A day at Hogwarts.

Chapter 573 One hand delivers the goods, the other hand delivers the people.

The atmosphere in the Slytherin common room was unusually somber, even more so than when the school emblems almost turned into jellyfish.

Everyone waited quietly, awaiting a crucial piece of news.

Malfoy was somewhat uneasy and quickly stood up, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, his footsteps echoing throughout the common room.

New footsteps sounded, and everyone looked toward the common room door as Perrykin Derek, the seventh-grade prefect, returned from outside.

"How about it?!"

The common room erupted in noise, and Derek had to raise his hand and press down to quiet everyone down.

“I just made an excuse to go into the headmaster’s office. Professor Dumbledore hasn’t returned yet, so I was able to speak with the Sorting Hat.”

Everyone listened attentively to him without making a sound, and Malfoy also stopped talking.

For them, there is one last piece of the puzzle to solve regarding Charles's identity: why he is in Gryffindor.

Only the Sorting Hat could answer this question, so everyone decided to just ask it directly.

Derek continued, "I asked the Sorting Hat, 'Why did Charles Smith go to Gryffindor?'"

“The Sorting Hat answered, because Smith is special.”

"At that moment, Professor Dumbledore returned, and I could no longer ask any questions."

After Derek finished speaking, the common room erupted in chatter, like a beehive.

College assignments are generally related to parents; normally, children go to whichever college their parents are in.

However, there are exceptions. For example, one member of the Black family went to Gryffindor, the Indian twin sisters in fourth grade were in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw respectively, and the Pewter family has always been in Gryffindor, and now their daughter is in Slytherin.

Charles's case is unique, indicating that his family tradition was not in Gryffindor; he, like the cases above, went to other colleges.

Therefore, some of his family traditions may have originated in Slytherin.

Based on the existing evidence, ruling out Gryffindor is sufficient.

Will Smith take after his mother?

Someone suddenly proposed a bold hypothesis, but it was immediately ruled out.

Is the Dark Lord going to sleep with the Gryffindor woman to test his ability to cast six Avada Kedavra curses per second?

Meanwhile, Jack and Grindelwald appeared at the seaside villa, opened the door to the icehouse, and the cold air inside made the two old men shiver.

Grindelwald said, "Charles was quite cautious; he prepared two bags of blood."

Jack said matter-of-factly, "That's just how he is, making thorough preparations without making a sound."

As he spoke, he casually picked up a bag of blood and put it into a frozen suitcase that looked like something out of a Maslow's box.

The two left the seaside villa, having already arranged with Voldemort to exchange blood for a person that night.

In the living room of Malfoy Manor, heavy curtains blocked out the outside light, and a cold green flame burned in the fireplace, making Voldemort's pale and distorted face appear even more eerie.

Charles sat on a single sofa opposite him, having changed out of his tattered prison uniform and into clean but slightly oversized civilian clothes provided by Lucius.

This morning, when he was taking the medicine to feign illness, Ruby used spatial magic to stuff all the pills into his mouth. He ate too much at once and was truly poisoned. Now his face is even paler than Voldemort's, and he has some difficulty moving his hands, but his eyes have regained their clarity and alertness.

There were only the two of them in the living room; the Death Eaters were all eavesdropping outside, exchanging gossip about the Dark Lord with their eyes.

Voldemort's eyes locked onto Charles, and his hoarse voice broke the silence as he asked earnestly, "How did you do that?"

Charles knew what they were asking—to sneak into Gringotts’ core vault and leave a banner behind.

He leaned forward slightly, placed his hands clasped on his knees, and met the inhuman gaze with honesty. Suddenly, a smile appeared on his lips as he asked, "Will my answer earn me extra points in Gryffindor, Professor?"

Voldemort was pulled back to a few years ago by the word "Professor," when he finally became the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he had always dreamed of, and discovered a "good student" like him. He couldn't help but chuckle softly.

The Death Eaters who were eavesdropping thought to themselves, "What game are you playing?"

Charles continued, "I have a special talent for spatial magic."

"Just as fortune tellers are born with the ability to see fragments of the future, just as Professor Trelawney can make real prophecies."

“I can sense the gaps in space. To give an example, others see the canopy of a big tree from a distance, but I can see the individual leaves and the gaps between them up close.”

"It's an intuition, an innate ability."

He paused, then added, "You also saw me use some time-related magic in Azkaban."

"Space and time are sometimes intertwined."

Voldemort pondered for a moment.

Talent, especially talent involving the supreme realm of space and time, is the most elusive and inexplicable phenomenon in the magical world.

The Ministry of Magic possesses time-magic items such as time converters, which are created by wizards with extremely high talent in time magic, and which other wizards cannot even repair.

It's not entirely unbelievable that a young wizard with such rare talent could do things that seem impossible.

After a moment, Voldemort spoke again, his voice still cold, but with a hint of inquiry: "So, can your talent be put to use again?"

Charles did not answer immediately, but waited quietly for what would happen next.

“The Hufflepuff Cup,” Voldemort rasped, a flicker of barely perceptible anger and gloom in his eyes. “It should be in Lestrange’s vault, but it’s not there.” “I suspect it’s still in the hands of the goblins, hidden away in an even more secret place.”

"I need you. Use your talents to infiltrate Gringotts' inner vault, find it, and bring it to me."

This is an extremely dangerous mission.

After this battle, Gringotts' security will undoubtedly be raised to an unprecedented level.

Charles had anticipated this, and remained silent for a few seconds, seemingly weighing his options.

Finally, he raised his head and looked directly into Voldemort's eyes: "I can grant your request."

Voldemort's mouth seemed to twist, forming a terrifying expression that resembled a smile.

“But,” Charles said firmly, “I have one condition.”

"Conditions?" Voldemort's voice carried a dangerous, playful tone.

“No matter what happens in the future,” Charles said, emphasizing each word, “you, and all the Death Eaters who follow you, cannot harm my family.”

He emphasized the word "family".

Voldemort stared intently at Charles, as if trying to pierce his soul.

However, now even Jack could no longer use Legilimency to explore Charles's mind. When Grindelwald tried, he only saw himself wrestling with Dumbledore in a dressing room, with Dumbledore making a loud noise.

Voldemort's power had not yet recovered, and all that could be read from Charles's mind was endless resentment.

"I really want a little sister!"

"I really want a cute and well-behaved little sister!"

"Ideally, she should be a little girl with small pigtails and eyes that curve like crescent moons when she smiles."

"She would follow behind me, calling me 'brother' in a soft, sweet voice, like a sweet little cake."

“On rainy days, if she’s afraid of thunder, I’ll hold her and tell her stories, little sister.”

Voldemort's silence was deafening, lasting a full five minutes.

The Death Eaters assumed Charles was referring to Jack Smith, which made sense, so they didn't pay much attention.

Voldemort opened his mouth, but now was not the time to talk about his sister, so he got to the point: "Okay."

"By an ancient magic oath, the spells cast by our wands will never be able to touch the lives or health of your family."

He raised his pale hand, and a faint green light shone from the tip of his wand.

Charles also raised his wand.

Late at night, on the banks of the Thames.

The river breeze swept across the dark river surface, stirring the wild grass on the banks.

Voldemort stood alone on the riverbank, still wearing his dark trench coat and top hat, his tall figure appearing ghostly in the thin moonlight.

Space distorted, and two figures appeared not far away. Grindelwald appeared with Jack, who was carrying a small magical cooler wrapped in thick black cloth and emitting a faint chill.

Voldemort's eyes instantly locked onto the box.

He could clearly feel a strong, malicious connection between himself and the contents of the box.

That is a curse and hatred that originates from the depths of one's blood!
So pure, so profound, who else could it be but the boy from the prophecy, Harry Potter?

“I’ve brought the blood,” Jack’s voice broke the silence.

Voldemort waved his hand.

Charles emerged from the shadows behind Voldemort, his face calm, accompanied by a group of Death Eaters.

Jack handed the box to Voldemort and asked with concern, "You weren't hurt today, were you?"

Voldemort smiled slightly and said, "A goblin can't hurt me."

After he finished speaking, he opened the box and saw the blood bags inside. The hatred he felt for him, which was connected by blood, intensified. He could almost hear the curses contained in his blood roaring against him.

Voldemort thought to himself, "It's Harry Potter's blood, that's for sure!"
Jack looked Charles up and down and said with relief, "It's good that you're back. You'd better go out and hide for a few days, and come back when things have calmed down."

After handing the box to Malfoy, Voldemort suddenly asked, "Charles, would you like to join the Death Eaters?"

Everyone was stunned, not expecting him to recruit Charles at this moment.

Charles turned around and waved his hand, saying, "No, you can't find a girlfriend among Death Eaters."

This reason is irrefutable, from Voldemort to the Death Eaters.

Many people have been young, so they know what he was thinking at this age.

Voldemort continued, "Charles, you want a sister?"

Charles feigned surprise and replied, "How did you know?"

Voldemort, having confirmed that he had indeed read Charles's thoughts, said nothing more and turned to leave.

The Death Eaters looked at each other, as if they had learned some incredible news!
(End of this chapter)