Hogwarts: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me From Studying

Chapter 1198: Chapter 22: Silent Snowfall

The silver memory slowly rotates in the crystal bottle, as if adding a touch of silver to Vid’s eyes.

He opens the Friendship Book and sees Braun’s message on one of the pages—

[...Following the clues, we found the Dream Weaver, a goblin who calls himself Grimson, extremely old and powerful in magic. He easily controlled Abigail, the animals in the forest, and even various devices in his room.

Fortunately, you gave me protective measures in advance, and I was unaffected by that guy, eventually succeeding in slaying him.

Afterwards, we located where that guy stored memories, and Abigail insisted on restoring her own memory. At the moment of restoration—as you predicted—she died of a curse on her heart.

Please do not feel sad about Abigail’s passing—she got the truth she wanted and paid the price for her past.

Before her death, she handed me a memory. I don’t know its contents, but I think it must contain something she wanted to tell you, perhaps also the reason she had to die.

This kind of thing isn’t safe to be transported back to the United Kingdom over long distances by seabirds, and Muggle delivery methods are unreliable. I’ll have Vilan hand it to Mr. Old Gray; you can see it when you go home on vacation.

Mr. Grindelwald has a new task for me, and I will soon set out for Africa. Do you want anything? Let me know, and I’ll bring it back for you.

By the way, how does it feel to be back at Hogwarts? I hope the courses you’ve arranged for yourself aren’t too strenuous.

Loyally yours,

V.N.]

...

On that weekend morning, snow began to fall again, with a rustling sound urging people to sleep a little longer.

However, within the silent snow scene, a figure riding a broom, like a brush stroke painting a dark mark, soared smoothly through the sky of Hogwarts.

The broom passed through a window high on the eighth floor of the castle, smoothly stopping just before hitting the wall.

Vid jumped off the broom, brushed the snowflakes off his shoulder, and looked up to see the tapestry where Silly Barnabas was dancing with the trolls.

He shook his head and came to the opposite side of the tapestry, paced back and forth in front of the blank wall three times, chanting to himself: I need a room with a Pensieve... I need a room with a Pensieve... I need a room with a Pensieve...

Upon his third turn, an ancient and narrow peach wood door appeared on the wall, without any extra decorations, only deep brown marks left by time.

Vid pushed the door open and entered; the simple room had the Pensieve he had seen before quietly resting atop a stone pillar, as if waiting to be used by someone.

He walked to the stone pillar, took a deep breath, pulled the cork from the crystal bottle, and carefully poured the strand of memory into the basin.

The silver light fell to the bottom of the basin without creating any ripple, merely swirling and spreading, emitting a faint silver glow.

Vid didn’t hesitate and leaned closer to the cold silver substance.

In an instant, the world spun, the feeling of weightlessness engulfing him, and from afar came the sound of mixed voices.

Then, one of the voices became clear—

”The family can’t support her anymore; take her away.”

...

While Vid was an observer in a piece of old memory, Harry was lying in bed, sleeping soundly in every direction.

He occasionally furrowed his brow slightly or smacked his lips, as if dreaming.

The quiet sound of snow falling immersed all the boys in the dormitory in dreams, and none woke up early.

Every so often, Harry turned over, and the lock of hair slid off his forehead, revealing that symbolic lightning-shaped scar.

However, ever since Harry was ”killed” by Voldemort once, that scar never hurt again, as if it were merely a common Dark Magic scar.

”Knock, knock, knock!”

In his sleep, he seemed to vaguely hear someone knocking.

Harry grunted, his eyelids feeling like they were glued shut with a Permanent Sticky Spell. He turned over and pulled the quilt over his head, completely blocking out the faint sound.

...

”Knock, knock, knock!”

”Creak——”

The long-abandoned castle was almost completely buried by weeds, and the iron door, covered in rust, let out a hoarse groan. When opened, it revealed the dark silhouette outside.

A low, chuckling voice came from inside: ”Welcome, Lord Voldemort... I am pleased you accepted my invitation.”

Moonlight projected through the gap between branches, gradually revealing the person outside.

Inside the door was an old wizard, face thin, with a quiet scholarly demeanor, silver hair tied at the back, and wearing a deep blue robe of very old style.

Outside the door stood Voldemort, publicly resurrected but thought by many to have failed and died again, tall and slender, his pale skin glowing like a snake’s cold sheen, with only two thin slits where the nose should be, eyes glinting blood red under the moon.

”How did you know I’m still alive?” Voldemort hissed.

”The answer is obvious, young man,” the wizard inside the door smiled. ”Your magic is indeed very wondrous, but it can’t fool everyone.”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes slightly, a trace of murderous intent flashing across his face.

”Don’t act so hastily, Lord,” said the silver-haired wizard as he turned to walk into the bunker. ”I heard about your name long ago—how many times have you been thwarted by that school in your obsession for immortality? Only by cooperating with me can you possibly achieve what you want.”

”I’ve heard of you too!” Voldemort fixed his dangerous gaze on the wizard, saying, ”Sophelus Reck, a man who hides behind Muggles and goblins, keen on sowing chaos. What help can you offer me? Can you make the United Kingdom go to war with other countries?”

Reck laughed: ”Those are mere rumors. If that’s all I could do, would you have accepted my invitation today?”

——Yes, I would.

Voldemort stayed silent, somewhat disappointed at heart: Reck doesn’t intend for the United Kingdom to fall into war? Then what is the point of coming here?

Reck sat by the fire, pouring each of them a glass of rum, then said, ”Be patient, Lord Voldemort. What I’m going to tell you next is about the most mysterious and powerful force in the entire world.”

”As long as you can gain this power, even Dumbledore and Grindelwald would be like bugs you could crush effortlessly. Not just the immortality you desire, but even becoming a god might not be impossible.”