I Must Control Myself

The dark potion soon filled the entire room with a foul stench.

"I stepped on the trap I'd buried myself, and now I have to lick it up..."

Fighting back his revulsion, Voldemort gritted his teeth, steeled himself, and lifted the golden cauldron.

"Gulp... gulp..."

The stench filled his mouth and slid down his throat into his stomach... That was a truly vile taste, one he had no desire to experience a second time.

"Clang."

He flung the golden cauldron away in disgust. It hit the ground hard enough to leave a dent, but Voldemort didn't care.

"Next, I need to go to sleep and try to glimpse the curse's origin in a dream."

Voldemort thought through the steps ahead, but didn't act at once. Instead, he went to rinse his mouth and brush his teeth.

Only after taking care of his oral hygiene did he lie down on the bed. He quickly fell asleep, waiting for the potion to take effect.

After half an hour of deep sleep, a dream began to take shape in the haze:

A dimly lit basement. Stone pillars carved with intertwined serpents rose high, supporting a ceiling that dissolved into darkness overhead. An eerie green haze filled the room.

At the far end of the basement, a straight-backed figure gazed up at a towering statue behind him, murmuring words that were impossible to make out.

Voldemort wanted to get closer and take a look, but he couldn't control this dream at all. It was completely different from the world inside the Pensieve.

Gazing at that straight-backed figure, Voldemort knew it was himself at twenty.

Time had flown by. Now, he had lost his body and his power, and become a ghost in his sixties, while the figure before him remained in the prime of his youth...

Suddenly, the figure raised his wand. A spell shot from its tip and struck the statue—there was no explosion or flash of light as Voldemort had imagined. The statue simply absorbed the spell.

The entire dream began to fade. At last, it slowly disappeared from Voldemort's sight.

"Whew."

Voldemort, still asleep, suddenly opened his eyes.

In the darkness, only the faint moonlight from outside the window fell across his bedside.

"That spell... that spell..."

Muttering the words over and over, he picked up the Purple Sandalwood wand beside him and tried casting spells again and again, guided by the feeling from the dream:

Obliviate...

Cruciatus Curse...

Stupefy...

Voldemort tried every spell that directly affected the mind, but even when his magic was nearly depleted, he still had nothing to show for it.

"Soul Departure..."

Green light shot from the Purple Sandalwood wand, and Voldemort's heart gave a jolt.

"That's the feeling, but it's incomplete... incomplete..."

There had been no color in the dream, so he hadn't been able to see the spell's color. But by feel, it definitely hadn't been the Imperius Curse—or, more precisely, it had been more than just the Imperius Curse.

"A hybrid spell? Something like the Imperius Curse... If that's the case..."

"Confundus Charm."

The spell struck the ceiling and knocked loose some plaster, but Voldemort didn't care in the slightest. He had found the feeling of the spell from his dream.

"A Confundus Charm at its core, supplemented by the Imperius Curse... Voldemort's Soul Fragment, just how many memories have you lost?"

He couldn't help complaining to himself. The spell from the dream had clearly been an enhanced version of the Confundus Charm, with the properties of the Imperius Curse, making it even more effective at confusing its target.

The Confundus Charm had originally been an ordinary spell, but in Voldemort's hands, it had taken on the properties of Dark Magic—a powerful, malevolent nature.

In other words, once this curse took effect—it surely had a unique trigger—the Confundus Charm, imbued with the properties of the Imperius Curse, would act upon him. And when that happened...

Voldemort couldn't help shuddering.

He couldn't even imagine what might happen if he did something he couldn't control right under Dumbledore's nose.

"No wonder the Quirrell in my memories dared to use a Dark Curse on Harry during a match in broad daylight..."

"No wonder Lockhart, who had perfected Obliviate into a signature skill, could barely manage ordinary magic in the Chamber of Secrets..."

"No wonder Lupin, usually so cautious and reserved, forgot to drink his Wolfsbane Potion on the most crucial day..."

"No wonder Barty Crouch Jr., after completing his mission..."

"..."

At that moment, everything seemed to have an answer. The cursed Defense Against the Dark Arts class had certainly lived up to its name.

"So, how do I keep myself from being confused?"

Voldemort was stumped. He didn't even know the curse's trigger, so how could he guard against it?

"Should I... give up?"

The thought crossed his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to make up his mind.

Giving up now would do more harm than good:

First, something was bound to go wrong with his Quirrell identity. When that happened, he would probably face an endless pursuit by Old Bee.

Second, he wouldn't be able to follow his original plan and wear Old Bee down. In truth, he was already less convinced by that idea.

Finally, Hogwarts had one of his Horcruxes, as well as a wealth of magical knowledge. He desperately needed both.

At present, he could use Quirrell's powerful magic to cast spells—even Dark Magic—but he had never received a systematic magical education, and there was still a great deal he lacked.

Especially after seeing how the Dark Lord of the past had altered the Confundus Charm, he yearned all the more to study magic systematically.

Even if he couldn't attend classes like a student while posing as a teacher, Hogwarts had a vast library and powerful professors who could answer his questions at any time. He desperately needed all of that.

And before he grew powerful enough, the Death Eaters couldn't be trusted—at least, not the Death Eaters outside Azkaban.

"So I still have to go, even if the first obstacle in my way is one I set for myself."

Having made up his mind, Voldemort no longer hesitated. He began making plans for the future.

He took out a diary and began organizing his thoughts:

First: Be wary of the Confundus Charm. Plan ahead for any possible accidents.

Second: Push the plot forward as much as possible, until it becomes impossible to proceed.

Third: Ease Dumbledore's suspicions of me and do my best to keep Quirrell's identity safe.

Fourth: Make a study plan, covering this entire year at the very least.

Fifth: Make a teaching plan, focusing on cultivating Slytherin and subtly influencing Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Gryffindor was undecided (prepare to give up on it).

Sixth: Keep an eye on Azkaban and look for a way to rescue my loyal followers...

As one plan after another took shape, Voldemort's restless heart gradually settled.

The Confundus Charm cast by the twenty-year-old Voldemort was certainly terrifying, but it wasn't impossible to guard against. The trouble was that doing so would make it almost impossible to keep the plot on track.

"If only..."

As he tore out the page he had written on, along with the next few pages, and burned them all, he thought, "The best solution is still to control myself and not let the Confundus Charm affect me."