Little Hangleton, Riddle House.
The reason this place was called Riddle House was, naturally, because the owners of the manor were the Riddle family.
However, this family had all died suddenly half a century ago, under peculiar circumstances, as if they had been frightened to death.
The case eventually became a complete cold case; the police never caught the culprit, and it was left unresolved.
Meanwhile, inside Riddle House, which had been abandoned for half a century, Peter stood respectfully to the side, his body trembling.
"Where is Nagini?" a high-pitched, incredibly strange-sounding voice rang out.
Peter replied in his usual stammering voice.
"I-I do not know, Master. It must have gone off to hunt for prey on its own."
"When you see it later, feed it some milk. We will feed it before we sleep; it must not go hungry."
Peter asked tremblingly.
"H-how much longer must we stay here, Master?"
"At least a week," the cold voice said. "At least until the Quidditch World Cup is over. We cannot make any moves for the time being. This place is comfortable enough."
"Master, why must we wait until the Quidditch World Cup is over?"
"During the World Cup, too many people will come here. Those Aurors will certainly be on high alert. No major disturbances can occur during the tournament, or it would make the British Ministry of Magic the laughingstock of the world."
The voice paused for a moment, then suddenly added in a low tone.
"Oh, actually, this might not necessarily be a bad opportunity..."
Peter swallowed, clearly very nervous, but there were some things he had to say.
"M-Master, it is clear that your ambitions have not changed."
"Of course they haven't, Wormtail." The cold voice seemed to carry a threatening tone.
"B-but why must you choose me?" Peter hunched his shoulders, his face deathly pale. "I am cowardly and useless, and my strength is not outstanding..."
The scene fell into silence. Peter, trembling and looking panicked, hurriedly added.
"I am still infinitely loyal to you, Master. Even if I had to offer my life, I would be willing, but... but I am afraid that I am useless and will ruin your plans."
"So you are volunteering to find a replacement for me? I suspect... perhaps this job of serving me has made you weary, hasn't it, Wormtail? You suggest abandoning the original plan—is it just because you want to abandon me?"
"Master! I... I have no intention of leaving you, none at all—"
"Do not lie to me!" the voice hissed. "I know everything, Wormtail! You have been regretting coming back to me. I disgust you. I can see you cringing whenever you see me, and I can feel you trembling whenever you touch me..."
"That is not true! I am loyal to you, Master—"
"What loyalty? You are merely cowardly. If you had anywhere else to go, you would never have come here. And as for me, I need you to feed me every few hours; how could I survive without you? Who would feed Nagini?"
"But you seem much stronger, Master—"
"Ah, yes, a strong Wizard who needs to be fed by someone else—is that what you think, Wormtail?"
"I hate it when people lie to me, but you are necessary," the cold voice said softly. "You are the first servant to find me. Although you are not that smart or that loyal, what you represent is important. You are my optimal choice, just as the other optimal choice is Harry Potter."
Peter's face was deathly pale—a kind of unnatural pallor that could not be explained by mere fear or nervousness.
He opened his mouth as if to continue, but fear of another matter made him close it again; he did not have the courage to say anything.
Meanwhile, over two hundred kilometres away, at the Dursley family home on Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Harry suddenly sat up in bed.
He was panting heavily, his hand covering the burning scar on his forehead, his mind involuntarily recalling the dream he had just had.
At this moment, a transparent figure floated out, looking at him with a worried expression.
"Is that scar burning again?" Lily asked.
Harry looked at his mother, who was by his side, and the nervousness and inexplicable fear in his heart diminished significantly.
"I had a strange dream, Mom."
Lily sat gently by his bed, extending a transparent hand. Even though she could not touch Harry, she still stroked his hair softly.
"Was it a nightmare?"
Harry stared straight at the ceiling and said.
"I dreamed that in an old house, Peter was kneeling before that person, and they seemed to be planning something."
Lily's hand trembled visibly.
"That person?"
Harry spoke the name that was forbidden in the Wizarding World.
"Lord Voldemort. I did not see him, but I recognised his voice."
Lily's eyes became grave.
She knew better than Harry that this was not a minor, accidental matter.
"This is very different, Harry. You cannot keep this a secret; you must tell someone you trust, like Professor Dumbledore."
But Harry shook his head.
"I do not know where Professor Dumbledore is now, Mom. And how would I write to him? Should I say in the letter that my scar is hurting again?"
"What about Professor Cavendish? The magic on your forehead was researched by him; he will surely know what to write."
Lily's words reminded Harry, and he sat up excitedly.
"Right, Professor Cavendish! He lives on Magnolia Crescent, not far from me. The holidays have been going on for almost a month, and I haven't gone to see him yet!"
With Lily by Harry's side, she could not only provide him with motherly companionship but also offer him some adult advice on certain matters.
Harry lay back down in bed, but he was no longer sleepy and stayed awake until dawn.
Lily did not stay out with him the whole time; Harry remembered Sherlock's instructions to let Lily out for at most one hour a day.
In the early morning, while Aunt Petunia was busy with breakfast in the kitchen, and Dudley was clutching his stomach, pounding on the bathroom door and roaring in pain for Uncle Vernon to hurry up, Harry snuck out of the Dursley family home.
The morning air was nice. He jogged and greeted Mrs Figg, who was out for a walk.
This old lady was a neighbour of the Dursley family and the only person willing to help look after Harry when they were away.
Watching Harry running into the distance, Mrs Figg narrowed her eyes, turned around, and muttered to herself.
"Looking for him? Then there is no need for me to follow..."