Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 855: The Forest of Albania

Faced with Oren’s story, Kyle’s first instinct was disbelief.

How could he believe something like that? Voldemort hadn’t started moving again until after Harry enrolled at Hogwarts—and when Oren arrived at Hogwarts, Harry had still been just a normal boy living in a cupboard under the stairs at his aunt and uncle’s house.

“What, you don’t believe me?” Oren said lightly, as if reading Kyle’s thoughts. “I didn’t believe it at first either. But I saw him with my own eyes—less than a ghost, barely clinging to life, hiding deep in the forests of Albania.”

“Albania!” Kyle froze, momentarily shaken.

Because Quirrell had also gone to Albania—and it was there that he’d encountered Voldemort.

“How did you end up there?”

“Did you forget what I did before I came to Hogwarts?” Oren chuckled.

“Your job… a minstrel—no, a member of a Magical Creatures smuggling ring posing as minstrels.”

“Captain,” Oren corrected him. “The forests of Albania have the largest known population of Runespoors. Those creatures are worth a fortune. We’d been there more than a few times.”

Kyle frowned.

Still wanted to kill him.

He flexed his wand hand slightly, but Oren noticed immediately.

“Don’t bother. You know you can’t kill me,” he said, casually shifting position again. “And don’t forget—the Dark Lord is nearby.”

Kyle looked up toward the distant sky.

There, the green flashes of the Killing Curse had been flickering nonstop for some time—and the pace was quickening. It was obvious that the battle between Voldemort and Dumbledore had reached a critical point.

If Kyle made a move, Oren would almost certainly flee to seek help—and then it would turn into a two-on-two fight.

Voldemort might not care about Oren, but Dumbledore definitely would—he’d be forced to divide his attention.

Kyle hadn’t fully recovered yet, and the last thing he wanted was to become a burden.

After a moment of hesitation, he lowered his wand.

“There we go. Staying put is best for both of us,” Oren said with a grin. “Now, where were we?”

“Albania,” Kyle said. “How did you realize it was You-Know-Who?”

“Funny story,” Oren said. “We’d lost the target we were originally tracking, and a few of the more hot-headed guys decided to take it out on a group of ordinary snakes. But I noticed one of them was... different.”

“Different how?”

“Its eyes,” Oren said, lifting his head slightly as if recalling the moment. “Snakes don’t have emotions. But in that one’s eyes, I saw anger—and contempt.”

“But it was just a snake. Not even a magical creature. What right did it have to look down on a wizard?”

“So that’s when you suspected it was You-Know-Who?”

“Not yet.”

Oren shook his head. “The Dark Lord was dead—everyone knew that. Even though I noticed something off about the snake, I didn’t think much of it. I assumed someone was using them for magical experiments… You’d understand if you’d ever worked in the Ministry. That kind of thing happens all the time.”

“It wasn’t long after that that one of our team members went completely mad, out of nowhere.”

Oren’s tone remained calm. “At the time, I was alone, tracking a Runespoor deep into the forest. That’s when I saw the snake again—and this time, with it appeared a member of our team who was supposed to be on the other side of the woods. The same one who had nearly killed that snake earlier.”

He paused, then looked at Kyle, his voice shifting strangely.

“Do you know what a man looks like when he has two faces?”

Kyle blinked.

Of course he knew. The face on the back of Quirrell’s head had been his first encounter with Voldemort.

But Kyle didn’t say a word—he simply waited for Oren to continue.

“I’ve seen it,” Oren muttered. “It’s burned into my memory. That face—grotesque and hideous—emerging from the back of someone’s head. But I recognized it. It was the face of the Dark Lord. The one who was supposed to be dead.”

“Ironic, isn’t it? The Dark Lord, once feared across the magical world, reduced to clinging to life. Possessing a snake, surviving in the ugliest, most desperate way imaginable—but alive, nonetheless.”

“And at that moment, I knew he would return. And that when he did, the war he brought with him would be even more terrifying than the last.”

“You didn’t tell anyone?” Kyle asked, staring at him.

“Why would I?” Oren shot back. “Even if I had, do you think anyone would’ve believed me?”

“They wouldn’t.” Oren wagged his finger and answered his own question. “They’d have thought I was mad. The Ministry’s reaction in those years proved it. Even Dumbledore, who shattered their delusional peace, was labeled a senile lunatic and lost his seat as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. What chance would a notorious smuggler like me have?”

“Surprising how accurately you can assess yourself,” Kyle said, unable to hold back the remark.

“I always have,” Oren replied, completely unbothered.

Kyle studied his eyes, looking for inconsistencies in his story.

The first issue was why he’d entered the Albanian forest alone. Even Kyle knew going in solo was far more dangerous than with a group—especially in a place as vast and wild as Albania.

One more person meant an extra pair of eyes. And if you ran into a creature you couldn’t fight or outrun, that person could at least buy you time. Oren didn’t strike him as someone who’d hesitate to sacrifice a teammate. People like him always put Galleons first.

There was also another problem—why hadn’t Voldemort noticed him...

Kyle narrowed his eyes and asked, “And then? What happened to the person he possessed?”

“Who knows…”

Oren replied indifferently, “The Dark Lord didn’t seem satisfied with his body. He left it not long after and went back to possessing the snake. The poor guy went mad and we abandoned him.”

No surprise there—abandoning what’s no longer useful was exactly the kind of thing people like Oren would do.

Still, the fact that the host didn’t die after being possessed said a lot. It proved how weak Voldemort had been at the time—so frail he couldn’t even afford to ‘feed’ properly.

When he’d possessed Quirrell, he’d nearly drained the man of all life. By the end, Quirrell had been a hollow shell—barely more than a walking corpse.

“But I kept an eye on things,” Oren continued. “And I noticed that after that, the Dark Lord began possessing stronger hosts—Runespoors.”

He sighed.

“I wanted to keep observing him, but for various reasons, I had to leave Albania and come to England.”

“The notebook?” Kyle asked after a moment’s thought.

He remembered that the reason the Hit Wizards had gone all-out to arrest a Magical Creature smuggler was because of a particular notebook.

“Exactly.” Oren chuckled. “Our funding came from some powerful people. Naturally, their priorities took precedence.”

“Do you want to hear about it?” he added, eyeing Kyle with a teasing smile. “I could tell you. It would really open your eyes.”

“I’m not interested in reforming the wizarding world,” Kyle said, waving him off. “You’d better hold onto that notebook—might come in handy when your life’s on the line.”

“Not anymore.” Oren snorted. “Ever since Fudge was killed, it’s worthless. He started buying things from us back when he was Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes—and he was the last person who wanted that notebook made public.”

So Fudge was involved too?

Well, that made sense. Aside from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, only the Minister himself could authorize mobilizing Hit Wizards. And knowing how much Fudge prized his image, he would’ve done anything to keep those stains hidden.

“Whatever, doesn’t matter if you’re not interested.”

Oren shifted topics again. “You know the rest. I ran into Dumbledore by chance, and to avoid being hunted by Aurors, I took up a job at Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”

“At the same time, I was curious about that so-called curse on the position. They say the Dark Lord cast it himself—and if it still exists, that would prove he never truly died.”

“So? Did you confirm it?”

“Of course I did,” Oren sighed. “When I was facing the Hit Wizards directly, none of them noticed anything wrong with me—but in the end, they kept failing against a first-year student. If that’s not a curse, what is?”

“What surprised me more was that after I finally shook off the Hit Wizards and returned to Albania, I discovered the Dark Lord was gone. He seemed to have left the forest… That’s when I suspected his return was close.”

BOOM!

A thunderous roar echoed from afar. A bolt of blue lightning split the sky like a divine strike, and even from this distance, the shockwave reached them.

A powerful gust tore through the forest, sending leaves and dust flying in every direction.

“What a terrifying power,” Oren said, watching the sky as he stood. “With magic that strong, the battle must be nearing its end.”

“I have one last question,” Kyle said quickly. “Why did you join the Death Eaters?”

“Why?” Oren turned his head. “Because the best place to hunt rats… is in the sewer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s none of your business,” Oren said bluntly. “Chat time’s over. Let me leave you with a final piece of news—the werewolf’s wedding…”

A flash of unmistakable disgust passed through his eyes, though he quickly concealed it.

“You’d better stay away from Godric’s Hollow. It’s even more dangerous now… Oh, and don’t mistake me for an ally. Next time we meet, there won’t be a friendly chat. I’ll kill you.”

“Tsk tsk. Big talk from a man who just got chased around by a Nundu,” Kyle scoffed, curling his lip. “I’m terrified.”

That exaggerated tone—and the smug, punchable expression on his face—was the last straw.

Oren’s face darkened. His jaw clenched so tightly it made an audible grinding noise.

What made it worse was that he had no comeback. Right now, Kyle really wasn’t someone he could take on. Even setting aside his own skill, just those two 5X-rated Magical Creatures alone could overwhelm any Death Eater short of Voldemort.

Oren gave Kyle one long, cold look, then said nothing and Disapparated.

...

After he vanished, Kyle glanced once more toward the direction of Dumbledore and Voldemort’s battle.

At some point, the flashing lights and sounds had stopped. The forest had gone still again.

Pop.

With a soft crack, Dumbledore appeared in a clearing not far away.

“Go, now—he’s right behind us.”

Before Dumbledore could finish the sentence, his legs gave out beneath him and he nearly collapsed.

Kyle rushed forward and caught his arm just in time.

At that moment, a flash of green light shot toward them from the distance. But just as the Killing Curse was about to strike Dumbledore, he vanished once more.

And Kyle vanished with him.

By the time Voldemort arrived, the clearing was empty.

“Is hiding all you know how to do, Dumbledore?!” he roared.

Half of his face was charred black, and the bald crown of his head now bore a web of cracks like shattered glass. He looked even more grotesque than before.

Receiving no reply, he vented his fury on the surrounding forest. In an instant, a wide swath of trees was obliterated.

“Someone helped Dumbledore escape!” he growled, turning a cold gaze toward the direction behind him. “Oren, I want an explanation. Where were you just now?”

“I was chasing down that loathsome Kyle Chopper, my lord,” Oren said, bowing his head respectfully.

“Did you kill him?”

“No, my lord.”

“So you failed!”

The Elder Wand in Voldemort’s hand flared with green once again.

He was in no mood for excuses. If Oren couldn’t offer a satisfying explanation, Voldemort wouldn’t hesitate to vent his rage on a servant—even a competent one.

“He summoned two 5X-class Magical Creatures. Very difficult to handle. I don’t possess power like yours, my lord—killing him will take time.”

Oren met Voldemort’s gaze without flinching, even knowing the Dark Lord was a master Legilimens.

And what he said wasn’t wrong. A Three-Headed Dog and a Nundu—one nearly indestructible, the other spewing deadly poison while also nearly indestructible—were indeed formidable.

“But I lured him toward Bellatrix. Our people are there—and in great numbers. They’ll kill him.”

Shifting the blame—that was Oren’s plan. If Kyle somehow escaped or wasn’t found again, it would be Bellatrix’s failure, not his.

“Bellatrix!”

Oren should’ve kept that name to himself. Just hearing it made Voldemort even angrier.

Bellatrix had taken seventy Death Eaters with her—nearly triple the number of known Order of the Phoenix members. By now, they should’ve wiped everyone out and returned. Yet he’d heard nothing.

Are they all completely useless?!

With his fury redirected, Voldemort no longer felt like punishing Oren. Now, only one thought filled his mind:

If Dumbledore had fled, then he would slaughter the Order to collect his interest—make the old man pay for his cowardice.

And Bellatrix… She’d been given multiple chances because of her loyalty, but she had failed him over and over again.

This time, she would be punished. She would feel the wrath of the Dark Lord.

Voldemort inhaled deeply. The ruined flesh on his face began to twitch and regenerate. In moments, the scorched patches and cracks atop his head faded—restored completely.

Without a word, he turned toward Godric’s Hollow, and his body dissolved into a billowing mass of black mist, streaking through the air toward the valley.