章節 508: Chapter 508: Scar (Edited)
After Barty Crouch Jr. left the room, he looked around to make sure there was no one and no snake nearby. Then he took out a bottle from his pocket and uncorked it to take a big sip.
The drink in the bottle didn't seem to have a pleasant taste. After Barty Crouch Jr. drank it, his body trembled uncomfortably. After a shiver, he staggered down the dark hallway in search of Nagini.
After passing through the dark hallway, he reached a dusty staircase where no sound could be heard even when walking on it. Barty Crouch Jr. walked while searching for Nagini's figure using the dim light emitted from the tip of his wand.
He was determined. He really needed to find Nagini and get some of her venom from her mouth to prepare a magical potion to keep Voldemort alive.
However, when he reached the landing of the staircase, he stopped in his tracks. An elderly man with a cane appeared in front of him.
The old man was surprised to see an adult man as an intruder and was about to say something, but he saw the man pressing his index finger against his lips, indicating him to be silent.
The old man with the cane was Frank, who had entered through the back door with the spare key to the mansion, looking for the "thief" who had broken into the house. When he saw Barty Crouch Jr., he even thought that thieves had really entered the Riddle Mansion!
However, Barty Crouch Jr.'s actions awakened the combat instinct that had been dormant in Frank for many years. He closed his mouth without making a sound but instinctively tightened his grip on the cane in his left hand. Although he was nearly seventy-seven years old, he was confident he could strike a young man on the head with the cane without any problem.
Barty Crouch Jr. led the nervous old man to the corner of the staircase and asked in a low voice, "Have you seen a large snake on your way?"
Frank: ???
"Uh, no," although this question was quite strange, old Frank decided to answer.
Barty Crouch Jr. breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good. Go back quickly; this is not where you should be..."
"Go back, me?" Frank was surprised. "Do you know what you're doing? You've illegally entered private property; I can call the police and get you in prison-"
"Obliviate." Barty Crouch Jr. completely wiped the old man's memory. He now found this spell extremely useful and could easily include it in the list of the top ten spells used by wizards.
The old man's expression became confused. Barty Crouch Jr. took the opportunity to sneak away.
After a few seconds, Frank regained consciousness and looked around in confusion, realizing inexplicably that he was inside the old Riddle Mansion.
"When did I start sleepwalking?" he shook his head and limped away from the abandoned house.
Shortly after the old man left, Barty Crouch Jr. found Nagini in the downstairs living room, enjoying a mouse she had caught. Barty Crouch Jr. patiently watched as Nagini swallowed the mouse, then took out a small glass bottle to extract some venom from her fangs.
When he returned to the second floor, Peter had already prepared everything needed for the potion. He poured the venom into the bottle, shook it a little to mix the liquids well, and then carefully approached Voldemort with the bottle of the potion.
Voldemort, who was resting with his eyes closed, opened his long, thin eyes. His eyes were completely different from those of a normal human; they were narrow and pointed like a snake's. Most unsettling of all, his eyes were filled with a blood-red color, as if his pupils contained not tears, but blood.
He slightly opened his mouth, allowing Peter to pour the magical potion into a small silver spoon and then feed it into his mouth. As the potion entered, he felt a penetrating chill. If an ordinary wizard were to take it, it would only lead to death, but for the inhuman Voldemort, it had a poison-against-poison effect. Not only did it restore his energy, but it also alleviated the pain in his body by harnessing that shiver.
Feeling the cold flow into his extremities, Voldemort experienced mental clarity and a sense of freshness. Then, he thought about Barty Crouch Jr.'s future actions and couldn't help but laugh maliciously.
Three hundred kilometers away, the boy named Harry Potter woke up from his sleep.
He was lying in bed, his scar on his forehead throbbing as if someone had inserted a thin steel needle into his head.
Harry struggled to get up from the bed, one hand covering his scar as if that would alleviate some of his pain. The other hand groped in the darkness and finally found his glasses on the nightstand next to the bed.
After putting on his glasses, the world around him became clear.
Harry suddenly realized that he was drenched in sweat, the sheets were crumpled and stuck to his pajamas, giving him a very uncomfortable feeling.
Harry removed the soaked pajamas, got out of bed, and opened the window.
The cool night air entered through the window, quickly drying the residual sweat on Harry's body, providing him with a sense of relief. The stabbing pain in his scar disappeared along with the sweat.
"How many times has this happened?" Harry was worried. Lately, his scar had been hurting frequently, but the pain came and went quickly, sometimes lasting only an instant, as if someone was sticking a needle into his forehead.
Through the window, Harry looked out at Privet Drive. The outside world had the typical appearance of a prosperous middle-class residential area in England: clean and tidy streets, functioning streetlights, and perfectly manicured lawns at every house.
They were all respectable and decent people.
Perhaps that was also one of the reasons why the Dursleys were so disgusted with Harry: respectable people wanted nothing to do with magic.
Harry fixed his bed, smoothing out the sheets and spreading the quilt to dry. They were now soaked in sweat and it would be very uncomfortable to lie on them, so Harry had no intention of going back to bed to rest.
He stealthily walked to his desk and turned on the desk lamp on it.
The lamp illuminated the room, revealing all the details of its arrangement. At the foot of Harry's bed was a closed but not completely sealed box, with the handle of a broomstick and a corner of a wizard's robe protruding from it. Most of the desk spaces were piled high with spell books, tall enough to cause a "disaster" if left unattended. In the corner of the desk, scrolls, quills, ink bottles, and other objects had been randomly stuffed.
Harry's situation was improving. In second grade, he still didn't have the right to use his belongings outdoors. He could only sneak his things out of the cupboard on the ground floor and do his homework quietly at night.
Now, he could do his homework outdoors. This was probably because he had managed to inflate his aunt.
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