Bang!

Five minutes later, Harry was back in his room. He looked at the dressing mirror embedded in the wardrobe and saw a depressed, dejected face.

Harry had to admit that he had made things simple.

He thought Sirius's warning would be more comfortable for the Dursleys, so he didn't refuse when Sirius proposed this plan, and now it seems that Sirius's warning was not ineffective, but surprisingly effective.

Harry kicked open the box at the foot of the bed and buried his head in the futon again.

He's also a little overestimated himself, isn't he?

Harry had been looking forward to spending time with the Dursleys and his family, and he had waited until the day when he realized that he would rather be scolded or something, better than a summer without anyone to talk to.

Suddenly, Harry began to crumble on the bed, hammering the bed board like crazy and making strange screams.

The best solution would be for Sirius to appear immediately and take him out of the house, which would indeed solve the urgent need, but there were still two summers left, and according to Sirius, he would have to return to the Dursley house for some time before he graduated from Hogwarts.

Or, apologize to the Dursleys and tell them that Sirius was just playing a bad joke and that he wasn't guilty at all?

Harry rubbed his face against the sheets a few times, and threw the second thought out of his mind. Reconciling with the Dursleys?

The thought alone was humiliating enough for Harry!

When Hedwig returns, write a letter to Ron.

Ask Mr. Weasley to get him out of the house sooner. Ron had always suggested this, but Harry felt he should keep his agreement with Sirius and turned down the tempting suggestion.

As the sun wore on, the pink glow that filled the room faded, and darkness crept up from the corner of the wall and quietly took over the room.

Harry didn't have any appetite, and he tossed and turned on the bed for a long time, and finally, he lost consciousness.

During this time, he seemed to hear the Dursleys open the door, but Harry, who was so tired, was too lazy to get out of bed to take a look. He had been wondering if he should leave the Dursleys early, and as things stood still, they wished they were going to get out of the way.

By the time the crescent moon hung high, the irritability on Harry's face was gone, and so was his tangle. Suddenly, he heard muffled voices in his ears, and those voices were clearly not from the Dursleys. Moreover, there was a looming picture in front of his eyes, some strange pictures

Are you dreaming on your own?

Harry, who had only a shred of sanity left, thought to himself, and he felt an inexplicable urgency to see what the dangling images meant, and to his astonishment, when he had such thoughts, the images actually became clear, but they were still shaking.

Harry, with the thought of passing the time, focused on the images, and then, his consciousness sank.

Truth be told, Frank Bryce of Little Hangleton is a bit like John the Elder!

Both of them are veterans who survived the brutal war, both of them have suffered some physical trauma from the war, one of them guards a prosperous old Riddle mansion for the rest of their lives, and the other is with the forgotten lighthouse for the rest of their lives, and their fates have changed in July of '94.

The weather had been nice lately, but the humidity in the dirt made Frank's bad leg, who was old and sensitive, protest in the middle of the night.

Frank has struggled with this bad leg for half his life, and he knows how to handle the situation very well.

Patience is not resistible, and he has to do something about it.

The bright moonlight shining through the old window sash into the decaying kitchen did not find the scene beautiful, but felt that the moonlight was a little too bright, which was not very comfortable for the eyes recovering from the darkness.

He got out of bed with his eyes rubbed as he chirped, barefoot, and Frank limped downstairs into the kitchen, trying to fill up the hot water bottle and warm his stiff knees. He stood by the pool and poured water into the pot, subconsciously looking up at the Riddle mansion, which he had guarded for half his life.

He saw a glimmer of light from the windows of a house on the second floor of the mansion, bathed in moonlight and looking a little lonely, and Frank immediately understood that it was probably the little boys in the village who refused to stop coming to trouble him.

Although he hadn't been in for years, Frank still remembered the details of the house very well. He walked through the back door into the large, cavernous kitchen, trying not to make a single movement so that he could catch it later.

If he hadn't seen them with his own eyes, Frank could have imagined that the naughty little boys would have had something wrong with the villagers framing his head.

Because of the large floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the front door, there was a little light in the rotting hallway, which made his journey from the dusty stone steps to the second floor easier.

On the landing of the staircase, Frank turned to the right and immediately saw where the intruder was. At the end of the hallway, a door opened a crack, and a shimmer of light shot out of the crack in the door, casting an orange-yellow light on the dark floor.

Frank leaned sideways, cautiously approaching, clutching the crutches in his hand that were ready to knock the boys on the head. A few steps away from the doorway, he could see the scene in a narrow slit in the room.

He saw now that the glimmer of light in the window was from the fire in the fireplace, much to his surprise, after all, the villagers didn't use the fireplace much during the season. He stopped, pricked up his ears, and heard only a clear voice coming from the crack in the door, and there was no wave, but Frank, who was about to die, still heard a little restrained disgust with his rich life experience.

"Drink it as soon as possible, Mr. Dark Lord, it won't last long--"

"Ah, thank you so much--"

The voice in the back belonged to a man, although he was expressing gratitude, but the voice was strangely sharp, and there was no gratitude in his tone, but it was as cold as the wind.

Frank had forgotten about the troublemakers, he subconsciously approached the door, and then, he heard a cooing sound, which reminded Frank of the scene on the battlefield, after surviving a difficult battle, drinking beer with his comrades.

"Wonderful, every time it feels wonderful—"

The man spoke again, as if admiring the drink, but for some reason, Frank suddenly felt that the sound was like the hissing of a vicious viper, chilling.

"I never thought that the grass and trees that people ignored would contain such a wonderful vitality, comparable to the blood of a unicorn, ah, it seems that in the past, I did ignore a lot of things, didn't I, so I paid a terrible price."

Unicorn. of blood?

Frank's gray brow moved, and he thought he had misheard the word, so he tried desperately to hear it clearly, but for the next few seconds there was no movement in the room, and the owner of the beautiful voice seemed to disdain to take care of the man's admiration.

Frank fixed his eyes on the crack in the door, but all he could see was a swaying figure on the wall, which seemed to be the lady's, and the man who spoke, he was sitting in a high-backed soft chair, facing the fireplace, and Frank could not see his face.

"Can you please feed the rest to Nagini, I suppose it must be hungry after a bumpy journey, just like me. Ah, of course, I'm not accusing you of not taking good care of you, but I think you're well aware that I'm not as good as I used to be."

(End of chapter)