"Then what exactly are you doing here? Don't tell me you barged in so forcefully and knocked me down just to tell me that I have a little bastard… and a nephew?"
Morfin Gaunt struggled to get up, collapsing onto a tattered chair nearby. Panting heavily, he glared fiercely at the three people in front of him.
"I recently learned that my mother is a descendant of Slytherin. That's why I wanted to come back and take a look… see what the descendants of Slytherin, the Gaunt family, are like," Tom said, suppressing his anger and trying to keep his tone calm.
Morfin scoffed and spat on the ground.
"If that bitch still had half of Slytherin's honor, she wouldn't have found a dirty Muggle to mate with and then given birth to a filthy Mudblood like you. This is a stain on Slytherin's bloodline! A disgrace!"
"Shut up, you bastard!" Tom snapped. "You claim my mother tainted the Slytherin bloodline and disgraced its honor? Then what exactly are you doing now? Living like this—like garbage? If Slytherin could see his descendants wallowing in a cesspool, do you think he'd blame my mother for tainting his bloodline, or would he despise you and the rest of your kind for ruining his reputation?"
"You are in such a miserable state. What right do you have to call yourself a descendant of Slytherin? What right do you have to insult my mother?"
Morfin's face turned red with rage, the veins on his forehead throbbing.
"How dare you insult me! I am a noble descendant of Slytherin! I live like this because… because everyone else has fallen! They no longer abide by tradition! That is why our Gaunt family has declined! Even though I have fallen into this state, I have never violated the traditions of a pure-blood family. What right do you have to judge me?!"
Tom's face was full of disdain and disgust as he looked at Morfin as if he were nothing more than filth.
"Tradition? What tradition? Hiding at home and casting petty dark spells on passing Muggles? Is that the so-called noble tradition of Slytherin's descendants? You're nothing but a fool who refuses to admit his own incompetence. I don't know how you'll face the great Salazar Slytherin when you die and your soul reaches the afterlife!"
"You… what did you say?" Morfin was so furious that he could hardly speak.
Tom's words had struck a nerve.
"I said, you… and everyone responsible for the decline of the Gaunt family… are unworthy of being called descendants of Slytherin." Tom stepped forward slowly. "If I were you, a so-called noble descendant of Slytherin, and ended up like this, I'd hang myself in disgrace rather than continue living in humiliation!"
"Think about it. If wizards from other pure-blood families passed by and saw the noble descendants of Slytherin reduced to this state… what would they say? How dare you, a group of maggots who have disgraced your ancestors, still call yourselves descendants of Slytherin? Pah! Do you deserve it?"
Morfin was trembling with rage, but with Dumbledore standing nearby, watching him closely, he didn't dare attack.
As he fumed in helplessness, Tom's eyes were drawn to an obsidian ring on Morfin's finger.
Despite Morfin's ragged clothing, he was wearing a ring inlaid with a gleaming black stone.
Tom's gaze sharpened.
Dumbledore, who had been observing in silence, also noticed the ring. More precisely, his attention was drawn to the obsidian set in it.
"What are you doing?! Give it back! That's the Gaunt family heirloom!" Morfin shouted as Tom snatched the ring from his hand.
Tom allowed Morfin to snatch the ring back, but his eyes remained locked on it.
"This is your Gaunt family's ring?" Tom narrowed his eyes.
"This is a relic left by the great and noble ancestors of the Gaunt family! How dare you defile it?!"
Tom sneered. "Defile it? No, I think if this ring stays in your hands, that would be the true disgrace. It's an insult to the honor of Slytherin's lineage!"
"You… You want to take it from me?" Morfin's face twisted with panic.
At this moment, he had no wand. Though the boy before him was only eleven or twelve years old, Morfin still felt an overwhelming sense of dread.
He hadn't dueled in years—his magic was practically abandoned.
Tom smirked. "This ring represents the honor of Slytherin's descendants. Do you think you truly deserve to possess it?"
"Of course! I am the purest descendant of Slytherin! I may not be worthy, but do you, a Mudblood, deserve it?!" Morfin roared.
"Enough talk!" Tom pulled a glove from his pocket and threw it at Morfin. "Let's settle this the proper way—through a duel. Isn't tradition what you value the most? Then accept my challenge! Only the victor is worthy of Slytherin's legacy!"
"You… what did you say?"
Dumbledore, who had remained silent until now, finally stepped forward.
"Tom—"
Before he could stop him, Robert grabbed his arm.
"Professor… let Tom handle this. Otherwise, he'll never resolve his feelings."
"But it's too dangerous," Dumbledore frowned.
"Professor, this is about my family's honor!" Tom declared coldly. "The relics of the great Salazar Slytherin cannot be left in the hands of incompetents. Please, don't interfere—be a witness instead."
After a long pause, Dumbledore sighed and handed Morfin's wand back.
He now understood Tom's mindset.
As an orphan who had been alone all his life, Tom had always carried a deep-seated sense of inferiority. But upon learning of his heritage, that inferiority had started to fade—only to be replaced with crushing disappointment upon seeing what had become of Slytherin's bloodline.
So, he had to reclaim his identity—with dignity.
And that ring, a relic of Slytherin, symbolized that once-great lineage.
If Dumbledore stopped him now, he could protect Tom from physical harm—but not from the deeper psychological wounds.
Morfin seized his wand with a crazed grin.
"You actually dare challenge me to a duel? Fine! But only if Dumbledore doesn't interfere!"
He was seething.
A mere child dared to challenge him?
Morfin was convinced he could crush Tom—so long as Dumbledore stayed out of it.
"As a witness, he won't intervene. Since you accept, let's duel." Tom raised his wand.
Outside, in the overgrown yard, the two faced off.
Morfin sneered. "Scared, little bastard? If you—"
"I'll let you strike first," Tom interrupted, his voice dripping with contempt.
Morfin's face turned purple. He was being mocked!
"You'll regret this! Avada—"
"Expelliarmus!"
Before Morfin could even finish his spell—
Bang!
Morfin Gaunt was blasted off his feet, staring blankly at the sky.
"H-How…?"
Tom loomed over him.
"Pick up your wand," he said coldly.
Morfin, furious, grabbed it again—only to be disarmed just as swiftly.
Tom bent down and took the ring from the defeated man.
"From today onward, I am the true descendant of Slytherin. And you…" Tom tossed a pouch of 500 Galleons onto Morfin's chest. "Consider this my mother's official severance from the Gaunt family."
Then, without looking back, he left.
Dumbledore sighed.
Tom had changed.
And as he put the ring on his finger, a sickly flush of satisfaction crossed his face.
For the first time in his life—Tom Riddle felt truly complete.
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