Voldemort: I can't tell, I really can't tell!

So alike! Far too alike!

Voldemort was genuinely starting to wonder if he himself might be a Horcrux.

Because not only did Tom use the Dark Mark, even his manner of speech was identical to his own.

"No! Fake, it's all fake!"

Voldemort roared: "If the great Voldemort could move freely, I would have already gathered the Death Eater army and risen swiftly. Why would I need the help of some down-and-out half-blood?!"

Quirrell frowned, a sliver of displeasure rising within him, along with nine parts of terror—terrified that his half-blood status might cause the mark on his wrist to be taken back.

"See? I told you, you're just a Horcrux. Did you know there's a ghost in your house?" Tom smiled.

"Ghost?"

"The Order of the Phoenix planted a spy in the organization long ago, and he even obtained the Dark Mark. I'm still weak right now; I can't afford to reveal my true identity."

"Impossible..." Voldemort's expression froze.

Those who bore the Dark Mark were absolute core members of the Death Eaters, requiring long trials to earn. How could there be a spy?

Could it be...

In that instant, a vague figure appeared in Voldemort's mind.

Peter Pettigrew, a former member of the Order of the Phoenix.

If he remembered correctly, the reason he had died back then was because Peter Pettigrew had led him to the Potter manor, where he was killed by some unknown force.

If there was a ghost in the house, then Peter Pettigrew was the prime suspect—even the only one.

"I see... Peter Pettigrew. Next time I lay eyes on you, I will make you taste every torment of hell before you die."

Ignoring the roar at the back of his head, Quirrell turned to Tom seriously.

"My lord, what do you need me to do?"

"The request is simple. Help me obtain the Philosopher's Stone."

"The Philosopher's Stone?" Quirrell tilted his head.

Wasn't the Philosopher's Stone a tool for resurrection?

Now that Voldemort had already revived, what did he need that old stone for?

"Do you know the origin of the name Voldemort?" Tom didn't answer directly.

Quirrell shook his head.

Seeing this, Tom raised his wand and wrote something in the air.

Lumos Charm.

By controlling the light's brightness and color, plus a bit of willpower, Tom wrote three words in the air.

[Tom Marvolo Riddle]

With a flick of his wand, the letters composing the name rearranged themselves, transforming into...

[I am Lord Voldemort]

"The word Voldemort means 'theft of death.'" Tom clasped his hands behind his back, a fanatical expression on his face that didn't belong to a child his age.

"I won't be trapped by a lifespan. A mere century or two can't possibly fulfill my life's goals, so I need the power of the Philosopher's Stone to extend my life.

I will make pure blood great again!"

Silence—

The entire office was dead quiet.

Not just Quirrell, even Voldemort was stunned.

If Quirrell had harbored even a shred of doubt about Tom's identity before, that doubt was now completely dispelled.

Even Voldemort himself muttered: "Really... could what he said be true? Am I really just a mere Horcrux?"

He had never explained the origin of his name to anyone before. After all, "Voldemort" was like his online alias, and he was long past the chuunibyou student phase—analyzing his alias was just too embarrassing.

"No, fake. No, real."

He couldn't tell. Voldemort felt his mind completely scrambled, unable to distinguish whether the memories in his head were real or false.

["Born Dark Lord" +10 progress, Impression Level reached Lv.4, Achievement Points +1] ["Born Dark Lord" +50 progress... +100... +100... ...Impression Level reached Lv.5, Achievement Points +1]

Shock critical hit.

Though Voldemort's mouth still struggled, deep down he had already accepted Tom as the original body and himself as a mere fragment of soul.

It worked!

Tom rejoiced inwardly.

He had fully leveraged the advantages of being a transmigrator, laying out piece after piece of evidence in quick succession—even the esteemed Dark Lord couldn't withstand such a combo.

Of course, the more critical factors were [Born Dark Lord] and [Death Eaters].

Without those two talents, Tom would have had to rely purely on conversation to debate Old Tom in a "real vs. fake Voldemort" argument.

That scene would be no different from two baby milk dragons arguing "I'm the real milk dragon."

"When do we make our move, Lord Voldemort?" Quirrell asked curiously.

"The preparations aren't enough yet. Even if we steal the Philosopher's Stone, we won't be able to hold onto it long-term," Tom replied.

He still had a long time to stay here. If he rashly took the Philosopher's Stone relying on Quirrell's abilities, the most likely outcome would be the stone being snatched back.

"First, you need to help me restore my former strength. This body of mine is sturdy enough, but my magical power hasn't yet returned to its peak."

"Very well, may I ask what you require, my lord? I will do my utmost."

"Lend me your Gringotts vault key first." Tom extended his hand.

"?" Quirrell.

"Restoring my strength requires some financial support, and my assets are all with Bellatrix. She's still studying in Azkaban right now."

"This..." Quirrell hesitated.

As a wizard of Muggle-born origin, he deeply understood the importance of money. Without it, life in society was nearly impossible—like losing half your life.

Tom said unhurriedly, "You need to take the long view. Those first followers who went through life-and-death with me all became high-ranking Death Eaters. Now that you're supporting my comeback, what you'll gain in the future could be even more..."

Wizards of the twentieth century had never encountered such pie-in-the-sky promises. Before he even finished speaking, Quirrell's face flushed red, his eyes filled with anticipation.

Without any hesitation, he pulled a key from the inner lining of his clothes, held it in both hands, and respectfully offered it to Tom.

"Mm, good. The Death Eaters will remember your contribution." Tom accepted it calmly.

Though Quirrell had only become the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year, he had actually been hired by Dumbledore right after graduating at eighteen, serving as the Muggle Studies professor for six full years.

With Hogwarts' top-tier salary, Quirrell's little vault held at least several thousand Galleons. With that money, Tom could operate without being so constrained from now on.

"My lord, besides money, do you need me to do anything else?" Quirrell asked cautiously.

"Find me some books—on spells and potions. I want to use this time to learn some knowledge beyond the textbooks."

"Yes, my lord. I'll deliver them to you tonight."

As a former Ravenclaw, the library was Quirrell's most frequent haunt. Apart from the Restricted Section, he had practically flipped through every other book, especially those on spells.

This was his chance to shine.

Next, Tom exchanged a few more words with Quirrell, confirming that he possessed the same information as in the original story, before parting ways.

Before leaving the office, Tom emphasized one more thing:

"Also, be careful from now on. Don't draw the professors' attention. Snape is suspicious of you."