#325 - Chapter 325 Nightmare Strikes
The Riddle House at Little Hangleton once stood as the most impressive estate in the area, perched atop a small hill overlooking the entire village.
High stone walls encircled the ancient building, enclosing gardens that were once meticulously manicured, boasting beautiful landscapes and vibrant flowers.
However, the passage of time and the downfall of the Riddle family gradually transformed this once glorious mansion into a desolate ruin.
Today, the walls are crumbling, vines and weeds have overtaken the exterior, the windows have long gone uncleaned, and the courtyard is overrun with chaotic shrubbery.
The villagers of Little Hangleton universally found it eerie and dreadful, and they purposefully avoided it. Only mischievous children would occasionally venture there to cause trouble.
Now, its sole guardian was the former old gardener, Frank.
He was the only one who still had ties to the house, faithfully watching over the abandoned land for many years, even though the Riddle family was long gone.
Frank was a man of few words and did not associate with the villagers. He lived alone in a small cottage next to the mansion, and his main job was to prevent the mischievous children from the village from vandalizing the courtyard.
One night in August, Frank noticed a faint light coming from the upper floor of the Riddle House, which aroused his suspicion.
The Riddle House had been abandoned for many years, and he was certain that no one should be there.
His first reaction was to assume that some of the village children had secretly snuck in to play a prank.
This infuriated him, and without another word, he grabbed his walking stick and headed towards the gates of Riddle House.
As the old gardener, he had to fulfill his duty.
Thanks to his familiarity with the estate, Frank quickly arrived on the second floor of the house.
He stood quietly in the dark hallway, leaning against the cold wall, nervously staring at the slightly ajar door.
The sounds coming from the crack in the door were unusually clear in the silent night. Although he couldn't quite make out every word, he could clearly discern two people talking in hushed voices.
One voice was deep and raspy, filled with a cold authority and suppressed anger.
It gave Frank a feeling of danger, as if every word was an unquestionable command.
The other voice, however, sounded timid and servile, filled with fear and obedience.
Frank sensed that this person was trying desperately to please the owner of the cold voice, seemingly trying to explain or plead for something, as if extremely afraid of the other's displeasure.
The conversation between the two was very strange, and Frank couldn't understand what they were saying at all.
However, from words like "plan," "power," and "death," he clearly realized that the two people inside were not just simple intruders, but murderers.
They seemed to be plotting something terrible, planning to kill someone named Potter.
Even worse, they had already killed a woman, a woman named Bertha Jorkins.
Furthermore, they had learned some incredible news from that woman's memory.
Frank was just an ordinary Muggle and had no idea that the two people in the room were the infamous Lord Voldemort and the notorious fugitive Peter Pettigrew.
He also didn't know how important the woman they killed was.
First, Voldemort used her death to create his final Horcrux, the snake Nagini.
Secondly, although Bertha was an insignificant figure in the wizarding world, the information in her head was too crucial.
To put it in a not-so-appropriate analogy, if the turning point of World War II was Li Yunlong attacking Ping'an County.
Then the turning point of the wizarding world from peace to chaos was Voldemort getting the news from Bertha's mind that his most loyal servant, Barty Crouch Jr., was still alive.
It was knowing this news that allowed Voldemort to successfully carry out his resurrection plan.
Of course, all of this had nothing to do with Frank; after all, he was just an ordinary Muggle.
Frank knew he had heard secrets he shouldn't know and had to quickly escape Riddle House, go to the village phone booth to call the police, and tell those young officers everything that had happened here.
He was too old, and even if he wanted to do something, he was no match for those two young thugs.
Frank swallowed nervously, his feet involuntarily moving backward, and just as he was about to turn around and run away quietly, he heard a faint rustling sound under his feet.
He looked down and saw a huge snake slowly slithering around him, its cold scales scraping across the floor, making a chilling sound.
Frank's body froze, and he felt as if he was nailed to the spot, not daring to make any sound, afraid that the snake would bite him to death.
Fortunately, the snake ignored Frank and went straight into the room where the two thugs were.
Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, he heard the people inside discovering him, and then the door opened, and a short, bald man called him in.
Although Frank was trembling with fear, he still tried to appear tough.
However, when he saw the inhuman creature on the chair, he couldn't bear it any longer and let out a shrill scream.
What followed was a flash of green light and an endless, icy darkness.
At the moment Frank died, Harry, who was far away at the Svan estate, suddenly woke up from his sleep.
He lay in bed, panting, his pajamas soaked in cold sweat.
The lightning scar on his forehead was throbbing painfully, as if someone was branding his forehead with a red-hot iron.
Harry fumbled for his glasses, went to the mirror in the room, and carefully examined the scar on his forehead, but he couldn't find anything unusual after looking for a long time.
This pain was extremely familiar, and it quickly reminded him of how his scar had hurt when he encountered Voldemort in his first year.
Harry suspected that Voldemort had come nearby, but the quiet Svan estate reminded him that everything was fine here.
He tried to recall the scene in his dream just now, but he couldn't remember most of it, only remembering that there was an old man, Peter Pettigrew, a big snake, and Voldemort in the dream.
Who was that old man?
Why did Voldemort kill that old man?
Perhaps it was just a nightmare.
Harry, who couldn't figure anything out after thinking for a long time, calmed down and went back to bed.
"Forget it, I'll go to sleep first. Tomorrow, I'm going to the campsite near the Quidditch World Cup stadium. The finals are approaching, and I heard it's especially lively there."
"As for the scar, I'll talk to Aunt Mia and Professor Svan about it when I get up tomorrow. They will definitely know what's going on."
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