Potter's Girl / Butterfly Effect.

101. Treacherous Old Bleeder

CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND ONE;

TREACHEROUS OLD BLEEDER.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I'm sorry," said Cassie before she could stop herself, "you mean to tell us that a.. child's fable... is the origin of the.. Deathly Hallows?"

"Not the origin of," corrected Xenophelius, "it is the Deathly Hallows, to put it plainly."

Hermione, who had just tucked away her copy of Beetle the Bard after reading out the The Tale of the Three Brothers, hesitated. "Sorry?" she asked. "How do you mean?"

   Xenophelius picked up a torn piece of parchment and procured a quill from the clutter on the coffee table before them. Upon the parchment, he drew a single, vertical line.

   "The Elder Wand," he narrated, then added a circle atop the line and said, "The Resurrection Stone," then enclosed both the line and the circle with a triangle, to make the symbol that so intrigued Hermione. "Together," he said, "the Deathly Hallows."

   "But there's no mention of the Deathly Hallows in the story," said Hermione, befuddled.

   "Well, of course not," said Xenophelius smugly. "That is a children's tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand the matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor the master of Death."

   "Sounds grim," Cassie said under her breath, meeting Ron's eyes and shifting her weight in the armchair she sat in. "When you say 'master of Death–'"

   "Master," said Xenophelius, waving a hand. "Or Conqueror, or Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer." He paused and glanced out the window. The sun was low in the sky already and dusk faded into the living room they sat in. "Luna ought to have enough Plimpies soon," he said quietly.

   "And you believe these exist?" said Hermione, sharing a glance with Harry. "The way you spoke about them implied that one really can.. be the 'Master of Death."

   "Oh." He blinked. "Of course."

   "But," she protested, "how could you possibly believe—?"

   "Luna has told me all about you, young lady," said Xenophelius. "You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded."

   "Mr. Lovegood," said Cassie, trying to nudge them back on the right track, "I think what Hermione meant was—"

   "And you," said Xenophelius, turning on Cassie. His light eyes were glossy as he stared her down. "Luna speaks highly of you, Cassiopeia. Named after the constellation, I take it, as all Black descendants are. You're unlike the rest of them, though, I can tell; pure Gryffindor, through-and-through. I imagine Luna would be proud of you."

Cassie's lips parted, her expression perfectly blank-faced as she gazed upon Xenophelius. She took a short moment of thought before Hermione spoke again.

"Mr. Lovegood, there are obviously—"

"She would be proud?" Cassie asked, her glance not having moved from Xenophelius. He had the grace to look slightly confused, so she clarified, "You said Luna would be proud of me. Why is she not proud of me, in present tense?"

"Cassie," said Hermione in a hushed voice, "it's hardly the time for a grammar lesson–"

"It's not a grammar lesson," said Cassie calmly, still keeping her eyes on Luna's father. "Just asking for clarification, yeah?"