Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 712: Voldemort’s Wrath

Kyle slept until noon the next day, having stayed up late the previous night and joined Bill and a few others for drinks.

“Oh, dear, how are you?” Mrs. Weasley fussed, ushering Kyle to the table. “I wanted to wake you up for breakfast, but Arthur told me you had only just fallen asleep less than two hours ago.”

“I did sleep in a bit late yesterday,” Kyle admitted. “Where’s Mr. Weasley?”

“He’s already gone to the Ministry.”

“In the morning?”

“There’s a ton of work waiting for him,” Mrs. Weasley said with a smile. “Don’t worry, he often works all night. Just a quick drink of Pepperup Potion, and he’ll be fine.”

Lunch was a feast, almost as elaborate as the last birthday celebration.

“Mum was worried all night,” Ginny whispered. “It’s a celebration of your safe return.”

“Mr. Weasley didn’t have to get involved last night,” Kyle said. “But I’m surprised he insisted on staying and even brought Bill and Charlie with him.”

“That’s just like Dad,” Ginny replied calmly. “It would be strange if he didn’t.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Kyle said, rubbing his forehead. “But with almost everyone’s name pointing to ‘deadly danger,’ it’s no wonder Mrs. Weasley is worried.”

He was reminded of the Weasley family’s magical wall clock, which didn’t display the time but instead showed what each family member was doing. Tasks like “making tea” or “feeding the chickens” and locations such as “home” or “school” appeared on the dial, reflecting their statuses in real time. It was considered a family treasure.

“No, it’s not related,” Ginny said, shrugging. “You probably don’t know this, but ever since the Death Eaters first attacked the Ministry, none of the hands on the dial have moved. In other words, it’s temporarily useless... unless You-Know-Who falls again.”

As they talked, Sirius arrived, handing Kreacher a bowl of beef stew and some toast, instructing him to take it to Harry. Afterward, everyone gathered to enjoy their lunch.

...

Nothing much happened in the following weeks. It’s worth noting that the Aurors didn’t extract anything particularly useful from the captured Death Eaters, but that didn’t dampen their celebrations of victory. Even the Daily Prophet eventually stopped its daily reports of missing and deceased individuals, which did wonders for public morale.

In one manor house, however, the atmosphere was utterly grim.

A long table stretched across the room, its seats filled with individuals who kept their heads bowed, hardly daring to breathe. Their collective fear stemmed from the figure walking slowly behind them, a wand in hand.

“Someone here has betrayed us,” Voldemort said softly, his tone unreadable. It was impossible to discern whether he was enraged as his cold gaze swept over the gathered Death Eaters.

One by one, his piercing eyes landed on them, causing cold sweat to bead on their foreheads. Each person lowered their head further, as if trying to vanish into the ground. But there were no cracks to hide in, and Voldemort had ensured no one dared to be absent.

“Look up… Lucius.”

Voldemort stopped behind Lucius Malfoy, using his wand to lift the man’s chin.

If anyone was likely to betray him, it was Lucius, who had recently been punished.

“Master… Master…” Lucius’s face went ashen, his entire body trembling.

Voldemort peered into the terrified man’s eyes.

“Why are you nervous, Lucius?” Voldemort asked, pressing the tip of his wand against Lucius’s forehead.

“Master… I… have not… betrayed…” Lucius stammered, his words barely coherent.

“If only you could speak more convincingly,” Voldemort murmured, his tone dripping with menace. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he withdrew his wand.

“Of course, I know you don’t have the guts.”

Lucius exhaled shakily, feeling as though he might collapse. But before he could recover, a flash of green light lit up the room.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Voldemort executed the curse with a casual motion, as though brushing away dust.

Macnair, seated across from Lucius, crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

Voldemort’s voice was cold as he finally broke the silence. “Dolohov may not have fulfilled my order, but at least he brought back news of a traitor. But you, Macnair… all I see in you is cowardice.”

After multiple failures and whispers of betrayal, Voldemort’s patience had worn thin. Someone had to bear the brunt of his wrath.

He had intended to identify the traitor, but after surveying the room and using Legilimency, he found no signs of disloyalty. He couldn’t simply kill everyone on suspicion. Instead, he selected another target: someone whose failure could not be ignored.

Macnair, who had fled at the first sight of Aurors, was an obvious choice. Unlike Antonin Dolohov, who had at least brought back information, Macnair’s cowardice made him expendable.

As Voldemort waved his hand, a three-headed snake slithered into the room. Its presence cast a pall over the already oppressive atmosphere, yet no one dared to glance at it, not even out of the corner of their eye.

“I, of course, believe in your loyalty… but you have failed me far too many times,” Voldemort said, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Please, my lord… give me another chance…” Dolohov, who had narrowly escaped Voldemort’s wrath, sank to his knees, trembling. “I swear… I will bring you Fortescue.”

“But you’ve already failed,” Voldemort said dismissively, his gaze drifting to an open copy of the Daily Prophet on the table.

The headline read:

You-Know-Who’s Arch-Enemy: The Fearless Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Jane Umbridge.

“Master, I’ll kill her!” Barty Crouch Jr. volunteered hastily.

“Arch-enemy?” Voldemort repeated with disdain, his lip curling as he turned the page to another article.

Missing: Ollivander.

“You have two days…” Voldemort said icily, his gaze shifting back to the Death Eaters. “Find him, and I hope you won’t disappoint me again.”

“As you command, my lord!” the Death Eaters chorused, dropping to their knees in unison.

...

Meanwhile, at 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry finally emerged from the basement after more than half a month of grueling training. Limping but overjoyed, he left behind the torturous routine of Occlumency lessons.

“This is Essence of Dittany, this is Blood-Replenishing Potion, and this is Skele-Gro...” Sirius thrust a collection of potions into Harry’s arms, grumbling, “This is barbaric. Even if it’s to learn Occlumency faster, he didn’t have to be so strict.”

Standing nearby, Kyle rolled his eyes. Over the past month, Sirius hadn’t once visited Harry in the dungeon, let alone tried to stop the training. Yet now, he acted like a concerned godfather. To avoid straining their relationship, Kyle chose to keep quiet, merely instructing Kreacher to roast two warthog legs as a reward for Wampus Cat.

After taking a few potions—though not Skele-Gro—Harry’s condition improved considerably.

“Harry? Showing up in the dining hall at this hour… I take it you’ve mastered Occlumency?”

Bill entered the room at that moment, handing Harry a money bag across the table. “This is for you. I withdrew it from your vault.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, taking the bag gratefully.

“You’re welcome,” Bill replied before turning to Kyle. “Mum only gave me Harry’s vault key. Kyle, if you need to withdraw anything, I’ll head back tomorrow. Security at Gringotts has tightened because of the Goblins, so it’s heavily guarded. It could take an ordinary person five hours to get their money, but I have some privileges. I can shorten the time to half an hour.”

“Thanks,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “But I’ve got plenty of money. No need.”

Kyle’s wealth wasn’t stored in Gringotts, which he considered as leaky as a sieve. Instead, he kept it in his enchanted suitcase, Norbert’s lair, Niffler’s pouch, and two newly discovered hiding spots—the Basilisk’s cave and the Nundu’s den—both far safer than Gringotts.

Unconcerned by Kyle’s reasoning, Bill simply nodded and pulled out a few envelopes. They were letters from Hogwarts containing the students’ new book lists.

Harry immediately forgot his recent trials upon opening his letter. Inside, he found the badge of Quidditch captain.

“That makes you the same as a Prefect,” Hermione said happily. “You can ride in the Prefects’ compartment and even use our bathroom.”

Though Harry was thrilled, it wasn’t the privileges that excited him. He held the badge reverently, inspecting it and wiping invisible dust from its surface, unwilling to let it go.

“I had one of those too,” Charlie said with a grin. “It feels like yesterday. I was just like Harry—so excited I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Kyle, where’s your badge? Let’s see it.”

“Yeah,” Harry chimed in, grinning. “This time, it’ll be our rivalry. Gryffindor definitely won’t lose again.”

“Well, prepare to be disappointed,” Kyle replied, opening his envelope. Inside was only a book list. “I’m not the captain.”

“How is that even possible?” Ron blurted. “Who else but you could be the captain of Hufflepuff’s Quidditch team?”

“Any of them could,” Kyle said calmly. “They’re all just as enthusiastic and skilled as I am.”

“Wait,” Hermione said suddenly, frowning. “Why didn’t you even get the Head Boy badge?”

Her surprise was warranted. The absence of a Head Boy badge was even more baffling than Kyle not being made Quidditch captain. Last year, Kyle had been a Prefect, but Cedric was still at Hogwarts, so the Head Boy badge had gone to him. Now, with Cedric graduated, Kyle seemed the natural choice.

But there was no badge. Why?

”The school must have made a mistake,” Hermione said. ”Kyle, you need to write to Professor Dumbledore before school starts.”

”No, Hermione, itʼs fine like this.”

Kyle had been a little surprised at first, but he soon accepted the situation and even felt a bit happy about it.

He loved Quidditch, but playing with his friends had always been the highlight for him. With Cedric, Fred, and George having graduated, much of the fun had already faded. More importantly, he remembered how Cedric had stayed up late for several nights before matches to work on tactics. Kyle knew he couldn’t match that kind of dedication.

For the team’s sake—and his own peace of mind—it was better to pass the captaincy to someone else.

Kyle guessed the new captain would likely be either Will or Grace, with Grace being the more probable choice. She was just as passionate about Quidditch as Cedric, perhaps even more so, often prioritizing it over everything else.

Let’s just say that if the N.E.W.T. exams and a Quidditch match were scheduled on the same day, Grace wouldn’t hesitate to skip the exam.

As for the Head Boy position, there was no need to even discuss it. Kyle had practically handed over his Prefect responsibilities to Cedric years ago.

“I think Dumbledore realized that,” Fred said. “Which is probably why he didn’t send the badge.”

Kyle’s absence from the roles of Head Boy and Quidditch Captain became a hot topic of conversation at 12 Grimmauld Place for the rest of the day.

Fred and George, however, weren’t as surprised as the others.

“Kyle can stroll into the Ministry of Magic whenever he wants. Why would he care about being Head Boy?” Fred remarked nonchalantly.

“Exactly. Just look at Percy,” George added. “He’s Head Boy, but he still has to follow Kyle’s orders.”

Though Percy had apologized and been forgiven by the Weasleys, Fred and George still refused to be friendly with him. Whenever they crossed paths at the Ministry, they ignored him entirely, as if he were a stranger.

In their words, “Considering all the nonsense Percy’s pulled, it’s already impressive we’re not beating the living daylights out of him.”

Fred’s and George’s words made sense to the others.

Yes, Kyle, as the youngest Senior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, had already played a role in many important decisions. Being Head Boy was hardly necessary.

The conversation soon shifted to the new book lists and the courses Harry and the others would take.

“Which classes are you planning to take, Harry?” Ron asked, scanning his transcript. “I did pretty well in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms, and my Transfiguration grades are just good enough for Professor McGonagall.”

“Those are all required courses,” Hermione chimed in. “You’re not thinking of dropping Transfiguration, are you?”

“Of course not, even though Professor McGonagall is really strict,” Ron replied, then glanced at Hermione. “But why did you take Potions?”

“Of course, I did. Potions is just as important as Transfiguration!” Hermione replied without looking up. “In fact, I won’t drop any class I can possibly take.”

“I don’t think so,” Ron muttered. “There’s no way I’m going to Snape’s class.”

“Me neither,” Harry agreed, nodding firmly. He had been dreaming of escaping Snape and the gloomy dungeons since his first year. Now that he had the chance, he wasn’t going to make things difficult for himself.

“I suggest you reconsider,” Kyle, who had been chatting with Charlie, said, glancing at them. “There are likely to be significant changes in Potions this year. Even if you choose not to take it now, you might regret it later.”

“Snape can still force us to take his class?” Ron asked, incredulous.

“It’s not Snape—it’s something else,” Kyle replied. “But trust me, you won’t regret it.”

“Do you have inside information?” Ron pressed.

Kyle, however, didn’t answer. He simply resumed eating the baked potato in front of him.

“Ugh, is it a Ministry thing? You people never finish your sentences!” Ron grumbled, exasperated.

“Figuring that out just now, are you?” Fred said, laughing.

“It’s an old wizarding tradition,” George added, smirking.

Ron’s frustration only seemed to amuse the others, including Mr. Weasley. His irritation fueled their laughter around the table.

After some hesitation, Harry decided to trust Kyle’s advice and drew a line through Advanced Potion-Making on his book list.

“Wait, Harry—you’re taking Potions too?” Ron asked, shocked. He hadn’t expected his staunchest ally to defect.

“It’s just another book,” Harry shrugged. “Besides, my grades in Potions aren’t good enough for Snape. He won’t let me in anyway.”

“Isn’t that just a waste of Galleons?” Ron said, still confused.

But when he saw Harry’s determination, Ron sighed and reluctantly crossed out a book from his list as well, muttering, “I must be mad. I don’t even know if I can sell unused books at full price...”