Hogwarts Study Panel.

Chapter 573, Section 571: Old Frank

Chapter 573, Section 571: Old Frank (4k)

As we continue along the path, what we can see is...

The setting sun sank behind the beech trees, leaving the entire farm bathed in a deep, dusky yellow light.

The lime walls of the farmhouse glowed a warm gray in the light, and dark smoke rose from the chimney, mingling with the fiery red glow of the sunset.

From the cow pen came the cow's deep moo; it was milking time—the hissing sound of milk being poured into the metal bucket could already be heard, rhythmic and distinct.

After all, the world only needs these three insignificant things: milk squeezed from cows into buckets;

Patches of green grain growing on the earth; silk threads spun in the hands of skilled women.

"I saw it."

Sirius's voice was low, barely concealing his excitement.

The three of them stood on the grass on the hillside, watching something rustling across the dark field as it approached them.

It was a giant snake, at least twelve feet long.

Its undulating body left a wide, winding trail on the grass.

Lupin drew his wand, remaining constantly alert to his surroundings.

"It is not a Horcrux."

Sheen seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, but also seemed to become more serious.

"What did you say?"

Sirius felt his face become very stiff.

"It is not."

Lupin stared at the approaching snake, and after a brief silence, added.

Sirius's face was unpredictable; he looked at the snake, then at his old companion beside him.

"Mr. Green, perhaps we should—"

Lupin was saying things that were hard to understand, but he knew that the respected Mr. Green beside him would get it.

"There is a better way, Mr. Lupin."

Sheen paused. "Can you control it?"

"I will obey your will."

Lupin suppressed his curiosity and exchanged a glance with Sirius.

Catching a large snake is no easy task, but with the help of a magic wand, it might not be so difficult.

In short, when Sheen left the farm in the east, a large, sleeping snake appeared inside his Wizarding Book.

"What do you want to do?"

Upon reaching the entrance of the Hanged Man's Bar, Sirius couldn't help but ask in a low voice, "She's been cursed, Mr. Grimm. You know, it's an irreversible curse—"

"Only for wizards."

Lupin interrupted him.

Sirius's eyes flickered, and he asked no more questions.

Does Sheen really have a way to break the Blood Curse?

He wasn't very confident either.

He was certain it was a curse on the soul's transformation, but how to remove such a powerful and bizarre curse was almost never recorded in wizarding history.

The only thing Sheen knew was that wizards had once used such powerful shapeshifting magic—they had transformed an entire rival family.

Legend has it that two wizarding families once lived on the distant island of Delia:

The McBoone and McLeod families are sworn enemies.

On one occasion, the leaders of two wizarding families, Dugold McLevor and Gentes McBurne, engaged in a wizarding duel after drinking, resulting in the death of Dugold McLevor.

In revenge, members of Clan McLevor attacked Clan McBurne and turned all its members into five-legged monsters.

However, the people of Clan McLevor quickly realized that the original McBoone clan members were very clumsy when it came to magic, and that their transformed monsters were undoubtedly much more dangerous.

The McLevor clan tried desperately to turn the McBurns back to normal, but they failed.

Finally, these McBurns, transformed into five-legged monsters, killed all the members of the McLevor clan on the island.

Whether this legend is true or not is impossible to know, because neither the McLevor nor the McBoone families have any survivors to tell Sheen what their ancestors encountered.

The five-legged creatures cannot speak and resolutely resist all attempts by the Department of Magical Creature Control to restore them to their original form.

Therefore, we can only assume that if the five-legged monsters were indeed members of the McBurne family, then they would be very willing to be five-legged monsters.

So what about Nagini?

Is she willing to become a cold-blooded animal?

Sheen guessed that she was unwilling.

So Sheen was willing to try for her.

The evening bells rang, and the Hanged Man's Bar was filled with drunken bastards.

They spoke lavishly about things that no one really cared about, occasionally downing a whole bottle of butterbeer in one go, waiting for the applause and cheers from those around them.

"To Riddle Palace."

Sheen searched the bar for the figure, but couldn't find him.

It looks like we're heading to the cabin in the garden of Riddle House.

night.

Riddle Palace.

Many years have passed, but the villagers of Little Hangton still refer to the house as "Riddle House," even though the Riddle family no longer lives there.

The house sits on a hillside, from which you can see the whole village.

Several windows of the house were sealed off, the roof tiles were broken, and ivy had spread all over the house in a ferocious manner.

Riddle House, once a beautiful mansion and the widest and most impressive building for miles around, is now damp, desolate, and uninhabited year-round.

The villagers of Little Hangleton unanimously agree that the old house is "creepy."

Half a century ago, a bizarre and terrifying event occurred here. Even now, when the village elders have nothing else to talk about, they still like to bring it up. The story has been told repeatedly, embellished in many places, so no one can say for sure what the truth is anymore. However, every version of the story begins in the same way:

Fifty years ago, when Riddle House was well-managed and magnificent, a maid entered the living room at dawn on a clear summer day and found the entire Riddle family of three dead.

The maid screamed as she ran down the hillside and into the village, trying to wake up the villagers.

"They were all lying there, eyes wide open! Their bodies were ice-cold! And they were still wearing their dinner clothes!"

Police arrived quickly, and the entire village of Little Hangton was thrown into chaos.

The villagers expressed surprise and curiosity, but everyone could see their barely suppressed excitement.

No one bothered to pretend to feel sorry for the Riddles—the family was notorious in the village. The old couple were incredibly wealthy, yet snobbish and mean; and their grown son, Tom, was, you probably wouldn't believe it, even worse than his parents.

What the villagers were really concerned about was who the murderer was—how could three seemingly strong and healthy people die all at the same time overnight?

That night, the village's "Hanger's Tavern" was incredibly busy, as if the whole village had come to discuss the murder.

The effort to forgo their fireplaces was not in vain—the Riddle family cook burst in and announced to the suddenly quiet patrons that a man named Frank Bryce had just been arrested.

"Frank!"

Several people exclaimed, "Impossible!"

Frank Bryce was the Riddle family's gardener, living alone in a dilapidated little cabin on the estate. He had returned from the battlefield with one leg stiff and unable to move, and he particularly disliked crowds and noise, so he had been working for the Riddle family ever since.

The people in the tavern were eager to buy the cook drinks, hoping to hear more about what had happened.

"I've known for a while that something was off about him."

After downing her fourth glass of sherry, the cook addressed the villagers, who were all listening intently, "He's cold and aloof, and doesn't like to talk to people. I'd have to beg him a hundred times to invite him for a cup of tea. He never likes to interact with anyone."

"Well, you can't say that."

A woman at the bar chimed in, "Frank fought such a terrible war. He prefers a quiet life, and we have no reason to."

"Then tell me, who still has the key to the back door?"

The cook raised her voice, "I remember it perfectly clearly, there's a spare one hanging in his gardener's cabin! No one broke in last night, and the windows weren't broken either—Frank just needs to sneak into the mansion after we're all asleep—"

The villagers exchanged silent glances.

"I've always thought his appearance was particularly annoying, honestly."

A man next to the bar muttered something.

"If you ask me, it was the war that made him so strange."

"That's what the tavern owner said."

"I told you, I wouldn't dare offend Frank, would I, Dort?"

An agitated woman in the corner shouted, "She has a terrible temper!"

"you do not say,"

Dortmund nodded vigorously. "I remember, when he was little—"

The next morning, almost everyone in Little Hangleton believed it—that Frank Bryce had killed the entire Riddle family.

However, in the town of Big Hangleton, in the dimly lit police station, Frank stubbornly repeated over and over that he was innocent.

He said that on the day the Riddles died, the only person he saw near the house was a boy he didn't recognize, a boy with black hair and a pale face.

No one else in the village had ever seen such a boy, and the police concluded that Frank had made it up out of thin air.

The situation was dire for Frank, but the Riddle family's autopsy report came back, which turned the tide.

Therefore, Frank is now able to become the new owner of Riddle House and take care of this mansion.

The house was dark; Frank usually didn't light the fireplace in the house.

But today, a faint glow emanates from that place.

Frank believed that the troublemaking boys had returned. He looked into the house and picked up his cane, which was leaning against the wall, with a sour expression.

He usually wouldn't want to go in, but today he obviously had to get rid of the troublemakers inside.

Inside the Riddle mansion, suppressed voices rose and fell in low murmurs.

Tell me more about that boy—

It was a sharp sound, like a cold, biting wind.

"Yes, my master—that was—a very special boy, oh, a respectable boy—"

A fawning voice replied, "He's truly amazing—from the very beginning. He's gifted; everyone in that school knows it—they see him as the greatest wizard of the next era, or perhaps this one? In any case, he's truly respectable—"

"Oh?"

The sharp sound seemed to have taken on a leisurely mood.

"You must know, no one has ever seen a wizard like this at this age—they say he's destined to be greater than Dumbledore, and he has fervent followers everywhere. Dumbledore is quite happy about it; he's willing to help him build his influence. Those wizards, they spend their days investigating the castle from top to bottom just to express their fanatical worship of him—he has the largest club in Hogwarts history, with more than half of the wizards in it—"

The flattering voice continued.

Upon hearing the words "Dumbledore" and "help him build his power," the shrill voice seemed even colder.

"So, Dumbledore thinks he's stronger than me?"

"sure--

—

The obsequious voice sounded as if it were in great pain, followed by the sound of a heavy object falling to the ground.

"Wormtail, you seem to care about him a lot."

A cold, mocking tone emerged from the sharp voice.

"He is our greatest obstacle, Master!"

The insect's tail fell to the ground, its face flushed red as it shouted.

"And what about Harry Potter—"

That cold, sarcastic tone became even more pronounced.

"How can he compare to Mr. Green!"

"The insect tail cried out again."

"I see."

The sharp sound became even lower.

He whispered, "Wormtail, tell me, where can we find a loyal servant?"

"I am just a loyal servant."

"Insect Tail," he said, a hint of panic in his voice.

"Loyalty? You're just a coward. If you had anywhere else to go, you would never have come here."

A shrill voice mocked, "Get lost, Wormtail, and get me some milk."

The insect tail, which was stammering and rambling incoherently, immediately fell silent.

Then came a soft sound of footsteps.

"loyal?"

Inside the room, the sharp voice spoke again, very low, like a hissing sound coming from a throat.

It was at this moment that old Frank went upstairs.

He went downstairs into the cave-like, dark kitchen—a place he hadn't been in for many years.

However, despite the darkness all around, he still remembered where the door to the corridor was.

He groped his way over, and a stench of decay assaulted his nostrils.

He pricked up his ears, trying to catch every footstep or voice above him.

He went into the corridor, where a little light shone through thanks to the large, straight windows on either side of the front door.

He began to climb the stairs, thinking to himself that it was fortunate that the thick layer of dust on the stone steps made his footsteps and the sound of his cane muffled and difficult to detect.

It wasn't until a green-glowing magic wand was brought to his face that he realized there were two men standing in front of him.

"Who are you people?!"

Frank was trembling violently.

"The person who came to see you off."

A voice said lazily.

Sirius Black—

The other man beside him had a gentle demeanor.

Under Frank's horrified gaze.

He is "dead".

At least that's what the residents of Little Hangleton say.

Old Frank was quite old and also suffered from illness.

He died as soon as he woke up one morning.

Several men claiming to be his "nephews" took him away and buried him, though the residents of Little Hangleton preferred to believe that they were after his inheritance.

Although none of them knew what other legacy Frank might have.

But the residents of Little Hangleton believed it, and they believed that things were that simple.

As for why the villagers never saw old Frank's body?

Nobody cared anymore.

What the villagers didn't know was that a dead man who had fought in a war and had been plagued by rumors for many years was saved by rumors on this day.

Frank had already boarded the train to Dorset.

There's a farm there waiting for him to run.

The men who gave him the farm—oh, those odd but kind-hearted nephews of his—were long gone by now.

"How could I have such a nephew?"

Old Frank muttered in confusion.

But his excitement was undeniable.

Oh, a farm he ran himself, a peaceful, comfortable, and self-sufficient life—his dream for his later years had come true.

Old Frank always felt a little dazed.

Therefore, he is more benevolent towards the people in long robes today.

For example, this boy in front of me is quite likable.

"Where did I come from, young sir?"

Old Frank grinned broadly. "Of course it's Dortmund, what else could it be but Little Hangleton?"