Chapter 57: Voldemort's Attention
Charles came from the Muggle world, so naturally, he preferred Muggle beverages.
Butterbeer and such were never to his taste—Bubble tea and soda were far more his style. After he introduced those drinks to Dumbledore, the old headmaster quickly fell in love with them as well.
Dumbledore had always been open-minded about Muggle items—especially milk tea.
When he couldn't buy it in Britain, he'd travel abroad just to get some. And, of course, he insisted on full sugar. Sickly sweet!
No wonder the password for his office today was: "Bubble Tea So Good It Makes You Want to Cry"—a peculiar phrase Charles had chosen deliberately to avoid Quirrell's prying ears.
After dinner, Charles quietly made his way to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore was already waiting.
"About Quirrell?" Charles didn't bother with small talk—he hadn't even finished his meal thanks to that man's interruption.
Dumbledore nodded. "He asked you for a Pokémon. I can't tell if that was his own idea, or Voldemort's command. Either way, I believe this might be an opportunity."
Charles nodded. He was thinking the same thing.
"Of course," Dumbledore continued, "it's not without risk. No one knows what they plan to do with a Pokémon. But I believe, at least until he gets the Philosopher's Stone, he won't dare act recklessly."
For Voldemort in his current state, restoring his body using the Stone was the utmost priority. Everything else could wait.
Still, Charles couldn't quite understand it.If Voldemort merely sought resurrection, why did he have to fixate on something as dangerous as the Philosopher's Stone?
The bone of the father, the flesh of the servant, the blood of the enemy—those three things alone were enough for his return.
And enemies? Voldemort had no shortage of those in Britain.
Perhaps he was simply too greedy—coveting the Stone that could grant immortality itself. After all, the final enemy to conquer… was Death.
Charles didn't bother guessing further.
"In any case, I plan to leave my Gengar with him, to keep watch. The Poké Ball's control remains in my hands," Charles said.
In fact, all Poké Balls' master control rested with him. If he wished, he could disable every Poké Ball at once—a convenient safeguard.
Dumbledore nodded. He was well aware of how powerful Charles's main Pokémon were.
That Charizard was strong enough to make a Thunderbird feel a genuine threat to its existence, and his Gengar—deceptive and unpredictable—was even more difficult to counter. In his current weakened state, Voldemort might not be able to do anything to it.
After discussing Harry's recent performance, the two concluded their meeting.
Charles returned to his office and finally finished his belated dinner.
Then, he began selecting Pokémon for the other professors.
Professor McGonagall was an easy match. Judging by her Animagus form, Charles knew exactly what suited her.
A Persian, a Liepard, and a female Pyroar.
Persian and Liepard weren't too high-level, well within McGonagall's ability to handle. But the level 35 Pyroar—that one would be a challenge even for her.
For Professor Snape, Charles chose Arbok and Golbat. He couldn't offer a Crobat yet, but Golbat would do for now.
Though Professor Flitwick was the Head of Ravenclaw, Charles decided to give him Fighting-types—to honor his title as a former Dueling Champion.
A Machop, a Tyrogue, and a Primeape.
For Professor Pomona Sprout, he prepared a Bellsprout and a Sunkern, to join the Oddish she already had—three Grass-types in total.
Professor Kettleburn was much like Hagrid—both shared a fascination with dangerous-looking creatures. So Charles selected a Rhyhorn, a Geodude, and an Onix for him.
As for Dumbledore, Charles intended to give him a Mareep and a Beedrill.
If he loves wool socks so much, then he can knit them himself!
——
Meanwhile, in his own office, Quirrell was waking his master.
"Master… Master…"
"What is it, Quirrell? Have you acquired the Philosopher's Stone?" rasped a voice from the wide scarf wrapped around the back of his head.
Trembling, Quirrell removed the scarf—revealing another face on the back of his skull.
Ugly features, flattened nose—it looked more like a snake than a man.
His stutter and timidity in public were all an act, but before Voldemort, his fear was very real.
"M-Master, I haven't—" He flinched, words tumbling out before Voldemort could punish him.
"I haven't obtained the Stone yet, but I'm working on bypassing the enchantments! I… I do have good news, my Lord!" he said hurriedly, voice trembling.
Inside, though, regret churned.
Had he known how terrifying Voldemort truly was, he'd never have been tempted by him. But it was too late now. Ever since the Dark Lord had possessed his body, Quirrell had ceased to be himself.
"You'd best hope your news is worth hearing, Quirrell. Otherwise—"
"Y-Yes, Master! I-I'm about to obtain a Pokémon! I think… I could use it to get past the mechanisms Charles Gold left behind. And perhaps… perhaps you might also find those creatures interesting?"
"Charles Gold… the genius from the Muggle world? Hmph. I hear some fools even compare him to me?" Voldemort sneered.
He seemed utterly disinterested in Pokémon—far more intrigued by Charles himself.
To him, the comparison was laughable.
A Muggle-born? Compared to me?The very thought was insulting.
"B-But he really is… powerful," Quirrell whispered.
Though they hadn't studied together in the same year, Quirrell had been at Hogwarts when Charles was a student. His achievements back then were already astonishing. Everyone thought his expulsion meant his magic would fade into obscurity. Yet this year, he had returned—and nearly brought down the entire Ministry of Magic.
"Perhaps… perhaps he's a half-blood. Maybe he just doesn't know it," Quirrell offered hastily, unwilling to mention the word Muggle in front of his master.
"That's quite possible," Voldemort murmured. "I've heard Dumbledore took him from an orphanage. And if he truly were a Muggle-born, how could he have entered Slytherin?"
"An orphanage?" Voldemort paused, then suddenly chuckled darkly.
If he hadn't known they were talking about Charles Gold, he might have thought Quirrell was describing him.
And then—jealousy ignited in his heart.
He and Charles Gold shared such similar origins… yet Dumbledore trusted that boy, while treating him like a monster.
It was infuriating.
"I think," Voldemort hissed softly, "I should find some time to meet him."