Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

This wardrobe had stood the test of time and had not turned into dust like other items in the house.

But it was in very bad condition. The cabinet door on the left was open, the one on the right was completely missing, and the internal compartments were filled with thick dust.

On the dust were some shards of glass and a lot of what looked like some kind of animal bones.

It should be snake bones; that was what Evan thought, they were dark and arranged in a certain pattern.

A slender spine and pairs of ribs, the long body hovering, giving an unpleasant sight!

Perhaps Morfin had killed the snake and hid it here, and there was no skull on the bones.

This kind of bone was difficult to weather and corrode. The snake might have had its head chopped off before it died, or it might have been taken away by subsequent intruders who found it interesting.

But these did not affect the overall situation; the magic power was changing around here.

“This is it, Professor,” said Evan.

“Yes, this is it!” Dumbledore replied softly, carefully examining the wardrobe, seeming a bit disappointed. “It’s too low-level. Riddle is the most outstanding student I have ever taught. I thought his performance at sixteen would be different from all the others. After all, he was not so evil then. I thought he would give us a little surprise, but some things seem to be destined.”

His tone was full of contempt and obvious disappointment.

The next second, Dumbledore tapped the edge of the cabinet hard with his wand.

With a thumping sound, a black drawer appeared below.

The drawer was entirely black, matching the color of the cabinet.

Only where the lock was originally located at the front, a snake-like head bone sculpture appeared instead. It was the snake head they had not seen just now.

Its upper and lower jaws were opened exaggeratedly, almost to one hundred and eighty degrees, with two sharp teeth on top and a row of fine teeth below.

Following the open mouth, there was a circular hole inside the snake’s body, extending into the drawer.

“It seems we have to pay a price again!” Evan sighed and looked at the cabinet and the snake head that had appeared.

Voldemort’s magic design was indeed straightforward and brutal, crystal clear.

He obviously hoped that the enemy would put his hand in and let the fangs of the bone snake bite him hard, causing some blood or even losing a finger.

Just the thought of that scene was painful, and what was even worse was that it was probably poisonous.

Evan was not sure if there was anything else in this drawer besides the ring. What if they put their fingers in and something inside did something to them…

Voldemort used this fear to make people feel scared, lose courage, and lose their lives in painful torment.

Compared to Voldemort decades later, the fifteen-year-old Riddle left behind much less powerful magic, but it was equally lethal.

And Evan knew that the more dreadful trick was actually in the ring itself; this was just an appetizer.

“It’s meaningless. He firmly believed in that philosophy, trying to weaken the opponent as much as possible. From the beginning to the end, he failed to understand that there are many things much more terrible than physical harm,” said Dumbledore disappointedly, pulling up the sleeves of his robes. He shook his head and showed his left hand.

“Professor, is there no other way to break this magic?” Evan said hurriedly. “Or let me do it!”

Although Dumbledore said it was meaningless, he could not deny its harmful power.

“Sometimes, sacrifices are unavoidable, Evan!” Dumbledore smiled, putting his index finger of his left hand into the open mouth of the bone snake. “As I said before, you are more valuable than me, so let me handle this.”

Evan nervously watched Dumbledore’s left hand. For a moment, it seemed like nothing happened.

But in the blink of an eye, the jaws of the bone snake viciously snapped shut, biting down on Dumbledore’s index finger.

Dark red blood gushed out from the wound, sliding down the fingertip and into the drawer.

Tick, tick, maybe it was an illusion, Evan even heard the sound of the bone snake swallowing blood.

Dumbledore’s body was trembling slightly, and after three seconds, he withdrew his hand.

Evan could see the blood on it and the deep wound, especially the two circular punctures at the top.

The fangs of this bone snake seemed to have directly bitten through his finger bone, and the scene looked shocking.

The wand slid gently, but the wound had not healed and was still bleeding.

Dumbledore muttered something in his mouth and waved his wand again. The deep wound slowly healed, and the color was obviously different from the surrounding skin.

“Are you alright, professor?” Evan looked at him worriedly.

Obviously, Voldemort had left behind other spells, making Dumbledore’s first healing spell ineffective.

“Don’t worry, I will recover,” said Dumbledore, his expression unchanged as if he hadn’t been the one bitten. “We are lucky, because over time, the magic left by Voldemort on this has weakened; or rather the effect is not that strong and will not be fatal. This is usually the case with potions. Left out in the open, they gradually evaporate or dissipate until they are completely ineffective. Well, let us see what is inside this drawer now!”

He opened the drawer, but there was no magical glow, unremarkable as if he had simply opened an ordinary old drawer.

All the blood that Dumbledore had just shed disappeared, and Evan saw the ring inside the drawer.

On the ring was a huge black gemstone, the very thing they had come to find, along with a yellowed old photograph.

This photo had been once torn into pieces, but was taped back together bit by bit, and it was wrinkled and creased. Not a magic fix, just plain old duct tape.

It was a photo of Voldemort’s father, Tom Riddle Sr., and his mother, Merope, together. The two of them were in a humble little house, wearing very shabby clothes, but Merope had a happy smile on her face.

It was hard to believe that such a smile could appear on the face of this girl filled with suffering.

Although their life was still very difficult, Merope’s smile was full of happiness and hope.

She clung to her husband, Tom Riddle Sr., like a wife. Riddle still looked handsome, but there was no smile on his face.

His expression was completely different from Merope’s, as if two people from different worlds and situations were forcibly pieced together into one photo.

A crack tore across his face horizontally. Evan was not sure if it had been done by Voldemort. Then the fragments were carelessly stuck together with tape. The folds between the gaps made his face distorted, looking ghastly, sinister and scary.

As far as Evan knew, this was probably the only photo of Tom Riddle and Merope that had been handed down.

It was no wonder they had such a hard time.

By leaving it here, Voldemort must have completely given up the last trace of love for his parents in his heart.

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