Bab 58: Weak Voldemort
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Voldemort paused for a moment, his expression growing even darker.
He still hadn't realized that after his defeat, nearly all of his most loyal Death Eaters had been purged. What remained were mere scraps.
He didn't want to admit it.
At least there was people like Barty Crouch Jr., Amycus Carrow, and Bellatrix Lestrange had powerful connections. If they had wanted to, they could have used their influence to escape, much like Lucius Malfoy or Karkaroff. But they hadn't. They had chosen to stand by their identity as Death Eaters, unyielding.
In comparison, Snape's loyalty was far more questionable.
Thinking of this, Voldemort's face was getting gloomy but Dyroth continued.
"After our last operation, Dumbledore will be more cautious. What you seek may have already been moved," Dyroth said steadily. "Continuing now would do more harm than good."
Voldemort's face twisted with anger. "You dare defy my orders?"
With a flick of his wand, the Dark Lord sent a bolt of sickly green light straight at Dyroth, intending to punish him. But Dyroth wasn't Voldemort Death Eaters. Tightening his grip on his wand, he countered with a swift Disarming Charm.
In his weakened state, Voldemort was nowhere near as powerful as he once was. At this point in the timeline—even in the original story—he needed unicorn blood to stay alive. Now, weakened further from his many appearances and teaching Dyroth magic, his power had significantly diminished.
*Crack!*
The two beams collided violently in the air, sending shockwaves through the room. A large crater exploded from the office floor as the disarming spell smashed into the ground. Voldemort, however, was not one to be resisted lightly. Rising with a dangerous smile, he hissed, "So, my dear student thinks he has grown powerful enough to challenge his master?"
Dyroth met the glow of Voldemort's wand with a calm smile. "Given your current condition, teacher, it might be wise to conserve some magic."
Voldemort's laugh was cold and cruel. "Are you threatening me?"
"I wouldn't dare," Dyroth replied smoothly, "just a suggestion."
For a moment, Voldemort's murderous gaze locked on Dyroth. But then, after what seemed like an eternity, he slowly lowered his wand and sat back in his chair. He was no fool. Despite his cruelty, he knew well the limits of his current power.
Some time ago, Voldemort had realized that he could no longer measure Dyroth's strength. The questions Dyroth asked, the theories he presented—they had grown so complex that even Voldemort found himself occasionally surprised. He had no idea how much progress his protégé had made.
And though he didn't know the full extent of Dyroth's power, he did know one thing: if he acted recklessly now, even in victory, it would cost him far too much.
Hiding his murderous intent, Voldemort's voice was icy. "Do not forget about last night. Tonight, you will join me in the Forbidden Forest."
"Of course, my dear teacher," Dyroth replied.
---
That afternoon, a Quidditch match took place. Despite the tensions of the previous day, the enthusiasm for Quidditch was undiminished. In contrast to Hufflepuff's laid-back attitude and Ravenclaw's library-bound nature, the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor was fierce and legendary.
The Slytherin prefects sat in the front row, eyes glued to the players in the sky. Suddenly, a tall, platinum-blond man in a luxurious robe, holding a silver cane, made his way toward them. The soft footsteps behind them caused the Slytherins to turn their heads.
Lucius Malfoy had arrived.
"Good day, Mr. Malfoy!"
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy."
"Greetings, Mr. Malfoy. Amiri Carrow sends his regards."
A flurry of flattering greetings erupted from the students. Even among the sacred twenty-eight pure-blood families, the Malfoys held unparalleled status. Lucius Malfoy, as the head of the family, commanded respect—even from the fathers of these students.
Lucius, however, barely acknowledged them with a curt nod. His expression remained cold and aloof, indifferent to their attempts at conversation. But when Dyroth approached, his demeanor shifted instantly. His previous arrogance gave way to deep respect.
"Mr. Grindelwald, it's been far too long," Lucius said with a courteous smile.
"Indeed, Mr. Malfoy," Dyroth responded politely. "I didn't expect you to attend my friend Draco's game in person. It's an honor."
"Draco is my son and I gave him my word I'd come," Lucius said, his tone deferential. "It is an honor for the Malfoy family to be friends with you."
(High level of hypocrisy)
The contrast in Lucius's behavior wasn't lost on the Slytherin students. Although they had seen Dyroth's name in the newspaper, they had never fully grasped his influence—until now. Watching someone as powerful as Lucius bowing to him, the realization hit them hard.
"Business has been good for the Malfoys, I hear?" Dyroth inquired with a smile. "Aunt Vinda mentioned you've been offering many helpful connections lately."
Lucius's attitude became even humbler. "Just a few minor contacts. Nothing compared to your accomplishments, Mr. Grindelwald."
The conversation ended when fireworks burst in the sky, signaling the start of the match.
"Mr. Grindelwald, I must greet an old friend. Would you care to join me?" Lucius asked.
Dyroth shook his head. "No need, I'll stay with my classmates."
Dyroth declined, understanding. The 'old friend' in question was none other than Snape. The two had attended Hogwarts together and shared years as Death Eaters. Dyroth had often heard that Snape was rumored to be Draco's godfather, though Draco had never confirmed it when asked.
As these thoughts ran through Dyroth's mind, the match had already begun. Mrs. Hooch's whistle blew, and the Quaffle, along with the Bludgers, shot into the air at lightning speed.
Draco hovered in mid-air, deftly dodging the Bludgers while scanning for the Golden Snitch. The moment he spotted Lucius and Dyroth, a bright smile spread across his face.
Just when he was about to make his move, something unexpected happened…
.
.
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Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone