A day at Hogwarts.

Chapter 618 Just Giving You Face
"School starts today, Professor!"

Charles helplessly spread his hands, his brows furrowed, his tone revealing barely suppressed frustration, "Even if you had called me out half a day earlier, I could still have caught the train."

"The car must have already left, we can't even see a trace of it anymore, I'm going to get yelled at again."

He looked around; the empty riverbank was only filled with the cold wind swirling fallen leaves, which only added to his anxiety.

Voldemort's face, as pale as a socket, was expressionless. His voice, as cold as frost from an ice cave, said, "You only returned to England last night."

He approached step by step, his black robe fluttering silently in the wind, clearly aware of Charles's whereabouts, each word piercing the air like a needle.

“I’m busy,” Charles said, his eyes wide, his voice tinged with obvious displeasure and a hint of impatience. “So many countries around the world are lining up to discuss cooperation with me, from the Khitan to Canada, from Norway to South Africa. My schedule is packed.”

"I talked with officials from the German Ministry of Magic until midnight yesterday. It was hard to even catch my breath, let alone deal with the mountain of official correspondence."

He paused briefly, his tone suddenly becoming somewhat flippant, a mocking smile playing on his lips, "The exhaustion of dealing with various countries every day is something that people who haven't experienced it can't really understand."

He spoke the last few words meaningfully, drawing out the last syllable, almost as if deliberately provoking the other party, as if trying to anger them.

Voldemort didn't dwell on other matters. He got straight to the point, taking a step closer and staring at Charles with sharp, piercing eyes. His vertical pupils flashed with a dangerous light as he asked in an unquestionable tone, "What exactly is your relationship with the Dementors of Azkaban?"

He had originally planned to win over the Dementors and recruit them for his own use, and had been meticulously planning for a long time. However, he did not expect that the Dementors already had a so-called "all-weather strategic partner". Although he was a little hesitant at first, he quickly rejected the offer and his attitude became unusually firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

Upon learning that all of this was related to Charles, he could no longer suppress his anger, and his wand smoldered in his sleeve.

Charles's heart skipped a beat; he knew this was what they were after.

He remained expressionless, quickly adopting a relaxed and even innocent tone as he replied, "Relationship? Nothing special."

He spread his palms out, making a harmless gesture, and said, "You know I have to find a way to protect myself, right?"

"Find a few friends to protect me, so that I don't end up like last time, getting captured by a demon and having no one to bail me out. That would have been utterly humiliating."

He spoke eloquently, but his words betrayed a perfunctory tone, and his eyes showed a hint of impatience, clearly indicating that he was avoiding the real issue.

Voldemort was not satisfied and pressed on, his voice low and menacing as he asked, "What did you give them?"

He was eager to expand his power, and seeing a major force being snatched away out of thin air, he was naturally extremely dissatisfied. Today, he planned to take the Dementors from Charles.

Charles simply shrugged, looking unconcerned, and said, "Just some cookies, nothing to brag about, not even as much as Honeydukes' stock."

He glanced down at his watch, the second hand ticking, and continued, "If there's nothing else, may I go now?"

"The train has already left; if I'm any later, Professor McGonagall will scold me again."

After Charles finished speaking, he prepared to Apparate, his body swaying slightly.

"Halt!" Voldemort suddenly roared, his wand instantly pointing at the other man. "You think you can fool me like this?"

He could tell that Charles didn't take him seriously at all; his contempt and provocation were completely undisguised.

Now that Voldemort has regained all his power, how could he tolerate such contempt?

The tip of the staff gleamed faintly with green light, exuding a chilling killing intent.

Charles let out a cold laugh, his eyes narrowed slightly, and his aura changed instantly, like a giant red aquatic creature about to devour the earth. Voldemort couldn't help but take a half step back just by looking at him.

"Are you mistaken about something?" he said expressionlessly, his voice as deep as an abyss. "I've said it before: killing you is easier than popping a cork." "I'm only calling you Voldemort out of respect for you."

"Otherwise, you're just a little Tom."

"Don't believe me? Let's go to Diagon Alley right now and have a one-on-one fight in public, shall we?"

"As we agreed last time, you use the Killing Curse on me first, then I'll use it on you. Let's see who comes out on top first."

Voldemort felt an unprecedented sense of oppression, a tightness in his chest. After a long silence, he finally lowered his wand slowly, a barely perceptible wavering flashing in his bloodshot eyes.

An idea popped into my head uncontrollably: perhaps Charles was the one destined for the future, and Harry Potter was just an accident?
The thought lingered in his mind like a venomous snake, preventing him from taking any rash action.

Voldemort stared at the spot where Charles had disappeared, his gaze shifting between light and shadow, remaining motionless for a long time.

He knew that he had indeed been intimidated by the other party's aura, something he had never experienced in his entire life. The invisible pressure seemed to still linger in the air.

Voldemort couldn't see through the boy's true strength, nor could he judge whether his arrogance was just bluffing or stemmed from some unfathomable confidence.

It would be unwise to confront someone who can control Dementors and shows no fear of you before gathering more information.

Voldemort finally suppressed his surging killing intent and decided to postpone his actions, his black robes fluttering in the wind.

The next moment, he Apparated back to Malfoy Manor.

The room was dimly lit, with flickering candlelight casting long shadows, and the crackling fire in the fireplace did little to dispel the chill.

Several Death Eaters waited quietly to the side, not daring to breathe, their heads bowed low, as if they were holding their breath.

Voldemort walked to the head of the table, his steps steady yet carrying an invisible weight, his voice low yet chilling.

"Go and investigate." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, and continued, "Carefully examine all old files and records, as well as your memories!"

“I want to know who, besides the Potters and the Longbottoms, had ever escaped from me three or more times before I encountered some minor setbacks last time.”

Voldemort needed to know which people he didn't know, and each name could be a potential threat.

After Lucius Malfoy and the others left, they murmured among themselves, wondering why the Dark Lord would suddenly seek out such a person after returning from his meeting with Charles. Could it be that he has some connection with Charles?

For example, the child's mother?
Unable to come to a conclusion, they started working, beginning by recalling any individuals who met the criteria from back then.
The key point is those wizards who disappeared without a trace; they might have thought they were dead, but in reality, they were hiding.

If you can't remember, then try to sneak into the Ministry of Magic to find the files.

Meanwhile, Charles appeared in his office at Dancing Grass Restaurant, took a deep breath, rubbed his face, and tried to appear more natural.

It is true that he negotiated with German Ministry of Magic officials last night, but the other party was Marlene's aunt, who cornered the three of them in a room.

Fortunately, after a long and futile explanation, Charles finally resolved the matter with a half-baked memory-altering spell, leading his aunt to believe that the three of them were learning a foreign language from each other.

He also sensed that Erica and Marlene seemed to be hiding something from him.

Charles composed himself and headed towards the Three Broomsticks pub, bracing himself for a scolding from Professor McGonagall.

(End of this chapter)