After parting ways with Quirrell, Charles had barely walked a few steps before turning a corner—only to run into Dumbledore.
The elderly wizard, with his long white beard and twinkling eyes, was holding the Invisibility Cloak in one hand and gripping the Elder Wand in the other. He brought the wand to his lips, gesturing for silence.
Charles instantly understood and followed Dumbledore quietly down the corridor. Only when the Headmaster was certain no one could overhear them did the two slow their pace.
"Was it him?" Dumbledore asked softly.
"Probably not," Charles replied, shaking his head. "I doubt he'll control Quirrell for long. Losing such a capable assistant wouldn't benefit him."
They both knew exactly who they were talking about.
Dumbledore sighed, a trace of pity flickering in his blue eyes. "A shame about Quirrell. He could've been a promising wizard."
Charles nodded. "That's why I think Hogwarts has long needed to manage student conflicts and bullying more carefully. Quirrell's inferiority complex didn't appear overnight—it was years in the making. Ravenclaw students like to think of themselves as geniuses—broad-minded, self-assured, willing to accept anyone different from them.
"They say they can wear whatever they like, believe in whatever they want, say whatever pleases them, and never scorn those who are 'different.' But the truth is otherwise. And it's not just Ravenclaw; every House has its own issues."
Dumbledore looked at him thoughtfully, but Charles went on.
"Dumbledore, you're an extraordinarily compassionate Headmaster, but in my opinion, that's not enough. You once said the greatest magic of all is love. If Quirrell had grown up in an environment of love and care, he wouldn't have been so easily swayed by Voldemort's temptations.
"And if Voldemort himself had lived in a world filled with love? I daresay he might've become the second greatest wizard in history."
Charles met Dumbledore's gaze with calm conviction.
Those words weren't just idle talk—they came straight from his heart. Though he wasn't a Head of House, he was now a Hogwarts professor, and he couldn't just stand by while such problems persisted.
In Hogwarts's thousand-year history, countless great wizards had taught within its walls—but true educators were few and far between.
Take the prime example: Severus Snape.
Setting aside his favoritism, cold demeanor, lack of empathy, and penchant for scolding or punishing students—his teaching methods themselves were deeply flawed. He often criticized Hermione for parroting textbooks, yet in class he did the same, strictly adhering to rigid routines. As for the techniques and insights he had personally developed, he was far too stingy to share them.
Of course, Charles didn't mean to morally pressure Snape into giving up his secrets. His point was: if Snape despised students for rote learning, then he should encourage their creativity instead.
In his past life, Charles had despised university lecturers who merely read PowerPoint slides aloud.
They might have genuine talent and knowledge, sure—but reading from slides? As far as Charles was concerned: "I could do that too."
Still, Hogwarts needed something even more fundamental—moral education. In Charles's opinion, the school could use a good "core values" program of its own.
"The old school rules could also use a revision," Charles continued. "Honestly, many of them just don't fit the times anymore. Take the curfew, for example. Sure, making students sleep on time and maintain healthy routines is important, but does that really justify Filch prowling the halls every night, scaring everyone with that ghastly glare of his?
"And speaking of Filch—don't you think he's rather unsuited for the position of caretaker?"
Charles spoke so quickly and with such confidence that for a moment, Dumbledore's mind went completely blank.
Dumbledore:Who am I? Where am I?
He'd just wanted a quiet conversation about Voldemort—how on earth had it turned into a school reform meeting?
Who was the Headmaster here, again?
Feeling his authority teetering, Dumbledore decided it was time to interrupt before Charles talked him out of his own job.
Not that he truly minded—he rather liked seeing someone with leadership potential. Watching Charles speak so passionately, the old wizard felt oddly comforted.
He almost reached out, patted Charles's shoulder, and said, "You have the bearing of a Headmaster."
But priorities were priorities, and Voldemort's matter was still far more pressing.
"Charles," Dumbledore interjected kindly, "I'm very glad you've joined Hogwarts's faculty. Your ideas are refreshing and insightful. However, perhaps we should find another time to discuss them—preferably over a cup of tea."
"Fair enough," Charles said with mild reluctance.
When it came to education, he could talk for hours. If he pulled out just a few teaching certificates from his old world, Dumbledore would probably have a mild Muggle shock.
Come to think of it—Christmas was only a few weeks away. Charles suddenly had a brilliant idea: he could gift Snape a full set of teaching guides for Christmas!
After all, with the Rolling Bat no longer an issue, it'd make for a thoughtful present.
Of course, not the Muggle version—that would only end up in the trash. He'd have to make a magical edition: twenty-four-hour surround sound, waterproof, fireproof, indestructible, and enchanted with a custom "Accio Snape" spell so Snape could never get rid of it.
Snape: "You'd better have a very good reason for this."
Charles could already imagine Snape's expression when the incessant guidebook started droning beside his bed.
Maybe he'd better start sleeping with one eye open—just in case eight invisible Sectumsempras found their way into his back, and the verdict read "suicide."
Pulling his mind back to reality, Charles realized Dumbledore was still talking about Quirrell and Voldemort.
"He invited you to bring your Pokémon to his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, didn't he?" Dumbledore asked.
"That's right," Charles nodded. "Maybe it was his master's idea. Or maybe he already knows about the wards I set up and wants to probe for information. Either way, I agreed."
Dumbledore's brows furrowed slightly. "He won't pass up the chance. I mean—the chance to talk to you. The Daily Prophet has mentioned that you could become the next Dark Lord after Voldemort. He might want to… recruit you."
"Just like he did with Quirrell—to lure you into his ranks."
Charles, however, shook his head.
"He wouldn't dare. He doesn't even trust his Death Eaters. In his weakened state, how could he risk facing me? Quirrell became his puppet because of his fractured spirit. But I'm not like that."
"Ultimately," Charles continued, "it all comes back to education, doesn't it? Aren't you doing the same with Harry—training his heart and mind?"
Dumbledore: "…"
"…I suddenly remembered I haven't brushed Fawkes's feathers today. Excuse me."
And just like that—Dumbledore fled.
He looked rather urgent, though considering that Fawkes was old enough to have shed all his feathers, it wasn't exactly convincing.
(End of Chapter)