This chapter is an entry for the Deathly Hallows Challenge by WattRowling.

The Deathly Hallows.

Source of the thrice knock on my door at one a.m.

Peering from the back of my spectacles, I closed the newspaper I'm reading and tiptoed to the door.

I thrust the key and spun it twice, revealing a coated man with a bowler hat which hooded his eyes.

"Yes?" I flattened my wrinkly robe and smiled politely at the visitor.

He gave a crooked smile, stuffing his hands in his pocket and fished out an object I assigned him to retrieve.

A wand made of an Elder tree's branch, taken carefully from the tomb of its longest bearer - Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. After years collecting agreement signatures from the influential figures . . .

Unofficially, I'm the third Master of Death-the possessor of all the Deathly Hallows at once. But instead of heeding the wicked schemes my brain displayed, I shushed them away.

I won't fall to the lures of Death. I won't make the same mistake as the earlier, passed wizards who fell into their own greeds.

There's a reason why I commanded my men to secretively searched them in the first place. For the Wizardry World's sake.

"You'll be paid tomorrow, before the opening. Now go." I clasped my hands together, the corners of my mouth twitching into a smile.

The unsteady rhythm in my chest beats up as I locked the door, briefly witnessing his hurried Apparition.

*****

Almost every famous figures in the Wizardry World are here-at the first wizardry museum ever established. At the first big project which I, Billie Pritleton, established.

After the brief welcoming speech and the round of applause, I've talked to some, like Professor Neville Longbottom, Seeker Ginny Weasley, and of course the lively Daily Prophet's reporter Rita Skeeter.

I wandered around until I spotted someone worth my time.

"Minister!" I called out, darting across the thick crowd towards her. She craned her neck when she noticed the call was directed to her and offered a polite smile.

Funny how wizards elected such a young woman to lead our hidden society.

Next to her stands Auror Weasley-her redheaded husband, and behind them are several cloaked Aurors.

"Mister Pritleton." She reached her hand out to shake mine. "I should congratulate you on your vast collections. They're marvelous!" She giggled, glancing around like a curious child. Even after graduating from Hogwarts, she still has the radiant brilliantness of a student.

"Yeah, nostalgic too." Her husband chimed in, referring to the installed Basilisk fang near the entourage.

"Chamber of Secrets." I nodded with a genuine smile, reminded of their adventure involving this artifact. "The same one which you used to destroy Helga Hufflepuff's cup in the Battle of Hogwarts."

"Hermione, we're famous!" He muttered, a bit too loud for the prying ears. However, it's too low to disrupt his wife's moment.

"Would you like to take us around, Mister Pritleton?" She smiled toothily, slinging her purse higher on her suit-covered shoulder.

Mastering all three Deathly Hallows was a personal achievement, but taking the Minister around this place? It's an honor, a bigger achievement.

"Of course." I bowed slightly, untucking my gloved hands from my suit's pockets. "This way, please."

The crowd parted in murmurs when we passed through, the three of us being the revolving center.

I ushered them into the Horcrux Section, which is almost full of gathering wizards. There's a reason of why this section is reported as the densest on day one.

Their tales have remained a secret, except for those directly involved.

The Aurors hushed them away, asking for a space for the saluted Minister.

After wandering around the displays for some while and exchanged words of knowledge about the Horcruxes, she suggested a list of things to improve the next visitors' experiences, which I accepted straight away.

Perks of having a fluid-brained minister. She knows how to improve my income and promote this site for the sake of our society.

The seconds passed briefly during our trip. After the Horcrux, History of Magic, and Magical Creatures, I took the exclusive entourage to the section I pride in most.

The Deathly Hallows Section.

As soon as we stepped into that torch-lit room which only specified visitors can enter, a familiar figure appeared in the distance, next to the Elder Wand's stall. His face used to decorate the corrupted Daily Prophet, and sought by the Death Eaters.

The unexpected encounter resulted in the married couple's hastened pace to his direction, soon engulfing themselves in a friendly hug. As they exchanged remarks and chuckles, the rest of us silenced down as we witnessed the historical moment.

"Mr. Potter, such delight to see you!" I offered the brightest smile I have at the next main guest, expressing my gratitude. "Billie Pritleton, the architect of countless wizardry sites and this museum's initiator. I can't thank you enough for coming."

The amiable conversation between the three stopped abruptly, and I swallowed down the shame and guilt climbing up my throat. "Um . . . of course. Congratulations, sir. These are . . . marvelous." He paused, eyes sweeping the room in a controlled motion. His eyes bobbed wider when they landed on the charmed transparent boxes, where the three repaired artifacts lied in.

"The Deathly Hallows." He said, eyes still glued to them. His eyes displayed suspicion with their occasional narrowing.

"Yes," I approached timidly, careful not to aggravate my exclusive guests. "They're . . ."

"Not supposed to be here." I gasped, utterly startled at Ron Weasley's behavior. "Harry's the Master of Death, not you. How could they be here?" I swallowed my courage when his offended tone pricked my ears.

When I asked people to sign my proposal, I didn't ask for Ron Weasley's, since he wasn't a central figure in this project.

Which obviously turns out as a blunder.

"He didn't know about this?" I only could dip my chin lower at the disappointed tone of Harry Potter's. "Really, sir? I thought he was involved, too."

It was useless to try and argue with them. After the Minister calmed down the offended Weasley, and soon after Harry Potter accused me of being 'partial and unfair', they left.

The Aurors tailed behind the retreating three, footsteps clacking on the marble floor. Before their unceremonious leave, the Minister was about to say something before the sour-faced husband dragged her by the elbow, with the pissed Harry treading along with the Aurors.

I stood there, stupefied, unable to form any words. Gone were all the first, good, and needed impressions from the essential three.

Only could dimly hope they won't immediately leave with such faces, or the other guests might take their leaves as well.

Not even glancing at three deadly items ignited my excitement.

Only because of my careless and reckless decision not to involve the Auror in . . .

Deciding it'll be miserable to stay in this chilly room alone, I return to the cramped lobby. My eyes drawled around, observing the chatting guests with an unhappy frown. Some are those I knew, and some aren't.

Included in those is a man in a polished suit, with hairstyle in contrast to his outfit's state.

He's coming straight to me with a polite and fake, business smile. I've turned down at least five of his kind within this six hours.

"Mister . . . Blindleton?" He asked when he loomed over my figure, stretching a silk-gloved hand my way.

"Pritleton," I grouched, correcting his mistake. He should've known my name when he entered this museum. My name's engraved in golden bouncing letters, displayed above the main entrance.

Pritleton's Museum of Wizardry.

I brushed off the annoyed feeling clouding my thoughts, attempting a more friendly manner. "And you are?"

"I'm Easel Gorgonian, a businessman." Even his waves of laughter are fake and stuck up. "I'd like to congratulate you on this extraordinary invention. Everything's . . ."

More crowd bustled into the heated room, minimizing my mobilization space. Their words filled the air with a dizzying atmosphere, messing with my steadied balance.

" . . . bizarre. I've been to the Magical Creatures Section, Wizardry Dishes, War Documentations . . ."

Unable to contain my bottled agitation, I spat out a crude remark-one I rarely lashed out to strangers. "So what's the clear point of this one-sided conversation?"

His rambles stopped abruptly, halting in the middle of a sentence. I sighed as his face twisted in shock, later returning to its earlier state. Odd enough, he doesn't seem offended or insulted.

"Being a businessman I am, I usually try to leave a good impression on my future potential partners."

I stuffed my bubbling rage deeper, muffling the heavy pounds within my head. I can't lose my self-control on such a crucial event. My long-acclaimed reputation is at stake.

So with all my efforts, I maintained a fake smile. Being a middle-aged wizard means I'm experienced enough for this type of situations.

"I can see it since I'm a businessman myself. However, this aged wizard doesn't have much time. So get to your point or I'll apologetically leave you."

His calm demeanor must've concealed something darker within. People this calm tend to invoke others' suspicions. "So I have a favor to ask. Shall we talk about it in a more secluded section?"

While it rouses my curiosity, it triggers my suspicion as well.

"This place's too crowded for our liking, isn't it?" He repeated, tidying his slick attire. "Can I suggest you something? It won't harm anyone to place a cafe here, right?"

Enough. The steams are out of my head.

"Put it in the suggestion box later." I jabbed a bent finger to a crate on the receptionist desk and stomped farther from the younger nuisance.

*****

"What about at the Restricted Section?"

I growled at his unnecessary queries, which pumped fuel to my fury.

Who does he think he is? A guest worth the ticket to the most forbidden section? A witness to my silenced hard work this last couple of years?

For Hogwarts' sake, I don't even remember sending him a special invitation.

I strictly forbid him, directing him to the less crowded corridor instead, not far from the Magical Creatures Section. I deafened my ears from the creatures' distracting sounds. The sooner this ends, the better.

His firm back rested on the intricately-decorated walls, admiring the sky-enchanted ceiling with a pursed lip. "So I've been considering to invest here."

"Invest?" My conscience cringed when the word 'mudblood' displayed in my vision. Only their tainted kind use the foreign term nowadays. "We aren't Muggles."

An uneasy burden rested on my chest. It's unusual enough for wizards to talk about investments, let alone asking for a secluded section just for this topic.

"This is a waste of time." The heat within me rose again, along with the impatience buried deeper within. "And also a deception. You won't be here for merely an announcement of your Mudblood status." The word tasted sour in my mouth, but as a proud Slytherin, I had to get used with it.

He exploded in a longing sinister laugh, sending creeps to my nerves. It tempts me to threat this youngster with the flick of my wand.

"I expected the word, truthfully." Behind his innocent, garrulous facade, lies another face. The twisted one, full of gruesome hatred and lust. The one I used to saw in the mirror. "You're not disappointing for a middle-aged wizard, though. You're surprisingly keen with those blurry spectacles on."

"B-Blurry?" I gulped since my vision's just fine. What does he mean?

"Take them off."

My limbs hesitated to obey his words, but a curious part of my brain insisted. I slipped them off my bridge, squinting at the refocusing distance where his silhouette stood.

And my heart stopped beating, along with my other self-controlled systems.

He wasn't the aggravating Easel Gorgonian. He's the sly villain in robes, fugitive of the Ministry and an archenemy of mine-Basil Graham. And he's undoubtedly here for the artifacts he craves most.

The Deathly Hallows.