Chapter 231 Voldemort is in Riddle House

The village of Little Hangleton, England.

There is an old, damaged house sitting on a hillside. Several windows of the house are sealed, the tiles on the roof are incomplete, and ivy crawls all over the wall with claws and claws.

But the villagers here know that this house is called Riddle House. It was originally a very beautiful mansion and the most spacious and magnificent building within several miles. Now it has become damp, desolate, and deserted all year round. People live in it.

The villagers of Little Hangleton agreed that the old house was "scary".

Half a century ago, a bizarre and terrifying thing happened here. Even now, the elders in the village like to talk about it when they have no other topics to talk about——

Fifty years ago, when the Riddle House was still gorgeous and magnificent, at dawn on a sunny summer day, a maid walked into the living room and found that all three members of the Riddle family had died of exhaustion.

The villagers suspected that Frank, the gardener of the Riddle family, had killed a family of three because he had a weird temper and could easily get the key to the inner courtyard.

However, when the autopsy report came out, Frank was cleared of suspicion:

No one in the Riddle family was harmed by poison, sharp objects, guns, or suffocated or strangled. In fact, all three of the Riddles looked healthy—except for one thing: they were all dead.

The doctors who conducted the autopsy noticed that everyone in the Riddle family had a look of horror 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 of Little Hangleton, and Frank Bryce returned to Riddle House and lived in his cabin in the grounds.

The gardener Frank did not leave, but stayed at Riddle House, and chose to continue taking care of the garden for the next owner who bought Riddle House, and then worked for the next family...

Later, the manor passed into the hands of its last owner.

He did not live here, but he still hired Frank to continue as the manor's gardener.

However, due to the lack of human presence, the plants in the courtyard grew rapidly. Even Frank, an experienced gardener, could not stop their growth. He could only watch the once luxurious mansion become dilapidated. .

One night in the summer of 1994, Frank woke up from the pain in his bad leg.

He got up from the bed, limped downstairs and walked into the kitchen, trying to fill a hot water bottle to warm his stiff knees. He stood by the pool, filling the kettle, and looked up at Riddle House.

There seemed to be a glimmer of light in the upstairs windows.

Frank thought that the village boys had broken into the old house again. The dim light was flickering, and it was obvious that they had made a fire.

Frank quickly put down the kettle, dragged his bad leg back upstairs as quickly as possible, took down a rusty old key from the hook next to the door, picked up the crutch leaning against the wall, and walked into the night among.

Although the current owner of this house doesn't care much, he is employed by others after all and cannot sit back and watch those naughty children play 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, stopped at a door that was almost completely covered by the ivy, took out the old key, inserted it into the lock, and opened the door silently.

Frank walked into the cave-like dark kitchen on crutches.

He hasn't been in for years. But despite the darkness, he remembered where the door to the corridor was. He groped his way over, and a rotten smell hit his nostrils.

Frank strained his ears, picking up every sound of footsteps or voices overhead. He came to the corridor, where there was a little light from the moon because of the tall windows on both sides of the front door.

He started to go upstairs, thinking that thanks to the thick dust on the stone steps, the sound of his footsteps and the sound of his cane were muffled and difficult to be noticed.

On the landing, Frank turned to the right and immediately saw where the intruder was.

At the very front of the corridor, a door was opened a crack, and a flickering light projected out from the crack, casting an orange light and shadow on the dark floor.

Frank leaned sideways and cautiously approached, holding the crutch tightly in his hand. A few steps from the door, he could see through a narrow crack in the room.

He saw now that the fire was in the hearth. This surprised him, because naughty boys usually like to light fires everywhere but not in the fireplace.

He stopped and pricked up his ears, only to hear the voice of a younger man coming from the room. Compared to those naughty boys, the voice seemed very respectful.

"Master, how is your strength recovering now?" he asked.

Frank was stunned for a moment.

In this day and age, do people still use the term "master" that was only used in the old days?

"It's okay, not too good, but not too bad either." Another voice said.

This was a man too—but his voice was hoarse and strange, and as cold as the wind. Somehow, just the sound made the thin hair on the back of Frank's neck stand up.

"Speaking of which... I have to thank that hateful guy 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 master of that world told me personally that the ring on my hand is an extraordinary thing..."

The conversation inside aroused a rare strong curiosity in the elderly Frank. He put his right ear to the door, trying to hear better.

There was a sound of footsteps in the room, and then the sound of water being poured into a cup. Frank caught a glimpse of a pale young man with light yellow hair through the crack in the door. He was holding two glasses of water and passing them to the other side of the room.

He was wearing a long black cloak, and his expression and temperament were indescribably crazy and abnormal. In short, he was completely incompatible with a normal, sober and rational person.

"How is the plan completed?" the cold voice asked.

"I have no problem, Master." The first one said confidently, "But there is one thing I don't understand. Aren't you able to restore your body and strength now? Why do you still..."

"Because in that troublesome Potter, there is blood magic cast by his mother specifically on me." The second cold voice said, "I must use Potter's blood to restore my body to avoid being unable to touch It happened to him again!”

Frank frowned and put his good-hearing ear against the door again, listening intently.

He now couldn't figure out what the two people inside were discussing. He didn't know who these two people were or where they came from. He also didn't know why they came to Riddle House.

The room was silent for a moment, and then the young voice spoke again.

"Master, can I ask, how long will we stay here?"

"A week," said the chilly voice, "maybe even longer. This place is quite comfortable, and the plan can't be implemented yet. It would be unwise to act hastily before the end of the Quidditch World Cup."

Frank put a rough finger into his ear and twisted it a few times.

There must have been too much earwax, and he suddenly heard a strange word like "Quidditch", which didn't look like a serious word at all...

"Quidditch World Cup, Master?" said the young voice, "Do you want to wait for the World Cup and cause chaos in the most crowded place?"

"No, I haven't thought about alerting the enemy for a while." 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 pour into this country, and all the nosy guys from the Ministry of Magic are dispatched. They stand guard, watching for any unusual activities, and repeatedly checking everyone's identity."

"They are only thinking about safety and stability, and are afraid that the Muggles will notice something. So we have to wait a little longer. It doesn't matter if we wait until the World Cup is over before taking action."

Outside the door, Frank stopped picking his ears.

He heard the words "Ministry of Magic," "wizards," and "Muggles" unmistakably.

Apparently, these words have mysterious meanings, and as far as Frank knows, there are only two types of people who speak code words: spies, criminals, or psychopaths.

Frank clutched his crutch 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 go to carry out my mission soon, and you will need someone else to take care of you during this period."

"How about finding those hidden Death Eaters and letting them serve you?" he asked.

"It's not necessary, Barty." The cold voice finally called out the name of the young voice's owner, "Who knows what those wallflowers are thinking? Maybe some people still hope that I am dead, and then they will completely No more burden..."

There was a moment of silence—and then the young man named Barty spoke again.

"Those who choose to betray will get the price they deserve." He said, "When I complete this mission, I will personally help you clean up those traitors!"

"Very good, I appreciate your kindness, Barty." The cold voice said softly, "But you don't need to think so much now, you just need to complete the things I told you, and we will talk about the rest later..."

"Yes, Master." Barty said.

"By the way, when you go to Hogwarts, in addition to keeping an eye on Dumbledore and Dracula, you can help me pay more attention to Severus." The cold voice said softly, "Severus Snape, Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin... he has quite a few titles, please go and help me find out what his thoughts are."

"Okay, Master." Barty nodded, "If Snape shows any sign of betrayal, I will kill him with my own hands!"

"..."

Outside in the corridor, Frank suddenly realized that his hand holding the cane was soaked with sweat. These two people didn't seem to have any qualms about killing people, and they didn't care at all when talking about it.

These two are dangerous - they're definitely two outlaws.

And they are still planning to kill and capture more people - the boy, a student named Harry Potter, Frank doesn't know who he is, but knows that he is in danger now...

Frank knew what he had to do. At this time, he had to find the police. He wanted to sneak out of the old house and run straight to the phone box in the village...

But the cold voice spoke again, and immediately after, Frank stayed where he was, as if he was frozen, trying his best to concentrate on listening.

"Wait a minute, Barty, don't make any sound... I seem to hear someone else's breathing outside the door..." The cold voice suddenly said, "It just so happened that I still lacked a Horcrux, and I was about to find one to come to the door. The guy who lost his life!"

Hearing this, Frank froze.

What he longed for most now was that he never got out of bed and went straight back to bed holding the hot water bottle.

His legs seemed unable to move, his heart was beating rapidly, and he stood there stiffly, trembling all over. He tried hard to control himself, but failed repeatedly.

Frank had no chance to hide. There were footsteps inside, and then the door was opened!

The blond-haired, pale-faced, crazy-looking young man stood at the door. Frank followed him and saw a strange man with no nose and no hair looking at him with a sneer.

That strange man even looks a little transparent!

Barty waved and signaled Frank to enter the room.

Although Frank was shaking violently, he clutched his cane and limped across the threshold.

The fire was the room's only source of light, and it cast long, spidery shadows on the walls.

"Did you hear everything, Muggle?" the cold voice asked.

"What did you call me?" Frank shouted loudly. He had been a soldier before and could still muster some courage in times of crisis.

"I call you a Muggle," the voice said coldly, "which means you are not a wizard."

"I don't know what you mean by wizard." Frank said, his voice getting smoother and smoother, "I just know that what I heard tonight is enough to attract the attention of the police - you are planning to kill! "

"I also want to tell you," he said suddenly with an idea, "my wife knows that I came here, and if I don't go back -"

"You have no wife," the cold voice said slowly, "No one knows you are here. You have not told anyone that you came here. Muggles, don't lie to Lord Voldemort, he knows everything...what all know……"

"What did you say?" Frank said roughly, "My lord, did you? Huh, I think you don't look like a grown-up, but like a monster! I have never seen anyone as ugly and strange as you. !”

The next moment, the strange-looking guy suddenly raised a stick.

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was a flash of dazzling green light, and Frank Blaise 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.

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