stjorthotic Chapter 235 That Valley
Chapter 235 That Valley
Chapter 235 That Valley (5.2K)
Harry took a deep breath and stepped forward to grab Lynch's arm tightly.
The next moment, that familiar feeling of being squeezed into a narrow rubber tube suddenly came over me like a phantom teleportation.
When the suffocating oppression dissipated, the cool morning air instantly filled Harry's lungs, a stark contrast to the warmth of the Stone Tower Chamber of Commerce suite.
He stumbled a step and barely managed to steady himself.
What comes into view is a small valley shrouded in desolation, quiet and somewhat solemn.
Several old houses are scattered around, and in the distance, there is the spire of a small church.
This is not the place he imagined.
It wasn't the Ministry of Magic, nor some mysterious stronghold; it was just a village that looked perfectly ordinary, perhaps inhabited by some wizarding families.
"Where is this, Uncle Lynch?" Harry asked, turning his head in confusion, his voice unusually clear in the quiet air.
Lynch didn't answer immediately. His deep gaze swept across the entire village, finally settling on a seemingly open area enclosed by a low fence in the distance. His profile stood out sharply against the austere air.
"A place that means a lot to you," Lynch said in a low voice, with a heaviness that Harry couldn't comprehend. "Come with me."
He didn't use magic; he simply strode forward, stepping on the withered grass covered with a thin layer of frost, towards that direction.
Harry followed behind, completely bewildered, not understanding why Lynch had brought him to such an ordinary place.
They stopped in front of a rusty iron gate. Inside was a meticulously maintained but desolate cemetery, with ancient tombstones standing in rows.
Harry was surprised to find that many of the tombstones bore surnames he had only seen in "A History of Magic".
A cemetery? Why did Uncle Lynch bring me to a cemetery?
Harry's heart sank. A vague and terrifying thought formed in his mind, but he dared not confirm it.
Lynch pushed open the iron gate and went inside. His steps stopped in front of an inconspicuous white marble tombstone.
He reached out his hand, and a bouquet of pure white flowers appeared in his palm.
Lynch bent down to place the flowers in front of the tombstone, then turned aside to give Harry a better view.
Harry hesitated before stepping forward, his gaze falling on the tombstone.
When he saw the name engraved on it, his mind went blank as if it had gone "buzz," and he froze on the spot, his breath stopping.
【詹姆—波特生于1960年3月27日卒于1981年10月31日莉莉—波特生于1960年1月30日卒于1981年10月31日最后一个要消灭的敌人是死亡】
The date and name were branded onto his retina like a red-hot iron.
He stood there blankly for several seconds, completely unable to think, mechanically repeating those few lines of text.
"This—this is—" Harry's voice was so dry he could barely make a sound.
He looked up at Lin Qi with disbelief and a sudden surge of excruciating pain in his eyes.
"This is...where they...are buried?"
"Yes," Lynch nodded. "Godrick Valley, where they died and were buried."
After receiving Lynch's affirmative answer, Harry knelt down, the cold marble sensation seeping through his trousers to his knees, but he felt nothing.
He always thought his parents were buried somewhere unknown, never imagining that they would rest in peace in a village with a name and a specific location.
The greatest tragedy of his life actually occurred at a real, reachable coordinate.
A sharp, indescribable bitterness suddenly surged into his nostrils and eyes, more ferocious and irresistible than when he faced any monster or spell. He instinctively clenched his teeth, his nails digging deep into his palms, fighting with all his might against the grief that threatened to tear him apart and the urge to burst into tears.
He can't, he shouldn't appear so vulnerable. He's the "boy who survived a great calamity," he's always faced everything with strength, he should be strong—
But that cold stone, those two names, were like a key, brutally prying open the deepest lock in his heart.
Twelve years of loneliness, the grievances in the Dursleys' cupboard, all the vague yet fervent imaginations of the words "Mom and Dad"—all the suppressed emotions, like a burst dam, roared and overwhelmed the dam he had been struggling to maintain.
His shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably, his clenched teeth made a clicking sound, but tears betrayed his will and surged forth first, blurring the words on the tombstone.
He tried to raise his hand to wipe away this unworthy evidence, but found his arm too heavy to obey him.
In the end, that forced strength was completely shattered.
He lowered his head, pressing his burning forehead against the cold name, like a lost child who had finally found home, only to find nothing but emptiness.
Suppressed, broken sobs escaped from the depths of his throat, quickly turning into an uncontrollable, desperate, and silent wail. He cried, curling up in agony, his heart breaking, for the embrace he had never received, for the companionship that was forever absent, for this black earth that buried all the happiness he "might have" ever possessed.
Lynch stood quietly behind him, watching the thin figure trembling violently with overwhelming sorrow.
The cold wind whipped up a corner of his trench coat, but he felt that the child's desperate cries were more piercing than the winter wind.
The image of the boy before her overlapped with that of the girl in her memory, with fiery red hair and a bright smile.
Lily—your son is here, and he, like you, possesses the richest and most passionate emotions.
After Raven's Eye completed its final upgrade, he stood here alone, facing this cold stone monument, silently expressing his anger, guilt, and helplessness in failing to prevent the tragedy.
And today, carrying the blood of Lily and James, he arrived here, listening to the child's cries of resistance turning to collapse. That familiar pain, born of loss, gripped him once more, only this time, mixed with a deeper, more profound sorrow.
It was almost like the pity of a father.
He remembered the Christmas before his first year at Hogwarts, when his father was also attacked and killed by Death Eaters, and the bewilderment and loneliness he felt at his father's grave.
He understood the feeling of suddenly losing a loved one and the world collapsing.
Therefore, he could better understand Harry's indescribable complex feelings at that moment, a mixture of shock, grievance, and immense grief.
But in the end he did nothing; he neither went forward to comfort her nor touched her.
He simply looked away, gazing at the distant, hazy sky, leaving Harry a completely private space where he could freely vent his sorrow.
Some pain must be endured alone; some tears must be shed until they run dry.
All he could do was stand there, like a silent sentinel, guarding this belated memorial, letting Lily's child know that he was not entirely alone in enduring all of this.
He pursed his lips tightly, forcefully suppressing the barely perceptible sob that was escaping his throat.
After an unknown amount of time, Harry's crying gradually subsided, turning into intermittent, exhausted sobs.
Lin Qi then turned his gaze back to him, his voice even lower than before: "Get up, child."
There are a few more things you need to know.
He led the dazed Harry out of the cemetery to a shocking pile of ruins not far away.
Charred wooden beams and shattered bricks were scattered all over the ground, and traces of the explosion remained on the ground, silently telling the story of the tragedy that night.
"This is where your parents sacrificed their lives, the Potter family's old house." Lynch's voice was calm, but every word carried a heavy weight. "It was once protected by an extremely powerful, near-perfect magic—the Fidelity Charm."
Harry stared at the ruins with red and swollen eyes, his confusion mixed with a hint of intrigued curiosity.
The Curse of Unwavering Loyalty? He had never heard of it.
"The core of this spell is a Secret Keeper," Lynch continued, looking intently at Harry. "After the spell is cast, information about the house's location is sealed within the soul of a single designated person—the Secret Keeper. Unless the Secret Keeper actively reveals it, you'll never truly know or find this place. During the spell's duration, even Voldemort himself, standing here, wouldn't be able to detect the house's existence."
Harry tried to understand this complex and wonderful magic.
If this spell is so powerful and perfect, how did Voldemort find this place?
His instinctive doubt was clearly written on his face.
Lynch seemed to have read his mind.
Instead of answering directly, he took out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet from the inside pocket of his trench coat.
He unfolded it and pointed it to the wanted poster on the front page.
"As far as the world knows," Lynch's voice carried a chilling quality as he pointed to the animated photograph—a man with tangled hair and a haggard, crazed face silently roaring, "the one who betrayed your parents, revealed their hiding place to Voldemort, and caused the Charm of Loyalty to be broken—that's him."
Harry's gaze fell on the striking black caption and name next to the photograph—"Sirius Black, Azkaban Prisoner, Still at Large!"
The man in the photo —
Harry's heart skipped a beat, and his breath stopped.
This face—this crazed, haggard face, yet with a vaguely familiar outline—he had seen it before!
During the bumpy, swaying journey on the Knight Bus, the ticket seller, Stan Sampark, pointed enthusiastically at the newspaper and told him that this was a dangerous madman who had escaped from Azkaban, a loyal servant of Voldemort—
At the time, it was just a disturbing piece of news that had little to do with him.
But now, this name, this face, is directly linked by Lynch's cold voice to the deaths of his parents and to the ruins beneath his feet.
The confusion quickly faded, and something cold and sharp began to grow from the bottom of my heart.
It was this person—it was this person who betrayed them!
If it weren't for him, his parents wouldn't have died, he wouldn't have lost his family, he wouldn't have been treated coldly by the Dursleys, and he wouldn't have become a "legendary" orphan with a scar on his forehead!
The sorrow that had just been washed away by tears now seemed to be thrown into a furnace, burning and transforming violently into an unprecedented, blazing rage.
His fists clenched tightly, his body trembled slightly with anger, and his once sorrowful eyes now burned with a cold flame.
He could almost hear the blood rushing to his ears.
"He—" Harry's voice was dry and filled with suppressed anger, "that Black, he—"
"Harry!" Lynch's voice wasn't loud, but it was like a bucket of ice water, abruptly interrupting Harry's impending outburst of anger.
His gaze was calm and powerful, fixed directly on Harry: "Do you remember what I said to you in the infirmary after the Philosopher's Stone incident? You possess some extremely rare and admirable qualities. Perhaps in the future, you can stand beside me and face Voldemort and his minions together."
Harry was taken aback by this sudden turn of events, and his raging anger was temporarily contained.
He met Lin Qi's gaze, nodded, and said in a somewhat stiff voice, "I remember."
"So, that's why I brought you here today and told you all this." Lynch folded the newspaper and put it back in his pocket, his demeanor regaining its mountain-like composure. "Most people think it's better to keep the information about Sirius Black, your mortal enemy, escaping from Azkaban from you. They think you're just a thirteen-year-old kid, and these bloody betrayals and the past are too heavy for you. Knowing that your parents were betrayed by your most trusted friend will destroy you. Or worse, you might do something irrational like seeking revenge on Sirius and end up losing your life."
He stepped forward, his gaze piercing, as if trying to see into the depths of Harry's soul.
"But you're not an ordinary kid, you're Harry Potter."
"Even before you could walk, your name was known throughout the wizarding world. The scar on your forehead foreshadowed certain fates you could not escape. Voldemort's shadow has never truly departed, and minions like Black continue to lurk in the shadows."
His tone carried an undeniable seriousness: "Therefore, I choose not to hide it from you. I hope you can understand the world you live in and the enemies you will face sooner and more clearly, rather than being overwhelmed by the sudden truth and losing your mind someday in the future. Anger is the source of strength, but a warrior who is controlled by emotions and blinded by rage will only fall on the battlefield."
Lynch's words struck Harry's heart like a heavy bell.
Although the raging fire of anger was not extinguished, it was guided and no longer blindly burned him. Instead, it slowly settled, merged into his blood, and transformed into something colder and more resolute.
However, just as Harry's emotions found a new foothold, Lynch's next words caused that foothold to collapse instantly.
“But Harry…” Lynch’s tone suddenly became extremely subtle, “I personally—do not believe that Sirius Black was the one who betrayed your parents.”
"What?!" Harry looked up abruptly, his anger and the resolve he had just formed instantly replaced by immense confusion.
He almost thought he had misheard. "You—what did you say? But you just said—"
What's going on? I just told him that Blake was that heinous traitor, which made him furious with hatred. Why did he suddenly say it wasn't him?
If it's not Blake, then who is it?
Why does the world, including the Ministry of Magic, believe it to be him?
Harry felt like he had been thrown into a whirlpool of emotions, and the little bit of clarity he had just managed to sort out was completely disrupted again.
"What I'm telling you is the version known to the world, the truth believed by the Daily Prophet, the Ministry of Magic, and all the people." Lynch explained calmly, as if stating an objective fact, "But the truth is often shrouded in layers. Based on some incomplete clues and logical analysis I currently possess, there's a possibility that Black was framed, and the real traitor—perhaps still at large, hiding in some unknown corner."
This possibility struck Harry like a bolt of lightning, leaving him dizzy.
A person who has been wrongly accused?
Could someone who was imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years and considered the most wicked traitor be innocent?
A chilling, almost sarcastic smile flickered across Lynch's lips.
"During wartime, especially in the chaotic days after the Dark Lord's downfall, many things happen—not always following strict procedures. Fear and the desire for revenge can sometimes blind people and even lead them to transgress the law." His voice was calm, yet carried a heavy weight of insight. "According to the information I've found, Sirius Black did not undergo a formal trial back then."
"No trial?" Harry repeated in shock.
This completely overturned his understanding of the magical justice system.
"Yes. In that overwhelming wave of public opinion—the bombing in the street, the deaths of several Muggles, and the tragic sacrifice of the hero Peter Pettigrew—everyone thought there was no need for a trial. Anger and the frenzy of victory drowned out the voices seeking the finer truth." Lynch's gaze drifted to the distant ruins, as if piercing through time to see that chaotic era. "So, he was thrown straight into Azkaban, where he remained for twelve years."
Harry opened his mouth, feeling his throat go dry.
How could a living person be imprisoned in one of the world's most terrifying prisons for twelve years without trial?
"But this leads to the most crucial question," Lynch turned his gaze back to Harry's face, his eyes sharp as knives, "If he is truly innocent, why did he obediently remain in that living hell for twelve years, only choosing to escape now? Why was he silent during those twelve years? And what prompted him to take such an extreme and risky action at this moment?"
Lin Qi shook his head slightly, indicating that this was also a mystery he had not yet fully solved.
"The motive is still unclear. Perhaps only Sirius himself knows." He changed the subject, his tone becoming extremely certain and serious. "But one thing I'm very certain of—a large part of the reason he escaped this time is you, Harry."
Harry unconsciously clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
Does that mean they're coming for me?
This realization was like a cold flame, instantly igniting the surging emotions in his chest—a mixture of fear and anger, which ultimately transformed into a resolute courage.
That's perfect! I'm not afraid of him!
But the courage that had just ignited in his chest, filled with anger and determination, was interrupted by Lin Qi's voice shortly afterward, before it could even fully rise.
The voice remained calm, yet it was like a bucket of ice water, instantly extinguishing all his emotional flames.
"Stop having those unrealistic ideas, Harry."