Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 709: The Shield Charm, a Melancholy Sirius

The letter wasn’t particularly long. Excluding the greetings and formalities, the section addressing the Charm took up less than two sheets of parchment. However, the content was cryptic and difficult to grasp. Even with the translation chart Dumbledore had given him, Kyle had to ponder over each line repeatedly.

As he worked, he drew his wand and experimented with different rune combinations.

Runes floated out of the wand, merging into new symbols. For a fleeting moment, a transparent net seemed to form around Kyle, shimmering faintly, only to shatter and vanish.

“No, that’s not it…” Kyle muttered, frowning as he flipped quickly through the translation chart again.

He was so absorbed in his task that he didn’t notice the sky brightening outside. Without realizing it, he had been sitting at the table, focused on the parchment, for the entire night.

By the time noon arrived, Fred—who had just returned from Diagon Alley for lunch—noticed Kyle’s absence at the table and asked, “By the way, how long has Kyle been in his room?”

“Almost all day,” Harry replied. “The light in his room was on last night, and he didn’t come down for breakfast this morning.”

“What on earth is he doing?” George chimed in.

“I don’t know,” Ron said with a shrug. “We tried to wake him this morning, but Mum and Sirius wouldn’t let us.”

“Dumbledore told us to leave him alone before he left,” Mrs. Weasley added, as she placed a tray of toast on the table. “If it’s not important, don’t bother Kyle.”

“I know, and you’ve told me that many times,” Ron grumbled under his breath.

“Then you should remember,” Mrs. Weasley retorted sharply, shooting Ron a look before glancing anxiously at the stairs.

Though she tried to appear calm, it was obvious she was worried about Kyle, who hadn’t eaten anything all day.

“But it’s only been less than a day,” she reassured herself. “He should be fine.” Still, bound by Dumbledore’s instructions, she could only wait for Kyle to emerge.

The wait stretched through the afternoon.

Finally, at 7:30 in the evening, just as everyone was preparing for dinner, Kyle shuffled down the stairs.

Diana’s warning that the content on the parchment would last only a day had proven true. Just moments ago, the writing had suddenly and completely vanished.

Along with it, the memory of the ancient Runes Kyle had spent hours deciphering had also disappeared.

There was a silver lining, though.

While the process of studying the runes had vanished, the result remained. It was as though he had taken an exam—he couldn’t recall the questions or his answers, but the final grade was real and, in this case, excellent.

However, the sudden relaxation after such intense focus, combined with his empty stomach, left Kyle feeling light-headed. The world seemed to sway as he descended the stairs.

By the time he made it to the dining room, Mrs. Weasley had just placed a tray of warm pies on the table.

Kyle didn’t wait for them to cool or bother with manners. He grabbed a pie and devoured it in a few large bites.

“You’re finally out,” Mrs. Weasley said with visible relief, placing a bowl of soup in front of him. “Eat slowly, don’t rush. I made plenty.”

...

Kyle polished off three pies and two bowls of soup, finally feeling a bit better—though still not fully satisfied. He couldn’t help but admit that studying Old Runes had been utterly draining. It felt as if he hadn’t eaten in three days instead of just one.

“Kyle, what on earth were you doing in your room?” Ron asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

“Studying Merlin’s letter,” Kyle replied casually.

Now that the parchment’s contents had vanished, so had the peculiar restrictions. Unlike last night, he could now speak freely about what he had been working on without his throat tightening or the words sticking.

“Merlin’s letter?” Hermione’s voice rose, high-pitched with incredulity. “He lived 1,500 years ago!”

“It wasn’t the original letter,” Kyle clarified, reaching for another piece of pie. “It was magically copied.”

“Was it the one your mum gave you last night?” Hermione asked, her mind immediately going to the birthday gift Diana had presented Kyle.

She had considered many possibilities—perhaps advanced Charms or rare ancient texts—but never anything connected to Merlin himself.

“Can I see it?” Hermione’s eyes lit up as she stared at Kyle, barely containing her excitement. “Just for a quick peek?”

“Sorry,” Kyle said with a shrug, “the letter was protected by magic, and it disappeared after a day.” He picked up another pie. “And I’ve forgotten everything that was written on it. All I remember is that it was in Runes—the really old kind that hasn’t been simplified.”

“Ancient Runes, simplified?” Hermione repeated, perplexed.

She found it hard to reconcile the complex, headache-inducing symbols she had seen in textbooks with the idea of simplification.

“This kind,” Kyle said, handing her the book Dumbledore had given him.

Hermione opened the book, and her brow furrowed deeply as she scanned the pages.

Harry and Ron leaned over curiously for a peek but quickly recoiled, looking away in unison. The page was filled with dense, unfamiliar symbols that made their heads ache just from glancing at them. They couldn’t fathom how Kyle had managed to study them for an entire day.

“Wait…” Fred suddenly blurted out, his expression sharp with realization. “Didn’t you just say you forgot the content? Doesn’t that mean you wasted the whole day?”

“Of course not,” Kyle said, swallowing the last bite of his pie before grabbing a baked potato. “It was a teaching letter—probably written by Merlin to one of his apprentices. I’ve already learned the magic it described.”

A collective intake of breath swept through the dining room. Everyone exchanged wide-eyed glances, rendered momentarily speechless.

Fred and George broke the silence with twin questions.

“What Charm was it?”

“Is it powerful?”

Kyle shrugged. “It’s kind of a Shield Charm. It’s not very powerful—it’s mainly for self-protection.”

Fred and George exchanged disappointed looks. They had been hoping Merlin’s magic would be something grand, loud, and destructive—preferably the kind that could obliterate Voldemort and his Death Eaters in one fell swoop.

“I’d say the Shield Charm is the best,” Mrs. Weasley chimed in, throwing a pointed glance at her sons. Turning to Kyle, she added, “Diana must have wanted you to protect yourself and stay safe. That’s why she gave you this.”

“You’re right,” Mr. Weasley agreed. “It’s Merlin’s letter, after all. I’ve never heard of anyone getting their hands on something like that—it must be incredibly precious.”

“Maybe Professor Dumbledore has seen it too,” Ginny suggested thoughtfully. “Remember what he said last night? He seemed to know exactly what Kyle needed. I think he’s probably been through something similar.”

“But how many Dumbledores are there in the wizarding world?” Mr. Weasley replied with a faint smile.

“Can we see how it works?” Sirius, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke up. “Of course, only if it’s not inconvenient.”

“It’s just a Charm. Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Kyle said casually. “But can we wait a bit? I’m still hungry.”

“Of course,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair.

The room buzzed with anticipation. Everyone was eager to witness magic that was over 1,500 years old, and the excitement made the wait feel interminable. Meanwhile, Kyle, entirely unbothered by the mounting curiosity around him, took his time eating his dinner.

When the others had long since finished their meals, Kyle was still working through the last of the food on the table.

He finally polished off his third pie, followed by two potatoes, five bowls of soup, and a plate of sausages and toast that Mrs. Weasley had hurriedly cooked up for fear there wouldn’t be enough.

Ginny stared at him in astonishment, her eyes wide. “Is Kyle really going to be okay eating like that?” she asked aloud, almost involuntarily.

“That’s normal,” Lupin said with a chuckle. “Kyle’s been studying Runic Magic, which is a double strain on energy and stamina. If you take Ancient Runes, you’ll notice you’re always hungrier after class.”

“That’s true…” Ginny muttered. “But Kyle eats too much.”

“It’s fine,” Charlie said with a laugh. “Young wizards at his age have insatiable appetites. I was the same way—I could eat five pies at a time. Mum was always worried we’d run out of food.”

As if to illustrate his point—or perhaps inspired by Kyle’s feast—Charlie reached for the tray of toast in front of him, ready for another round.

Before his hand could land, Mrs. Weasley smacked it away.

“Mum, you’re so biased,” Charlie grumbled, rubbing his hand.

“Kyle hasn’t eaten all day,” Mrs. Weasley replied curtly, not even glancing in Charlie’s direction.

...

Five minutes later, Kyle drained another bowl of soup and finally put down his utensils.

A spark of anticipation lit up in everyone’s eyes.

“Do you need a break?” Sirius asked.

“No,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “I’m seven-eighths full—just enough to move around a bit.”

Bang! Ginny, who had just stood up, accidentally knocked over her stool. To be honest, Kyle’s appetite was beginning to seem more unbelievable than ancient magic.

Sirius got up and headed for the door. “Come with me. I’ll take you to the basement; there’s a potion-brewing room there. It’ll be a good spot for a demonstration.”

“Okay,” Kyle agreed, rising to follow him.

But just as they approached the door, a sudden red flash appeared in front of Kyle.

“Expelliarmus!”

Sirius, now standing in the doorway, had unexpectedly drawn his wand and cast the Disarming Charm at Kyle.

Mrs. Weasley screamed in shock. Ron, startled, stepped back and accidentally shoved Hermione, who toppled over and sent Harry sprawling as well. The dining hall descended into chaos.

Kyle, however, remained completely unbothered. The Disarming Charm flew less than an inch from his face, only to be stopped by a shimmering silver shield.

The Charm rebounded, accelerating as it ricocheted back. Sirius had no time to react—his wand flew out of his hand, spinning through the air, and landed neatly in Kyle’s grip.

“You didn’t mention this would be a sneak attack,” Kyle said calmly, handing the wand back to Sirius.

“A Death Eater doesn’t fight fair,” Sirius replied, his voice hollow.

He stared at the wand Kyle had returned, still dazed. Losing his wand so effortlessly left a deep impression. For a wizard, being disarmed meant being defenseless. If Kyle had been an enemy, Sirius would already have been defeated.

Once a star at Hogwarts, Sirius now found himself bested by a seventeen-year-old. Twenty years after his school days, the realization stung.

Lupin, ever observant, noticed his old friend’s uncharacteristic silence. He chuckled and offered a backhanded comfort. “You didn’t really think you’d beat Kyle, did you?”

“If this were five years ago, you might’ve had a chance. But now? Aren’t you overestimating yourself?”

“And didn’t you lose to Kyle three years ago, back when you’d just escaped Azkaban? Haven’t you come to terms with it yet?”

Though meant as friendly banter, Lupin’s words struck Sirius squarely in the pride—each one a precise jab, salted for extra effect.

“Shut up, Remus,” Sirius snapped, his face flushing red. He clenched his teeth and added, “It was just a simple test; it doesn’t mean anything.”

He had hoped to preserve some dignity, but his outburst only made Lupin laugh harder.

The Sirius Lupin knew had always been carefree—some might say reckless—a quintessential Gryffindor. That carefree nature had dimmed after Voldemort’s fall, but Lupin had rarely seen Sirius looking as disoriented as he had moments earlier.

Still, the situation was understandable. Even if it had been a simple test, it was no small thing to lose so decisively to a student who had just turned seventeen.

Unwilling to spar further with Kyle, Sirius turned redder by the second. His embarrassment didn’t go unnoticed; the faint smiles tugging at everyone else’s lips made it clear.

Eager to change the subject, Sirius shifted his focus back to Kyle—and then noticed something unusual.

The silver shield that had deflected his Disarming Charm hadn’t vanished. It still lingered in front of Kyle, faint but unmistakable.

This caught Sirius off guard. The Shield Charm was supposed to dissipate after deflecting an opponent’s spell. To maintain it, one would need to cast the Charm again. This limitation was inherent to the spell, even for Dumbledore.

But what Sirius saw now defied that rule.

He studied the silver shield closely. It had a faint, shifting glow, its presence steady yet elusive. Then, suddenly, something clicked.

It looked familiar. Sirius’s eyes widened as recognition dawned.

The Ministry of Magic!

He remembered the fierce duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort in the Ministry’s atrium. Voldemort had used a similar shield—an advanced, continuous protective barrier—during that legendary confrontation.

Sirius’s mind raced. He recalled that Kyle had once expressed interest in learning such magic. And now, it seemed, Kyle had done just that.

“You’ve learned it?” Sirius asked, unable to hide his surprise. “The You-Know-Who’s Shield Charm?”

“It’s different,” Kyle replied, glancing at the shield hovering in front of him and shaking his head. “The Charm used by You-Know-Who was a true shield. Mine is more of a materialization of the Charm, and its shape isn’t fixed.”

To demonstrate, Kyle waved his wand. The shield in front of him immediately transformed into a hexagonal magic circle, its surface glowing with intricate, flashing Rune symbols that made it look remarkably sophisticated.

The shield then shifted into a hexagonal net, followed by a mirroring of Kyle’s own appearance, then Sirius’s appearance, before reverting to its original shield form.

“This is likely the effect of combining runes, though I’ve forgotten the exact details,” Kyle continued. “It enhances the Shield Charm, offering more comprehensive protection while also materializing the Charm into a physical form.”

“What about its effectiveness?” Lupin asked. “Does the shield’s appearance have any bearing on its defensive capabilities?”

“Not at all,” Kyle said. “Think of it like changing the style of a suit—it doesn’t affect its ability to keep you warm.”

“If you don’t believe me, you can test it,” Kyle offered, turning the shield in front of him into a simple circle.

Sirius, however, remained seated and indifferent, clearly unwilling to test it himself. Lupin and Mr. Weasley exchanged looks and then turned away, silently abstaining.

“Never mind, I’ll do it,” Charlie said, stifling a laugh as he pulled out his wand.

“Expelliarmus!”

The red light of the Disarming Charm shot directly at the center of the circular shield but was instantly blocked. The shield remained intact.

Prepared for the rebound, Charlie had already sidestepped to avoid the reflected spell. He straightened, impressed by how unwavering Kyle’s shield remained.

Lupin’s brows furrowed in thought. The persistent nature of Kyle’s Shield Charm reminded him of Protego Totalum, a large-scale version of the Shield Charm often used in battles.

Unlike the standard Shield Charm, Protego Totalum required multiple wizards to cast together, forming a protective barrier that persisted until its magic wore off. It had been used by Aurors during the war to fend off Death Eaters, such as during the infamous attacks on the Ministry of Magic a decade earlier.

What Kyle had achieved seemed like a simplified version of Protego Totalum, adapted for a single user instead of a group.

Lupin sighed inwardly. If more people could learn this Charm, it would make fighting Death Eaters far easier. But...

He shook his head slightly. The complexity of Ancient Runic magic made it unlikely that many wizards would be able to replicate Kyle’s results. And teaching it too widely risked the possibility of Death Eaters learning it, which could cause catastrophic problems.

Kyle, oblivious to Lupin’s thoughts, waved his wand and let the shield vanish.

“Harry,” he said, turning around, “you’re going to have a hard time for a while.”

“What?” Harry blinked, confused by the sudden comment.

“This shield,” Kyle explained, gesturing toward the spot where the Charm had been. “It’s my trump card, something I’ll use to catch the Death Eaters by surprise.”

“That said, if You-Know-Who breaks into your mind again, he might discover what happened today.”

Harry’s expression darkened. He had been trying to push those thoughts aside, but Kyle’s words brought them rushing back.

“I’ve been studying Occlumency,” Harry muttered quietly.

“I know,” Kyle said. “I saw the book on Occlumency in your room last night.”

“But you’re making progress too slowly. If you don’t have anything urgent to do later, how about some special training?”

“Special training?” Harry repeated, his mind flashing back to grueling sessions in the Room of Requirement—a memory that made his legs weaken and his muscles ache in anticipation.

“No, that’s not necessary,” Harry said quickly, shaking his head. “Sirius can teach me. Or Professor Lupin, right?”

He looked to the two men with desperate hope, but Sirius merely shrugged helplessly.

“Sorry, Harry,” Sirius admitted. “I don’t know much about Occlumency. I can’t really help you.”

“Me neither,” Lupin said apologetically.

“In that case, it’s decided,” Kyle said matter-of-factly. “Sirius, didn’t you say there’s a good room in the basement? We’ll set it up for Harry’s special training.”

“Okay, no problem,” Sirius agreed readily.