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When Marvolo Gaunt had thought of his final days, he had imagined that he would be surrounded by his children—a loyal son and a reformed daughter that had realized the error of her ways and begged for her father’s forgiveness. He imagined he would finally be given the respect he deserved, demanded.
Instead, he lay on the floor of the miserable little shack in Little Hangleton, staring up at the decaying beams that crossed the ceiling. His body had given out some time ago, and even the simple movement of lifting an arm was beyond him now.
He lets his eyelids fall closed, mind harkening back to the things he cared most for in the world.
His heirlooms.
The precious, priceless pieces that were physical representations of his family’s pure blood. He could look at them, hold them in the palms of his hands and know that at some point, his family name had meant something.
By the time Marvolo had been born into the world, their line had been tainted, though he would never admit it. He’d always held hope that he would be able to restore his place in proper society, and perhaps those heirlooms would hold value again.
But then, that dirty little tart of a daughter had stolen one of them, just snatched it up before she abandoned her family for a mere Muggle. The locket was no longer in his possession, and he longed for it as he lay there on the rotting wood floor of his home.
The weight of the ring on his finger buoyed his spirits somewhat. At least he would have that to hold, to take pride in as the life left his body for good.
His last thought before darkness took him was not of his children, nor his family, not even the pure blood he clung to so firmly. It was simple and final.
I could have been something.