The Return to Hogwarts

"It's amazing, it feels amazing every time—"

The man spoke again, seemingly praising the drink he had just swallowed, but for some reason, Frank suddenly felt that his voice sounded like the hiss of a vicious snake, sending chills down his spine.

"I never imagined that such wonderful vitality could be hidden in the plants that people overlook, almost comparable to the blood of a unicorn. Ah, it seems that I have indeed overlooked a lot in the past, and that's why I have paid a heavy price."

Unicorn blood?

Frank's graying eyebrows twitched. He thought he had misheard the words, so he tried desperately to hear them clearly. But for the next few seconds, there was no sound in the room. The owner of the clear voice seemed to disdain the man's praise.

Frank peered through the crack in the door, but all he could see were shadowy figures moving on the wall, seemingly the woman's. The man speaking was sitting in a high-backed armchair, facing the fireplace; Frank couldn't see his face.

"Could you please feed the rest of these to Nagini? I imagine it, like me, must be starving after such a arduous journey. Ah, of course, I'm not blaming you for not taking good care of it, but I'm sure you know very well that I'm not as good as I used to be."

Chapter 424 A New Destiny

2023-08-17

The young woman in the room did not respond, and the silence lasted for a while.

“You have recovered very well, Mr. Dark Lord. If you wish to continue staying in the forest, perhaps it won’t be long before you regain your health.”

Frank discovered something new from this sentence: someone actually named themselves the Dark Lord? What kind of person would use such a strange nickname? Frank had a premonition that he was getting involved in a bizarre event, and the man and woman in the house were probably not law-abiding good people.

"A healthy body, yes, yes—"

The man known as the Dark Lord spoke with a voice filled with emotion, finally revealing some semblance of normal feeling.

"I must admit, I never imagined I would do it this way. Yes, with just a little more patience, I could regain my original magic power—how wonderful, but—"

The Dark Lord's tone shifted abruptly, his voice turning icy cold again.

“I think you know, Miss Clona, ​​that forest has become unsafe. The Ministry of Magic could be there at any moment. Ah—I trust you, Miss Clona, ​​those rabble are no match for you, but it will be good for us to keep a low profile until I regain my full magic power—”

“If it weren’t for your insistence on killing that woman, Bertha Jorkins—”

Frank could hear the anger hidden in the woman's cold voice, which had been identified as Cleopatra. However, what Frank was more concerned about was that they had killed a woman named Bertha Jorkins!

A murder case!

Frank's old veins were throbbing with blood, and his dazed head was buzzing.

"Processing memories is not difficult for wizards, nor for us, yet you still insist on killing her—I have no intention of criticizing your style of doing things, Mr. Dark Lord, but your actions undoubtedly put us in danger."

The atmosphere in the room became tense, and Frank almost thought that the two murderers were about to fight each other.

Another nauseating silence followed. Just as Frank had decided to leave the old house and warn the villagers, the man who had always kept his back to him spoke again.

"Processing memories. Yes, you did suggest that, Miss Clona, ​​but I remember explaining it to you as well—"

The Dark Lord said coldly,

"Altering memories is not a reliable method. If you encounter a powerful wizard, the forgetting spell will not work. This has already been confirmed during my interrogation of her, hasn't it?"

Frank grew increasingly confused as he listened, while the cold voice continued, only now its tone had become much smoother.

“Aren’t we allies who have built trust with each other, Miss Clona? You came to me following the instructions of your predecessors, hoping that I could help you out of your predicament. And I, who am at my lowest point, have no one to rely on but you. We are allies who support each other, so we should be honest with each other. You have always disapproved of the plan I have been working on to regain my strength, haven’t you?”

The young woman's voice never came out; only the man called the Dark Lord continued talking to himself.

“I have my reasons for using that boy. I have expressed my firm determination to you, Miss Cleopatra. I will not use anyone else. I have waited for thirteen years, and a few more months will do. As for the boy’s strict protection, I believe my plan will work. By then, I will be without fault, and you will soon end your centuries-long fate of wandering.”

The woman in the room was none other than Vitia Kriona, the contemporary priestess of the Druids whom Amosta had been searching for for a year without any news.

Compared to a year ago, Vitia hadn't changed much. However, when facing the infamous Dark Lord of the wizarding world, her gentle, serene demeanor vanished; her emerald eyes always held a wary glint, and the slightly swaying strands of emerald green hair in still air testified that her power was always poised to be unleashed.

"Mr. Dark Lord—"

Vitia lowered her eyes, avoiding eye contact with the huddled monster on the chair. Over the past year, she had regretted her impulsive decisions many times, even though they stemmed from the Twin Serpent Staff and the commands of her predecessors.

If the druid needed the power of a wizard to get out of trouble, there were many people she could choose from, but she had undoubtedly chosen the worst one.

“We are not wizards, but we know very well what Harry Potter means to the wizarding world. You want to use him, even at the risk of angering Albus Dumbledore.”

"Dumbledore is just a senile old man; he's no longer the man he once was—"

Even Frank, who didn't understand the situation at all, could tell that the Dark Lord seemed to be somewhat wary of the man named Albus Dumbledore, and his rebuttal was filled with a hint of humiliation.

The faint firelight from the fireplace illuminated Vitia's fair cheeks, creating a stunning silhouette against the worm-eaten, pitted wooden floor.

The Dark Lord. Or rather, Voldemort—

This was definitely not the kind of wizard that a druid, who respected life and revered nature, would appreciate. However, by a twist of fate, they came together.

"Even so—"

Vitia knew she couldn't persuade the evil wizard before her, but she still hoped he could retain some sense of reason.

Her long eyelashes trembled slightly, and Vitia's voice was weary, "Hogwarts has more than just Albus Dumbledore."

Aside from the blasphemous man before her, who had utterly degenerated into a devil and monster, the wizard who had come aboard Avalon Island with her was the most powerful and dangerous wizard Vitya had ever seen in her life. To this day, Vitya could not forget the chilling rage in that man's eyes after she obtained the Twin Serpents Staff in the temple at the center of the island.

Amosta Blaine.

This man's reputation used to shine only in the wizarding underworld, but recently, his fame has gradually become known to the world.

“Amostrath Blaine, Head of the Student Safety Office at Hogwarts—Mr. Dark Lord, you’ve seen the wizard’s newspaper. He may be in even greater danger.”

If the Dark Lord feared Albus Dumbledore, then Vitia herself tried her best to avoid running into Amostrath Blaine again. But she knew in her heart that since she chose to follow the prophecy left by her ancestors, this day would come sooner or later.

“Amosta Blaine, ah, the young man who killed Greyback?”

The Dark Lord was clearly amused, and he spoke in a distinctly teasing tone.

“Yes, yes, the prophecy says that he killed Fenrir and many of his men all by himself, but Miss Cleopatra, that’s not a difficult thing. If you ask me, it’s an easy thing for you too, isn’t it? Why should we worry about a clown that Dumbledore has promoted?”

Vitia's bright eyes flickered, and she refused to say another word.

Voldemort knew he hadn't convinced the little girl, but he didn't care at all, as long as she obeyed his orders. He would punish her for her offense against the great Dark Lord once he regained control of his body. Of course, he wouldn't kill her; after all, the Dark Lord would reward those who offered help.

After she has completely submitted, and after the wizarding world is completely under his control, he will help Vitia Cliona eliminate the forces that persecute them. After all, the Holy See holds considerable prestige in the Muggle world, and destroying such a force will allow Muggles to more directly recognize Voldemort's greatness.

A few thoughts raced through Voldemort's mind, and he smiled coldly.

“I think I’ve convinced you, haven’t I, Miss Clona? Well then, before we rest, let’s entertain our mysterious guest for tonight—”

A mystery guest?

Frank's mind went blank for a moment, and in the next instant, a lot happened.

He finally saw the man emerge from behind the high-backed armchair. What kind of monster was that? The intense visual impact made Frank, who was terrified, go black out.

"Nagini!"

"No more innocent lives will be harmed!"

The two shouts rang out almost simultaneously, and the emerald light and chilling green glow pierced through his drooping eyelids. Frank had no time to dwell on the strange sentences he had heard and completely fainted.

Meanwhile, two hundred miles away.

In his bedroom at 4 Privet Drive, Harry, his forehead beaded with cold sweat, awoke with a start.

Chapter 425 The storm is coming

2023-08-18

Harry lay stiffly on the bed, panting heavily, as if he had just finished a half-hour run in gym class. He woke with a start from a very vivid dream, his hands pressed tightly against his face. Beneath his fingers, the lightning bolt-shaped scar burned as if someone were pressing a hot wire against his skin.

He sat up, one hand covering his scar, the other rubbing his glasses, which had been rubbed off by the blankets, in the darkness. He put his glasses back on, and the scene in the bedroom slowly became clear.

Judging from the angle of the moonlight filtering into the room through the curtains, it was past midnight. After listening for a moment, Harry confirmed that the Dursleys had returned; he could hear Dudley's deafening snoring.

Harry touched the scar with his fingers again; it still hurt terribly. He turned on the lamp beside him and realized that Hedwig, who had gone out for a stroll in the evening to find food, had returned and was now fast asleep in her cage.

Harry noticed that Hedwig's paws were still empty, and there was nothing else on the table, which meant that Hedwig still hadn't received Sirius's reply. After a moment of silence, Harry put aside his disappointment and tried his best to recall the dream he had just had.

Everything was so realistic, it felt like being there in person.

A dimly lit room vaguely appeared before his eyes—it was Voldemort's voice. Although he hadn't heard it for two years, Harry still remembered it clearly. And the thought of Quirrell and the grotesque Voldemort he had seen in the underground classroom during his first year made Harry feel as if a block of ice had slid down his throat.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying his best to recall what Voldemort looked like in the dream, but he couldn't. Harry only knew that when Voldemort's chair turned around and his gaze fell on it, he felt a huge fear and woke up with a start. Perhaps it was because his scar suddenly started to hurt intensely?

There was a young woman in the room. Harry couldn't be sure who she was, but her name and appearance were like fine sand in his hand; the more he tried to hold on, the faster it slipped through his fingers. In the end, Harry could only vaguely confirm that the young woman was strikingly beautiful and had a pleasant demeanor.

That's really strange!

If that dream really revealed some truth, then how could a woman like that be associating with Voldemort?

And that old man

His appearance in his dream was very brief; Harry only saw him fall in a green light. If the old man had encountered the real Voldemort, Harry was almost certain of his fate.

There was a conversation in the dream, but Harry didn't remember it very clearly.

He only remembered that his name seemed to have appeared before, and that Voldemort seemed to be planning something against him. There was no need to rack his brains to guess; what good scheme could Voldemort possibly have besides killing him?

So, was what he saw real or fake?

Harry got out of bed, drew the curtains, and gazed down at the clean, quiet street bathed in the dim yellow light of the streetlights, gently tracing the scar with his fingers.

The last time his scar flared up was because Voldemort was nearby, and that's what made Harry uneasy. His wary eyes scanned the streets. Voldemort lurking on Privet Drive? The idea was too absurd, absolutely impossible.

Okay, now it's time to seriously think about what to do.

Even though Harry didn't want people to think he was particularly weak, or that he liked to make a fuss, he still clearly understood that nothing related to Voldemort should be taken lightly.