Two ragged men stumbled out of the forest, half-rolling, half-walking down the mountain path.
On the hillside stood an imposing house, but its roof tiles were missing, its windows boarded up, and its walls covered in sprawling ivy, making it look utterly desolate.
The two men swallowed hard, hiding behind a tree, observing the building that resembled a haunted house.
"Looks like no one lives in a place like this," one man said. "Maybe we can get a few days of peaceful rest."
"You know, old houses like this usually have ghost stories that have been passed down for years," the other man replied.
They exchanged glances.
Garr saw desperation in Lockhart's eyes—the Wizard had been through a lot recently; he was desperate for a place to rest.
So much so that he had almost forgotten the utter despair he felt when he was captured by Vampires and used as food.
Lockhart, in turn, saw caution in Garr's eyes—this bat was indeed a close relative of rats; he was as timid as one.
Their gazes clashed for a moment, neither willing to back down.
Lockhart said, "What's there to be afraid of ghosts? I saw them every day when I was at Hogwarts."
"I'm not afraid of ghosts, but I'm afraid there are people living inside," Garr said. "—A haunted house far from people, a perfectly good large house unoccupied. Doesn't that description sound familiar to you? You Wizards love to live in places like that."
Hearing that sensitive word, Lockhart couldn't help but feel a little nervous, instinctively tightening his grip on his Wand.
His own Wand had been snapped by those hateful Vampires, but fortunately, when Garr escaped, he had managed to grab an old Wand for him.
It wasn't quite right, but at least it worked.
Holding the Wand, Lockhart's courage returned a little.
"I didn't sense any Magic nearby… At least no Muggle-Repelling Charm. Even if someone is inside, they're probably not a Wizard; and even if they are a Wizard, they're probably an old-timer whose mind is still stuck a century ago."
Lockhart encouraged, "I've dealt with people like that many times. It's actually quite simple: catch them off guard, hit them with an Obliviation Charm, and everything's solved."
Garr was tempted but still didn't agree.
Lockhart persuaded him further, "What are you afraid of? You can transform into a bat and scout it out first! If there's someone, they're your food; if there's no one, we can hide in this house for a while… It's getting dark, Garr, and it's been overcast lately."
Garr couldn't help but shiver.
It was normal for it to get dark, and overcast days were also quite normal in Britain, but for the two of them, such gloomy weather always reminded them of Dementors.
The day Garr carried Lockhart out of Hogsmeade, he discovered Aurors lying in ambush nearby. He was even sure a Wizard had seen him, but perhaps because the Vampires were a bigger target, the Aurors didn't pursue them.
To avoid being taken back to Azkaban, Lockhart had used various concealment Spells on both of them, which prevented Aurors from tracking them. Unfortunately, Garr also couldn't get help from his uncle.
Since then, the two had completely cut ties with the Wizarding World, hiding and fleeing until now. Whenever the weather turned bad, they immediately had to find a place to hide.
They had stayed in tree hollows, lived in caves, hidden in sewers, and once even barely squeezed into a car trunk. The only thing they hadn't done was crawl through a mouse hole.
—They still didn't know that the Ministry of Magic had sent all the Dementors back to Azkaban to avoid disrupting the Quidditch World Cup.
Not only did Lockhart long for a stable and comfortable environment, but Garr was also reaching his limit.
So, when Lockhart encouraged him a couple of times, Garr was swayed, but he also laid down his own condition.
"Let me drink a couple of sips," Garr licked his lips and said. "I haven't eaten in two days, and I'm completely drained. If we run into danger, I won't even be able to fly fast."
Lockhart was reluctant: "There's a village at the bottom of the hill. Go steal a chicken or a piglet, and we'll both have food."
"No. Muggles will quickly find out and make a fuss, calling the police, and then it might attract the attention of the Ministry of Magic," Garr decisively refused.
Whether it was a person or an animal, bodies that had been drained of blood were easily discovered to be abnormal, and Garr wasn't willing to take that risk.
"The Ministry of Magic isn't that sharp," Lockhart said.
But seeing Garr standing still, after a few seconds, Lockhart finally conceded, "Do you have a cup?"
Garr, of course, didn't carry a cup with him. He picked a large leaf, rolled it into the shape of a cup, and looked at Lockhart expectantly.
Lockhart had no choice. He took out his Wand, pointed it at his wrist, and a thin cut suddenly appeared, from which bright red blood flowed out.
Garr's eyes instantly turned blood red.
After barely a quarter-cup of blood had flowed, Lockhart immediately healed the wound and looked up to see Garr's eyes, a mix of greed and hunger. His heart instantly tightened.
Normally, they were partners in flight, supporting each other, but whenever Garr demanded blood, Lockhart felt like he was just the other's portable emergency food supply.
That look made him feel very dangerous, but if he abandoned Garr, Lockhart wasn't confident he could survive on his own either.
"Let's go check out that haunted house," Lockhart said, feigning composure. "With any luck, this will be our hiding place."
Garr drank the blood and even licked the leaf clean before transforming into a bat and flying towards the haunted house.
He didn't actually think there was any danger inside; he just wanted to trick Lockhart into giving him some blood.
For a magical creature like Garr, who had some Magic and Vampire abilities, a Wizard's residence was usually quite obvious; he could sense the incongruity from far away.
If a Wizard turned their home into a ruin, they would certainly cast various Expelling Charms nearby, not only to repel Muggles but also dark magical creatures like Vampires.
In other words, a house he could approach easily probably had nothing to do with Wizards.
Garr reasoned this out, didn't beat around the bush much, and confidently approached the old house, then silently landed on the manor wall.
Just as he thought, Garr didn't feel any magical power, and the old house was deserted, appearing to have been abandoned for a long time.
However, the manor wasn't entirely uninhabited—there was a dilapidated wooden shack in the courtyard, from which clinking and clanking sounds emanated.
A bat glided down from the high courtyard wall, lightly clinging to the window of a wooden cabin, its round, beady black eyes peeking through a crack.
Inside, an old Muggle, seventy or eighty years old, hobbled around the room, painstakingly boiling water and grilling a steak. It looked like he was preparing his dinner.
The steak sizzled in the frying pan, and an enticing aroma wafted out. The old Muggle used a spatula to flip the steak, then sprinkled some dark seasoning on it.
— Excellent.
Garr looked at the bulging veins on the old Muggle's neck and the back of his hands, thinking, Now both I and the Wizard con artist will have dinner.
He knew very well that reclusive old men like this were just like the homeless in the city; if they died or disappeared without a trace, no one would care.
The bat opened its mouth, revealing a mouth full of tiny, dense fangs, and its claws prepared to release their grip on the window frame above its head.
He was going to slip inside, transform back into his human form, and then feast.
But just as Garr was about to do so, a keen nerve suddenly twitched, making all the hairs on his body stand on end.
He saw the old Muggle preparing to scoop out the steak, and his hand accidentally touched the scorching hot edge of the pan. Yet, he seemed not to feel the heat at all, still picking up the pan.
The bat was so startled it almost fell. It peered closer, thinking, Could it be that the one inside isn't actually a person, but a Ghoul that just looks like one?
As he watched, he suddenly heard a voice in his ear: "*Expelliarmus!*"
Garr instantly forgot everything, feeling only his soul become light and airy, devoid of worries or troubles.
He unconsciously dropped from the window, transforming back into his human form, a hazy, foolish smile still on his face.
"What's going on?"
A cold, sharp voice asked.
"Master, a Vampire broke in," someone said respectfully.
"Look into his mind... see who sent him..."
"*Legilimency!*"
Scene after scene flashed through Garr's mind like a movie, but he was immersed in an unknown joy and paid no attention to it.
"So it's that Azkaban escapee," the man said with some surprise. "To think he ran all the way here... and he has a companion outside."
...
A group of ants marched in neat formation, their antennae swaying, crawling up and down the cracks in the tree bark.
Behind the large tree, Lockhart picked off the burrs that had somehow gotten stuck to his clothes, peering out occasionally.
After about ten minutes, he saw Garr open the side gate of the manor and stand by the entrance, waving him over grandly, signaling for him to come in.
— It seems this is an abandoned old house; there shouldn't be anyone inside.
Lockhart thought, his mind at ease, and he quickly walked over.
After the two of them entered the manor gates, a rustling sound came from the bushes again, and a large Grim, covered in burrs, silently emerged.
It was about to head towards the manor when it suddenly heard voices nearby. Sirius immediately lowered its body, hiding behind the bushes.
"You've done well, Wormtail," someone said in a cold voice. "Sacrificing your two companions to the Master is enough to prove your loyalty."
Hearing the name "Wormtail," Sirius unconsciously bared its teeth, its claws digging firmly into the mud, its expression full of murderous intent.
It wished it could leap out immediately and tear the traitor's throat, but the content of the other party's conversation forced Sirius to restrain itself.
"Master... has Master forgiven me?" A familiar, cowardly voice trembled, explaining with panic, "I was wholeheartedly devoted to Master, Barty... I, I didn't know the Potter family had such powerful Magic back then..."
The Grim crouched in the dark corner, its muscles twitching beneath its fur, as if ready to burst at any moment. It struggled to control itself from letting out a roar, its eyes burning like embers, gleaming with ferocity.
Barty said condescendingly, "It's not enough, Wormtail. You know sacrificing two useless prisoners isn't enough... But if you can help the Dark Lord resurrect, the Dark Lord will not only forgive your mistakes but also bestow upon you unimaginable glory."
"Resurrection?"
Wormtail gasped tensely, his breathing rapid and chaotic, before he finally asked, "What do you need me to do?"
"The Master needs some ingredients for his resurrection, Wormtail, and you can help," said Barty Jr.
Wormtail sighed in relief and asked, "Okay, what ingredients do you need? I can steal them..."
"Not conventional ingredients," Barty said. "The Dark Lord needs the bone of his father, the flesh of his servant, the blood of his enemy..."
"...Servant, the flesh of his servant?" Wormtail's voice was like a mosquito's buzz. He said tearfully, "I, I am naturally willing to offer... Which part of the flesh does Master need?"
"Are you even worthy, Wormtail?" Barty said scornfully. "Are you even worthy of the Master using your flesh to resurrect? Hmm? You filthy, lowly creature..."
Wormtail sobbed, unsure if he felt humiliated or relieved.
"The blood of his enemy, Wormtail, you must offer the blood of his enemy to the Master—that is, Harry Potter!" Barty said condescendingly. "If you can't do it, you know what kind of punishment you'll receive..."
"Harry Potter?" Wormtail said fearfully. "But... Dumbledore protects him so tightly..."
"There's a chance, Wormtail..."
Barty's voice suddenly lowered, as if he had used a silencing Spell. The Grim couldn't help but press itself against the ground, ears pricked, trying to eavesdrop, but it heard nothing.
It waited and waited, and after a long time, it finally couldn't bear it anymore. It silently circled around the bushes, around the large tree, and ran towards the direction of the voices.
But it saw nothing.
No "Barty," no Wormtail, not even a trace that the two had been there.
Grim lowered its head and circled a few more times, finally confirming from the flattened blades of grass that someone had indeed been standing there before, and those sounds weren't its imagination.
It turned its head, its gray eyes fixed on the manor not far away, gazing for a long time.
Neither the Vampire nor Lockhart, who had run inside, had come back out, nor had there been any further sound.
That ordinary Muggle manor seemed to have transformed into a man-eating monster.
Sirius desperately wanted to dig Wormtail out. He had been tracking him for so long, never getting this close to that rat.
But remembering the crucial information he had just overheard, Sirius ultimately didn't recklessly charge into the manor. After lingering for a while, he decisively turned and ran into the forest.
He needed to get far enough away, then use Apparition to bring the information to Dumbledore.
...
Watching Grim leave, Locke, hanging in the tree, faintly felt a sense of relief—though he didn't need to breathe.
There was naturally no "Wormtail" or "Barty" in the forest. Everything Sirius heard was information Locke deliberately fed them, playing two roles.
It was a Magic Golem; it had no scent, heartbeat, or breath. As long as it remained silent and still, hidden in the tree, Sirius wouldn't have found it at all.
However, Voldemort had already occupied Riddle Manor, and Locke's plan to travel all this way to dig up bones was effectively dead in the water.
—Or perhaps not?
Locke squatted in the tree like an Owl, staring at the distant manor, replaying the "future" information it had received from its master.
I need to go back... I need Rubik's Cube Golem's help, it thought.
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