Who Was Being Used as a Tool

Harry was put down by Peter Pettigrew, and his wand was put back in his hand. He stood beside the tombstone, his legs still trembling. The Death Eaters swarmed around him, tightly surrounding him and Voldemort.

"Let's bow to each other, Harry," Voldemort said, giving a slight bow, but his snake-like face remained fixed on Harry. "Come on, etiquette must be observed... Dumbledore would certainly expect you to behave with grace... Bow to Death, Harry..."

The Death Eaters roared with laughter again. Voldemort's lipless mouth revealed a smile. Harry didn't bend down; he wouldn't let Voldemort toy with him before killing him... He wouldn't let him succeed...

"I said, bow." Voldemort raised his wand— Harry felt a bend in his spine, as if an invisible hand was mercilessly pressing his back forward. The Death Eaters laughed even harder.

"Very good—" Voldemort said softly, raising his wand, the pressure on Harry's back disappearing. "Now look at me, like a man... stand tall, like your father did when he died..."

"Now, we can begin the decision—who is it?!" Voldemort suddenly raised his head, his red eyes instantly fixed on Harry's upper left.

Suddenly, a heavy, invisible pressure appeared in the center of the cemetery. All the air seemed to be sucked out in an instant, as if a huge dome had suddenly fallen from the sky and covered the center of the cemetery.

Harry felt as if his lungs were being squeezed, making it extremely difficult to breathe. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. The Death Eaters were not faring any better. Under the oppressive force, everyone was forced back at least a dozen steps, leaving a large empty space in the center of the graveyard, with only Voldemort and the kneeling Harry remaining.

"Dumbledore?" Voldemort's cold voice faintly echoed.

A swirling vortex of color appeared Silencio, and then a figure slowly stepped out of it.

Although the magical world is not lacking in transformation techniques, Voldemort was certain that this was not Dumbledore. It was the face of a frighteningly young boy, no more than 15 years old, with platinum blonde hair blowing in the wind, piercing dark gray eyes, and a slightly upturned mouth—a cynical smile, an indifferent expression as if nothing in the world mattered to him.

Even during Voldemort's recent years of exile, he had heard of this name, especially after Peter Pettigrew found him; he had seen the boy's picture frequently in various media outlets and newspapers.

In particular, his name had only recently been discussed by him and the Death Eaters.

Skylar Malfoy.

A slight commotion arose among the Death Eaters. The ripple in the air just now had almost made them want to kneel and beg for mercy or turn and run away, making them think that Dumbledore arrived. Now, the person who emerged from the vortex was actually a boy who looked no more than fifteen years old. The huge contrast left them completely bewildered.

"It's you?" Voldemort's pupils contracted slightly. He wasn't one to be naive; not a single Death Eaters present raised their wands at the newcomer. This was clearly a terrifying form of mental magic, capable of dissolving an enemy's hostility and fighting spirit invisibly. The Death Eaters, still reeling from the oppressive aura, quickly unleashed his magic, causing the air temperature to plummet and an atmosphere of terror and despair to spread throughout the graveyard.

"What audacity! You actually dared to come here alone like this!" Voldemort spoke first, his eyes fixed on Skylar's figure, already plotting in his mind.

"Interesting..." Skylar's first reaction upon seeing Voldemort was to freeze in shock.

Shouldn't I be seeing Mei? How did I end up at this Death Eaters meeting?

As expected of Skylar, he regained his composure in an instant. Although he was facing the infamous Voldemort and surrounded by ten ruthless Death Eaters, a calm smile remained on his lips, as if nothing in front of him could bother him in the slightest.

"This is truly fascinating... my Dark Lord... judging from your expression, you recognize me, which is rather strange," Skylar said with a grin. "I am a direct descendant of the House of Malfoy, the biological son of your most loyal subordinate— Lucius Malfoy. Shouldn't your first question upon seeing me be—"

"Why am I here? Where is my father Lucius?" Skylar's smile slowly faded, and his eyes began to flash with a sharp, hawk-like glint. "Can't I be here on my father's orders, to stand in for him at this gathering that belongs to the Death Eaters family?"

"Then—" Skylar's gaze darkened, "Why is it that the moment I appeared, before I even said a word or did anything, I already felt the deep... hostility towards me from everyone here?"

Voldemort made a gesture resembling a frown; as shrewd as he was, he didn't need much explanation or prompting—he clearly realized something was wrong.

Seeing Voldemort's expression, Skylar knew exactly what was going on.

"My noble and great Dark Lord..." Skylar turned his head, his gaze sweeping across the surroundings like lightning. The Death Eaters standing around him, upon being met with his gaze, seemed to have done something guilty, and involuntarily took a few steps back. Skylar's lips curled up again. "Now it seems that before I appeared, you were chatting with your dearest Death Eaters family, weren't you? Your topic of conversation wasn't me, was it? Hmm, probably. And I guess your final conclusion was probably that the House of Malfoy had betrayed you, and that I had become your greatest Death Eaters besides Dumbledore. Am I right?"

Voldemort pursed his lips tightly, remaining silent.

"Looks like I guessed everything right," Skylar shook his head, feigning sadness, and said, "I'm telling you, you really hurt me. We're all from Pure-blood families. Even if there are conflicts of interest, we're still from the same class, the same circle. My father and you are all the Dark Lord's most trusted and capable subordinates. Is it really necessary for you to treat me like this?"

"I've thought it over and over, but I still don't understand what I did to offend you, unless—" Skylar's gaze was fixed on one of the Death Eaters, "The one who wants to deal with me is another master behind you." Skylar smiled and said softly, "Great Dark Lord, I'm really curious, who was it that first mentioned my name to you? Hmm—let me guess, Selwyn?"

"Selwyn!" Voldemort roared in fury.

"Master, please let me explain... It's not like that... Master..." Selwyn hurriedly knelt down, prostrating himself on the ground, begging for mercy. His entire back was trembling, clearly showing how terrified he was.

"I was wondering..." Voldemort murmured, "Why would those Shadow of the Magic Dragon be so kind as to send Potter here to complete my resurrection... It turns out... this was a case of using someone else to do the dirty work..."

"Shadow of the Magic Dragon... they're using me as a pawn..."

"Hahaha..." Skylar seemed to have heard a very funny joke and couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"What are you laughing at!" Voldemort struggled to suppress the raging anger within him. He was still trying to control his reason; he needed to figure out what had happened tonight before he could make a move.

"My Lord Dark Lord, you're really making me laugh," Skylar patted his chest, as if he had a hard time stopping his laughter. "Have you been away from Britain for too long...? You've become out of touch with the situation these past few years... You probably don't even know—"

Skylar's gaze gradually turned cold, a fighting spirit flickering deep within his eyes. His lips trembled slightly as he spoke in a low voice, "My lord, times have changed—"

"How do you know the Shadow of the Magic Dragon is using you as a pawn—" He paused before continuing, "And not me?"