"Fifty people… killed?"
Even Dumbledore was dumbfounded. His gaze toward Charles had changed—bewilderment, disbelief, and a touch of fear all mixed within it.
Even Voldemort himself had never taken fifty lives in a single day.
Who, at this point, was truly the Dark Lord?
"I'm beginning to wonder whether vouching for you was a mistake," Dumbledore said helplessly.
"Come on, Dumbledore, you know me. They struck first. You can't expect me to stay calm and merciful after dodging dozens of Killing Curses."
Charles drew his wand, and from his temple, he extracted a silvery thread-like strand. It shimmered faintly.
"A memory. Do you want to see it?"
Dumbledore, of course, had a Pensieve—his favorite pastime lately was diving into his own memories, trying to find patterns or overlooked truths hidden within.
Charles wasn't nearly that patient.
He had thought it over before taking out his own memory. What he had done this time was, admittedly, a little extreme—but as he said, when someone fires an Avada Kedavra at you, there's no moral ground left to stand on.
Anyone else in his place probably wouldn't have survived.
Dumbledore's real concern wasn't the deaths themselves—it was whether Charles might lose control.Not control as in submission, but the fear that Charles would end up like Voldemort—ruling through terror.
Tom had always been a calculating, manipulative mind.So, Charles decided to simply be honest. There was no need to fight Dumbledore; the old man was too clever for pretense anyway.
Seeing such open sincerity, Dumbledore found himself momentarily speechless.
"I just realized… you and Tom are very much alike," he said gravely. "Both brilliant, both perceptive of others' minds. In fact, you might surpass him—you wield sincerity as a weapon."
"That's because you respond to sincerity," Charles said lightly.
And indeed, before Dumbledore, sincerity was the sharpest weapon of all. The old wizard's heart was full of complexities—facing a truly open soul, he couldn't help but be moved.
"I'll keep this memory, then. You don't mind waiting a bit, do you?" Dumbledore said in that unyielding tone that wasn't really asking permission.
Charles gestured with a smile. "Go ahead."
Under his watchful eyes, Dumbledore fetched the Pensieve from his cabinet, swirled the memory within it, and then plunged his head inside.
It would take some time.
Charles turned to amuse Fawkes in the meantime.The phoenix had a new nest lately—woven from Mareep wool, soft as clouds. The only problem was that sometimes, it caught fire.
Charles offered it a bit of food, but Fawkes seemed listless. On the other hand, Beedrill and Mareep were eating heartily, munching through several berries at once.
Dumbledore's Mareep, it seemed, was on the verge of evolution; its wool was shedding alarmingly fast these days.
"Please, sit down, Mr. Gold. Dumbledore really has no manners, not even offering you a chair," came Phineas Nigellus's smooth voice from a nearby portrait.
"The second drawer of the desk holds candied fruit—it's his private stash. Help yourself; take some home if you'd like."
"Phineas!" another headmaster in a neighboring frame barked disapprovingly.
Normally, portraits didn't chat with anyone but the Headmaster himself—let alone try to curry favor using his sweets.But Phineas wore an expression of smug civility.
"What? I'm just being hospitable!" he insisted.It was ironic—Phineas Nigellus Black was, in fact, the most unpopular Headmaster in Hogwarts history. Even Umbridge might have fared better; at least the Slytherins liked her. Phineas had managed to earn universal hatred from all four Houses.
"Never mind them!" he told Charles cheerfully. "Ah, and my great-great-grandson—please look after him for me."
He meant, of course, the last heir of the Black family.Charles only smiled faintly—he preferred Sirius just the way he was: rebellious and untamed.
A few moments later, Dumbledore emerged from the Pensieve. His eyes behind the half-moon spectacles were full of complex emotions.
"First of all," he said, "I'm glad you didn't use the Killing Curse. Second… I hope your reason for refraining was that you know it's unforgivable—not merely because you find it inefficient."
"Uh…" Charles scratched his cheek awkwardly. He couldn't really deny it. The Killing Curse was a bit… outdated.In an age where a single missile could wipe out hundreds, a one-shot spell was practically obsolete.
"I see," Dumbledore murmured, clearly having guessed the truth.
"That flame, then—what was it? Did you modify Fiendfyre?"
"I believe a proper wizard—especially one at the pinnacle—should always master at least one powerful fire technique," Charles said matter-of-factly. "Yours is Gubraithian Fire and the Firestorm. Grindelwald had his Protego Diabolica."
Even Voldemort's Fiendfyre burned with unmatched ferocity.
"But that fire of yours," Dumbledore said quietly, "feels… wrong. Dark."
"Not entirely."Charles spread his hand. A black-and-crimson flame bloomed above his palm.The air shimmered, twisted by the heat, and the aura of death seeped from it.
"How vile!" Phineas gasped.His instincts screamed the truth—Charles Gold was born to be a Dark Lord.
Fawkes raised his aged head, eyes glinting with interest. It wasn't the corruption that drew him—but something hidden beneath it.
Charles turned his hand. Instantly, the malevolent flame shifted, turning bright orange, warm and alive.It pulsed faintly, almost breathing.
"This is…?"
Dumbledore's eyes widened. He could tell the flame was the same—no spell-switching, no trickery—two sides of the same power.
"This," Charles said softly, "is the flame of Moltres. Like Gubraithian Fire, it's a flame that can merge with magic itself."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, letting the subject drop.
"I suppose you'll be asking about this wand next," Charles said, drawing out the Destruction Wand.
"The Destruction Wand," he explained. "Its core comes from an evil Pokémon species. The wood, same as your Elder Wand—elder wood."
Dumbledore accepted it, weighing it carefully in his hand.
"In dark magic," he murmured, "this wand might well surpass even the Elder Wand."
(End of Chapter)