"I'm sorry, please forgive me for being rude,"
Bryan said apologetically as he stood at the threshold of the ruined house.
"After all, this is also for your child Harry Potter–"
He lowered his head respectfully as he spoke to the place where Lily and James Potter had once lived. Although he had been unaware of the existence of the wizarding world when they were killed by Voldemort twelve years ago, he still felt a deep admiration for these brave wizards who had sacrificed their lives for their son and their cause.
Bryan used his wand to remove the entire iron door that blocked his entrance and levitated it gently into the yard. The door was completely rusted from years of neglect; not only were the bolts hidden behind it corroded beyond repair, but also the hinges that connected it to the door frame were barely holding together.
The scene behind the door matched what Bryan had expected to find: a house frozen in time, untouched by anyone since that fateful night. The hall, dining room, living room and all the furnishings within his sight were covered with a thick layer of white ash that had settled from the explosion of Voldemort's curse. In the dimly lit room, the air was silent and stale, filled with a rotten smell that betrayed the decay of the wooden structure.
The floor in the house was made of wood, and it had suffered the most from the passage of time. The dust on the surface obscured its original color, but Bryan could see the traces of corrosion and wormholes that had eaten away at the planks. He wondered if the floor could support his weight, or if he would cause the whole house to collapse in a domino effect if he stepped on it.
He decided not to take any chances and waved his wand again, making himself float up in the air and controlling his body to move slowly forward.
But everything he saw was gray and dull, and there was no sign of anything valuable or interesting. Bryan only lingered in the dining room for a while, examining the furniture and objects that had been damaged by the duel that had taken place there.
One side of the duel was James Potter, Harry's father and a talented Auror. The other side was Voldemort, the most evil Dark Lord in history. The outcome of the duel was obvious, but Bryan wanted to know more about how it had unfolded.
The damage caused by the duel was not too extensive. Bryan noticed a few black holes on the wall and a radially cracked floor where spells had hit. He tried to reconstruct the scene of the duel in his mind, based on the evidence before him.
"–A duel that differed by many levels. James Potter probably released two or three spells, but they were blocked by Voldemort's shield and bounced back to the floor and wall. Strange,"
Bryan muttered to himself. "Even if James Potter's skills are similar to Lupin's, in that situation, he should have been hysterical and unleashed more powerful spells that would have caused more damage to the room. But- Oh!, I see, Voldemort must have been very murderous at that time. He unleashed powerful dark magic that destabilized the magic in this area. Ordinary wizards might have been unable to cast even a simple levitation spell under that circumstance."
Bryan knew from his own experience that There were many factors that could determine the outcome of a duel between wizards below the 'Grand Magus' level, such as dueling skills, the power and versatility of the spells they mastered, and even luck could play a key role. But when one's strength got closer to that limit, individual magic became more important, and the effect of spells was diminished. Because for wizards at this level, any offensive spell could be lethal to their opponents. For example, Bryan himself, if he wanted to do so, he could easily make a stunning spell fatal.
So it was absurd to expect to deal with wizards like Albus Dumbledore by relying on numbers and sneak attacks.
"–Purely interfering with the environment with magic and thoughts, making wizards in a certain area unable to use normal standard spells is not impossible, but it is more deterrent than practical."
After briefly speculating on Voldemort's strength in his mind, Bryan's expression became slightly solemn. With his current ability, he would not have a problem to fight a short-term high-intensity duel with Dumbledore or Voldemort. Even because of his physical advantage brought by his age, he might not necessarily be at a disadvantage. But once he couldn't finish the fight quickly and then flee immediately, he would be very passive for him. Because he had not yet reached that 'limit' that separated the ordinary from the extraordinary.
Bryan carefully checked the first floor of the house, but the result made him feel disappointed. Because he didn't find anything wrong or unusual. He scanned the surroundings carefully, looking for any signs of intrusion or tampering. He had expected to find some traces of other wizards who had visited the house over the years, either out of curiosity or reverence. But to his surprise, he found none. From the thick layer of dust and ash that covered everything, he deduced that no one had entered here for more than ten years.
After confirming this point, Bryan turned his attention to the shaky stairs that led to the second floor. He didn't want to risk breaking them with his weight, so he floated up along them like a ghost, using his wand to control his movement. He hoped to find something more interesting upstairs, where the final confrontation between Voldemort and the Potters had taken place.
There were three bedrooms and a bathroom on the second floor of the old house. Two of them had closed doors that looked untouched by time. The door panels were corroded by rust and the paint was peeling off in flakes.
Only one bedroom door was open wide. That was the one that Bryan had spotted from outside before. Half of its wall had been blasted away by a powerful curse that left a gaping hole.
After a brief silence, Bryan moved towards that room. He held his breath unconsciously as he approached those strands of light that shone silvery-white under sunlight exposure . The next second, he moved forward another two feet, and then turned around abruptly.
The moment everything in this room filled with rubble and tiles came into his view, Bryan's slightly tensed shoulders relaxed, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Still left some flaws, right–"
In the ruined room, there was a pile of rubble about five feet high stacked on a collapsed bed. It was the remains of the crib where Harry Potter had slept as a baby, where he had received his famous lightning-shaped scar from Voldemort's curse. The crib had been blown apart by the force of the explosion, along with most of the wall behind it. Because of being exposed to the wind and sun, the rest of the furnishings in the room had also become rotten garbage.
Only at the head of the bed, a broken photo frame that had fallen from the wall still maintained a relatively intact shape. What made Bryan happy was not the photo frame with faded photos of Lily and James Potter smiling happily with their son, but the bunch of dried flowers that had almost lost all their moisture in front of the photo frame, and a string of footprints in front of the photo frame, a string of footprints that continued to the big hole in the room.
All the wizards who came to pay tribute to the Potters over the years had left their flowers on the wooden sign and flower stand specially prepared by the Ministry of Magic outside the house. They had respected the privacy and sanctity of this place, and had not dared to enter without permission. But there was one person who had unexpectedly entered the room and placed a bunch of flowers in front of the Potter's family portrait.
"Hiss, something is wrong–"
Having finally found some clues, Bryan's mood was undoubtedly elated. He stared at the yellowed white lily without getting any closer. A sense of unease suddenly rose in his heart.
"Black," he muttered under his breath. "Isn't he the traitor who caused the death of the Potters? Why would he do this? Could it be that he was regretting his previous betrayal?
Oh, I see.
This is where Voldemort met his downfall. So he was mourning his master."
Bryan's frowning brows stretched out, proud of his own wit. He glanced around the room, his eyes stayed on the pile of rubble on the bed for a few seconds, and confirmed that there were no traps or curses hidden among them. Then he floated into the room and stopped in front of the photo frame.
Because it was exposed to the outside, there was much less dust on the floor in the room than on the first floor. It was only a thin layer that barely covered its original color. When his eyes fell on the broken glass covering the blurred photo, Bryan's brow furrowed again unconsciously. He raised his head again and looked around everything in the room. After a while, he bent down and fiddled with a few pieces of rubble on the bed.
"Very dry, it hasn't rained here recently–"
Bryan stared at the dust in his palm without a trace of moisture, his expression becoming serious.
"Then."
He lowered his head and looked at the dried water droplets on the blocky broken glass covered with a thin layer of dust. They were scattered radially, as if they had been splashed by some liquid. He narrowed his eyes and realized what they were.
"Tears have flowed. This is not right."
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