harry potter book of crimes

Frank Bryce was a World War I veteran.

He was lucky enough to only catch the tail end of the final victory, which prevented him from leaving his body on the battlefield like his father did.

Before his mother passed away due to excessive grief, she drooped her skinny arms and told Frank that the most important thing was to be safe and stable throughout his life.

But as a young and stubborn man, he hoped to avenge his father.

But again, he was lucky.

When he came back from the battlefield, all that the war had left him was a leg that was so stiff that he couldn't control it, and an extreme aversion to crowds and noise.

Is my father’s revenge considered complete?

Frank never found the answer to this question.

After that, he decided to listen to his mother's advice, find an ordinary job, and live a peaceful life.

At this time, in his hometown, the wealthy Riddle family happened to be looking for a gardener to hire.

This couldn't be better for him - he doesn't need to have very agile legs and feet, and he can stay away from the noisy crowd. He believes that this must be a job that is most suitable for him.

To be honest, the Riddles are a perfect match because they are both equally annoying.

But this has nothing to do with Frank. He doesn't care about the salary. All he wants is to live a stable life - this is his mother's last wish.

But one day nearly five years later, the host's family all died inexplicably at home. Frank, the only one who lived in the Riddle family, was taken away by the police as a suspect.

The villagers immediately started talking about it. After all, this kind of topic will always become a pastime before tea and after dinner.

Just when the situation was extremely serious for Frank, the Riddle family's autopsy report came back, suddenly turning the entire situation around.

The police said they had never seen a more bizarre autopsy report than this.

No one in the Riddle family was harmed by poison, sharp weapons, or pistols, nor was they suffocated or strangled.

In fact, the report was written in a decidedly bewildered tone: All three of the Riddles appeared to be in good health - except for one thing: they were all dead.

The forensic doctors seemed determined to find something wrong with the body.

"Everyone in the Riddle family had a look of horror on their faces."

But as the policeman who was at his wits' end said - who has ever heard of three people being scared to death at the same time?

Since there was no evidence that the Riddles were murdered, the police had no choice but to let Frank go.

To everyone's surprise and suspicion, after the Riddle family was buried in the cemetery, Frank Bryce actually returned to his cabin in the Riddle House garden.

Frank was not too interested in the gossip in the village. He continued to work as his gardener and for the owner of the land.

This work lasted nearly half a century.

Today, Frank is approaching his seventy-seventh birthday.

He is severely deaf and his bad leg is stiffer than before. But when the weather is nice, people can still see him working in the flower garden, even though the weeds are creeping around him.

I can't stop it even if I want to.

Old Frank was actually not too confused. He knew that he was just wasting his efforts.

Besides, it wasn't just weeds that Frank had to deal with - the boys in the village always liked to throw stones at the windows of Riddle House.

As for the smooth grass that Frank spent a lot of effort to maintain, they rode their bicycles and trampled on it at will.

Once or twice, they even broke into the old house in order to bet with each other.

They knew that Frank Sr. cared for the house and grounds wholeheartedly, almost to the point of obsession. So they were willing to see him limping across the garden, waving his cane, and shouting at them in a hoarse voice.

Whenever this happens, they feel particularly happy.

And what about old Frank?

He believed the boys tortured him because, like their parents and grandparents, they thought he was a murderer.

But he has been doing this job for almost his whole life, and he has no reason to interrupt it. This may be for his mother's last wish, but it is also for his own life.

So, on that August night…

Old Frank was awakened from his sleep by the pain in his bad leg again - now that he was getting older, the pain in his leg was getting worse. He got up from the bed, limped downstairs and walked into the kitchen, trying to fill the hot water bottle.

Warm his stiff knees.

He stood by the pool, filling the kettle with water, and looking up at Riddle House habitually.

At this time, he saw the windows upstairs shimmering.

"Those little guys, what new tricks have they come up with to punish me for being such an old bone?" Old Frank thought he had guessed what was going on.

Those boys broke into the old house again. The dim light in the windows was flickering, and it was obvious that they had made a fire.

He quickly put down the kettle, dragged his bad leg, and went back upstairs to get dressed as quickly as possible. Immediately, he returned to the kitchen and took off the rusty old key from the hook next to the door.

Finally, I picked up the crutch leaning against the wall and walked into the night.

There were no signs of forced entry at the Riddle House's front door, and the windows were intact.

Old Frank limped around to the back of the house, stopped at a door that was almost completely covered by the ivy, took out the old key, and opened the door silently.

He hasn't been here for many years.

However, despite the darkness, he still remembered where the door to the corridor was. He groped his way over, and a rotten smell hit his nostrils.

With his ears straightened, he caught every footstep or voice above his head.

When he came to the corridor, there was a little light coming in because of the large grille windows on both sides of the front door.

He started to go upstairs, thinking that thanks to the thick dust on the stone steps, the sound of his footsteps and the sound of his cane were muffled and not easily noticed by others.

On the landing, Old Frank turned to the right and immediately saw where the intruder was - at the top of the corridor, a door was open a crack, and a flickering light came out from the crack.

Casting an orange-yellow light shadow on the dark floor.

Frank leaned sideways and approached carefully, holding the crutch tightly in his hand.

A few steps away from the door, he could see something inside through the slightly open narrow crack.

He saw now that the fire was in the grate - which, to be honest, surprised him.

He stopped and pricked up his ears, only to hear a man's voice coming from the room. The voice seemed a bit stiff and the tone was dry, which was very uncomfortable.

"...Master, Lucius Malfoy is almost here."

"Um……"

Another voice suddenly sounded. It sounded very young, and the tone was soft and full of power. But for some reason, Frank felt that all the hairs on his body stood up, as if he heard something he shouldn't have heard.

"So, where is Wormtail?" the voice asked softly, "how is he doing?"

"died."

"Well, this is also expected," the man said calmly, "but what is the effect?"

"One Auror died, five civilians died, and 22 were injured."

"That's it?" The voice seemed to have become a little heavier, but it was still calm and natural, "Is it because that old guy Dumbledore arrived so quickly?"

"No, it was because of a student, and he was the one who killed Wormtail," the dry voice paused, then continued, "He called himself Macca McClain."

"McLean... a student..." The man seemed to think for a moment, "Oh, besides that kid, who else could it be? Maka McClain... have you ever fought against him?"

"No servant dares to do anything without the master's order."

"...Okay, well, let's go feed the one at the door to Nagini first, and then report the details of the battle in detail."

At this moment, Old Frank felt that the door in front of him suddenly opened wide, and then his entire field of vision turned into darkness. His life ended in such an ordinary way.

At the same time, a figure like Peter Pettigrew, with a rich black aura all over his body, was standing there. He casually grabbed old Frank by the collar and dragged him into the hall of the old house.

As he threw Old Frank forward, a giant snake with the same black energy loomed out of the darkness and swallowed Old Frank's body in one gulp.

Looking at the huge figure that is still mostly hidden in the shadows, it is obviously not much smaller than the Basilisk.

"hiss"

It hissed at the figure, its provocative eyes faintly flashing with the light of wisdom.

…

Just when old Frank was throwing himself into the arms of death, in the cemetery behind the black stone fortress known as "Azkaban", a young man was polishing several thin pieces of stone.

On this silent island, the sound of stones rubbing against each other seemed quite abrupt.

But no one would disturb his work here. He just concentrated on polishing, trying to make the edges of the stone flakes sharper.

No one knows what he wants to do, and of course, no one here is interested.

This boy is naturally Maka who was imprisoned in Azkaban.

"Huh!" He suddenly picked up the stone chip, blew on the stone chips on the surface, looked over it again, and then nodded with satisfaction.

This young man is naturally Maka - before the time comes, all he has to do is wait.

But waiting here all the time was definitely not what he wanted, so he decided to use everything here to continue some of his research.

For Maca, time is very precious, and one cannot completely give up on research and waste time just because of poor conditions.

"Well, not bad."

He picked up the stone shard and made a not too deep scratch on the trunk of a dead tree next to him.