"Darling, are you joking?" Narcissa, sitting at the dining table, let out an incredulous shriek.
"I don't think I am," Draco said calmly.
"I do not agree. How can there be homework during Christmas, and requiring travel so far away? Tell me, was this arranged by that giant teacher of yours?" Narcissa slammed her hand hard against the mahogany dining table. "I must have your father dismiss him. It is hard to imagine that Hogwarts would hire a murderer as a teacher."
"Oh, Mother, he is only a caretaker now," Draco explained slowly. "This is merely an extracurricular assignment for Potions; it is not mandatory. But shouldn't your son aim to be the best? Every task should be completed perfectly, shouldn't it?" Draco paused for a moment and added, "The Potions professor is named Severus Snape. You should know him…"
"Snape," Narcissa repeated the name once. "He seems to have worked with your father before, but I still do not agree." After thinking for a moment, Narcissa said, "Are you truly willing to leave your mother alone at home during Christmas just to travel off by yourself?" As she spoke, Narcissa seemed to be trying to squeeze tears from her eyes.
Draco was momentarily speechless.
"I'm back." A middle-aged man's somewhat gloomy voice suddenly came from the marble fireplace.
"Mother, I think Father can keep you company now," Draco said, his tone carrying an involuntary hint of relief.
"Always gone when he should be here, and returning when he shouldn't." Compared with Draco, Narcissa's tone was far more displeased.
The travel-worn Lucius looked somewhat bewildered. He walked to the dining table and took a sip of honeyed tea, after which Draco explained the situation to him.
"People of the House of Malfoy are not reckless, but neither are they lacking in courage," Lucius said, turning to Draco. "Father certainly supports you."
"Back in my day, I also—"
"Enough. It's not as if I don't know about your little affairs." Narcissa was in a very poor mood at the moment, so she interrupted Lucius just as he began reminiscing.
Interrupted, Lucius smiled awkwardly and stopped speaking, clearly unwilling to argue with Narcissa while she was angry.
After finishing lunch, Draco said goodbye to his parents and began his journey for the day.
Before setting off completely, he specifically visited a Muggle market and purchased several beef bones, though it was unclear what he intended to do with them.
The villagers of Little Hangleton still called the house "Riddle Manor," even though the Riddle family had not lived there for many years.
The house stood on a hillside from which the entire village could be seen.
Several windows were boarded up, the roof tiles were incomplete, and ivy crept aggressively over the walls.
Riddle Manor had once been a beautiful mansion and the most magnificent building for miles around, but now it had become damp, desolate, and uninhabited for years.
Today, however, the mansion welcomed a small guest with pale blond hair carrying a black bag in his hand.
Draco walked along the broad road, and along the way, several curious villagers asked him where he was going. Any unfamiliar face appearing in such a small village naturally drew attention.
When Draco mentioned his destination, every villager's expression changed. Clearly, the mansion carried an eerie reputation. The murder case from fifty years earlier had left a deep impression on the village.
After their attempts to dissuade him failed, the villagers shook their heads and walked away helplessly, puzzled by the boy's behaviour, because no one willingly approached that increasingly desolate house.
Except for Frank, who served as the caretaker of the estate, a gardener.
He had been the primary suspect in the murder case fifty years ago. He had fought in the war, and the villagers speculated that his mind had been affected by it, leading him to murder the Riddle family.
The police also suspected him and took him to the station. Frank vehemently denied the accusations, stubbornly repeating that he was innocent.
He said that on the day the Riddle family died, the only person he saw near the manor was a teenage boy he did not recognize, with black hair and a pale face. No one else in the village had seen such a boy, and the police concluded that Frank had fabricated the story.
However, the autopsy report left the police baffled; they had never seen a stranger report.
A team of doctors examined the bodies and concluded that none of the Riddle family had suffered from poison, sharp weapons, or gunshot wounds, nor had they been suffocated or strangled.
In fact (the report continued in a perplexed tone), all three members of the Riddle family appeared perfectly healthy—except for one thing: they were dead.
The doctors did notice (as though determined to find something wrong) that each of them wore expressions of terror—but, as the baffled police asked, who had ever heard of three people dying of fright at the same time?
Frank was released.
What surprised people even more was that he returned to his small cabin on the grounds of Riddle Manor.
The new owner of the mansion neither lived there nor made use of it. However, the wealthy owner continued to pay Frank to maintain the grounds.
"Knock, knock, knock." The front door of the mansion was struck.
Frank slowly rose from the reclining chair in the yard, leaning on his cane as he limped towards the door. Perhaps because of old battlefield injuries, or perhaps due to age, one of his legs was stiff, and he relied heavily on the cane.
As he walked, Frank wondered who could be visiting.
"It certainly wouldn't be those little brats; they aren't that polite," Frank thought to himself.
The boys in the village liked throwing stones at the windows of Riddle Manor. Frank had worked hard to keep the lawn flat, yet they rode their bicycles across it whenever they pleased. Once or twice, they had even broken into the manor to dare one another.
He believed the reason they tormented him was that, like their parents and grandparents, they believed he was a murderer.
The door opened slowly, the old hinges scraping loudly against the ground.
"Oh, child, what business do you have here?" After opening the door, Frank saw a strange boy with pale skin and light blond hair. Unlike the village brats, this boy carried a refined air. Looking at Draco, Frank suddenly remembered the pale-faced, black-haired boy he had seen many years before.
"Go to sleep. Sorry," Draco said softly, raising his wand. "Stupefy!"
A red flash shot from the tip of the wand and struck Frank.
His body slowly collapsed onto the lawn, and he fell unconscious.
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