The Three Gifts of Death -- HP/Sandman -- G
Title: The Three Gifts of Death
Fandoms: Harry Potter/Sandman crossover
Characters: Antioch Peverell, Cadmus Peverell, Ignotus Peverell, the Endless.
Prompt/Summary: Hermione was wrong: the Peverell brothers were not just dealing with a metaphor. (Discworld, Sandman, or any other fandom with an anthropomorphic personification of Death)
Word Count: 5,411
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The Peverell brothers are the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Brothers. The Endless are the property of Neil Gaiman and Vertigo Comics. No profit is being made and no trademark is being infringed upon.
Notes: This is a re-telling of "The Tale of the Three Brothers" from J.K. Rowling's Deathly Hallows, pp.330-32. Scenes have been added, expanded on and cut, and the characters of the three brothers more fleshed out. Comments made by Rowling in interviews are not being taken into account, as I don't consider commentary on canon to be canon.
***
The tale that the wizards tell now is not the true one, though they have persuaded themselves that it is. The wizards have convinced themselves that it is a moral fable praising the cleverness of mortals, who can even outwit Death if they are cunning enough, clever enough, well-hidden enough.
The true "Tale of the Three Brothers"...that, now, is somewhat different. For in addition to the three brothers, seven siblings were involved, and the seven had much and more to do with what befell the three, though the three never knew this.
It began when Faustus of Peverell, the father of the three brothers, fell ill at one of the family's northern estates and seemed likely to die. There was no law of primogeniture in those days, so each of his sons wondered if he might not be his father's intended heir. And, though none of them trusted the other two, they agreed to travel together.
Travel for wizards wasn't easy then, for many of their methods of travel were impossible. The Ministry would not permit wizards to fly above cities and vast estates, lest the sight of a wizard on a broom cause a Muggle lordling to panic and begin hunting down anyone who even looked like a wizard. Moreover, the land was populated by a score or more of small kings, each with his own kingdom-and his own magical advisor who prevented invasions by casting Anti-Apparation Charms. There was nothing even approaching a Knight Bus then, and Floo Powder had yet to be invented.
So the brothers were forced to choose between riding horses or walking, and walking was not to be thought of when horses were available.
Unluckily for them, on their third night, a band of robbers appeared who felt much the same way. While the brothers slept, the robbers stole their horses and coin and other valuables. And when they awoke the next morning, they had naught left but their clothes and their wands.
They kept going in hopes that they might reach another wizard's estate soon. But as they walked on, they came to a dark wood, and then, at twilight, to a shadowy river. The river was so deep that if seventy men stood at the bottom and then climbed upon each others' shoulders, the man at the apex of the group would not be halfway to the surface of the water. And it was so vast that none of the brothers could see the bank on the opposite side.
This did not stop the brothers, of course. The eldest, Antioch, turned the tallest tree in the wood into a log with a wave of his wand, then floated it to the river where he tried to transform it into a boat. But Antioch knew nothing of ship-building, and the poorly transformed log sank without a trace.The second, Cadmus, tried Apparation-but the land was charmed against it.
The third, whose formal name was Ignotus, frowned at the river. "Why can't we conjure up a bridge, and cross it that way?"
Antioch flushed red. "Only you would think of something like that," he snapped, a belligerent glint coming into his dark eyes.
"It would be dangerous," Cadmus said patiently; he was very nearly always patient when his brothers were around. "We could try, but we can't see the other side. We can't tell if the bridge would even be placed properly, Simpleton!"
Simpleton-that was what his brothers called Ignotus. He didn't mind overmuch; it was better than a name that every Latin scholar in the land could translate as "unknown, base, ignoble and ignorant." Being simple was better, in those days, than being willfully stupid.
"But it might work," he insisted. "And it wouldn't be that hard."
Striving to concoct a better plan, Antioch and Cadmus ignored their foolish and annoying sibling. At length, however, they agreed to try his plan, if only to make him stop pestering them. (Elder brothers have always done this. It's a cosmic law.)
So the three sought a spiderweb among the reeds near the river, and when they found one, they faced it, waved their wands simultaneously and shouted, "Pons!" And the spiderweb became a bridge of silver, slender, seemingly delicate and lacelike, yet strong as iron. And the three brothers-the two eldest congratulating themselves on their enormous cleverness, as Simpleton's contribution had already been forgotten-began to walk across the bridge.
But halfway across a person materialized in front of them.
It was a maiden-perhaps sixteen, perhaps eighteen-clad in robes of spring green that had been embroidered with rare and exotic blossoms, and a pale hooded traveling cloak. If wind and water could be woven into a shimmering fabric, it would look like that cloak.
None of the brothers had ever seen a fairer woman. Fair in both senses of the word, for she was both lovely and as pale as the world at midwinter. Her hair was black and fell loosely about her shoulders, and her eyes were dark and kind. She smiled at them tenderly as they approached, as if they had been long-lost kin whom she dearly loved.
"Antioch. Cadmus. Ignotus. It's been so long since we've seen each other."
"Seen you, lady?" replied Antioch. "I know not what my brothers may say, but I have never seen you before."
Cadmus frowned, but shook his head. "For a moment I thought I might have seen you at the estate of my love, Margaret... but no, I would have remembered a friend of hers who resembled you."
"I almost remember someone like you," said Simpleton, "It must have been a dream, but once, before I was born, I saw a maid who looked like you and she sang to me...though I don't know what she sang."
"None of you ever remember what I say," sighed the maiden. "Well, that's the way it is. Come. Take my hand."
So compelling was her voice that Antioch (who had fought in many a magical battle) and Simpleton (who obeyed most people without thought or question) both reached forth their hands.
But Cadmus protested. "No! Your name, lady, or we go nowhere with you!"
Now, there is a power in names, so the maiden tried to be oblique. "Some call me the Eldest Sister."
The brothers exchanged puzzled glances. Then Cadmus shook his head. "No. That will not do. Tell us your name!"
"Your fathers' fathers called me Teleute."
The brothers did not know Greek, so the word meant nothing to them.
"A third time I ask you!" shouted Cadmus. "Tell us your true name!"
The maiden looked sadly at him. "Why, Cadmus," she said softly. "I'm Death."
Now, it is a strange thing, but the instant that Death spoke her name, the three brothers all saw her very differently. Antioch saw her as a demon-goddess of war, red to the elbows with blood, and gore spattered on her face and teeth. Cadmus, who had recently lost the love of his life, saw Death as a vicious and selfish vampire who stole lives and then battened on the broken hearts of the grief-stricken. And Simpleton? He saw an enormous soul-devouring Dementor, eager to prey on the entire world.
Yet, despite what they saw, the face and form of Death did not alter one iota.
And now comes a false part of the story. The brothers were deeply frightened by Death, or by what they imagined Death to be, and because of this, they felt weak and helpless. The fear and the weakness made them angry, for they were proud and arrogant men, even Simpleton, and they were much puffed up by the conviction that, because they were wizards, they were finer and stronger and wiser than anyone in the world. They sorely misliked knowing that there was an entity capable of quelling them, one whose power they were unable to overcome.
And because they were angry and frightened and proud, they felt that Death should pay for humbling them as if they were no better than common Muggles. Oh, they knew in their bones it was wrong and that Death owed them nothing, but that only made them angrier.
So they lied.
They told themselves that Death had come upon them, not because it was their time, but because they had outwitted Death and saved their lives by building the bridge...just as if a bridge could keep a heart from stopping, or prevent a blood vessel from bursting in the brain. Death did not like being outwitted, they said, so it (for of course they had to think of Death as a thing) had offered to give them gifts. Poisoned gifts that would mean their doom. But they had asked for gifts that would protect them against Death's malice, and so had outwitted it a second time.
It was a lie. But the three brothers wanted to believe it, for the truth was somewhat less than palatable. And with lies, that is always half the battle.
Death did not see why she should give them gifts, and she told them so. "Listen," she said in exasperation. "I don't give presents to those I'm about to take. "
"You have no right to take us, you monster!" cried Simpleton.
"And we will fight you until the end of time," added Antioch, lifting his wand as if it were a sword.
"Not only with weapons," Cadmus said grimly, "but with ideas.You'll wish you had never seen us!"
And as he spoke those words, time-how to put this? Time froze for the brothers, but not for Death. Instead, a blind man, clad in the grey robe of a monk and shackled to a huge book, appeared by Death's side.
"You must give them what they ask for, sister," he said to Death. "The order of a universe depends on it."
Death scowled at her elder brother. "It won't do them any good, Destiny," she replied unhappily. "People will destroy themselves, betray friends and family, and fight wars...and for what? For 'gifts' I don't want to give, and that aren't worth having."
"Nevertheless, it is written," said Destiny somberly, "and so it must be."
"Yes," said Death, kicking the silver bridge. "But I don't have to like it."
"It is not required of us that we like what we must do, sister." And with that, Destiny vanished, and time--as far as the mortals were concerned--began again.
Death turned to them, and for the first time, her voice was weary. "All right. What do you want me to give you?"
Antioch was the first to step forward. "Give me a wand stronger than any other, a wand that can defeat every other wand in existence!" His head was high and his dark eyes flashed as he anticipated his victories both in duels and in war.
"It won't make you happy," Death warned him.
"It will make me powerful," said Antioch, "and that is all I care about."
And Death sighed, and walked across the water to an elder tree growing near the river, and broke off a small branch. Then she plucked a hair from her head, held the hair and the branch in her hands, and rubbed the two items together...and an instant later, she was holding a polished, reddish-brown wand.
She reappeared on the bridge and handed it to him without a word. Antioch accepted it, rejoicing.
"And what would you have?" she asked Cadmus, deep sorrow in her eyes.
Cadmus stood straight and tall, his grey eyes filled with pride and heartbreak. "Give me the power to bring the dead back."
Death stared at him. "Even I can't bring back the dead, once they have gone on. I can refuse to take people-though I would never do that again. I can leave spirits that don't want to go on yet. But the dead are dead."
But Cadmus refused to believe this, and railed at Death, saying that she had promised him whatever he had asked for (though she had done nothing of the kind) and that it was unjust that his brother have his heart's desire while he did not. So at last Death walked across the river, picked up a small black stone, and went back to the bridge.
"While you hold it, this stone will bring back the dead," she said, offering him the stone. "But I warn you, it won't make you happy."
"It will," said Cadmus, "for it will give me what I need most." And he gripped the stone tightly in his fist, as if it contained all the wealth of the world. But Death only shook her head and looked sorely grieved.
"And what will you have?" she asked Simpleton, her voice heavy with resignation.
Now, Simpleton knew little and understood less, but he knew he did not trust Death. In truth, he thought his brothers quite foolish, for what difference did it make that Antioch could conquer all wizards while Death remained unconquerable? What did it matter that Cadmus could resurrect the dead? Someday Cadmus himself would die, and he would not be able to resurrect himself. The only power worth having, he decided, was the ability to elude Death.
"Give me something," he said slowly, "that will allow me to leave this place so well hidden that even you cannot find me."
"Oh, Ignotus," Death replied, looking stricken, "that's the worst thing you could ask for! Anything else, but not that!"
But if Antioch was stubborn and Cadmus ten times as stubborn, Simpleton was a hundred times so, and at last Death was forced to agree. And she removed her grey cloak and gave it to Simpleton, telling him that it was a cloak of invisibility, and that even her eye could not pierce such a veil and see what lay beneath. Simpleton beamed with pleasure at this news.
Death only shook her head. "I shouldn't have allowed this," she said, "but I had no choice. Just remember this-if your gifts fail you, I'll be back, and I'll give you the other gift you refused today." And with that, she vanished.
It may well be imagined that the brothers did not linger on the bridge. And once they crossed the bridge, it was not long before they came to a crossroads. Without a second thought for their dying father, and feeling less and less inclination to remain in each other's company, the three of them parted ways.
Antioch took the road that led straight ahead. He walked on for seven days or so until he came to the town of Wimbourne Minster, where dwelt a wizard that he'd long envied and hated. It took little time to provoke a quarrel, and even less for Antioch to slay him with the wand that Death had given him So proud and pleased was he by this he immediately set out for the nearest inn to celebrate.
The nearest inn was called the Water Witch, with a tall, muscular, jovial red-headed innkeeper called Ted Truconis tending bar. Antioch boasted of his victory over his enemy and and his even greater victory over Death, and bought wine and ale for the whole bar so lavishly that the red-headed innkeeper was forced to take him aside.
"You've bragged enough for ten men," Truconis told Antioch, "and you've drunk enough for a hundred. I warn you, don't sleep here tonight; it's not safe. Haven't you noticed the looks you're getting from the other customers? They want that wand, and will stop at nothing to get it."
Antioch scoffed at Truconis's words. "What harm can anyone do me," he demanded, "while I have the Elder Wand?"
But he was wrong.
Oh, the wizards babble even now of wandlore and mysticism, but the truth is that Death had no wish to entrust to Antioch-or to any wizard--a weapon that could destroy all living things save its owner. And thus, Death willed that just as the Elder Wand could defeat any other wand, so too could any other wand beat it. It was the only way to keep all living things, including the Earth itself, safe.
That night, while Antioch lay abed--less asleep than unconscious, his brain soaked with wine--one of the customers who coveted the Elder Wand crept upstairs, cast a Severing Charm and cut Antioch's throat to the bone. Then, when its owner was safely dead, he stole the wand. And the murderous spell that Antioch had cast to slay his enemy and the killing wrought by the thief combined to form an omen, for ever after, the wand's history was written in blood, betrayal and death.
And so the first gift destroyed the eldest Peverell.
Now, Cadmus took the left-hand fork of the crossroads and headed toward his own estate near Bodmin Moor. It was a bleak and lonely place, barren of family and friends, empty of servants. Yet the isolation was one of his particular reasons for coming here, for he wanted to test the Resurrection Stone, and he could not bear to have anyone else see him try it...or greet his attempt with mocking laughter.
The instant he set foot in his house, therefore, he turned the stone three times round in his hand. And Fair Margaret, the love of his life and the joy of his heart who had died before their wedding, re-appeared before him, as lovely as she'd ever been. She spoke the words he most wanted to hear and laughed when his heart was glad, and for a time, all was bliss.
If he had been a sociable man, Cadmus would have realized the truth long before. But he lived out in the country and had few neighbors, and he had released all of his servants when Margaret had died. So no one was there to witness the inexplicable.
But slowly, Cadmus began to notice things-strange things that made no sense. He saw that Margaret was often followed, whether in the gardens or in the house, by a ragged young girl who sometimes had multicoloured tresses, and sometimes was shaved almost bald. Cadmus was troubled by this ragamuffin, for flowers sang weirdly discordant songs as she passed, and fish swam about her head. Sometimes, too, he thought he saw a tawny-eyed figure-maybe a man, maybe a woman--watching them with amusement. He tried asking Fair Margaret about these people, but she did not know what he meant, and stared at him, bewildered.
He strove to ignore these phantoms. After all, he had the woman that he loved, and that was enough. It had to be enough.
Then one warm spring day, as Cadmus was making passionate love to Margaret in the orchard, the stone, which Cadmus had hung on a strip of leather and hung round his neck so that it would always be there if Margaret needed its magic, fell off.
And at that instant, Margaret disappeared.
Cadmus screamed, cast half a hundred spells and sought her everywhere on the estate and on the moors. He scryed for her, bespoke the birds and beasts and fishes for news regarding her. But there was no sign of her. She was gone, and, to Cadmus, her absence was like an open wound.
The search had gone on for months when one day, as Cadmus was in his laboratory, the exotic golden-eyed phantom appeared, looking amused.
"How badly do you want her back? For I could arrange something like a reunion."
"I'd give anything to have Margaret back. My life. My soul." Then he blinked. "Wait. Who are you?"
"Call me Mathieu," said the stranger-who, oddly, looked more masculine that he had only seconds before, though no less exotic. "Mathieu Pi, at your service...for the moment."
Had he been a Muggle, Cadmus would have been thinking of deals with the devil, but he was a pureblood wizard and even then, wizards of his world had little knowledge of gods or demons. "What must I do to find her again?" he pleaded.
"Why, simply use this." Mathieu Pi opened his slim, pale hand (though Cadmus would have sworn it wasn't closed before)--and there, in his palm, lay the Resurrection Stone.
"W-where did you find it?" whispered Cadmus, reaching for the Stone. "I thought Death had stolen it from me."
"Death steal?" Mathieu Pi said, looking surprised and drawing his hand back. "She would never dream of such a thing. Why should she? All living things come to her sooner or later."
"Of course Death would steal to get its power back!" cried Cadmus. "And spirit Margaret away-it never wanted to free her! That's who that girl with the odd hair must have been-Death in disguise..."
"No." Mathieu Pi gazed at Cadmus solemnly. "I know who you mean, and she's not Death. Her name is Del, and she's my youngest sister."
This confused Cadmus sorely, but he did not want to anger Mathieu Pi, whatever he was, so he turned agreeable. "Of course," he said. "I can see the family resemblance."
Mathieu Pi only chuckled. "I doubt that greatly. Del and I have little in common, though I will admit that sometimes my people become hers."
This likewise troubled Cadmus, and he wished for nothing more than for this eerie stranger to begone, and so he asked Mathieu Pi what he would need to do to bring Margaret back. He was certain that simply turning the Stone in his hand would not be enough to summon her a second time.
"Oh, it's simple enough," said Mathieu Pi, shrugging indifferently. "Just do what you did last time." And he tossed the black stone to Cadmus as if it were a clipped coin, or a child's broken toy.
Cadmus lost no time in turning the stone thrice. And in the next instant, Margaret stood before him, as lovely and merry as ever.
"My," murmured Mathieu Pi, "she seems to have missed you sorely, doesn't she?"
A little niggling doubt assailed Cadmus; surely Margaret's health and joy were too perfect for one who had been stolen by death. But he shoved it away, and told her to come with him, for he was so jubilant that he wanted to ride to the closest village and buy some oddments to welcome her home.
"I wouldn't do that," warned Mathieu Pi, and so ominous were his voice and bearing that for a moment, Cadmus was afraid. And because he was afraid and hated being afraid, he ignored Mathieu Pi's advice.
But when he and Margaret rode to the village of St. Clether, Cadmus was shocked to see that the villagers all ignored Margaret. Even more, they seemed perplexed when he praised her beauty or offered to buy these flowers or that trinket because they pleased her ladyship. And when he would have purchased some Firewhisky in the local tavern and toasted the fair woman by his side, the woman he'd pledged his heart and soul to...well, both innkeeper and customers stared at him as if he were mad.
A dreadful suspicion crept upon Cadmus. Death had stolen Margaret and had shrouded her with Dark magic, so that even now only one who truly loved her could see her. Sadly, he put her back on his horse and rode back to his home with her, determined to break the spell.
Mathieu Pi was waiting near the stables when they returned. "Didn't work, did it?"
Cadmus explained what had happened and what he'd deduced.
"And I have to free her from Death's veil," he concluded, "else she'll be trapped forever. I must; it's all I desire. Pray, help us!""
Mathieu Pi stared at him incredulously. "Oh, it's a lovely theory," he said, groaning. "It just isn't true."
"She's not a ghost!" Cadmus shouted, privately fearing that this was exactly what Margaret was.
"No, she's not." Mathieu's voice was very gentle. "But neither can you force anyone to see what is not there."
"Liar!" Cadmus pointed a trembling finger at Margaret. "She is obviously here. I see her. You see her. Explain yourself! I want to know what you are talking about!"
"Your wanting is as deep as an ocean," Mathieu Pi murmured, his golden eyes gleaming. "Why should I satisfy this hopeless desire? It will do you no good, and will send you straight into the arms of my sisters."
But Cadmus beseeched and argued and pled and demanded that Mathieu tell him what he knew. And at last Mathieu did.
"I see Margaret as I see all desires-blazing like candles, hearth-fires and bonfires in minds and hearts."
"Desires?" Cadmus shook his head. "I desire her, certainly, but she's a person."
"She is not," and Mathieu Pi sounded, for the first time, impatient. "She is a desire. I see her because I am Desire; all desires are part and parcel of me. And you see her because you have the Resurrection Stone-though the name is wrong. As my sister told you, she cannot bring back the dead."
Chilled to the marrow, Cadmus froze in place. "But...she's here."
Mathieu Pi shook his head. "No. She's solid and real to you, yes. But all she is is a waking dream. You see her and hear her and touch her because you wish to...and because the stone my elder sister gave you shows you-not the true Margaret, but Margaret as you imagine her."
And Cadmus realized that Margaret never quarreled with him, never laughed when he was sad or mourned when he was merry, and that she was exactly what he wished her to be.
She was also nothing he wished her to be. There was no imagination in her, no fire, no thought he had not thought, no dream he did not share. No surprises. No wonder. No mystery.
He gazed at the image of Margaret and realized that though he could counterfeit her semblance, he could not bring back the woman he truly loved. Death hung between them like a veil, so that no matter how close he got, he could never touch her, and barred Cadmus's way like a portcullis, preventing him from ever leading his dead love back to the world of the living.
He knew then that he could no longer bear to live with her or without her. And it was like a hook tearing at his heart. After only a short handful of days, he could bear the pain and despair no longer, and went out to the stables and hanged himself there, while the image of Margaret watched.
And so the second gift slowly but just as surely destroyed the second eldest Peverell.
Simpleton, meanwhile, took the right-hand path and followed it to a tiny hamlet known as Godric's Hollow, far in the West Country. There he settled and wedded a woman, and sired children upon her. Most would have said he was content and happy, that he had defeated Death.
But Simpleton donned his Invisibility Cloak as soon as he and his brothers parted company at the crossroads, and never did he doff it. No man or woman ever saw his face again. He married, out of necessity, a witch who had been born blind and could not be helped by Healers; he wed her before a sightless Muggle priest, lest a wizard sense the magic of the Cloak and try to summon the garment from him. Nor could he be seen to cast spells, or to touch one of his children, or even to eat food, in case someone noticed that a person not there was casting, touching or eating.
So for many years, Simpleton lived apart, eating alone, doing no magic, touching his wife and children only by midnight or the dark of the moon, so that no one, not even Death, could know where he was. And as the years passed, Death's brother, Morpheus, sent ever stronger and more powerful dreams of life without the Cloak-of walking openly in the sun, and laughing with friends, and being touched.
Only a fool would refuse to live for fear of dying. Unfortunately, Ignotus Peverell was just such a fool.
He did not remove the Cloak until he was nigh unto a hundred and fifty. Then he gave it to his eldest living son, Tancred of Peverell (who, at ninety-seven years old, was not particularly thrilled by the gift of what he saw as a cursed garment, much less the prospect of wearing it). By then, life had become a burden for Simpleton. He was certain that Death had long since forgotten him and left him to soldier on in a bleak world where no one saw or cared for him.
And as he, uncloaked for the first time since he was eighteen, gazed at the world, Death appeared by his side, and her eyes were sad. But all she said was, "Take my hand, Ignotus. Your brothers are waiting."
And Ignotus, his body aged, his Cloak far from him, realized that he could flee Death no longer.
Now, the wizards would have you believe that the third brother greeted her as an old friend and that he left this world happily, the equal of Death in every way. Like so much in the wizards' version of the tale, it is a lie-and one that even a child could see through. For how could a mortal be the equal of an Endless? And how could one who had shunned her and cringed from her for more than a hundred years be her dearest friend?
It is true that Ignotus the Simpleton and Death spoke before she conveyed him to the Sunless Lands. But it was not the greeting of one old friend to another. Oh, no.
"Why?" Ignotus demanded of Death in a cracked voice filled with ancient rage. "Why did you condemn me to such an existence?"
"I didn't!" said Death. "I wouldn't have given you or any mortal the Cloak if my elder brother hadn't said that it was written in his book that I had to give those terrible gifts to you and your brothers. But you're the one who kept it on all these years."
"Of course I did!" stormed Ignotus. "If I didn't, I would have died!"
Death looked at him sorrowfully. "And instead of dying...you've failed to live."
And Ignotus, shamefaced and knowing that there was nothing else that he could do, took her hand. Not like a friend clasping another friend's hand as they went off on a wonderful adventure together. Like a little boy, afraid of the dark.
And there, really, the story ends. Oh, I know you have questions. Did Ignotus see his brothers again in some blissful afterlife? Did they become friends at last, though they had had little use for each other in life? Was Cadmus reunited with his beloved Margaret, either after death or through reincarnation? I cannot tell you; I know nothing of Death's realms. It may be so, or it may not.
As for the wand and stone and cloak...they acquired a name among wizards as things of power quite early. It didn't take long for the the histories of all three to become cursed and bloodstained, or for the legend to start that he who owned all three would be the master of death...even though no one is my sister's master. The objects have served their purpose and helped end a war, yet they still exist. Currently, the cloak is in the hands of Simpleton's descendent, the wand is entombed-though its owner must never do magic again, lest he lose a duel or battle and pass ownership of the Elder Wand to yet another evil, power-hungry wizard-and the stone has been lost.
But this last is of no importance; what is lost can be found again, and doubtless will be. And the wand and cloak, too, in the fullness of time, will change hands-and the destinies of their owners, and their owners' worlds, once more.
Not a cheerful thought, perhaps, when you think about it.
But then, "The Tale of the Three Brothers" is not the hopeful moral tale that the wizards claim it is, either.
***
Endnotes: "Ted Truconis" is an anagram for Destruction. "Mathieu Pi" is an anagram for "Epithumia," the Greek word for desire, craving or longing. Desire used this name in Book 6 of the Sandman series, Fables and Reflections. Despair's emblem is a hooked ring which tears at hearts. The girl with the odd hair is, of course, Delirium.
The inn mentioned in the story does exist in Lancaster, the county of Lancashire, U.K.
Fandoms: Harry Potter/Sandman crossover
Characters: Antioch Peverell, Cadmus Peverell, Ignotus Peverell, the Endless.
Prompt/Summary: Hermione was wrong: the Peverell brothers were not just dealing with a metaphor. (Discworld, Sandman, or any other fandom with an anthropomorphic personification of Death)
Word Count: 5,411
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The Peverell brothers are the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Brothers. The Endless are the property of Neil Gaiman and Vertigo Comics. No profit is being made and no trademark is being infringed upon.
Notes: This is a re-telling of "The Tale of the Three Brothers" from J.K. Rowling's Deathly Hallows, pp.330-32. Scenes have been added, expanded on and cut, and the characters of the three brothers more fleshed out. Comments made by Rowling in interviews are not being taken into account, as I don't consider commentary on canon to be canon.
***
The tale that the wizards tell now is not the true one, though they have persuaded themselves that it is. The wizards have convinced themselves that it is a moral fable praising the cleverness of mortals, who can even outwit Death if they are cunning enough, clever enough, well-hidden enough.
The true "Tale of the Three Brothers"...that, now, is somewhat different. For in addition to the three brothers, seven siblings were involved, and the seven had much and more to do with what befell the three, though the three never knew this.
It began when Faustus of Peverell, the father of the three brothers, fell ill at one of the family's northern estates and seemed likely to die. There was no law of primogeniture in those days, so each of his sons wondered if he might not be his father's intended heir. And, though none of them trusted the other two, they agreed to travel together.
Travel for wizards wasn't easy then, for many of their methods of travel were impossible. The Ministry would not permit wizards to fly above cities and vast estates, lest the sight of a wizard on a broom cause a Muggle lordling to panic and begin hunting down anyone who even looked like a wizard. Moreover, the land was populated by a score or more of small kings, each with his own kingdom-and his own magical advisor who prevented invasions by casting Anti-Apparation Charms. There was nothing even approaching a Knight Bus then, and Floo Powder had yet to be invented.
So the brothers were forced to choose between riding horses or walking, and walking was not to be thought of when horses were available.
Unluckily for them, on their third night, a band of robbers appeared who felt much the same way. While the brothers slept, the robbers stole their horses and coin and other valuables. And when they awoke the next morning, they had naught left but their clothes and their wands.
They kept going in hopes that they might reach another wizard's estate soon. But as they walked on, they came to a dark wood, and then, at twilight, to a shadowy river. The river was so deep that if seventy men stood at the bottom and then climbed upon each others' shoulders, the man at the apex of the group would not be halfway to the surface of the water. And it was so vast that none of the brothers could see the bank on the opposite side.
This did not stop the brothers, of course. The eldest, Antioch, turned the tallest tree in the wood into a log with a wave of his wand, then floated it to the river where he tried to transform it into a boat. But Antioch knew nothing of ship-building, and the poorly transformed log sank without a trace.The second, Cadmus, tried Apparation-but the land was charmed against it.
The third, whose formal name was Ignotus, frowned at the river. "Why can't we conjure up a bridge, and cross it that way?"
Antioch flushed red. "Only you would think of something like that," he snapped, a belligerent glint coming into his dark eyes.
"It would be dangerous," Cadmus said patiently; he was very nearly always patient when his brothers were around. "We could try, but we can't see the other side. We can't tell if the bridge would even be placed properly, Simpleton!"
Simpleton-that was what his brothers called Ignotus. He didn't mind overmuch; it was better than a name that every Latin scholar in the land could translate as "unknown, base, ignoble and ignorant." Being simple was better, in those days, than being willfully stupid.
"But it might work," he insisted. "And it wouldn't be that hard."
Striving to concoct a better plan, Antioch and Cadmus ignored their foolish and annoying sibling. At length, however, they agreed to try his plan, if only to make him stop pestering them. (Elder brothers have always done this. It's a cosmic law.)
So the three sought a spiderweb among the reeds near the river, and when they found one, they faced it, waved their wands simultaneously and shouted, "Pons!" And the spiderweb became a bridge of silver, slender, seemingly delicate and lacelike, yet strong as iron. And the three brothers-the two eldest congratulating themselves on their enormous cleverness, as Simpleton's contribution had already been forgotten-began to walk across the bridge.
But halfway across a person materialized in front of them.
It was a maiden-perhaps sixteen, perhaps eighteen-clad in robes of spring green that had been embroidered with rare and exotic blossoms, and a pale hooded traveling cloak. If wind and water could be woven into a shimmering fabric, it would look like that cloak.
None of the brothers had ever seen a fairer woman. Fair in both senses of the word, for she was both lovely and as pale as the world at midwinter. Her hair was black and fell loosely about her shoulders, and her eyes were dark and kind. She smiled at them tenderly as they approached, as if they had been long-lost kin whom she dearly loved.
"Antioch. Cadmus. Ignotus. It's been so long since we've seen each other."
"Seen you, lady?" replied Antioch. "I know not what my brothers may say, but I have never seen you before."
Cadmus frowned, but shook his head. "For a moment I thought I might have seen you at the estate of my love, Margaret... but no, I would have remembered a friend of hers who resembled you."
"I almost remember someone like you," said Simpleton, "It must have been a dream, but once, before I was born, I saw a maid who looked like you and she sang to me...though I don't know what she sang."
"None of you ever remember what I say," sighed the maiden. "Well, that's the way it is. Come. Take my hand."
So compelling was her voice that Antioch (who had fought in many a magical battle) and Simpleton (who obeyed most people without thought or question) both reached forth their hands.
But Cadmus protested. "No! Your name, lady, or we go nowhere with you!"
Now, there is a power in names, so the maiden tried to be oblique. "Some call me the Eldest Sister."
The brothers exchanged puzzled glances. Then Cadmus shook his head. "No. That will not do. Tell us your name!"
"Your fathers' fathers called me Teleute."
The brothers did not know Greek, so the word meant nothing to them.
"A third time I ask you!" shouted Cadmus. "Tell us your true name!"
The maiden looked sadly at him. "Why, Cadmus," she said softly. "I'm Death."
Now, it is a strange thing, but the instant that Death spoke her name, the three brothers all saw her very differently. Antioch saw her as a demon-goddess of war, red to the elbows with blood, and gore spattered on her face and teeth. Cadmus, who had recently lost the love of his life, saw Death as a vicious and selfish vampire who stole lives and then battened on the broken hearts of the grief-stricken. And Simpleton? He saw an enormous soul-devouring Dementor, eager to prey on the entire world.
Yet, despite what they saw, the face and form of Death did not alter one iota.
And now comes a false part of the story. The brothers were deeply frightened by Death, or by what they imagined Death to be, and because of this, they felt weak and helpless. The fear and the weakness made them angry, for they were proud and arrogant men, even Simpleton, and they were much puffed up by the conviction that, because they were wizards, they were finer and stronger and wiser than anyone in the world. They sorely misliked knowing that there was an entity capable of quelling them, one whose power they were unable to overcome.
And because they were angry and frightened and proud, they felt that Death should pay for humbling them as if they were no better than common Muggles. Oh, they knew in their bones it was wrong and that Death owed them nothing, but that only made them angrier.
So they lied.
They told themselves that Death had come upon them, not because it was their time, but because they had outwitted Death and saved their lives by building the bridge...just as if a bridge could keep a heart from stopping, or prevent a blood vessel from bursting in the brain. Death did not like being outwitted, they said, so it (for of course they had to think of Death as a thing) had offered to give them gifts. Poisoned gifts that would mean their doom. But they had asked for gifts that would protect them against Death's malice, and so had outwitted it a second time.
It was a lie. But the three brothers wanted to believe it, for the truth was somewhat less than palatable. And with lies, that is always half the battle.
Death did not see why she should give them gifts, and she told them so. "Listen," she said in exasperation. "I don't give presents to those I'm about to take. "
"You have no right to take us, you monster!" cried Simpleton.
"And we will fight you until the end of time," added Antioch, lifting his wand as if it were a sword.
"Not only with weapons," Cadmus said grimly, "but with ideas.You'll wish you had never seen us!"
And as he spoke those words, time-how to put this? Time froze for the brothers, but not for Death. Instead, a blind man, clad in the grey robe of a monk and shackled to a huge book, appeared by Death's side.
"You must give them what they ask for, sister," he said to Death. "The order of a universe depends on it."
Death scowled at her elder brother. "It won't do them any good, Destiny," she replied unhappily. "People will destroy themselves, betray friends and family, and fight wars...and for what? For 'gifts' I don't want to give, and that aren't worth having."
"Nevertheless, it is written," said Destiny somberly, "and so it must be."
"Yes," said Death, kicking the silver bridge. "But I don't have to like it."
"It is not required of us that we like what we must do, sister." And with that, Destiny vanished, and time--as far as the mortals were concerned--began again.
Death turned to them, and for the first time, her voice was weary. "All right. What do you want me to give you?"
Antioch was the first to step forward. "Give me a wand stronger than any other, a wand that can defeat every other wand in existence!" His head was high and his dark eyes flashed as he anticipated his victories both in duels and in war.
"It won't make you happy," Death warned him.
"It will make me powerful," said Antioch, "and that is all I care about."
And Death sighed, and walked across the water to an elder tree growing near the river, and broke off a small branch. Then she plucked a hair from her head, held the hair and the branch in her hands, and rubbed the two items together...and an instant later, she was holding a polished, reddish-brown wand.
She reappeared on the bridge and handed it to him without a word. Antioch accepted it, rejoicing.
"And what would you have?" she asked Cadmus, deep sorrow in her eyes.
Cadmus stood straight and tall, his grey eyes filled with pride and heartbreak. "Give me the power to bring the dead back."
Death stared at him. "Even I can't bring back the dead, once they have gone on. I can refuse to take people-though I would never do that again. I can leave spirits that don't want to go on yet. But the dead are dead."
But Cadmus refused to believe this, and railed at Death, saying that she had promised him whatever he had asked for (though she had done nothing of the kind) and that it was unjust that his brother have his heart's desire while he did not. So at last Death walked across the river, picked up a small black stone, and went back to the bridge.
"While you hold it, this stone will bring back the dead," she said, offering him the stone. "But I warn you, it won't make you happy."
"It will," said Cadmus, "for it will give me what I need most." And he gripped the stone tightly in his fist, as if it contained all the wealth of the world. But Death only shook her head and looked sorely grieved.
"And what will you have?" she asked Simpleton, her voice heavy with resignation.
Now, Simpleton knew little and understood less, but he knew he did not trust Death. In truth, he thought his brothers quite foolish, for what difference did it make that Antioch could conquer all wizards while Death remained unconquerable? What did it matter that Cadmus could resurrect the dead? Someday Cadmus himself would die, and he would not be able to resurrect himself. The only power worth having, he decided, was the ability to elude Death.
"Give me something," he said slowly, "that will allow me to leave this place so well hidden that even you cannot find me."
"Oh, Ignotus," Death replied, looking stricken, "that's the worst thing you could ask for! Anything else, but not that!"
But if Antioch was stubborn and Cadmus ten times as stubborn, Simpleton was a hundred times so, and at last Death was forced to agree. And she removed her grey cloak and gave it to Simpleton, telling him that it was a cloak of invisibility, and that even her eye could not pierce such a veil and see what lay beneath. Simpleton beamed with pleasure at this news.
Death only shook her head. "I shouldn't have allowed this," she said, "but I had no choice. Just remember this-if your gifts fail you, I'll be back, and I'll give you the other gift you refused today." And with that, she vanished.
It may well be imagined that the brothers did not linger on the bridge. And once they crossed the bridge, it was not long before they came to a crossroads. Without a second thought for their dying father, and feeling less and less inclination to remain in each other's company, the three of them parted ways.
Antioch took the road that led straight ahead. He walked on for seven days or so until he came to the town of Wimbourne Minster, where dwelt a wizard that he'd long envied and hated. It took little time to provoke a quarrel, and even less for Antioch to slay him with the wand that Death had given him So proud and pleased was he by this he immediately set out for the nearest inn to celebrate.
The nearest inn was called the Water Witch, with a tall, muscular, jovial red-headed innkeeper called Ted Truconis tending bar. Antioch boasted of his victory over his enemy and and his even greater victory over Death, and bought wine and ale for the whole bar so lavishly that the red-headed innkeeper was forced to take him aside.
"You've bragged enough for ten men," Truconis told Antioch, "and you've drunk enough for a hundred. I warn you, don't sleep here tonight; it's not safe. Haven't you noticed the looks you're getting from the other customers? They want that wand, and will stop at nothing to get it."
Antioch scoffed at Truconis's words. "What harm can anyone do me," he demanded, "while I have the Elder Wand?"
But he was wrong.
Oh, the wizards babble even now of wandlore and mysticism, but the truth is that Death had no wish to entrust to Antioch-or to any wizard--a weapon that could destroy all living things save its owner. And thus, Death willed that just as the Elder Wand could defeat any other wand, so too could any other wand beat it. It was the only way to keep all living things, including the Earth itself, safe.
That night, while Antioch lay abed--less asleep than unconscious, his brain soaked with wine--one of the customers who coveted the Elder Wand crept upstairs, cast a Severing Charm and cut Antioch's throat to the bone. Then, when its owner was safely dead, he stole the wand. And the murderous spell that Antioch had cast to slay his enemy and the killing wrought by the thief combined to form an omen, for ever after, the wand's history was written in blood, betrayal and death.
And so the first gift destroyed the eldest Peverell.
Now, Cadmus took the left-hand fork of the crossroads and headed toward his own estate near Bodmin Moor. It was a bleak and lonely place, barren of family and friends, empty of servants. Yet the isolation was one of his particular reasons for coming here, for he wanted to test the Resurrection Stone, and he could not bear to have anyone else see him try it...or greet his attempt with mocking laughter.
The instant he set foot in his house, therefore, he turned the stone three times round in his hand. And Fair Margaret, the love of his life and the joy of his heart who had died before their wedding, re-appeared before him, as lovely as she'd ever been. She spoke the words he most wanted to hear and laughed when his heart was glad, and for a time, all was bliss.
If he had been a sociable man, Cadmus would have realized the truth long before. But he lived out in the country and had few neighbors, and he had released all of his servants when Margaret had died. So no one was there to witness the inexplicable.
But slowly, Cadmus began to notice things-strange things that made no sense. He saw that Margaret was often followed, whether in the gardens or in the house, by a ragged young girl who sometimes had multicoloured tresses, and sometimes was shaved almost bald. Cadmus was troubled by this ragamuffin, for flowers sang weirdly discordant songs as she passed, and fish swam about her head. Sometimes, too, he thought he saw a tawny-eyed figure-maybe a man, maybe a woman--watching them with amusement. He tried asking Fair Margaret about these people, but she did not know what he meant, and stared at him, bewildered.
He strove to ignore these phantoms. After all, he had the woman that he loved, and that was enough. It had to be enough.
Then one warm spring day, as Cadmus was making passionate love to Margaret in the orchard, the stone, which Cadmus had hung on a strip of leather and hung round his neck so that it would always be there if Margaret needed its magic, fell off.
And at that instant, Margaret disappeared.
Cadmus screamed, cast half a hundred spells and sought her everywhere on the estate and on the moors. He scryed for her, bespoke the birds and beasts and fishes for news regarding her. But there was no sign of her. She was gone, and, to Cadmus, her absence was like an open wound.
The search had gone on for months when one day, as Cadmus was in his laboratory, the exotic golden-eyed phantom appeared, looking amused.
"How badly do you want her back? For I could arrange something like a reunion."
"I'd give anything to have Margaret back. My life. My soul." Then he blinked. "Wait. Who are you?"
"Call me Mathieu," said the stranger-who, oddly, looked more masculine that he had only seconds before, though no less exotic. "Mathieu Pi, at your service...for the moment."
Had he been a Muggle, Cadmus would have been thinking of deals with the devil, but he was a pureblood wizard and even then, wizards of his world had little knowledge of gods or demons. "What must I do to find her again?" he pleaded.
"Why, simply use this." Mathieu Pi opened his slim, pale hand (though Cadmus would have sworn it wasn't closed before)--and there, in his palm, lay the Resurrection Stone.
"W-where did you find it?" whispered Cadmus, reaching for the Stone. "I thought Death had stolen it from me."
"Death steal?" Mathieu Pi said, looking surprised and drawing his hand back. "She would never dream of such a thing. Why should she? All living things come to her sooner or later."
"Of course Death would steal to get its power back!" cried Cadmus. "And spirit Margaret away-it never wanted to free her! That's who that girl with the odd hair must have been-Death in disguise..."
"No." Mathieu Pi gazed at Cadmus solemnly. "I know who you mean, and she's not Death. Her name is Del, and she's my youngest sister."
This confused Cadmus sorely, but he did not want to anger Mathieu Pi, whatever he was, so he turned agreeable. "Of course," he said. "I can see the family resemblance."
Mathieu Pi only chuckled. "I doubt that greatly. Del and I have little in common, though I will admit that sometimes my people become hers."
This likewise troubled Cadmus, and he wished for nothing more than for this eerie stranger to begone, and so he asked Mathieu Pi what he would need to do to bring Margaret back. He was certain that simply turning the Stone in his hand would not be enough to summon her a second time.
"Oh, it's simple enough," said Mathieu Pi, shrugging indifferently. "Just do what you did last time." And he tossed the black stone to Cadmus as if it were a clipped coin, or a child's broken toy.
Cadmus lost no time in turning the stone thrice. And in the next instant, Margaret stood before him, as lovely and merry as ever.
"My," murmured Mathieu Pi, "she seems to have missed you sorely, doesn't she?"
A little niggling doubt assailed Cadmus; surely Margaret's health and joy were too perfect for one who had been stolen by death. But he shoved it away, and told her to come with him, for he was so jubilant that he wanted to ride to the closest village and buy some oddments to welcome her home.
"I wouldn't do that," warned Mathieu Pi, and so ominous were his voice and bearing that for a moment, Cadmus was afraid. And because he was afraid and hated being afraid, he ignored Mathieu Pi's advice.
But when he and Margaret rode to the village of St. Clether, Cadmus was shocked to see that the villagers all ignored Margaret. Even more, they seemed perplexed when he praised her beauty or offered to buy these flowers or that trinket because they pleased her ladyship. And when he would have purchased some Firewhisky in the local tavern and toasted the fair woman by his side, the woman he'd pledged his heart and soul to...well, both innkeeper and customers stared at him as if he were mad.
A dreadful suspicion crept upon Cadmus. Death had stolen Margaret and had shrouded her with Dark magic, so that even now only one who truly loved her could see her. Sadly, he put her back on his horse and rode back to his home with her, determined to break the spell.
Mathieu Pi was waiting near the stables when they returned. "Didn't work, did it?"
Cadmus explained what had happened and what he'd deduced.
"And I have to free her from Death's veil," he concluded, "else she'll be trapped forever. I must; it's all I desire. Pray, help us!""
Mathieu Pi stared at him incredulously. "Oh, it's a lovely theory," he said, groaning. "It just isn't true."
"She's not a ghost!" Cadmus shouted, privately fearing that this was exactly what Margaret was.
"No, she's not." Mathieu's voice was very gentle. "But neither can you force anyone to see what is not there."
"Liar!" Cadmus pointed a trembling finger at Margaret. "She is obviously here. I see her. You see her. Explain yourself! I want to know what you are talking about!"
"Your wanting is as deep as an ocean," Mathieu Pi murmured, his golden eyes gleaming. "Why should I satisfy this hopeless desire? It will do you no good, and will send you straight into the arms of my sisters."
But Cadmus beseeched and argued and pled and demanded that Mathieu tell him what he knew. And at last Mathieu did.
"I see Margaret as I see all desires-blazing like candles, hearth-fires and bonfires in minds and hearts."
"Desires?" Cadmus shook his head. "I desire her, certainly, but she's a person."
"She is not," and Mathieu Pi sounded, for the first time, impatient. "She is a desire. I see her because I am Desire; all desires are part and parcel of me. And you see her because you have the Resurrection Stone-though the name is wrong. As my sister told you, she cannot bring back the dead."
Chilled to the marrow, Cadmus froze in place. "But...she's here."
Mathieu Pi shook his head. "No. She's solid and real to you, yes. But all she is is a waking dream. You see her and hear her and touch her because you wish to...and because the stone my elder sister gave you shows you-not the true Margaret, but Margaret as you imagine her."
And Cadmus realized that Margaret never quarreled with him, never laughed when he was sad or mourned when he was merry, and that she was exactly what he wished her to be.
She was also nothing he wished her to be. There was no imagination in her, no fire, no thought he had not thought, no dream he did not share. No surprises. No wonder. No mystery.
He gazed at the image of Margaret and realized that though he could counterfeit her semblance, he could not bring back the woman he truly loved. Death hung between them like a veil, so that no matter how close he got, he could never touch her, and barred Cadmus's way like a portcullis, preventing him from ever leading his dead love back to the world of the living.
He knew then that he could no longer bear to live with her or without her. And it was like a hook tearing at his heart. After only a short handful of days, he could bear the pain and despair no longer, and went out to the stables and hanged himself there, while the image of Margaret watched.
And so the second gift slowly but just as surely destroyed the second eldest Peverell.
Simpleton, meanwhile, took the right-hand path and followed it to a tiny hamlet known as Godric's Hollow, far in the West Country. There he settled and wedded a woman, and sired children upon her. Most would have said he was content and happy, that he had defeated Death.
But Simpleton donned his Invisibility Cloak as soon as he and his brothers parted company at the crossroads, and never did he doff it. No man or woman ever saw his face again. He married, out of necessity, a witch who had been born blind and could not be helped by Healers; he wed her before a sightless Muggle priest, lest a wizard sense the magic of the Cloak and try to summon the garment from him. Nor could he be seen to cast spells, or to touch one of his children, or even to eat food, in case someone noticed that a person not there was casting, touching or eating.
So for many years, Simpleton lived apart, eating alone, doing no magic, touching his wife and children only by midnight or the dark of the moon, so that no one, not even Death, could know where he was. And as the years passed, Death's brother, Morpheus, sent ever stronger and more powerful dreams of life without the Cloak-of walking openly in the sun, and laughing with friends, and being touched.
Only a fool would refuse to live for fear of dying. Unfortunately, Ignotus Peverell was just such a fool.
He did not remove the Cloak until he was nigh unto a hundred and fifty. Then he gave it to his eldest living son, Tancred of Peverell (who, at ninety-seven years old, was not particularly thrilled by the gift of what he saw as a cursed garment, much less the prospect of wearing it). By then, life had become a burden for Simpleton. He was certain that Death had long since forgotten him and left him to soldier on in a bleak world where no one saw or cared for him.
And as he, uncloaked for the first time since he was eighteen, gazed at the world, Death appeared by his side, and her eyes were sad. But all she said was, "Take my hand, Ignotus. Your brothers are waiting."
And Ignotus, his body aged, his Cloak far from him, realized that he could flee Death no longer.
Now, the wizards would have you believe that the third brother greeted her as an old friend and that he left this world happily, the equal of Death in every way. Like so much in the wizards' version of the tale, it is a lie-and one that even a child could see through. For how could a mortal be the equal of an Endless? And how could one who had shunned her and cringed from her for more than a hundred years be her dearest friend?
It is true that Ignotus the Simpleton and Death spoke before she conveyed him to the Sunless Lands. But it was not the greeting of one old friend to another. Oh, no.
"Why?" Ignotus demanded of Death in a cracked voice filled with ancient rage. "Why did you condemn me to such an existence?"
"I didn't!" said Death. "I wouldn't have given you or any mortal the Cloak if my elder brother hadn't said that it was written in his book that I had to give those terrible gifts to you and your brothers. But you're the one who kept it on all these years."
"Of course I did!" stormed Ignotus. "If I didn't, I would have died!"
Death looked at him sorrowfully. "And instead of dying...you've failed to live."
And Ignotus, shamefaced and knowing that there was nothing else that he could do, took her hand. Not like a friend clasping another friend's hand as they went off on a wonderful adventure together. Like a little boy, afraid of the dark.
And there, really, the story ends. Oh, I know you have questions. Did Ignotus see his brothers again in some blissful afterlife? Did they become friends at last, though they had had little use for each other in life? Was Cadmus reunited with his beloved Margaret, either after death or through reincarnation? I cannot tell you; I know nothing of Death's realms. It may be so, or it may not.
As for the wand and stone and cloak...they acquired a name among wizards as things of power quite early. It didn't take long for the the histories of all three to become cursed and bloodstained, or for the legend to start that he who owned all three would be the master of death...even though no one is my sister's master. The objects have served their purpose and helped end a war, yet they still exist. Currently, the cloak is in the hands of Simpleton's descendent, the wand is entombed-though its owner must never do magic again, lest he lose a duel or battle and pass ownership of the Elder Wand to yet another evil, power-hungry wizard-and the stone has been lost.
But this last is of no importance; what is lost can be found again, and doubtless will be. And the wand and cloak, too, in the fullness of time, will change hands-and the destinies of their owners, and their owners' worlds, once more.
Not a cheerful thought, perhaps, when you think about it.
But then, "The Tale of the Three Brothers" is not the hopeful moral tale that the wizards claim it is, either.
***
Endnotes: "Ted Truconis" is an anagram for Destruction. "Mathieu Pi" is an anagram for "Epithumia," the Greek word for desire, craving or longing. Desire used this name in Book 6 of the Sandman series, Fables and Reflections. Despair's emblem is a hooked ring which tears at hearts. The girl with the odd hair is, of course, Delirium.
The inn mentioned in the story does exist in Lancaster, the county of Lancashire, U.K.