Chapter 345

In Knockturn Alley.

The scene here is exactly the same as that in Diagon Alley, with dense gold Galleons floating in the sky, like a golden rain.

The gold coins fell on the cobblestone road, making a crisp jingle, piling up into a thick layer. The drains on both sides of the street have long been filled, flashing a dazzling golden light.

However, this dazzling scene cannot cover up the unique cold atmosphere of Knockturn Alley.

Most shops were closed due to the Ministry of Magic's special anti-gang campaign, with doors and windows locked, and signs covered with dust, looking deserted and dilapidated.

Occasionally, the wind blew, shaking the dilapidated windows, making a creaking sound, as if wailing for this street.

The street was empty, and the Ministry of Magic staff who were originally stationed had already evacuated, leaving only the silent street scene and the gold Galleons on the ground flashing a strange luster.

However, in this dead silence, there was a shop that still had a faint light on.

At the door of the store, a man lazily leaned on an old wooden chair.

Behind him was a door eave, from which a simple rain shield protruded, blocking the continuous rain of gold coins.

The man looked only in his early 15s, still a teenager, with delicate features like sculptures, and pale skin that was cold in the dim light.

His black hair was neatly combed back, his eyes were deep and cold, with a chilling sense of oppression.

It was him, the young version of Voldemort.

His handsome face was hung with a leisurely and careless expression, as if the gold coin rain outside, like a dam flood, had nothing to do with him.

The jingle of gold coins kept echoing, but he was like a bystander, just quietly enjoying it all.

His upper body was naked, and his muscle lines were smooth and well-proportioned, like a carefully crafted work of art.

A red gem pendant hung on his chest.

The most eye-catching thing is the dividing line on his body, which clearly stretches between the left and right chests.

The skin color of his left arm is obviously paler than other parts, even glaring.

That white is not the color of normal skin, but the cold white of a lifeless dead object, as smooth as a plaster statue but without temperature.

This dividing line is like the confluence of a river and the sea, separating two completely different textures.

On one side is the pale but fleshy normal human skin color, while on the other side is completely dead, as if it is completely cut off from the vitality of living people.

The spliced ​​contrast makes him look both weird and eye-catching.

At this time, a young man walked out of the store, his arms glowing with silvery white, as if cast in metal.

He is Marcus Flint, with an unconcealed worry on his face, which seems to be out of tune with the carnival of gold coins outside.

Marcus approached the door cautiously, glanced at the piles of gold coins outside, and looked back at the store.

Through the crack in the door, Malfoy could be seen hiding behind a shaky shelf, huddled up in a ball, his face full of fear.

"Master, are we... not leaving now?"

There was uneasiness in Marcus' voice, as if he was afraid of disturbing Voldemort's interest, but had to remind him of the current situation.

"According to the news from the Ministry of Magic, the situation seems to be getting worse and worse."

Hearing this, Voldemort tilted his head slightly, and a meaningful smile appeared on his handsome and almost bewitching face, as if Marcus's worry was just an insignificant joke.

"Marcus,"

Voldemort asked in a low and magnetic voice.

"Tell me, why do we open a store here?"

Marcus was stunned when he heard this, obviously not expecting to be asked back.

His eyes flickered, as if he was trying to find an answer that would not anger Voldemort.

He swallowed and finally said in a tentative tone.

"To raise operating funds for our activities?"

After hearing this, Voldemort's smile deepened.

He raised his right hand and gently pointed his index finger at Marcus, as if praising him for answering the question correctly.

"Well, very good, very good."

Seeing this, Marcus finally breathed a sigh of relief, and his tense shoulders relaxed a little.

However, his relaxation only lasted for a moment.

Voldemort's smile suddenly withered, his eyes sank, and he raised his hand to point at the piles of gold coins outside, his tone cold and full of oppression.

"So, Marcus, tell me-how can we watch such a large pile of gold coins and remain indifferent?"

When Marcus heard Voldemort's answer, a look of hesitation and embarrassment appeared on his face.

He hesitated for a moment and tried to speak.

"But, Master, these gold coins cannot be collected by manpower, and our magic cannot be used here. Then... do you have a solution?"

Hearing this, Voldemort raised his mouth slightly, revealing a sarcastic smile, and said with a bit of nonchalantness.

"Of course not."

When Marcus heard this, he almost rolled his eyes, but finally suppressed the impulse.

He lowered his head to hide the complex emotions in his heart.

Voldemort seemed to be completely unaware of Marcus's thoughts, and his eyes were still on the rain of gold coins pouring like a torrent outside the window.

His voice was low and calm, as if he was stating an indisputable fact.

"This obviously involves the power of the 'only' level. I have no way to resist this kind of rule power for the time being, let alone forcibly cast magic."

Marcus listened and nodded slightly, but his brows were getting tighter and tighter.

His eyes swept back and forth between Voldemort and the gold coins outside the window, and he couldn't help but wonder: If that's the case, why stay here?

Voldemort seemed to see through his thoughts, and the smile on his lips deepened.

He slowly closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He seemed calm and even a little comfortable.

He spoke softly, with a hint of certainty and playfulness in his voice.

"But I believe, dear Ravenclaw Headmaster... there should be a way to solve all this?"

Then silence filled the air, and after Voldemort's voice fell, there was no response.

Marcus stood aside, looking a little embarrassed, scratching the tip of his nose, trying to hide his helplessness.

He secretly glanced at Voldemort and found that the calmness on his face seemed to have a little imperceptible impatience.

Voldemort raised his eyebrows slightly, then raised his hand and patted his left shoulder gently.

His movements were elegant and careless, and his tone was a little calculating.

"If you make a move, we can make a net profit of more than 200,000 Galleons. This deal is very cost-effective. We will go to Sweden later, and the expenses there are not small."

As soon as he finished speaking, the air was still dead silent.

As time passed by, Voldemort's mouth gradually tightened, and the displeasure on his face finally showed.

At this moment, a blurry face suddenly appeared on his left chest.

The face looked vague, as if the outline could only be barely recognized through a layer of mist.

Indistinctly, it can be seen that it is a female face, with a kind of indifference and fatigue in her eyebrows and eyes.

"Tom Riddle!"

The voice sounded faintly, with obvious impatience in the tone, and even a hint of weakness.

"I tell you, if you wake me up for such trivial matters again, we will all die!"

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