Ten minutes later, Amosta was already sitting at a table with the local villagers in the tavern, and there were many empty wine glasses on the wine table in front of them.

"I see—"

Amosta wiped the sweet wine from the corner of his mouth with the guard, and said with interest,

"You're wary of me because old Frank died in an unknown way, and the police told you to pay attention to the outsiders who have been around the village recently."

"Who would have thought that?"

Among the several people, the oldest, with completely gray hair, Dot sighed,

"The afternoon before his accident, I saw him working in the garden, and I didn't expect it to be the last time. To be honest, Frank didn't think about a few days in his life, did he? ”

"Yes, poor old fellow."

Maybe it was because Amosta was generous and bought him a lot of wine, and at this moment, the bar owner saw that Amosta's young face no longer looked like a murderer,

"Old Frank was on the battlefield when he was younger, and he helped us—"

"Is it possible—"

Amosta kept a listening stance, and when everyone was mourning for Frank, who was usually blind but felt pity after his death, Amosta spoke at the right time,

"Is it possible to die a normal death, I mean, according to you, this old Mr. Frank is very old, isn't he?"

Amosta's question silences the tavern, and a few drunkards look at Amosta and tell him that they have more gossip to share with him, but only if he pays a little price.

"Excuse me, boss—"

The owner behind the bar was already ready to go, and at the moment of Amosta's wave, he brought a few glasses of sherry to the table.

Slippery –

Old Dott emptied his glass with one breath, and after smacking his lips with satisfaction, he looked mysterious,

"It's not as simple as you think, young man, the police are helpless because they can't find a problem with Frank's body, but when he was carried out of Riddle House--"

"I'm sorry," Amosta immediately interrupted Old Dot, and he asked with a frown, "whose mansion?" ”

"Riddle House, you must have seen it, the house on the hillside," said Old Dot, a little excitedly, "the house has changed its owners several times, but the first belonged to the Riddles, and the Riddles, and their bad son, Tom Riddle, died in that house fifty years ago, and like old Frank, they were frightened before they died, but there was no trace of their bodies. ”

"The police still remember that case--"

The owner said a pleasant Doa Mosta, "That's why they decided that Frank's death must have been murder." ”

"It's no wonder."

Amosta took a sip of his wine and nodded quietly.

"You missed something!"

Most of the content was finished by Old Dott about the bar owner, and among the remaining few drinkers who had been invited to a few glasses of wine by Amosta, someone said in an urgent tone,

"When the Riddle family died, only old Frank was still alive in that house, and the police thought he was the murderer, but Frank insisted that he was innocent, and the only thing he told the police was that on the day of the accident, he found a little boy near the house, and no one in the village had ever seen him, so the police thought he was really making it up out of thin air!"

As to whether this boy existed, whether he could be the murderer of the Riddle family, and how many years later, whether old Frank also died at the hands of the little boy back then, several people expressed their opinions and argued.

And although Amosta maintained a polite smile, there was indifference in his eyes.

He really didn't expect that Voldemort would hide back in his hometown after trekking all the way.

Needless to say, the old owner of the house on the hill must have died at Voldemort's hands.

Tom Riddle.

Voldemort was an orphan, and like himself, he grew up in an orphanage. And after he found his father's family, he didn't recognize each other, but killed them coldly.

Amosta didn't bother to think about what kind of love and hatred there was, it was just about the same as his own situation, but his own situation was special, so he didn't particularly care, and Voldemort chose the most extreme approach.

"Old Frank, is he already buried?"

Suddenly, Amosta asked a question that didn't end in itself.

"The police took his body and never brought it back, and I guess they're still trying to figure out what caused Frank Sr.'s death, but I think they worked in vain, as it used to be."

Amosta nodded, not speaking.

In my heart, Riddle House is indeed a decent, palatial mansion.

It's a bit of a distance from the village, so it's quite secluded. Because it was built on the high grounds, the scenery of the wilderness could be seen in full view, and if it weren't for the fact that he now had a place to stay, and because this was Voldemort's hometown, Amosta might have really thought about buying him from the current owner of this mansion.

A glowing ball of light floated in midair, illuminating the staircase to the second floor, which had been blocked by police cables.

The footprints on the stone staircase, which was covered with a thick layer of dust, were messy, and they were supposed to have been left by the police when they rushed up to the second floor after receiving the news.

Amosta jumped over the blockade at a height of his float, suddenly picking up speed, and flew up to the second floor with a thud.

Now that the villagers and the police had already been to the house, it meant that the wizard in the house had long since left, so Amosta did not waste any more time guarding the surroundings, but drifted directly to the house where the gardener who found the house, Frank Bryce, was found by the villagers.

This was easily recognizable, as the Muggle police had pulled a separate cordon at the door of the house.

On the night of old Frank's death, it was business as usual in the village. A few of them drank in the tavern until midnight, and then, forced to go home to sleep by the tavern owner, these guys were staggering home, and then suddenly they saw a green light suddenly coming out of the second floor of Riddle House on the hillside, and the light was very dazzling, and it made people feel cold.

The green light was accompanied by a roar, as if something had exploded.

Stimulated by alcohol, the drunkards rushed to the house to check the source of the light and noise, and then they found the dead old Frank.

The police were very suspicious of the testimony of the drunkards, because after carefully surveying the scene, they found that there was no trace of human movement here, and there were no old objects damaged in the explosion.

I packed it up in a hurry-

Traces of magic were hard to hide, and the furnishings of the room had remained unchanged for half a century—the old fireplace, the dusty chairs, the creaking wooden floors, the moth-eaten pitted paintings of the ancestors hanging on the walls, all of which were nothing wrong with Muggle perspectives.

But in Amosta's eyes, there were traces of obvious restoration by magic.

Outside the window, the overgrown lawn was bathed in the bright moonlight, and the breeze that had broken into the mansion without invitation hummed a bloody ballad.

Amosta pulled out his wand and traced a complex, esoteric trajectory in front of him.

In the gloomy environment, there were suddenly many delicate sand of light in the air, and these brilliant sand gradually formed an orderly picture with the dance of Amosta's wand.

Amosta retreated under the wall, silently staring at the flowing images in mid-air, the light and shadow reflected the angular side face a little coldly, after a long time, the light and shadow dissipated, everything was as usual, only a slightly majestic voice echoed in the abandoned mansion,

"--Bertha Jorkins."

(End of chapter)