After connecting to Slytherin's Source, I could feel the vast difference almost immediately. My magic had grown by at least fifty percent — my reserves now only slightly below Dumbledore's. By every reasonable measure, I was now the third most powerful wizard in all of England, surpassed only by Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
That thought brought a small, satisfied smile to my lips. Power was no longer a dream — it was reality.
With that in mind, I apparated to a place I knew all too well from the stories — Little Hangleton. A quiet, forgotten village steeped in decay and shadow. Perfect for my next task.
I stepped silently into the woods, my boots crunching softly against the earth until I reached the dilapidated Gaunt Shack. The air around it stank of rot and ancient curses. I pushed open the creaking door and found exactly who I expected inside — my uncle, Morfin Gaunt.
He turned toward me, eyes glinting with madness and confusion, but before he could speak, I flicked my wand."Stupefy."
The red light struck him, and he collapsed instantly. I stepped past him without hesitation, scanning the small, filthy room until I saw it — the Gaunt Ring resting on a cracked wooden table.
The ring that carried the Resurrection Stone.
I picked it up carefully, feeling the faint hum of ancient Deathly magic within. Then, with a practiced hand, I pried the black stone free from its base, pocketing it while tossing the now-worthless ring aside.
"Useless trinket," I murmured.
Turning back to Morfin's limp form, I raised my wand one final time."Obliviate."
His memories of my visit vanished instantly. With my task complete, I took one last look at the miserable shack before vanishing with a sharp crack, leaving only the whispers of magic in the still air.