Fate Star Deviation

"Do you know how many countries England has invaded? Over 150..."

"The notorious British East India Company, you can look it up..."

"The Great Irish Famine, the Great Indian Famine, see what Churchill said..."

"Look into the 'Black War,' the Aboriginal Tasmanians are extinct..."

How long does it take to go from eager anticipation to utter despair?

Probably not even the time it takes to eat a late-night snack.

When the adorable little Hermione stepped into the office, full of excitement, she had no idea she was in for such a "luxurious" baptism.

As a child, her worldview was still developing. Suddenly receiving such a vast amount of information that completely contradicted her understanding left her feeling terrible.

Voldemort, finally done with his rant, noticed Hermione's pale little face.

"Of course, these are all negative things. England has also done some good deeds." He had to say this, lest he overstimulate her.

"What good deeds?" Hermione immediately asked.

"Uh... it accumulated enough wealth for its citizens to squander for many years. Look at the British Museum; it's full of treasures. Selling just a few of them would be enough to squander for years."

This statement didn't have any positive effect. Hermione, having been bombarded by Voldemort for a while, only understood war and plunder from his words.

"But at least it prevented a lot of antiques from being destroyed, right?" She struggled to find a positive aspect in his words.

"Of course, one day, someone will definitely walk away with their country's antiques, but they'll likely be stopped."

Thinking of that scene at the Louvre, Voldemort wanted to laugh—that young Black man had grabbed it so naturally.

Hermione's little face turned even paler as she mechanically chewed on her sausage, becoming an unfeeling eating machine.

"It's difficult to judge a country's administrative policies as good or bad," Voldemort said slowly after finishing the last piece of sausage on his plate.

He felt it was necessary to give Miss Know-it-all a break.

"I don't quite understand what you mean, Professor." Miss Know-it-all looked up, the light in her eyes gone.

The country she was so proud of was not what she had imagined. Such a shock was too much for an eleven-year-old to bear.

"A country is a collective, composed of countless intentions. Some people have a greater influence on this collective, like presidents or prime ministers, while others have less influence, like ordinary citizens."

Under Voldemort's slow words, Miss Know-it-all gradually recovered. She pondered and nodded, indicating she could understand the concept.

"These consciousnesses gather together, and complex interpersonal relationships, political attitudes, and conflicts of interest create internal friction. The will that is ultimately expressed is only the most desired and the most instinctive."

"What kind of desire and instinct is that?" Miss Know-it-all asked.

"Survival. That's the primary instinct. The second is profit, which manifests as plunder."

A glimmer of light finally flickered in Miss Know-it-all's eyes. She eagerly asked, "Are all countries like this?"

Voldemort nodded and said, "Since ancient times, it has always been this way."

"Then there isn't a single country that does things better?" Miss Know-it-all asked hopefully.

"Of course, there are. That requires a strong cultural foundation. Only then can they act with more restraint, but in essence, they still have to plunder."

As Voldemort spoke, he thought of the line from the Tao Te Ching:

"The Way of Heaven reduces the surplus and replenishes the deficit; the Way of Man reduces the deficit and replenishes the surplus."

"Which culture can achieve this? Does Britain have it?" Miss Know-it-all asked hopefully.

"Britain certainly doesn't. If it did, it wouldn't have done those things."

Voldemort's words made Miss Know-it-all's expression dim.

"You don't need to worry too much about these things. After you graduate from Hogwarts, you can go to the Muggle school system to learn. They have different perspectives there, and what I've said is indeed very one-sided."

This finally made Miss Know-it-all feel a little better.

She took a sip of milk, adjusted her state, and asked, "Professor, do you think knowledge from the Muggle world is also useful to the magical world?"

"You can think of the Wizarding World as a country and then see what it's doing to know if knowledge from the Muggle world is useful to the Wizarding World."

"What is the Wizarding World doing?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Hiding itself."

Voldemort smiled broadly. "I just said that survival is a country's primary instinct. From this, you can see that the Wizarding World is afraid."

Hermione blinked incredulously. She thought the Professor must be crazy. Wizards were so powerful; how could they be afraid of Muggles?

"You don't believe me?" Voldemort asked.

Hermione nodded in astonishment, then felt she was being a bit unreasonable, so she lowered her head again.

"It's normal that you don't believe me. Almost no one in the entire Wizarding World believes this."

Voldemort let out a long sigh and, after a moment of daze, spoke again. "You know what an atomic bomb is, right? Do you think that thing could find Hogwarts?"

"How is that possible?" Hermione exclaimed. "Muggles can't find this place at all."

"Go read '[Hogwarts - A History]' again. Muggles can see it, but in their eyes, it's just a ruin."

Voldemort whispered, "Also, they can't get close, but that doesn't mean they can't calculate positions."

"That's difficult, isn't it?" Hermione asked, shifting uneasily.

"Of course, but don't forget the Squibs; they can see Hogwarts clearly and can help people in the Muggle world understand the Wizarding World," Voldemort said with a shrug.

"But they are also part of the Wizarding World, they wouldn't do anything to harm it, would they?" Hermione asked uncertainly.

"There are traitors everywhere; history books make that very clear."

After saying this, Voldemort finally lost interest in continuing the conversation. He felt he had said enough, and any more would truly expose him.

"Alright, Hermione, these are not things we should be thinking about. Headmaster Dumbledore will resolve everything. He is the greatest white wizard; we must trust him."

Hermione nodded, but the furrowed brow revealed her thoughts—a seed of doubt had been planted in her heart, which was precisely Voldemort's goal.

"I hope you won't speak of our conversation today."

Voldemort spoke again, entering the damage control phase.

He didn't want Hermione to blabber about his words everywhere, which would undoubtedly reveal many of his thoughts and even attract Dumbledore's attention again.

"I will, Professor, and I wouldn't be able to explain it clearly anyway,"

Hermione said, putting aside her confused thoughts and offering a bitter smile—she was indeed very accomplished. For an eleven-year-old girl, it was difficult to act as maturely as she did.

"When you are older, have experienced more, and read more comprehensively, you will naturally understand all of this,"

Voldemort said with a smile. "These are not earth-shattering ideas, especially for wizards born into the Muggle world. We are not as arrogant and conceited as wizards."

"Yes, Professor. I think your words today have deepened my understanding of the world. My father always said: don't view the world one-sidedly, whether it's the Wizarding World or the Muggle world," Hermione said earnestly.

"You have a good father. If there's a chance, I hope to meet him," Voldemort said with a smile.

"That would be wonderful. He really hopes to have a friend from the Wizarding World," Hermione said happily.

"I look forward to that day."

Voldemort stood up and said, "But now you need to go back and rest, Hermione. It's getting late."

"Ah."

Little Hermione yelped and jumped up from her chair. "I forgot the time! Sorry, Professor, I have to go."

Without waiting for Voldemort's reply, she gathered her books and hurried out.

"I hope you can see the more essential things in this world,"

Voldemort said with anticipation after little Hermione left.

Then, he snapped his fingers, summoned Dobby, and after telling him to clean up, collapsed onto the bed and fell fast asleep.

He really couldn't hold on any longer. If he stayed up any later, he feared he would die of exhaustion—if wizards could die of exhaustion.