Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

As a so-called island, the Hebrides were almost absurdly large—there was even a mountain range on it.

That was likely why the Black Dragons had been able to live here for generations. If the land had been any smaller, it wouldn't have supported fire dragons at all.

The good news was, once they ventured deeper into the island, Voldemort transformed into black mist and led his most trusted Death Eaters ahead.

Kyle, along with the rest of the unlucky cannon fodder, was left behind, trudging over the mountains on foot, huffing and puffing all the way.

But for Kyle, this was also good news. Without Voldemort nearby, he could finally act without restraint.

"Tired, mate?" Kyle caught up to a lagging Death Eater and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Want a drink? I brought some Butterbeer."

The man turned around and paused, stunned when he recognized Kyle's face.

Weird. This Traffindott—the one who wasn't particularly capable but had a notoriously bad temper—was being so friendly today?

Before he could figure it out, a wand slashed through the air in front of his face.

"Legilimens!"

The Death Eater's eyes immediately went blank.

Kyle delved into his memories, then shook his head in disappointment.

Nothing again. That made six Death Eaters he'd checked, and he still hadn't found a single useful clue.

These guys genuinely had no idea what the purpose of this mission was.

It looked like he'd have to go after one of the inner circle. Ideally, Rodolphus Lestrange—he'd been in charge before Voldemort showed up. He had to know something.

But Lestrange was probably staying close to Voldemort, which would make getting to him a lot harder.

Kyle considered his options, then waved his wand casually.

"Stupefy!"

The Death Eater, who had just started to come to, collapsed again.

"Should I inform the Order of the Phoenix?" Kyle muttered to himself without looking back.

In theory, a large-scale operation by the Death Eaters should be something the Order would try to stop. But with Voldemort present and Dumbledore missing, even if the Order showed up, there might not be much they could do.

And Cornwall still needed people. Even though that Bubblay Lennis was actually Moody in disguise, Barty Crouch Jr. still hadn't returned. Kyle hadn't seen him among the crowd earlier.

If the Order pulled all their people here, what would happen if Tonks ran into danger?

Still, keeping it to himself wasn't an option either. If something went wrong—say, the Black Dragons flew off—and the Ministry knew nothing, it would be a disaster.

After hesitating for a moment, Kyle pulled out a specially enchanted piece of parchment and scribbled a line:

"You-Know-Who has appeared in the Hebrides Islands."

It was a messaging parchment—Cedric had the other half.

As a calm and level-headed strategist, Cedric would know what to do once he received the message.

At the very least, seeing his name should put everyone on higher alert.

The only problem was, the Hebrides might be too far away—possibly out of range for the parchment to work.

After all, when Kyle made it, it was only meant for internal Ministry communication. He hadn't exactly planned for international use.

Kyle folded up the parchment, opened his suitcase, and jumped inside.

A moment later, an animal with the body of a horse and the tail of a fish squeezed out of the suitcase. As soon as it touched the ground, its fish tail vanished, leaving behind a full horse—which took off galloping toward the sea.

A Kelpie—an extraordinary creature that could freely alter its form. Kyle had brought this one back for treatment during the Triwizard Tournament... and now, it was finally proving useful.

Though the Kelpie's owl form didn't have any of that magical homing instinct, Kyle didn't need it to deliver the letter to a specific address.

Given the Hebrides' location, as long as it made it across the sea to the edge of Britain, Cedric should be able to see the message appear.

After that was done, Kyle habitually gave the unconscious Death Eater a kick to the side, then pulled out his Firebolt and flew off in the direction Voldemort had gone.

There was still time—he needed to gather more intel.

Voldemort couldn't stay with the Death Eaters forever. Once they split up, that would be his chance.

With the help of his broomstick, Kyle quickly overtook the cannon fodder and became the first to reach the far side of the island.

In front of him lay a village nestled at the foot of the mountains. The houses, built from stone and some kind of plant material, had a distinctly medieval look—almost like a miniature Diagon Alley.

Kyle perched in a tree, peering down at the village.

The once-peaceful place was now engulfed in flames. The Death Eaters who had followed Voldemort were tearing through the simple homes like madmen.

It looked like they were venting their frustration.

Kyle hadn't seen a single stranger.

The entire village had been evacuated before Voldemort arrived—everyone had vanished. Most likely, they had hidden in the mountains.

You had to admit, Miles MacFusty was a clever man. Faced with this many Death Eaters, the only truly safe place was wherever the Black Dragons gathered.

Through the smoke and fire, Kyle spotted Rodolphus Lestrange once again on his knees, curled on the ground like a boiled shrimp, writhing in pain.

No surprise—Voldemort must have hit him with a Cruciatus Curse, punishing him for getting smart.

"Where are they? Where are the people you told me about?!"

Even from a distance, Kyle could hear Voldemort's furious roar.

"Master... they... they really agreed... they even proposed conditions for cooperation... I swear..."

Lestrange twisted on the ground, wracked with agony.

"You idiot! You've been fooled! They were just stalling—for time, for everyone's evacuation!"

Voldemort's expression grew darker. He cast another Cruciatus Curse.

"Looks like Miles MacFusty doesn't want to be the clever one after all."

Rodolphus Lestrange was now in such pain that he couldn't even scream—only the twitching of his leg showed he was still alive.

At that moment, the other Death Eaters arrived.

They all kept their heads down, pretending not to see Lestrange lying there in agony.

Kyle seized the moment to slip out of hiding and blend into the rear of the group.

"Those who defy the Dark Lord must pay the price." A burly man kicked over the last standing house and strode forward, barking an order in an arrogant tone. "Go find them!"

Everyone exchanged uneasy glances.

None of them had forgotten the roar of the dragons they'd heard earlier—or the dozen or so streams of fire twisting through the air.

There were dragons in these mountains. At least a dozen.

Go in there to look for people? That was a death sentence.

But their hesitation didn't last long. With just the slightest turn of Voldemort's head, they scattered like startled animals, vanishing into the mountains in an instant.

Facing a dragon might not mean certain death. But staying put? That would.

Just like Old Crabbe had said—those who defy the Dark Lord pay the price. With their lives.

Kyle had slipped into the group as well.

Only, he didn't go far. Soon, he quietly doubled back.

Now that Voldemort had confirmed the village was of no further use, he had left. The only one remaining was Rodolphus Lestrange, teetering on the edge of collapse after enduring the Cruciatus Curse.

"Tsk. What were you hoping to accomplish?" Kyle muttered, raising his wand and pointing it at Lestrange's head.

"Legilimens."

But the spell, once so reliable, now revealed only chaotic flashes—nothing coherent or useful.

Occlumency?

Kyle frowned.

Of course. A trusted Death Eater like him would've learned Occlumency. Even if only for survival, it was a necessary skill.

But that made things more complicated.

If Legilimency wasn't working, he'd have to try Veritaserum.

Fortunately, Kyle had some. During the summer after his first year, Director Sykes at St. Mungo's had given him a box filled with all sorts of potions as thanks for defeating a werewolf—among them, a small vial of Veritaserum.

Snape had also given him a bottle one Christmas. The intent had clearly been to intimidate him, not out of kindness—but the potion was real, proper Veritaserum. Just two drops were enough to make anyone spill everything.

Still, in Lestrange's current half-dead state, he probably couldn't say much of anything.

Kyle hesitated. Maybe he should wait for a better opportunity... but when would he ever get another chance to catch a high-ranking Death Eater alone like this?

Maybe I should take him... get out of the Hebrides entirely?

As Kyle weighed the idea, the effects of his Polyjuice Potion finally began to wear off.

When Rodolphus Lestrange forced his eyes open, the first thing he saw was a face he'd never forget.

The Lestrange family had once been the largest among the Death Eaters. Until he appeared... There had been three of them. Now, only he was left.

All because of Kyle!

Summoning strength from who-knows-where, Rodolphus Lestrange gripped his wand and flung it toward the sky.

A massive skull appeared out of thin air, a serpent coiling through its mouth.

He knew he couldn't kill Dumbledore's successor in his condition—so he cast the Dark Mark.

If the Dark Lord saw it, he would come.

Kyle panicked. He only now realized Lestrange had come to—and that he himself had reverted to his original appearance.

"You won't escape…" Rodolphus Lestrange gasped, his face twisted with both madness and satisfaction.

"Never thought… I'd run into you here…"

"Yeah, what are the odds? Seems like fate's really tied me to your Lestrange family." Gritting his teeth, Kyle swapped out the Polyjuice Potion for another thumb-sized vial, pried open Lestrange's mouth, and poured the contents in.

In an instant, Rodolphus Lestrange's demeanor changed. His murderous gaze cleared, and the madness faded from his eyes.

"Tell me. Why are you here?"

"To bring the Hebridean Black dragons under our control… and start a war," Lestrange answered in a flat monotone.

"That's it?" Kyle pressed. "What if you can't control them?"

"Kill the MacFusty family wizards. Create chaos. Stir the dragons into a frenzy."

"How will you do that?"

Under the influence of the Veritaserum, Lestrange answered everything without hesitation. "Black dragons hate magic. If enough wizards keep casting spells near them, it will drive them away from the Hebrides…"

"Avada—"

Before Lestrange could finish, Kyle suddenly dove to the ground and rolled, narrowly avoiding a Killing Curse shot from afar.

A cloud of black mist plummeted from the sky.

Voldemort was back!

Without a second's thought, Kyle reached for Apparition. He'd already learned enough—there was no point in staying.

But in the next instant, he realized he was still standing in place.

"Having trouble Apparating?" Voldemort landed with a sneer tugging at his lips. "Care to guess why?"

"Professor Dumbledore, Riddle's fallen for it!" Kyle's eyes lit up as he shouted, "Let's finish him off together!"

"Dumbledore…"

Voldemort instinctively turned his head.

A breeze drifted past, carrying a few leaves across his vision.

He'd been tricked.

The red glow in Voldemort's eyes flared violently, practically bursting forth. But when he turned back to crush the shameless little thief—

All he saw was the tail of a broomstick disappearing into the sky.

"Avada..."

Several streaks of green light shot toward him from behind. Kyle, who had just taken to the air on his broom, was forced to veer off immediately, heading deeper into the mountains.

The Firebolt was fast—but not faster than the Killing Curse. His only option now was... well, to think of something else.

First and foremost, he had to shake off Voldemort.

That shameless lunatic had actually learned the Anti-Disapparition Jinx in secret.

Kyle was beginning to suspect that the reason Voldemort hadn't shown up right away was because he'd been busy setting it up.

The Dark Lord of all people, resorting to underhanded tricks instead of spells—wasn't that embarrassing?

But either way, Kyle had to admit: he'd been careless.

He'd planned to get answers and leave. Now, things weren't going to be that simple.

The only upside? If he couldn't Apparate, then Voldemort couldn't either. Catching up to a Firebolt shouldn't be that easy... right?

"I... ***—"

Kyle risked a glance over his shoulder—and nearly fell off his broom in shock.

Voldemort, now back in the form of black mist, was right behind him—getting closer by the second.

This was a Firebolt! A broomstick that could hit one hundred and fifty miles per hour—the fastest in the world! And Voldemort was catching up?!

What kind of twisted logic was this?!

Kyle banked hard and dove straight into the heart of the mountains.

One hand gripped the broom tightly, the other rummaged furiously inside his suitcase.

He hurled out over a dozen pots of Mandrakes—already uprooted ones—filling the air with a chorus of piercing screams that echoed through the peaks.

It wouldn't kill Voldemort, of course, but it did disrupt his mist form for a moment, giving Kyle just enough space to pull ahead again.

"This damned trick again!"

Voldemort was seething—possibly more than he ever had in his life.

In his eyes, Kyle was no more than an insect—something that should be easily crushed underfoot. But this insect was fast, annoyingly slippery, as if covered in grease, and kept spitting out vile tricks he couldn't catch or counter.

He'd never experienced anything like this before.

"Is this all Dumbledore taught you?!"

Infuriated, Voldemort raised his wand and fired Killing Curses at Kyle like they cost nothing.

"That one wasn't from the Headmaster," Kyle muttered, but he didn't dare slow down. He vanished into the thick forest at the mountain's core.

Voldemort landed and slashed his wand through the air. A strange force seemed to settle around the mountain range. Then, with another flick, he shot the Dark Mark into the sky.

Seconds later, plumes of black mist began arriving one after another. The Death Eaters who didn't know the Anti-Disapparition spell came running as fast as they could.

"Master."

Crabbe, Goyle, and several others approached, trembling as they stood at Voldemort's side.

It was obvious he was furious—more than they'd ever seen. Not even the last time he'd faced Dumbledore at the Ministry had he been this livid.

They still didn't know what had happened—and none of them dared to ask.

"Call everyone here. I want that shameless thief found!" Voldemort snapped, and with a wave of his wand, Kyle's image appeared before them all.

The magical projection was so lifelike it could have passed for the real thing—down to the last detail. Even a mirror wouldn't be more accurate.

A shameless... thief?

Crabbe and Goyle, already not the brightest, now looked even more confused.

They all knew who Kyle was. After all, when Voldemort had first returned, Kyle had been the one who ruined everything—rescuing Harry Potter from under their noses.

But... a thief? He'd stolen from the Dark Lord?

Was he insane?

Voldemort's face, though still pale, had regained a hint of color as he looked at Kyle's likeness. His voice, however, was like ice—devoid of emotion.

"Remember, this time, I don't want to hear any more excuses for failure."