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Chapter 177: Riddle Manor
To the British, a pub was far more than just a place to drink—it was a vital social hub where people gathered to chat, watch television, and unwind after a long, busy day. Even in remote villages, you’d always find at least one or two small pubs standing proudly on the edge of the road.
McKee ran a pub in Little Hangleton Village. Midday sunlight slanted through the window as he polished a glass, chatting casually with a regular customer.
“Hear tell there were two outsiders yesterday?” Pete, a longtime patron, asked.
“Ah, yes,” McKee replied, winking. “Dressed like they’d stepped out of a history book—definitely some city trend. Two men, booked a room.”
“Oh… so they’re one of those couples,” Pete said, nodding knowingly—then immediately frowned.
Though public figures had increasingly spoken out in favor of accepting different lifestyles, and rumors swirled about legalizing same-sex marriage, old prejudices still clung tightly in places like this. To Pete, a man of his years, such things remained unnatural.
“You know where they’re from?” Pete pressed.
“Didn’t ask,” McKee shrugged. “But the accent… sounded like London. They said ‘this’ like ‘dis’.”
A creak echoed up the stairs. McKee gave Pete a quick glance. The two fell silent instantly.
Pete feigned casualness, eyes drifting toward the staircase.
First came a middle-aged man with silvering hair, dressed in a well-tailored dark suit and an open robe. Nothing striking about him—yet there was something quietly steady, resilient, in his presence.
Pete’s jaw tightened.
Then came the second figure.
His breath caught. The beer in his mouth erupted in a spray. He spun toward McKee, eyes blazing with fury.
“What the hell is that?” Pete hissed, voice low and furious. “That’s a child! He’s just some kid tagging along with an adult! What kind of filthy rumor are you spreading?”
“What child?” McKee blinked, genuinely confused. He looked up—and froze.
Pete spat in disdain.
…
Wade Gray and Remus Lupin stepped out of the pub, surveying the village.
They’d passed through here once before, with Dumbledore in a hurry—barely noticing anything. Now, standing on the wide country road, Wade could clearly see a grand yet decaying mansion nestled on the slope of a nearby hill.
Two boys zipped down the road on bicycles, laughing wildly.
A hunched, one-legged old man hobbled after them, waving his cane and shouting angrily. He never caught up. The boys only laughed harder.
“Are we going there?” Remus asked, glancing at the manor.
“No, certainly not,” Wade said. “That’s where Voldemort’s father lived. We’re going the other way—where his mother once lived.”
The weight of those words hung heavy.
Remus had never known this before. For a moment, he nearly thought he’d misheard. He fell silent, processing the implications.
Wade walked like any ordinary tourist, following the winding path out of the village. Then he pulled out a bottle of potion, labeled Life-and-Death Elixir.
A powerful sleeping draught.
He pointed his wand at the bottle and murmured, “Mist Enveloping.”
Under his spell, the liquid mixed with the moisture in the air, forming a swirling, ethereal mist. It crept forward like a tide, spreading through the village.
The boys racing down the hill suddenly yawned. Their legs gave out. They dropped their bikes and curled up in a patch of shade, instantly asleep.
Inside the pub, the argument died mid-sentence.
McKee stared at Pete, who was already slumped unconscious over the table.
“What… in Merlin’s name…?” McKee muttered, rubbing his eyes. His eyelids grew heavy. “I’ll just… take a quick nap…”
He slumped forward and was soon snoring.
On the hillside, the gardener at Riddle Manor—still the one-legged old man—rubbed his eyes, then dropped his cane and collapsed onto the sofa, snoring almost immediately.
Within seconds, silence fell over Little Hangleton.
Even the ants on the lampposts, the mice in their burrows, the guard dog barking in its kennel—all succumbed to sleep.
Remus Lupin watched, utterly awed. “I’ve never seen anyone use a potion like that… Your weather spell is truly impressive.”
“Thanks to Mr. Scamander,” Wade said. “His teachings changed everything.”
“How long will this last?” Remus asked. “The potion?”
“Two or three hours, at most,” Wade replied. “Enough time to finish what we came for—without interruptions.”
They followed a narrow footpath deeper into the woods, toward the ruined Gaunt House. Wade took the opportunity to explain their mission.
“Before… during Sirius Black’s retrial, Dumbledore brought me here. He showed me Voldemort’s past—the path he walked before becoming what he was.”
“Both of Voldemort’s parents were born nearby. His mother, Merope Gaunt, used a Love Potion to ensnare a Muggle man living in that mansion. And from that union, Voldemort was born.”
“She was a descendant of Slytherin.”
“You said my Inferno Flame Theory was advanced enough to try in practice, didn’t you?”
“Instead of burning some unknown cave,” Wade continued, “I’d rather use it here.”
“Using Inferno Flame in a forest like this is incredibly dangerous,” Remus warned. “One misstep, and you could start a giant wildfire.”
“Not if you’re here,” Wade said with a sly grin. “I know if my spell goes wrong, you’ll stop it.”
Remus smiled. “Of course.”
A pause. Then he asked, “So… is this Dumbledore’s order?”
“No,” Wade said firmly. “Not at all. This is entirely my own idea.”
He couldn’t afford for Dumbledore to notice this place.
He feared history repeating itself—the old headmaster’s unquenchable hunger for the Resurrection Stone, the same temptation that had nearly cost him his life before. If Dumbledore got involved now, this journey might become not just difficult—but impossible.
And with Wade’s abilities, he didn’t believe he could stop a Dumbledore consumed by fanaticism, not if it came to that.
So the less connection, the better.
They walked for a while longer, until finally, they saw it—a small, crumbling hut half-buried in brambles and weeds.
“Ready?” Remus raised his wand. “Let’s clear the area first.”
(End of Chapter)
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