HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 17: The Old Legend of the Three Brothers

Chapter Seventeen: The Old Legend of the Three Brothers

The Christmas holidays flew by amidst Draco's fulfilling extracurricular research.

Beyond his private studies, Draco accompanied his mother, Narcissa, to a tedious succession of social gatherings—the Yaxleys, the Roziers, the Parkinsons, the Flints, the Burkes, the Crabbes…

When it came to cultivating connections, no one in the Malfoy family could rival Narcissa. Her maiden name—Black—carried profound weight: most pure-blood families traced some line of descent to that ancient house, making her virtually invincible in pure-blood society.

Tall, fair-skinned, and blonde, Narcissa possessed enviable beauty enhanced by her dual heritage as both a Black and a Malfoy. She was inevitably the guest of honor at any pure-blood gathering.

Draco suspected his mother didn't truly enjoy these affairs; she participated purely for the family's benefit.

When dealing with families less wealthy and powerful than her own, Narcissa rarely bothered with deliberate charm. Yet the other families didn't mind—her mere presence at their gatherings was considered an honor.

Of course, when profit beckoned, Narcissa could transform herself into the most enchanting socialite in the room. She would set aside her natural hauteur, deploy impeccable etiquette and irresistible warmth, and secure advantageous friendships with lonely matrons and ambitious hostesses alike.

But beneath the practiced smiles, her pride never truly disappeared.

With Draco, however, she was simply Mother—gentle, affectionate, even playful.

Those who kowtowed to her at parties would hardly recognize the woman who still told her nearly-twelve-year-old son bedtime stories.

Even with a seventeen-year-old's soul trapped inside, Draco cherished these moments. They let him forget his mounting anxieties, however briefly.

Lucius was less enthused.

"He's almost twelve, Narcissa. He doesn't need to be coddled." Lucius leaned against the doorframe, face cold with impatience.

Draco said nothing, only squeezed his mother's hand and gazed up at her with wide, innocent eyes.

It always worked.

"It's so rare for Draco to be home, yet you're depriving me of time with him..." Narcissa sighed, wounded. "Have you no heart...?"

"Fine, fine." Lucius wrinkled his nose, fingers toying with his serpent-headed cane. "One last story."

Narcissa opened The Tales of Beedle the Bard to a familiar page.

"'The Tale of the Three Brothers,'" she began.

*There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. But the three brothers, learned in the magical arts, 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.*

*And Death spoke to them.*

Narcissa's voice was soft and measured as she recounted the ancient tale. Death, cheated of three new victims, pretended to reward the clever brothers. The eldest demanded the most powerful wand in existence—so Death fashioned one from an elder tree on the riverbank. The second brother, arrogant and cruel, demanded the power to recall the dead—so Death gave him a stone from the river. The youngest, wisest brother asked for something to hide him from Death himself—and reluctantly, Death handed over his own Invisibility Cloak.

The brothers parted ways.

The eldest traveled to a distant village, won a duel with his invincible wand, then boasted of it in a tavern. That night, another wizard slit his throat and stole the Elder Wand. Death claimed the first brother.

The second returned home and used his stone to summon the girl he'd loved, who had died young. But she was cold and distant, suffering between worlds. Driven mad with longing, he took his own life to join her. Death claimed the second brother.

The third brother lived to a great age, hidden beneath his Cloak. When his time came, he passed the Cloak to his son, then greeted Death as an old friend and departed as an equal.

Narcissa closed the book.

Draco's eyes gleamed. He'd heard this tale countless times, but tonight, something clicked into place.

The Elder Wand. Could this be what the Dark Lord had been seeking?

Back in November, while researching the medieval duelist Emeric the Evil for an essay, Draco had encountered references to the Elder Wand—the legendary wand Emeric had supposedly wielded until his defeat by Egbert the Egregious. He'd dismissed it as myth then.

But what if it wasn't?

"Mother," Draco asked, voice carefully casual, "do you know the brothers' names?"

"The Peverell brothers, I believe," Narcissa replied lightly.

"Do you think the Elder Wand really exists?"

"It's just a story, Draco." Lucius ruffled his son's hair, amused.

"Perhaps not entirely." Narcissa smiled. "The Peverell name appears in *Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy*. The Black family archives mention them. I've always believed legends contain kernels of truth. The Peverells existed—of that I'm certain."

Lucius pulled out his pocket watch, waving it meaningfully at his wife.

"Sleep now, darling." Narcissa kissed Draco's forehead. "We leave for King's Cross early tomorrow."

Draco yawned on cue.

Lucius extinguished the candle with a wave of his wand, then guided Narcissa out, one arm around her waist.

But Draco's eyes snapped open the moment they left.

Under the moonlight, his mind raced.

*The most powerful wand in existence... would always win duels for its owner... Death fashioned it from an elder tree...*

The Elder Wand. The Dark Lord had wielded it in their final confrontation. He'd taken it from Dumbledore's tomb.

If the legend was true—and suddenly Draco felt certain it was—then he knew where the wand resided now.

With Dumbledore.

In his previous timeline, Draco had used *Expelliarmus* on the Astronomy Tower. He remembered the wand flying from Dumbledore's hand, its distinctive pale wood catching moonlight. Elder wood. Of course.

If anyone deserved to wield the Elder Wand, it was Dumbledore.

Everything suddenly made horrible sense.

Why had the Dark Lord imprisoned and tortured Ollivander and Florean Fortescue in Malfoy Manor's dungeons? Why had he abandoned the hunt for Potter to track down the wandmaker Gregorovitch in Eastern Europe? Why had he violated Dumbledore's tomb, prying the wand from dead fingers...?

But possessing the Elder Wand hadn't made the Dark Lord invincible. Far from it.

Draco frowned. There were secrets here. Rules governing the wand's power.

He recalled Ollivander's words from their first meeting: *"The wand chooses the wizard... The wand and the wizard must harmonize—that is the essence of wandlore."*

Draco had once dismissed this as shopkeeper mysticism. But his past life had taught him otherwise. After losing his hawthorn wand to Potter, no other wand had felt right—not even his mother's. Each substitute had been clumsy, unresponsive, as though the magic fought him.

As if wands truly did choose.

So could they change allegiance?

Potter had said something odd when Draco tried to reclaim his wand in the Room of Requirement: *"Whoever wins it, keeps it. It's not yours anymore."*

What did that mean? That theft counted as "winning"? Or did it require a proper duel?

If ordinary wands could transfer allegiance, what about the Elder Wand? What were its rules? Did taking it from a corpse count as victory?

Potter was no wandlore expert—that was speculation at best. Only Ollivander could answer such questions with authority.

The pieces of the puzzle scattered across Draco's mind, demanding assembly.

But he forced himself to be patient. Answers wouldn't come tonight.

Still, he had his next step.

When he visited Diagon Alley to purchase his second-year textbooks, he would find an excuse to visit Ollivanders.

One way or another, he would uncover the Elder Wand's secrets.

Before the Dark Lord did.