Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 930: Dumbledore, You Bastard!

“It’s you…” Voldemort glared at Kyle with seething hatred, roaring furiously, “What have you done?!”

His rage was so intense that his body trembled slightly—but not because of the Death Eaters who had been killed.

They were nothing more than cannon fodder, incapable even of basic flight magic, forced to charge Hogwarts on foot. Hardly worth a second glance from the Dark Lord.

What truly enraged him was that those Death Eaters hadn’t served their purpose. They hadn’t eliminated Kyle—the one real threat.

“Don’t slander me!” Kyle said sternly, locking eyes with Voldemort. “Everyone saw it—it was your spell that killed them. Youʼre already guilty of countless crimes, don’t try to pin this one on me too.”

Voldemort’s vision darkened; he nearly plummeted from the sky.

He—Voldemort, the most powerful Dark Lord—would care about how many people he killed?

If he wanted to, he could slaughter hundreds, even thousands, of wizards without a second thought. No one could stop him.

But the Fiendfyre explosion just now… it truly had nothing to do with him—not a thing!

He would swear it on every dark magic accomplishment he had ever made.

Fiendfyre, though dangerously unstable, wouldn’t spiral out of control just because of the Killing Curse. That curse was unique—driven more by malice than by magical force—so it wouldn’t interfere with other spells at all.

No one understood the Killing Curse better than Voldemort.

In fact, in some cases, the Killing Curse could even act like a dispelling spell. When cast with enough power, its effects could rival Finite Incantatem itself.

How could a spell like that possibly trigger a Fiendfyre detonation?

It had to be Kyle!

Voldemort realized it instantly. Back when Kyle had first encircled the Death Eaters with Fiendfyre, he must have done something—perhaps embedded a second spell within the flames, or subtly altered the fire’s nature.

Whatever the case, that explosion had definitely been under Kyle’s control… His goal had been to ensure the Death Eaters couldn’t pose a threat.

What a brilliant move. Not only did he eliminate the danger to himself, he also pinned the blame on Voldemort, saving himself a mountain of trouble down the line.

Well played…

Voldemort’s crimson eyes locked onto Kyle… He realized now that he’d underestimated him far too soon.

He wasn’t like Dumbledore at all. Not in the slightest. They were two completely different kinds of people.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Without warning, without another word, Voldemort unleashed the Killing Curse at Kyle once again.

But Kyle had seen it coming. The moment Voldemort lifted his wand, he yanked a still-breathing Death Eater in front of him as a shield.

“Oh! Brother, you… I swear I’ll avenge you!” Kyle said with a trembling voice. Then, the instant the Killing Curse’s effect faded, he hurled a ball of Fiendfyre at Voldemort.

Caught off guard, Voldemort didn’t dodge in time. The black mist cloaking his lower body ignited instantly.

The Fiendfyre surged upward with the wind, threatening to engulf him entirely in the next moment.

“Despicable!” Voldemort howled, forcibly dispelling part of the black mist with a charm and dropping to the ground as quickly as possible.

Even so, one of his legs had been charred black, and his entire form now looked even more depleted.

Voldemort being injured should have been cause for celebration. But everyone who heard his enraged shout wore oddly confused expressions.

Did they hear that right? Did Voldemort just call someone else despicable?

They had to be mistaken.

Shaking their heads, they dropped the thought and focused instead on the Death Eaters in front of them.

Voldemort wasn’t the only one who wanted the Death Eaters to swarm Kyle—everyone else wanted to gang up on Voldemort too. Helping Kyle aside, this might be their best shot at winning the war.

It was obvious to all that Voldemort was in a weakened state. If they attacked together, they might actually have a chance to finish him off once and for all.

And if they could see it, so could the Death Eaters. Of course, they didn’t want that to happen. If Voldemort fell, they were finished too.

They only wanted Voldemort to quickly get rid of that bothersome Kyle so they could go back to slaughtering the even more irritating professors and Aurors—and then seize Hogwarts in one final strike.

But for various reasons, the Death Eaters had already lost their numbers advantage. And after Voldemort’s blunder, they were struggling even to fend off Professor McGonagall and the others. Helping Voldemort was no longer even a possibility.

Barty Crouch Jr. suddenly felt a moment of disorientation…

Why had he just thought about helping the Dark Lord? The Dark Lord was supposed to be invincible—he never needed help from his servants.

That moment of distraction was all it took. A spell slammed into him, sending him flying and nearly into the Black Lake nearby.

Barty Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Transportation, stepped out expressionlessly, raising his wand once more.

Compared to two years ago, he looked as though he’d aged over a decade. His hair was graying and disheveled, his beard overgrown and unkempt, as if it hadn’t been trimmed in ages.

And yet, back when he worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, he’d been the most image-conscious of them all—shaving his beard twice a day, obsessing over the exact number and length of each hair.

“Ah, Father!” Barty Crouch Jr. hissed like a snake, his tongue flicking out. “Are you trying to kill me? Kill me—the one standing in your way of becoming Minister for Magic?”

“I will... atone for my mistake with my own hands.” Barty Crouch Sr.ʼs voice was hoarse and indistinct, as though it hadnʼt been used in years—like the rasping sound of dragon hide scrubbing an old cauldron.

But his face remained as expressionless as ever.

...

Elsewhere, Professor McGonagall was directing splintered wooden fragments to slam repeatedly into Rodolphus Lestrange’s head.

They looked like broken wood at a glance, but upon closer inspection, it became clear—they were wooden suits of armor wielding all kinds of weapons. Judging by their design, they resembled the ornamental figures from inside Hogwarts Castle.

It was one of Professor McGonagall’s signature Transfiguration spells, a simplified version of Piertotum Locomotor...

Despite being a simplified version, it packed no less power. The wooden figures could reassemble almost instantly even after being smashed apart. Unless countered by the Fiendfyre Curse, they were incredibly difficult to destroy in a short time.

What’s more, the enchanted weapons they carried were harder than steel. Each strike left Rodolphus howling in pain, his face growing paler by the second.

On top of that, he still had to fend off the spells Professor McGonagall occasionally fired his way. It wasn’t long before he could barely defend himself.

“Professor McGonagall... don’t you remember me? I was your student...”

Rodolphus tried to appeal to sentiment, but it only made Professor McGonagall’s expression darken further. Her wand slashed through the air faster and faster.

...

The battlefield was in total chaos. After the Fiendfyre explosion, the Death Eaters fell into disarray, scattering in retreat—even Voldemort was pulling back.

He was still shouting orders, trying to get his followers to take down Kyle first, but this time, not a single Death Eater responded. Instead, Professor McGonagall found an opening and hit him with a Stunning Spell.

Then came Professor Flitwick’s Incarcerous.

Voldemort realized he had been surrounded. He began to retreat of his own accord, pushed back into the castle by the crowd.

When outnumbered, using the castleʼs layout to stall the enemy... that principle worked for Death Eaters, too.

Besides, if Voldemort remembered correctly, there should still be a group of Death Eaters inside Hogwarts—not the ones who hadn’t gone out to reinforce, but the ones who had looped around to the wooden bridge on the far side at the very start of the battle.

Judging by the timing, they should’ve already breached the castle by now.

Oh—and there were those stationed on the perimeter, originally meant to stop students from escaping. But now, that hardly seemed necessary anymore.

Voldemort raised his wand high and shot a prominent Dark Mark into the sky.

...

“Why are there still Death Eaters?!” Professor McGonagall stared at the black symbol overhead, breathing heavily.

“There’s no helping it—they’re just too good at manipulating people,” said Professor Flitwick, shaking his head as he turned toward the school gates. “I’ll stay outside to hold them off. You lot get back to the castle.”

“Harry, Kyle—!”

...

At that moment, a booming voice rang out from the direction of the Forbidden Forest—Hagrid had arrived, charging out with a massive force of reinforcements.

There were Thestrals and Hippogriffs among them. Notably, almost everyone could see the Thestrals now.

“I’m over here, Hagrid!” Harry shouted, waving his arms.

“Thank Merlin.” Hagrid hurried over, eyes scanning the scene with urgency. “Are you all right? What about the Death Eaters that broke loose—where did they go…”

Earlier, when Voldemort flew into the air and tried to release the trapped Death Eaters, Professor McGonagall had immediately sent Hagrid into the Forbidden Forest to gather reinforcements.

Thestrals and winged Hippogriffs could fly—maybe Kyle could have used them.

But now, there was no need.

Of course, Hagrid didn’t know that. In his mind, Kyle was still in danger of being surrounded by Death Eaters.

“Where are those Death Eaters?”

“It’s all right, Hagrid,” Harry said quickly. “Voldemort killed them all.”

“What?”

Hagrid stared at Harry, momentarily stunned. Had he heard that right...? Voldemort killed the Death Eaters?

Something about that didn’t sound quite right.

“That’s right, Hagrid,” Hermione added. “Voldemort originally meant to kill Kyle, but his spell went off course and accidentally ignited the Fiendfyre that hadn’t fully burned out yet.”

“If you ask me, they got exactly what they deserved!” Ron said, unusually animated. “And Voldemort ended up killing his own people. He must be fuming.”

“Mm, you’re not wrong,” Hermione said, unable to suppress a slight smile.

That scene had been incredibly satisfying—so much so that even Professor McGonagall had shouted out in excitement. Hermione had seen it herself.

“Is that so?” Hagrid scratched at his wild, tangled hair.

He still found the whole thing a bit too strange—neither logical nor magical—but if all three of them were saying it, it had to be true… right?

“How are you?” Hagrid gripped Harry’s shoulders, asking with concern. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, his face reddening slightly.

Mostly, he was too embarrassed to admit that he’d spent the entire fight on the sidelines, not having fought any Death Eaters at all.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to—Harry had dreamed of going head-to-head with the Death Eaters—but he never got the chance.

Professor McGonagall and the others had completely sealed the Death Eaters inside a perimeter, and by sheer bad luck, he, Ron, and Hermione had ended up outside of it.

He couldn’t get close to the Death Eaters, and trying to help from a distance risked friendly fire, so in the end, all they could do was watch. Honestly, the three of them had probably been the least busy ones there.

“That’s good, that’s good. Just make sure you take care of yourselves,” Hagrid said before striding into the castle.

He had already missed one fight—he wasn’t going to miss a second.

...

After Hagrid left, the three stood awkwardly in place, staring at each other.

“So... what now?” Ron muttered. “I still can’t believe it. Kyle almost beat Voldemort. He’s really only one year ahead of us?”

That massive Killing Curse from earlier—just seeing it from afar had made his legs go weak. He had no idea how Kyle had managed to deal with it.

“Yeah...” Hermione and Harry both fell silent at his words.

They were all about the same age, yet when facing Voldemort, they couldn’t even mount a proper resistance—while Kyle had stood his ground and fought him.

The sheer difference was staggering. None of them quite knew how to process it, let alone accept it.

It felt like this was the first time they truly grasped Kyle’s strength… and it felt surreal, like something out of a dream.

But they had seen it with their own eyes: Voldemort being driven back, even retreating into the castle.

“Let’s get back to the castle too,” Hermione said, breaking the silence. “If we’ve chosen to stay at Hogwarts, we can’t just stand around. I refuse to believe I won’t run into at least one Death Eater in there.”

“I think there were some in the Astronomy Tower,” Ron recalled.

“All right, let’s head there,” Hermione nodded.

She’d already decided not to get anywhere near Voldemort.

It wasn’t just because it was dangerous—there honestly wasn’t much else they could do there. They’d be more useful helping elsewhere.

“Harry, come on...” Hermione turned and called back.

“You two go ahead,” Harry said, still standing in place with his head lowered.

“Harry, you...” Ron hesitated, then said quietly, “Don’t be like this. Fred always said it—Kyle’s not a normal wizard. There’s no reason for us to compare ourselves to him.”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed. “As long as Voldemort is defeated, it doesn’t matter who does it. That prophecy about the Chosen One... I mean, it was made by Trelawney. You know better than anyone what kind of person she is.”

“Hey, what are you two going on about?” Harry looked up, half-laughing, half-exasperated, at his two best friends. “You don’t seriously think I’m upset about not being the Chosen One, do you?”

“You’re not?” Ron asked cautiously.

“Of course not,” Harry said at once. “I was thinking about this.”

He pulled a small bottle from his pocket. “Remember this? Snape gave it to me and told me to take it to the headmaster’s office. I think… now might be the right time.”

“I’m not much help out here anyway. What if there’s something important in this?”

“You’ve got a point. What are we waiting for?” Hermione let out a small sigh of relief, grabbed Harry’s arm, and started running toward the castle. “Come on, Ron and I will keep watch for you.”

The three of them rushed through the entrance hall and headed up the stairs.

As they passed the Great Hall, Harry noticed that the battle inside was raging in full force.

Just like outside, Kyle and Voldemort still dominated the center of the battlefield.

More and more people were joining the fight. Harry spotted Charlie, Professor Slughorn, and even several shopkeepers from Hogsmeade—they had come too.

But a wall of Fiendfyre burned at the entrance to the Great Hall, cutting everyone off from the inside.

Though only two people were inside, the destruction rivaled anything happening outside.

In just a few short minutes, the enchanted ceiling had been blasted apart, and the four long house tables lay shattered into pieces.

The floor of the Great Hall was riddled with bottomless swamps and pools of corrosive liquid—all the handiwork of Kyle and Voldemort.

But as time wore on, Kyle began to fall behind.

It wasn’t due to lack of power, but rather inexperience—Voldemort simply had far more of it. And really, that couldn’t be helped. Kyle had only graduated a year ago.

He glanced around in frustration, catching sight of the anxious faces watching from just beyond the flames outside the hall.

He was looking for Dumbledore...

They had a plan—Dumbledore would play along, using Malfoy to divert Voldemort’s attention. Once Voldemort revealed himself, Dumbledore would appear at the right moment, and together they would strike, catching him off guard.

With that plan, Voldemort wouldn’t stand a chance of escaping.

...So where was he now?!

Kyle felt like he was moments away from taking Voldemort down—but where was Dumbledore?

Asleep?!

His rising frustration made him miss Voldemort’s subtle movement. A concealed Petrificus Totalus hit his left arm, paralyzing it.

Voldemort seized the chance.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Confringo!”

The spells collided once more, but this time, with his left arm immobilized, Kyle couldn’t follow up with a surprise attack like before.

Voldemort gave a cruel smile and slowly curled his fingers.

A sharp stone spike burst from the ground, hurtling straight toward Kyle’s heart.

“Looks familiar, doesn’t it?” His eyes gleamed with twisted satisfaction. To draw out Kyle’s despair, he deliberately slowed the spike’s approach.

“Damn it!” Kyle’s expression changed. Inwardly, he was hurling every curse he could think of at Dumbledore.

If he didn’t show up soon, Kyle was done for!

“Stop right there, you bastard!”

“Flipendo!”

A furious shout came from outside. The voice was familiar—but it wasn’t Dumbledore. It sounded like Mikel, trying to help.

But it was no use.

The Fiendfyre Voldemort had placed at the entrance was clearly some kind of dark magic. It could ignite spells themselves—never mind students’ attacks—even a professor’s magic might not be able to pass through...

Bang!

Something shot past Kyle’s vision—and then, in the blink of an eye, Voldemort was slammed by a full-speed charge from a Giant, sent flying across the room.

The connection between the spells shattered, and magic sparks exploded in every direction. The last intact Hufflepuff hourglass was obliterated, yellow gemstones scattering across the floor.

“Where’s Voldemort?” Kyle stood frozen, still processing what had just happened. “What was that just now? It looked like a beam of light… Was that a spell?”

“It probably… wasn’t,” he muttered, trying to recall the scene, then shook his head, dismissing the idea.

Kyle vaguely remembered the beam of light being almost as thick as an arm. What kind of spell was that thick? Not even Dumbledore would go that far.