"If... if it's just a curse…" Rowle said, swallowing hard as he looked at Barty Jr.

"If it's just a curse, that might not mean much. Master might have wanted to protect this treasure that represents his family's identity."

Barty Jr. cast a faint glance at Rowle, who, among these Death Eaters, could be considered not entirely foolish but still far from clever.

"This is no ordinary treasure, something that merely proves Master's bloodline." He said in an obsessed tone.

"Ever since obtaining it, I can sense a familiar presence within! Although I haven't been able to communicate with the consciousness inside, I am certain Master has been using his methods to remind me of certain things!"

Seeing Barty like this, Rowle couldn't help but shudder.

Of course, he also held loyalty toward the Dark Lord, but such loyalty was premised on the benefits he could gain… far from the unconditional, fanatical devotion of those like Barty Jr.

So, at times like these, when he saw how these people behaved, he couldn't help but feel an involuntary tension.

It felt like he was dealing with a madman.

"L-like what?" He asked cautiously.

"Ever since I got this ring, I've been seeing images in my dreams every night."

"Th-that might just be because you haven't been resting well-"

"Not resting well?" Barty Jr. simply stared coldly at him, "If I weren't resting well, would I see Master leading his followers to Hogwarts to ask Dumbledore for the Defense Against the Dark Arts' teaching position?"

"If I weren't resting well, would I see him in a cold, damp cave, dealing with an old locket and ordering a house-elf to drink poison?"

"If I weren't resting well, would I see a witch named Hepzibah Smith proudly showing off a cup allegedly belonging to Helga Hufflepuff, passed down by her ancestors, stirring murderous intentions in him?"

"If all of this were just my own delusions, how could I see him finding a distinctive diadem in the hollow of a tall, sturdy spruce tree in a forest in Albania?"

Under Barty's relentless questioning, Rowle's back was drenched in cold sweat. He shook his head nervously.

"N-no, that's not what I meant. Master trusts you! H-he must be trying to tell you something by sending you these visions!"

To this, Barty Jr. did not continue his sarcastic remarks.

As Rowle had said, Barty Jr. also believed this was the Dark Lord trying to convey something to him. The images he could see, as well as the ring itself, must be related to some of the Dark Lord's secrets.

'And Master's disappearance after the incident at the Potters' that night was likely connected to these secrets!' ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novel-fire.ɴet

Seeing Barty Jr. deep in thought, Rowle cautiously asked, "Wh-what do you plan to do?"

At his question, Barty snapped back to attention. His expression calmed, a stark contrast to his earlier obsession and coldness.

"Master has sent me so much information, shown me so many things. It likely means that golden cup, the locket, and the diadem are similar to this ring. He might be hidden in one of those locations, waiting for us to find him!"

Barty Jr. carefully stored the black gemstone ring away, then fixed his cold gaze on Rowle.

"Since you already know all this, from now on, you are not to contact anyone else. You will follow me to search the places I saw in my dreams."

"We will bring Master back!"

…

Dover.

As the shortest sea crossing connecting Britain and France, before the Channel Tunnel was built, this was the best choice for Britons traveling to France or the European continent.

Garon Brook, one of the port security guards, was a newcomer who had just started this month. Compared to the old-timers who spent their shifts gathered together chatting away, he was much more cautious and dedicated.

"Little Brook!" A colleague called out to him, holding a coffee cup, "What are you still patrolling for? Worried about that escaped murderer Sirius Black from the TV news?"

Brook didn't look at him, muttering to himself, "He might show up here."

The colleague heard him and burst into laughter.

"Then we'd strike it rich! The government's offering a reward of £80,000 for him! I heard it might even be increased recently!"

Once they started discussing this, the colleague ignored the young rookie and joined the others in chatting about how they would spend the £80,000 if any of them managed to claim the reward.

Brook paid no mind to his colleagues' mockery.

"If he's wanted, why couldn't he come here?" he continued muttering to himself.

But, in reality, his thoughts were indeed unrealistic fantasies. The British police had, of course, considered the possibility of the fugitive fleeing the country. They had already set up strict checks outside the port: anyone wanting to enter had to provide identification.

Moreover, every passenger ferry traveling between Dover and Calais had police officers on board conducting inspections. As a result, the private security guards inside the port had an even easier time.

Yet Brook remained vigilant. His eyes were like those of a hawk constantly scanning the ground, ready to hunt, repeatedly examining any suspicious people or creatures.

'That person's hat looks strange, and he's wearing sunglasses. There's no sun today… damn it, didn't the police check him properly?'

'Oh, he's blind. But he might be pretending… can't let my guard down!'

'And this one… why is that show-off dressed like that?'

'What kind of weird robe is that? On such a hot day... Good heavens, there are even sequins on the robe. Is he really a man? The police should check him thoroughly from head to toe. Someone like that is definitely not normal. His fake smile really disgusts me.'

Finally, he cast one more disgusted glance at the robed, fake-smiling weirdo who was pestering another man dressed rather inappropriately… wearing a suit jacket paired with sweatpants.

Brook turned his gaze to the seagulls in the sky.

His thoughts were wildly erratic, and he now began to suspect that the murderer, Sirius Black, might be an animal tamer.

These birds were his spies, used to pass messages to him, reporting the movements of the police and security to help him evade detection!

'And then there was that black dog.'

'It probably belonged to the manager, Mr. Weber. He kept many dogs, quite a few of them large breeds, and this black dog was likely one of them.'

'Perhaps the criminal had secretly tamed this black dog, training it to help him steal property from the port?'

Brook was still lost in his imagination when, just as he blinked, the black dog vanished from his sight as if it had never been there at all.

Faintly, he could hear a 'plop' sound from the seawater nearby, like something heavy falling into the water.

The young security guard turned to look at the rolling blue waves but didn't see anyone on the surface.

He shook his head and refocused his attention on the entrance channel to the port.

That odd pair had finally passed through the inspection channel and entered the port. The man in the front, wearing glasses, a suit jacket, and sweatpants, seemed particularly annoyed by the robed, fake-smiling man following him. They had a brief argument, but the fake-smiling man clung to him like a stubborn burr.

Brook shook his head sympathetically and thought to himself, 'If I were stuck with someone like that, I'd grab him by his meticulously styled hair and punch him right in the nose!'

However, he failed to notice that behind him, on the sea surface he had just observed and found nothing unusual, a black shadow was faintly visible in the water, rising and sinking with the waves.

Only up close could one see that it was actually the large black dog Brook had earlier suspected belonged to the port manager, Mr. Weber!

The black dog was skillfully using a dog paddle, swimming through the choppy seawater toward the port of Calais in France.

Its eyes, unlike those of a normal animal, shone with a peculiar ferocity and determination!

Of course, Severus and the others in Paris were unaware of what was happening in Britain at that moment.

After spending the morning exploring Paris, Severus took Harry and the others to visit Nicolas Flamel's home.

The place was already surrounded by journalists, but no one could actually get inside.

They were all blocked outside the Muggle restaurant with the iron sign that read [Former Residence of Nicolas Flamel], attracting crowds of Muggles who pointed and stared.

Severus and his group certainly didn't use the front entrance. Instead, they went through a wizarding bar in Paris, which is connected to the Flamel Residence's fireplace via the Floo Network, and arrived that way.

Without this method, they would never have been able to break through the journalists' blockade. The morning's interview at the French Ministry of Magic clearly hadn't satisfied these news jackals, and they were everywhere searching for Severus and the others, hoping to dig up an exclusive headline.

Upon arriving at Nicolas's home, both Harry and Draco were extremely curious about the residence of the world-renowned master alchemist.

The place wasn't the luxurious, spacious mansion they had imagined. Instead, it was a small house that anyone would find rather humble.

The narrow space was crammed with alchemical instruments, ancient books, and containers… cluttered yet revealing centuries of research mark.

The alchemy work area was openly displayed before them, unobstructed: cauldrons, distillers, heating devices, and large glass containers filled with unknown ingredients were scattered throughout the room.

Alchemy and potion-making were inherently connected, especially since Nicolas Flamel's potion-making skills were just as exceptional as his alchemy!

After seeing some of the precision tools on the table, Harry whispered to Draco in a skeptical tone, suspecting that those were likely the auxiliary tools Nicolas used to brew the Elixir of Life.

Draco looked around, searching for what might be the Philosopher's Stone, and quietly asked Harry if he had seen anything resembling it.

The two of them showed no signs of their near-physical altercation from a few hours earlier. That's how boys are… conflicts arise quickly and fade just as fast, especially after they had visited the flying broomstick shop together and seen the mesmerizing latest models of racing broomsticks.

"Would you like some pre-dinner desserts?" Mrs. Flamel asked with a smile, holding a plate of freshly baked cookies she had made herself.

Harry gladly accepted. After wandering around the commercial street all morning, he was already quite hungry.

Draco straightened his robes and gave a proper bow of thanks, "Thank you for your hospitality, Madam."

After saying this, he shot a smug glance at Harry, as if mocking his lack of manners and sophistication.

Severus and Lupin were sitting with Nicolas in a corner of the living area, on old armchairs and a chaise lounge.

The two wizards, both highly accomplished in potions and alchemy, were discussing various topics. Although Lupin hadn't achieved significant fame, he had read extensively during his student days and had excellent grades, so he could occasionally contribute to their conversation.

"Since Isaac created [Star Antimony], very few alchemists have developed any truly eye-catching alchemical substances." Nicolas lamented.

Severus asked in confusion, "In the early 20th century, I heard a wizard named Waite in America translated numerous runic alchemical works and achieved remarkable success. Didn't that attract a lot of attention in the Wizarding World at the time?"

Nicolas shook his head. He clearly knew more about the inside story, "That was a complete fraud!"

"During the time when this news spread, I specifically went to America to see their so-called latest alchemical research with my own eyes. But those people were unwilling to let me get into contact with the ancient texts they claimed to have translated. They only showed some superficial stuff that any seasoned alchemist could have written."

"Afterward, I realized they had no new research at all. The so-called translation of lost ancient texts was fake. Waite just wanted to use this to gain fame and sell books. He was afraid I would expose him, so he kept avoiding me."

"Once I understood the truth, I returned and continued working on my pocket watch research that I hadn't finished."

As Nicolas spoke, both Severus and Lupin looked surprised. They clearly hadn't known the true story behind the incident.

It was only when Nicolas mentioned his pocket watch research at the end that Severus suddenly remembered something.

"Speaking of pocket watches, in Knockturn Alley in Britain, I bought an item claimed to be one of your former alchemical products."