Together [HP]

Villagers in Little Hangleton still refer to the house as "Riddle House," even though the Riddles have not lived here for many years.The house is situated on a hillside from which the whole village can be seen.Several windows of the house were sealed, the tiles on the roof were incomplete, and ivy crawled all over the house with its teeth and claws.The Riddle Hall, which had been a large and handsome house, the largest and most imposing building for miles around, was now damp, desolate, and perennially unoccupied.

Villagers in Little Hangleton agreed that the old house was "scary".Half a century ago, a strange and terrible thing happened here, until now, when the elders in the village have nothing else to talk about, they still like to talk about it.This story has been told over and over again, and it has been embellished in many places, so no one can say for sure what the truth is.Every version of the story, though, begins the same way: 50 years ago, when the Riddles were well-governed and magnificent, a maid came into the drawing-room at dawn on a bright summer day to find the Riddles All three died.

The maid ran screaming all the way down the hill and into the village, trying to wake up as many villagers as she could.

"Lying there, eyes wide open! Cold! In dinner clothes!"

The police were called, and the whole village of Little Hangleton was in amazement and curiosity, and the villagers tried to hide their excitement, but failed.No one wasted any effort in pretending to grieve for the Drills, who were not very popular in the village.The old couple are rich, but they are snobbish and rude. Their grown son Tom, you may not believe it, is actually worse than his parents.What the villagers are concerned about is who the murderer is.Obviously, it is impossible for three seemingly healthy people to die naturally at the same night.

That night, the hanging man's tavern in the village was very busy, and it seemed that the whole village came to talk about the murder.They abandoned their fires, not for nothing, for the Riddle cook came among them dramatically and told the sudden silence of the tavern patrons that a man named Frank Bryce had just been arrested. .

"Frank!" Several people shouted, "Impossible!"

Frank Bryce was the Riddle's gardener.He lived alone in a dilapidated log cabin on the grounds of the Riddle House.Frank had been working for the Riddles since returning from the war with a stiff leg and an extreme distaste for crowds and noise.

People in the tavern scrambled to buy wine for the cook, wanting to hear more details.

"I've always thought he was weird," the cook told the eager villagers after she drank the fourth glass of sherry. , he had to ask him a hundred times before agreeing. He never liked to associate with people."

"Well, how should I put it," said a woman at the bar, "Frank has fought in brutal wars. He likes to live in peace, and we have no reason to..."

"Who else has the key to the back door, then?" said the cook in a rough voice. "I remember that there was a spare key hanging in the gardener's cabin! No one broke into the window last night! It's not broken either! Frank just sneaks into the mansion while we're all asleep..."

The villagers exchanged glances silently.

"I've always found him disgusting like that, really," muttered a man by the bar.

"If I say so, the war made him queer," said the tavernkeeper.

"I told you I didn't want to offend Frank, did I, Dot?" said an emotional woman in the corner.

"The temper is terrible." Dot nodded enthusiastically, and said, "I still remember when he was young..."

The next morning, in the dim, gloomy police station in Little Hangleton, Frank stubbornly repeated over and over that he was innocent.On the day the Riddles died, he said, the only person he saw around the property was a dark-haired, pale teenage boy he didn't know.No one else in the village had ever seen such a boy, and the police decided that Frank had made it up.

Just when the situation was extremely serious for Frank, the autopsy report of the Riddle family came back, which turned the whole situation around at once.

The police had never seen a more outlandish report.A team of doctors examined the body and concluded that no one in the Riddle family had been injured by poison, sharp weapon, explosives, smothered or strangled.In fact (the report went on, in a tone of distinct perplexity), all three of the Riddle family appeared healthy.Except for one thing, they all died.The doctors did notice (as if they were determined to find something wrong with the body) that everyone in the Riddle family had a look of horror on their faces.But as the helpless policeman said, who ever heard of three people being frightened to death at the same time?

Since there was no evidence that the Riddles were murdered, the police had to let Frank out.The Riddles are buried in the churchyard at Little Hangleton, and their graves have been the object of curious attention for some time thereafter.To everyone's surprise and misgiving, Frank Bryce was back in his log cabin on Riddle House grounds.

"I personally think Frank killed them, and I don't care what the police say," Dott said in the Hangedman's Tavern. leave here."

But Frank didn't leave, he stayed and tended the gardens for the next family at the Riddle House, and then worked for the family below.Neither family lived very long.Perhaps partly because of Frank, the new owners said, they always found the place eerie.Later, due to no one lived in it, the house gradually fell into disrepair and became dilapidated.

The rich man who had recently owned Riddle neither lived here nor used the house for anything.People in the village said he kept it for "tax reasons," but no one knew exactly how.However, the wealthy homeowner continued to pay Frank as a gardener.Now approaching his seventy-seventh birthday, Frank is deaf and his bad leg is stiffer than ever, but he can still be seen dawdling about in the flower beds in fine weather, though The weeds were creeping towards him, and he couldn't stop them even if he wanted to.

And it wasn't just weeds that Frank had to deal with.The boys in the village were always throwing stones at the windows of the Riddle House.Frank took great pains to keep the grass level, but they rode their bicycles on it.Once or twice, they broke into the old house in order to make a bet with each other.They knew old Frank's care, almost obsessively, of the house and grounds, and they liked to see him limping across the grounds, waving his stick, and shouting at them in a hoarse voice, whenever , they feel very happy.As for Frank, he believed that the boys tortured him because they, like their parents and grandparents, thought he was a murderer.Therefore, when Frank woke up that August night and saw strange movements above the old house, he thought the boys had come up with a new trick to punish him.

Frank was woken up by the pain in his bad leg, which was getting worse now that he was getting older.He got up from the bed and limped downstairs into the kitchen, trying to fill the hot water bottle and warm his stiff knees.Standing by the sink, filling the jug, he lifted it up and looked toward the Riddle House, where he saw a faint light in the upstairs windows.Frank knew immediately what was going on.The boys had broken into the old house again, and the dim light flickered and flickered, and it could be seen that they still had a fire.

There was no telephone installed in Frank's room. Ever since the police took him for interrogation because of the sudden death of the Riddle family, he had a deep distrust of the police.He hurriedly put down the kettle, dragged his bad leg, and went back upstairs as fast as he could, got dressed, and then went back to the kitchen.He took the old rusty key from the hook by the door, picked up the crutch leaning against the wall, and walked into the night.

The front door of the Riddle House showed no signs of being forced into, and the windows were intact.Frank limped around the back of the house, stopped by a door that was almost completely hidden by creepers, took out the old key, inserted it in the lock, and opened the door soundlessly.

Frank walked into the cavernous dark kitchen he hadn't been in for years.But, despite the darkness, his friends remembered where the door to the corridor was.He groped and walked over, a rotten smell came to his nostrils.He pricked up his ears, picking up every sound of footsteps or voices overhead.He came to the corridor, which let in some light because of the large mullioned windows on either side of the front door.He began to go upstairs, thinking that thanks to the thick dust on the stone steps, the sound of his footsteps and crutches was muffled and hardly noticed.

On the landing, Frank turned right and saw immediately where the intruder was.Just at the top of the corridor, a door was ajar, and a flickering gleam of light shot through the crack, casting an orange-yellow shadow on the dark floor.Frank leaned sideways and approached cautiously, clutching his cane tightly in his hand.A few steps from the door, he could see the scene through a narrow gap in the room.

He saw now that the fire was lit in the hearth.This surprised him.He stopped in his tracks and pricked up his ears, only to hear a man's voice coming from the room, the voice seemed timid and frightened.

"There's still some in the bottle, master, if you're still hungry, drink some more."

"Stay a while," said another voice.It was a man too, but his voice was strangely high-pitched, and as cold as the wind.Somehow the sound made the thinning hair on the back of Frank's neck stand on end. "Move me to the fire, Wormtail."

Frank pressed his right ear to the door, trying to hear better.There was a clatter of a bottle on something solid, and then the screech of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor.Frank caught a glimpse of a small man pushing a chair with his back to the door.He wore a long black cloak and had a bald patch on the back of his head.Then, he disappeared again.

"Where's Nagini?" the cold voice asked.

"I-I don't know, master," said the first voice nervously, "I think it's been looking around the house..."

"Give him milk once before we go to bed, Wormtail," said the second voice. "I need another meal in the night. I'm worn out from the journey."

Frank frowned, pressed his good ear to the door again, and listened hard.There was a moment of silence in the room, and then the man called Wormtail spoke again.

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

"A week," said the chilling voice, "maybe longer. The place is comfortable enough, and the plan can't be carried out yet. It would be unwise to rush until the Quidditch World Cup is over."

Frank stuck a gnarled finger into his ear and twirled it a few times.There must have been too much earwax, and he couldn't even hear the strange word "Quidditch".

"Qui, the Quidditch World Cup, Master?" said Wormtail. (Frank fingers his ear harder.) "Excuse me, but I, I don't understand, why should we wait until the World Cup is over?"

"Fool, because at this time, wizards are pouring into this country from all over the world, and those meddling guys from the Ministry of Magic are all dispatched. They stand guard, pay attention to whether there is any unusual activity, and repeatedly check everyone's identity. They are single-minded. Just wanting to be safe, safe, in case the Muggles notice something. So we have to wait."

Frank stopped picking his ears.He heard the words 'Ministry of Magic', 'wizard' and 'Muggles' exactly.Obviously, these words all have occult meanings, and as far as Frank knows, there are only two kinds of people who speak code words: spies and criminals.Frank gripped the cane more tightly and listened more intently.

"So the master's determination has not changed?" Wormtail asked softly.

"Of course not, Wormtail." There was now a menacing tone in that cold voice.

There was a moment's silence, and then Wormtail spoke, his words pouring from his mouth like a swift river, as if he was forcing himself to finish before losing his nerve.

"It can be done without Harry Potter, my lord."

There was silence again, longer than before, and then.

"No Harry Potter?" asked the second voice softly. "I see……"

"Master, I don't say this out of concern for the boy!" said Wormtail, his voice suddenly rising and becoming shrill. "I don't care about that boy, not at all! I just think if we use another wizard, male or female, it can be settled quickly! If you will allow me to leave you for a little while, you know I Can disguise myself as much as I want, and I'll be back here in two days with a suitable candidate..."

"I can use another wizard," said the cold voice softly, "that's a good idea..."

"Master, this is reasonable." Wormtail said, his tone much more relaxed, "It is too difficult to harm Harry Potter, he is now under strict protection..."

"So you offered to find me a replacement? I guess... perhaps this job of serving me has bored you, haven't you, Wormtail? Are you suggesting that you abandon your original plan because you just want to abandon me? Woolen cloth?"

"Master! I, I have no intention of leaving you, not at all..."

"Don't lie to me!" hissed a second voice. "I know everything, Wormtail! You've been regretting coming back to me. I've disgusted you. I can see that you're going to die the moment you see me." Cringe, I feel you trembling every time you touch me..."

"No! I am loyal to my master."

"What loyalty, you're just a coward. If you had anywhere else to go, you'd never come here. And me, I need you to feed me every few hours, how can I live without you Go down? Who will nurse Nagini?"

"But you look much stronger, my lord."

"Liar," whispered the second voice, "I'm not getting stronger, and a few days will take away what little of the strength I've regained under your careless care. Be quiet!"

Wormtail, who was stammering and talking incoherently, fell silent at once.For a few seconds, Frank could only hear the crackling of the flames.Then, the second voice spoke again, very low, like a throaty hiss.

"I use that boy for my own reasons, I have explained to you, I will not use anyone else. I have been waiting for 13 years, and it doesn't matter if I wait a few more months. As for the strictness of the boy Protection, I'm sure my plan will work. A little courage is needed now, Wormtail, unless you want to feel Voldemort throw a fit."

"Master, let me say a word!" said Wormtail, with panic in his voice, "I've been turning that plan over and over in my head all the way. Master, the disappearance of Bertha Jorkins will soon cause People's attention, if we go any further, if I kill,''

"What if?" whispered the second voice, "what if? If you go with my plan, Wormtail, the Ministry will never know who else died. You do it quietly and without fuss. I really Wish I could do it myself, but as I am... come here, Wormtail, one more death will put us on the road to Harry Potter. I'm not asking you to do it alone. At that time, my faithful servant will join us."

"I'm just a faithful servant," said Wormtail, with a hint of displeasure in his voice.

"Wormtail, I need someone with brains, someone who is absolutely loyal to me and will never waver, and you, unfortunately, meet neither of these conditions."

"I found you," said Wormtail, with obvious irritation in his voice. "I found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins."

"That's true," said the second man jokingly, "I didn't expect you to say such clever things, Wormtail, but, to tell you the truth, when you got that woman, you didn't Didn't realize how useful she was, did you?"

"I-I know she'll be useful, Master."

"A lie," said the second voice again, with more pronounced icy banter, "but I don't deny that the information she gave was valuable. If it weren't for that information, I wouldn't have been able to figure out our plan, Well, Wormtail, you will be rewarded. I allow you to perform a very important task for me, which many of my followers are eager to complete..."

"Yes, is it, Master? What?" Wormtail's voice became panicked again.

"Ah, Wormtail, are you trying to spoil this surprise? You're the last one to come in... But I assure you, you'll be as useful as Bertha Jorkins."

"You...you..." Wormtail's voice suddenly became hoarse, his mouth seemed to have become very dry, "you...you want...to kill me too?"

"Wormtail, Wormtail," said the cold voice smoothly, "why did I kill you? I killed Bertha Jorkins because I had to. She was useless after my interrogation, Totally useless. Anyway, if she comes back to the Ministry with the news that she met you on holiday, people will ask a lot of embarrassing questions. Shouldn't a wizard who should be dead be in a roadside inn Meeting a witch from the Ministry of Magic..."

Wormtail muttered something more, too low for Frank to catch, but what he said made the second man laugh, a very sinister laugh, as chilling as his words.

"We could have changed her memory, couldn't we? But the Forgetting Curse won't work when you meet a powerful wizard. I have confirmed this when I interrogated her. Don't use the information I got from her , it's an insult to her memory too, Wormtail."

In the hallway outside, Frank suddenly realized that his hands clutching the cane were drenched with sweat.A man with a cold voice kills a woman.When he talked about it, there was no trace of remorse, and he used a joking tone.This man is dangerous, a desperado.He is also planning to kill more people, the boy, named Harry Potter, who is not known, is in danger now.

Frank knew what he had to do.It's time to call the police.He was going to sneak out of the old house and run straight to the telephone booth in the village... But the cold voice spoke again, and Frank stayed where he was, as if he was frozen, trying to concentrate on listening.

"Kill one more man... my faithful servant at Hogwarts... Harry Potter is doomed, Wormtail. It's settled, there's nothing more to say. Hold on, you keep quiet... ...I seem to hear Nagini's voice..."

Then the second man's voice changed, and he made noises Frank had never heard before; he hissed and purred incessantly.Frank thought he must be ill.

At this moment, Frank heard movement in the dark blunt voice behind him.He turned around and froze in fright.

Something slithered across the dark blunt floor towards him.As the thing drew nearer to the firelight that shone through the chink of the door, he saw to his horror that it was a gigantic snake, at least twelve feet long.Frank stood transfixed with horror, watching its undulating body make a wide, meandering track through the thick dust on the floor as it slowly drew nearer.What should he do?If he wanted to escape, he could only escape into the room where the two men were plotting to murder, but if he stayed where he was, the snake would definitely bite him to death.

Before he could make up his mind, the giant snake was already lying in front of him, and then it slid past miraculously and unbelievably.It heeded the call of that icy hissing purr behind the door, and seconds later its diamond-patterned tail disappeared through the crack of the door.

At this time, beads of sweat were dripping from Frank's forehead, and the hand holding the crutch was shaking non-stop.In the room, the cold voice continued to hiss, and Frank suddenly had a strange idea, a ridiculous idea... This man can talk to snakes.

Frank didn't understand what the hell was going on with all this.What he longed for most now was to return to bed with the hot water bottle in his arms.The problem is that his legs don't seem to want to move.He stood there, trembling all over.He struggled to control himself.At this moment, the cold voice suddenly spoke human words again.

"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail," said the voice.

"Yes, is it, Master?" said Wormtail.

"Of course it is," said the voice. "According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing outside this room right now, listening to us every word we have to say."

Frank had no chance to hide. Footsteps were heard inside, and the door was suddenly opened.

In front of Frank stood a short, balding man with gray hair, a pointed nose, small watery eyes, and an expression of fear and concern on his face.

"Bring him in, Wormtail. Why are you so impolite?"

The cold voice came from the ancient armchair in front of the fireplace, but Frank could not see the speaker.And the snake was already entangled on the tattered carpet in front of the fireplace, as if imitating a pug, looking very hideous.

Wormtail beckoned Frank into the house.Frank limped across the threshold, clutching his crutches tightly despite the terrific tremors all over his body.

The fire was the only source of light in the room, and it cast long, cobweb-like shadows on the walls.Frank stared at the back of the armchair. The man sitting in it seemed smaller than his servant Wormtail, and Frank couldn't even see the back of his head.

"Did you hear everything, Muggle?" asked the cold voice.

"What did you call me?" Frank said forcefully, emboldened now that he was in the room, now that he had to do something.This is often the case on the battlefield.

"I call you a Muggle," said the voice coldly, "that means you're not a wizard."

"I don't know what you mean by wizards," said Frank, his voice getting evener. "All I know is that what I heard tonight was enough to interest the police. You killed people and still Planning to kill more people! I still want to tell you," he said with a sudden inspiration, "My wife knows I'm here, if I don't go back..."

"You have no wife," said the cold voice slowly. "No one knows you are here. You have not told anyone that you are here. Muggle, don't lie to Lord Voldemort, he knows everything... what all know……"

"What did you say?" said Frank gruffly. "My lord, did you? Well, I don't think you're very well-mannered, my lord! Why don't you turn your face away at me like a man?"

"Because I'm not a man, Muggle," said the cold voice, so low that it was almost drowned out by the crackling of the fire, "I'm much more than a man. But... well! I'll face you Just a moment... Wormtail, come and turn my chair around."

The servant let out a whimper.

"Did you hear that, Wormtail!"

The little man scowled, as if the last thing he wanted to do was to approach his master, the snake-ridden rug; he stepped forward slowly and began to turn the armchair.The snake raised its ugly triangular head and hissed slightly as the chair legs hit the carpet.