Voldemort had no idea what thoughts were running through Charles Gold's mind; he simply found the young man's appearance rather impressive.
This boy… he has the same grace and poise I once had. No wonder Dumbledore trusts him.A handsome face always turned heads—and Voldemort knew that better than anyone.
In his early years, he had used his own charm and appearance to achieve many of his goals. Later, when his magical power matured, he no longer cared about looks. By then, the advantages beauty brought were trivial. Trading appearance for power? Voldemort never thought it a loss.
"Come in, Professor Gold," Voldemort said warmly. "Let's have a proper talk."
Just as Charles was about to step inside, the system suddenly came back to life, releasing another mission prompt.
[Legendary Mission Detected: "You call yourself the Dark Lord?"]
Objective: Defeat Voldemort (currently possessing Professor Quirrell).
Rewards: Important Item – Feather of Destruction;
TM – Oblivion Wing ×1, Dark Pulse ×1, Shadow Ball ×1
+1 Level.
"Feather of Destruction?" Charles froze for a moment. Don't tell me that's the feather of Yveltal, the Destruction Pokémon—one of the cover legendaries from Pokémon X and Y!
He was no stranger to that name. Yveltal's feather must carry power equal to Ho-Oh's Sacred Feather.
At that thought, Charles's gaze toward Voldemort subtly changed.
"What is it?" asked Quirrell—or rather, Voldemort—who had noticed that peculiar look. He thought his secret had been discovered.
"Ah, nothing," Charles replied quickly, searching for an excuse. "Just… the smell here is a bit unbearable. I told you before—there's no need to worry about vampires at Hogwarts."
"Merely a precaution," Voldemort said smoothly. "After all, the Defense Against the Dark Arts curse has brought quite a few professors misfortune."
He smiled thinly, and continued in a conversational tone, "Speaking of Defense Against the Dark Arts—I've heard you were quite the prodigy. Even in your student days, your skills surpassed most seventh-years, while I was still stuck studying theory. I've always wanted to discuss the subject with you."
Stuck in theory?Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Right, and I suppose Mewtwo is just a house pet. Who would believe Voldemort isn't good at Dark Arts?
"Mutual learning brings improvement," Charles said politely.
"Indeed! Well said." Voldemort's red eyes glinted faintly. "Tell me then, what are your thoughts on the Dark Arts?"
He leaned forward slightly—his tone light, yet probing.
"The Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum is profound," Voldemort went on. "It connects to many disciplines—Magical Creatures, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology… even the magical beings you brought with you could fall under its scope. But to truly master defense against the dark, one must first understand the dark."
Charles nodded, half in agreement.
"I see what you mean," he replied. "To defeat an enemy, one must first understand them. Most wizards today fear the Dark Arts out of taboo—but really, they're not inherently evil."
He smiled faintly. "I've always wanted to study them more deeply, though I never had the opportunity."
In truth, there was no such thing as a neutral force in this world. Magic required emotion to fuel it—without happy memories, one couldn't conjure a Patronus; without murderous intent, even an Avada Kedavra would barely scratch its target.
Frequent use of the Dark Arts twisted a wizard's mind—breeding cruelty, madness, and hatred.Not to mention the Unforgivable Curses…
The insanity of the Death Eaters, Voldemort's own descent into monstrosity—none of it was without cause.
That was why Charles, despite knowing many Dark spells—even reconstructing Grindelwald's flame barrier technique—rarely used them.
But he had no reason to explain all this to Voldemort. He wasn't here for a philosophical debate—he was here to find a way to fight him without raising suspicion.
While Charles calculated how to initiate battle, Voldemort, too, was preparing to test him—to show off the power of true Dark Magic.
"So," Voldemort said silkily, "you're interested in the Dark Arts as well?"
"Of course," Charles replied without hesitation. "Why else would I return to Hogwarts as a professor? I came for the Dark Arts section in the library—but when I got here, I discovered that many of the books from the Restricted Section had… vanished."
That part, at least, wasn't entirely false. Since the start of term, he'd occasionally wandered into the Restricted Section—not out of obsession, but out of curiosity.
Voldemort's expression shifted into one of understanding. Quirrell had told him all about Charles's past achievements—his talent, his ambition, his hunger for power. To Voldemort, it was obvious: a wizard like Charles would be irresistibly drawn to the Dark Arts.
He could almost taste victory.
A promising young wizard, hungry for strength… perfect. Once he steps onto the path of darkness, he'll be mine. Him, and those peculiar "Pokémon" of his—all mine.
The thought thrilled him. He couldn't wait to give Charles a little demonstration.
"You know," Voldemort began smoothly, "during my travels—ostensibly to 'study' Defense Against the Dark Arts—I met a certain dark wizard. You may have some bias against such people, but he was, in truth, an excellent teacher. My power grew immensely under his guidance.
"And then I began to realize—perhaps the Dark Arts aren't as evil as people claim. Most wizards fear them because they don't understand them. Those corrupted by their power? They were weak to begin with.
"But you, Charles Gold—" Voldemort's eyes gleamed, "—you are not weak. You see the truth as I do."
Charles forced a neutral smile.
"Dumbledore," Voldemort continued bitterly, "will never allow us to explore the beauty of the Dark Arts. Tell me, where do you think those missing books from the Restricted Section went? He hid them, of course—locked away from those who might learn too much."
"So you believe you're stronger than you were before?" Charles asked lightly, seeing through the manipulation. Voldemort was trying to tempt him—just as he had tempted Quirrell.
"Stronger?" Voldemort chuckled. "Far beyond. I can't keep my discoveries to myself forever. Allow me to demonstrate what I've achieved."
Quirrell raised his wand and bowed elegantly—a formal duelist's salute.
A duel invitation.
The simplest, most direct way to measure another's power.
And precisely what Charles wanted.
(End of Chapter)