"You may not have realized what you just did."
Watching Avada effortlessly keep pace with him, diligently fill several full pages of notes, answer every question perfectly, and even extrapolate at key points, even Voldemort—despite his fractured mind—could not help but feel astonished.
He had personally trained plenty of members within his Knights of Walpurgis and the Death Eaters before, yet he had never encountered someone so intelligent. Research into the mind had always been one of the most difficult fields; when teaching related magic, there were more than a few idiots who had nearly driven him to fury.
"What we just discussed—even if it were taught to sixth-years, no, seventh-years, they would still find it extremely challenging—yet you followed it without the slightest difficulty!"
"Is this truly your first time studying mental magic?"
He raised his head and looked gently into Avada's eyes. Instantly, Avada felt his Occlumency being touched—fortunately, only very lightly. He disguised it with ease. Whether it was because Voldemort was too weak, or because he simply disdained to seriously use Legilimency on a lower-year student, Avada could not tell.
"Yes."
While maintaining his Occlumency and feeding false information, he explained calmly, "I don't know why, but the first time I cast the Confundus Charm, I felt that this—no, this entire category of magic—had a strange affinity with me… The feeling was just like when I first held the wand that truly belonged to me."
"After that, whether it was my own research or reading the book Psychodynamics that you recommended, I could understand almost everything effortlessly, and I felt immense joy in the process…"
He stared at his own hands in a daze and murmured softly, "As if I was born for this."
"There is no need to doubt it, Ken. You were born for this."
Voldemort said gently, "Talent is the most unfair thing in this world. From the moment people are born, it determines their destiny—whether they rise above others or live in mediocrity, whether they enjoy wealth and glory or endure a lifetime of poverty… And among them, there is a small handful who possess talents beyond ordinary imagination, natural favorites of magic itself."
"All the witches and wizards remembered by history for their earth-shaking deeds belong to this category."
Avada looked up, disbelief in his eyes. "Professor, are you saying… I am one of them too?"
"Of course."
Voldemort chuckled lightly. "Now then, since you already know the power and status you ought to possess, what do you wish to do with them?"
The mental force intruding upon his Occlumency suddenly changed in nature—from crude probing to formless guidance, subtly steering him to speak the truest voice in his heart…
"I want to create a world that belongs to wizards."
And so Avada said "sincerely," "Wizards clearly possess magic, yet they are forced to hide and survive in the cracks of the Muggle world. It's stifling—and profoundly unfair. I want wizards to walk openly in the world, for wizards to rule Muggles, and for the most noble among wizards to lead all others, thus constructing an orderly world."
He could not outright say, I want pure-bloods to rule everything—after all, in Voldemort's eyes, he did not know his own true blood status. So instead, he blended Grindelwald's ideology with Voldemort's, deceiving Voldemort without triggering suspicion or rejection.
"A very good idea."
Voldemort's mental state radiated clear delight. "Then tell me—what do you think should be the standard by which a wizard's nobility is measured?"
"Well…"
Avada hesitated briefly. Sensing no anomaly in the guiding force urging him to speak the truth, he continued his deception with ease. "I'm not sure."
"Perhaps talent—having the intelligent rule the world can't be wrong. But bloodline might also be valid. I know quite a few pure-blood friends whose aptitude and bearing far surpass those of others I've met…"
"These are matters you can consider slowly. There's no need to give an answer right now."
Voldemort was already nearly certain that the student before him was a potential Death Eater worth claiming. Only a few final questions remained. "However, a student as intelligent and ambitious as you should have gone to Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Why did you choose Hufflepuff instead?"
"Well, about that. At the time, the Sorting Hat said I had ambition, talent, and diligence—any house except Gryffindor would suit me—and told me to choose for myself. I said I wanted to go to the house with the most ordinary people, where it would be easiest to stand out. And so I was sorted into Hufflepuff."
Sorry, Hufflepuff seniors. Professor Sprout. Everyone in Hufflepuff. This is just a temporary measure—please understand…
"I see."
Feeling his mental guidance constantly returning feedback of truth and truth, Voldemort asked the final question. "Do you know the meaning of your name, or who gave it to you?"
"I don't. But Professor Dumbledore said it's a very dangerous spell and told me not to investigate it. The ones who named me seemed to be people from the Ministry of Magic—they wanted to use me as an experimental subject to study something."
"I understand."
The mental guidance hovering outside Avada's Occlumency finally dissipated. Avada cooperated by showing a moment of dazed confusion, then suddenly lifted his head and stared at Quirrell in shock, as if only now realizing what he had just said.
"Don't mind it. Just a small test."
Voldemort revealed a relaxed smile. "If I told you that I could offer you a clear path—a path that would allow you to realize your ideals while also granting you honors and wealth beyond your current imagination—would you be willing to accept it?"
"…Professor, who exactly are you?"
Avada displayed a perfectly timed look of confusion.
"That isn't important. What matters is that we share the same aspirations, and that I have already gone farther down the road you wish to walk." Voldemort manipulated Quirrell's face into a mysterious smile.
"I know you may still have doubts. How about this—every Saturday night from now on, you may come here to find me. I'll teach you certain marvelous things you cannot learn at school. During this process, you can decide for yourself whether you're willing to accept my invitation… Very well, that's enough for today. You should head back."
Sensing the "anticipation" and "hesitation" transmitted through Legilimency, Voldemort controlled Quirrell's body and pointed lightly. The office door opened on its own. After watching Avada leave with a pensive expression and his bag in hand, he let out a triumphant laugh.
"Master, why are you so pleased? No matter what, he's only a second-year student…"
"Fool. You have no idea of his value."
Voldemort said disdainfully, "Today, I effectively secured a future Dumbledore for myself!"
"I will nurture him until he becomes my most loyal servant. And when his power reaches its peak, there will be no one—no force in this world—that can stand against the two of us together!"
"By then, my conquest will no longer be limited to these small British Isles… The entire world will be completely under my dominion!"
…
What Voldemort did not know was that the moment the office door closed, Avada clutched his bag and sprinted a hundred meters straight back to the dormitory. Staring at the notebook inside, already filled to the brim with recorded notes, his hands began to tremble with excitement.
"I struck it rich. Absolutely struck it rich…"
"This is a dynamic sample of mental magic in action… With this, I can't lose even if I try!"
(End of Chapter)