Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 926: Harry Is Discovered

Truth be told, when Snape uttered the name “Grindelwald,” not only did Voldemort fall silent—even Kyle, listening from outside, was completely stunned.

What on earth was going on? Why would Snape bring up Grindelwald out of nowhere? He’d withdrawn from the wizarding world nearly seventy years ago and had been shut away in Nurmengard ever since. Pinning this on him was more than a stretch—it was downright absurd.

But Lucius, desperate for a lifeline, clung to the name like it was salvation. After a brief pause, he began to echo Snape’s words with frantic enthusiasm.

“Yes, my Lord, Severus is right! It must be him!”

“Draco... he couldn’t possibly be the Elder Wand’s true master.”

“My Lord, Draco, he...”

“Silence, Lucius.” Voldemort’s voice was soft—but absolute.

Lucius Malfoy instantly went quiet. Kyle could hear nothing now but the heavy, muffled sound of footsteps inside the room.

“Give me a reason, Severus,” Voldemort demanded. “Why should I believe you? Why would a disgraced, imprisoned failure have any say over the Elder Wand? Or is it that you simply don’t want Draco to help me master it?”

“If I’m not mistaken... you’re still Draco’s godfather, aren’t you?”

A chill seemed to blow out from the room, cutting across Kyle like a blade.

There was no emotion in Voldemort’s voice—only open, undisguised killing intent. Kyle could feel it clearly: if Snape said the wrong thing—or rather, if Voldemort believed he’d said the wrong thing—he’d be dead on the spot.

The faint rustling of something crawling returned, this time accompanied by sharp, repeated hissing—several snakes, it seemed, flicking their tongues in unison.

Most likely the Runespoor Harry had mentioned—one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.

In fact, Kyle had a connection to that very Runespoor.

Originally, that Horcrux was meant to be the creature named Nagini—a Blood Maledictus transformed into a snake from a pure-blood witch, and Voldemort’s most prized vessel.

Voldemort had always been obsessively selective with his Horcruxes—to the point of perfectionism.

Aside from the diary he used as practice, all his remaining Horcruxes—the Diadem, the Cup, the Locket, the Resurrection Stone—were fabled magical artifacts with deep symbolic meaning.

Naturally, for his final Horcrux, he wasn’t about to settle for anything less.

Blood Maledictuses were rare enough, but a snake-form Maledictus was practically unheard of. Though Nagini took the form of a snake, she was in essence a pure-blood witch. Even as a Horcrux, she wouldn’t taint Voldemort’s soul.

It was the perfect vessel—Voldemort couldn’t have been more pleased.

Unfortunately, that vessel was taken from him. On the very night of his resurrection, Kyle had yanked her right out from under his nose.

No elaborate schemes, no clever traps—just brute force, relying on Dumbledore’s presence to back him up.

Voldemort had searched for her, of course, but it was futile. Nagini vanished as if into thin air, and even the magical traces he’d left were scrubbed clean.

Left with no better option, Voldemort had settled for the next best thing: the largest Runespoor he could find in the Albanian Forest.

That was also why he hated Kyle so deeply.

The feud between Voldemort and Harry had been forged by prophecy—fate demanded one of them kill the other. But with Kyle, it was different: a slow-burning grudge, built up bit by bit, over time.

And it ran very, very deep.

...

“Although it’s just a theory, I believe it’s highly likely,” came Snape’s calm voice from within the room. He showed no sign of unease in the face of Voldemort’s cold tone.

“You’re quite confident, Severus.”

“I only just thought of it,” Snape replied. “But surely, my Lord, you know the Elder Wand once belonged to that dark wizard—Grindelwald. Dumbledore defeated him and took the wand as a trophy.”

“Of course I know that.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Snape continued. “You defeated Dumbledore and took the Elder Wand from him. It’s a nearly identical situation.”

Even without seeing inside the room, Kyle could imagine the smug expression forming on Voldemort’s face.

Though the methods had been less than honorable, the fact remained—he had bested Dumbledore and seized his wand. It was a victory worth remembering.

“But you haven’t mastered the Elder Wand.”

Snape’s voice came again, steady as ever.

“And that happened before Draco killed Dumbledore. Which suggests that defeating your opponent isn’t enough. The Elder Wand only recognizes a master who kills.”

“Severus, I never knew you were so fond of pointless chatter,” Voldemort said coldly. “That’s why I need Draco.”

“But, my Lord… Grindelwald is still alive,” Snape said.

That single line plunged the room into silence once more.

“Based on our logic, if the Elder Wand belongs only to the one who kills its previous master, then Dumbledore, who didn’t kill Grindelwald, could never have truly possessed it.”

“Perhaps he—like you—was merely borrowing it…”

Bang! Bang!

Something shattered inside the room, followed by a rapid string of explosions. The door at the entrance of the passageway blew open with a crash, and something whizzed past, grazing Kyle’s hair.

But he didn’t move.

He had been wondering how to widen the crack in the door just enough to get a better look inside—but he hadn’t expected it to blow open like this.

Now, he had a perfect view of Voldemort’s face—pale, snake-like, inhuman.

Snape stood across from him, composed. Lucius was kneeling on the floor, clutching a stunned Draco in his arms. Both looked deathly pale—like carved marble rather than living beings. It was hard to believe they were still alive.

Kyle tensed. He couldn’t be sure whether Voldemort could see through his concealment. All he could do was hope he couldn’t…

Fortunately, Voldemort was too preoccupied to turn around. He hadn’t noticed the entrance to the hidden passage at all.

Kyle let out a faint breath of relief. Just to be safe, he crept backward a few steps and tucked himself into a corner farther from the door.

Inside, Voldemort had fallen into deep thought. Snape’s reasoning was starting to make unnerving sense.

Yes… Dumbledore never killed Grindelwald. So how could he have been the wand’s true master?

But that would mean all his careful scheming—his effort to steal the Elder Wand from Dumbledore—had been meaningless. A joke.

Voldemort’s face shifted through shades of red and green as humiliation surged in his chest—raw, stinging shame at having been deceived. He couldn’t contain it any longer. With a sudden snap of his arm, he slashed his wand.

“Crucio!”

Lucius and Draco collapsed instantly, writhing on the floor. Their bodies curled into themselves, hands clawing at their throats, emitting terrible wheezing sounds.

To Voldemort, casting the Cruciatus Curse on two people at once was as effortless as breathing.

Snape looked on without a flicker of emotion, as though the ones being tortured weren’t his friend and godson—but a pair of insignificant insects.

Narcissa, having fainted earlier, escaped the pain this time by sheer luck.

Then Kyle heard a sudden gasp—rough breathing from somewhere ahead. One of Harry’s group had been startled by the Cruciatus Curse and reacted on instinct.

Kyle’s heart jumped. He stared intently at Voldemort’s profile inside the room.

Thank Merlin…

The agonized whimpers of the Malfoys filled the air, and Voldemort remained oblivious to the noise from the hidden passage.

“Do you think I should take a trip to Nurmengard, Severus?”

After what felt like an eternity, Voldemort finally calmed down and lifted the Cruciatus Curse from Lucius and Draco.

But the two of them remained sprawled on the ground, their mouths opening and closing as if silently pleading for mercy.

“Master, we’ve all witnessed your unmatched magical prowess with this wand. I truly don’t believe anyone could stand against you.”

“But Harry Potter is still alive.” The Elder Wand spun idly between Voldemort’s fingertips.

“My yew wand always obeyed me completely—yet it failed to kill Harry Potter. Once it failed outright, and once... I felt it resist me.”

“Can you believe it, Severus? Harry Potter blocked an attack from the Dark Lord with nothing but a ridiculous Disarming Charm. My wand refused to strike him.”

Snape bowed his head without speaking.

Kyle, meanwhile, was thinking back—when exactly had Harry and Voldemort come face to face?

The first failure was easy to place: over a decade ago, when Voldemort was destroyed by his own Killing Curse.

But what about the wand’s resistance?

To be honest, Kyle didn’t remember many instances where Harry had faced Voldemort directly… except during the Triwizard Tournament.

He clearly recalled being transported to that unknown hilltop by the Portkey-cup. By the time he arrived, Voldemort had already completed the resurrection ritual and had Harry under control.

Maybe they’d had a brief clash before Kyle got there.

In any case, the result was obvious—Harry had been completely overpowered, otherwise he wouldn’t have ended up captured.

“I don’t want that to happen a third time.” Voldemort walked over to the Runespoor and gently ran a finger across its middle head.

“Ollivander revealed the truth about the brother wands under torture. He told me to try using someone else’s wand.”

“I am at your service.” Snape didn’t hesitate. He drew his wand and respectfully offered it.

But Voldemort didn’t take it.

“Can you guarantee your wand has no so-called ‘brother’?” Voldemort lifted it with two fingers, examined it for a moment, then let it fall.

Snape shook his head.

He knew little about wandlore—not even what exactly constituted a brother wand. It couldn’t simply be cores from the same magical creature, could it?

A single dragon heartstring could be used to craft at least five wands. Unicorns were even more generous; one tail hair could yield three wand cores, and not just once—a few more could be collected each year.

If those all counted as brother wands that couldn’t battle one another, the magical world would’ve descended into chaos ages ago. Britain didn’t exactly have an abundance of unicorns.

Maybe it was something unique to phoenix feather wands. As far as he knew, both Voldemort’s and Harry’s wands were made with phoenix tail feathers.

He didn’t know what the deeper truth was, so he wisely stayed silent.

“None of us knows whether the wand in our hand has a brother it’s bound to,” Voldemort murmured. “That’s why I need a wand unlike any other... something beyond sentiment, that serves only power. The Elder Wand—the wand of destiny…”

“You understand, Severus?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape said, swiftly tucking his wand away.

“But if you go to Nurmengard, Master, what about the battle here? Our offensive is steadily being unraveled.”

“Disappointing,” Voldemort said quietly. “My finest forces—noble Death Eaters—brought down by a handful of teachers, half-bloods, and Mudbloods.”

“Tell me, Severus, do I really still need such pathetic trash?”

“It’s because… we were betrayed,” Snape stammered. “The wandering wizards turned against us. Not only did they leak our plans, they struck us from behind.”

“Bubblay Lennis…” Voldemort’s hand froze atop the Runespoor’s head, his scarlet eyes blazing. “He will learn what it means to betray the Dark Lord—and the price will be unbearable.”

“Well, even garbage has its uses. Throwing it all away would be a waste.”

“It’s time to end this farce.” Voldemort rose and looked down at Draco Malfoy, still lying on the floor. He tapped his wand lightly at his side.

After a brief pause, he decided not to kill him.

It wasn’t mercy.

They were still useful.

Of course, if his trip to Nurmengard failed to produce what he needed—he would not hesitate to kill Draco.

“Let me go find the boy, Master,” Snape continued. “I’ll bring Potter to you. I know he’s somewhere in the castle.”

“There’s no need, Severus. Harry Potter isn’t the real concern. The one who matters is the other boy,” Voldemort said calmly. “I want you to bring him to me. You know who I mean.”

“But Master, Harry Potter—”

“I said he’s not important,” Voldemort cut him off. “Funny, isn’t it? Remember what we were just discussing?”

“I told you—none of you understands Potter like I do. He’ll come to me on his own. I know his weakness: he can’t stand to see the people around him fall. He’ll go to any length to stop it.”

“I gave him a chance to kill me. I exposed my own weakness. And look—here he is, just as I said he would be.”

Boom!

Without warning, the secret passage entrance exploded, blasting the door into splinters.

Harry and Ron were thrown to the ground by the shockwave, the Invisibility Cloak torn from their shoulders. Hermione was exposed next.

Only Kyle, who had shifted positions in advance, avoided the blast—sheltered by the stone wall at the corner of the tunnel.

When the three were suddenly revealed, the expressions in the room varied. Lucius and Draco looked completely numb.

Then again, they’d worn that same look long before Harry arrived. After all, anyone subjected to Voldemort’s Cruciatus Curse would look just like that.

Narcissa remained unconscious—the explosion hadn’t even stirred her.

But Snape’s expression was something else entirely. He clearly hadn’t expected to see Harry appear, mouth agape and eyes wide in shock. Instinctively, he drew his wand.

Whether by coincidence or not, while his gaze was fixed on Harry, the wand tip was subtly angled toward Voldemort’s back.

He quickly adjusted it, and no one noticed the slip—not even Voldemort himself.

At the moment, the Dark Lord was watching the dusty, disheveled Harry with keen interest.

“I’ve been wondering why you hadn’t shown up, Potter,” Voldemort said, turning to face him. “I thought perhaps I didn’t know you as well as I thought. I wondered if maybe you were too afraid. But no—you just found another route I didn’t know about.”

He glanced toward the secret passage.

“Looks like I do understand you, after all… doesn’t it?”

“Run!”

Without hesitation, Harry, Ron, and Hermione scrambled to their feet and sprinted down the passage, stumbling as they went.

They knew one thing for certain: if they stayed, Voldemort would kill them.

Harry was furious with himself—he’d fallen for it again.

He’d seen the Runespoor and rushed in, never suspecting Voldemort might be there too.

Even when he realized it, he hadn’t turned back right away. Instead, he stayed to eavesdrop, hoping to learn something useful.

“I’m sorry...” Ron panted as he ran. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t made a sound, You-Know-Who never would’ve found us.”

“Not now, Ron!” Hermione snapped. A jagged stone had sliced her leg open, but she didn’t seem to feel it, sprinting toward the exit at full speed.

She had a plan—a reckless one, but one that might just deal Voldemort a serious blow.

The Whomping Willow at the tunnel entrance.

She knew that tree well—strange, powerful, and dangerously aggressive.

Any wizard hit by one of its branches would suffer real harm—even Hogwarts professors weren’t immune.

That’s why only Professor Sprout, the school’s herbology expert, was allowed to tend it.

And from what Voldemort had said, it was clear he didn’t know about the secret passage leading to the Shrieking Shack—much less the Willow that guarded its entrance.

This was their chance.

If they could get out first and provoke the tree, it might just give Voldemort a nasty surprise.

A branch thicker than a grown man’s arm hitting full force—Hermione was sure even Voldemort wouldn’t walk away from that unharmed.

If they could make it out before he caught them.

Please, Merlin, Hermione prayed silently, forcing her legs to move faster.

For the first time, she was glad the tunnel was so narrow—it might just slow Voldemort down enough.

They sprinted at full speed. But if any of them had looked back, they would’ve seen something surprising:

No one was actually chasing them.

Well—not quite. Voldemort and Snape were following them, but not in the way they expected.

Voldemort was strolling leisurely through the tunnel, unhurried, as if out for a walk. He had no intention of catching them right away.

He looked like a hunter—one who enjoyed playing with his prey.