Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 764: Voldemort’s Favor

“Idiots, all idiots!”

It was the same resplendent hall. The long table was lined with wizards in black hoods on either side, but none of them dared to lift their heads, fearing that if they did, they would meet those cold, terrifying red eyes.

“Why aren’t you speaking?” Voldemort asked condescendingly as he stepped closer to one of them. “Antonin, is this how you assure me of your loyalty?”

“You lost a leg and came back like a stinking rat, and you expect me to forgive you?”

“Master, I swear I did my best, master!” Antonin Dolohov fell to his knees, desperately reaching out to kiss Voldemort’s trailing robes, but Voldemort disdainfully stepped away.

The gesture only deepened Dolohov’s fear. As an old Death Eater who had followed Voldemort for more than ten years, he knew exactly what it meant when the Dark Lord no longer accepted a servant’s submission.

It meant that, in Voldemort’s eyes, that servant was completely useless—something not even worth a passing glance, like a broken shoe.

“It’s Malfoy, it’s Draco Malfoy,” Dolohov squeaked. “If he had killed Dumbledore earlier, we would have finished the task!”

At the far end of the long table, Draco Malfoy felt a gaze fall upon him. A chill ran through his entire body, his face turning ghostly pale, devoid of the slightest trace of blood.

“Nonsense, you despicable coward!” Lucius Malfoy suddenly looked up, his bloodshot eyes locked onto Dolohov. There had been a time when they had been on good terms—colleagues, of a sort.

“Draco has done what none of you could do!”

At that moment, Lucius no longer cared about fear and shouted, “Draco found a secret passage into Hogwarts for his master. His merit is obvious to all. Can any of you say the same? No one!”

All heads turned toward Lucius Malfoy.

To be fair, his words had just insulted every Death Eater present—and in front of Voldemort, no less.

For a fleeting moment, some of them wanted nothing more than to kill him, but none dared to act. None even dared to refute him.

Because Lucius was right.

Before this, they hadn’t been able to find a way into Hogwarts without triggering alarms. No, it was worse than that—they had even struggled to reach Hogsmeade without being noticed. The school was surrounded by the Order of the Phoenix’s watchful eyes.

So, in a sense, Draco Malfoy’s discovery of the Vanishing Cabinet was a feat beyond all expectations.

As Lucius spoke, Voldemort withdrew his gaze from Draco and turned his attention back to Dolohov, who was still kneeling on the ground. He seemed to be waiting for an explanation.

Meanwhile, a soft rustling noise began to stir in the shadows, where the light did not reach—something slithering across the floor. The sound grew clearer and clearer.

Dolohov was terrified, beads of sweat pooling on the ground beneath his trembling forehead.

He wanted to claim that he had only followed Voldemort’s orders—that he had refrained from acting because the Dark Lord had commanded Draco Malfoy to kill Dumbledore himself.

But he did not dare. He knew that if he said that, he would die immediately.

His only hope now was that someone might speak up for him.

But among the Death Eaters, there was no tradition of helping one’s colleagues.

Voldemort slowly raised his wand.

“Please, my lord, please forgive—”

“Crucio!”

The pain was instant and unbearable. Dolohov’s entire body twisted, curling in on itself as he writhed in agony.

And yet—he was happy.

Yes, despite the excruciating pain, Dolohov was relieved.

Voldemort had used the Cruciatus Curse, not the Killing Curse. The Dark Lord never bothered to punish a servant twice. That meant he would live.

The slithering sound in the shadows gradually receded.

Five minutes later, Voldemort finally lowered his wand. Dolohov lay trembling on the floor, his mouth gasping for breath.

“Th-thank you… for your leniency… my lord…”

Voldemort did not reply. If not for the fact that he had fewer and fewer useful followers, he would not have spared Antonin Dolohov so easily.

The other Death Eaters kept their heads down, their faces unreadable—some relieved, others disappointed.

Lucius, however, barely had time to process his own relief before he saw Voldemort turn his wand on Draco, seated at the far end of the long table.

“Crucio!”

Once again, the Cruciatus Curse filled the hall. Draco Malfoy crumpled to the floor, his body convulsing violently under the unbearable pain.

“This is to teach you a lesson,” Voldemort said coolly. “I ordered you to kill Dumbledore, and you failed.”

Draco tried to speak, to explain himself, but the agony left him unable to make a sound.

“Master…” Lucius fell to his knees, desperate. “Draco is only sixteen, he—”

“I was not addressing you, Lucius.” Voldemort held up a single finger to silence him.

“Kyle, for example, managed to ruin my plans three times when he was sixteen. If he could do it, why couldn’t Draco?”

“Or do you believe that the Dark Lord’s servant is no match for Dumbledore’s student?”

Lucius Malfoy shut his mouth at once.

The other Death Eaters bowed their heads even lower, not daring to breathe.

However, at that moment, a sudden voice broke the tense silence in the room.

“Then why don’t you go to Hogwarts yourself?”

Instinctively, every Death Eater turned in the direction of the voice, eager to see which fool had just signed their own death warrant.

“What did you say?” Voldemort leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Oren with interest.

“I said, as the Dark Lord, why didn’t you go to Hogwarts?”

Oren, as if completely unaware of the wand now pressing against his forehead, continued in the same calm, measured tone, as though he hadn’t just committed the ultimate act of defiance.

“If the battlefield was chosen to be Hogwarts, and the lives of all the students were threatened—or if a few were randomly captured and tied to his body—even Dumbledore wouldn’t dare to resist.”

“By then, you could kill him without even breaking a sweat.”

A sharp intake of breath echoed through the room.

All the Death Eaters, even Bellatrix and Barty Crouch Jr., turned to Oren with expressions of shock and something bordering on horror.

Tying students to their bodies and forcing Dumbledore into submission—this was beyond ruthless. Even for them, self-proclaimed followers of the Darkest wizard in history, such a strategy felt like crossing a line they had never even dared to consider.

For a brief moment, some of them even felt a strange sense of inferiority.

Even Voldemort himself stared at Oren in stunned silence. It took him several seconds to process what had just been suggested before he finally spoke.

“You mean to say that I, the heir of Salazar Slytherin, the greatest Dark Lord to date, need to rely on such methods to defeat Dumbledore?”

His voice was icy, his serpent-like gaze devoid of emotion, his posture perfectly still—yet the entire room felt the weight of the unspoken threat. If Oren said one wrong word, he would die where he stood.

“You worry too much. That’s not what I meant,” Oren said, his face as composed as ever. “But this is indeed a rare opportunity. I just think it’s a bit of a pity.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, and don’t try to be clever in front of me.”

The Death Eaters braced themselves for the inevitable punishment.

But to their astonishment, Voldemort simply lowered his wand.

“I have other, more important things to do. As for Dumbledore… I can kill him at any time.”

“As you wish,” Oren said with a casual shrug, an almost amused expression of helplessness on his face.

Yet, despite his sheer audacity, Oren received no punishment.

If there was anyone in this entire operation against Hogwarts who had even slightly met Voldemort’s expectations, it was Oren.

Not only had he returned unscathed, but he had also retrieved the otherwise useless Antonin Dolohov and had worked with Snape to successfully extract Malfoy from the Hospital Wing.

He was meticulous, quick-witted, and, more importantly, utterly ruthless—willing to do anything necessary to achieve his goals.

All of these qualities made Oren more valuable to Voldemort than 90% of the Death Eaters present.

And for a servant who had managed to deliver even a sliver of satisfaction, Voldemort was willing to be… magnanimous.

This special treatment did not go unnoticed.

Bellatrix, standing nearby, clenched her fists as she watched, her eyes burning with jealousy.

Once upon a time, she had been the favored one. She had stood above the other Death Eaters, basking in the Dark Lord’s trust and attention.

But somewhere along the way—perhaps after her release from Azkaban, or after failing too many key missions—she had felt that trust begin to slip away, until it had all but vanished.

A feral beast inside her stirred, growling, whispering, urging her to strike, to eliminate the one who had usurped her place.

But the last remnants of her reason warned her against it. Not here. Not in front of the Dark Lord.

Bellatrix closed her eyes, forcing down the boiling rage within her. When she opened them again, Voldemort had already vanished.

The oppressive weight that had filled the room lifted, and all those gathered let out an almost simultaneous sigh of relief.

Bellatrix cast one last look at Oren, her fingers tightening around her wand, before swiftly turning and leaving the room.

Lucius, meanwhile, scrambled to his feet, rushing to Draco’s side. He bent down, pulling his son up and holding him tightly.

Strange glances were thrown their way. Some were mocking, false sympathy barely masking their schadenfreude. Others carried genuine amusement at his plight.

But Lucius didn’t care.

“How are you, Draco?” Lucius asked anxiously.

But whether it was the lingering pain from the Cruciatus Curse or the sheer shock of everything that had happened, Draco did not respond. It wasn’t until the rest of the house had left that he managed to stand shakily on his feet.

“It’s fine, Dad,” Draco said, trying to sound calm.

He had always believed that being a Death Eater was something powerful, something to take pride in. But now he realized that was far from the truth.

Brushing so close to death had left him with nothing but regret. He didn’t want to be a Death Eater anymore. He wanted to go back to Hogwarts—he didn’t care if it meant sharing a dormitory with Potter and Weasley.

Lucius, as if he could read his son’s thoughts, gave him a helpless pat on the shoulder but said nothing.

Once Draco’s emotions had stabilized somewhat, he stepped forward and approached Oren.

“Thank you,” Lucius said.

He knew full well that if Oren hadn’t spoken up and drawn Voldemort’s attention elsewhere, the Dark Lord would not have let Draco off so easily.

“Don’t thank me for anything,” Oren said coolly, his expression unreadable.

“Of course, you helped get Draco back.”

Naturally, Lucius didn’t dare bring up Voldemort’s temper or his momentary mercy, but since Oren had brought Draco back, it wasn’t wrong to give credit where it was due.

“No need,” Oren said, lowering his gaze, not even bothering to look at him. “I just went to the designated place and picked him up. You should be thanking the one who actually saved him.”

“It’s all the same, it’s all the same,” Lucius insisted.

At this, Oren seemed to recall something. He glanced up and asked,

“But I am curious about one thing—just how much did your son hate his classmates that he sent a werewolf to Hogwarts?”

“I didn’t!” Draco snapped back. “I didn’t know he was coming. I only told Alecto and Dolohov.”

“Really?” Oren said nonchalantly.

“Draco didn’t say anything, and I can testify to that,” Lucius quickly added. “Greyback wasn’t even part of the original plan. He only insisted on going after he heard about the attack… He obviously didn’t want to miss the opportunity to be at Hogwarts.”

Lucius hesitated, then tried to shift the conversation, forcing a more amiable tone. “I heard you were also a professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts before. What a pity—if only Draco had enrolled a year earlier.”

He was making full use of his social skills, trying to steer the discussion toward common ground.

“Are you sure?” Oren raised an eyebrow at him, amusement flickering in his gaze.

For some reason, Lucius felt an uneasy chill crawl up his spine. At the same time, memories of certain unsettling rumors about Oren resurfaced in his mind.

The only professor at Hogwarts in the past century who had actually attempted to kill a student—and followed through with the attempt.

It had been Oren who had singled out Kyle. If it had been anyone else, no matter who, they would have surely died in the Forbidden Forest.

If it had been Draco...

Lucius shuddered involuntarily and dared not follow the thought any further.

This Oren was not normal.

There was something deeply wrong with him.

He simply couldn’t predict what Oren was thinking, or rather, he doubted that any sane person could.

Seeing Lucius fall silent, Oren curled his lip in a disdainful smirk, then leaned back lazily, yawning.

“Strange. I didn’t see Greyback earlier. Is he still at Hogwarts and hasn’t returned yet?”

“I don’t know…”

“He won’t be returning,” Draco Malfoy interjected. “I heard some news on the way to the Hospital Wing.”

“What news?”

“Fenrir Greyback was arrested, like the other Death Eaters who caused trouble at the castle.”

“In that case, he’s also being held at the Ministry of Magic by now?” Oren asked, narrowing his eyes. “Do we need to rescue him? Storming the Ministry sounds rather exciting. If you’re going, count me in.”

Lucius turned to him in surprise.

It was unexpected, to say the least—to see someone in the Death Eater ranks, cold and ruthless as Oren, suddenly express such eagerness to rescue a comrade from the Ministry.

It didn’t match the persona Oren had displayed thus far.

But it likely wouldn’t be necessary.

Since Voldemort hadn’t mentioned Greyback earlier, it meant the Dark Lord had already written off the werewolf.

The Death Eaters had just launched an attack on Hogwarts, and tensions with both the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix were at their peak. More importantly, their own numbers had suffered heavy losses.

It simply wasn’t worth it to launch an assault on the Ministry for a single werewolf.

Even if Greyback was the leader of the werewolves, it wouldn’t change that fact.

“I don’t think it’s necessary.”

Before Lucius could respond, Draco spoke up again. “Professor Snape told me that Hogwarts doesn’t plan to hand Greyback over to the Ministry of Magic, but to the families of the children he’s bitten.”

At the mention of Snape, Draco’s expression darkened once more.

He couldn’t help but wonder—if he had accepted Snape’s help when he was still at Hogwarts, would things have turned out differently?

“I guess he should have been taken away by now, and no one knows where he is,” Draco muttered, lost in thought.

He didn’t notice the way Oren’s expression shifted slightly.

“You mean we won’t see Greyback again?” Oren asked softly.

“I think so,” Lucius replied. “He’s bitten so many people… He’s only survived this long because he was never caught…”

Before he could finish, Oren suddenly stood up.

Without a word, without even a glance back, he turned and strode out of the room.

Now, only the Malfoys remained.

Father and son exchanged confused glances, neither of them understanding what had just happened.

“What’s wrong with him? Did I say something wrong?” Draco asked nervously.

Lucius considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “No. At least, not that I can tell.”

But one thing was certain.

Oren was not normal.