Hogwarts: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me From Studying

Chapter 862 - 233: The Overbearing Mikhail

When Barty was dragged into the shadows and felt the rough stone wall against his back, he suddenly realized where he was.

Lucius reached into his pocket, fished around for a moment, and pulled out a yellowed piece of parchment.

—It was the note with the monastery’s address!

Could he be thinking...?

Barty glared at Lucius with eyes filled with venom that seemed almost tangible.

Lucius seemed to understand the emotion he was trying to convey, and he suddenly chuckled softly, a laugh that was both cold and delighted:

"I didn’t want to make this choice, but you forced my hand... Who didn’t follow the Dark Lord in pursuit of wealth and glory back then? And what was the result?"

[I am not!] Barty glared at him with rage, roaring internally: [You despicable traitor! Not everyone is as spineless as you!]

Lucius shook his head, his voice lowered even further:

"The Dark Lord failed, Crouch, time and time again. I don’t understand how you can still remain so genuinely loyal... Have you played the role so often you’ve fooled even yourself?"

If looks could kill, Lucius Malfoy would have died ten thousand times over by now.

But they couldn’t, so he casually transformed a stone on the ground into a dagger, while still speaking in a lively tone:

"We, the followers, paid dearly and yet did not stand trial, only to be searched and humiliated by the likes of Weasley; whenever we sought amusement, we were chased like dogs by Black, or executed at your whim... Why?"

"Open your eyes and see clearly—I am Lucius Malfoy!"

"Do not think for a moment that I’m like you mad dogs, squatting in jail for the so-called ’Pure-Blood Honor’. My life... is worth thousands of times more than you lowly bunch!"

"I will always choose the winning side—that’s the smart move, isn’t it?"

"I heard you got twelve certificates at school and were regarded as a genius. Why can’t you figure out something so simple?"

Lucius’s tone was laced with genuine puzzlement.

He knew there were people like that in the world but never truly understood—whether it was young Barty’s unwavering devotion to the uncaring Voldemort, or Sirius Black fighting desperately for people not even related to him, he found it all unbelievable.

—Is it worth it?

Lucius wanted to ask.

And Barty’s mind exploded with all sorts of malicious curses, his fury amplifying with each of Lucius’s syllables, feeling the magic rampaging within him, almost dispelling his paralysis.

"Sss—"

The dagger sliced across his neck, creating an odd sound as warm blood spurted out, along with his boiling magic and awakening strength, like a flood released from a dam.

Barty couldn’t stop his life from flowing away with the blood, only able to glare futilely, watching as Lucius threw the dagger that had killed him into the distance, quickly covered by a swarm of poppet ants.

Then, the wizard shook his cloak and vanished into the shadows with the note.

Barty made an unnatural ’grr... grr... grr’ sound in his throat, despairingly looking at the sky above, where the poppet ants marched toward him in neat formation like an army.

Rocks blocked his view of the battlefield; he could only see flashes of firelight and smoke crossing in the sky, vaguely seeing the image of that man lying in a muddy pit.

That man... who raised him, denied him, imprisoned him, protected him, and ultimately was killed by him for attempting to betray him to Dumbledore.

In an instant, his father’s face was replaced by another blurred face.

The man he called "master" and viewed as "father."

But at this moment, Barty found himself unable to even form a clear image of that face in his mind, unable to remember the gaze that once made him feel he could sacrifice everything, that gentle and protective look, not even knowing if that warmth was all his own illusion.

Barty suddenly felt a desire to laugh—

[What does my life... even mean?]

His lips twisted into a grim smile, tinged with indescribable relief and reluctance, he slipped completely into eternal darkness.

...

The venomous snake of flames slithered into the group of poppets, igniting instantly, the searing flames seemingly capable of consuming everything, causing wasps to fall and a few crab shells to melt and deform.

They did not scream, but their silent march into the flames toward the enemy was even more striking.

Vid felt a faint stirring in his heart, suddenly having an idea—

[I know how to handle this flame!]

The boy pushed aside the jellyfish tentacles encircling him, took a step forward, and swung his wand in a smooth arc!

"Whoosh—"

A thin white light—or rather, a flame concentrated like a needle—shot out, piercing through the ever-expanding ashwinder. The serpent instantly wilted, seeming to want to avoid it, even forming a pitch-black hole amidst the crimson flames.

Someone spoke with a smile in his ear:

"Vid, remember—to deal with fire, you must fight fire with fire."

"Weak flames will be consumed by stronger ones, low-temperature flames must bow to higher heat, or when deprived of fuel, most flames will be extinguished—including Fiendfyre."

Vid blinked in a moment of distraction and saw a golden light shoot out... no, it was a golden-red bird!

Its wings were entirely made of flowing flames, each feather joyously dancing.

"Caw—"

The firebird let out a clear cry, its body rapidly expanding several dozen times, suddenly opening its massive mouth and swallowing Voldemort’s ashwinder whole!

Afterward, it seemed overstuffed, wobbling toward the cabinet before vanishing with a flash.

Vid blinked, reaching out to prod the cloak perched on him and chittering about the battlefield, asking: "Is that bird also my poppet?"

The cloak paused for a moment.

"It?"

Then in a voice filled with both envy and jealousy, sneakily badmouthing a colleague, it leaned closer to Vid and said:

"That guy’s not just any poppet, it’s Grandpa Mikhail! Always lording over us and even disregarding you, master, never saying a word more than necessary!"

"Bang!"

A fireball shot out from the cabinet, making the cloak screech wildly, but Vid just wanted to laugh.

Were these all poppets he created? It felt truly unbelievable.

Thinking this, the boy walked out of the chapel, frowning deeply.

The courtyard, filled with fallen stones, was in a stalemate.