Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 886: Voldemort Calls a Meeting

Two men suddenly appeared out of thin air and hurried down a narrow alley.

”This will be... hiss... the greatest honor of your life,” said the taller one.

”I doubt it,” Lennis replied without looking back. ”But Mr. Crouch, could you stop sticking your tongue out all the time? Itʼs disgusting.”

”Hah!”

A cold glint flashed in Barty Crouch Jr.ʼs eyes. ”Iʼll think about it... if you make it out alive today.”

On the left side of the alley was a thicket of thorns; on the right, a neatly trimmed hedge. At the end, the alley curved, revealing two grand wrought-iron gates.

Neither of them paused. They walked straight through the gates, just like passing through Platform 9¾ at Kingʼs Cross Station.

”Such a conspicuous mansion,” Lennis said, eyeing the peacocks by the pool. ”This must be that Malfoy’s house. Everyone knows he’s a Death Eater. Aren’t you worried the Aurors will come knocking?”

”Why should we fear the Aurors?” Barty Crouch Jr. hissed, tongue flicking out. ”Besides, do you really think this is Lucius Malfoy’s home?”

He let out a cold laugh and led the way through the mansion’s entrance, with Lennis close behind.

It felt like they passed through another invisible door.

The entrance hall distorted and vanished with the shifting light, replaced by an opulent room.

The marble floor gleamed underfoot, and the walls were lined with tapestries embroidered in intricate patterns. A closer look revealed that the designs were stitched with entire strands of unicorn tail hair—each one worth a small fortune.

This had to be the Malfoy residence. Only he would make his home so extravagantly gaudy.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that.

When Lennis and Barty Crouch Jr. entered the room, it was already filled with people seated around an ornately decorated long table.

There were still several empty seats, but once they had stepped inside, two Dementors took position at the door.

”Everyone is here,” came a clear voice from the head of the table. ”Welcome, my loyal servant Barty. You’ve eliminated a most annoying pest. That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long while.”

Under the flickering candlelight, the speaker’s face emerged from the shadows—bald, snake-like, with narrow slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes with vertical pupils.

Whether due to the dim lighting or something else, half his face appeared deathly pale, the other dark.

”My honor, Master,” Barty Crouch Jr. knelt, his face contorted with excitement.

”Just riding someone elseʼs coattails, but sure—what an honor.”

A sarcastic voice cut through the room, immediately drawing everyoneʼs attention.

”And welcome to you, our new friend... the brave warrior who killed the legendary Auror,” Voldemort said, his red eyes flashing slightly.

”Take a seat. We’ve been waiting for you.”

He gestured to an empty chair on the right side of the long table.

”Iʼm honored,” Lennis said, dropping to one knee and placing his right hand over his chest.

Barty Crouch Jr., standing beside him, stared in disbelief.

What the hell?

Heʼd been acting all high and mighty on the way here, like he didn’t care about anyone. Crouch had been sure Lennis would disrespect the Dark Lord and get punished. He’d even been looking forward to the show.

So what was this?

That kneel was way too smooth—no hesitation at all. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was the seasoned Death Eater.

Barty Crouch Jr. was speechless. But Lennis didn’t spare him a glance and calmly took the seat Voldemort had indicated.

”Nice to meet you.” A hand reached out from the seat next to him.

”Morris Oren. Looks like we’ll be colleagues from now on.”

”Bubblay Lennis.”

They shook hands briefly before letting go. It was a bit perfunctory, but compared to the utter indifference of everyone else, it was already a decent gesture.

Maybe heʼs trying to be friendly, Lennis thought, as he swept his gaze across the room, memorizing every face.

There were factions within the Death Eaters. The veterans who had followed Voldemort sixteen years ago naturally looked down on newcomers.

From what he knew, Oren was also newly recruited, probably trying to form alliances.

”Everyone is here,” Voldemort said.

”Excuse me, Dark Lord,” Lennis raised his hand. ”Did you say everyone is here?”

He looked around. There were still quite a few empty seats at the table.

”Yes.” Though interrupted, Voldemort remained uncharacteristically patient and explained without a trace of annoyance.

”This one...” He pointed to the nearest empty chair on his left. ”The one who sat here was once among my most loyal servants. Unfortunately, he was killed in battle two months ago.”

”And Crabbe... Rabastan...” He pointed to a few seats farther down. ”They all died at the hands of the same person. Do you want to know who it was?”

”No,” Lennis blurted out. ”But whoever it is, I’m willing to eliminate them for the Dark Lord, to prove my loyalty.”

Voldemort’s scarlet eyes fixed on him for a long moment before he let out a soft chuckle.

”I’ve seen your loyalty. You killed that famous Auror.”

He glanced around the room.

”Plenty of others couldnʼt do what you did. Well done.”

“I wonder if I’ve been too lenient with them—is that why their efficiency is so... pitiful?”

Wherever Voldemortʼs gaze passed, everyone instinctively lowered their heads, not daring to meet his eyes.

Fortunately, he didn’t pursue the matter further.

“Well then, anything interesting to report?”

“Master, Bones went to Hogwarts to meet with Dumbledore. They’ve reached an agreement to disband the Order of the Phoenix and have its members join the Aurors.”

Everyone around immediately perked up, turning curious eyes toward the speaker.

“What a pleasant surprise, Severus.” Voldemort looked at Snape with interest. “They only met this morning, and you’ve already heard the news. Good, very good.”

“Seems I shouldn’t have doubted you. How’s your leg? Still hurting?” Voldemort asked with apparent concern.

But that impossibly gentle tone sent a chill down Snape’s spine, leaving him drenched in cold sweat.

He touched his right leg. Beneath his robes was a gruesome scar—Voldemort’s gift from a few months ago.

No reason, no evidence. Just suspicion of his loyalty. Or rather... a test.

“It’s my duty, Master,” Snape replied, forcing his expression to remain neutral.

“This could be an opportunity for us,” another Death Eater said eagerly. “Maybe we can use a few old friends in the Ministry to eliminate those pests in one decisive strike.”

“And next time we move, we won’t have to worry about anyone suddenly barging in to mess things up. Dumbledore really is senile, making such a foolish decision.”

The more he spoke, the more excited he became—completely oblivious to the fact that the Death Eaters around him were subtly shifting their chairs away, inching farther from him.

“You make a fair point,” Voldemort said darkly. “But am I to understand that if the Order of the Phoenix doesn’t join the Aurors, you’d be powerless to act?”

The Death Eater snapped to his senses, mouth agape, but no sound came out.

It was true—but saying so would be no different from admitting incompetence.

And if there was one thing Death Eaters feared most, it was being deemed incompetent by Voldemort... No wonder everyone had edged away. They didn’t want to be splattered when the blood started flying.

From the shadows came the occasional unsettling sound. His heart pounded wildly. He wanted to explain, but someone beat him to it.

“Of course not, Dark Lord,” Lennis interjected. “Those Order of the Phoenix people—hard to kill? I think it’s easy.”

The remark was practically a slap in the face to everyone present, yet surprisingly, no one refuted him.

How could they? He’d just taken down Alastor Moody, one of the Order’s core members. The record spoke for itself.

“Yeah, just a bunch of bugs,” Oren added. “If I run into them, they won’t escape.”

Others looked up.

They couldn’t argue with that either. Though Oren had no major kills to his name, his mission success rate was absurdly high. In less than two years, he’d already earned a place alongside Barty Crouch Jr. and the others.

Now that someone had taken the lead, the rest began chiming in.

Whether or not they could actually deliver didn’t matter—what mattered was showing the right attitude.

The room filled with a low hum of voices. The Death Eater who had spoken earlier stood frozen, hands and feet ice-cold, trembling uncontrollably.

Again, the people around him shifted their positions.

Unless something unexpected happened, this man was as good as dead. Voldemort had suffered a serious blow on the Hebrides Islands—someone would have to pay.

And here he was, gift-wrapped.

No one spoke up in his defense—only added fuel to the fire.

It was understandable...

Someone had to bear the Dark Lord’s wrath. If he didn’t die, someone else might. With a scapegoat already lined up, the others were more than happy to distance themselves—better to sit farther away when Voldemort’s pet came out to feed, and avoid being spattered in the process.

But to everyone’s astonishment, Voldemort let him go.

“I don’t want to hear that kind of talk again,” Voldemort said, waving a hand dismissively and allowing the man to sit back down.

This...

The others looked around in confusion.

This wasn’t the Dark Lord they remembered.

First that strange tone of concern... now letting someone off the hook for saying the wrong thing? If not for the dull ache of the Dark Mark still pulsing on their arms, they might have suspected an impostor.

It was bizarre. So bizarre that no one knew what to say. They just sat there, stunned.

“Continue,” Voldemort said, narrowing his eyes. “What other news do you have? Speak.”

“It’s fine—say whatever you like. We’ve got plenty of time today.”

This...

Everyone exchanged glances, unsure of what Voldemort was really thinking. No one dared speak first.

Until Voldemort’s growing impatience became obvious.

Only then did Oren take the initiative and speak up. “If it’s a report you want... I’ve recruited a group of pure-blood wizards in Yorkshire.”

“Not well-known, but they hate Muggles. Their family has operated in the gray area for generations and they’re skilled in crafting cursed Dark magic artifacts.”

“Good. Very good.” Voldemort nodded in satisfaction.

Pure-blooded and Muggle-hating—those two traits alone met the basic criteria for becoming a Death Eater. The added skill of making cursed Dark magic items only made them more valuable.

Voldemort had no idea where Oren had dug up such a find. While it didn’t compare to Barty Crouch Jr.’s achievement of recruiting over a hundred wandering wizards, it was still a pleasant little surprise.

Even better, they hadn’t asked for anything in return.

That made things much simpler.

“Let me share something as well,” Lennis said, glancing around before speaking up. “The secret passage from the port to Devonshire is ready. If necessary, we can give the Ministry of Magic a little surprise anytime.”

“Excellent,” Voldemort nodded again.

Another piece of good news.

At this point, they were more or less operating openly. If they made a move, it wouldn’t take long for the Aurors to track them down.

Those hundred-odd wandering wizards, if used well, could absolutely catch the Ministry off guard. A decent trump card—not earth-shattering, but useful.

Voldemort tapped a finger against the table, his expression unreadable, betraying no hint of emotion.

“Continue,” he said calmly. “One at a time. Goyle, you start.”

A burly Death Eater lifted his head and stammered, “I... I cast a spell on a dog to make it chase and bite a Muggle... does that count?”

“Next time, just kill the Muggle,” Voldemort said coldly. “Continue.”

Seeing that even such a ridiculous answer didn’t incur punishment, the others relaxed and began reporting their own activities.

If they didn’t have anything useful to share, they reached for old reports. If that didn’t work, they made something up.

Voldemort was oddly indulgent today—remarkably so. He didn’t scold them at all, as if he were genuinely there to listen to their reports.

Time passed slowly.

One hour. Two hours...

Creaaak.

Lennis, perhaps from sitting too long, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Voldemort’s gaze swept toward him at once, staring at his face. But after a moment, he looked away.

Off to the side, Oren raised an eyebrow.

He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but it looked like Lennis’s throat had moved slightly.

Oren’s lips twitched with faint amusement—he seemed to have noticed something—but his expression quickly returned to calm.

...

By now, everyone had finished speaking. They sat awkwardly, glancing at each other, unsure of what to do.

Under normal circumstances, this kind of meeting would have ended long ago. But today, Voldemort seemed unusually patient, showing no intention of wrapping things up.

No one dared to speak or ask questions—they simply remained seated.

“Go on. I like stories,” Voldemort said again.

Left with no other choice, everyone resumed their efforts to come up with more things to report.

Several more hours passed, and everyone’s mouths were dry and parched.

“Very good.” Voldemort suddenly stood, and under a sea of confused stares, strode briskly out of the room—taking with him the Dementor that had been stationed at the door.

What... did that mean?

Everyone was baffled, but judging by the situation, it seemed the meeting was... over?

It must be. The Dark Lord was gone—what reason was there to stay?

One by one, they began to rise from their seats.

Oren stood and gave Lennis a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Nice to see a new face—and not a useless one, either. Want to grab a drink?”

His words instantly sparked a wave of resentment. The remaining Death Eaters who hadn’t yet left turned to glare at him.

“What, you’re not useless?” Oren spread his hands in mock innocence, the provocation plain.

“Enjoy your moment while you can,” one Death Eater said coldly. “The Dark Lord knows who his most loyal servant is. One day, I’ll make sure you taste the Cruciatus Curse.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Jugson,” Oren said casually. “And for the record, I think my Cruciatus Curse is pretty good. Want to give it a try?”

“Hmph. We’ll see!”

The other man stormed off in fury.

“Hey, friend,” Oren said again, patting Lennis. “Seriously—how about that drink? The Leaky Cauldron? I love the look the Hit Wizards give me when they recognize who I am.”

Lennis didn’t reply. He simply shook his head.

“We’re going to be colleagues in the same boat soon. You won’t even talk to me?” Oren smiled wider. “That’s a little unfriendly, don’t you think?”

“Hmph.”

Lennis seemed to find him increasingly annoying. He frowned and gave a sharp snort.

He didn’t even wait for Barty Crouch Jr., who had come with him. Instead, he walked straight out, passed through the courtyard, and disappeared behind the wrought-iron gates.

Before long, Oren was the only one left in the room.

He didn’t leave right away. Instead, he walked over to the chair where Lennis had been sitting and ran a hand across it thoughtfully, his eyes flickering.

Strange. Very strange.

From Lennis’s behavior at the start, he wasn’t the quiet type. He’d even enjoyed mocking the other Death Eaters.

He was the one who’d initiated the exchange, and yet his behavior afterward had been... odd. It was like he’d suddenly turned shy.

“How interesting,” Oren murmured, fingers gliding across the finely-crafted chair.

Why had he suddenly gone quiet? Was it reluctance to speak... or an attempt to hide something?

And if so—what was he hiding?

A scent, perhaps?

If he’d eaten something particularly pungent, or taken a potion, it would likely leave a trace. Speaking would risk revealing it.

But that explanation didn’t quite hold. No one had eaten or drunk anything today.

After all, Voldemort had been right there, and as time passed, his expression had grown darker. With him staring them down, no one dared make a move—no matter how parched they were from hours of talking.

Unless... he had eaten something that didn’t require opening his mouth.

That, at least, was possible.

And aside from scent, there was something else—something even more obvious—that would give him away the moment he opened his mouth.

Oren walked over to a large gilded mirror and spoke softly.

“Maybe I’m overthinking it... Maybe he really just doesn’t like to talk...”

As he spoke, his teeth glinted faintly in the dim light.