Charles had a sinking feeling—like he'd just messed up big time.
There was something in this world that didn't match his "memories." He'd been bluffing earlier, but somehow… he'd accidentally hit the mark.
He forced himself to stay calm. Now was definitely not the time to claim ignorance. If Voldemort tried Legilimency on him and saw all the fandom content involving himself and Lin Daiyu—or worse, Snape—well, who knew what kind of chaos that would unleash?
So Charles replied smoothly, "It was a group of Muggles who called themselves the 'Church of Necessary Evil.' They've been running around claiming there's some treasure trove of magical books, using that as a front to scam Muggles out of their money."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "Muggles, you say?"
Charles nodded quickly. "I've only met them once. They never used wands or showed any signs of magic. They talked about searching places like the Pyramids, Easter Island, and Leifeng Pagoda for clues."
Time to muddy the waters. Let Voldemort go stir up trouble at Leifeng Pagoda—see if he survives the old Xu family patriarch who sells drinks nearby and might very well beat him black and blue.
Voldemort was silent for a long moment before finally speaking. "Despicable thieves. They must've gotten wind of something from a wizard and now think they can steal precious magical relics."
Charles blinked. "Wait… so the treasure is real?"
But Voldemort simply said, "I don't know."
A beat later, he added, "I heard that about a hundred years ago, there was a goblin who tried to seize a certain power… but failed."
"That part of history was erased. No records, no clues. No one knows what it was, where it is, or who possesses it now."
Charles was surprised but couldn't bring himself to care. If someone powerful enough to erase all traces didn't want people sniffing around, then maybe he'd best leave it alone. He did want to keep playing on his computer after all.
Voldemort didn't press the issue. He didn't think Charles knew anything more and simply resumed pacing the room.
Charles went back to copying indexes. The office settled into a tense but quiet rhythm.
Every so often, Voldemort peeked through Quirrell's eyes to observe Charles and saw the boy working diligently. It pleased him.
Ten minutes later, Voldemort abruptly asked, "I heard you're looking for a spell that explodes?"
Charles looked up, puzzled at how he'd found out, but didn't deny it. "Yes, Professor. I need something powerful enough to deal with the Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest. But I'm still not strong enough."
Voldemort gave him a sharp look. "You might win against one Acromantula. Maybe even ten. But if you go to war with the whole colony, they'll tear you apart and leave nothing behind—not even bones."
Charles gave a theatrical shiver. All an act, of course.
"Then what should I do?" he asked pitifully. "I promised my friends I'd help them eliminate the Acromantulas."
Voldemort gestured toward the stack of books. "Find the answer yourself."
Charles sighed. Classic adult response.
The scratching of a quill and the soft pacing resumed, filling the quiet room again.
But Voldemort wasn't done. He suddenly asked something that made Charles freeze:
"I heard you've killed someone?"
Charles stiffened, his mood instantly souring. "Can I choose not to answer that?"
Which, in essence, was an answer.
Voldemort's curiosity was piqued. When he was Charles's age, he hadn't killed anyone yet. This boy might actually outpace him. Now that was interesting.
"Can I ask why?" Voldemort softened his voice, trying to sound like a warm, understanding mentor. But to Charles, it only sounded like thinly-veiled menace.
Charles pursed his lips. "It's nothing. I got caught up in a kidnapping. I killed one of the kidnappers trying to escape."
(End of Chapter)