William's fingers lightly tapped on the edge of the stone table, his gaze resting on Dumbledore's charred arm. The air seemed to solidify, and for a moment, the only sound in the basement was the somewhat dull snores of the Nundu.
"So—"
Finally, William's voice broke the silence again, a bit less teasing, "What is it... alright, if you're planning to talk to me? Because, honestly, I can't imagine what would make you knowingly walk into a trap—apart from the new ad from Honeydukes..."
This time, the joke had no effect. A deep, complex pain flashed across Dumbledore's aged face, and the light blue eyes hidden behind his half-moon glasses seemed to gaze at a distant, dusty, gray corner.
"...It's Ariana."
Dumbledore let out a long sigh, his voice dry like sandpaper used to grind metal, "Ariana, my sister—a very lovely girl, but because of... some reasons, she lost the ability to control her magic at a very young age—"
"An Obscurus?"
"..."
Dumbledore paused, then sighed as if carrying endless fatigue, "Yes, she stood on the porch of that house, on the garden path shaded by the beech trees, the sunlight... so warm—" A muddy tear dropped to the floor, "She... smiled at me."
"..."
William did not immediately respond.
He knew that his role at this moment should be that of a silent listener, even though he had a belly full of questions—there were very few records of Obscurials living past ten years old. If Dumbledore's sister had died from uncontrolled magic, he wouldn't have behaved like this, so—there was only one reason. Dumbledore believed his sister's death was his fault.
And he tried to use the Resurrection Stone to pull Ariana back from the realm of the dead.
The Resurrection Stone, supposed to be the most coveted of the Deathly Hallows, at this moment had become the most poisonous bait. William flipped through the storybook again. The second brother who took the Resurrection Stone met no good end; the girl he resurrected and the world of the living were forever separated by a thick, tragic veil. This spiritual torment even soon led the brother to take his own life—
How much regret must Dumbledore have felt to commit such an act, knowing the situation.
It should be known that the elderly man sitting in front of him was regarded as an anchor by the entire International Wizarding World, yet now he seemed stripped of all his wisdom and strength, exposing the most vulnerable wound in his heart.
"...I rarely feel regret, William."
Dumbledore looked at his charred arm and gently continued, "But at that time... it was as if I were possessed, really afraid—Voldemort's soul didn't deprive the Resurrection Stone of its original power, William, I really saw her at that time—"
"!"
Hearing this, William instinctively grabbed the ring in his hand... yes, the Gaunt Family crest, he had seen it on Ominis Gaunt's school bag. Evidently, the idiot Voldemort hadn't understood the essence of this ring at all, treating it simply as a powerful container for a soul—
Yet, beneath that filthy fragment of soul, William still sensed the magic contained within that stone.
"Damn... why does that idiot Voldemort ruin all the good things?"
Although it felt somewhat untimely, William couldn't help but gripe, "Alright," William calmed his mind; no one could completely stay calm upon acquiring such a magical object, not even Dumbledore. Clearly, neither could he. "So, how did you..."
"Because of fear, although I longed to see her again... I was also afraid to see her."
Dumbledore remained silent for a long time, long enough for William to set down the Resurrection Stone and again be tempted by the Elder Wand before he finally spoke again, "It was a chaotic afternoon. I had a fight with Abeforth—my brother, that is. Young as we were, we came to blows. Gellert, he..."
"...Ah, there's even an issue with old Gellert in this?"
Alright, obviously, William was not an ideal listener; it was too hard to suppress the urge to interject—
"...Our struggle frightened Ariana, and I don't know whose spell—it might be that I knew once—hit her by mistake, causing the Obscurus to go out of control. Afterwards, I parted ways with Gellert, and Abeforth never grew close to me again. I... I am a failed brother."
Dumbledore paused, clearly finding it not easy to speak out these words, but once spoken, the old man felt a certain relief.
People always have the need to express themselves, and Dumbledore was no exception. Putting aside the identity of the greatest White Wizard, he was just an ordinary old man who didn't want to adhere to the doctor's orders and was always thinking of sneaking some sweets under Professor Meow's nose.
"It is indeed quite a failure."
William critiqued sharply. He knew that there was no need to specifically comfort old Dumbledore at this moment. The latter merely wanted to vent; a centenarian wouldn't possibly find psychological solace in a few words of oral comfort—of course, there was an even more critical reason—William simply couldn't resist being snarky, and he was very clear about this.
And he didn't plan to change.
"In short, I failed and fell into Voldemort's curse—I tried many methods and had Severus combine some of Nicolas's notes, but the effect was very poor, merely enough to barely seal the curse within my arm—"
"Snape did it? A bit rough, but not bad already—Fawkes hasn't shed few tears these days, I assume?"
"Yes, the Phoenix's tears played a part in easing the pain."
"...That's effective,"
Beginning to discuss serious matters, William finally became serious, stroking his chin, getting up, and pacing back and forth in the somewhat cramped space, "As long as there's an effect, it's good. Fortunately, Snape didn't attempt anything reckless—the curse left by Voldemort was evidently influenced by the mighty magic of the Resurrection Stone, which could even bring the dead back to reality; otherwise, it wouldn't be so potent—"
"So, you don't have any solution either?"
Seeing William appearing somewhat frowning, Dumbledore suddenly asked.
"No solution?!"
William's eyes widened, "How could there be no solution? It's just—very troublesome, like a Muggle computer equipped with the most advanced hardware currently, and yet Voldemort, that idiot, treated it as a cheap hard drive, cramming a ton of incomprehensible junk data in, making it as messed up as a Rolex lying in the silt of the Thames River bed for three years..."
William paused, "But, I am a professional watch repairer—"