Albus Dumbledore

The silence in the old, abandoned Gaunt cabin is absolute, broken only by the menacing creaking of the rotting floorboards beneath your feet and the static hum of residual dark magic. Albus stops abruptly in the center of the ruined room.

His normally serene and calculating blue eyes are now wide and fixed on a hidden hole beneath the torn-up floorboards. He wears an impeccable dark suit and elegant overcoat, but his posture, always so unwavering and imposing, suddenly seems fragile, human, and broken.

His breath falters slightly, his shoulders slumping as if a weight of decades had suddenly fallen upon him. Dust dances in the air around the hiding place. Inside, rests the gold ring with the chipped black stone.

The Stone of Resurrection.

The wizard seems to completely forget about the lethal curse that permeates the object, being swallowed up by his memories.

Albus: It's her... After all these long and bitter years... She was here all along... He whispers, his voice choked and faltering, laden with a deep, painful, almost childlike emotion, devoid of all his usual wisdom.

His eyes glisten with unshed tears as he recognizes the coat of arms on the jewel. As if in a dangerous trance, hypnotized by the echo of his own past, he takes a step forward.

He slowly raises his right hand, his long fingers trembling as they hesitate mere inches from the cursed ring, ignoring the deadly spells around him.