Chapter 60: The Day the Savior Meets the Dark Overlord

Page (1/3)

In Voldemort’s eyes, Roger was an absolute enemy. Voldemort sought to attain eternal and supreme power, and monsters like Roger, who posed a great threat, had to be eliminated. For Roger, Voldemort was blood enemies with his own partners, and his very existence threatened Dumbledore, to whom Roger owed a great debt. Moreover, Voldemort was hardly an innocent figure akin to a newborn child. Though Roger did not necessarily view Voldemort as a foe, he would not hesitate to wipe him from existence given the chance.

Yet, both Voldemort and Roger were men who paid little heed to trivialities. Even if the other was an enemy, they did not mind communicating and learning from each other, gaining knowledge that could make themselves stronger. They had no disdain for weapons forged by their adversaries in the name of political correctness. To them, adopting the skills of others to overcome them was nothing extraordinary.

When Roger knew only of Voldemort’s five Horcruxes, and Voldemort, bound by oaths and other restrictions, could not strike at him on campus that year, both found themselves at an impasse. Thus, exchanges between them became occasional.

On December 24th, Christmas Eve, Voldemort and Quirrell came as always to their meeting, continuing the nearly unwinnable game against Roger.

“Don’t you find it ironic?” Roger asked.

“Hmm?” Standing before the Room of Requirement—which one had to pass three times to enter—Roger circled about to open the door, glancing back at Voldemort.

Voldemort, inhabiting Quirrell’s body, flicked a finger, striking a small plastic ball hanging beside the troll-pummeling Barnabas tapestry.

It was a Christmas decoration already put up for Christmas Eve.

“We are wizards, yet we celebrate the birthday of one from their world.”

“The wizarding world and the Muggle world are intertwined too deeply; you have me within you, and I within you, tangled in every aspect…” Voldemort’s gaze shifted from the plastic ornament to the courtyard below, where Hagrid was dragging a Christmas tree.

Generation after generation of Muggle-born wizards continuously introduced Muggle society’s ways into the wizarding world, an unstoppable tide.

He had founded the Death Eaters under the banner of pureblood supremacy, hoping to build a ‘pure’ force, but…

Could one truly distinguish such purity?

He often recalled Roger’s theory: “If you can’t beat them, join them.” Voldemort thought it workable, yet his pride and resolve forbade it.

For ordinary people, acting against their principles is already difficult. For Voldemort, whose thinking was deeply affected by negative emotional magic and thus even more extreme, it was exponentially harder.

‘Right’ and ‘persistence’ battled ceaselessly in his mind, tormenting him.

“Not only wizards and Muggles; look at nations in the Muggle world—they too are entangled, you within me and I within you. Countless strange events and world trends can be clarified if you apply this thought.”

Roger, who came from the age of globalization, spoke casually.

“This is the tide of the era. Unless you have the power to overturn the table entirely, you’d better join in and become an indispensable part of it.”

“The era of isolation is over.” Without looking back, Roger entered the Room of Requirement as the door opened.

Voldemort watched Roger’s retreating figure, a thought flashing through his mind:

…Could it be that I really must study how Muggles become wizards, and then carry out that plan?

“Are you going to follow this trend too, Roger?”

“The strong don’t complain about their environment because they shape it to their liking… just as I make Slytherin and Gryffindor coexist harmoniously before me with fists and wands.” Roger didn’t answer directly, but the meaning was clear.

He was choosing a different path.

Page (2/3)

Voldemort: “……”

.

.

.

At the beginning of their battles, Quirrell could at least trade blows with Roger, but now, nearly two months later, Quirrell was no match—defeated at a single encounter.

After their routine, tedious duel ended, Voldemort intended to leave.

But Roger stopped him and asked a question: “Voldemort, why did you choose the path of magic you follow now?”

“I’ve been hesitating about which path to take. Could you give me some advice as a reference?” Roger asked straightforwardly, his expression sincere.

Hearing this, Voldemort was momentarily stunned. “You’re asking me this? Are you serious?!”

Though they discussed sensitive topics sometimes, this question was beyond the usual bounds.

For a moment, Voldemort doubted Roger was joking or teasing, but seeing his earnest face… he really meant it?

“I’m not trying to pry into your core magical secrets. I’m just curious about your reasons for choosing this path.”

“Reasons…” Voldemort and Roger stared silently at each other for over ten seconds.

After some thought, Voldemort thought it wouldn’t hurt to say a few words.

For those qualified to have a normal conversation with him, Voldemort was not always taciturn: “Nothing special really. It’s just that only the magical path I chose can give me the power and ability to realize my ambitions.”

He didn’t specify what path he had chosen, nor did he deceive Roger, but spoke vaguely about his mental journey.

Compared to Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape, Voldemort’s situation was closer to Roger’s: both were extremely talented, skilled in many magics, with multiple paths available. His answer was a valuable reference for Roger.

Lying?

To others, Voldemort might not mind weaving a trap of sweet words and watching them fall into it, becoming his pawns.

But Roger was different.

Roger’s ability to observe fate was so strong even Voldemort barely understood it. Using lies to deceive a seer?

That’s not how a jester plays the game!

With Roger, Voldemort either said nothing or told the truth—never made a fool of himself.

“I see.” A flash of insight lit Roger’s mind.

Professor McGonagall’s “Expertise.”

Professor Snape’s “Devotion.”

Voldemort’s “Power.”

Countless words intertwined in his mind; Roger perceived their commonality.

“Thank you for sharing. I think I now know what to do.” Roger’s smile brightened.

Seeing this, Voldemort nodded slightly without much concern, then turned and left.

The path of magic, once you reach the threshold of entry, barring a few fools who stumble in by luck, you can generally find the path best suited for you.

Voldemort believed whether he answered or not wouldn’t greatly affect Roger’s ultimate achievements.

Even if he didn’t answer, it would at most delay Roger’s progress by a month or two, beyond exposing his own narrow-mindedness before a seer, it meant little.

Page (3/3)

Compared to the seer, Voldemort now cared more about another matter.

After leaving the Room of Requirement, Voldemort did not head toward the library.

Instead, with interest, he took an envelope from his pocket and toyed with it in his hand.

He descended the stairs.

He arrived before a familiar door.

Before Halloween, he had tried every means to enter.

To pass the guard of the three-headed dog without causing a ruckus, he had even gone to some trouble to obtain information from Hagrid by tricking a boggart.

But after Halloween, his efforts became a joke—the Philosopher’s Stone was not there.

The three-headed dog had been moved away at some unknown time.

Inside the empty room, Voldemort lifted the trapdoor and leapt down.

It was a chamber greatly expanded by a seamless extension charm.

A bespectacled boy appeared to have been waiting a long time.

“Voldemort.” The boy whispered the nightmarish name softly.

“…Harry Potter.” Voldemort looked at the figure with a keen interest, then tossed the “invitation” letter, delivered by owl that very morning to his office, across the floor.

The letter landed skewed on the ground.

“I never thought, by not troubling you, you’d have the courage to come to me instead.”

“Who gave you that courage?”

“Is it the Death Eater behind you?!” Voldemort’s gaze passed over Harry Potter’s body to focus on Severus Snape standing behind him.

Snape’s covert identity was called out bluntly.

Yet neither Snape nor Harry showed any reaction.

“I invited you here to settle the accounts from eleven years ago,” Harry said calmly.

Seeing their reactions were not as he expected, Voldemort narrowed his eyes and said mockingly, “Settle the accounts from eleven years ago?”

“How I tortured and killed your poor parents?”

“Ha ha ha, if you want to settle that account, I think you’d better settle it first with the guy behind you.”

“Severus, what did you do eleven years ago? Should I tell him loudly now, or… will you speak for yourself?!”

Voldemort decided to drop a bombshell.

He didn’t think there was any need to sow discord between the two.

He simply found watching these two suffer was enough to keep his spirits high all day!