Hogwarts: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me From Studying

Chapter 617: Chapter 8: Riddle Manor

Dumbledore listened quietly until the conversation concluded.

Sirius did not see the two people speaking, even in the memory, there were only dense bushes and green leaves swaying around.

Wormtail’s voice was full of tremors and nervousness, just like the impression he left in the past.

It seems that even in the Death Eaters camp he pledged allegiance to, Peter Pettigrew had not gained the respect or trust he deserved, and Dumbledore was not at all surprised by this.

As for the other person, his voice was hoarse and deep, completely different from Barty Crouch Jr. as they had known him. However, they could not conclude from this alone that the person was not Barty Crouch Jr.

After all, even if he hadn’t died in Azkaban, with so many years past, whatever he experienced was unknown to outsiders, and significant change was understandable.

He might have used transfiguration or magic potion to transform completely into another person, operating outside under another identity, only Death Eater companions knowing who he truly was.

If anything, if his voice matched Dumbledore’s memory exactly, the headmaster could be certain the guy was a fake.

Thus, Dumbledore did not distract himself with recognizing the voice but focused on the content of what was said. After listening, he tapped the Pensieve with his wand, and the images and sounds in the air vanished, leaving only the silvery memories spinning peacefully.

Sirius said eagerly, ”Dumbledore, is that person really Barty Crouch Jr.? Was his death back then suspicious?”

Dumbledore pondered for a moment and said, ”Voldemort has not truly resurrected yet, he must be in a very weakened state now. For someone he can trust at such a time, and who can easily overpower Lockhart and Gall Trocar... there are very few among the Death Eaters.”

Take Malfoy for example, that guy is a fair-weather friend, Voldemort would only have him grovel when he was strong, but when the Dark Lord was weak, he would never let Malfoy know his whereabouts.

Sirius was momentarily speechless.

So... is he Barty Crouch Jr.? Does his father, Barty Crouch, have issues too?

He opened his mouth, about to ask further, when he suddenly realized—that without solid evidence, Dumbledore wouldn’t easily share his speculations.

After all, Barty Crouch is currently the head of the International Magical Cooperation Department; his prestige may not be what it used to be, yet many people still trust and respect him far more than the Minister of Magic, Fudge.

”They’re after Harry,” Sirius asked dangerously, ”Dumbledore, I remember that place. Should we...”

Sirius gestured a slicing motion across his neck, the meaning very clear.

Dumbledore exchanged a brief look with him and said, ”Leave this matter to me. Your task is just one, Sirius.”

”What is it?” Sirius leaned forward, asking urgently.

”Protect Harry well,” Dumbledore said. ”That is the most important.”

...

The locked iron gate silently opened amidst the silence, Dumbledore walked through the weed-overgrown garden, his wand gently waving, an invisible ripple spreading out.

The surrounding was eerily quiet, not even insects chirped; only the cold night wind continued to blow, letting the old man’s silver beard and hair flutter along.

To others, this courtyard seemed empty and desolate, but to Dumbledore, traces of magic were everywhere.

Yet the source of magic had already departed from here.

He passed a wooden house and heard the sound of water droplets falling inside. Dumbledore glanced inside and saw an old man fallen on the ground, his gray eyes staring at the sky, already dead.

On the nearby table, an aluminum kettle had been knocked over, water continuously dripped along the table edge.

Next to the kettle was a plate of steak, half-eaten, a dark fork haphazardly placed aside.

Dumbledore moved through the courtyard, tapping the front door lock with his wand, and after a soft click, he opened the door and went in.

The corridor and entrance hall were covered in dust and had a rotting smell, it seemed no one had entered for a long time.

Tracking the magic traces, he began climbing the stairs, reaching the top of the staircase, walking down the corridor, until he finally saw a meticulously maintained room.

The room was spotless, thick curtains blocked the outside sunlight, the floor covered with soft Persian carpets, and there were embers still igniting in the fireplace.

A table next to it held a water cup and small bowl, the porcelain bowl contained an exquisite silver spoon, and some white liquid remained at the bottom, looking like some rare magic potion.

Dumbledore stepped forward, his brow suddenly raised slightly.

Blood-red light suddenly shone from beneath the plush carpet fibers, if not at night, it would likely be well-hidden.

”Boom—”

If someone were standing in the courtyard looking up, they would see a thick cloud of dark green smoke bursting from a room upstairs.

Shortly after, as if time was rewinding, the ominous smoke contracted in a short period, leaving only a faint, foul-smelling odor in the air.

Not long after, Dumbledore came down from upstairs, except for his hat being slightly crooked, he looked no different from when he had gone up.

Subsequently, Dumbledore also visited a nearby cemetery, unsurprisingly finding a grave split open in the middle, its remains vanished.

The old man stood silently by the empty grave and sighed.

He was increasingly convinced that the person assisting Voldemort in his resurrection must be Barty Crouch Jr.

Voldemort is an arrogant person; even if Lockhart and Gall Trocar barged into his hideout, after discovering they were merely desperate fugitives during interrogation, he might kill them or force them to work for him, yet he wouldn’t hastily relocate.

But after experiencing imprisonment and escape, and hiding without exposure for over a decade, Barty Crouch Jr. had such caution and would choose a safer option.

From some Death Eaters, Dumbledore learned that Barty Crouch Jr. and Voldemort had once been extremely close. Voldemort treated him like his own son, and the young man regarded Voldemort as his father.

Thus, Barty Crouch Jr. could possibly persuade Voldemort to choose a safer plan, other Death Eaters wouldn’t necessarily.

They even took Tom Riddle—Voldemort’s father’s remains.

But this act left Dumbledore feeling slightly discordant.

If they didn’t want to expose their hideout, why did the timid Wormtail dare bring Lockhart and Gall Trocar here?

Dumbledore stood in the desolate cemetery, his eyes slightly narrowed, gazing into the distance, fingers lightly caressing the ancient wand, recalling every detail.