HP Parallel World

The villagers of Little Hangleton still call this house "Riddle House", even though the Riddle family has not lived here for many years. The house is located on a hillside, and the entire village can be seen from here. Several doors of the house

The windows were boarded up, the tiles on the roof were missing, and ivy was crawling all over the house. Riddle House was originally a beautiful mansion, the most spacious and imposing building for miles around.

, but now it has become humid, desolate, and uninhabited all year round.

The villagers of Little Hangleton unanimously believe that this old house is "weird and scary." Half a century ago, a bizarre and terrifying thing happened here. Until now, the elders in the village still talk about it when they have nothing else to talk about.

I like to bring this matter up and talk about it. This story has been told repeatedly by people, and many places have been enriched, so no one can say for sure what the truth is. However, every version of the story starts with the same

It starts in this way: Fifty years ago, when Riddle was still well-managed and magnificent, at dawn on a sunny summer day, a maid walked into the living room and found that all three members of the Riddle family were dead.

The maid screamed all the way down the hillside and ran into the village, trying to wake up as many villagers as possible.

"They are all lying down with their eyes wide open! They are all cold! They are still wearing their dinner clothes!"

The police were called, and the entire village of Little Hangleton was immersed in surprise and curiosity. The villagers tried their best to conceal their inner excitement, but failed. No one wasted effort, pretending to feel sad for the Derill family, because they were in the village

Their popularity is very bad. The old couple are very rich, but they are snobbish and rude. Their adult son Tom, you may not believe it, is actually a bit 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 of natural causes at the same time on the same night.

That night, the business of the Hanged Man's Tavern in the village was particularly prosperous. It seemed that the whole village came to talk about the murder. They abandoned the stove at home, but it was not for nothing, because the cook of the Riddle family arrived dramatically.

Among them, and telling the suddenly quiet tavern patrons, a man named Frank Bryce had just been arrested.

"Frank!" several people shouted, "No way!"

Frank Bryce was the gardener of the Riddle family. He lived alone in a shabby cabin in the garden of the Riddle house. Frank came back from the war that year, one of his legs was so stiff that he couldn't control it, and he was angry with the crowd.

He was extremely averse to noise and has been working for the Riddle family ever since.

People in the tavern rushed to buy drinks for the cook, wanting to hear more details.

"I have long thought he was strange," the cook told the villagers who were listening eagerly after drinking her fourth glass of sherry. "He is cold and uncommunicative. I believe that if I want to invite him to a cup of tea,

, I had to ask him a hundred times before he agreed. He never likes to interact with others."

"Well, how should I put it," said a woman next to the bar, "Frank has participated in a cruel war. He likes to live a peaceful life, and we have no reason to-"

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"So, who else has the key to the back door?" the cook said gruffly, "I remember that there was a spare key hanging in the gardener's cabin! No one broke in last night! The window

It's not broken! Frank just needs to sneak into the big house while we are all asleep..."

The villagers exchanged glances silently.

"I've always found him to be very annoying, really." A man next to the bar muttered.

"If you let me tell you, it was the war that made him weird," said the tavern owner.

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

"He has a terrible temper." Dot nodded enthusiastically and said, "I still remember when he was little..."

The next morning, in the dark, gloomy police station in Little Hangleton, Frank stubbornly repeated over and over again that he was innocent. He said that on the day the Riddles died, he met them near the house.

The only person who arrived was a teenage boy he didn't recognize. The boy had dark hair and a pale face. No one else in the village had seen such a boy, and the police concluded that Frank had made it up out of thin air.

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 had never seen a more bizarre report than this. A team of doctors examined the bodies and concluded that none of the Riddles had been harmed by poison, sharp objects, pistols, suffocation or death.

Strangled. In fact (the report went on with obvious confusion), all three of the Riddles looked healthy - except for one thing: they were all dead. The doctors noticed (it seemed they

Determined to find something wrong on the body), everyone in the Riddle family had a look of horror on their faces - but as the police who were at a loss said, who had ever heard of three people being frightened at the same time?

Where is the dead one?

Since there was no evidence that the Riddles had been murdered, the police had to release Frank. The Riddles were buried in the churchyard of Little Hangleton, and their graves have been the subject of curiosity for some time.

To everyone's surprise and suspicion, Frank Bryce actually returned to his cabin in the grounds of Riddle House.

"Personally, I think Frank killed them, and I don't care what the police say." Dot said in the Hanged Man's Tavern. "If he knew a little bit more and knew that we all knew what he did, he would

leave here."

But Frank didn't leave. He stayed on, tending the gardens for the next people to live in Riddle House, and then working for the family below them—neither of which stayed very long. Maybe some of them, the new owner said,

It was probably because of Frank that they always felt that this place had an eerie and scary feel. Later, due to no one living in it, the house gradually fell into disrepair and became dilapidated.

The rich man who recently owned Riddle neither lived here nor had any use for the house. 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 to be a gardener. Frank was about to celebrate his seventy-seventh birthday. He was severely deaf and his bad leg was stiffer than before, but the weather

On good days, people could still see him working diligently in the flower garden, even though the weeds were creeping towards him and he couldn't stop them even if he wanted to.

Besides, Frank had to deal with more than just weeds. The boys in the village always liked to throw stones at the windows of the Riddle House. Frank took great pains to keep the grass smooth, but they rode their bicycles and trampled on it.

Once or twice, they even broke into the old house to bet 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 crutches and shouting at them in a hoarse voice, they felt particularly happy every time. As for Frank, he believed that the reason why these boys tortured him was because, like their parents and grandparents, they thought he was

A murderer. Therefore, when Frank woke up that August night and saw unusual movements in the old house, he thought the boys had come up with a new trick to punish him.

Frank woke up from the pain in his bad leg. 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 a hot water bottle to warm his stiff body.

Knees. He stood by the sink, filling the kettle, and looked up towards the Riddle House. He saw the upstairs windows shining dimly. Frank immediately understood what was going on. The boys had broken into the old house again.

, the shimmering light flickered, and it was clear that they had made a fire.

There was no telephone in Frank's house. Ever since the police took him for interrogation over the sudden death of the Riddle family, he had a deep sense of distrust towards the police. He quickly put down the kettle and dragged the

Bad Legs returned upstairs as quickly as possible, got dressed, and immediately returned to the kitchen. He took off the rusty old key from the hook next to the door, picked up the crutch leaning against the wall, and walked into the night

among.

There were no signs of forced entry at the Riddle House's front door, and the windows were intact. Frank limped around to the back of the house, stopped at a door almost completely obscured by an ivy, and pulled out the old key.

, inserted it into the keyhole, and opened the door silently.

Frank walked into the cave-like dark kitchen. He had not been in it for many years. However, even though it was pitch dark, he still remembered exactly where the door leading to the corridor was. He groped his way over, and there was a rotten smell.

It hit his nose. He pricked up his ears, catching every footstep or voice above his head. He came to the corridor, where there was a little light because of the large mullioned windows on both sides of the front door. He started to go upstairs.

At the same time, he thought that thanks to the thick dust on the stone steps, the sound of his footsteps and cane were muffled and difficult for others to detect.

On the landing, 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 shot out from the crack in the dark.

An orange-yellow light shadow was cast on the wooden floor. Frank leaned sideways and approached carefully, holding the cane tightly in his hand. A few steps away from the door, he could see a narrow gap in the room.

scene in.

He now saw that the fire was in the fireplace. This surprised him. He stopped and pricked up his ears, only to hear a man's voice coming from the room. The voice sounded timid and scared.

"There's still more in the bottle, Master. If you're still hungry, just drink a little more."

"Stay a while." Another voice said. It was also a man - but the voice was strangely high-pitched and as cold as the cold wind. Somehow, this voice made the sparse hair on the back of Frank's neck stand up.

"Move me to the fire, Wormtail."

Frank put his right ear against the door to hear better. There was the clink of a bottle on something solid, and then the screeching sound of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor.

There was a scraping sound. Frank caught a glimpse of a small man, with his back to the door, pushing a chair. He was wearing a long black cloak and had a bald spot on the back of his head. Then, he disappeared again.

"Where is Nagini?" the cold voice asked.

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

"You feed him some milk before we go to bed, Wormtail," said the second voice. "I need another meal at night. I'm exhausted from the journey."

Frank frowned and put his good ear against the door again, listening hard. The room was silent for a moment, and then the man known as Wormtail spoke again.

"Master, can I ask, how long will we stay here?"

"A week," said the chilly voice, "maybe even longer. This place is quite comfortable, and the plan can't be implemented yet. It would be unwise to act hastily before the Quidditch World Cup is over."

Frank put a rough finger into his ear and turned it a few times. There must have been too much earwax accumulation, and he actually heard such a strange word as "Quidditch", which was completely meaningless.

"The Quidditch World Cup, Master?" Wormtail said. (Frank dug his fingers harder into his ears.) "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 all the nosy guys from the Ministry of Magic are out. They are standing guard, watching for any unusual activities, and repeatedly checking everyone's identity. They are single-minded.

Just thinking about safety, safety, and fearing that Muggles might notice something. So we have to wait."

Frank stopped picking his ears. He heard the words "Ministry of Magic", "wizard" and "Muggle" accurately. Obviously, these words have mysterious meanings, and as far as Frank knows, only two kinds of people can

Speaking code words: spies and criminals. Frank gripped the crutch tighter and listened more intently.

"So, Master's determination has not changed?" Wormtail asked softly.

"Of course it hasn't changed, Wormtail." The cold voice now had a threatening tone.

There was a moment of silence - then Wormtail spoke, his words flowing out of his mouth like a rushing river, as if he was forcing himself to finish before losing his courage.