Two ragged men stumbled out of the forest, half-walking, half-rolling down the narrow mountain path.
On the hillside stood an imposing mansion. But the roof tiles were broken, the windows were boarded up, and the walls were covered with wild, clawing ivy—it looked completely desolate.
The two men swallowed nervously and hid behind a tree, eyeing the house that looked like something out of a ghost story.
"This place looks abandoned," one man said. "Maybe we can get a few days of peaceful rest there."
"You know," the other replied, "old houses like this usually come with centuries-old ghost stories."
They exchanged a glance.
Gale saw desire in Lockhart's eyes—this wizard has suffered a lot recently. He is desperate for somewhere to rest properly.
So desperate, in fact, he had nearly forgotten the sheer, soul-crushing terror he'd felt when he'd been captured by vampires and used as living food.
Lockhart, on the other hand, saw caution in Gale's eyes—this bat truly lives up to being a close relative of rats, as timid as one too.
They stared each other down, neither willing to back off.
"What's so scary about ghosts?" Lockhart said. "Back at Hogwarts, I saw ghosts every day."
"I'm not afraid of ghosts. I'm afraid there are people inside," Gale replied.
"A haunted mansion in the middle of nowhere, a perfectly good house with no one living in it—don't you think that sounds familiar? You wizards love hiding out in places like that."
At the mention of that sensitive word—wizards—Lockhart instinctively tensed and gripped his wand tightly.
His own wand had been snapped by those wretched vampires, but luckily, Gale had grabbed another wand for him when he escaped.
It didn't feel quite right in his hand, but at least it worked.
Clutching the wand brought back some of Lockhart's courage.
"I didn't sense any magic around here… at least no Muggle-repelling charms. If there is someone inside, they're probably not a wizard. And even if they are, they're probably some ancient weirdo who still thinks it's the 1800s."
Lockhart added persuasively, "I've dealt with plenty of that kind—piece of cake. Just catch them off guard and hit them with a Memory Charm—problem solved."
Gale was tempted, but still hesitant.
Lockhart pressed on: "What are you afraid of? You can fly in as a bat first and scope it out! If there's someone, they're your food; if not, we've got ourselves a shelter for a while… It's almost dark, Gale, and it's been nothing but cloudy days lately."
Gale couldn't help but shiver.
Darkness was normal. Cloudy days were normal in the UK. But for the two of them, this kind of gloomy weather always brought one terrible thought to mind—Dementors.
The day Gale carried Lockhart and escaped from Hogsmeade, he discovered there were Aurors lying in ambush nearby. He was even sure that one of the wizards saw him, but perhaps because the group of vampires posed a bigger threat, the Aurors didn't chase after them.
To avoid being dragged back to Azkaban, Lockhart cast all kinds of concealment and shielding charms on the two of them. While this kept the Aurors from tracking them, it also unfortunately cut Gale off from receiving any help from his uncle.
Since then, the two had completely severed ties with the wizarding world, constantly on the run and hiding in fear. Every time the weather turned bad, they had to immediately find shelter.
They had hidden in tree hollows, lived in caves, taken cover in sewers, and even once squeezed into the trunk of a car. The only thing they hadn't done was crawl into an actual mouse hole.
—They still didn't know that the Ministry of Magic, to avoid affecting the Quidditch World Cup, had already sent all the Dementors back to Azkaban.
It wasn't just Lockhart who longed for a safe and comfortable place to stay—Gale was also reaching his limit.
So after a bit of coaxing from Lockhart, Gale was swayed, but he made a demand of his own.
"Let me drink a little," Gale said, licking his lips. "I haven't eaten in two days. I've got no strength at all. If something dangerous happens, I won't even be able to fly fast enough."
"No way," Lockhart refused. "There's a village down the hill. Go steal a chicken or a pig. That'll feed us both."
"No. Muggles will notice quickly, raise a fuss and call the police, and that might draw the Ministry's attention," Gale said firmly.
Whether human or animal, corpses drained of blood were very likely to be found suspicious, and Gale wasn't willing to take that risk.
"The Ministry's not that sharp," Lockhart muttered.
But when he saw Gale standing motionless, after a few seconds, Lockhart finally relented.
"You got a cup?"
Of course Gale didn't carry a cup around with him. He plucked a broad leaf, rolled it into the shape of a cup, and stared expectantly at Lockhart.
Left with no choice, Lockhart drew his wand and pointed it at his own wrist. A thin wound suddenly opened, and bright red blood began to flow.
Gale's eyes turned blood-red in an instant.
Once about half a leaf's worth had been collected, Lockhart immediately healed the wound. When he looked up and saw the greedy, ravenous look in Gale's eyes, he felt a chill down his spine.
Normally, they were partners—on the run together, helping each other survive. But every time Gale asked for blood, Lockhart couldn't shake the feeling that he was just a backup meal the vampire kept on hand.
That look made him feel incredibly unsafe. But without Gale, Lockhart wasn't sure he could survive alone.
"Go check out that haunted house," Lockhart said, pretending to stay calm. "If we're lucky, it'll be our new hiding place."
Gale finished drinking, even licked the leaf clean, then turned into a bat and flew toward the spooky mansion.
He actually didn't think there was any real danger inside—he just wanted an excuse to drink some blood.
For a dark magical being like Gale, who had both vampire powers and a bit of magical skill, places where wizards lived were quite obvious. Even from a distance, he could sense that strange magical aura.
And if a wizard had truly made their home look like a ruin, they would've cast all sorts of repelling spells nearby—not just to keep Muggles out, but to ward off dark magical beings like vampires too.
In other words, if he could approach the house so easily, it probably had nothing to do with wizards.
After reasoning this out, Gale didn't bother sneaking around and confidently approached the old house, silently landing on the estate's outer wall.
Just as he had thought, Gale sensed no magical power. The house was abandoned and desolate, clearly left unused for a long time.
But the estate wasn't entirely uninhabited—there was a small, ramshackle wooden hut in the courtyard, and the sound of clattering could be heard from within.
The bat glided down from the tall wall and lightly hung outside the hut's window, and its round, beady black eyes peeked inside through a gap.
Inside the room was a seventy- or eighty-year-old Muggle, limping back and forth as he clumsily boiled water and grilled a pork chop. It seemed he was preparing his dinner.
The chop sizzled in the pan, releasing a mouthwatering aroma. The old Muggle flipped it with a spatula and sprinkled some dark seasoning over it.
—Perfect.
Gale eyed the bulging veins on the old man's neck and the backs of his hands, thinking, Now the wizard fraud and I both have dinner.
He knew full well that reclusive old men like this were just like the homeless in the city—if they died or vanished without a trace, nobody would really care.
The bat opened its mouth, revealing rows of fine, sharp teeth. Its claws readied to release their grip on the window ledge above.
He was going to sneak in, shift back into human form, and enjoy a feast before doing anything else.
But just as Gale was about to move, some sharp instinct suddenly flared—and a chill ran down his spine.
He saw the old Muggle bump his hand against the hot rim of the pan while trying to take out the pork chop. But the man didn't react to the heat at all—he picked up the pan as if it wasn't even hot.
The bat nearly fell off in shock. He moved in closer and thought, Wait… is that even a real person? Could it be a ghoul that just looks like one?
As he stared, a voice suddenly echoed by his ear: "Stupefy!"
Gale instantly forgot everything. His soul felt like it was floating—light and unburdened, free of worry or fear.
He dropped from the window and reverted to human form, with a dazed and foolish smile still on his face.
"What is it?" A cold, sharp voice asked.
"Master, a vampire has intruded," someone answered respectfully.
"Look into his mind… see who sent him…"
"Legilimens!"
Images flashed through Gale's mind like a movie reel, but he was completely absorbed in an unknown euphoria and paid no attention to it at all.
"So it's that Azkaban escapee," the man said with some surprise. "He actually made it all the way here... And he has a companion with him."
…
A trail of ants marched in neat formation with their antennae swaying as they crawled up and down the crevices of the tree bark.
Behind the large tree, Lockhart was picking off burrs that had somehow stuck to his clothes. From time to time, he peeked out to check the situation.
After about ten minutes, he saw Gale open the side gate of the manor and casually wave at him, signaling for him to come inside as well.
——Looks like it really is just an abandoned old house, probably not a single person inside.
Lockhart thought, and then relaxed and walked quickly toward the gate.
Once the two of them had entered the manor grounds, the bushes nearby rustled again. A large black dog, covered in burrs, silently emerged.
Just as he was about to head toward the manor, he suddenly heard voices nearby. Sirius immediately crouched low, and hid behind the shrubbery.
"You've done well, Wormtail," someone said coldly. "Offering your two companions to the Master is enough to prove your loyalty."
At the mention of "Wormtail," Sirius bared his teeth unconsciously, his claws dug deep into the earth, and his eyes were filled with murderous rage.
He wanted nothing more than to leap out and tear that traitor's throat open. But what they were talking about made him force himself to stay hidden.
"The Master... will He forgive me now?" came a familiar, trembling, cowardly voice, filled with fear as it explained, "I—I've always wanted to return to His side, Barty… I—I didn't know the Potters had such powerful magic back then..."
The black dog crouched deeper into the shadows, and his muscles twitched beneath his fur as if ready to spring at any moment. He tried hard to restrain himself from growling, and his eyes were glowing like burning coals with savage intensity.
"Not enough, Wormtail," Barty said haughtily.
"You know offering up two worthless prisoners isn't sufficient… But if you help the Dark Lord return to life, not only will He forgive you, He'll grant you unimaginable honor."
"Resurrect…?"
Wormtail gasped, his breathing became rapid and disordered. After a pause, he asked, "What do I need to do?"
"The Master needs certain materials to return," Barty replied. "Wormtail, you can help with that."
Wormtail let out a sigh of relief. "Alright… What materials? I can go steal them…"
"Not ordinary materials," Barty said. "The Dark Lord needs the bone of the father, the flesh of the servant, and the blood of the enemy…"
"…The… the flesh of the servant?" Wormtail's voice was barely above a whisper, trembling like a mosquito's buzz. With a sob in his tone, he asked, "I—I'm of course willing to offer it… Which part does the Master need?"
"You think you're worthy, Wormtail?" Barty said with contempt. "You think you're worthy of letting the Master use your flesh to be reborn? Hm? You filthy, lowly creature…"
Wormtail let out a sob—whether from humiliation or relief, it was hard to tell.
"The blood of the enemy, Wormtail," Barty said with a tone of condescension. "You must offer the Master the blood of his enemy—Harry Potter. If you fail… you know what kind of punishment awaits you…"
"Harry Potter?" Wormtail said in fear. "But… Dumbledore guards him like a hawk…"
"There's an opportunity, Wormtail…"
Barty's voice suddenly dropped, as if he'd cast a Muffliato spell. The black dog strained its ears and was lying flat on the ground trying to eavesdrop, but could hear nothing.
He waited. And waited. Until finally, his patience ran out. Silently, he crept around the shrubs, past the tree, and moved toward where the voices had come from.
But there was nothing there.
No sign of "Barty," no Wormtail, not even a trace that anyone had been standing there.
The black dog lowered its head and circled the area several times. Eventually, from some trampled blades of grass, he confirmed that people had been here. The voices he'd heard weren't his imagination.
He turned his head, and his gray eyes locked on the nearby manor. He stared at it for a long time.
Neither the vampire nor Lockhart had come back out. There were no sounds from within either.
That ordinary-looking Muggle manor now seemed like a man-eating monster.
Sirius wanted to drag Wormtail out. He had tracked that rat for so long and had never been this close.
But the information he had just overheard was too critical. So instead of rushing in, he made the hard decision to back off. After circling for a while, he turned and bolted into the forest.
He needed to get far enough away to Apparate—and bring this intel to Dumbledore.
…
Watching the black dog leave, Locke—perched in the tree—felt a subtle sense of relief, though he didn't need to breathe.
There had been no Wormtail or Barty in the forest at all. Everything Sirius had heard was a performance—Locke playing both parts to feed him false information.
As a magic doll, Locke had no scent, no heartbeat, no breath. As long as it remained still and silent in the tree, Sirius had no way of detecting it.
But with Voldemort now occupying the Riddle Manor, Locke's long journey to dig up bones had essentially come to an end.
—Or maybe not?
Locke crouched on the tree like an owl and stared at the distant manor, and his mind replayed the "future" intelligence he had received from his master.
He thought: I need to go back… I need the Cube's help.
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⭐Harry Potter: Becoming a Study God (HP:BSG)- 200+ Chapters
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