'Are you crying because of Voldemort's failure?'
Bryan thought sarcastically as he looked at the dried tear marks on the broken glass. He found it hard to believe that Sirius Black, the notorious traitor who had betrayed his best friends to Voldemort, would shed tears for his fallen master. He had heard enough stories about Black and his fellow Death Eaters to know what kind of ruthless and cruel people they were. They had followed Voldemort out of fear, greed, or twisted ideology, not out of genuine loyalty or affection.
Sirius Black–the one who was called the number one henchman of the Dark Lord, who betrayed the Potters for Voldemort's loyalty, and even ruthlessly turned his other friend Peter Pettigrew into ashes without mercy. He had been captured and sent to Azkaban, the most dreadful prison in the wizarding world, where he had been tormented by Dementors for twelve years. He had escaped from there a few months ago, and had been on the run ever since, pursued by Aurors and bounty hunters alike.
Bryan had no doubt that Black was a guy with a heart of iron, and he was absolutely loyal to Voldemort.
But because of this, he didn't believe he would shed tears here, especially after being tortured by Dementors in Azkaban for twelve years. He should be a villain who was only one step away from madness. It's understandable that he would bring a bunch of flowers to his old master, but why would he be sad and cry?
'Does such a guy still have sadness in his heart?'
Bryan stood silently in the room full of ruins, frowning and falling into thought.
'Did I guess wrong?'
He wondered if he had made a mistake in his deduction. Maybe Sirius's goal was Harry from beginning to end. Maybe he never came to this place. Maybe the bunch of flowers and tear marks in front of him were not left by Black, but by someone else.
Judging from the degree of withering of this bunch of flowers, the person who left the footprints had been away for at least a month or so. In such a long time, all the magic traces in the air had naturally dissipated. Otherwise, Bryan would have some means to trace them using his wand and his skills.
The breeze from the wilderness wandered on the crisscrossing streets of the village. The weeds and nettles growing in the yard swayed gently in the wind, making a rustling sound.
A few petals of the withered lily in front of the picture frame also floated up in the air under the influence of this clear wind, spinning in front of Bryan, and then slowly falling down.
Staring at these yellowish withered petals, Bryan's brow moved slightly and had an idea. He decided to follow a hunch and see if he could find out more about the mysterious visitor who had left these flowers here.
Five minutes later, Bryan returned to the church he had passed by before. Behind the church was a cemetery. A row of tombstones with the same style were neatly arranged in the cemetery. Most of the tombstones had a few bunches of fresh or withered flowers in front of them.
This cemetery was probably specially prepared for the wizards who lived in Godric's Hollow. Bryan stood outside the cemetery and glanced at the engraved words on the nearest tombstones. He recognized some of them as belonging to famous or ancient wizarding families. He came to this conclusion based on his knowledge of wizarding history and culture.
If nothing else, the Potters should also be buried here. However, Bryan did not step into the cemetery to look for them. His purpose for coming back here was not to find their tombstones, but to look back at the direction to the left front of the church. There was a flower shop there.
This small flower shop was full of white or yellow flowers that were often used for mourning. It looked old and quaint, blending in with the rest of the village. When Bryan stood at the door of the shop, a fat woman in her fifties who was facing him was gently wiping the petals of a bunch of white roses. She wore a simple dress and an apron, and had a friendly smile on her face.
'This was a witch.'
Bryan recognized her at a glance from her wand that was tucked behind her ear.
"Hello, ma'am, what should I call you–"
Hearing the greeting, the witch who was immersed in her own world came to her senses and realized that she had a customer in her small shop. She looked up and saw Bryan standing at the door, holding a bunch of lilies wrapped in an old newspaper. She smiled warmly and greeted him back.
"Hello, sir, I'm Irie Tramon, the owner of this flower shop. How can I help you?"
Bryan pretended to be a casual visitor and returned her smile. He pointed to a bunch of lilies with a gentle white color in the flower bucket behind the owner. They looked exactly like the ones he had seen in the Potter's house.
"Oh, that one? No problem, sir,"
The fat flower shop owner moved surprisingly quickly. In less than two minutes, she trimmed the lily branches and leaves, wrapped them in an old newspaper, and handed them to Bryan.
"Twenty pounds, sir–"
Bryan raised his eyebrows and made a difficult look.
"Sorry, Mrs. Tramon, I only have Galleons."
Bryan lied as he took out a few gold coins from his pocket. He pretended to be a wizard who had come to the village to pay his respects to the Potters.
"Ah, you're one of us."
The flower shop owner who was just smiling politely suddenly realized that she had a fellow wizard in front of her. She quickly glanced around to make sure that there was no one else nearby, and then lowered her voice and said,
"You're a wizard? Oh, sir, I have to say, your Muggle outfit is very professional. I didn't recognize it at all."
Bryan was wearing a simple shirt and jeans, which he had bought from a Muggle store. When he showed his wand to Mrs. Tramon as a proof of his identity, She was very enthusiastic and talked to Bryan.
"–Oh, yes, that's right. Many wizards buy flowers from me. Are you also here to pay tribute to the Potters?"
Mrs. Tramon asked curiously as she took the Galleons from Bryan and handed him the lilies he had pointed at. She wrapped them in an old newspaper and tied them with a string. She seemed to be very friendly and talkative.
"So it seems."
Bryan nodded and sniffed the fragrance of the flowers. He smiled casually, but he was actually observing Mrs. Tramon's expression and body language. He wanted to see if she knew anything about the person who had bought the same flowers before him.
"Many wizards come here to mourn them?"
He asked innocently, hoping to get some information from her.
"Of course, they are heroes. And their child defeated the Dark Lord and saved us from fear and despair."
Mrs. Tramon said with a hint of respect and gratitude in her voice. She looked at Bryan with enthusiasm, as if she thought he was one of the Potter's admirers.
"Every year, on the day the Potters were killed, their birthdays, little Harry's birthday, and even their wedding anniversary, there are many wizards who come here from all over to mourn them. The last group of people came here during the summer vacation, probably at the end of July. That seemed to be little Harry's birthday. Oh, I heard a rumor that the villain Black escaped from Azkaban just to deal with him, but I think he will be safe and sound, right? Because Dumbledore is still at Hogwarts!"
Mrs. Tramon said with a mixture of worry and confidence. She seemed to trust Dumbledore's ability to protect Harry from any harm.
"Of course, I agree with you."
Bryan nodded with a smile, but he didn't share her optimism. He knew that Dumbledore was not omnipotent, and that Harry was always in great danger from Voldemort and his followers.
He just wanted to quickly find out who had left those flowers and tears in the Potter's house. He decided to ask her more directly.
"Do you remember who bought flowers from you to mourn the Potters before?"
'Strange question.'
Mrs. Tramon thought so in her heart, but she didn't care too much.
Because in these years of running a flower shop here, she had encountered many strange questions from curious or nosy customers. Some foreign wizards even asked her if she had seen how little Harry defeated that terrible wizard whose name could not be mentioned thirteen years ago!
'Are you kidding me? How could she possibly know that?'
She looked at Bryan with a puzzled expression and shook her head.
"I can't answer your question, sir–"
The flower shop owner pointed her mouth at the cemetery behind the church.
"Look, sir, even on ordinary days, there are many people who come here to buy flowers for their loved ones or friends who are buried there. I can't ask every customer's name and identity, right? And I can't remember every face either. I'm sorry, but I can't help you with that."
This answer was not unexpected for Bryan. And even if the bunch of flowers was really sent by Black, Bryan didn't think he would show up with his original face or name. He would have used some kind of disguise or alias to avoid being recognized. The reason why he asked was just to try his luck and hope that the owner would remember some people who looked more strange or suspicious in their behavior.
"In that case–" Bryan also apologized to Mrs. Tramon with a smile. "Please forgive me for being rude."
The flower shop owner who was ready to end the conversation and deal with her own affairs was stunned when she heard this. She stared at Bryan's eyes and didn't have time to ask why this young wizard said this when she suddenly found out that the young wizard's pair of distinctive purple eyes suddenly glowed brightly. Then, as if the sky collapsed and the earth fell apart, a dark and unfathomable darkness appeared from the pupil of his eye. In an instant, Mrs. Tramon lost consciousness and control of her body.
Huh-——
From the moment they met, Bryan read the memory of the flower shop owner. A frozen picture, a fast-forwarded image with a lot of information, like a wave hitting Bryan who stood on nothingness, making him unconsciously squint his eyes.
Two days, a week, two weeks…
With Mrs. Tramon's perspective, Bryan quickly grasped all the people who had appeared near the church recently.
He saw their faces, their clothes, their expressions, their actions. He filtered out the irrelevant ones and focused on the ones who had bought lilies from her. He looked for any clues that would link them to the person he was looking for.
Bryan had an excellent memory, which might be due to his two-life soul overlap. He had lived in two different worlds, two different times, two different identities. He had experienced many things that most people could not imagine. And his innate extraordinary mental power allowed him to remember clearly the faces of everyone who flashed by in his sight under full concentration and compare them with those wizards he already knew. He was looking for any resemblance or connection that would lead him to the person who had left those flowers and tears in the Potter's house.
The further back he traced, the more blurred the faces of those people in Mrs. Tramon's subconscious memory became. By the time he reached twenty days ago, those people were only vaguely outlined. They looked like shadows or sketches, barely recognizable as human beings.
Bryan was not unable to make Mrs. Tramon remember those people's looks again, but if he did so, he might cause irreparable mental damage to this innocent woman. He didn't want to hurt her or violate her privacy more than necessary. Besides, those vague-faced people didn't make Bryan's tense intuition tremble either, so he didn't do that. He continued to search for the one who could catch his attention.
The memory continued forward: twenty-seven days, twenty-eight days, twenty-nine days-
"I need a bunch of lilies."
In the dusk, a wizard with a cold aura all over his body appeared in front of Bryan's eyes with a very low voice that made the whole memory world suddenly freeze!
In nothingness, Bryan opened his mouth silently in astonishment.
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