Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 243 Riddle's Most Reliable Ally

Yulm followed his gaze, his snake eyes brightening, hissing and flicking his long, thin tongue as he approached the dusty pots and jars on the bedside table.

"Don't go over there. Your mission is complete. You can't touch that thing casually. It's been poisoned and cursed."

Melvin held down the eager young snake, took out his wand, and slowly approached. "Even Dumbledore would be doomed here."

A black clay terracotta pot covered in mud and ash lay quietly on the cabinet. Melvin used his wand to count it, but heard no incantation. The pot cracked open, and the fragments of mud and ash collapsed into a small mound. Instead of rushing to search for it, he carefully stirred up a whirlwind and cleared away the obstacles bit by bit, like an archaeologist.

"This is a ring passed down from the Peverell family, which the Gaunt family regards as proof of their long lineage. But they don't know, and even Voldemort doesn't know, that the ring itself is irrelevant; the gemstone on the face of the ring is the key."

Melvin slowly removed the plaster and mortar. "The Resurrection Stone, the legendary Deathly Hallows."

Yurm's tail stirred slightly. Its thumb-sized head couldn't comprehend such complex matters. It only knew that what was in that pile of dirt was important yet dangerous. The young snake felt a thrill and was filled with anticipation.

The whirlwind, carrying fragments and dust, gradually dispersed, revealing a small black box inside.

The outer packaging had no markings and appeared to be a gift box bought casually from a roadside shop.

Following Melvin's will, magic created a bubble membrane to protect himself and the baby snake, and slowly opened the box.

The moment the box lid was opened, a faint golden light flowed through the gap. Yulm stopped sticking out his tongue and unconsciously held his breath. It seemed as if the thing inside the box was some kind of living creature, and it could sense that the two of them were being watched by some being.

An old, rough ring lay inside, its dark gold band thick and clumsy, bearing signs of wear.

The center of the ring is set with a black gemstone, similar in texture to obsidian or onyx, with shallow, crack-like engravings on the surface. It is the symbol of the Deathly Hallows: a triangle enclosing a circle, divided evenly by a vertical line.

The Gaunt family regarded it as their emblem for generations, later making it their crest, a symbol of their noble lineage. Voldemort later murdered the Riddle family, framed Morfin Gaunt, stole the ring from him, and crafted it into a Horcrux, hiding it here.

"There are also two magical forces hidden inside. One is the Deathly Hallows inside the gem, and the other is the Horcrux attached to the ring. Fortunately, the two are clearly distinct. Unlike the tiara and the chalice, there is no need to worry about them being inseparable."

Melvin murmured in admiration, "If Riddle breaks the contract, don't worry about destroying the Horcruxes."

Yulm hissed and shook its head. Of course it remembered its dear friend Riddle, who always used seemingly plausible lies to deceive and extract the remaining value from the remnant soul's memories. It didn't like those sinister and evil beings and always tried to control him with Parsleyan.

Melvin did not touch the ring lightly. Although the curse required being worn on a finger to take effect, it was something that had even Potions Master Snape and the most powerful wizard Dumbledore had no way to deal with, so it was always better to be careful.

He put another box inside the box, intending to take it back and study it slowly. Just as he was about to phantom out and leave, Melvin paused for a moment, suddenly remembering the story he had just heard in the village tavern.

"Poor Mr. Gardener."

……

Ten minutes later, at the Hanged Man Bar.

This is one of the few places in the village where you can pass the time. The lights are old and dim, and all the alcohol is nearing its expiration date, but the villagers still frequent this place. There's nowhere else to go, and the bartender occasionally tells a few suspenseful stories. It's not expensive, so it's a good pastime.

The Riddle House mystery is just one of the talking points, a kind of signature story, but with Frank Brans, a witness to the events, sitting here, we need to tell other stories.

The bartender slowly wiped the glasses, watching the old gardener sitting in front of the bar, who was now staring at the whiskey with a pair of cloudy, red eyes.

Veterans returning from the battlefield often have some hidden injuries, and their limp legs cause them constant, dull pain. Occasionally, when the sun shines brightly, sunbathing can relieve the pain, but at other times they can only drink whiskey to numb their brains with alcohol.

As the bartender watched the old gardener's glass empty, he promptly handed him a fresh glass of whiskey. Frank, a regular here, was planning to tell a fresh story when he suddenly saw another customer enter—a familiar face.

"A glass of mead, please."

Melvin sat down at the bar, tapping his fingers on the oak table, and noticed that there were far fewer customers in the bar.

"Sir, did you find that old house?" the bartender asked in surprise, quickly handing over a glass of wine. He figured that returning so soon meant he had given up.

Melvin offered no explanation, simply smiling slightly: "I'll be passing by here on my way back, and I'd like to hear you tell me more about that old case, especially about the suspect—"

"Shh..."

The bartender quickly interrupted, afraid he would mention that name. He glanced guiltily at the old gardener and explained in a low voice, "That's Frank. It's best not to mention the Riddle family in front of him."

Melvin nodded, indicating that he understood.

Perhaps it was the veteran's intuition that sensed someone talking, because Frank turned around to look at them and met the young man's gaze.

Those were a pair of deep, dark eyes, from which gray mist surged, swirling and engulfing the gaze. Frank smelled the aroma of whiskey, his eyes gradually unfocusing, and his consciousness slowly sank into the abyss.

In a daze, he seemed to have left the bar, returned to his residence, and fallen into a deep sleep.

"hiss……"

Frank was awakened by the pain in his bad leg. He was nearing the end of his life, and the pain was getting worse. Muttering that the hanged bartender was trying to fool him with expired whiskey again, he got up and went to the kitchen to light the fireplace and boil some water to warm his stiff knee.

As he passed by the window, he glanced up at Del Mansion and saw a faint light shining from the upstairs window.

"It must be that naughty boy who broke in again."

Frank quickly put down the kettle, picked up his cane, and dragged his bad leg toward the old house, pocketing the rusty old key with him.

There were no signs of forced entry at the front door of Riddle House, and the windows were intact. Frank limped to the back door and quietly opened the iron gate.

It was nighttime, and it was pitch black all around, but he knew the place well. He remembered the way to the corridor, the location of the steps and the landing. Years of dust had made his cane and footsteps muffled and barely audible.

Frank quickly heard the intruder's location in the room to the right of the stair landing, in the area where the living room was located, the same place where the bodies of the Riddle family of three were found years ago.

The fireplace was lit, and the door was half-open, casting a patch of orange light on the floor. He leaned in and peered through the crack in the door to observe what was happening inside.

There lay three corpses on the ground: the Riddles and their son. Their faces were filled with terror as they stared intently at a figure in front of the fireplace. The figure was wearing a cloak and a hood, obscuring their face.

"It's the murderer from back then!"

Frank immediately held his breath, took two steps closer, and tried to see the killer's face more clearly.

The moment he pressed his face against the crack in the door, the figure abruptly raised its head, revealing a grotesque and terrifying snake face. Pale-faced, noseless, its scarlet eyes fixed on Frank, gleaming with a chilling, malevolent light. [Avada Kedavra]

A beam of green light shot towards his face.

Frank stared wide-eyed, his whole body trembling violently. At his age, he had certainly considered the possibility of dying in bed one day, but he had never felt death so clearly, with a chilling cold and immense fear.

"what--"

Frank jolted awake from his dream. He sat stiffly at the bar counter of the Hanged Man's Bar, panting heavily, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his whole body trembling, and his hand holding the glass shaking uncontrollably.

"Frank, Frank?"

The bartender waved his hand in front of his eyes. "What's wrong with you? You got drunk after just two drinks? That shouldn't be the case. Are you having a seizure? Don't die in my bar."

The wall clock ticked away as Frank downed the remaining half-glass of whiskey. The pungent alcohol pulled him back to reality, and his chest, which had been panting like a broken bellows, gradually calmed down.

The scenes in the dream were so vivid and incredibly realistic that they didn't seem like a dream at all; they were more like a proclamation from the Grim Reaper.

"I need to go and process my retirement," the old gardener said blankly.

"what?"

“I said I wanted to quit my job as a gardener in Ridley’s Garden and hoped that the pension and subsidies from the government would be enough for me to buy a burial plot!”

Frank roared in anger, slammed his glass on the bar, and limped out of the bar, muttering incoherently.

"How come the cause of death can't be determined?"

"Why did I have to run into them of all times?"

"Who knows if he'll come back..."

The bartender scratched his head, watching the old gardener's figure disappear: "Has that guy gotten senile? His mental illness has gotten worse."

On the other side of the bar, Melvin didn't speak. He took a sip of the nearly expired mead, shook his head, and exhaled the murky smell of alcohol. The mead from Three Brooms was still the best.

……

Night falls on Diagon Alley.

Melvin sat behind his desk by the window, the green lamp casting a soft glow. He glanced at the bright starry night sky, then looked down at the tools and medicines on the desk.

Before him lay an open black box containing an ancient, rough ring. Beside it was an empty silver plate with a thin layer of memory-developing potion. Since Horcruxes contain fragments of souls and memories, the silver potion, in principle, had the same effect on the ring and the golden cup.

Melvin, a close friend of the mysterious man and Voldemort's partner, has once again found the Horcrux. The memory-enhancing potion is ready, and everything is going smoothly. Based on past experience, he will meet Riddle again and forge a beautiful friendship.

"Actually, I still wanted to pretend that I discovered the Horcrux by chance, and that I was just a young professor who knew nothing, but the objective conditions weren't quite right," Melvin said with some regret.

Putting aside the fact that they dug up the ring at Gaunt's old house, the pile of stuff on the table alone makes it hard for Riddle to believe that he's a complete novice who knows nothing.

Based on the timeline, the Gauntlet ring should be Voldemort's second Horcrux. It was made in the summer of 1943 after 16-year-old Tom Riddle discovered his true parentage and caused the destruction of his family. It was made later than the diary but earlier than the golden cup and locket.

The soul fragment in the Horcrux is 16-year-old Tom Riddle.

"Tom, an ambitious and talented 16-year-old, has crafted Horcruxes, conquered death, and is already quite accomplished in the realm of dark magic, able to place a curse on the ring that even Dumbledore couldn't break. I hope you also have a deep understanding of Dementors," Melvin said softly, manipulating the black box to pour the ring into the silver dish.

Ripples appeared on the surface of the memory developing agent, and silvery-white mist gradually rose.

The ethereal silver mist outlined the contours and sculpted the illusory form. Light and shadow refracted and filled the colors, and a young figure slowly emerged. He was young and handsome, with an arrogant expression, and had not yet been ravaged and disfigured by dark magic.

Riddle looked around, frowned, and asked, "Who are you?"

Melvin pursed his lips, feeling a little like laughing, but the stage effects designer's acting skills calmed him down: "Melvin Levent, your most reliable ally."

Riddle stood there stunned.

"It's 1993 now. Voldemort fell twelve years ago, and the Death Eaters disbanded and collapsed." Melvin began to recount his story, using a vast and unbelievable amount of information to wash over the fragments of soul in the ring. "In your future, in Voldemort's past, we were utterly defeated. Voldemort's true body was destroyed, and his remnant soul remains missing to this day. Based on the traces you left behind, I found the Gaunt Ring hidden in the old house and awakened you from your slumber."

Riddle couldn't believe it; his mind went blank. "This can't be real, it can't be!"

“The harsh reality is always hard to accept, but you need to pull yourself together. We will rise again and take back everything that belongs to us!” Melvin said sadly, and as if to awaken Riddle’s fighting spirit, he began to talk about the Death Eaters’ past glory.

"...The Dark Mark is rampant on the island of Britain. The pure-blood families are united around us. The officials of the Ministry of Magic dare not utter a word. Only the stubborn Dumbledore is hiding in Hogwarts, waiting for us to take it over."

"Just before the dawn of our new era of purebloods, an accident occurred in Godric's Hollow, and overnight, our enterprise collapsed..."

Riddle's illusory figure floated in mid-air, his expression dazed, his mind still blank.

"I...I've become the Dark Lord, feared by all?"

"Yes, no wizard in Britain dares to call you by your name. Hearing those words will terrify them, and seeing the Black Mark will send them hiding in the cellars."

"I shared the secrets of Horcruxes with you?"

“Yes, I am your most reliable ally. I bring another part of Slytherin’s legacy from Ilfamoni to help you become the most powerful dark wizard in history, surpassing the despicable Helbo and Salas Slytherin.”

“Wait a minute…” Riddle noticed something amiss. “I am the most powerful dark wizard. I forged Horcruxes and conquered death. How could I have been defeated?”

Melvin shook his head: "Only the boy who miraculously survived that night survived. He was only one year old at the time, and no one knows the truth about Godric."

Riddle floated in mid-air, his eyes gleaming, clearly still processing the information.

"That's all alright. The most important thing now is to tell me how to control the Dementors, because it's related to your resurrection," Melvin said, spouting nonsense with a straight face.

(End of this chapter)