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Chapter 231: Voldemort is at Riddle House

But the villagers here knew that the house was called Riddle House, and that what had been a very beautiful mansion, and the most spacious and imposing building for miles around, was now damp, desolate, and uninhabited for years.

The villagers of Little Hangleton agreed that the old house was "strangely frightful."

Half a century ago, a strange and terrible thing happened here, and until now, when the village elders have nothing else to talk about, they still like to pull this incident out to talk about it---.

Fifty years ago, when the Riddle House was still gorgeous and bright and grand, at dawn on a clear summer day, a maid walked into the parlor and found all three members of the Riddle family dead of gas.

The villagers suspected that Frank, the Riddle family's gardener, had killed the family because of his eccentricity and his easy access to the keys to the inner courtyard.

However, when the autopsy report comes back, Frank is cleared of any wrongdoing:

None of the Riddle family had been harmed by poison, sharp objects, guns, or suffocated or strangled. In fact, all three members of the Riddle family appeared to be in perfect health - except for one thing: they were all dead.

The doctors who performed the autopsies did note that everyone in the Riddle family wore a look of horror on their faces ... But who ever heard of three people dying of shock at the same time?

Later, the Riddle family was buried in the churchyard at Little Hangerton, and Frank Blythe returned to the Riddle House, living back in his cabin in the grounds.

Frank, the gardener, did not leave and stayed at Riddle House and chose to continue tending the garden for the next owner who bought Riddle House and then worked for the family further back ...

Later, the estate came to the last owner.

He didn't live here, but still employed Frank to continue as the manor's gardener.

Because of the lack of people, the plants in the courtyard grew rapidly, even the experienced old gardener Frank could not stop them from growing, and could only watch the once luxurious mansion become dilapidated.

One night in the summer of 1994, Frank was awakened by the pain of his bad leg.

He got out of bed and limped downstairs into the kitchen to fill a hot water bag to warm his stiff knee. He stood at the sink, filling the kettle as he looked up toward Riddle House.

A shimmering light seemed to be glowing in the upstairs windows.

Frank thought the village boys had broken into the old mansion again; the shimmering light was flickering, bright and dark, and he could tell they had a fire going.

Frank hurriedly put the kettle down, and dragging that bad leg, returned upstairs as quickly as he could, and, taking a rusty old key from the hook by the door, and picking up his walking stick, which was leaning against the wall, he stepped out into the night.

Even though the current owner of the mansion didn't care much for it, he himself was employed after all, and couldn't just sit back and watch those mischievous kids tossing around the place, and was even more worried about them setting fire to the old mansion he'd lived in for decades.

Frank walked to the front door of the Riddle House and found no sign of forced entry, and the windows were intact.

So he limped around to the back of the house again, stopped at a door that was almost completely covered by creepers, pulled out the old key, inserted it into the lock hole, and opened the door noiselessly.

Frank leaned on his crutches and stepped into the cavernous, dark, large kitchen.

He hadn't been in here in years. Still, despite the darkness all around, he remembered where the door to the hallway was. He groped his way through and the smell of decay hit his nose.

Frank pricked up his ears, catching every sound of footsteps or speech overhead. He made his way to the hallway, which let in more or less the light spilled by the moon because of the tall windows on either side of the front door.

He started up the stairs, thinking to himself all the while that thanks to the thick layer of dust that had accumulated on the stone steps, his footsteps and the sound of his cane were muffled and unnoticeable.

At the stair landing, Frank turned to his right and immediately saw where the intruder was.

Just at the far end of the corridor, a door was open a crack, and a flickering shimmering light cast through it, illuminating an orange glow on the dark floor.

Frank turned sideways and cautiously approached a little closer, clutching his cane tightly in his hand. A few paces from the doorway, he could see into a narrow slit in the room.

He saw now that the fire was built in the fireplace. This surprised him, for the naughty boys usually liked to light fires everywhere but in the fireplace.

He stopped in his tracks and perked up his ears, only to hear the voice of a younger man speaking from the room, which was respectful in comparison to the mischievous boys.

"Master, how is your strength restored now?" He asked.

Frank froze for a moment.

In this day and age, did people even use "master", a title that was only used in the olden days?

"It's okay, not too good, but not too bad either." Another voice said.

It was also a man - but the voice was hoarse and strange, and as cold and harsh as the cold wind. I don't know how, but the mere sound of it made the scant hair on the back of Frank's neck stand up.

"Speaking of which ... I have to thank that abominable fellow Dracula." The icy voice was sneering, "If it wasn't for him pushing me to the brink, I wouldn't have had the chance to reach that other world so quickly."

"The master of that world told me himself that this ring on my hand is an extraordinary thing. ..."

The conversation inside raised a rare and intense curiosity in the aged Frank, and he pressed his right ear to the door to hear it more clearly.

There was a sound of footsteps in the room, and then the sound of water being poured into a glass. Frank caught a glimpse through the doorway of a pale-complexioned youth with tantalizingly yellow hair, who was carrying two glasses of water and handing them across the room.

He was wearing a long black cloak, and there was something indescribably insane and unhinged about his demeanor and aura; in short, completely at odds with sober and sane normal people.

"How is the plan completed?" That cold voice asked.

"I'm in the clear, master." The first one said confidently, "But there's one thing I don't quite understand, aren't you able to recover your body and strength now? Why do you still need to ..."

"Because that obstructive Potter has a bloodline magic inside him that his mother cast specifically against me." The second icy voice said, "I had to use Potter's blood to restore my body in order to prevent the inability to touch him from happening again!"

Frank furrowed his brow and pressed that still-hearing ear towards the door again, concentrating hard on listening.

He couldn't figure out right now what kind of issues the two men in here were discussing, nor did he know what these two men were or where they came from, and likewise why they had come to Riddle House.

The room was silent for a few moments, then the young voice spoke again.

"Master, may I ask how long we are to stay here?"

"A week," the chilling voice said, "maybe longer. This place is fairly cozy, and that plan can't be implemented yet; it wouldn't be wise to act hastily before the Quidditch World Cup is over."

Frank reached into his ear with a rough finger and turned it a few times.

There must have been too much earwax built up and he heard a strange word like 'Quidditch', which didn't sound like a proper word at all. ...

"Quidditch World Cup, Master?" The young voice said, "Do you want to wait for the World Cup and cause chaos in the most crowded places?"

"Not really, I don't have the idea of beating the bushes for a while." The icy voice said, "I just don't want to run into those Aurors who have increased their patrols."

"Every time it comes to a time like this, when wizards pour into this country from all over the world, all those nosy guys from the Ministry of Magic are out in force, standing guard, watching for any unusual activity, and repeatedly checking everyone's identity."

"They had their minds set on safety and stability, afraid that the muggles would notice something. So we had to wait a little longer, and it didn't matter if we did it after the World Cup was over."

Outside the door, Frank stopped pulling out his ears.

He heard the words 'Ministry of Magic', 'wizard' and 'muggle' with perfect accuracy.

Apparently, these words had mystical connotations, and as far as Frank knew, there were only two kinds of people who spoke in code: secret agents, criminals, or psychopaths.

Frank clutched his cane tightly and listened intently.

"Master, I think you should look for another obedient servant to take care of you," the young voice said softly, "I will be going on my mission before long, and you will need someone else to take care of you in the meantime."

"Or else find the Death Eaters that are lurking and have them serve you?" He asked.

"That won't be necessary, Barty." The icy voice finally called out the name of the young voice's owner, "Who knows what those wallflowers are really thinking? Maybe some of them even wish I were dead, and then they would be completely unburdened ..."

A moment of silence followed - and then the young man named Barty spoke again.

"Those who choose to betray will get what they deserve." He said, "When I finish this mission, I will personally help you clean up the traitors!"

"Very well, your kindness is appreciated, Barty." The icy voice said softly, "But you don't need to think about that much right now, you just need to complete the things I've explained to you, and we'll talk about the rest later ..."

"Yes, Master." Barty said.

"By the way, when you get to Hogwarts, besides keeping an eye on Dumbledore and Dracula, you can help me focus on Severus." The icy voice said softly, "Severus Snape, Professor of Potions and Dean of Slytherin ... has quite a few titles, so go and find out what kind of an idea he is for me."

"Yes, Master." Barty nodded, "If Snape shows any signs of betrayal, I will kill him myself!"

"..."

Outside in the hallway, Frank suddenly realized that his hand clutching his cane was soaked with sweat. These two men didn't seem to have any qualms about killing, and talking about it didn't bother them one bit.

These two were dangerous - they were definitely two outlaws.

And they were planning to kill and capture more people - the boy, the student named Harry Potter, Frank didn't know who he was, but knew he was in danger now ...

Frank knew what he had to do now. The police had to be called at this time, and he would have to sneak butch out of the old house and run straight to the village phone booth ...

But the icy voice spoke again, and immediately afterward, Frank stayed where he was, as if frozen in place, trying desperately to concentrate on what he was hearing.

"Slow down, Buddy, don't make a sound ... I think I hear someone else breathing outside the door ..." the icy voice suddenly spoke, "Just in time. I'm still missing a Horcrux, and was just about to look for a guy who came to my door to get killed!"

Upon hearing these words, Frank's entire body froze.

Right now he longed for nothing more than to have never gotten out of bed and gone straight back to it with a hot water bag in his arms.

He couldn't seem to move his legs, his heart was beating fast, and he stood stiff and shivering. He struggled to control himself, but tried and failed.

Frank didn't have a chance to hide anymore when footsteps came from inside, followed by the door to the room opening all at once!

The blonde-haired, pale, maniacal-looking youth stood in the doorway, and Frank looked behind him to see a strange man with no nose and no hair looking at him with a sneer.

The strange man even appeared physically somewhat transparent!

Buddy beckoned Frank to come inside the house.

Frank clutched his cane and limped across the threshold, despite the fact that his whole body was trembling terribly.

The fire was the only source of light in the room, and it cast long, cobwebby shadows on the walls.

"You hear everything, Muggle?" The icy voice asked.

"What did you call me?" Frank said aloud, bracing himself. He had been a soldier before and could still muster up some courage in a crisis.

"I called you a muggle," the voice said coldly, "which means that you're not a wizard."

"I don't know what you mean by wizard." Frank said, his voice getting steadier, "All I know is that I've heard enough to-night to attract the attention of the police-you're plotting to kill!"

"And I'll tell you what else," he said, in a sudden flash of inspiration, "my old companion knows I've come up here, and if I don't go back--"

"You have no companion," said the icy voice slowly, "and no one knows you are here. You haven't told anyone you came up here. Muggles, don't lie to Lord Voldemort, he knows everything ... everything ..."

"What did you say?" Frank said gruffly, "My Lord, is it? Hmph, I don't think you look like a lord so much as a monster! I've never seen such an ugly, strange-looking fellow as you!"

In the next moment, that strange-looking guy suddenly raised a stick.

"Avada Sorcery (Avada Kedavra)!"

A blinding green light flashed, and Frank Bryce collapsed to the ground. He was dead before he fell to the ground.

Meanwhile, two hundred miles away, Harry Potter woke up menacingly from his dream.