Solim was eating, but his movements were purely mechanical. He raised the fork, put food into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed — all without thought. His mind was far from the dinner table.
Cyrna's last words before serving the meal kept echoing in his head:
"What if I had all three at the same time?"
According to legend, the one who possessed the three Deathly Hallows simultaneously would become the Master of Death.
The exact source of that legend had been lost to time.
If Solim's earlier conjectures about the Hallows were correct, the legend might not be a myth at all.
Owning one Deathly Hallow excluded two possible causes of death. Then owning all three — could that mean the owner excluded all possibilities? Homicide, suicide, and natural death — those were the three paths to the end of life.
If that logic held, someone who held all three Hallows might truly transcend death itself.
Solim wasn't certain. But Dumbledore and Grindelwald had both desperately searched for the Hallows — that alone made the idea difficult to dismiss.
He decided he would think more clearly about it after eating.
If his guess proved true, then Solim wanted nothing to do with the Resurrection Stone. Yet, avoiding it would make his promise to Snape much harder to keep.
His head ached. He hadn't expected Cyrna's innocent remark to tangle his thoughts so thoroughly.
He glanced at his sister.
Every wizard grew up hearing The Tale of the Three Brothers. Even Solim had read it as a child, yet no one had ever truly paid attention to the deeper meaning hidden within that story.
Perhaps not everyone — Dumbledore and Grindelwald certainly had. Both had sought the Hallows. Dumbledore, in particular, had even possessed all three — though never all at once.
This holiday, Dumbledore would give the Invisibility Cloak to Harry Potter. Originally, he held both the Cloak and the Elder Wand. What might have happened if he hadn't given the Cloak away before acquiring the Resurrection Stone?
The thought jolted Solim.
The Resurrection Stone — before Voldemort, it had belonged to Marvolo Gaunt and later Morfin Gaunt.
How had Marvolo died? After being released from Azkaban, he returned home. But by then, Merope — his daughter, Voldemort's mother — had eloped with Tom Riddle.
No one was left to care for him. He eventually starved to death.
Morfin, on the other hand, died in Azkaban after Voldemort had already taken the Resurrection Stone. The details of his death were unknown.
Solim frowned, trying to recall. Marvolo's death — could it be considered suicide? Starving to death by neglect or despair — perhaps so.
The thought made Solim lose all appetite.
He wanted to retreat to the basement immediately — to check the records and see if his theory truly held any weight.
"Boy, what are you thinking about?" Elrond's voice broke through his thoughts.
Solim didn't respond. He was too lost in his own mind.
"Boy!" Elrond repeated sharply. "I'm talking to you!"
Still, no answer. Solim's thoughts were racing, deaf to everything around him.
Elrond's face darkened. With a flick of his wand, he cast a spell.
Solim convulsed violently and fell from his chair.
Cyrna gasped, jumping off her seat to rush to her brother. He lay curled on the ground, trembling, teeth clenched, eyes bulging from pain.
"Leave him," Elrond said coldly, stopping Cyrna. "He'll get up by himself."
Then, as though nothing had happened, he calmly picked up his knife and fork again and continued cutting his steak.
When Solim finally managed to stand, his body still twitched slightly. He hadn't felt pain like that in a long time.
"Grandfather," he said shakily, "was it really necessary to use the Cruciatus Curse?"
"Hmph! Who knows what kind of nonsense you were thinking? You ignored me twice," Elrond replied, setting down his utensils. "Besides, you were too slow to recover — thirty seconds! If this were still at Schuyler, that delay would've earned you an extra month of Cruciatus practice."
Solim didn't argue. His grandfather was right — in training, that kind of hesitation was unacceptable.
Elrond leaned back. "Now tell me — what were you thinking just now?"
Solim hesitated. It was better not to speak until he was sure of his theory.
"I'll tell you once I figure it out," he said finally. "If I need help, I'll come to you."
Feeling steadier, he stood and made for the basement.
Elrond watched him disappear around the corner before turning to Cyrna.
"What was that about? You were whispering to him before dinner. Did you say something?"
"I just told him what I found in a book," Cyrna explained, then recounted the brief conversation they'd had.
Elrond narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "So that's it. Then listen — since your brother is staying down there, you'll move into the room next to his. Live in the basement too. It'll be easier to keep an eye on things."
Meanwhile, in the library below, Solim was already surrounded by piles of dusty books. He searched feverishly for anything mentioning the Gaunt family or the Deathly Hallows — anything that could support or disprove his theory.
When he entered his room carrying a stack of floating books, Elrond was already waiting for him.
The old man frowned at the sight. "What's this? What did you suddenly remember?"
"I have an immature theory," Solim admitted, setting the books down. "We all read The Tale of the Three Brothers as children, but no one ever looked deeper into it. Cyrna's words reminded me — maybe it's not just a fairy tale."
"Go on," Elrond said, folding his arms.
"We know the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak are the Three Hallows. Each seems tied to a particular form of death: the wand's owners are murdered, the stone's owners take their own lives, and the cloak's owners die of old age — natural death."
He began sorting through the books. "I want to trace the past owners of each Hallow, see how they died, and confirm whether their ends match the pattern."
Elrond raised a brow. "And what does that have to do with you? Why are you digging into this? Or…" He narrowed his eyes. "Are you thinking of getting your hands on one?"
Solim blinked, caught off guard by the familiar tone.
Those words — 'what does it have to do with you?' and 'do you even know your own limits?' — he himself had once said them to Harry Potter not long ago.
Now his grandfather was throwing them right back at him.
"I'm not planning to fight Dumbledore for the Elder Wand," Solim said quickly. "I wouldn't dare."
"Then why the urgency?" Elrond pressed. "Unless…" His gaze sharpened. "You already know where the other two are."
Solim sighed. Old and wise indeed.
"Yes," he admitted. "I know the locations of all three Hallows. Didn't I tell you earlier that I was going to Little Hangleton? The Resurrection Stone is there."
He hesitated, then continued, "I wanted to retrieve it, but if my theory is right, it could mean certain death — by my own hand. So I want to prove myself wrong before I act."
"Little Hangleton…" Elrond rubbed his chin. "That name rings a bell."
"It's where the Gaunts lived," Solim supplied.
"Ah, those lunatics!" Elrond said with a spark of recognition. "If that's the case, then that idiot Riddle—" He suddenly froze mid-sentence, eyes widening. "Horcrux! The Resurrection Stone is that fool's Horcrux!"
Solim stared at him, speechless. "Grandfather… how do you know that?"
"Everyone knows Riddle made Horcruxes," Elrond said matter-of-factly. "That witch — Evans — used a blood curse against him. The Spell Management Committee investigated, but it was hushed up. The elders didn't care to intervene. They knew Dumbledore would deal with him eventually.
"For ordinary wizards, Riddle's Horcruxes are a mystery. But the ancient families — we all figured it out. When he didn't die, it wasn't hard to deduce why."
Solim nodded slowly. Ancient families truly had their advantages — centuries of records, old magic, old knowledge.
While the rest of the wizarding world celebrated Voldemort's downfall, families like the Elders already knew the truth — that he wasn't dead, that his soul was split.
Elrond continued, "And as for his lineage — everyone knows he's Marvolo's grandson. The Gaunt family's ring was the Resurrection Stone. When it vanished, most assumed Riddle had taken it. So yes — it makes sense. He turned it into a Horcrux."
Solim couldn't help a faint smile. With just a handful of clues, his grandfather had pieced together one of Voldemort's deepest secrets.
"Yes," Solim confirmed. "The Resurrection Stone was indeed one of his Horcruxes. But why call him a fool? He was still a powerful wizard."
"Hmph!" Elrond snorted. "What else would you call someone who splits his own soul? He's the definition of a fool."
He leaned forward, his voice sharp but proud. "Power means nothing when it's built on stupidity. Making Horcruxes — that's not brilliance, it's madness. The more you divide yourself, the less human you become."
Solim finally understood. His grandfather's disdain wasn't for Voldemort's power — it was for his arrogance.
The basement fell silent, the air heavy with the dust of old books and unspoken fears.
Somewhere deep down, Solim realized that his theory — the one tying the Hallows to death itself — might be closer to the truth than he wished.
And that truth, if proven, could cost him far more than his life.
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