We were in the center of a muggle metropolis, as for which one I did not ask Grindelwald yet. From what I gathered, we were most likely back in Germany, inferring it from listening to the language around us. We didn't linger on the streets for long after apparating and instead headed to a hotel where we rented out the penthouse, using the funds that my Father left for us. Once we were up in our multi-bedroom suite, Quincy finally asked the question that was making me itch.

"What's in the suitcase?"

"Are you familiar with the term grimoire?" He asked, sitting down on the leather couch and placing the suitcase on the mahogany coffee table in front of it.

"You mean our textbooks at Hogwarts?" Quincy asked, tilting her head and making Grindelwald smile.

"Yes and no. You see, grimoires are more complex than simple magic books teaching you spells. A true grimoire contains the full knowledge and essence of a wizard. Most ancient wizards and witches wrote their grimoires at the end of their lives, pouring their magic into it when creating one. A true grimoire has all of the knowledge and personality of its creator. It is the ultimate legacy of any wizard."

"Are you familiar with the talking paintings?"

"Of course." We answered, making him smile.

"It is the same concept. The difference is that the grimoire is more complex and will be able to answer much deeper and more profound questions than a painting."

"So... there is a grimoire in there?" I asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Is it yours?"

"No, not mine." He nodded, opening it, making both of us stretch our necks, trying to see. Inside were multiple knick-knacks, amulets, rings, pairs of gloves, wizarding robes, and cloaks, but the most exciting part was the leather-bound, black book resting in the middle. It was not as thick as some of our school books and was more akin to a diary than anything. It was... unassuming. But I already learned that means nothing. We have tents that look small but have a whole house inside, so this had to hide something important...

"Who wrote it?" Quincy asked softly, looking at Grindelwald again. 

"Ignotus Peverell."

"The Ignotus Peverell?" We exclaimed simultaneously. By now, we know that name well. He was the man in the legend written down by Beedle the Bard. He was one of the three brothers, the one who got the cloak from Death and used it to evade him all his life.

"Yes. The items you see here also belonged to him." He continued, picking out a cloak that, after unfolding and putting on, he became transparent. It wasn't proper invisibility; we could see distortions, especially when he moved. Still, it was pretty awesome! "I collected everything I could and was related to him, finally coming across his grimoire that taught me how to find the other two Hallows."

"Woah... that's something!" I whistled, tilting my head, watching him put the cloak down and pick up the grimoire. "So the whole legend is true, yes?"

"Not... exactly. Beedle wrote down the Deathly Hallows tale, but it has been spreading through word of mouth before him. By then, it was embellished... but every legend has its origin, and I learned its true nature through this book. It was what led me to find the wand. Here!"

"..." I was shocked that he was presenting me with the book, but after a minor hesitation, I took it, sat down, and opened it.

"It's empty." Quincy exclaimed, looking at me and then at Grindelwald, "Is it magically sealed?"

"No. Point your wand at it and ask a question."

"Hmm..." I pulled it out and pressed its tip against the empty page, muttering quietly. "Who are you?"

"I am Ignotus Peverell, maker of Death's Cape."

"What's that?" I asked out loud, making Grindelwald chuckle before answering me.

"It is the Invisibility Cloak, originally called the Death's Cape. Ignotus wanted to create a cape that would give the wearer real invisibility—one that never fades, never fails, and always works. He named it after the idea that Death is the only being nobody can see, yet he is always there, looming around every soul, waiting to take you away."

"Oooh!" Quincy exclaimed, snapping her fingers, "This is where the legend comes from?"

"Yes. Every myth has some truth hidden deep within, but time and multiple retellings through the centuries distort it. There was no Death who gave the brothers their gifts; it was their own work. Go ahead, ask him anything you want; he will answer."

"What about your brothers?" I asked again, pointing my wand at the book, waiting for the words to finally appear on the pages.

"My eldest brother was Antioch, who created Death's Finger, and my second brother was Cadmus, who made Undeath."

"So, Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone..." I whispered, already asking my next question. "Why did you make them?"

"Competition. Only one of us was worthy of inheriting our father's throne, and none of us was keen on losing. In our family, the most capable was meant to be the head of the Peverells, and we fought to kill each other multiple times as neither of us was willing to back down. Our family's wealth was more than you could imagine, and we poured our efforts into defeating each other for good. Let one live, and we will never secure the throne for ourselves."

"Geez... not what I expected!" I grunted, looking at Quincy, who simply shrugged and pointed her wand at the book.

"How did you win?"

"Antioch focused on creating a wand that amplifies the caster's innate talents; it only works if the one wielding it is strong enough. Give it to a weakling, and he will still lose."

"But it is said the wand is the strongest wand in existence, and it has almost its own mind, abandoning others for a stronger one!" I exclaimed while using my wand, and he answered me immediately.

"So I heard. Antioch was a gifted wandmaker... His teacher, Oliver Ollivander, always told him that a wand chooses his master. It is highly possible that the wand, through the ages, evolved its personality. It IS a strong wand, so its personality is just as headstrong. Maybe this is why wands are rarely passed down within families, and every wizard gets their own new wands when starting their journey. It could very well be stronger than it was in my time."

"What about the third brother?" Quincy asked, feeling excited.

"Cadmus was the weakest of us, constantly worrying and afraid of dying. He sought immortality, a futile endeavor. It led him to surround himself with dark magic and necromancy, raising the dead, searching for a way to be able to come back or become unkillable. Both attempts were failures. The path to victory lay not in overwhelming strength or cheating death. You only need a good tool and a smart head; no wand will save you if you don't see the one casting you down. How are you coming back from the dead when you don't even realize you died? My brothers failed... I did not."

"Grim, ain't it?" Grindelwald laughed softly. "The Death in the story was Ignotus all along. He killed his brothers and took over the family, passing down the tale and the artifacts within. As time passed, some of those artifacts were lost, and the family's power dwindled through the centuries, but the main line kept the cloak inherited from father to son. Or daughter. There were only two in the family who knew about it, the owner of the cloak and the one he or she later passed it down to. That's all there is to it."

"Damn..." We said in unison, looking at the little black book, thinking about what to ask him.

"You can keep it; the same goes for the items in this suitcase. All of them are magical and could be helpful. Keep talking with him to understand the Hallows even more. This is one thing that not even Albus has or knows about. I kept this secret from everybody... While you familiarize yourself with the Hallows from the source, I will look around the city and hit up some old acquaintances. If they are still around... Those who survived probably merged into the life of muggles."

"I can help you with that." I exclaimed, standing up, "It is time to utilize what my Father has left for me to use!"

...

....

......

"Are you sure it is this way?" Hermione asked, following Krum on a dirt road.

"Yes. It is secuded... seclued... sec... hidden. It defends with charms, anti-muggle magic, and confusion spells."

"I see. It's no wonder we had to walk from the bus stop for an hour now. What are they doing so far away from everything?"

"Training. Getting ready and ambushing. For where we head is where Neville knows about but no others."

"Wouldn't that bring trouble to us, Victor? I am an outsider, after all."

"You are with Beauxbatons. Ally. No? It is okay. I cast marking on us; they won't notice; I know the spell."

"I just don't want to get you into trouble."

"No worry. I also curious."

After another twenty minutes of walking, Hermione finally noticed a windmill appearing in the distance. As they got closer, it became evident that the slowly rotating antique sails were attached to an old, abandoned building. As for when it was left behind, who knows? It could have been decades or even centuries ago.

"Yo!" Shouted Neville, who was already there, waving towards Krum, looking at Hermione with curiosity.

"Hey." Victor greeted him, shaking hands before introducing Hermione.

"Nice to meet you, I am Neville Longbottom."

"Hermione Granger."

"Oh, you did not lie." He chuckled, making her blink her surprised eyes.

"He learns mind reading," Victor said jokingly, maybe enjoying Hermione's sudden panic, while Neville shrugged.

"It's just legilimency, and I am still a novice. But I can tell if someone is lying if they have no defenses up. I can't truly read minds. Yet."

"Do you also learn occlumency?" Hermione asked, no longer troubled. Instead, she felt curious and excited while looking at the young man, who was surprisingly friendly and leisurely. 

"That I do. But... I have a feeling you have a lot of questions for me, yes?"

"Um." She nodded, looking embarrassed for a moment.

"Thought so. Let's go in before anyone sees us. I brought some food and drinks... let's have a picnic, and then we can chat."