Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 290: Whispers by the Ear

After class, Kyle hurried to the Great Hall for a quick bite before heading off to the Quidditch Pitch. Even Harris, normally calm, was feeling the pressure now that Slytherin had upgraded their lineup with seven Nimbus 2001 broomsticks. Those things were fast. Fred and George had secretly observed a Slytherin practice, and according to them, the players looked like seven pale green blurs streaking through the sky.

It was troubling news for Hufflepuff. The skill gap between their team and Slytherinʼs had previously been balanced by technique and teamwork, but now that Slytherinʼs equipment had advanced, Hufflepuffʼs skills couldn’t be improved fast enough to close the gap. Faced with no other choice, Harris had focused on creating strategies that might outsmart Slytherin’s “green bigwigs” through relentless practice.

But this approach was not going smoothly. None of the tactics Harris had devised managed to last beyond a single day. Without fail, each one was scrapped halfway through practice. Today was no different.

As dusk settled, Kyle trudged back to the castle, worn out. After nearly a month of intense studying and training, he was starting to feel the effects. His head felt heavy, and he could think of nothing but crawling into bed and sleeping for hours.

If only there was a Time-Turner... Kyle thought wistfully.

Just as he entered the castle, he encountered Professor McGonagall.

“I was hoping to find you,” she said, handing him a letter. “I’m afraid your second application for a Time-Turner has been denied.”

“Again?” Kyle took the letter, feeling his headache worsen. “Because there aren’t any left?”

“Exactly,” replied Professor McGonagall, nodding. “They’ve informed us that this year is an exception—all Time-Turners are in use.”

Kyle glanced at the letter in his hand, which was short and to the point:

Dear Albus Dumbledore,

Unfortunately, due to exceptional circumstances, all Time-Turners are currently in use, and we must restrict their availability until June of next year. We hope you understand.

Yours sincerely,

Broderick Bode, Department of Mysteries

“Dumbledore?” Kyle murmured, puzzled.

“The headmaster submitted the request himself,” Professor McGonagall explained, “but it was still turned down.”

Kyle sighed. “So, there’s no chance I’ll get to use a Time-Turner this year?”

“I’m afraid so,” she replied.

Professor McGonagall gave him a sympathetic look, well aware of Kyle’s packed schedule. Both her Transfiguration Class and Professor Flitwick’s Charms Club demanded far more than typical coursework. And with Kyle taking twelve subjects in total, it was little wonder he was desperate for a Time-Turner.

But there was nothing more she could do; the Department of Mysteries controlled all Time-Turners, and their decision was final.

As Kyle stared down at the letter, he suddenly heard a noise—a sound that didn’t belong to the wind or the quiet flicker of a nearby candle. It was an ancient, low voice, mechanical and cold, utterly devoid of emotion.

Come here… come here… I can give you whatever you desire.

Kyle’s hand shook, and he nearly tore the letter in his grip.

“What?” Kyle looked up sharply.

“I’m sorry, Kyle, but you won’t be able to use the Time-Turner this year,” Professor McGonagall said softly.

“It’s not that, Professor,” Kyle replied, shaking his head. After a brief hesitation, he added, “I just… heard someone talking, like they were calling me over.”

Professor McGonagall glanced around, her expression turning cautious. She raised her hand, subtly gesturing with her fingers. Kyle felt a gentle breeze brush past him, moving deeper into the castle.

A few seconds passed.

“No one is speaking, Kyle. There’s nothing here,” Professor McGonagall assured him. “Even the closest person is Mrs. Norris, and she’s more than twenty feet away, separated by two walls. Her voice couldn’t possibly reach us.”

“Maybe I just misheard,” Kyle said, rubbing his ears.

“Perhaps you’re simply exhausted. I admire your dedication, Kyle, but there are limits.” Professor McGonagall paused thoughtfully, then added, “While it’s too late to drop any of your classes, I’ll speak with Professors Burbage and Trelawney about waiving your homework assignments. As for Quidditch, I suggest limiting your practices to just once a week. And remember, you’re free to skip Transfiguration Club meetings whenever you need to. Hopefully, this will ease some of your burden.”

Charity Burbage taught Muggle Studies, while Trelawney handled Divination, both subjects where exam results weren’t of utmost importance. But what Professor McGonagall didn’t know was that Kyle also belonged to a Runes Club. On top of the inherent difficulty of learning ancient runes, he was also contending with traps left behind by Riddle, which left him with barely any time to spare. Training and homework were the least of his worries.

Still, since Professor McGonagall had made the offer, he wasn’t about to refuse her help.

After bidding her goodbye, Kyle walked away alone, lost in thought. Back in the Hufflepuff common room, he saw plenty of students still working on their assignments. Cedric was absent, likely still on the Quidditch Pitch. As Seeker, he was practicing tirelessly; Harris had pinned all his hopes on him.

Kyle exchanged greetings with a few familiar faces before retreating to his dormitory. Mikel and Ryan were still out studying, so he had the dorm to himself for now. He dropped onto his bed, his mind circling back to what had happened at the castle entrance.

Who was it that had spoken...?

The Basilisk?

That didn’t seem likely. Although a Basilisk could travel unseen through the castle’s pipes, it would still need someone to release it. Besides, Riddle’s diary was safely locked in Kyle’s suitcase, so there was no risk of it causing trouble. The alarms he had set up in the second-floor bathroom hadn’t gone off either, which meant the Basilisk was probably still asleep in the Chamber of Secrets.

And then there was the voice itself. He remembered hearing the Basilisk’s voice last year—it was cold and emotionless, yes, but it hadn’t sounded old. If anything, it was surprisingly youthful.

If it wasn’t the Basilisk, then who could it have been?

Kyle rolled over, staring blankly at a pot of flowers on the windowsill. Could he really have been so tired that he’d just imagined it?