"Do you know how many countries England has invaded? More than a hundred and fifty..."
"The infamous British East India Company—you can look it up..."
"The Irish Great Famine, the Indian Great Famine—go see what Churchill had to say about them..."
"Look up the 'Black War.' The Tasmanian people of Australia were wiped out..."
How long did it take to go from eager anticipation to utter despair?
Probably not even as long as it took to eat a late-night snack.
When adorable little Hermione stepped into the office, full of anticipation, she had no idea that such a "lavish" baptism awaited her.
As a child, her worldview was still taking shape. Suddenly being confronted with such a vast amount of information, so utterly contrary to everything she knew, left her completely shaken.
Voldemort finally noticed Hermione's pale little face after he'd finished ranting to his heart's content.
"Of course, those are all the negative things. England has done some good things, too." He had to say that, so he wouldn't overwhelm her.
"What good things?" Hermione asked at once.
"Um... It accumulated enough wealth for its own citizens to spend for years. Just look at the British Museum. It's full of treasures. Sell a few of them and you'd have enough to spend for years."
His words didn't have much of a positive effect. After being bombarded by Voldemort for so long, all Hermione could take away from them was war and plunder.
"But at least it kept a lot of antiques from being destroyed, didn't it?" She struggled to find a positive angle in what he'd said.
"Of course. Someday, someone will walk off with their country's antiques, but there's a good chance they'll be stopped."
Thinking of the scene at the Louvre, Voldemort wanted to laugh. That young Black man had carried them off so naturally.
Hermione's face turned a little paler. She chewed her sausage mechanically, becoming an emotionless eating machine.
"A country's policies are hard to judge as simply good or bad." After eating the last piece of sausage on his plate, Voldemort spoke slowly.
He thought Miss Know-it-all needed a moment to recover.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Professor." Miss Know-it-all looked up. The light had gone from her eyes.
The country she'd been proud of wasn't what she'd imagined. It was a shock that an eleven-year-old couldn't bear.
"A country is a collective, made up of countless ideas. Some people have a greater influence on it, like presidents and prime ministers. Others have less influence, like ordinary people."
As Voldemort spoke slowly, Miss Know-it-all gradually recovered. She thought it over and nodded, showing that she understood the idea.
"These ideas come together, along with complicated relationships, political stances, and conflicts of interest. They create internal friction, and in the end, the will that emerges is the one driven by the strongest desire, the most instinctive one."
"What kind of desire and instinct?" Miss Know-it-all asked.
"Survival. That's the first instinct. Next comes profit, and its outward expression is plunder."
A glimmer finally returned to Miss Know-it-all's eyes. She asked eagerly, "Is that how every country is?"
Voldemort nodded. "It's always been that way."
"Then can't any country do a little better?" Miss Know-it-all asked hopefully.
"Of course. That takes a strong cultural foundation. Only then can a country show some restraint. But at its core, it still has to plunder."
As he spoke, Voldemort thought of a line from the Tao Te Ching:
The Way of Heaven takes from what has excess and gives to what is lacking; the way of man takes from what is lacking and gives to what has excess.
"Which culture can do that? Does ours, in Britain?" Miss Know-it-all asked hopefully.
"Britain certainly doesn't. If it did, it wouldn't have done those things."
Voldemort's words dimmed Miss Know-it-all's expression.
"You don't need to take it too much to heart. After you graduate from Hogwarts, you can study in the Muggle school system. They have different perspectives, and what I've said is indeed rather one-sided."
Those words finally made Miss Know-it-all feel a little better.
She took a sip of milk and collected herself before asking, "Professor, do you think knowledge from the Muggle world is useful to the Wizarding World, too?"
"You can think of the Wizarding World as a country. Then look at what it's doing, and you'll know whether knowledge from the Muggle world is useful to it."
"What is the Wizarding World doing?" Hermione asked in confusion.
"Hiding itself."
Voldemort broke into a broad smile. "I just told you that survival is a country's first instinct. From that, you can see that the Wizarding World is afraid."
Hermione blinked in disbelief. She thought the professor must have gone mad. Wizards were so powerful—how could they possibly be afraid of Muggles?
"You don't believe me?" Voldemort asked.
Hermione nodded in surprise, then realized that might have been rude and lowered her head.
"It's normal that you don't believe me. Almost no one in the entire Wizarding World believes it."
Voldemort let out a long breath and stared into space for a moment before speaking again. "You know about the atomic bomb, right? Do you think something like that could destroy Hogwarts?"
"How could it?" Hermione exclaimed. "Muggles can't even find this place."
"Go read Hogwarts, A History. Muggles can see it, but to them, it looks like a ruin."
Voldemort spoke softly. "And they can't get close, but that doesn't mean they can't calculate its location."
"That would be difficult, wouldn't it?" Hermione asked, shifting uneasily.
"Of course. But don't forget the Squibs. They can see Hogwarts and help people in the Muggle world learn about the Wizarding World." Voldemort shrugged.
"But they're part of the Wizarding World, too. They wouldn't do anything to hurt it, would they?" Hermione asked, uncertain.
"There's no shortage of traitors anywhere. The history books make that very clear."
After saying this, Voldemort finally lost interest in continuing the conversation. He felt he'd said enough. If he went on, he really would give himself away.
"All right, Hermione. These aren't things we should be worrying about. Headmaster Dumbledore will take care of everything. He's the greatest White Wizard, and we should trust him."
Hermione nodded, but her furrowed brows gave away what she was thinking. A seed of doubt had already been planted in her mind, and that was exactly what Voldemort wanted.
"I hope you won't tell anyone about our conversation today."
Voldemort spoke again, moving on to the cleanup.
He didn't want Hermione repeating his words everywhere. That would undoubtedly reveal too many of his thoughts, and might even draw Dumbledore's attention again.
"I won't, Professor. And I wouldn't know how to explain it anyway."
Hermione set aside her muddled thoughts and gave him a rueful smile. She really was exceptional; few eleven-year-old girls could have shown the same maturity.
"When you're older, have experienced more, and read more widely, you'll understand all of this naturally."
Voldemort smiled. "It's not some remarkable idea, especially for wizards born into the Muggle world. We're not as conceited as wizards tend to be."
"Yes, Professor. I think what you've said today has deepened my understanding of the world. My father always says, 'Don't look at the world one-sidedly, whether it's the Wizarding World or the Muggle world.'" Hermione spoke earnestly.
"You have a good father. If I get the chance, I'd like to meet him." Voldemort smiled.
"That would be wonderful. He's really hoping to have a friend from the Wizarding World," Hermione said happily.
"I hope that day comes."
Voldemort got to his feet. "But for now, you need to go back and rest, Hermione. It's getting late."
"Ah!"
Little Hermione cried out and jumped up from her chair. "I lost track of time. Sorry, Professor. I have to go."
Without waiting for Voldemort to respond, she gathered up her books and hurried out.
"I hope you'll see the world's deeper truths."
After little Hermione left, Voldemort said hopefully.
Then he snapped his fingers and summoned Dobby. Once he'd had him clean everything up, he collapsed onto the bed and fell fast asleep.
He really couldn't stay awake any longer. If he kept going, he was afraid he'd drop dead—if wizards could even drop dead that way.
Before you continue