"This might take a while, so... it'd be best if you sat down."
After Mrs. Longbottom agreed, Voldemort summoned two chairs with his wand as he spoke.
Neville had already gone over to help his father, who was still murmuring incessantly, into a chair. Voldemort sat opposite him.
"If he starts convulsing or has any other physical reactions, don't worry too much. But please make sure his forehead doesn't move too far away from mine."
After giving this final reminder, Voldemort pressed his forehead against Frank's again.
"Phew..."
Frank's memories entered Voldemort's memory world once more.
It was just as chaotic as before, and those few places where things both came into being and ceased to exist were still there.
"Fate..."
Voldemort's consciousness slowly reached out his right hand and drew the fate of the memory world toward him.
It was an invisible force, intangible. Even as Voldemort manipulated it, he felt no sense of handling anything.
But when he imbued this fate with his will, making it follow Frank's original memories and allowing everything to grow anew, it finally gained weight.
He couldn't say whether it was heavy or light; it still had no visible form.
But Voldemort could sense its real effect on Frank's memories.
Under fate's blessing, the chaotic memories began to churn.
At first they churned slowly, but gradually they became like a hurricane sweeping in.
Voldemort felt his own consciousness being pulled along, and had no choice but to withdraw.
"Nothing's... going wrong, is it?"
Looking at the memories that had been completely torn apart, Voldemort felt uncertain.
There were two things in this memory world he couldn't control.
One was fate, and the other was time.
Sometimes he even felt that he hadn't created this memory world himself.
It was fate itself that had