Chapter 155: Say My Name!
The fire in the fireplace burned, radiating warmth that, however, couldn't dispel the surrounding mist.
Goyle seemed somewhat bored. He occasionally sat in the corner, staring blankly at the people who appeared to have turned to stone. Sometimes he'd stand up, trying to discern the shadowy figures in the mist. Other times, he'd want to talk to Crabbe.
His good friend Crabbe had been acting strangely lately, often staring blankly at the fireplace flames and even losing his usual fondness for good food, which made Goyle feel a bit estranged.
He opened his mouth but ultimately decided not to speak to the blank-faced Crabbe.
Boredom consumed everything. He grew restless, taking out a half-eaten sausage from his pocket and nibbling on it carefully.
Yes, very carefully, because he'd only managed to stuff half a sausage into his pocket, and if he ate it too fast, it would be gone quickly.
However, time seemed to have become meaningless.
Apart from the ticking of the large grandfather clock, he could no longer perceive any passage of time.
So, at some sudden point, he became agitated, attempting to change something. He paced around the statuesque figures, looking down at the various props laid out on the ground.
There were three books on the ground. One looked ancient and thick, with no title, but he recognized it as Professor Lockhart's fairy tale book, used to create adventure scenarios.
The second seemed to be a diary, which he avoided. Firstly, he was never interested in others' private affairs. Secondly, he instinctively felt he should keep his distance from this diary. He trusted his instincts; old Goyle had always admonished him, "A pure-hearted person should trust their instincts," and he always dutifully complied.
The last book's cover read "Breaking Up with a Banshee," the textbook for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Goyle recognized this one too. Having participated in the "Duelling Club" and co-written "Where Are Dark Magical Creatures," he also knew that a banshee wasn't a ghost but a Vengeance Fairy.
Professor Lockhart often described this type of Dark magical creature as an old witch, mentioning that, "Banshees are not the deciders of death; they only arrive after death. The reason everyone believes they are prophets of death, coming to foretell it, is because death itself often arrives much earlier than the actual moment of dying."
"Death arrives much earlier than the actual moment of dying"—such words were difficult for Harry, Draco, and even the smarter Hermione to understand, but Goyle, surprisingly, did.
Yes, he and Crabbe were probably the first to understand Lockhart's meaning because they had heard that proverb from a fairy tale their mother, Narcissa, used to tell them before bed when they were children.
—Some people irrevocably walk towards death, and thus death becomes foreseeable.
Goyle felt a touch of sadness, a sadness stemming from his helplessness in the face of everything. Crabbe's parents were already walking towards death; were his own parents also irrevocably headed there? Or even he and Crabbe themselves?
His dull mind couldn't provide him with any thought or decision-making, and so this spiritual insight only made him more miserable.
Draco always thought that idiots wouldn't feel sad; at least Goyle rarely showed such emotions in front of Draco. Now, in solitude, the emotions in his heart could no longer be suppressed.
Fortunately, his attention was soon drawn to something else; he was always like that.
"Huh?"
Goyle rubbed his eyes in confusion, gazing somewhat bewildered at the textbook before him. The words on it seemed to wiggle like tadpoles, rapidly changing.
From "Breaking Up with a Banshee," it turned into "Breaking Up with Tom," then soon "Lonely Cracks," then "Escaping Death,""Choose Between Loneliness and Death,""Death and Eternal Torment"...
He picked up the book in confusion, finding that the constantly changing words finally settled on "The Banshee of Bandon, Ireland," flickered a few times, and then reverted to "Breaking Up with a Banshee."
He was somewhat puzzled, wanting to open the textbook to see if the content was still the same as before.
"What are you doing!"
An angry voice reprimanded him.
Goyle, startled, quickly put the book back in its original place, then gently wiped parts of it with his wizard's robe sleeve that weren't actually dirty, and turned to see Crabbe.
"Hey, mate, don't be so agitated, I was just looking," Goyle said, a little annoyed.
"I advise you not to mess around. We don't know what's going to happen next. We can't change anything; we can only do what we're supposed to do and follow orders." Crabbe looked at Goyle coldly, his voice rising.
Goyle also stood up somewhat angrily. "Don't you think it's ridiculous to bring up our dads' advice to us right now? Vincent, you've changed. You used to follow Draco's orders obediently like me, but now you're getting more and more ideas of your own!"
Crabbe fell silent.
"Loyalty that isn't absolute is absolute disloyalty. Your dad said that, do you remember?" Goyle stepped past Harry, who was nearby, and approached Crabbe. "Vincent, if we lose our loyalty, Malfoy won't protect us anymore!"
Silence, a sudden silence.
After an unknown period, Crabbe looked back at the flames in the bonfire and said with an unreadable expression, "I just want to live, Gregory. You understand me, right?"
"No, I don't understand!" Goyle glared at him fiercely. "Do you remember the words on the painting at my house? 'Those who dare not face death die fastest.'"
"If you don't believe Malfoy can protect you to live, you won't get protection!"
Crabbe turned back to him, then suddenly smiled. "What if I don't want to listen to Malfoy's orders anymore? What if I want to embark on my own magical path?"
Goyle looked at him in disbelief. "We're both idiots. Idiots want to embark on their own magical path? Have you not eaten anything and your head's gone soft? I really should have saved that piece of sausage for you just now!"
"I'm not stupid; I'm just slow!" Crabbe looked at him coldly. "Only you would think you're stupid, because Draco always says you're stupid, so you, being a loyal fellow, believed it and became truly stupid."
Goyle was beside himself with rage. He roared, "This is betrayal, shameful betrayal!"
Saying that, he charged at Crabbe like a wild ox, swinging his thick arms, instantly knocking both himself and Crabbe into the fireplace behind them, where they were swallowed by the strange two-colored flames.
They weren't burned to death.
Instead, they fell into Lockhart's peculiar ritual, and accompanied by the ticking of the grandfather clock, they simultaneously plummeted into a vortex of time.
Adventure is an extremely interesting and dangerous journey. Lockhart initiated the adventure and provided sufficient guidance, yet he couldn't write an account of the journey itself.
Because it was never a staged play where people simply acted out roles; it was full of surprises.
And these surprises, precisely, became the opportunities for magic to blossom.
....
Ireland, Bandon, a possible past time.
A secluded island, rarely visited by outsiders due to the legend of the banshee.
On the island lived a carefree, happy, and ordinary young man, whom everyone called "Little Lockhart." He was always very cheerful.
Even when he often heard the terrifying sound of cannons from outside the island while grazing his cows by the sea, he would just complain a few words to his friends and then continue to immerse himself in the mundane and leisurely rhythm of life.
However, he hadn't been happy these past few days.
His good friend, "Riddle," had actually announced in the pub that he was breaking up with him, no longer wanting to be good friends.
This was simply too inexplicable. He had questioned his friend, yearning for an answer, but even so, he received no reply.
This friend was so resolute that he publicly declared that if Little Lockhart spoke another word to him, Riddle, he would cut off one of his fingers to show his resolve to break off the friendship, and would keep cutting until Little Lockhart never spoke to him again.
Little Lockhart actually had some suspicions. He thought that some people who had fled the war outside the island had come and spread tales of that war, saying that two close brothers had broken up and fought over different political choices. And his always restless good friend Riddle had become fascinated by this "trend," which was why he decided to break off their friendship.
That day, he dug out his wand, which he hadn't used in a long time, intending to teach that outsider a lesson.
If his sister, Hermione, hadn't held him back.
Hmm, if not for his sister, he would definitely have taught that outsider a lesson!
"You can't go. I've seen the banshee appear around you. Doing this will only bring terrible consequences!" his sister had said, adding that if Little Lockhart didn't heed her advice and went, she would immediately turn around and leave their home.
Hmph~
His sister had long wanted to leave this home. She hated ordinary life, yearning for the more interesting world outside the island, even if a terrible war was raging there.
She always felt out of place with the people on this island, preferring to read useless books, learning knowledge she would never use in her life, and thus creating a formidable, impassable chasm between herself and everyone else.
So Little Lockhart didn't go; he didn't want to lose his sister.
Or rather, he didn't know how to face life without his sister. He had long been accustomed to her presence; she was the family member he cared about most.
"Damn outsider!" Little Lockhart pulled out his binoculars, angrily looking at the outsider who was talking quietly with his good friend Riddle in the distance. He was supposedly called Corban Yaxley?
He watched the two of them, smiling and chatting, get into a carriage, talking about something in low voices. His eyes immediately narrowed.
What were they saying?
He desperately wanted to know.
He soon found out. Magic responded to him, and the breeze carried distant voices to him.
Riddle asked, "You know me?"
Corban Yaxley replied, "Yes, I've heard of your deeds from many people. Even though you are currently in a corner of the world, I am willing to follow you, to follow you to the most brilliant stage in the world."
Oh~
Listen!
Just listen to those words!
Little Lockhart felt utterly disgusted. A restless person had met a restless follower. This would make him completely lose this friend with whom he shared everything.
He angrily pounded the table, continuing to listen to the sounds carried by the wind.
Riddle then said, "Say My Name!"
Corban Yaxley replied, "You are the great Gilderoy Riddle! I pledge allegiance to you as my master!"
Riddle's lips curled slightly. "This is truly interesting!"
....
"An interesting topic." Gilderoy Riddle looked down at his reflection in the puddles on the ground, his eyebrow slightly raised. "When my body is Riddle, my magic is Riddle, my bloodline is Riddle, and even..."
He exclaimed, "My brain, my thoughts, every bubble that pops up in my mind, all belong to Riddle."
"Corban, tell me, am I Riddle?"
Corban was somewhat bewildered. He didn't know why this powerful wizard, supposedly revered and supported by many, would ask him such a question.
Of course, what puzzled him even more was that he had no idea how to answer such a seemingly foolish question.
Was this an interview?
An assessment for him?
What should he say?
Fortunately, Gilderoy Riddle didn't actually demand an answer from him. Instead, he said meaningfully, "No, I am not Riddle. Even if my thoughts suggest I am Riddle, my mind is not. My mind belongs to me."
"Of course, I need a bit of 'social' true recognition to allow me to pluck the most precious treasure from this interesting journey of life."
Saying that, he looked at Corban. "Remember my name—Voldemort!"
"Voldemort?" Corban was somewhat dazed. He suddenly realized that he might have made a mistake in seeking out this great figure. His supposedly clever mind simply couldn't keep up with the other's rhythm.
"Yes, meaning 'flight from death'!" Gilderoy's voice was full of strange intonations.
"Voldemort!" Corban had no choice but to cooperate with the great figure's eccentricity, respectfully addressing him by name.
"Excellent!" Gilderoy exclaimed, squinting at his own hands. He could feel an extremely unfamiliar magical bloodline suddenly forming within his body.
The feeling was somewhat like the sudden appearance of a werewolf bloodline, but even more peculiar than wolfsbane.
This was...
Parseltongue?
He carefully sensed the magical state influenced by the surging magical bloodline within his body, savoring every detail.
....
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