Hogwarts: Starting with full Unforgivable Curses

Chapter 317 Voldemort Returns! Dylan: I Have a Great Idea

To avoid potential trouble, XY Potions Factory is relocating overseas in batches.

Most of the factory workers chose to relocate with them.

Dylan and Bokin had already prepared employee dormitories near their new overseas location in advance.

The rooms, which house four people, all have bunk beds with desks underneath. Each room has a private bathroom and is equipped with Muggle-style water heaters and ventilation systems, making them better than many Muggle university dormitories.

Many workers were moved to tears by this arrangement.

Good heavens, these incompetent dark wizards are lucky to have a place to live!

Thank you, X·Y potion!

Although we don't know who the boss behind X·Y potion is.

But Bokin and his friends knew each other.

A philanthropic businessman!

The person behind him must be an exceptionally philanthropist!

Dylan glanced down at the magic watch on his wrist.

The clock struck 1 a.m.

At this time, most of the Ministry of Magic's staff had already left work, leaving only a few on duty.

This is the perfect time to act!
Peter the Pettigrew was recently kidnapped.

As expected, it's quite obvious that Voldemort has already started making his move.

This suggests that the other party has likely recovered temporarily as well.

Dylan suddenly had a great idea.

The Ministry of Magic has been busy for the past few days but hasn't caught anyone. Now they've started searching everywhere for Little Pettigrew.

It was the emptier I felt.

Moreover, since we've come all this way to the Ministry of Magic, how can we not go and see other places?

He took a deep breath, focused his mind, and a pale blue phantom light flashed across his body.

The next second, he appeared at the entrance to the corridor on the ninth basement level of the Ministry of Magic.

This is the jurisdiction of the Bureau of Mysteries.

The entire corridor was filled with a cold, musty smell.

The walls were made of thick gray stone, and even the lighting was dimmer than on other floors.

As the Ministry of Magic's top-secret organization.

No one knows exactly what the silent people are doing.

All that is known is that the tasks they handle are all top secret, and even the Minister of Magic cannot inquire about them casually.

At the end of the corridor stood two Aurors on duty, who were dozing off against the wall at this time.

Dylan moved quietly behind them, then tapped his wand lightly: "Faint!"

The two Aurors instantly went limp and fell silently to the ground.

He didn't stop, but instead cast another spell of complete oblivion.

To ensure that the two would not remember what had just happened after they woke up, he continued walking into the Department of Mysteries.

It was Dylan's first time here, and he was completely unfamiliar with the route.

Not long after, he entered a circular room.

Everything here is pure black.

The walls are matte black ebony paneling, while the ceiling and floor are polished black marble.

Twelve unmarked, handleless ebony doors were evenly distributed around the four walls.

At regular intervals, a brass candlestick is embedded in the wall.

The candle above burned with a pale blue flame, which flickered quietly.

The faint light reflected on the marble floor, like shimmering dark blue ripples on water.

Dylan tried to open each door one by one, passing through the planetary room.

Inside, there are miniature planet models that move in star orbits.

There's also a brain room.

A gray brain that wriggles inside a glass jar.

Finally, they found the Hall of Prophecy behind the innermost door.

This was a room as tall as a church, and the air was filled with a biting chill.

Dark oak shelves lined all four walls.

The shelf extends from the floor all the way to the ceiling.

It was covered with tiny, dusty glass marbles.

Each ball had a yellowed parchment label pasted on the wooden frame beneath it, the writing on which had mostly faded.

Some of the glass spheres have mysterious colored lights flowing inside, as if they contain a small piece of starry sky.

Some were murky and black, like extinguished light bulbs, lifeless.

More glass marbles lay quietly on the shelf, showing no signs of abnormality.

Every three shelves, there was a candlestick, also burning with a pale blue flame, the cold light casting long shadows of the glass balls.

Each of these glass balls corresponds to a prophecy, the contents of which are unknown to outsiders.

Only those connected to the prophecy can recognize their own.

Dylan walked straight to the oak shelf marked "97".

The metal number plate is fixed to the side of the shelf with copper nails, and the edges have been oxidized and turned black.

His gaze swept across the middle shelf and quickly locked onto a half-lit crystal ball.

It was slightly larger than the surrounding glass spheres, its surface covered with a thin layer of dust, and the date was written on the label in faded ink.

July 31, 1981

The name "Harry Potter" can also be faintly seen below.

Dylan took the clear glass bottle out of his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and carefully removed the Obscurial Heart from inside.

The heart was still beating slightly, and the dark veins were clearly visible.

He raised his wand and whispered, "Shrink quickly!"

As the incantation was recited, the heart slowly contracted, eventually becoming about the size of a crystal ball, and the blood vessels also thinned out, adhering to the surface of the heart.

Immediately afterwards, Dylan waved his wand, and a black halo enveloped the shrunken heart.

Within the halo, the heart did not burn, but gradually softened and liquefied, then turned into a pool of viscous black liquid that slowly flowed out.

It seeped into the surface of the crystal ball.

The light inside the crystal ball dimmed instantly.

It then returned to its original half-bright state.

If you look closely, you can see a faint black line inside.

Dylan used his wand to carve a symbol of holy light on the bottom of the crystal ball.

This was a magical mark he came up with on the spur of the moment, its specific function being that it could sense the location of the other party as long as he got close.

After doing all this, he put the crystal ball back in its original position, gently adjusted the angle to ensure that it was aligned with the surrounding glass balls, and that there was no trace of it being tampered with.

He knew very well that he was setting a trap.

To lure Voldemort, who is not in his sight, into a trap, you must make him feel that this prey is something he is determined to have.

This seemingly important prophetic orb actually hides a deadly trap!
If Voldemort or his Death Eaters dare to touch this crystal ball, the violent magic contained within the Obscurial's heart will erupt instantly!

Having done all this, Dylan confirmed that no traces were left at the scene, then turned and walked out of the Hall of Prophecy.

He looked around and avoided some places with strong magical energy.

There are many interesting things about the Ministry of Magic.

He felt that next time he could be better prepared and have a proper visit.

Then, Dylan concentrated in the shadows of the corridor, used Apparition, and instantly left the Ministry of Magic.

Meanwhile, outside Little Hangleton, the Riddle family ancestral home was shrouded in darkness, with only a few broken windows letting in a faint moonlight.

The entire building, shrouded in night, resembled a lurking beast, exuding a deathly, eerie atmosphere.

In the darkness, an elderly man with a full head of silver hair carried a kerosene lamp and slowly made his way up the creaking wooden stairs. The old man was Frank Bryce.

He was also the Riddle family's old gardener.

He never left, even though the family had been gone for decades.

They even come to clean the empty house every day, keeping the dusty rooms somewhat tidy.

The crystal chandelier overhead was old and dilapidated, its chains rusted, swaying and making a scraping sound as Frank walked.

"Squeak--squeak--"

The sound was sharp, like a cat's claw scraping against glass, echoing back and forth in the empty hall and stairwell before gradually fading away.

Frank frowned and subconsciously quickened his pace.

That sound always gave him the creeps.

As he went upstairs, he couldn't help but recall the deaths of the Riddle family of three decades ago.

When he pushed open the door, all three of them were lying stiffly on the living room floor, their eyes wide open, their pupils filled with terror, as if they had seen something extremely horrific before they died.

When the body was discovered, it was already cold and stiff, indicating that it had been dead for a long time.

Strangely, they had no wounds on their bodies, and their clothes were neat and tidy before they ate.

No signs of poisoning were found after a forensic examination.

The police investigated for half a month without any leads, and finally had to close the case hastily on the grounds of a sudden illness.

For some reason, the atmosphere in the ancestral home tonight inexplicably reminded him of that day.

It was equally cold and piercing, equally deathly silent, as if the air itself had frozen.

The chandelier overhead was still swaying, and the sound of the chains was getting louder and louder, as if they were about to break and crash down at any moment.

Frank gripped the kerosene lamp tightly, the flickering flame illuminating his wrinkled face as he limped uphill.

Just then, a faint rustling sound reached his ears, like someone rummaging through something, or something whispering, coming from old Riddle's bedroom at the very back of the rooftop.

Frank stopped in his tracks and pricked up his ears warily.

No one else would come to this house except him. Could it be a thief?

But he had just checked the house, and the doors and windows were intact, with no signs of forced entry.

He gripped the wooden cane tightly in his hand, the metal trim on the head of the cane worn shiny.

This is his only weapon.

Upon reaching the landing, Frank turned right and immediately noticed something amiss.

The door at the end of the corridor, which had been tightly closed, was now slightly ajar.

A faint ray of light peeked through the crack, casting an orange-yellow shadow on the dark floor, a stark contrast to the surrounding darkness.

He held his breath, pressed himself against the wall, and slowly approached step by step, making sure the wooden planks under his feet wouldn't make a sound with each step.

When he was three or four steps away from the door, he stopped and peered through the crack in the door.

Although he could only see the view inside the narrow room, it was enough for him to see clearly.

The light came from the flames in the fireplace.

This surprised Frank.

When he came to clean yesterday, the fireplace was still empty, with no kindling.

He strained his ears to listen carefully and quickly caught a man's voice coming from the room. The voice was full of timidity and fear, as if he were pleading with someone. The voice was low and indistinct, but it sent a cold sweat down Frank's back.

"There's still some left in the bottle, Master. If you're still hungry, you can drink some more anytime."

A timid voice came from the room, with obvious obsequiousness.

"We'll talk about it later." Another voice rang out, also a man's voice, but eerily high-pitched, like the cold wind of winter sweeping across ice, icy and bone-chilling.

As soon as the sound fell, Frank's sparse hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and a chill ran down his spine to the top of his head.

"Move me to the fireside, Wormtail," the cold voice commanded.

Frank immediately pressed his right ear tightly against the door, trying to hear more clearly.

First, a clanging sound came from the room, like a glass bottle being placed on a hard stone table.

This was followed by the harsh scraping sound of heavy chair legs dragging across the wooden floor.

"Squeak—creak—"

The sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet house.

Through the crack in the door.

Frank glimpsed a short man with his back to the door, struggling to push an oak armchair.

The man was wearing a long black cloak, and had a noticeable bald patch on the back of his head.

As he bent over and exerted force, the hem of his cloak swept across the dust on the ground.

Soon, he pushed his chair to the fireplace and disappeared from sight through the crack in the door.

"Where is Nagini?" The cold, hoarse voice rang out again, tinged with impatience.

"I...I don't know, Master." The timid voice became even more nervous, and it stammered, "I think...it was probably patrolling around the house..."

“Master, we went to Alastormudi’s residence as you instructed, but it was empty and we found nothing.”

The man's voice trembled even more violently, "There was only one peephole that kept beeping. Little Barty and I waited there for two whole hours, but we still came up empty-handed!"

The one speaking was Peter Pettigrew.

He hung his head, his hands gripping the hem of his cloak tightly.

Failure to complete Voldemort's orders filled him with fear.

He will never forget what the other person did to him when he was rescued.

The excruciating pain was enough to tear his nerves apart!
He would rather die immediately than go through that kind of torture again!

"idiot!"

Voldemort's voice suddenly rose, filled with rage, "You've ruined such a crucial opportunity!"

He was so angry that he was trembling all over, and his already weak body was heaving violently due to his emotional outburst.

"My meticulously planned scheme has been completely ruined by you, you piece of trash!"

"That boy's blood!"

Voldemort roared, his voice filled with greed and ruthlessness, "I must have his blood, that damned protective magic! I must break it!"

"Wormtail, you've disappointed me so much..."

After venting his anger, Voldemort's voice weakened noticeably, revealing an undeniable weariness.

His current temporary body is too weak to withstand intense emotional fluctuations.

Despite his burning rage, he ultimately refrained from harming Little Pettigrew.

Now, very few servants are willing to follow him.

The insect's tail is one of the few things that can be controlled at will.

Rescuing and killing him this time will only make me more isolated and helpless.

(End of this chapter)