him the burden of his mortality, and walk with him for eternity.
That was long ago.
To this day, though Death's ancient artifacts still exist in the world, though they still change hands every few years, creating new legends and tragedies, no one man has managed to master all three artifacts.
Not yet.
But Death is patient.
And right now, Death is abundant amongst wizard kind.
The Dark Lord Voldemort raged his hellacious war for years, thwarting Death herself with a twisted, accursed, and incomplete form of immortality.
Eventually the magical war spilled into the mundane world.
No one was prepared.
Not the mundane, who were suddenly faced with something they had only ever dreamed of.
Not the magical, who, so sure in their own power, underestimated the force the mundane world could bring to bear.
Magic is powerful, yes, and ancient. Science on the other hand, is more of a new development, but no less dangerous.
As the magical world was revealed, total war broke out.
Chaos reigned.
The mundanes trying to control the untameable force that is magic, and the magicals trying desperately to hold their ground when so greatly outnumbered.
For a time, it seemed as though magic and science were evenly matched.
A stunner, a rubber bullet.
The killing curse, a metal round.
Blasting curses, shotgun shells.
Bombarding spells, hand grenades.
Fiendfyre, napalm.
The war raged on. And both sides dropped like flies.
But the magicals were outmatched.
Despite their power, they were hopelessly outnumbered.
And no spell exists that has the same destructive power as a nuclear bomb.
That was a lesson learned the hard way.
And Japan, was once again, the unfortunate recipient.
The magical world balked at the destructive powers the mundanes held at their fingertips.
A hundred wizards casting their most powerful spells couldn't destroy an entire city in the blink of an eye.
The mundanes not only could, but did, and were prepared to do it again.
And so, when the mundane governments held an announcement for all the world to see, the magical world listened, and agreed to their terms.
The mundanes were evacuated from the United Kingdom.
And all the magicals in the world were gathered and sent to live there, on the island, far away from the rest of the world.
Though the war with the mundanes had settled into an uneasy truce, the war between the magicals themselves only intensified.
It has been many, many years since Death claimed the three brothers.
But new men have arisen to take their mantle.
The Lord Voldemort, leading his forces of darkness.
He who seeks to rule the magical world, and to defeat the mundane.
On his hand rests a ring that holds the Ressurectiom Stone, and with a twist of that ring, the dead obey his commands.
He leads an army of Death Eaters and dark creatures into war.
The Old Soul, Albus Dumbledore, the mournful leader of the Light.
He seeks simply peace, and prosperity for magical world.
In his hands he holds the Elder Wand, and from it his power pours forth with all the strength of a raging storm.
He leads his Order and allies into war.
The Young Hero, Harry Potter, The leader of The Marauders.
He seeks true equality, for both mundanes and magicals, and offers shelter to the mundane families of fresh-blooded wizards and witches.
On his shoulders rest the Invisibility Cloak, and so long as he wears it, Death will never find him, even if his head is removed from his shoulders.
He leads his army of mundanes and magicals alike into war.
Death watches these three powerful men.
The Dark Lord screams his rage, and the dead rise from the ground to heed his call.
The Old Soul whispers his sorrow, and his power surges forth like an unstoppable wave.
The Young Hero laughs his defiance, and Death cannot touch him.
Death watches, and she waits.
Because she knows her wait is almost over.
Soon she will finally have her equal.
Her master.
Of these three, who shall it be?
Only Time will tell.
And Death is very patient.