The new customer appeared to be a young man, but he looked rather unwell, extremely pale.
The old man who was reading the Quibbler newspaper also looked up and squinted his eyes, saying softly, "The old friend is back." However, Aberforth didn't recall ever seeing this face in his bar before.
In fact, most wizards who came here never showed their true faces.
"Just call me Wals," said the pale young wizard, nodding at both Aberforth and the old wizard before casually sitting down at a random spot.
"I'll have a brandy, preferably with some dragon blood."
"Don't have it," Aberforth replied gruffly.
"No dragon blood?"
"No dragon blood, and no brandy either. Just butterbeer and fire whiskey," he said in a take-it-or-leave-it tone.
"Then firewhiskey it is. It's raining outside; I need to warm myself up." Wlas stretched out and leaned back in his chair, then took out the latest issue of the Daily Prophet from his pocket.
He pretended to read, but his eyes kept darting between Aberforth and the old wizard.
It seemed he was more interested in striking up a conversation with them.
But the old wizard, after that initial glance, had returned to his reading with intense focus.
Wals had no way to start a conversation, so he waited until Aberforth brought over his drink. He then set down the newspaper and addressed the familiar, grimy barkeep, "Do they have any leads? I mean, on Sirius Black and Tom Riddle."
"No." Aberforth was not in the mood to talk, and just replied simply.
Wals wasn't ready to let the conversation end. He flicked the newspaper, producing a crisp sound that was particularly sharp in the quiet bar.
"I happen to hear that he was seen here? Tom Riddle."
"Maybe. The Ministry says he might be hiding out in Hogsmeade, but I haven't seen him," Aberforth replied.
"The Ministry of Magic is really incompetent," the old wizard, who had also heard their conversation, joined in. "The goblins are in collusion with the Dark wizards, and they are obviously planning to start another rebellion. But they are negotiating with the goblins. It is as if those greedy and cunning creatures would admit that dead goblins were their men.
"We suppressed a rebellion hundreds of years ago, but ended up giving up Gringotts. I think they might as well give up the Ministry of Magic as well! "The old wizard sneered.
Wals didn't continue the discussion on that topic.
It was clear that power belonged to those with the strongest force.
He was concerned with only two things: the whereabouts of Tom Riddle and ancient magic.
His gaze shifted back to the newspaper.
The Daily Prophet had thoroughly detailed the recent events. Tom Riddle's actions post-escape were much more flamboyant than Sirius Black's.
However, everything someone does has a reason behind it. He wouldn't attack the Ministry of Magic without a purpose, unless he wanted something. Given the incident in the Scottish Highlands, his goal was undoubtedly ancient magic.
Wals wasn't surprised that Tom Riddle sought the secrets of ancient magic.
After all…
'That was the power that almost killed me.'
He lowered his head, his facial features twisting, and another face briefly appeared, with yellowish pupils slitted like those of a cold-blooded animal. He was none other than Voldemort.
After leaving Albania for the second time, he returned all the way to England just to find another "himself".
He was eager to understand how the soul fragment in the Horcrux had been revived. When he created the Horcrux, he hadn't heard of such a thing happening.
The purpose of a Horcrux was to ensure his own immortality, but now, a fragment of his soul seemed to have taken over the control.
Voldemort could not tolerate something beyond his control. Thus, he risked leaving Albania again to investigate whether the revived soul was truly himself.
If it was, and the other party was willing to surrender, then they might be able to join forces to fight Dumbledore together. They can rule Britain, conquer Europe and even the whole world!
All Muggles and wizards would bow at his feet.
The world was vast, and Voldemort didn't mind sharing a small part of it with another version of himself.
But if the revived soul refused to submit—
He would not tolerate any existence beyond his control.
In fact, Voldemort had already formed some suspicions. If the soul resurrected from the diary was truly willing to submit, it would have already gone to Albania to bring him back to this world.
A crimson murderous intent flashed in his eyes.
Voldemort sat there for a while but didn't linger long. Disguised (or not really disguised) as a wizard highly interested in ancient magic, he spent some money before leaving, asking Aberforth to keep an eye out for any news about Tom Riddle or ancient magic.
And then he left.
The body he possessed was weak and constantly required replenishing. This was why he had asked Aberforth for dragon blood as soon as he arrived.
Unlike the time with Quirrell, where Quirrell mostly acted on his own while Voldemort slumbered, this time, Voldemort planned to take control himself.
Now, he had to visit Knockturn Alley to find something to replenish his vitality. Unicorn blood would be ideal, but it was exceedingly rare. Dragon blood, however, would suffice.
Voldemort pushed open the door and stepped into the rain.
The sky was dark; he glanced upwards, and with a snap, he vanished.
Moments later, a golden-winged eagle appeared on the horizon.
Cyrus flew through the rain, and he didn't know that he and Voldemort had almost brushed shoulders.
He cast a spell on himself to make himself invulnerable to water and fire. Taking advantage of the dim weather and the sound of rain, he folded his wings and landed under the eaves of the Hog's Head Inn, his golden pupils like flickering lights in the rainy night.
He looked at the bloodied, horrifying Boar's head on the door.
Despite years of exposure to sun and rain, it neither rotted nor withered; it had been enchanted, or perhaps it was inherently magical.
The Hog's Head Inn had a long history, dating back several centuries at least. Yet the head seemed as if it had been hung there only recently.
Cyrus felt a bit nauseous but meticulously examined every corner of it.
Finally, he found a strange thing in the mouth of the boar's head. He hooked it out with his claws, and a golden key fell out. The tail of the key was half spiral, like smoke and flame.
It was the mark of ancient magic.
Thinking about it now, Cyrus still felt a little surprised. Not long ago, he lived in the Hog's Head Inn every day, and walked under this terrifying pig's head every morning and night. He never thought that the key he had been looking for for so long was actually here.
Now, it was time to pay a visit to Gringotts.
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