Chapter 72: Merlin's Beard, Voldemort's Grown a Brain!
"I carried that Galleon with me for a few days," Ron explained. "It helped me understand a lot of my schoolwork, and it even made me... well, better with words."
His statement confirmed what both listeners already suspected. Voldemort was known for his charisma and persuasive power. Whether he had possessed Ron directly or the Galleon merely contained a fragment of his dark magic, it was enough to cause a significant change in the boy. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, Ryan mused, recalling the abysmal aptitude test Ron had turned in at the start of the year. The Weasley family luck, it seemed, was strong enough to turn even the direst situations to their advantage.
"Then Malfoy challenged me to a duel," Ron continued. "At the time, I thought he was pathetic, and I wanted to properly humiliate him. So I accepted."
His eyes widened with a remembered terror. "And then... then I became a spectator in my own body! I knew what was happening, but I couldn't control a single thing!"
Ryan couldn't be certain if the story was entirely true—his own skill in Legilimency was average at best, so he couldn't magically verify the claim—but the raw fear trembling in Ron's voice felt genuine.
"If you couldn't control your body," Dumbledore said gently, "do you know what it did?"
"I do! I do!" Ron's voice rose in pitch. "It had to be the Galleon! It was controlling me. I watched myself lure Filch away, then I went to the fourth-floor corridor and used some kind of dark magic. It was just a big cloud of black smoke... I don't know what it destroyed, but after the spell was cast, I could move again. And that three-headed dog... it was free!"
He insisted, "It had to be the Galleon!" Then he added quickly, "Good thing I threw it away right then and there!"
Alright, so Ron's fundamental character hasn't changed, Ryan thought with a sliver of relief. It was good news. If Voldemort's influence had been deep enough to erase his sense of self, would he still be Ron Weasley, or just another vessel for the Dark Lord?
Ryan already knew the details of that night from private conversations with Vaisey, Malfoy, Harry, and Hermione. They had all been clear: Malfoy, feeling his family's honor had been insulted, kicked a Galleon that Ron had been treasuring into the forbidden room. Ron had lost his mind, ignoring everyone and everything as he fought desperately to get it back.
Hearing Ron's embellished version of the events, Ryan and Dumbledore both relaxed their guard slightly. His attempt to paint himself in a better light was clumsy and transparent. It was a lie born of childish pride, not the sophisticated deception of a Dark Lord.
Then again, Ryan reconsidered, no sane person would choose to tear their soul into seven pieces. Voldemort's past actions were, to put it mildly, abstract. Killing for immortality was a dark path, but one he could conceptually understand. Dismembering one's own soul to the point of insanity, however, was something else entirely.
He looked at Dumbledore, knowing the Headmaster had taken his advice and installed a magical monitoring device in the chamber housing the three-headed dog, Fluffy.
"Headmaster, did the monitor capture anything?" he asked. It could be their best chance to track Voldemort's movements, and to verify whether Ron ever went back for the coin. He watched Ron from the corner of his eye and saw no trace of panic. It seemed that after losing the Galleon, the boy's terror of Fluffy had finally overcome his greed.
"As a matter of fact, I did find the Galleon Mr. Weasley mentioned," Dumbledore said, pulling a single gold coin from his pocket. "When I went to install the device, I found Fluffy toying with this."
He held it out. "Unfortunately, by the time it came into my possession, it was nothing more than an ancient coin. The magic was gone."
Dumbledore theorized, "Perhaps it still held some power when Mr. Weasley first found it. But after being used to break the containment spells on Fluffy, its magic was likely exhausted."
So the dog's name is Fluffy, Ron thought, listening intently. The calm reactions of the two powerful wizards were slowly easing the suffocating dread he'd been living with for weeks.
"This coin looks like nothing special—holy Hippogriffs!" Ryan's eyes went wide. He recognized it instantly. This "ancient goblin-made Galleon" was one of the very coins he had personally excavated from the alchemist's ruins—the inventor of the external magic core—and sold to Gringotts!
"You know this coin?" Dumbledore asked, his sharp eyes fixed on him.
"I'm the one who sold it to the goblins," Ryan said, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place with horrifying speed. "But if that's the case... it all makes sense now."
Ron stood by, hearing every word but understanding none of it.
Dumbledore, however, understood perfectly. He knew the source of Ryan's recent obsession with external magic devices. He knew that Voldemort, while possessing Quirrell, had broken into Gringotts and could have easily grabbed a handful of these unique coins. What if Voldemort had then enchanted them?
A flash of insight struck them both at the same instant. Ryan and Dumbledore looked at each other, and for the first time, Ryan saw a flicker of genuine alarm in the Headmaster's eyes.
Voldemort wouldn't have made just one.
He must have created an entire batch of these cursed Galleons and scattered them across Hogwarts. A small army of enchanted coins, subtly influencing students, sowing chaos, and muddying the waters. It was the perfect way to operate, making it impossible for Dumbledore or even a Seer like Ryan to pinpoint his true location.
Ron was simply the first victim, the one whose influence had become the most obvious.
Taking the worst-case scenario, it was entirely possible that Quirinus Quirrell himself was nothing more than a decoy, a pawn thrown out to distract them from the real threat.
This is bad. Voldemort's grown a brain!
The situation was critical. Ryan's mind raced, searching for a counter-strategy, but if even the shrewd Albus Dumbledore was momentarily shaken, what hope did he have? His prophetic Intel was useless when he didn't even know what to look for. He desperately wished he could remember the plot of the original books. How did they defeat Voldemort in the first year?
Regret washed over him. Intense, biting regret.
Now he had to find a solution. But how? A Galleon was a significant amount of money to most students. And one that supposedly helped you learn magic? It was the perfect lure. Any student who found one would guard it like their most precious secret, like a protagonist's legendary golden finger. They would never reveal its existence unless, like Ron, they were frightened into it.
"Ryan, you should go back and begin working on the alchemical device with the others," Dumbledore said, his voice once again calm and steady, his composure fully restored.
Ryan's anxiety eased. Dumbledore had a plan. The White Lord truly was the only wizard Voldemort ever feared.
He bid the Headmaster farewell and turned back into the Adventurers' Club.
"As for you, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder. "You will come with me to the hospital wing. I believe you are in need of a thorough examination from Madam Pomfrey. Your detention can be postponed. I am sure Professor Welles will understand."
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