Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 602: Dumbledore’s Memory

Hogsmeade was lively, as always, despite the school term not having started yet. The village bustled with activity, its shops all open for business. As the most famous wizarding village in Britain, Hogsmeade wasn’t just a haunt for students but also a destination for alumni and curious visitors drawn by its reputation.

Today, however, the village was unusually crowded, with foreign wizards visible everywhere, their accents and attire adding a cosmopolitan feel to the familiar streets.

But Kyle and Dumbledore were not heading toward any of the well-known shops. Their destination was far less glamorous: The Hogʼs Head, an unassuming pub on the edge of the village.

Kyle glanced up at the weathered sign before following Dumbledore inside.

The place had clearly been cleaned, though whether the effort was half-hearted or the grime simply ingrained into the walls and floor was debatable. Compared to The Three Broomsticks, even The Oak Barrel Pub at the Romanian Dragon Reserve looked pristine.

The sole point of relief was that the glasses on the bar counter gleamed—clean as if polished by a house-elf. While such hygiene was standard elsewhere, it was a rarity here, where patrons often brought their own cutlery as a precaution.

By the time Kyle entered, the pub was already filled with a mix of foreign faces and familiar ones. Among them were Dugald McPhail, who had written to Kyle earlier; Professor Lochneal of Beauxbatons; and most of the Hogwarts faculty—though Snape and Hagrid were conspicuously absent.

Shop owners from The Three Broomsticks, Honeydukes, and Zonkoʼs Joke Shop were also present, having closed their businesses to join the gathering. The eclectic mix of attendees gave the small, dingy pub an air of unusual significance.

The room fell silent when Dumbledore entered, and everyone stood out of respect. But their gazes soon shifted to Kyle, scrutinizing him curiously.

Some instinctively glanced at his forehead, their expressions turning puzzled. Many had expected Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, to accompany Dumbledore. Seeing a young man without a lightning-shaped scar clearly surprised them.

Those familiar with Kyle, however, weren’t fazed.

“Hello again, my boy,” McPhail said warmly, shaking Kyle’s hand. “I hope my letter didn’t cause you too much trouble. When I received your reply, someone reminded me that I shouldn’t involve you in such dangerous matters, and I realized they were right.”

“That’s all right, Mr. McPhail,” Kyle replied evenly. “Ever since I encountered You-Know-Who that night, staying out of it hasn’t been an option. I wouldn’t call it being ‘involved’—it’s just the way things are now.”

McPhail’s expression grew intent. “So you really did meet him? Saw him with your own eyes?”

“That’s right,” Kyle said calmly, unfazed by the growing number of eyes now fixed on him.

His tone remained steady as he added, “His appearance is... distinctive. It’s impossible to mistake him for anyone else.”

The room seemed poised to erupt with questions, but Professor McGonagall stepped in before anyone could press further.

“Let’s hold off on that, Dugald,” she said, steering Kyle gently away. “There’ll be plenty of time to discuss this later.”

“Of course, whatever you say,” McPhail replied, though he didn’t appear wholly convinced. He returned to his seat and glanced toward the bar. “Excuse me, could I have a cherry soda?”

The barman, without looking up, tossed a red bottle toward the counter. “Two Galleons,” he muttered.

McPhail flicked his fingers, and the bottle floated smoothly to his hand. “A bit steep... but that’s all right. Albus is paying.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore said lightly. “It’s only fair. But I’d ask that we all keep our drinks light—what’s coming next will require clear minds.”

The group murmured their assent, and the room settled.

Just before seven o’clock, the door opened one last time, admitting Professor Marchbanks, who shuffled in with a noticeable tremor. As the door shut behind her, a golden light appeared where the doorknob had been, hanging in the air like a glowing lock. Moments later, a ripple spread across the walls, as though the room had been enveloped in a giant soap bubble.

Kyle watched the display and guessed it was a form of protective magic.

“Very well, everyone is here,” said Dumbledore, his voice commanding immediate attention.

The room fell silent as glasses were set down, and all eyes turned toward him.

“I believe most of you are already aware of the rumors regarding Voldemort’s resurrection,” Dumbledore began, his expression grave. “I must confirm that these rumors are true. Just two months ago, I faced Voldemort personally. It was not someone impersonating him—it was Voldemort himself. He has truly returned.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mix of disbelief and unease, despite most having anticipated this news. Kyle stepped forward and recounted what he had witnessed before Dumbledore’s arrival that night, along with the details he had learned from Harry about Voldemort’s return.

Even so, questions began to surface. For many, the concept of resurrection was difficult to grasp—after all, in the wizarding world, dead wizards became ghosts, not living, breathing people again.

Dumbledore did not immediately address their queries. Instead, he raised his wand and touched it to his temple, drawing out a shimmering, ribbon-like strand of memory.

“Hearing of something is rarely as compelling as seeing it for oneself,” he said as he placed the memory into a waiting Pensieve. With a tap of his wand, the engraved runes on the edge of the bowl glowed, and the next second, a vivid green light filled the center of the pub.

The light materialized into a flash of the Killing Curse, startling many. A few gasped, and some of the more timid attendees stumbled back, sinking to the floor. It quickly became evident, however, that this was not a real curse but a projection from Dumbledore’s memory.

The group quieted as they realized they were witnessing the battle. All attention turned to the scenes playing out before them.

Even Kyle was mesmerized, his gaze fixed on the vivid display. He and Harry had been sent away before the fight began, so this was his first glimpse of what had transpired.

Dumbledore’s spellwork was both awe-inspiring and humbling. Many of the spells Kyle recognized—ones he had learned—but in Dumbledore’s hands, they became something extraordinary.

The Levitation Charm that could levitate half a mountain…

The Transfiguration Spell that turned stones and trees into massive giants…

The Reductor Curse that reduced a storm of sharp blades to harmless dust…

The sheer versatility and precision of Dumbledore’s magic opened Kyle’s eyes to an entirely new way of dueling.

As for Voldemort’s followers, they were scarcely visible—mere shadows flitting in the background of the battle. The memory focused solely on the clash between Dumbledore and Voldemort.

The duel reached its conclusion with Voldemort being struck down by a stone whip, collapsing in a heap on the ground, while Dumbledore suffered a bite from a fiery serpent conjured by Voldemort. At that moment, the memory ended.

The room was utterly silent. The display of power from both Voldemort and Dumbledore left everyone in stunned reverence. Yet there was also relief—one of them was on their side.

“That is how it is,” Dumbledore said after a moment, breaking the silence. “I know many of you may think that Voldemort, having just been resurrected, must be weakened. As you have seen, that is not the case. He is as formidable as he was over a decade ago.”

The weight of his words sank in. The evidence had been undeniable, and no one could argue against what they had just witnessed.

“Albus, what are we going to do?” someone asked, their voice tight with urgency. “Declare war? Strike before he gathers his Death Eaters?”

“That would be ideal,” Dumbledore admitted, “but it is not so simple. Voldemort is cunning and will not give us that opportunity.”

He straightened, his tone resolute. “That is why we must prepare for the war that is coming.” His gaze swept the room, momentarily resting on Kyle.

Kyle, however, was still lost in thought, replaying the intricate details of the duel he had just seen.

McPhail was the first to break the silence. He rose from his chair, his voice firm. “Speak, Albus. I will cooperate with you fully.”

Others quickly followed suit.

“And me!”

“Count me in!”

One by one, attendees stood, pledging their support.

Dumbledore nodded, his voice heavy with both gratitude and seriousness. “Thank you. Now, I ask for your help in uncovering the Death Eaters’ movements and rallying more allies to our cause. Voldemort will not stay idle, of that I am sure. Our best chance is to detect his plans early and stop them before they unfold.”