Pain

It was 6 o'clock, on the third floor of the Burrow, in Harry's room.

Harry sat motionless against the headboard, like a dead body.

Because he had just truly accepted something— Voldemort's love for Bella, and then imagined Voldemort forcibly tearing her out of his soul.

So much so that the updated taskbar that was now appearing on Harry's retina didn't even register with him.

Pain!

It hurts!

It hurts so much!

Harry was tormented by endless suffering.

For Voldemort, who was unable to feel love, the pain he gained from losing love was merely a source of power.

But for Harry, it was incredibly profound and clear.

It's like a scab that hasn't scabbed over yet, which is then brutally scraped away with a thick, blunt iron spoon.

About ten minutes later, Harry finally came to his senses.

He drew his wand, tapped it lightly, and a piece of parchment flew out from the pile of books.

On the parchment with its light, soft caramel yellow and bronze background, words emerge from the paper.

"Hedwig." The snow-white owl Hedwig flew over at the sound of her voice, skillfully extending her right leg.

The parchment folded itself up and automatically adhered to Hedwig's right leg.

Harry touched Hedwig, Hedwig gently bit Harry's finger as a sign of affection before spreading her wings and flying out the window.

Bedfordshire, in eastern England.

This is an empty village square with an ancient war memorial in the center and a few benches.

The clock on the church not far away appeared particularly blurry in the scorching, distorted air, its hands pointing crookedly to the current time—12:00.

Crack!

Two figures, one tall and one short, suddenly appeared in the scorching air.

The tall figure was a thin, tall man with silver-white hair and a beard that reached his waist.

He wore a pair of crescent-shaped glasses perched on his hooked nose, a black travel cloak, and a pointed hat.

The whole thing exudes a mysterious aura, an obvious wizarding quality.

The slightly shorter figure next to him looks a bit like Frankenstein's monster.

Beneath his long, gray hair lay scarred skin; his mouth resembled a large, crooked gash, and his nose, where it should have been, was missing.

Like the nose, one leg is also missing, replaced by a wooden leg that clatters on the ground.

The wooden leg was only a few inches long, and below it was a claw-shaped foot.

But what's most terrifying is his eyes.

One of his eyes was small, black, and sparkling; the other eye was large, round like a coin, and a bright, vivid blue.

The blue eye kept moving without blinking, turning up, down, left, and right, completely unrelated to the normal eye—then, the blue eyeball rolled over and went inside the person's head, leaving only a large white eyeball visible.

"Did you see that, Alastor?" the tall wizard asked, turning his head.

"Harry Potter never misses a beat! Doesn't he?" Frankenstein's monster took a sip of the liquid in his ever-present curved bottle and exclaimed.

"Come with me, Albus." Frankenstein's monster limped toward the war memorial.

The mad scientist muttered and cursed as he walked, "I knew it, you sent me here just to make it easier for me to find my way."

With my Magical Eye here, how could even Voldemort's secret hut escape my sight?

He had already reached the monument.

Extending a hand also covered in scars, he groped around behind the monument, his blue eyes darting up, down, left, and right. "Got it! This is it."

A crisp metallic clang rang out, and Frankenstein's monster pulled a Scabbers chain out of thin air.

He shook his head, brushing his long, gray hair away from his face, his incomplete nostrils flaring slightly. "Not bad! The scent of Dark Magic. The rest is up to you, Albus."

The tall wizard chuckled heartily, "Yeah, that's Tom's style—extremely cruel and utterly stupid."

He stepped back a few paces from the monument and pointed his wand at the chains.

Crack!

The chains snapped, and a door suddenly appeared out of thin air, hanging precariously in mid-air.

"As expected of you, so clean and efficient." The mad scientist took another sip of the liquid in the curved bottle.

As he spoke, he lifted his prosthetic leg and stepped into the air.

Surprisingly, there seemed to be an invisible staircase between the ground and the door.

Frankenstein's monster limped up the stairs, with the tall wizard close behind.

There was no key to the door.

It seemed to have its own intelligence; as soon as the Frankenstein monster approached, a series of loud metallic clanging sounds and rattling sounds like chains would automatically ring out.

Then the door creaked open.

This is a luxurious house.

The thick layer of dust on the carpet, the peeling wallpaper, and the Scabbers snake-shaped decorations couldn't hide this fact.

As they entered the Entrance Hall, the openwork lamps on both sides lit up automatically.

The two walked to the center of the Entrance Hall and looked around.

To the left is a narrow, downward-facing passage.

On the right is a beautiful marble staircase.

"Cough cough! So much dust—" Frankenstein waved his hand in front of his mutilated nose. "Albus, now you can tell me what Voldemort used this room for, right?"

The tall wizard didn't speak; he waved his wand, and the door behind him slammed shut again.

A look of utter disappointment crossed his face.

"Looking for someone." He hesitated, then continued, "A lost partner."

He sighed and walked straight to the left.

It seemed that he had found his destination the moment he looked around.

Frankenstein's monster realized something too; he put down the curved bottle and limped after the tall wizard.

As they approached, a shimmering white light automatically emanated from the ceiling of the passageway.

At the end of the passage was a room, the door of which was half-open.

Although the two had not yet gotten close, under the light from the ceiling, a skeleton dressed in a gray wizard's robe lay on the ground.

The skeleton's hands and legs are bent backwards in an exaggerated manner.

Frankenstein's monster suddenly seemed to lose all its strength. He slumped helplessly to the ground, his scarred hands reaching out towards the wall, trying to lean against it to stand up.

"Caradoc! It's him! It's him! Albus, it's him!"

I remember, it was a robe we bought together at the Twilfitt and Tattings. He said the Order of the Phoenix had just been established and they needed to wear something more spirited. Who was that lowly, filthy pig who hurt him!

Frankenstein's monster let out a painful howl.

Like the agonizing howl of a mother animal when she loses her cub.

He lay prone on the ground, his face pressed against the dusty surface, but he didn't seem to care.

The tall wizard did not approach Frankenstein's monster.

He too leaned against the wall, his azure eyes also filled with sorrow.

He thought he could remain calm.

He had long accepted Caradoc's death.

I already knew what I would see when I got here.

But why is he still in so much pain?

It's so hot in Chongqing right now, with temperatures reaching 40 degrees Celsius.

It almost gave me heatstroke.

I'll take a shower and then write the next chapter.