Hogwarts: I am Voldemort.

Chapter 93 Fireside Talk
Voldemort returned to Hogwarts with gratitude.

If Quirrell told all this prematurely, he must not have so many insights.

More than that, being able to see Grindelwald's demeanor also satisfied Voldemort-the remnant soul might not have such an idea.

"Quirrell?"

Satisfied, Voldemort was stopped by the sudden voice—careless, carried away.

"Headmaster Dumbledore."

Voldemort turned around with a weary smile—he wasn't tired, of course, but he was putting on an air to give him room to think.

"You look tired, come to see me so late, is there something wrong?" Dumbledore asked.

Thank you for saving me... thought Voldemort, pulling his foot out of the stairs.

"I checked a lot of information about what I saw that day." Voldemort said as he walked towards Dumbledore, "I think I have some things that I need to ask you for advice."

"Don't say it here." Dumbledore shook his gorgeous cloak, which still had snowflakes on it, "It's too cold, let's go inside and talk."

He said, making the stone statue in front of the principal's office jump away, and then took Voldemort upstairs.

"call."

Lighting the fireplace with a silent spell, Dumbledore asked Voldemort what drink he wanted.

"Hot Chocolate, Headmaster, I think I've been spoiled by you." Voldemort had already adjusted his mentality, and he even showed a smiling face to the portraits of the Headmaster in the Headmaster's Office.

"My mother never liked us eating too many desserts." Dumbledore said as he conjured up a drink, "but in my old age I was free."

Voldemort nodded, not joking on the matter.

Dumbledore's mother died very early, and he obviously doesn't need to be free only in his later years. The old bee's words are telling his thoughts about his mother, and his words have always been meaningful.

"Smart boy, what are you confusing?" Dumbledore conjured up two lounge chairs in front of the fireplace, then took off his snow-stained cloak, and sat on them with hot chocolate.

Under his gesture, Voldemort also lay comfortably on it, and spoke slowly.

He began to talk about his speculation about "Grindelwald's gas hood" to ask whether his understanding of "giving magic thought" is correct.

Dumbledore praised his wisdom, discussed with him, and finally reiterated the danger of "giving magic a mind".

"With my shallow wisdom, I still can't understand such harm." He said, "But Mr. Grindelwald's words are really contagious."

"Compared to Voldemort, he is still inferior." Dumbledore said leisurely.

Voldemort feigned a shudder - he felt out of place if he didn't - and said in disbelief, "How is that possible?"

"I don't have to lie to you, boy, they are two different kinds of people."

Dumbledore's tone was still relaxed, he didn't even look at Voldemort, he just said to himself, "Voldemort will be remembered by the Dark Arts, but Grindelwald will be remembered by history."

This made him sad, and he, who had Voldemort's remnant soul, felt that he was despised.

"If he will be remembered by history, why is he not as contagious as that man?" Voldemort asked puzzled (dissatisfied).

"My child, charisma is different from magic. Grindelwald never bothered to use that method. He has thoughts."

Dumbledore finally looked at Voldemort, but said something more hurtful.

"Oh, I see."

He was obviously dissatisfied in his heart, but he wanted to nod his head in agreement. Voldemort felt his heart was bleeding, and he regretted following him.

"What's the matter with you? It doesn't look very good." Dumbledore asked.

"Thinking about the nature of magic makes me very tired." He made an excuse.

Dumbledore nodded, took a sip of hot chocolate and asked, "How is it? Did you get anything?"

Voldemort smiled awkwardly. He had only seen today what he could gain.

"It's hard for me to understand that kind of love..." Voldemort said thoughtfully.

Dumbledore nodded, and he didn't seem to think Voldemort understood, or rather, he didn't think Quirrell understood.

"Can you tell me how you did it?"

Voldemort was in high spirits again, he half stood up and asked, "Let the deformed objects have the ability to use magic, my God, I didn't dare to imagine it before that."

"Actually, I can't do it anymore." Dumbledore said with some regret.

Voldemort froze for a moment, which he hadn't expected.

"Since you have checked Grindelwald's information, I think you also know about my past."

"Which passage?" Voldemort asked.

Of course he knew Dumbledore's past, but for someone over 100 years old, his past was too much, and Voldemort had to be precise about the time.

"The time when my mother died." Dumbledore made the chair move, looking very leisurely, but his voice was quite heavy.

"I know." Voldemort replied.

"At that time, I hated Muggles and hated the Ministry of Magic. As a sixteen or seventeen-year-old child, it was really difficult for me to do better when my father entered Azkaban and my mother passed away suddenly."

Voldemort nodded, he knew that history.

Because his sister was bullied by three Muggles, his parents stepped forward to teach the Muggles a lesson, and as a result... his father entered Azkaban.

Because of this incident, the younger sister's mood was extremely unstable, and in the end, the magic rioted and killed her mother by mistake... The tragedy was one after another, and the young Dumbledore was not given any chance to breathe.

Perhaps the arrival of Grindelwald eased his emotions, which is one of the reasons why the two love and hate entanglement for a lifetime.

Think about yourself again, in the orphanage, why is it not that you are in misery, it is just yourself, there is no Grindelwald of your own.

"In that case, Grindelwald taught me what to put in the magic."

Dumbledore spoke slowly, and the memory seemed to enter a young mind.

"I instinctively peeped into the trouble of thinking into it, black magic has long proven this, and I chose love in the end, you see, I conjured my mother, I even believed that there was a strand of her in it Revenant."

Voldemort nodded, looked sideways at Dumbledore, and found that there were tears in the corners of the old man's eyes—he suddenly felt strange that Dumbledore was talking to him.

Yes, although the core of the chat revolves around magic, Voldemort has long since discovered that Dumbledore's emotions are not here.

He looked sad and not as sharp as he used to be, which made him a little strange from the first time we met.

As if noticing Voldemort's stare and doubt, he turned his head and smiled back at Voldemort, which brought tears to his eyes, but the old man showed no sign of embarrassment.

"I went to Nurmengard and just took a look at it from a distance." After he finished speaking, he said another redundant sentence, "I shared knowledge with you that day, and reminded me of this old friend."

"Um... It can be seen that he has a great influence on you." Voldemort didn't know what to say.

Dumbledore nodded and said, "Yes, he enlightened my magic. I think that is very meaningful to you, right?"

Voldemort looked at Dumbledore, and saw his eyes looking towards the roof with infinite reminiscence.

Perhaps when one gets old, one cannot help recalling the glorious past, just like Moody... Voldemort thought, and nodded.

(End of this chapter)