The son of the village's wealthiest family, young and rich, handsome and dashing, always enchanted with a well-matched young lady.
But one day, a fated girl suddenly fell from heaven, and the wealthy son and this heaven-sent creature rapidly fell in love.
They broke through numerous obstacles. To oppose parents with conservative thinking, for love they resolutely eloped.
If this were placed in a love story, it would definitely be a touching, praiseworthy tale.
But when Tom Riddle, the only beloved son of Little Hangleton's wealthiest Riddle family, actually abandoned the girl he was compatible with and eloped with a tramp's daughter because his parents opposed it, it immediately caused an uproar in Little Hangleton.
Frank had seen that Gaunt girl too.
Straight hair with no luster. Because she'd stayed home for so long without going out, her complexion showed a sickly pallor.
And her eyes, like her crazy brother's, stared in opposite directions.
Frank had seen many people, but he'd never seen anyone more listless than her.
To put it politely: unremarkable.
To put it bluntly: quite ugly.
In any case, compared to Tom Riddle's 'former' love Miss Cecilia, the difference was unbelievably vast.
As for family circumstances, they were incomparable.
As long as Riddle's mind was clear, he would never choose that tramp's daughter.
No, normally they wouldn't even cross paths.
Yet this very thing happened.
In any case, this incident made the Riddle family lose all face in Little Hangleton.
Mr. and Mrs. Riddle couldn't hold their heads up for a long time.
Even the gardener, maids, and cook working for the Riddles were gossiped about.
Fortunately, after some more time passed, their young master Tom Riddle came back.
He returned alone.
Outsiders didn't know the inside story, but Frank, as the Riddles' gardener, knew very well.
Tom Riddle returned home with a look of terror. He claimed he'd experienced something incredible.
That Gaunt woman was actually a "witch," and she'd cursed him.
That's why he'd been bewitched, abandoning his beloved and becoming infatuated with that ugly, lowly woman.
They'd lived together in London for some time, and that woman had even become pregnant.
But at that very moment, that woman had somehow stopped casting her spell, told him the truth, and hoped he would stay and continue living with her.
Are you kidding!
After learning the truth, he'd run straight back home without a word.
As for that pregnant girl—no, witch—he didn't care.
He had no feelings for her at all, only deep disgust and fear.
Although they found Riddle's account too outrageous, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle only had this one son, so naturally they chose to forgive him.
Not only that, they strictly ordered everyone at the Riddle House not to spread this matter outside.
The official story was that the woman had abducted Riddle.
After all, witches and such sounded too foolish—no one would believe it.
In fact, no one at the Riddle House, including Riddle's parents, believed it—they just thought Riddle had been foolish and rebellious then.
And so, more than ten years passed peacefully, and that so-called "witch" never came looking for him again.
Then this family of three died violent deaths on the same day, the family's bodies all neat and orderly.
Frank pulled back his thoughts, feeling utterly confused.
But—but... Tom Riddle was already dead!
Fifty years ago, he'd seen it clearly. How could a dead person come back?
Could it be... could it be...
Just as he couldn't help but start thinking wildly, the voices in the room spoke again.
The speaker was precisely that man suspected to be Tom Riddle.
"Mr. Smith, you went to such great lengths to find this place—surely not to have me help you using the identity of Tom Riddle?"
"Names are just labels. You needn't worry about such things, just like my name."
Tom Riddle snorted. "Yes, John Smith."
"See, you don't care about my name either, do you? Now that we've arrived here, I think it's time for you to tell me your plan?"
"Don't be anxious. This journey has exhausted me. This place is quite comfortable—I plan to rest a bit longer... Besides, we need to wait until after the Quidditch World Cup finals before taking action."
"Because of that damn Ministry of Magic again—wizards will flood into this country from around the world, and they'll increase security levels."
Frank realized he'd heard several words he'd never heard before. "Quidditch," "Ministry of Magic," "wizards." This instantly maximized his sense of vigilance.
Having been on the battlefield, he understood very well—there were only two kinds of people in this world who didn't speak normally.
Either spies or criminals.
"Heh, seems you have quite an issue with those meddlesome Ministry of Magic folks?"
"Of course. Although those guys can't catch me, they're annoying as flies."
"So, you found me... How moving. My loyal followers clearly swore to serve me forever, yet now I must rely on an outsider..."
"An ally, not an outsider," the person called John Smith corrected. "You haven't appeared for so long—I imagine they... those Death Eaters probably think you're finished?"
"Not probably—definitely. They definitely believe I'm finished, done for. That's why they slunk back to my enemies, claiming they were innocent, unknowing, bewitched."
"Doesn't matter. Compared to those servants, in your current state you indeed need an ally more. But didn't you say you still have some loyal servants? Once we implement the plan and rescue them, our forces will be much stronger."
More and more incomprehensible words. Frank gripped his cane even tighter.
Just then, he suddenly sensed movement in the pitch-black corridor behind him.
Instinctively turning to look, he saw a giant snake fully twelve feet long crawling toward him.
Frank had never seen a snake of this length and froze in terror.
Fortunately, it didn't stop before Frank—as if it hadn't seen him, it slithered past and went straight through the door crack.
This made him secretly breathe a sigh of relief.
Tonight's events at this old house were far too bizarre. He secretly felt he shouldn't stay long and planned to sneak out of the old house and head straight for the village phone booth.
Call the police!
How laughable—he clearly didn't trust the police anymore, yet when encountering danger, he still couldn't help but think of them.
Unfortunately, he no longer had the chance.
"My ally, Nagini has just brought me an interesting piece of news."
"Interesting... news?"
"That's right. Nagini tells me an old Muggle is standing right outside this room, listening to every word we're saying."
Frank froze completely.
Before he could react, the door opened.
He was completely exposed to their view.
The door-opener was a medium-built, unremarkable man.
At this moment, he was examining Frank up and down with an appraising gaze.
"Please invite him in, John. Even if he's a Muggle, we must be courteous."
Hearing this voice, the man who'd opened the door gestured for Frank to enter.
Though trembling violently, Frank still gripped his cane and limped across the threshold.
This also let him fully see the situation inside the room.
Most eye-catching was undoubtedly that giant snake from before.
However, it was now coiled on the tattered carpet before the fireplace, as if imitating a lapdog.
Besides the man who'd brought him in, another man stood before the fireplace.
He was thin, also plain-looking, and wore leather gloves. He was currently looking at Frank with great interest.
Based on the earlier conversation, there should be someone sitting in that old armchair by the fireplace.
He should be Tom Riddle.
But supposedly his build should be quite tall, yet now Frank couldn't even see the back of his head.
The fire was the room's only light source—it was what had attracted Frank's attention earlier.
At this moment, Frank felt only regret—deep regret.
It would have been fine to look around during the day—why come here late at night?
Thinking about standing in the same room with Tom Riddle, who should already be dead, it was his last bit of stubbornness that kept him from collapsing.
"Seems you heard everything?"
The figure standing by the fireplace looked at him and asked in a light tone.
"That's right, I heard everything."
Frank took a deep breath. Since he'd already entered the room, he had to take action—this was a common battlefield situation.
"Seems Mr. Riddle was right—you're not a wizard, you're a Muggle."
Frank suddenly recalled Tom Riddle's words: "That Gaunt woman is a 'witch,' she controlled me!"
He looked at that armchair, somewhat blustering.
"Tom Riddle died fifty years ago! I don't know where you heard about wizards and witches, but don't think you can play tricks on me. Also, my wife knows I came up here. I told her early on—if I don't go back, she'll call the police—"
"Didn't expect you actually knew that old fellow Tom and knew some things I'm interested in. Very good, excellent..."
Just then, the voice behind the armchair—the one suspected to be Tom Riddle—spoke.
"But... don't lie to Lord Voldemort. He knows everything... You have no wife, and you told no one you came up here."
"Lord... Voldemort, is it?"
Frank laughed coldly, his tone full of disdain. "If you call yourself that, why use someone else's name?"
John Smith couldn't help but laugh aloud.
"Interesting. The Dark Lord who terrorizes the magical world, called out like this by a Muggle. Truly interesting."
"Interesting?"
Frank said roughly, "I think your manners aren't very good, my Lord Voldemort! What exactly is your relationship with Tom Riddle? Also, why won't you turn your face around and look at me like a man?"
Silence.
A long silence.
Four people and one snake in the room—no one spoke.
Finally, that voice spoke again.
"Muggle, the Tom Riddle you spoke of is my father."
"What did you say?!"
Frank was shocked.
In Britain, fathers and sons sharing the same name wasn't uncommon at all.
If he was Tom Riddle's son, didn't that mean he was that Gaunt tramp's... grandson?
Just as this thought entered his mind, he heard the Tom Riddle who claimed to be Tom Riddle's son say with delight.
"Interesting! Didn't expect you, a Muggle, to know even more than I imagined! Well then, I'll face you—Mr. Smith, please help me turn the chair."
This time, without John Smith needing to speak, Jon expressionlessly walked forward to turn the armchair.
Soon, the chair was turned to face Frank's direction.
But when Frank saw clearly the person sitting in the chair, his cane clattered to the floor.
He opened his mouth and let out a piercing shriek.
"Ahhh—!"
"Ahhh—it was like that... The last thing I remember is that old man screaming, then I woke from the dream. After coming to, my scar hurt fiercely, like someone had pressed red-hot wire against my skin. After quite a while, the pain slowly faded."
At Number 12 Grimmauld Place, on the day of his birthday party, Harry described to his companions his dream and the intense pain in his scar.
"Your scar hurt? Harry, that's no ordinary matter—you must write to Dumbledore quickly! I'm going to check Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. Maybe the book discusses curse scars."
"Your scar hurt? But—but You-Know-Who can't get close to you now, can he? I mean... you know, right? Maybe he's trying to harm you again? I don't know, Harry. Maybe curse scars always hurt a bit... I should ask my dad..."
Hermione and Ron's reactions didn't surprise Harry at all.
The former exclaimed loudly, suggesting they tell the Headmaster immediately while also searching for clues in books.
But Harry knew in his heart—he was the only one who'd been hit by Voldemort's Killing Curse and survived.
Therefore, he couldn't possibly find his symptoms listed in Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions.
Red-haired Ron looked completely bewildered and confused, believing Voldemort couldn't possibly get close, and planning to ask his father.
But Harry still knew that although Arthur Weasley was a qualified wizard, he wasn't really an expert on curse questions.
Moreover, given Mrs. Weasley's personality, she would definitely make even more fuss than Hermione. He didn't want the Weasley twins and his little admirer Ginny to think he was a coward.
But it didn't matter—Harry hadn't expected them to give decent suggestions anyway.
What he really needed was someone like a big brother figure.
Someone Harry could consult with honestly without feeling stupid.
That person should care about him, be knowledgeable, reliable, and able to solve his problems.
Clearly, he was Sherlock Holmes.
So far, there seemed to be nothing Sherlock couldn't solve.
Actually, he'd originally only wanted to tell Sherlock about this.
But when he pulled Sherlock away, Hermione and Ron discovered them.
Ron immediately stopped him.
"What are you two doing? This time there's no Dumbledore to stop you from telling us, right? Don't think you can leave me behind again!"
Hermione didn't say this, but she also looked at them suspiciously, as if suspecting they were up to something.
In this situation, Harry could only bring both of them along.
Precisely because the two were add-ons, Harry hadn't expected anything from them. He looked hopefully at Sherlock.
Sure enough, when Sherlock heard Harry's description, he neither made a fuss like Hermione nor looked confused like Ron, but instead showed a knowing smile.
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