Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 925: The Owner of the Elder Wand

“Snape... you actually learned that spell from Snivellus?”

Hearing Kyle say this, Sirius suddenly remembered where he’d seen that blade-like spell before.

Back when they had just graduated—more than ten years ago—Snape, still a Death Eater at the time, had used that very spell against them.

It had just been too long ago, and after being locked in Azkaban for over a decade, it hadn’t come to mind right away.

“But the spell’s incredibly effective,” Kyle said, swinging his wand again and slicing a large spider creeping up behind him clean in half.

“It’s still a Snivellus spell,” Sirius muttered, still visibly annoyed. “But Kyle, how on earth did he teach it to you?”

“...Don’t tell me it was Kanna?” Sirius asked with a mocking lilt.

“Of course not.” Kyle shook his head. “I found a book... well, one of Snape’s old school potions textbooks. It not only contains his personal notes on potion-making, but also quite a few spells he invented. The Laceration Curse is one of them.”

“A potions book...” Sirius was stunned. He blurted out, “You’re saying he invented that spell while he was still in school?!”

“That’s probably the case,” Kyle nodded. “Sectumsempra is written in the second half of Advanced Potion-Making. Judging by the section, he likely came up with it in the first term of seventh year.”

“That’s impossible...” Sirius’s tone grew more irritable. “He must’ve stolen it—typical Snivellus...”

“If he really did, do you think Professor Dumbledore would’ve just ignored it?”

“Well... maybe he tricked Dumbledore.”

Sirius kept grasping at different explanations, unwilling to believe that Snape had actually invented such a powerful spell as Sectumsempra during his school years.

“Sirius, don’t tell me you’re jealous?” Kyle raised an eyebrow and looked at him.

“Jealous?”

Sirius sprang up like a dog whose tail had just been stepped on.

“Jealous of Snivellus? Don’t be ridiculous! Why would I ever be jealous of him?!”

“Maybe because he can create his own spells?” Kyle suggested, eyeing Sirius’s dramatic reaction. That had to be it.

For a student, getting an O on an exam wasn’t too hard. Even getting all O’s wasn’t unheard of—at Hogwarts, there were always a couple of top-performing students each year.

But ninety-nine percent of students couldn’t invent a single spell before graduating. In fact, most adult wizards couldn’t, either.

And Snape... Kyle knew of several spells he’d created.

From the rather silly Toenail Growth Hex, to the practical Muffliato Charm and Langlock, to more combat-oriented spells like Liberacorpus and Sectumsempra...

Looking at it that way, a wizard who had invented five original spells—Snape—was nothing short of a genius. A true genius. And that wasn’t even factoring in his accomplishments in potions.

Thinking about it, how else could Snape have become the youngest Head of House at Hogwarts? It certainly wasn’t because he didn’t like washing his hair.

Snape was made Head of House not long after Voldemort fell. He was only in his early twenties then, pushing the record for youngest Head of House way ahead.

At that age, even if Dumbledore had wanted to promote him, he would’ve needed the qualifications to match. Otherwise, the school governors and parents wouldn’t have allowed it.

Slytherin wasn’t like the other Houses—their students’ parents were always the most difficult to please. And if they had no complaints about Snape as their Head of House, that already said a lot.

After Kyle laid all this out, even Sirius was speechless. He stood there, mouth open, lost in thought.

He had to admit—setting aside his personal bias—Snape really had far surpassed most of their generation.

But that bias wasn’t something Sirius could just turn off.

“He’s still Snivellus,” he said stubbornly. “And he’s biased. No matter how talented he is, he doesn’t deserve to be a professor.”

“You’re both just as bad,” Kyle said with a chuckle.

Honestly, if Sirius had been Head of House for longer, Gryffindor probably would’ve racked up five or six straight House Cups.

“All right, that’s enough talk.”

Kyle stood up, surveying the now-empty battlefield. With a sharp motion, he slashed his wand through the air in front of him.

The fiery thread linking the tip of his wand suddenly snapped in midair, and the unbound Fiendfyre dragon immediately began to unravel.

Then, Kyle thrust his wand forward.

“Incarcerous Incendio!”

The erupting Fiendfyre morphed into a long serpent midair, darting toward the petrified Death Eaters at blinding speed.

They tried to flee, but Apparition was forbidden at Hogwarts. On foot, there was no way they could outrun Fiendfyre under Kyle’s control.

In no time, the entire area was encircled by roaring flames. As the Fiendfyre closed in, the Death Eaters were forced inward, crowding together until they were packed into a space barely the size of the Great Hall.

Some tried to break out, but without exception, each was reduced to ashes within seconds.

A pity Kyle couldn’t fully turn the Fiendfyre blue yet—otherwise, it would’ve been even more satisfying.

He had tried, but yellow was his current limit. Only the outer edge showed the faintest tinge of blue.

“Well done!” Sirius’s eyes were gleaming. “Say, this is one of your own spells, isn’t it?”

“Strictly speaking, only partially,” Kyle lowered his wand and shook his head. “The original spell was created by Professor Dumbledore. I just made a few modifications.”

Kyle had spent a long time studying the Firestorm Charm. In simple terms, it was a form of Transfiguration that manipulated the shape of fire.

And being a Transfiguration Spell, it wasn’t limited to one shape—it could be a straight line, a circle, or whatever the caster imagined.

“That’s still incredible,” Sirius said. “You must have some original spells of your own too.”

He seemed almost fixated on surpassing Snape—if he couldn’t do it himself, he was determined to find someone who could do it for him.

And Kyle was that someone.

“My own spell... I suppose I have one,” Kyle said after a moment’s thought.

He had dabbled in spell creation, but most were odd little tricks—things like rapidly growing eyelashes or tangling someone’s hair.

Most of them were prank ideas Fred and George had dreamed up before they graduated. Kyle had given them a try when he was bored, just to see if he could turn them into functional spells.

They were more like ways to kill time than anything serious.

The only one he truly considered his own was Feravireo—the spell he used to manipulate trees and vines.

Kyle was quite fond of that one, especially in dense forests like the Forbidden Forest, where its power could easily double, if not more.

Too bad the Death Eaters never headed that way—otherwise, he wouldn’t have needed to resort to Fiendfyre.

“Brilliant stuff. You’re clearly way more powerful than that greasy Snivellus,” Sirius said proudly. “But why didn’t you finish off those Death Eaters?”

“Because the Ministry’s here.” Kyle glanced toward the castle.

A moment ago, Amelia Bones and Scrimgeour had arrived on the battlefield with their team of Aurors.

They hadn’t come immediately—probably because they were busy dealing with the traitors inside the Ministry first.

“The Ministry of Magic...” Sirius frowned. “What about them? Haven’t you already taken out quite a few?”

“It’s not the same. They didn’t see what I did before,” Kyle said, shaking his head.

“Put it this way—if I killed hundreds of Death Eaters right in front of the Minister for Magic and the Head of the Auror Office, what do you think they’d think?”

Sirius’s expression shifted.

Even if he didn’t know all the ins and outs, he understood now.

The Ministry wanted stability. And with the wizarding population already so small, every witch or wizard was bound to someone else—connections through family, bloodlines, or ties of old. Pick any two pure-blood wizards, and chances are they were related.

So never mind killing hundreds—slaughtering even a tenth of that would still cause a major uproar.

After all, just over a decade ago, even the most vile Death Eaters were usually locked up in Azkaban rather than executed.

Everyone knew that—Kyle and Sirius included.

Take Godric’s Hollow, for instance: Kyle had killed over seventy Death Eaters there. The story sounded impressive, but no one knew how much Dumbledore had done behind the scenes to keep Kyle out of the Wizengamot’s courtroom.

Something like that could only happen once.

If Kyle had truly wiped out every Death Eater present, maybe no one would have said anything at the time—but once the war was over, the Ministry would’ve come after him without hesitation.

Of course, that was only part of the reason. The bigger issue was stability.

Who wouldn’t fear a powerful wizard who could kill without hesitation? That kind of fear was instinctive.

Dumbledore had always played by the rules. Even after practically sealing himself within Hogwarts, he still couldn’t dispel the lingering suspicion many held toward him.

If Kyle were to start slaughtering people in front of everyone, he’d instantly become the enemy of all wizards—stepping right into Voldemort’s shoes as the second Dark Lord.

A classic tale: the hero who slays the dragon eventually becomes the dragon himself.

As for what happened earlier, that was another matter entirely.

Back then, the Ministry hadn’t arrived, and the situation was utter chaos. He was protecting Hogwarts—no one would question how many he killed under those circumstances. Besides, very few knew the Fiendfyre had come from him.

The handful who did—like Sirius and Professor McGonagall—were on his side and would never say a word.

Sirius opened his mouth, but for a moment, he had no idea what to say… He knew the Ministry’s stance was flawed, yet he also understood the reasoning behind it. It was a contradiction he couldn’t ignore.

And in some ways, he had benefited from it too.

The charges against him from over a decade ago weren’t exactly minor: betraying the Potters, blowing up a street, killing twelve Muggles. Even so, all he got was a sentence in Azkaban.

Kyle glanced toward the castle, where the battle had grown even fiercer, and muttered under his breath, “Even if those Death Eaters are to be killed, it can’t be me who does it... at least not where anyone can see.”

But he spoke too softly, and Sirius, lost in thought, didn’t hear a word.

With the field threat handled, the two of them prepared to return to the castle to help the others.

But just as they passed the Whomping Willow, Kyle suddenly caught a glimpse of two pairs of shoes flashing by on the ground.

Two pairs of shoes, moving on their own, in the dead of night—definitely unsettling.

Thankfully, Kyle was a wizard, and it didn’t take him long to figure out the cause… The Invisibility Cloak was too small to fully conceal two people.

“You head back and help out first,” he said, turning to Sirius. “I’m going to sweep the area again—just in case someone slipped through.”

“No problem.” Sirius didn’t question it. After being mocked by a group of underhanded Death Eaters on the Quidditch Pitch, he was burning to let off some steam.

Hearing that Kyle would stay outside, he charged back into the castle on his own and quickly found a lone Death Eater to take it out on.

Once he was gone, Kyle turned and headed back to the Whomping Willow.

He looked down and saw several clear footprints on the ground, leading all the way to the base of the tree before vanishing.

Just as he stepped forward, a branch lashed out at him with a sharp whoosh.

Kyle dodged to the side and pointed his wand at a stone on the ground.

The stone shot upward, slipping through the dense tangle of branches and striking a specific spot on the trunk.

Instantly, the violently thrashing tree stilled.

Without hesitation, Kyle stepped forward and jumped into the hidden tunnel beneath it.

Once inside, the noise of the battle above faded significantly, replaced by faint, rustling sounds coming from somewhere ahead.

Kyle moved quickly down the passage.

This was probably the only route that hadn’t been sealed off. Harry had used it often to meet Sirius when he was hiding in Hogsmeade.

Even after Sirius left for other assignments, Harry would still occasionally come here.

But why now? Weren’t they supposed to be searching for the Runespoor Horcrux?

Kyle frowned. This passage led to the Screaming Ice Cream Shop. Could it be the snake had a thing for ice cream?

Then again, Harry and Voldemort had almost a sixth sense for each other at this point. He probably hadn’t made a mistake.

Kyle wanted to catch up to Harry and the others as quickly as possible, but the passage was too narrow for him to move fast. Then he heard voices.

One of them was sharp and cold, devoid of any emotion.

“I need you to pledge your loyalty to me, Draco. The time has come…”

It was Voldemort.

Kyle froze. Just ahead, he spotted two pairs of shoes—likely Harry’s. If he went any farther, he risked alerting them. And if one of them let out a startled cry... things could get very interesting.

What truly caught him off guard was that Voldemort had actually abandoned so many Death Eaters just to sneak into an ice cream shop. What on earth was he thinking?

Kyle narrowed his eyes, trying to peer through a crack near the doorway into the room beyond.

From his position, he couldn’t see anything—but he could hear everything with unsettling clarity.

The ever-arrogant Voldemort wasn’t bothering to hide his intentions at all.

It sounded like Lucius and Narcissa were also inside. They must’ve come straight here after leaving the Quidditch Pitch.

“To fight for the Dark Lord is Draco’s greatest honor.”

Lucius’s voice held a trace of excitement, and Narcissa chimed in with agreement. Only Draco Malfoy himself said nothing.

Not until Voldemort spoke again…

“So, Draco—are you ready to give your life?”

“W-Wait, wait, my Lord…” Lucius’s voice turned dry and strained.

“I might’ve… misheard… Draco just helped you kill Dumbledore.”

“You heard me perfectly, Lucius,” Voldemort said flatly. “It wasn’t until Dumbledore was dead that I realized something—the wand does nothing for me.”

It sounded like Voldemort had stood up, his voice shifting direction.

“This so-called most powerful wand of legend hasn’t shown any of the miracles it’s supposed to. I’ve pondered this endlessly… and finally, I have an answer.”

“The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who kills its previous master. You killed Dumbledore, Draco.”

A choked sob echoed from inside the room—heavy and suffocating.

“My Lord… Dark Lord… Draco only did it to carry out your orders…”

Lucius’s voice was barely a rasp, all pride drained away.

“That is why you will be honored,” Voldemort said calmly, “with a distinction no other Death Eater will ever receive.”

There was a dull thump, as if someone had collapsed and hit their head on the floor.

That had to hurt.

“Answer me, Draco. Will you help me claim mastery over this wand?”

Draco Malfoy still said nothing. Whether from terror or because he’d been silenced—it was hard to say.

Because when Voldemort set his mind to something, he never asked permission. He only gave orders.

And this time was no exception.

Something in the room gave a soft pop—like a balloon bursting, though quieter.

Then came the thud of a heavy body hitting the floor.

“Master, I don’t believe Draco is the wand’s true master,” said another voice—Snape.

“You disagree with me, Severus?” Voldemort’s voice cooled further, edged with a disturbing sound—like something crawling.

“I wouldn’t dare think that,” Snape replied. “But, my Lord, I was there that night. Dumbledore was killed by the Killing Curse you left within your wand. Draco had nothing to do with it.”

“Or to put it another way—how could someone who merely passed the wand along be recognized as its true master?”

The rustling noises stopped completely. It seemed Voldemort found that line of thinking... persuasive.

“Then tell me, Severus—if I’m the one who killed Dumbledore, why won’t the Elder Wand obey me?”

“I believe… Dumbledore wasn’t its true master,” Snape said evenly.

“Then who was?”

“I believe… Grindelwald.”