Little Hangleton, England.
On a hillside stood an old, dilapidated house. The windows of the house were sealed shut, the tiles on the roof were incomplete, and ivy was crawling all over the walls.
But the villagers here knew that the house was called Riddle House. It was originally a beautiful mansion, the largest and most imposing building within miles. But now it has become damp and desolate and has been uninhabited for many years.
The villagers of Little Hangleton unanimously agreed that the old house was "weird and scary".
Half a century ago, a bizarre and terrifying incident happened here. Even now, the elders in the village still like to talk about this incident when they have nothing else to talk about.
Fifty years ago, when the Riddle Mansion was still gorgeous and magnificent, at dawn on a clear summer day, a maid walked into the living room and found that the three members of the Riddle family had died.
The villagers suspected that Frank, the Riddle family's gardener, killed the family of three because he had a strange temper and could easily get the key to the inner courtyard.
However, when the autopsy report came out, Frank was cleared of suspicion:
None of the Riddles had been poisoned, shot, or suffocated or strangled. In fact, all three of them looked healthy—except for one thing: they were dead.
The doctors who performed the autopsies did notice that each member of the Riddle family had an expression of fear on their faces... but who had ever heard of three people being frightened to death at the same time
Later, the Riddle family was buried in the churchyard at Little Hangleton, and Frank Bryce returned to Riddle Hall and lived in his cottage in the grounds.
The gardener Frank did not leave, but stayed at Riddle House, and chose to continue to take care of the garden for the next owner who bought Riddle House, and then worked for the next owner...
Later, the manor fell into the hands of its last owner.
He did not live here, but still hired Frank to continue to be the gardener of the estate.
However, due to the lack of human presence, the plants in the courtyard grew rapidly. Even the experienced old gardener Frank could not stop their growth. He could only watch this once luxurious mansion become dilapidated.
One night in the summer of 1994, Frank was awakened by the pain of his bad leg.
He rose from his bed and limped downstairs to the kitchen, where he would fill a hot-water bottle to warm his stiff knees. He stood at the sink, filling a kettle, looking up toward Riddle House.
There seemed to be a faint gleam of light in the upstairs windows.
Frank thought the village boys had broken into the house again; the flickering light showed that they had made a fire.
Frank quickly put down the kettle, dragged his bad leg, went back upstairs as quickly as possible, took a rusty old key from the hook by the door, picked up the crutch leaning against the wall, and walked into the night.
Although the current owner of the house doesn't care much, he is an employee after all, and he can't just sit and watch those naughty children mess around here. He is even more worried that they will set fire to the old house where he has lived for decades.
Frank walked to the front door of the Riddle House and found no signs of forced entry, and the windows were intact.
So he limped around to the back of the house again, stopped at a door that was almost completely hidden by ivy, took out the old key, inserted it into the lock, and opened the door silently.
Frank, leaning on his cane, walked into the cavernous, dark kitchen.
He had not been here for many years. However, despite the darkness, he remembered where the door to the corridor was. He groped his way towards it, and a rotten smell hit his nostrils.
Frank pricked up his ears, catching every footstep or voice above his head. He walked to the corridor, where the tall windows on either side of the front door let in some moonlight.
He began to go up the stairs, thinking that thanks to the thick dust on the stone steps, the sound of his footsteps and his cane were muffled and not easily noticed.
On the landing, Frank turned to his right and immediately saw where the intruder was.
At the very front of the corridor, a door was slightly open, and a flickering light shone through the crack, casting an orange-yellow shadow on the dark floor.
Frank leaned sideways and approached cautiously, holding the cane tightly in his hand. A few steps away from the door, he could see the scene in the narrow gap in the room.
He saw now that the fire was in the grate, which surprised him, for naughty boys usually liked to light fires anywhere but in the grate.
He stopped and pricked up his ears, only to hear the voice of a younger man speaking in the room. Compared to those naughty boys, his voice sounded very respectful.
"Master, how is your strength recovering now?" he asked.
Frank was stunned.
In this day and age, are there still people who use the term "master", which was only used in the old times
"It's okay, not too good, but not too bad either." said another voice.
It was a man too—but the voice was hoarse and strange, and as cold as the wind. Somehow, the mere sound of it made the few sparse hairs on the back of Frank's neck stand up.
"Come to think of it... I have to thank that damned fellow Dracula." The cold voice sneered, "If he hadn't pushed me into a desperate situation, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to come into contact with that other world so quickly."
"The ruler of that world told me personally that the ring on my hand is a very special thing..."
The conversation inside aroused a rare strong curiosity in the elderly Frank. He put his right ear against the door, trying to hear more clearly.
There was the sound of footsteps in the room, and then the sound of water being poured into a cup. Frank glimpsed through the crack in the door a pale young man with flaxen hair, who was carrying two cups of water and passing them to the other side of the room.
He was wearing a long black cloak, and his look and temperament had an indescribable madness and abnormality. In short, he had nothing to do with a normal, sober and rational person.
"How is the plan going?" asked the cold voice.
"I'm fine now, Master." The first one said confidently, "But I don't quite understand. Aren't you able to recover your body and strength now? Why do you still need to..."
"Because that troublesome Potter has blood magic cast by his mother specifically targeting me in his body." The second cold voice said, "I must use Potter's blood to restore my body to prevent the situation where I cannot touch him from happening again!"
Frank frowned, put his ear (which had better hearing) against the door again, and listened attentively.
He now couldn't understand what the two people here were discussing, nor did he know who they were or where they came from, nor did he know why they came to Riddle Mansion.
There was silence in the room for a moment, then the young voice spoke again.
"Master, may I ask, how long are we going to stay here?"
"A week," said the chilly voice. "Perhaps longer. This place is still comfortable, and the plan cannot be implemented yet. It would be unwise to act rashly before the Quidditch World Cup is over."
Frank put a gnarled finger into his ear and twisted it a few times.
There must be too much earwax, he heard a strange word like "Quidditch", it didn't sound like a serious word at all...
"The Quidditch World Cup, Master?" the young voice said. "You wish to cause chaos in the most crowded places while you wait for the World Cup?"
"No, I have no intention of alerting the enemy for the time being." The cold voice said, "I just don't want to run into those Aurors who have increased their patrols."
"Every time this happens, wizards from all over the world flock to this country, and all those nosy guys in the Ministry of Magic are dispatched. They stand guard, pay attention to any unusual activities, and repeatedly check everyone's identity."
"They are only concerned about safety and stability, and they are afraid that the Muggles will notice anything. So we have to wait a little longer. It doesn't matter if we take action after the World Cup is over."
Outside the door, Frank stopped picking his ears.
He heard the words "Ministry of Magic", "wizards" and "Muggles" without error.
Obviously, these words all had mysterious meanings, and as far as Frank knew, only two kinds of people would speak in code: spies, criminals, or mentally ill people.
Frank clutched his cane tightly and listened intently.
"Master, I think you should find another obedient servant to take care of you," the young voice said softly, "I will be leaving to carry out my mission soon, and you will need someone else to take care of you in the meantime."
"How about finding those hidden Death Eaters and having them serve you?" he asked.
"No need, Batty." The cold voice finally called out the name of the young voice owner, "Who knows what those fence-sitters are thinking? Some of them may even hope that I will die, and then they will be completely free of burden..."
There was a moment of silence—and then the young man named Batty spoke again.
"Those who choose to betray will get what they deserve." He said, "When I complete this mission, I will personally help you clean up those traitors!"
"Very good, I appreciate your kindness, Batty." The cold voice said softly, "But you don't need to think so much now, just complete the tasks I have assigned to you, and we can talk about the rest later..."
"Yes, Master," said Batty.
"By the way, when you get to Hogwarts, in addition to keeping a close eye on Dumbledore and Dracula, can you help me pay attention to Severus?" the cold voice said softly, "Severus Snape, Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin... He has a lot of titles. Go and help me figure out what he thinks."
"Okay, Master." Barty nodded, "If Snape shows any signs of betrayal, I will kill him myself!"
"… "
In the corridor outside, Frank suddenly realized that his hand holding the cane was soaked with sweat. These two people seemed to have no reservations about killing people, and they didn't care at all when talking about it.
These two men are dangerous—they are definitely two desperadoes.
And they were planning to kill and capture more people—the boy, a student named Harry Potter, Frank didn't know who he was, but knew he was in danger...
Frank knew what he had to do. He had to call the police, sneak out of the house and head straight for the village phone booth...
But the cold voice spoke again, and then Frank stood there, as if frozen, trying hard to concentrate and listen.
"Wait, Barty, don't make a sound... I seem to hear someone breathing outside the door..." A cold voice suddenly spoke, "It just so happens that I'm still missing a Horcrux, and I'm just looking for a guy who came to me to get killed!"
Hearing this, Frank froze.
What he wished most now was that he had never gotten out of bed and went straight back to bed with the hot water bottle.
His legs seemed unable to move, his heart was beating rapidly, he stood there rigidly, trembling all over. He tried to control himself, but failed every time.
Frank had no chance to hide, as footsteps were heard from inside, and then the door was suddenly opened!
The blond, pale, crazed young man stood at the door. Frank followed him and saw a strange man without a nose or hair, sneering at him.
The strange man's body even seemed a little transparent!
Batty waved his hand, motioning Frank to come into the house.
Frank, trembling violently, clutched his cane and limped over the threshold.
The fire was the only source of light in the room, and it cast long, spider-web-like shadows on the walls.
"Did you hear everything, Muggle?" the cold voice asked.
"What did you call me?" Frank said loudly. He had been a soldier before, so he could still muster some courage in times of crisis.
"When I call you a Muggle," the voice said coldly, "I mean you are not a wizard."
"I don't know what you mean by wizard," Frank said, his voice becoming more and more steady. "I only know that what I heard tonight is enough to attract the attention of the police - you are planning to kill people!"
"I'll tell you something else," he said, suddenly struck by an idea, "my wife knows I'm here, and if I don't go back--"
"You have no partner," the cold voice drawled. "No one knows you are here. You have not told anyone that you are here. Muggles, do not lie to Lord Voldemort. He knows everything... knows everything..."
"What did you say?" said Frank rudely. "A grown-up, is it? Well, I don't think you look like a grown-up, but a monster! I have never seen a fellow as ugly and strange as you!"
The next moment, the strange-looking guy suddenly raised a stick.
"Avada Kedavra!"
There was a blinding flash of green light, and Frank Bryce collapsed to the ground. He was dead before he hit the ground.
At the same time, two hundred miles away, Harry Potter suddenly woke up from his dream.
…
…