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66.06% HP: A Magical Journey [Complete] / Chapter 291: The Tale of the Three Brothers

Chương 291: The Tale of the Three Brothers

If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @

[ https://www.patreón.com/fictiononlyreader ]

The link is also in the synopsis.

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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.

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.

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.

"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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If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!


SUY NGHĨ CỦA NGƯỜI SÁNG TẠO
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Chương 292: A Calm Talk

If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @

[ https://www.patreón.com/fictiononlyreader ]

The link is also in the synopsis.

.

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Quinn came out of a hallway and patted his robes for clouds of dust to puff up around him. He sighed as he waved his hand over himself, and immediately all the dust vanished, leaving his clothes cleaner.

He looked to left and right. As he had seen in Recon, the hallways were empty. Quinn began his walk towards the Headboy Suite; he seriously wanted to hop under a shower. Heavy-duty work, even with magic, was tiring to do when one kept at it for a long time.

He stepped onto one of the secret internal passages built within the castle's walls and stepped out onto the fourth floor. There were dozens of them throughout the castle and regularly used by Quinn to traverse through the castle.

"Ah, Mr. West," said a voice behind Quinn's back, "fancy seeing you here."

«Ah . . . my hot shower— . . . . . .»

Quinn cracked his neck and turned to face the Headmaster sporting his glorious white beard and long flowing beard, his crystal blue eyes peering at him through the half-moon glasses that hung of the bridge of his long nose.

". . . Professor Dumbledore," said Quinn as Dumbledore walked his way to him, "this is the fourth floor, and I live in the Headboy Suite . . . so I should be the one to say— fancy seeing you here."

"I have been known to take a walk or two clear my mind, Mr. West," Dumbledore joined Quinn as they slowly began walking in the hallways. "And, I'm sure you of all would understand that the hallways of Hogwarts work wonders when one wants to clear their minds."

Quinn laughed, "I'm not sure what you mean, Professor."

"Oh, I'm sure you can confess to it now that you're the Headboy in the final year," chuckled Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling in a playful light. "I'm sure you have your own big enough share of late-night, after curfew, strolls."

"Who knows, Professor, maybe I did, or maybe I didn't, " Quinn shrugged with a smile. "And if I did, you know what they say— A secret is strongest when only known to one person."

"Who says that?"

"Hmm? I, for one, think it's a fantastic saying, so at least one person says it," Quinn pointed at himself.

"That means you have secrets . . . do you, Mr. West?" asked Dumbledore.

"Who doesn't have secrets, Headmaster?" said Quinn. "Everyone has a little or two secrets, sitting here and there."

He heard no reply from Dumbledore, and for a second, the conversation died down into silence. Both of them had secrets of their own, a more than fair share of secrets.

"So, you're out here on a walk to clear your mind," Quinn said to Dumbledore. "Tell me, Professor, what are you trying to clear your head off."

It was a casual question asked in a casual tone to continue the casual conversation between the Headmaster and Headboy as they walked. However, the intention behind it was anything but casual, and while the conversation proceeded casually, what lingered between the lines was anything but casual.

"The current times have been tough," Dumbledore hummed. "The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters have been quite active with their . . . work."

"Ah, you mean the break-in, assaults, and building decimations," Quinn said with a lit light bulb expression.

There had been many all sorts of criminal activities around the country, magical and non-magical kind both. However, the curious thing was that all of those various activities followed the same Modus operandi as a particular Dark Lord-following group of loyal blood supremacists— but all of them lacked one important defining part. . . . they lacked the Dark Mark from the spell Morsmordre.

The Death Eaters, in the war, were regularly known to release the Morsmordre Dark Mark into the air above their victim's site— burning buildings, murders, ravaged businesses, beaten opposers . . . whatever heinous crime the Death Eaters did, they would leave behind the Dark Mark.

But this time around, there was nothing of that.

Dumbledore glanced at Quinn; his expression didn't have surprise on it, "You believe the things that have been happening are Death Eater's fault?"

The media was divided into two. One side believed that what was happening was indeed Death Eaters' doing. But the other side believed that those blaming it on Death Eaters were trying to sow the seeds of chaos in the minds of the people.

"Of course, it's quite clear, isn't it?" Quinn said. "While the absence of the Dark Marks is there, but everything else is Death Eater-esque. Yes, they have done a good job of hiding their operations, and yes, I believe this is an attempt to throw the public into chaos. But the ones causing chaos aren't the ones blaming the accidents and events on the Death Eaters. It's the Death Eaters themselves who are actively aiming to throw people into turmoil.

It's quite clear that Death Eaters are manipulating the media to plant doubt in the minds of people, make them think if the Dark Lord is back or not . . ."

Yes, even though the Dark Lord had shown himself in the Ministry, the only ones who had seen him were Dumbledore and select Ministry Employees. The number of people who had seen the Dark Lord was worryingly low, and it didn't help that Fudge's effort to deny the return had done damage, which again did more damage when he in his last days as the Minister went around saying— "Yes, You-Know-Who is back."

". . . the people don't know who to believe," continued Quinn. "The Ministry which had been adamant about refusing the Dark Lord's return . . . now, the same Ministry was actively propagating that his return is indeed true. . . .

And from what I have read, in the war, the Dark Lord went out on the raids and assaults, with his lackeys, quite a few times . . . but now he's nowhere to be seen— so the people who had gone through the war, those who fear him, dread his actions, are now confused, wondering why the all-powerful Dark Lord would hide himself?"

The Dark Lord's action had been quite clever in Quinn's eyes. After his murder attempt at Amelia Bones, he had grounded himself, shielded away from every peering eye. The Death Eaters, which had acted semi-openly before, were now working entirely in stealth— they left behind no marks that would the blame at them, and barely any witnesses were found.

This course of action only further confused the public. For why, the Dark Lord, who had been so close to killing the soon-to-be Minister, then Head of DMLE, would suddenly go into hiding. The Dark Lord had shown his might and had reached the throat of the person who had access to all the Aurors and Hit Wizards— so then why all of this sneaking behind.

It wasn't the Dark Lord's "style."

The "public" were all the people.

The "public" were the Aurors, street-side stall owners, solicitors, salaried workers, Ministry employees, construction workers, the rich and the poor, the young and the old . . . everyone had doubts in their minds.

Was the Dark Lord alive, or was he dead?

Who was telling the truth, and who was threading a web of lies?

What were the facts, and what was hogwash?

The Dark Lord had launched a perfect scheme.

"There isn't any photo evidence of Death Eaters," said Quinn before he chuckled.

That made Dumbledore tilt his head. "What is it?" he asked.

"The failed assault on the Floor Authority Head Westen's home," said Quinn. "That plan was brilliantly planned, even if it did fail.'

"Ah," Dumbledore didn't need to ask; he instantly understood exactly why Quinn had said do, "you mean because of the trials."

"Yes, the trials," said Quinn, snapping his fingers. "Augustus Rookwood and Rivers Lock fled from the scene, escaping the Aurors. But they left behind their companions," he looked at Dumbledore, "all of them dressed in Death Eater attire— Alas . . ."

Dumbledore sighed, "Alas . . . they were all previous Novellus Accionite members."

"Yes, they were Novellus Accionite members, young people— who didn't have the Dark Mark on their forearms . . . and Rivers Lock was there." Quinn smiled deeply, "The narrative that came out of it, I wasn't expecting. A lot of people ended up believing that the escaped Death Eaters from the Azkaban breakout assimilated and led the Novellus Accionites— they took in the new blood and infused it into the time-ravaged Death Eater organization.

And that they did it alone . . . that it was the escapees who were trying to use the dead Dark Lord's image to build themselves."

Dumbledore breathed a weary sigh. "The Dark Lord has many affluent people under his command— those who have their reaches in high places of society. They are pulling their strings from the shadows— setting people's minds into disarray . . .

. . . But not all is bad," Dumbledore smiled beneath his beard as well his eyes at Quinn. "Your family's Aegis warding business is spreading through homes and businesses as if fiendfyre— especially homes of muggleborn. I have heard from Ms. Granger that a lot of muggleborns have been employing your services . . . and that it has thwarted a number of attacks, saved more lives."

"Fiendfyre, Professor, really?" chuckled Quinn. "That's not a positive connotation, now is it? But I like it— fiendfyre does sound apt."

Aegis had been going quite well. It's cheaper than goblin's ward prices had attracted people, and the customer service had converted them into paying customers. The non-magical customers loved because the representatives understood them and didn't come from a society so cut-off from them. While the magical customers had started buying their services because of the collaboration with DMLE.

"However, I'm impressed by another business that I have been hearing about recently," said Dumbledore. "I don't know if you have heard of it, but it's known as. . . The Labyrinth."

Quinn didn't show any unusual reaction to the name. He kept himself calm and looked up at Dumbledore. "I have indeed heard about it, sir. Quite fascinating, I must say. Passages that would help one escape to a random place in the country— far away from their assaulters."

"Yes, it's fascinating. It's clearly a take on the Vanishing Cabinets of old, and the " Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "However, I'm curious on who is behind Labyrinth . . . their way of operation is intriguing. They send letters to people's doors and through your family's MagiFax. I have read a version of those letters— they simply state their services, to the point and bluntly. And when you pay, they send you the door . . . which opens up to a deserted place somewhere in the country."

". . .That made the people spread the news through word of mouth," Quinn continued from Dumbledore. "Soon, the letters changed, and people could order for other people . . . and then it doesn't matter if you have the letter or not, people pay and get their door."

There wasn't a single person associated with Labyrinth. No one knew where the letters came from or who dropped off the doors. Only instructions on how to install and customize the door in their homes. When it was done, the doors worked, and people had a way to escape.

"Who do you think is behind Labyrinth, Mr. West," asked Dumbledore.

"I don't know, Professor," said Quinn as they reached the Headboy's Suite. "Whoever it is clearly doesn't want to be known— I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but currently, from what I have seen the Labyrinth do, I can only say that they're doing one heck of a job.

Now, Professor, I would like to take my leave. I enjoyed this little talk of ours," he said.

"Of course, Mr. West," said Dumbledore and gestured for Quinn to enter his room. "I too enjoyed this talk of ours," he beamed, "it did clear my mind of something."

'Do you mean the Horcruxes?' thought Quinn.

«Because I'm way ahead of you on that.»

'Oh boy, that synced in so smooth,' Quinn shivered a little internally.

"Glad I could be helpful," smiled Quinn.

The two players on the field parted without revealing their intentions to each other.

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Quinn West - MC - I mean . . . I know I'm amazing.

Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster - Busy with a hunt of his own . . . it's not going that well.

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If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.

The link is in the synopsis!


SUY NGHĨ CỦA NGƯỜI SÁNG TẠO
FictionOnlyReader FictionOnlyReader

Just like always,

Review, comment, add to the library, and share this fic.

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