The crack of my Apparition echoed faintly in the cold air as I appeared before the ruined Gaunt shack. It looked even worse than I remembered—half collapsed, weeds swallowing what was left of the walls—but the wards were still there, whispering like faint static against my magic.
I raised Voldemort's wand and smiled faintly. His wand. My wand, now.
With a flick, I dispelled the lingering fire curse guarding the threshold. Another gesture and the defensive runes along the walls unraveled, their magic twisting away into smoke. The place recognized me, in a sense; his memories were mine now, and the wards hesitated before yielding.
Inside, the air smelled of dust, decay, and old power. I crossed the room, boots scraping against the warped floorboards, and knelt. The exact board I needed was etched into my memory—a detail pulled from the fragments of Tom Riddle's mind.
I lifted it with a thought. The Gaunt ring rose from its hiding place, floating before me, the black stone on its face gleaming faintly in the dim light.
The curses layered upon it shimmered in my magical sight like webs of fire. I studied them calmly. There was no rush. Piece by piece, spell by spell, I began to dismantle them.
It took nearly an hour. Each curse fought back, venomous and clever, but I was cleverer still. When the last thread of dark magic hissed away, only the Horcrux remained—what was left of Voldemort's soul, pulsing faintly inside the ring.
I didn't hesitate.
Placing my hand over it, I drew the shard into myself. The connection hit like lightning. My vision blurred, the room twisting into a storm of memory and will.
He was there—his voice, his fury, his disbelief.
You think you can consume me?
I smiled inside the maelstrom. I already have.
The battle was brutal but brief. I knew his tricks; they were mine to begin with. His strength, his knowledge, his rage—all were absorbed, fused into something new. Into me.
When the storm faded, I stood taller. My pulse thrummed with new power, my soul steady and burning with a strange equilibrium—chaos and control entwined.
I slipped the ring into my pocket. The Resurrection Stone glimmered faintly against my palm before vanishing into the folds of my cloak.
Another fragment reclaimed. Another step closer to wholeness.