Good people shouldered the burden while bad people busied themselves with petty schemes.
Voldemort could hardly call himself a good person. With so many lives on his hands, it would be shameless to claim otherwise.
So he chose to busy himself with petty schemes—and enjoyed every minute of it.
"You should have a name. 'Dementor' is just a general term, but you're one of a kind." In the training room, Voldemort said this to the Dementor that could restrain itself.
"Whooo~~"
After more than ten days of communication, this unusual Dementor had learned to respond. If it made a sound, it meant yes; if it stayed silent, it meant no.
"How about Hodor? A god of darkness from mythology, and blind, too. He killed Balder, the god of light who brought people joy. I feel like he's a lot like you."
"Whooo~~"
"As long as you like it. You don't need to communicate with me. I don't want to smell that musty stench again." As he spoke, Voldemort took out his wand. "I need to lose my happiness, so feed on it—but don't take too much."
The Legilimency Spell struck, and the little happiness he had built up was drained away once more.
"Wham."
The connection severed, Voldemort dropped onto the floor. It really didn't feel very good.
"Hey, Quirrell, this can't go on. The students are already complaining." Hagrid came over, casting a worried look at Voldemort.
"The forbidden book I'm reading requires me to do this. Don't worry, Hagrid. I'll finish it soon." Voldemort got up and left the training room without looking back.
More than a dozen Illumination Charms floated overhead as Voldemort squinted at the book.
At the very top of the page on the left was written: "Repairing an Injured Brain."
According to the