Tale of the Three Brothers: The True Story
Durmstrang, Year 4
Theme: Let Bygones Be Bygones - Write about a Character Forgiving Another
Special Rule: Write from the Perspective of a Pureblood
Prompts:
[First/last line] Once upon a time, the world ended.
[Quote] "I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy one, I will indulge in the other."—Mary Shelley
[Character] Original character
Word Count: 3504 (+50)
AN Epilogue, What Epilogue? Minor AU that plays fast and loose with ancient/medieval history; Latin was best-attempt and may or may not be accurate. Thanks to Durmstrang for being a great team and helping with this fic :)
"Once upon a time, the world ended. The end," Persephone Malfoy, daughter of Draco Malfoy, grumped.
"Don't you think you're being a tad dramatic, Sephy?" her twin Atlas sighed half to himself. He had much more important things to do for the Pureblood Society. Unfortunately, a few days ago, their History of Magic professor had assigned a group project in which each group would research the origins of one of the Beedle the Bard tales and present it to the class.
Normally, Persephone would pair up with her best friend Sophia Granger-Potter, and Atlas would be free to work with those who had similar goals to him. Unfortunately, the girls had had a falling out earlier in the week, turning his sister into a brooding drama queen who refused to be paired with any but her brother.
"Don't call me Sephy! And no, I'm not being dramatic, thank you very much. Let's just get this project over with," Persephone huffed as the library doors came into sight.
"Here for the Beedle the Bard project?" Madam Pince asked with a knowing gleam in her eye.
"Most of your classmates have already been by and borrowed the most common resources for the project, but I believe there's still a few options to be found in the back. Mind that you keep it down if you plan on working on your project here," she warned.
Unfortunately, Madam Pince was completely right, and most of the resources that Atlas and Persephone had hoped to find were already checked out. Thankfully, in Atlas' opinion at least, the Tale of the Three Brothers had become exceedingly of interest to scholars in the last few decades, due to rumors that Harry Potter's own invisibility cloak could be the cloak of legend.
"Guess we know what we're writing about," Atlas shrugged. There really weren't any other options. "Too bad you're at odds with Soph; we could have interviewed her dad."
Persephone scowled but helped Atlas to carry the books available to them to a nearby desk.
While he was sorting through the various academic treatises on the subject, Atlas' sister took a different approach and decided to refresh her memory of the original Beedle the Bard tale.
A muttered "Uh-oh" from Persephone drew Atlas away from his books.
"What's wrong?"
"This copy's been vandalized." Persephone whispered the last word, trying to avoid the wrath of the library's matron.
"That's impossible. Each book has protection charms to keep them safe from tampering!" Atlas denied.
"See for yourself!" Moving the book between them, Atlas could just see words written across the page in an elegant calligraphy.
Veritatem Scriptionum Voca
"Call forth the truth of the writings," Atlas mumbled under his breath.
"Huh?"
"That's the translation."
"Of Veritatem Scriptionum Voca?"
Atlas could have strangled his sister. "You don't just say spells if you don't know what they do!" he hissed in exasperation.
"I didn't even have my wand out!" she argued.
The two turned back to the table to find a scroll on top of the page with what appeared to be foreign text on it.
As though in a trance, Persephone picked up the scroll, and the writing changed.
"Dearest Reader," she read.
"I am Headmaster Noland Black. Upon this scroll are the last accounts of my dear friend and mentor, Ignotus Peverell, placed here at his request as a cautionary tale for the generations to come. If you've found this edition of Beedle the Bard, you are likely at the precipice of a grave decision. May it serve you well."
The scroll suddenly expanded as writing from a different quill wrote:
"Once upon a time, the world ended. The end."
Persephone gasped; the echo of her words made her question just what magic could be behind this.
Yes, yes. I know all about who is reading this, Persephone and Atlas Malfoy, first twins to enter the Malfoy line in over thirteen generations, isn't it? I'll admit that when I asked young Noland for his aid in passing on this missive, I may not have told him all. For over a century, the cloak that Beedle the Bard wrote of has protected me from dangers both large and small; alas, this protection has come at the cost of a memory not dimmed with the passing of years, and eyes no longer confined to my world. I've seen you, Miss Malfoy. Take heed, lest the flicker of disdain now inside you turns into an inferno. And you, young master. You've held many growing pains yourself, discovering just what it does and does not mean to be one of the pure. There are many decisions resting on your shoulders, choices that I would not have you make without an understanding of the consequences therein. Alas, there are works involved that prevent me from telling you of your own futures.
Permit me to share the true tale of me and my brothers instead."
Persephone paused in her reading. Her eyes met Atlas' who nodded in response. Good, they were in agreement then. She didn't know what issues her brother was wrestling with, and he likely didn't know the fullness of what made Sophia's betrayal burn in her, but that wasn't necessary. Malfoys stood on solid ground and would not be easily swayed by the pretty words of one long dead, but there was value in knowing the truth. If nothing else, this letter could grant them an A on the assignment. At best, perhaps the old man's writings would provide some clues as to how he'd gone about such magic.
The two turned back to the scroll.
Our line fought for purity and the right to protect our status long before the mania that brought your father's dark lord into power. No doubt, history has forgotten when the Muggle elite brought in foreign sorcerers, hired with one goal in mind: the death of those whose blood was...too pure. That dark time in history did not put our kind in a good light and even suggested to some that we were… inferior to those of mixed lines.
The sound of Atlas scoffing made Persephone look up in surprise before continuing.
The invaders killed our father; that truth combined with living in a small village hidden from sight heavily influenced every major decision my brothers and I made growing up.
I found my calling in the creation of invisibility cloaks for the warriors who often left our protective wards to fight our foes. The world was a very different place back then, and neither the demiguise nor our own kind were as rare as they are now. Still, every robe I made was at risk of being damaged by stray spells, and I dreamed of finding even better ways to protect our village's protectors, perhaps especially, my brothers: Antioch, the closest we had to a general, and Cadmus, our primary healer.
Antioch was a fighter to the core, and when he wasn't on the battlefield, he worked under old Ollivander on a project: the creation of wands uniquely formed with one focus in mind, that of battle magics. Alas, he trusted none but himself with his creations upon learning that such a valuable weapon could be taken by the other side should the owner of the wand be defeated. When I think of the heartbreak that eventually left our home defenceless, I sometimes hate my brother for this choice.
I shall go into more detail about those events later. By now, you've no doubt realized that the famed Hallows were not gifts from Death at all, rather, they were the creations of our own hands, abominations that not one of us was strong enough to destroy. Mayhap, you wonder after the origins of the third Hallow and my brother Cadmus' tale?
As I've previously stated, Cadmus was our town's healer and a fine one at that. He felt that it was his duty to follow Antioch and the other warriors into battle, as they were much more likely to need his aid than the townsfolk, many of whom knew at least the basics of healing regardless. It was a sound move, logical for all that Cadmus' actions were rarely driven by anything but emotion—in this case, the need to protect others from suffering as we had after our father's death.
Unfortunately, the world cares very little for logic, and no matter how much our people could handle the day to day ailments that come with life, we were not able to compete with a new ailment, that which is now called Dragon Pox. In jest, you made the claim that once upon a time, the world ended. The appearance of this plague was such that this jest felt like our reality. Many died, too many, before my brothers returned, and Cadmus could begin testing potential ways of saving those afflicted. His betrothed was one of those who did not survive, and it was in his grief for her that what is now called the Resurrection Stone was formed. The stone itself was originally a gift that his beloved had given him, a simple rock made smooth and beautiful by a nearby river. The rock was granted great powers of persuasion by my brother, all in an effort to sooth his grief. With it, a magic user's dearly departed would seem to return to life before them, a mimicry based upon memories and emotion.
Man was not meant to hold the power of life over death, however, and the one returned to him was a mere shadow of what Cadmus had lost. Neither I nor Antioch understood at the time just how deeply his upset ran nor the danger of our brother being lost to us as sadness turned to rage. In all my life, I have never known anything to be more true than this: in each of us is a great capacity to love and create. When this ability is stifled or shifted however, that same ability turns to hate and destruction. We did not recognize this in our own brother, and the world is all the poorer because of it.
Something churned in the captive audience's gut. Both children knew that recent actions and decisions of theirs were not formed from a place of creation or care, but surely it wasn't that bad, was it?
I'd been in the woods collecting demiguise hair and testing the fur of other oft' hidden creatures for possible invisibility use when what had been my world ended. You see, I returned to discover my brother Antioch murdered in his own home and my other brother missing.
I doubt that your life experiences have given you the necessary tools to understand the confusion and despair that filled me then. As the youngest brother, I'd never known a time without Antioch and Cadmus. It gutted me to suddenly be alone, for all that I'd been an adult with a trade for years by that point and had much of the village surrounding me in condolences. Regret for events so far in the past is a human failing, one which I'm not immune to. The blindness caused by strong emotions did not allow me to see what was before my eyes. I lived under the delusion that Cadmus had fled for his life while, in reality, he was plotting our village's downfall alongside the foreigners.
Nothing but Antioch's wand would have stood a chance at bringing down the wards of our village. Antioch's wand had a new master in Cadmus, a master who sought only to punish those who'd lived when his beloved died.
Our rivals stormed the village. Our town was made up entirely of those who were pure, and the screams of those who died still haunts my nights. The only reason I escaped was because of a new cloak I'd made, a prototype.
"Gah, what creature's hair did you use?" Persephone nearly shouted in exasperation. Madam Pince's glare quickly quieted the girl, but tension could still be seen in how she held herself.
To my surprise, both the cloak and I made it out of chaos without a scratch, but that is the inventor's pride in me speaking. With Cadmus' help, the raiders found more hidden towns, and I soon had no choice but to seek a new life within the Muggle world, avoiding any magic that could cause me to be found.
I wonder, do the two of you understand how much hate filled me in those first few months? As far as I was concerned, a Muggle king was responsible for nearly all of the misfortunes that had hit my family. Even the illness that caused Cadmus' madness could be laid upon his back as by then it was discovered that the ailment originated in the far-off lands of those who laid waste to my home. There could be no thought on the why's of his actions as that would have necessitated my acknowledging the Muggle's ability to reason or view the world in a logical manner. Everyone knew that Muggles were notorious for hating anything that defied their norms, so surely that explained everything.
At the time, all I needed to know was that he was behind everything. I closed my eyes to the fact that he'd hired, and seemingly treated well, these foreign brutes. I ignored any suggestion that a Muggleborn magical child could be accepted by their family as these details did not match the unfeeling monster I'd made him and the foreigners to be.
Gradually, my defenses began to lower, however. I still slept wrapped under the invisibility cloak that saved my life, but that had more to do with fear of my remaining brother and those he now worked with than fear of my new neighbors. As I noticed a rise in Muggleborns, I opened up a little school… ostensibly, the aim was to give the children a place to learn their sums and letters, rare tools in my day for those just getting by in the Muggle world. In reality, I sought to lessen the chances of accidental magic and the potential consequences that I feared might come from it.
It was at the school during the children's lunch that I overheard a Muggle perspective.
Little Sally had just summoned a pitcher of goat's milk to her place when her brother (who to my knowledge was an ordinary Muggle ) sought to comfort her.
"Don't worry, Sally. I'll not let the magicians take you from us. You're safe. I've got you. As we speak, the king's sorcerers are out searching for all those who were taken, so that they can be returned to their families. You're safe."
Another boy spoke up at this point, "Right, they've been out there for decades now. Has the little prince been returned home yet? No! I say we get rid of these strangers walking about our lands. They're just taking advantage of the King in his grief."
It took me months of careful questioning after this to discover that the Muggles were operating under the belief that those from magical lines would steal children from their beds and raise them as their own. The foreigners were supposed to stop the kidnappings and, where possible, bring back the missing youths.
It was significantly longer before I believed the tale to be anything other than the lies every fiber of my soul wanted it to be. It was hard enough to recognize that things with Muggles had advanced enough that those without pure bloodlines were generally safe in their homes. How could I be expected to accept more, something that could force me to adjust the one on whom I placed the blame?
Suffice to say, the time came when I was forced to acknowledge the truth of the situation, a messy mix of things in which neither side could truly be called blameless, but neither were their actions fully unreasonable. It truly was a war with all the insanity inherent to the title. A small minority of Muggleborns had been 'taken from the cradle', so to speak, but their minute numbers (as well as the fact that one was royalty) combined with those who had left their Muggle origins behind for the chance to go to Hogwarts to make it seem like we all held ill-intent towards our Muggle counterparts. Considering that I had grown up believing them to be lesser than me for no reason other than their lack of magic, I cannot even say that that perspective on the situation was completely inaccurate either.
Meanwhile, the Muggles sought help from outsiders to level the playing field and had not made it clear that peaceful resolutions ought to be entertained as well should the end result still be the return of the children. As a result, far more died on both sides than was necessary.
Truly, the only one not acting out of loyalty to what could be interpreted as a worthwhile cause was Cadmus, whom I eventually learned died by his own hand as the war was coming to a close. I like to imagine that his final act was an attempt to keep Antioch's wand from going to another, but I'm not naive and am well aware that it is more likely that that his heart, twisted as it was with a need to blame and hate anyone the world, could not bear living without his love in a world that sought peace.
Does that make me partially responsible for my brother's death? I did eventually find myself working alongside the Muggle's king to put a stop to things. Mayhap, my rising to a place of forgiveness is what damned my brother to his final fall.
Ignore the ramblings of this old man, young Malfoy heirs, but I beg of thee to take this with you. Choose the path you walk wisely and decide, will hardened hearts keep you from seeking the truth and beauty that can come from discussion and forgiveness?
Sir Ignotus Peverell, titled by order of the Monarchy, Master of Charms and Creatures
For a time, the twins simply sat there, mulling over what they'd read and how it related to their own lives. For the moment, the History of Magic project was put to the side.
"I-I just remembered, I've a meeting this evening before dinner. Mind if we pick this back up tomorrow?" Persephone was the first to speak.
Atlas just waved her off, rubbing his left forearm with his right hand.
"Sophia! Got a minute?"
"You're talking to me again?"
Persephone felt her hackles rise. Deep breath. It's a reasonable question.
"I-I guess I am. Last week, I caughtyoutalkingtoDaren…" she spoke in a rush.
"What?"
"I caught you—"
"Yes, but what does that have to do with your ignoring me?"
"Well, he's my betrothed, and everyone knows you don't talk much with members of the opposite sex who are betrothed."
"I didn't know that. Either that you're betrothed OR that there's a taboo. I didn't even know they did marriage contracts for kids anymore. Besides, I was just asking him for some help with my potions essay."
Persephone rubbed her neck, feeling embarrassed.
"I guess I overreacted, huh?"
"Maybe a little, but that's okay. Friends?"
"Friends!"
"Let me get this straight. You, one of the foremost proponents for Purebloods taking back what was taken from them in the aftermath of the war, want us to disband and forgo everything we stand for?"
"I've recently learned that there are many ways to achieve one's goals. Why should we mimic the styles of fallen lords when dialogue and compromise may grant us a more permanent success than any before?" Atlas argued his point. More than two-thirds of this group was made up of Slytherins, and he had to make sure his explanations appealed to their sense of ambition.
It wouldn't do for them to know that he'd been taking another look at modern history and revising his perspective on the "slights" their people had suffered in recent years.
"You want us to talk? When has talking ever worked? You've gone mad!"
"When was the last time someone attempted it?"
A boy wearing blue and bronze stepped forward. "Peaceful demonstrations have happened, but they don't get noticed much unless they happen after a bout of violence. The extremists on each side tend to walk away feeling unsatisfied at all the compromise. That being said, meeting in the middle and trying to forgive those who have wronged us is a feasible way forward."
Atlas remembered how an unwillingness to move forward had almost led to the extinction of the Peverells and shuddered. Thankfully, it seemed like not many in this group were as comfortable with going to the extreme as he'd thought. A vote went through to disband, with all the moderates meeting to discuss the possibility of sending letters to the Wizengamot and Daily Prophet.
Somewhere, many centuries in the past, Ignotus Peverell slept and dreamed with a smile on his face.