A person whose background was eerily similar to his own—Voldemort found that rather… intriguing.
Of course, what he truly felt was mostly jealousy and contempt.
The jealousy came from the way Dumbledore treated him and Charles Gold so differently. After all, back when he was still a student, he, Tom Riddle, had performed far better than that troublemaker Charles Gold ever had!
And yet, Dumbledore had never trusted him.
The contempt, on the other hand, came from Voldemort's innate arrogance.
He was the descendant of one of the founders of Hogwarts—Salazar Slytherin himself! A proud member of the noble and illustrious Gaunt family. Even if that boy really was a half-blood, how could he ever compare to him?
He, Lord Voldemort, was the one and only, the greatest Dark Lord in all the world!
Still, although he scoffed at Charles's power—if he even had a nose to scoff with—the boy's talent had caught his attention.
A man as great as he naturally didn't want to be followed by a pack of weaklings.
Snape was one of the few competent ones left. But now this Charles Gold seemed even more remarkable. If he could draw that boy to his side, Voldemort's ranks would swell once again.
And when that time came, not even Dumbledore himself would be able to stop him!
Voldemort indulged in that pleasant fantasy for a moment before his expression turned cold again. Charles Gold wasn't his follower—yet. Worse still, even Snape's loyalty had become uncertain.
Once, he had trusted Snape completely. But over the years, that servant had never sought him out, choosing instead to remain comfortably at Hogwarts. Who could say whether his allegiance had changed?
And according to Quirrell, it was Dumbledore who had personally vouched for Snape after Voldemort's fall.
"Next time, I'll meet him myself," Voldemort hissed softly. "I want to see whether he is truly willing to serve the great Lord Voldemort."
His plan was simple—recruit him if possible; destroy him if not.
"Y-yes, my great master…" Quirrell stammered, trembling.
He couldn't help but think back on his pitiful past.
There was a time when he'd been—well, thinner, yes—but also more naïve. After receiving Voldemort's "benevolent" instruction and promises of power, he had been foolish enough to believe him… and became his slave.
Now, Voldemort clung to him like a curse—an affliction he could never escape.
And when Quirrell thought that Charles Gold might soon share the same fate, he couldn't help but feel both pity… and a grim sort of satisfaction.
"I also bring good news, my lord—about Snape," Quirrell said nervously.
"Oh?" Voldemort's tone sharpened slightly.
"Perhaps he hasn't betrayed you after all. He's… he's distrusted by the other professors."
Quirrell explained what he had seen. From his perspective, ever since Charles entered Hogwarts, he had clashed with Snape at every turn. The boy never showed him the slightest respect. And since the Philosopher's Stone had been delivered by Charles himself, it meant Snape was now under heavy suspicion.
"During the banquet, Snape was completely isolated. Charles Gold didn't want to entrust him with any Pokémon, and even Dumbledore said nothing in his defense," Quirrell added.
"Ah… my loyal Snape," Voldemort murmured, satisfaction curling his lip.
He knew well that most of his Death Eaters followed him out of fear, not faith. True loyalty was rare—and comforting.
Pity that Snape had long since betrayed him.
"He must have believed I was gone forever," Voldemort mused with a twisted smile. "Hopeless, he stayed behind to teach. But no—perhaps he's merely waiting for his great master to return!"
"My lord, should I contact Snape? If he lends his help, obtaining the Philosopher's Stone would be much easier," Quirrell suggested carefully.
After all, facing all those magical traps alone was no small feat.
Especially that monstrous three-headed dog guarding the first chamber—
Even Snape had been bitten by it.
But Voldemort immediately rejected the idea.
"No!"
He wasn't foolish enough to gamble on someone else's loyalty. Snape's true allegiance couldn't be guessed from afar—and Voldemort would never stake his destiny on another man's heart.
"Avoid contact with Snape," he ordered coldly. "He'll be useful—after I am reborn."
Quirrell dared not argue.
The next morning, Charles began delivering the Pokémon he had prepared for the professors. Though he had selected them himself, each still needed to be defeated before it would obey its new Trainer.
Professor McGonagall handled her trials with effortless grace. Using Transfiguration, she easily bested the Purrloin and Persian assigned to her.
Even when facing Pyroar, who unleashed blazing torrents of fire, she remained perfectly composed.
With a flick of her wand, the ground rose into a stone shield, blocking the flames.
Moments later, she transfigured various objects into a pride of regal lions that charged to meet the Pyroar head-on.
Naturally, those conjured beasts were no match for the real thing—Pyroar's claws and fangs tore through them with ease—but the strength of Transfiguration lay in persistence. McGonagall could summon more, endlessly.
Soon, even Pyroar grew weary of the onslaught.
At last, it acknowledged her strength—and accepted her as its Trainer.
Meanwhile, Professor Flitwick's battle was far more chaotic. His three Pokémon were fierce and unyielding, especially the Primeape, who kept charging even after being stunned by spells several times.
Seeing the poor creature's stubborn resistance, Charles eventually decided it wasn't fair to force it into such misery. He sent Primeape back to the Nature Reserve, replacing it with a gentler Heracross instead.
As for the other professors, most of their Pokémon were low-level and mild-tempered. Some even accepted their Trainers without a single fight.
Naturally, Quirrell was an exception.
The moment Charles laid eyes on him, he sensed something was off.
Though the man's face looked the same, his entire aura was completely different.
Charles realized at once—Voldemort himself had taken over.
"You're finally here, Charles Gold," Quirrell said with a calm, rehearsed smile, as though he'd been waiting.
Voldemort had always been good at pretending, even back when he was a student.
In fact, one might say he was a master-class actor—the ultimate faker!
Many students and teachers had once been deceived by his polite manners and handsome face.
(Here, Charles mentally took a jab at a certain lonely ghost who'd fallen for him—a thousand years of singlehood clearly hadn't improved her taste.)
And according to a few juicy whispers floating around, the great Tom Riddle had even seduced a wealthy witch or two in his youth, all to further his ambitions.
Charles couldn't help but think—this deserves coverage.
He really ought to tip off Rita Skeeter, the ever-righteous reporter, to expose the Dark Lord's scandalous past to the world!
He could already picture the headlines:
"Tom Riddle or Lord Voldemort? The Shocking Romantic Secrets of the Mysterious Dark Lord!"
Or perhaps—
"From Ghostly Temptations to Rich Widows: The Unusual Tastes of the Great Dark Lord!"
Or even—
"A Forbidden Love: The Hidden Truth Behind Voldemort's Fall from Grace!"
(End of Chapter)