Dense black smoke surged out of the dark gemstone set in the ring, radiating an extremely dangerous aura.
Voldemort had placed no protective dark magic around Ravenclaw's Diadem, fearing that using dark spells at Hogwarts would draw Dumbledore's attention. Nor had he reinforced the diary or Hufflepuff's Cup, believing Malfoy and Bellatrix would guard them safely...
But for the two Horcruxes kept outside—Slytherin's Locket and Marvolo Gaunt's Ring—he had layered them with complex dark magic defenses, preventing anyone from destroying them...
If Jon guessed correctly, this very wisp of smoke was the culprit that had ruined Dumbledore's hand in his previous life and left him with less than a year to live.
But this time, since Dumbledore had been stopped before touching it—
"Fawkes!" Jon shouted.
He had to try a safer method.
The crimson bird heard Jon's call and threw herself toward the black smoke without hesitation, wrapping it entirely in her golden wings. As the phoenix screeched, gold, red, and black swirled together.
Pain filled Fawkes's eyes, her cries thinning into strained, trembling notes. Golden feathers darkened as black corruption spread, and her tail feathers fell away, one by one...
Finally, with a sharp, anguished cry, she burst into flame—vanishing in a single brilliant flare, leaving only a small mound of still-glowing ash on the floor.
...
Albus Dumbledore, leaning heavily on his cane, struggled back to his feet.
"Thank you... Jon..." Dumbledore said weakly, his complexion pale. "I'm sorry... I lost control..."
"A Horcrux..." Jon reminded sharply. "This is a Horcrux, Professor—destroy it, quickly!"
Dumbledore's left hand trembled as he lifted Gryffindor's Sword, but after a moment he gently lowered it again.
"You should do it," he said quietly. His eyes never left the emblem carved into the dark gemstone.
Jon sighed, slipping the Misericore from his pocket as he raised his wand. "I suggest you leave now. Fiendfyre will burn the entire Gaunt Shack to the ground."
Dumbledore nodded and stepped outside with the help of his cane.
A small tuft of flame—thin as a strand of hair, yet carrying a violently predatory aura—drifted into the silver Misericore.
Then, terrifying flames erupted from the silver box in every direction, turning into a massive basilisk, a snarling griffin, and a towering giant eagle...
Jon flicked his wand, drawing the silver octahedron back into his hand before leaving the Gaunt Shack without looking back.
Behind him, the soul fragment inside the ring let out a piercing, agonized scream.
...
More than ten minutes later, after confirming that Voldemort's soul shard had been completely annihilated, Jon opened the Gaunt Shack's door again.
The fiery beasts rampaging inside roared toward the entrance, a wave of heat rushing out... Jon simply tossed Grindelwald's Misericore forward and held it suspended in mid-air with his wand.
The beasts were immediately drawn to the silver octahedron, retreating into it piece by piece... Within minutes, the Fiendfyre had shrunk back to its original hair-thin form and slipped out of the Misericore again.
"Aguamenti," Jon whispered.
A powerful jet of water blasted the tiny strand of Fiendfyre. Though it writhed violently within the stream, it gradually weakened... and finally went out.
In theory, ordinary water cannot extinguish Fiendfyre, but once the quantities become vastly disproportionate, the outcome changes.
Jon surveyed the scene. The entire Gaunt Shack had been ravaged by the Fiendfyre... The ring itself had been burned to scrap, surrounded by a writhing black substance—half-liquid, half-solid.
"So this is a soul's form?" Jon murmured.
At last, among the fragments, he spotted a small black stone—
A tiny, thumbnail-sized stone—plain, smooth, quietly gleaming, giving off a soft sheen... completely unharmed. As one of the Deathly Hallows, not even Fiendfyre could mar its surface.
Dumbledore, leaning on his cane, walked up to it... and carefully, with trembling fingers, picked it up.
...
Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes and turned the stone three times in his hand.
He knew the motion well—he had rehearsed it in memory countless times.
Soon he sensed success: faint movements around him, figures materializing within the Gaunt Shack.
He opened his eyes and looked upon them.
Dumbledore knew they were neither ghosts nor living people, but memories fixed deeply within his mind. They walked toward him—more ethereal than the living, yet more real than ghosts.
Each face held the same loving smile.
Percival Dumbledore, still wearing the black robes from his Wizengamot trial... This was the last way Albus had seen his father before he was sentenced to life in Azkaban for breaching the Statute of Secrecy and killing three Muggle boys, dying there three years later.
Kendra Dumbledore looked young—much younger than in Albus's memory. She gazed at her white-haired, century-old son with gentle affection, tears in her eyes.
And... Ariana Dumbledore. She wore the dress she had loved at six years old, before the attack by three Muggle boys, before her magic spun out of control... She was the happiest of them, looking up at her brother with longing as if she could never get enough of his face.
More figures appeared behind them.
Marlene McKinnon gave the Headmaster a shy smile before ducking behind her husband, Ronald McKinnon.
Gideon Prewett clapped his brother Fabian on the shoulder while waving excitedly at Dumbledore.
Edgar Bones gave a small nod, his expression typically reserved, though joy still shone clearly through.
...
Dumbledore reached out, feeling the warm presence of relatives, friends, and students he had not seen in so long. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he looked upon their faces...
He hesitated, biting his lip. As much as he longed to stay, he made his choice.
Closing his eyes, he tossed the nail-sized stone behind him.
"Jon, take it," he said quietly.
Jon Hart caught the Resurrection Stone, staring at Professor Dumbledore in surprise.
"This is useless to me," Jon said honestly. "Everyone I love is still alive."
"That is exactly why you are fit to use it," Dumbledore said, now wiping the last traces of tears from his eyes. "I cannot... If I kept it, I'd be lost in it."
"Fine..." Jon muttered. "I can look after it for you—for now."
Dumbledore picked up his cane in one hand and Gryffindor's Sword in the other. Turning to Jon, he said warmly, "Thank you for your help these past years, Jon... I hope we meet again soon."
"I'm grateful for everything you've done for me too," Jon replied solemnly, bowing deeply. "This is all I'm able to give. I wish you good fortune and a long, peaceful life."
"Then farewell..." Dumbledore said softly, giving a gentle wave.
A sharp crack sounded as he Disapparated.
...
Jon pulled his black hood on again and left the Gaunt Shack.
Unlike Dumbledore, he still couldn't Apparate, so he needed to find a nearby Muggle town to stay the night before leaving in the morning.
Walking along the road, Jon muttered inwardly—
Dumbledore didn't even Apparate me partway. At the very least, he could've left Fawkes with me!
Wait... Fawkes. Jon stopped mid-step.
If he remembered correctly, Fawkes's remains were still in the Gaunt Shack. Both he and Dumbledore had forgotten her entirely...
"Damn it!" Jon smacked his forehead, spun around, and sprinted back toward the Gaunt Shack.