Chapter 27

Of course, there was also a minor mystery: why did the descendant of Slytherin inherit the Resurrection Stone, a relic tied to the underworld, rather than the invincible Elder Wand? Perhaps it was because Antioch Peverell had no interest in women and devoted himself entirely to magic, ultimately remaining single and childless.

After Harry deduced the first-generation genealogy of the Peverell family, a new question arose: if Cadmus Peverell’s wife was a descendant of Slytherin, what caused her early death?

In other words, what force was so powerful that even the combined might of four Dingjianqiangzhe —Slytherin and the three Peverells—could not overcome it? According to The Tales of Beedle the Bard, even the Cloak of Invisibility alone could delay Death’s steps.

And why did the Peverell family vanish entirely? Why did Antioch’s Elder Wand begin circulating through blood and conspiracy via a half-true legend, while the Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility passed into other families through female heirs and nearly disappeared from the world’s sight?

Harry still held to his original view: the three brothers truly did not wish the Deathly Hallows to reunite. It was far more likely that any family who gathered all three Hallows in an attempt to defeat Death would suffer utter ruin, cursed with a blood curse fatal to all who bore it.

He recklessly speculated: judging from Dumbledore’s remarks, Beedle had written The Wizard and the Hopping Pot—a fairy tale kind to Muggles—at great risk of controversy. Could it be that this bard’s courage surpassed even Harry’s imagination? Could he have risked everything to reveal the true fate of the Peverells: that they had offended Death?

When this thought struck Harry, his heart pounded. What if Death was not merely a symbol or metaphor, but a real deity—even a petty one?

Death did not wish wizards to surpass Him. For those with immense magical power, He turned them into Obscurials. For those with exceptional talent, He planted blood curses. Whether ancient or modern, blood curses were unsolvable even by the strongest wizards—perhaps not because they could not be broken, but because they dared not try.

To save Cadmus’s wife—or perhaps with Slytherin’s involvement—the three Peverell brothers forged the Deathly Hallows and used their power to defy Death. The result? To this day, not a single person bearing the name Peverell remains. Even the Gaunt family is extinct. The Potter line survives only through one last heir.

When Harry finally returned from his books and wild speculations, he realized his back was soaked in cold sweat. Bearing a blood curse meant Death envied his talent. Even the Peverells, with all three Hallows, had failed. Harry, with only the Cloak of Invisibility and the magic of an eleven-year-old—even with some technological aid—could challenge Death?

He dared not even imagine it.

In the end, Harry packed away all his books and notes, abandoning all illusions. He spoke softly to his friends: “This matter is closed. I only have one more question to ask—the question I must ask the greatest wizard in the world.”

“Zhang Qiu, could you please ask your Master: what is the end of magic?” Harry picked up his textbook. “And I must go find Dumbledore and ask him the same question.”

“Wait, what about Pei Xu?” Ron asked urgently. “Didn’t you say you hoped to cure him?”

“Sorry, I forgot,” Harry said with a bitter smile. “I don’t think I can cure him. I’ll just ask Dumbledore about it too.”

“I’ve thought about it—I think we shouldn’t tell Professor McGonagall about Pei Xu,” Zhang Qiu said. “You’d have to explain how he came to be, which means bringing up Norbert. That’s practically informing.”

“Then what do we do?”

“I’ll ask my Master in a letter. If he helps, Hagrid will be safe,” Zhang Qiu said.

Harry arrived at the headmaster’s office door and realized he needed a password. With no choice, he stood outside waiting. Fortunately, Dumbledore emerged shortly afterward.

“Harry, what are you doing here? Do you need something?”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore. I had a sudden thought while studying—perhaps you could answer it.”

“Oh?” Dumbledore’s glasses glinted; Harry couldn’t read his expression.

“I want to ask: what is the end of magic?” Harry said. “I know you’re the greatest wizard. Have you ever imagined what you’d become if you were even stronger?”

“That question…” Dumbledore’s expression grew grave. “I cannot tell you the answer. In fact, I hope you never ask such a question again. I can tell you this: love is the most powerful magic. Nothing surpasses it.”

“Understood, thank you, Professor,” Harry said politely. The answer satisfied him—but the truth behind it left him deeply unsettled.

“By the way, Harry, how are you doing? Are you happy at Hogwarts?”

“Quite well, Professor,” Harry said, smiling. “The classes are fascinating, the professors are kind, and I’ve made many friends. I’m very happy.”

“Then who do you consider your best friend?” Dumbledore asked, as if idly curious.

“Ron,” Harry replied without hesitation. “Oh—I mean, between true friends, there’s no need to rank them. Ron, Neville, Zhang Qiu, Hermione, Hagrid—even Malfoy. I think the more friends, the better.”

“Excellent, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “I’m glad you’re happy here. But I must remind you: this school year is nearly over. Make the most of the time you have left.”

“Understood, Professor,” Harry said, immediately thinking of the final exams. “I’ll study hard.”

Back in his dormitory, Harry reopened The Tales of Beedle the Bard with a complex heart. He realized now: Cadmus had not tried to resurrect his wife. He had assumed the “deeply loved, early-dead” woman must be his spouse—but given the Gaunt family’s survival, perhaps Cadmus had once loved a girl who was not Slytherin’s daughter. In that case, Slytherin likely had no part in crafting or using the Deathly Hallows—he may have even opposed them.

Of course, the mere fact of the Peverell family’s extinction proves that the end of magic stands before a great terror. And if we exclude Slytherin’s share, the Deathly Hallows are clearly three, not four—making the story far more coherent.

That evening, as soon as class ended, Harry rushed to the library, eager to ask Zhang Qiu what her Master had replied.

Zhang Qiu had indeed received a letter. When Harry entered, he found her writing and sketching in her small notebook, staring at the long letter.

“Zhang Qiu, did your Master answer my question?”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Zhang Qiu said. “He refused to tell me. He said the answer is taboo.”

“As I thought,” Harry nodded. If powerful wizards were willing to offer their views, perhaps my speculation was flawed. But their universal silence suggests Death truly exists—standing at the end of magic, coldly watching every wizard who might surpass Him.

Dumbledore seemed to understand this better. He was willing to tell Harry one way wizards could grow strong under Death’s tolerance: through love. Magic born of love is the strongest magic Death permits. Death draws a line called “love” and tells every being who sees it: here you may go—but no further.

“By the way, what about Pei Xu? What did he say?” Harry asked, eyeing the long letter. He doubted “taboo” required so many characters to express.

“He said,” Zhang Qiu paused, “he will contact the right people. And I must also confirm Pei Xu’s condition.”

Harry stared at the letter—at least twelve feet long. It must have contained far more. But then he thought: Zhang Qiu might not want to share—it could be private.

Zhang Qiu’s face was grave. Her left thumb tapped rhythmically between her other fingers, while her right hand kept writing. Harry thought: perhaps she’d just solved a magical puzzle. That feeling—sudden clarity—was strangely captivating.

Harry spread out parchment, opened his textbook, and began studying for the final exams three months early. He didn’t strive to top every subject like a model student, but better grades at home were always welcome.

“I’m going out,” Zhang Qiu said abruptly, snatching nothing—not even her book—and walking out without looking back. Harry glanced at her seat: she’d taken her notebook, but the letter remained on the table.

After much hesitation, driven by curiosity about powerful wizards, Harry knew he shouldn’t read someone else’s letter. But since he couldn’t read Chinese, he told himself it was harmless—and stole a glance.

Among the many square characters, a few words stood out. In the first few lines, an English word in parentheses: (TABOO). Harry thought: Master Xuan had specifically noted the English term—perhaps because it was a universally recognized concept among powerful wizards. Just as people called Voldemort “You-Know-Who,” they called Death “Taboo.” Human nature, it seemed, was universal.

Starting from the second paragraph, Master Xuan mentioned the abbreviations CIA and KGB. Since Harry couldn’t read Chinese, he had no idea what they meant, and recklessly guessed: CIA might stand for CharmInAnimagi—a spell about Animagi—and KGB for Kitten (for) Girl (to) Breed—a guide for girls raising cats.