Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

One was a witch who lived a thousand years ago, and the other had already fallen and become time itself.

No matter who it was, it was very difficult for Evan to meet either of them, and it was even more impossible under the current circumstances.

“Since we’re here, let’s take things as they come. We’ll find a way,” said Evan, stuffing the Time-Turner back. “What do you plan to do?”

“First, follow Delphi and get the Time-Turner she mentioned,” Riddle said.

“Then let’s make that our top priority,” Evan nodded and said, “Tom, don’t you feel it? This future is very interesting, the times are developing; the integration of technology and magic, the clash of civilizations, even the house-elves have changed so much.”

“Indeed, it is quite impressive!” Riddle glanced disdainfully at the house-elf dressed like a goblin beside him.

Under Riddle’s gaze, the house-elf took a step back in fear, with a panic expression on his face.

He didn’t know why Riddle and Evan had stopped here. Were they dissatisfied with his service?

“Yes, I can’t wait to see what my future self, Hermione, and the others will look like,” Evan continued, seemingly not noticing Riddle’s sarcasm. “It seems that Voldemort and the evil god have been defeated, and everything’s going in a good direction. What do you think you’ll become? Will you still exist?”

“Yes, and you have such a lovely daughter, so, Tom, we…”

“I told you, don’t…”

Riddle’s words were interrupted, and the house-elf said uncomfortably, “Gentlemen, do you intend to use the Floo Network?”

“Oh, yes, we do, thank you,” said Evan, seeing the security guard approaching. “Let’s go, Tom!”

The next second, the pale Riddle disappeared, and Evan walked into the quietly burning emerald green flames of the fireplace.

“Knockturn Alley!” He left, leaving the house-elf standing there, dumbfounded.

Even though the times had progressed so much, using the Floo Network was still a very uncomfortable journey.

Evan felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain. He seemed to be spinning very fast — the roaring in his ears was deafening.

The whirl of green flames made him feel sick. He was spinning and spinning, and saw a blurred stream of fireplaces.

Then, he arrived at his destination and landed on the cold stone ground.

Evan missed Fawkes the Phoenix a little bit. It was much more comfortable to be transported by him to change spaces.

He walked out of the fireplace and saw a large, dimly lit wizard’s shop.

Compared with the Ministry of Magic, which had changed drastically, time seemed to have stopped in Borgin and Burkes.

Evan and Harry had seen this shop from a distance outside during the summer vacation of his first year. The layout inside had hardly changed.

A glass case in front of him held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards, a teapot with a missing corner, and a staring glass eye. Grinning masks on the walls glared down, various human bones were displayed on the counter, and rusty, sharp-toothed instruments hung from the ceiling. ŖäΝö฿Ёs

Poor Mr. Borgin, the products in his shop seemed to be very unpopular…

That was not surprising. Evan couldn’t see any normal wizard needing such things.

Delphi was standing in front of the counter, intently examining the withered hand on the cushion.

“This shop is very interesting, selling and recycling various interesting Dark magic items. I have been here several times before, and many of the things are very practical,” said Delphi. “Look at the introduction of this thing, the Hand of Glory! Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! I think we might need one; it could come in handy.”

“You have a good eye, dear lady; this is the best friend of thieves and plunderers, only five hundred Galleons.”

A stooping man appeared behind the counter. He was Mr. Borgin.

He was very old, with gray hair, and the smile on his face gave an impression of cunning and slyness.

Five hundred Galleons? Evan wouldn’t touch that dirty hand even if he were paid to take it.

“Well, let’s take a look; do you have an Invisibility Cloak here?” Delphi asked.

“Yes, I do. It’s one of my prized possessions and costs ten thousand Galleons,” Mr. Borgin said, his tone almost obsequious.

“Price is not an issue!” Delphi didn’t even blink. “Bring it out and let me see it.”

It seemed that Voldemort or other Death Eaters had left Delphi a substantial inheritance; she didn’t care about money.

Or maybe it was because the gold Galleon depreciated too fast in this era.

Ten thousand Galleons for an Invisibility Cloak? That was daylight robbery.

In Evan’s familiar time, Invisibility Cloaks, though precious, were not uncommon. As long as they were made from Demiguise hair or material soaked in a potent Invisibility Potion, they could be crafted, with prices ranging from three hundred to two thousand Galleons depending on the quality.

Evan had never heard of anyone paying ten thousand Galleons for an Invisibility Cloak.

If it was really because of currency devaluation, he felt tempted to go back in time and sell things in this era for a huge profit…

“Evan, come and take a look at this Hand of Glory,” Delphi turned around and said, “Where’s Tom?”

“Oh, he’s behind!” Evan said.

As soon as he finished speaking, Riddle pretended to walk out of the fireplace.

He squinted and looked around with interest. He was obviously familiar with this shop.

At that moment, Mr. Borgin came out from behind the counter with the Invisibility Cloak, and he also saw Riddle.

The smile on his face froze and disappeared, and soon turned into horror and fear. He recognized Riddle.

Evan had heard that Riddle did not work for the Ministry of Magic after graduating from Hogwarts, but came to this store unexpectedly to find precious collections for making Horcruxes. Therefore, Mr. Borgin was very familiar with Riddle.

This was not a good memory, especially after Riddle became Voldemort…

Mr. Borgin stared in disbelief at Riddle, who had just stepped out of the fireplace, his body trembling uncontrollably.

“Ri-ri-ri…” he gasped, deeply shocked, “Riddle!”

Voldemort had failed, he was dead, but why did the boy in front of him look so similar…

There was no mistake, it was impossible to be wrong.

He would never forget this face. This was definitely Tom Riddle!

Voldemort was back!

The Dark Lord was back!

Mr. Borgin was a little confused as to why Riddle was so young.

But he immediately thought of the Dark Lord’s magic, the kind of magic he did not understand. That had to be it.

Voldemort was immortal. He had conquered death. He was back again!

It could be predicted that the Wizarding World would be boiling again, and the war was imminent…

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