The Wand spoke of unimaginable power. It whispered words full of self praise and death. It was the most powerful Wand ever created, and it was the most destructive. Some of its users over the ages had wondered whether it was truly sentient. No one could win against it in a one-on-one duel. It wasn't very good with shields; as if it wasn't concerned about its owner. All it knew was power and death.
Death was very ingenious. Death was also fair.
So words were whispered into the subconscious mind of the owner's dear friends. Words filled with jealousy, with an intent.
It knew betrayal better than anyone alive, for it was designed to create it.
And the Wand moved through the owners.
And sometimes the smarter ones wondered, which was the real owner: the Wizard, or the Wand?
Death took great pleasure in taking the lives of the wizards foolish enough to actually use the Wand.
The Stone was even harsher in its curse, and it truly was ingenious.
How dare a wizard think he could take the dead away from him? From Death?
And so, a shade of the person he desired to speak with would appear, and she would be looking as alive as ever, but then she would look at him in sadness, and try to touch him, and would cry, and he would again be reminded that she was dead, this was but a shade, created by Death to taunt him with everything he desired, and couldn't get. She wouldn't talk to him, except to tempt him, to make him join her in death.
Death always chuckled when he collected those.
The third gift he had bestowed upon the brothers, he was forced to admit, was actually quite useful. He had been impressed by the thoughtfulness and the genius of the third brother, and had indeed given a part of his own Cloak to him and those of his bloodline.
But he was scrupulously fair.
So he again cursed the Cloak, that it would fail to hide the owner in Mortal Peril, when it would be the most useful.
And Death was Malevolent; and He was Benevolent.
So he waved his hand, and granted a further power to the one holding all three of them.
He or she would only die if they wished it. Their hearts would stop beating, lungs would stop breathing, but they would continue to exist, their body repairing itself with time.
Such was the gift and the curse of the Deathly Hallows.
