Durmstrang Headmaster's Office.
After Wizet left Snape's office, Voldemort spoke up at just the right moment. "Well? Can you tell me your answer now? Was there any point to it at all?"
The veins on Calchas's face receded into his neck, revealing a complicated expression.
He rubbed his nose, his words carrying a hint of embarrassment. "It seems... there really wasn't much point."
During the private lessons, he had often remained silent as well. His knowledge of Potions, as a magical subject, could only be considered average.
As for Wizet and Snape's level... at least in his view, they were both Potion Masters.
In the past, when he encountered similar problems, he still had Gregory to order around and have him answer all sorts of questions.
Unfortunately, during the last Paris Region Incident, Herpo had sacrificed Gregory's soul in order to bring My Lord's punishment upon them once more.
Though Herpo was skilled in Potions, he did not have the patience to answer Calchas's endless questions—especially questions unrelated to My Lord's descent.
After making that comparison, Calchas had, to some extent, come to acknowledge Voldemort's point.
From his perspective, rather than suffering through watching Wizet show off his Potion-making skills, he might as well monitor Dumbledore.
At least while Dumbledore was reviewing documents, he could comment on their contents, pick apart certain practices and measures, and offer his own unique insights.
More importantly, if he said these things to Voldemort, he might occasionally earn Voldemort's approval and mock Dumbledore's practices and measures with him.
"Since that's the case..." A satisfied smile appeared on Voldemort's face upon hearing Calchas's words. "Then let's see what Dumbledore is doing!"
Calchas nodded and drew a deep breath. Purple veins once again spread over his eyes, and his expression visibly grew more haggard.
"Well?" Voldemort