Deep Mountains of Albania.
This place, which should have been a gloomy, terrifying Black Forest where not even birds dared to defecate, was now permeated with a strong scent of... cumin?
In a clearing deep in the forest, several greasy tents were pitched.
A broken wooden sign hung on one tent, reading: "Dark Lord's Authentic Heritage · Avada Kedavra Roast Whole Lamb · Free if Not Delicious (But Might Cost Your Life)."
Voldemort, wearing a tattered robe stained with sheep grease, held a wand like a brush, basting a charred whole lamb with sauce.
His nose-less face was blackened by smoke, with only two red eyes still flickering with greedy light.
"Fenrir! The fire's too high! Pull that lamb leg back a bit!" Voldemort shrieked, his voice filled with the exhaustion of a corporate slave.
A hairy giant drilled out of the tent—werewolf Fenrir Greyback.
Gnawing on a raw lamb chop, he roared impatiently, "Cut the crap, Tom! If you don't sell fifty Galleons' worth today, I'll eat you for a midnight snack! This godforsaken place doesn't even have tourists. Except for those few trolls, who's going to eat your roast lamb?"
"There will be... there will be..." Voldemort hypnotized himself while flipping the meat. "As long as I use the green light of Avada Kedavra to light the charcoal, that's the selling point! It's an immersive horror dining experience!"
Just then, footsteps approached from the edge of the forest.
Voldemort jerked his head up, killing intent flashing in his eyes. "Who?! Here to die? Or here to pay the bill?"
The trees parted.
Ivan, Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Sirius stood there.
Ivan held a tablet (alchemically modified, connected to a magic satellite), checking the map.
"Yup, navigation says this is it." Ivan pointed to the greasy sign. "'Dark Lord's Authentic Heritage'? Looks like we found the right guy."
Seeing the visitors clearly, Voldemort dropped his wand-brush to the ground with a clatter.
"Po... Potter?!"
Then he saw Dumbledore, and the blonde Grindelwald.
Voldemort's face twisted into a meme instantly.
In the past, he would have cast an Avada immediately.
But now...
He looked at the dripping lamb leg in his hand, then at Fenrir Greyback grinding his teeth nearby.
"Um..." Voldemort wiped the grease off his hands awkwardly, trying to regain a shred of dignity as the Dark Lord. "If you are here... here for a pilgrimage, please take a number. If you are here for revenge... can you wait until I sell this lamb? This lamb was expensive."
> [System Alert: Voldemort (Dignity Shattered + Bowing for Bread + Fear of Ivan): Emotion Value +666!]
"Pilgrimage?" Grindelwald raised an eyebrow, looking at Voldemort like he was trash. "Tom, you've fallen. You used to be a name that made the wizarding world tremble, and now you're... selling lamb skewers?"
"This is called 'Sinking Market Strategy'!" Voldemort argued, face red. "And! This lamb was raised with Dark Magic! Eating it enhances magic power! Fenrir, bring the 'Special Combo'!"
Fenrir roared and threw over a dirty wooden sign:
> [Dark Lord Combo: 1 Skewer of Roast Lamb Kidney + 1 Cup of Erumpent Blood + Voldemort's Autograph (Fake) = 5 Galleons]
Ivan looked at the sign and couldn't help laughing.
"Tom, your autograph is too cheap."
Ivan pulled a Galleon from his pocket and tossed it to Voldemort. "Give me ten skewers. No kidneys, I want that... Diadem-shaped flatbread."
Voldemort caught the Galleon, his hands shaking.
This was the most humiliating, yet most real money he had ever earned in his life.
"Diadem... That's Ravenclaw's Diadem!" Voldemort suddenly realized, pointing at Ivan. "You came for the Horcrux?!"
The atmosphere instantly tensed.
Fenrir bared his fangs, a low growl in his throat.
Sirius immediately transformed into a big black dog, barking furiously at Fenrir.
"No violence." Ivan held down Sirius's head.
He walked to the grill, ignoring the dirt, and pulled out a skewer from the pile.
The skewer looked ordinary, but Ivan's system panel was flashing alarms:
> [High-Dimensional Soul Fragment Detected! Location: BBQ Skewer!]
Yes, Voldemort, the genius, unable to find a place to hide Ravenclaw's Diadem (Horcrux), simply Transfigured it into an... iron skewer for roasting meat!
Every day it was used to skewer lamb and roasted over fire.
"Tom," Ivan held the "Diadem" covered in cumin and sheep grease, his expression weird. "Do you know what you use to skewer meat every day?"
Voldemort huffed coldly. "Of course I know. It's that old woman's broken hat. I burned it with Fiendfyre for three days and nights and it wouldn't melt, so I used it as a skewer. What? You want it? Fifty Galleons!"
"Fifty Galleons?" Grindelwald stepped forward and snatched the skewer.
He pinched it lightly, and the skewer reverted to its original form—exquisite, gem-encrusted Diadem.
An ancient and evil aura erupted instantly, withering the surrounding trees.
"This is Ravenclaw's wisdom?" Grindelwald tossed the Diadem to Ivan with disdain. "Just so-so. Not as useful as my Elder Wand."
Voldemort saw his prize fly away, eyes turning red instantly. "Give it back! That's mine! That's my business tool!"
"Quiet." Dumbledore finally spoke.
He popped a Bertie Bott's Bean into his mouth. "Tom, let's make a deal. Ivan can refrain from destroying this Horcrux..."
"Really?!" Voldemort's eyes lit up.
"...But," Dumbledore revealed an old fox's smile, "you must hand over the 'Operating Rights' of this forest. From today on, this is no longer a hideout for dark wizards, but Hogwarts' 'Field Survival Internship Base'."
Voldemort was about to explode when Ivan added:
"In exchange, I can provide you with 'Technical Support'. For example... making your skewers rotate automatically, or using a Cooling Charm to chill your beer. Plus, I can turn your 'Dark Lord BBQ' into a franchise chain and open one in Diagon Alley."
Voldemort hesitated.
Open in Diagon Alley? That meant earning more money, contacting more pure-blood families, and...
"I want 51% of the shares!" Voldemort shrieked.
"Deal." Ivan snapped his fingers. "But management is appointed by me."
Ivan turned to the drooling Fenrir Greyback.
"Fenrir Greyback, right? Heard you're the gang boss around here?"
Fenrir grinned, revealing yellow teeth. "Kid, don't think I won't eat you just because Dumbledore's protecting you. My teeth are very good..."
"I know." Ivan nodded. "But have you ever thought about why werewolves are always discriminated against? Because you lack 'Core Competitiveness'."
Ivan pulled a contract (parchment) from his System Space and tossed it to Fenrir.
"Sign it. You are now the 'Head of Security' and 'Director of Fresh Procurement' for the 'Dark Lord Catering Group'. Annual salary of one hundred Galleons, plus full benefits and insurance. Perform well, and I can develop a 'Full Moon No-Biting Sedative' for you."
Fenrir froze.
No biting? And getting paid?
He took the contract tremblingly. Although he couldn't read the words, he smelled the scent of money.
"I... I'll sign!" Fenrir pressed a bloody paw print on it.
> [System Alert: Fenrir (Bought by Capitalism + Desire for No-Biting Potion): Emotion Value +500!]
"Good." Ivan clapped his hands. "Now, let's talk about the renovation plan for this forest."
Ivan pointed at the chaotic trees around them.
"I'm going to transform this place into a 'Fully Automated Smart Forest'. Every tree will have sensors, werewolf patrols will get walkie-talkies (alchemically made), Voldemort handles the kitchen, Fenrir handles security and procurement."
Ivan took out a wand and drew a complex circle on the ground.
"This is the 'Blockchain Guardian Charm'. Every transaction in the forest (like who picked a mushroom, who caught a rabbit) will be recorded on this immutable magic chain. Anyone who slacks off will have their wages automatically deducted by the system."
Voldemort and Fenrir listened, dumbfounded.
Although they didn't understand what the hell "Blockchain" was, they understood "immutable" and "deduct wages."
"Isn't... isn't this too dark?" Voldemort muttered. "Darker than when I was the Dark Lord."
"This is called Modern Management." Ivan smiled slightly. "By the way, Tom, since you're a shareholder, I must remind you. Your 'Avada Grill' has too low thermal efficiency. I'll swap it for a nucle... oh no, a Perpetual Fire Core."
Ivan tossed the Diadem (Horcrux) back to Voldemort.
"Take it. This is your chef's hat. Wear it, and your skewers will come with a 'Fear Aura'. Customers will cry while eating and say 'It smells so good'."
Voldemort tremblingly took the Diadem and put it on his head.
In that instant, he felt his magic recover slightly, but mostly he felt an urge... to grill skewers?
"Alright!" Ivan clapped his hands. "First batch of customers is here!"
Deep in the forest, a group of centaurs walked out in a queue.
Firenze held a coupon Ivan gave him, looking excited. "Heard there are 'Calculus Baked Apples' here? Give me ten! I'll use them to calculate Pi!"
Following him was Hagrid, riding the Mechanical Husky, rumbling over. "Ivan! A 'Super Spicy Combo' for my Blast-Ended Skrewt! Double gunpowder!"
Voldemort looked at the bustling scene, then at the handful of Galleons in his hand.
He suddenly felt...
Seemed like being a BBQ stall owner was a tiny bit happier than being the nose-less Dark Lord?
"Um... Potter!" Voldemort called out to Ivan, who was leaving.
"What?"
"If... I mean if," Voldemort pointed awkwardly at the grill, "a Death Eater comes tomorrow to cause trouble, saying my skewers taste bad... can I use your 'Blockchain' to blacklist him?"
Ivan looked back, flashing a brilliant smile.
"Of course. As long as you top up enough money, you can even hang him at the forest entrance as wind-dried bacon."
Voldemort shuddered, then revealed a smile uglier than crying.
"Top up! I'll top up!"
Dumbledore watched this scene, crunching the bean in his mouth.
"My," the Old Bee sighed, "I want to invest too. Ivan, does this forest need a 'Mascot'? I can dress as Santa Claus and hand out candy."
Grindelwald huffed coldly, walking to Ivan's side.
"Ignore the old lunatic. Ivan, since things are resolved, shouldn't we go back? My tailcoat is dirty; you need to wash it for me."
"Wash it yourself."
"I don't know how."
"Then wear it dirty."
The two bickered as they left the forest with Sirius and the bewildered Fenrir.
Leaving Voldemort standing alone before the smoky grill.
He looked at the Diadem on his head, then at the Galleons in his hand.
Suddenly, he shouted at the air:
"Quirrell! Stop hiding in the tent eating! Come out and perform 'Fire Swallowing' for the guests! Tips are split 50-50!"
The tent flap lifted, and Quirrell's turban-wrapped face poked out, responding meekly, "Y... Yes, Master! Coming!"
In the night wind of Albania, Voldemort's broken gong voice yelled out:
"Come one, come all! Authentic Dark Lord Roast Kidneys! Free if not tasty! You'll want more after eating! Your loss if you don't eat! Your honor if you do!"