Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 720: Newt and the Serpent Witch’s Little Tales

“Professor Snape, whatʼs wrong?”

Kyle, who had nearly been knocked over, glanced at Snape, who was hurrying away, and asked doubtfully, “Professor, you’re not docking his salary, are you?”

“Of course not,” Dumbledore replied, adjusting his demeanor with a smile. “In fact, the professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts receives ten Galleons more than professors of other subjects. There’s no way around it. Without that incentive, we simply wouldn’t be able to recruit suitable candidates.”

Kyle believed the high salary was undoubtedly true, though he refrained from commenting on whether the professors recruited were actually suitable. That was something Dumbledore would know better.

“Boy, I have a feeling you’re thinking something rude,” Phineas Nigellus Black suddenly remarked from his portrait. ”Trust me, my instincts are usually right.”

“Good afternoon, sir,” Kyle replied, looking up at the painting. “I admit, I was just thinking about whether I should remind Sirius to properly clean the house and get rid of some useless items.”

“...such as the portrait by the stairs in the living room.”

“I was right—you’re an impolite brat!” Phineas shrieked, as if someone had stepped on his tail. “I warn you, don’t even think about it! Sirius wouldn’t throw away his grandfather’s portrait!”

“Really?” Kyle said indifferently. “I’m not so sure…”

Phineas’s portrait hung by the stairs at 12 Grimmauld Place, which allowed him to move freely between the headmaster’s office and there to deliver some of Dumbledore’s requests or plans. However, Dumbledore usually opted to deliver messages himself, rendering the portrait largely redundant.

More than once, Sirius had mused about tossing the thing out.

“I’m warning you,” Phineas growled, his voice filled with anger. “That’s my house, and you can’t throw me out!”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m just making a suggestion,” Kyle shrugged. “What actually happens will depend on Sirius, but I don’t think he’d mind a new painting.”

“You!” Phineas’s beard bristled in fury. With a whoosh, he stormed out of the frame, presumably to find Sirius at 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Hahaha! Well done!” said a bearded wizard in a nearby portrait. “That was truly amusing. You’re the first student to ever make him look so foolish.”

“Thank you for your kind words, Headmaster Dippet,” Kyle replied with a smile.

Having visited often, Kyle was already familiar with the portraits in the office. The one speaking to him was Armando Dippet, the headmaster who had preceded Dumbledore. He and Phineas had always been at odds, and more often than not, Dippet managed to chase Phineas from his frame.

“Kyle,” Dumbledore said softly, “leaving Phineas in Grimmauld Place is still useful.”

“I know. I was just trying to scare him,” Kyle admitted. “After all, his portrait is secured with a Permanent Sticking Charm—you can’t just throw it out.”

Dumbledore’s lips twitched. If he knows that, someone must have tried…

“Don’t misunderstand, Sirius found that out, not me,” Kyle explained quickly before steering the conversation in another direction. “Professor, what did you want to see me about?”

“It’s a small matter.”

“What is it?” Kyle asked.

“It concerns the Horcrux,” Dumbledore replied.

He retrieved an old stone basin from a cabinet. “But before we discuss it, let’s view a memory. This is the most significant one I’ve uncovered after much searching.”

Since Dumbledore seemed serious, Kyle didn’t object.

The headmaster produced a small crystal vial from an inner pocket of his robes. The memory inside had congealed slightly over time, appearing less fluid than it should have been. Dumbledore carefully poured it into the Pensieve, which began to emit a soft, ethereal glow.

Kyle stepped forward, feeling his consciousness drawn downward into the silvery depths. When he opened his eyes again, someone else stood before him.

It was a much younger Horace Slughorn, his head full of thick, blonde hair.

Kyle blinked, feeling oddly unsettled. Perhaps it was because he was so accustomed to Slughorn’s bald head, but the sight of his hair—thick as straw—seemed strangely unnatural.

“Professor Slughorn lost his hair quite early,” Kyle remarked, turning as he heard footsteps behind him.

“What?” Dumbledore paused, momentarily confused by Kyle’s comment.

“Look here,” Kyle said, pointing at the top of Slughorn’s head in the memory. There, a small bald patch, about the size of a Galleon, was already visible.

Dumbledore didn’t respond, though his expression seemed to suggest he hadn’t anticipated this particular observation. Had Kyle really gone through all the trouble of viewing this memory to determine when Slughorn started balding?

Fortunately, Kyle didn’t linger on the thought. Instead, he began to examine the scene around him.

It appeared to be Slughorn’s office, where six or seven boys were gathered. At the center of the group, sitting closest to Slughorn, was a young Tom Riddle—who at that time was still known by his given name.

Riddle presented Slughorn with a bag of crystallized pineapples as they discussed a professor’s upcoming retirement.

Kyle tilted his head, unsure of the name mentioned. “I don’t recognize the professor they’re talking about. Was it anyone important?”

“It was Galatea, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and an old colleague of mine,” Dumbledore explained. “She was preparing to retire around that time, and Riddle likely had his eyes on the position.”

“But you turned him down,” Kyle noted.

“Yes,” Dumbledore confirmed, his tone calm. “I persuaded Armando to reject Riddle’s application. Despite his abilities—and the support of other professors like Galatea—there was something about his ambition that made me uneasy.”

Kyle studied Dumbledore’s face. The older wizard’s expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking his certainty. Riddle’s aspirations had never been about teaching; his ambitions lay far beyond Hogwarts. That was why Dumbledore had twice denied him the opportunity to remain at the school.

“So here, he’s trying to confirm his suspicions with Slughorn?” Kyle ventured.

“Not exactly,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “This is a display of power, Kyle. Sometimes, acquiring information itself is a demonstration of strength.”

As if on cue, Slughorn in the memory raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Where do you get your information, boy? You know more than most professors.”

Riddle simply smiled in response, his silence speaking volumes.

“You scoundrel,” Slughorn teased. “Always knowing things you shouldn’t—and always knowing how to butter up the right people. Speaking of which, thank you for the pineapple. You guessed it right—it’s my favorite…”

The group erupted into laughter at this lighthearted exchange.

But the humor was short-lived. Without warning, a dense white fog rolled into the memory, shrouding everything in an opaque haze.

“This memory has been tampered with!” Kyle exclaimed.

The fog was like a clumsy mosaic, carelessly applied to obscure critical details. It was blatantly clear that someone wanted to hide what had transpired.

Through the mist, an unnaturally high-pitched voice broke through. The words were faint but audible: “…you will make mistakes, my boy, mark my words.”

Kyle’s lips twitched in annoyance. “Whose memory is this?”

“Professor Slughorn’s,” Dumbledore said.

”So...” Kyle turned to Dumbledore, a curious look on his face. ”Was Professor Slughorn not particularly skilled outside of Potions? Because honestly, this voice sounds like a pretty crude imitation.”

That high-pitched voice was a stark contrast to the natural tone from before—so deliberate that it was painfully obvious it was meant to disguise something.

It was as jarring as a broomstick suddenly transforming into a dragon in the middle of a Quidditch match—impossible to miss.

“Well, at that time, he really wasn’t very skilled with memory spells,” Dumbledore remarked, “but he certainly made up for it later.”

“As for the reason why, you’ll discover it soon enough if you keep watching. You should be almost there.”

As Dumbledore finished speaking, the white mist in front of Kyle began to dissipate.

By now, Slughorn had finished eating the Crystallized Pineapple, and the small golden clock on his desk had shifted from 9:30 to 11:00. It was already past curfew, and everyone else had left the office except for Riddle, who lingered behind.

After the last student had departed, Riddle spoke up. “Sir, I’d like to ask you something...”

“Ask away, my boy,” Slughorn encouraged him warmly.

“Sir, I was wondering if you knew about Horcruxes.”

Suddenly, the office was enveloped in a thick fog, and a voice echoed, overly theatrical and blatantly unnatural.

“I know nothing about Horcruxes, and even if I did, I would never tell you. Now get out, and don’t let me hear another word about this!”

By then, Kyle had already surmised the purpose behind Dumbledore’s request for him to witness this memory.

The next moment, they exited the memory together.

“Professor,” Kyle said, gazing at the Pensieve before him, “do you think that’s when Riddle learned the secret of the Horcrux?”

“There’s no denying it,” Dumbledore replied softly. “Professor Slughorn must have told him something. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel so ashamed as to tamper with his own memory. That was his weakness—he always found it difficult to say no to students he valued. And Tom, once his favorite student, had long convinced him that he was destined for greatness.”

“Well, he was right, wasn’t he?” Kyle said. “In a way, Riddle did amount to something.”

“But that’s hardly the outcome Professor Slughorn would have wanted to see, which is why he’s trying so desperately to bury his mistake.” Dumbledore retrieved the memory from the Pensieve and carefully placed it back into its bottle.

“His technique is crude, but that works in our favor,” Dumbledore continued. “It means he hasn’t managed to completely erase the memory, only obscure it.”

Dumbledore turned his piercing gaze toward Kyle. “I want you to help me recover it.”

“Me?” Kyle blinked, clearly hesitant. He wasn’t eager to agree.

“As I mentioned,” Dumbledore said with a meaningful look, “Professor Slughorn has trouble refusing students he holds in high regard.”

“And since both you and Harry are the reason he’s back at Hogwarts, it seems only fitting that the two of you undertake this task.”

“Harry?” Kyle looked around, confused.

“He’s not here,” Dumbledore admitted. “I haven’t yet decided how to broach the subject with him. He’s... different from you. I’ll need to explain a great deal beforehand.”

Dumbledore’s steady gaze returned to Kyle, as though awaiting his response.

“Oh.” Kyle nodded as if brushing it off. “Then, Professor, take your time deciding. Don’t worry, Harry is very gullible—uh, I mean, very easy to talk to.”

Dumbledore’s expression remained unchanged, though his eyes briefly flicked toward the door.

“You asked earlier why Professor Snape was upset,” he continued. “This is the reason: he believes that Horcruxes are Tom’s most closely guarded secret, and that anyone who knows about them is at great risk. He doesn’t want to take that chance.”

“Who doesn’t want to risk it? Professor Snape?” Kyle’s face turned pale, his tone suddenly serious. “Professor, I think you need to conduct a thorough investigation at Hogwarts. I suspect some professors might actually be Death Eaters using Polyjuice Potion. We need to stay vigilant and deal with this before it gets out of hand.”

“Let’s not go too far,” Dumbledore said with a chuckle. “In fact, Professor Snape is not as harsh as you imagine, and...” His eyes twinkled as he looked at Kyle. “You’re going to be family sooner or later, so it’s only natural that he cares about you.”

“That’s a matter for the future,” Kyle muttered, rubbing his forehead as if trying to stave off a headache.

“So,” Dumbledore pressed gently, “what is your decision? Will you help me with this favor? I must emphasize, retrieving the unaltered memory is crucial for us. But if you have any reservations... I’ll understand.”

“Professor,” Kyle sighed, “do you think I can still stand aside when it comes to Horcruxes?”

He had already destroyed several of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Would learning about one more make any difference? Besides, Harry was already entangled in this mess.

Snape’s concerns seemed unwarranted. Whether they uncovered Slughorn’s memory or not, Voldemort would never let them go.

At that moment, an owl swooped in through the open window, a letter clutched in its talons. Dumbledore took the letter and scanned it, his expression growing increasingly serious.

“Apologies, Kyle,” he said, standing abruptly. “I need to attend to something else.” Without another word, he disappeared from the room with a faint pop of Apparition.

Fawkes let out a soft chirp before vanishing in a burst of flame, leaving Kyle alone in the now-silent office. He glanced around at the empty room, then at the portraits, which had resumed their usual pretense of sleeping, eyes closed.

After leaving the headmaster’s office, Kyle found his thoughts circling back to Dumbledore’s words. Yet, as he reflected on Slughorn’s memory, it struck him that its value seemed... limited. It was just one piece of the puzzle regarding Horcruxes.

But how many Horcruxes had Voldemort created?

The diary and the Resurrection Stone ring were already destroyed. The Diadem, The Cup, and Locket were in Nicolas Flamel’s possession and, judging by the timeline, likely dealt with by now. That made five.

Oh, and there was Nagini—the snake.

During the Triwizard Tournament, Kyle had been transported to the mountain where Voldemort performed his resurrection ritual, disguised as a Portkey trophy. In the chaos of the battle between Voldemort and Dumbledore, Kyle had seized the snake.

However, to his surprise, Nagini wasn’t a Horcrux at all. She was also not an ordinary snake but a result of a Blood Malediction.

Newt had explained the phenomenon during the holidays. A Blood Malediction was a curse that permanently transformed a wizard or witch into an animal. Unlike Animagi, they couldn’t shift back to human form and were trapped in their animal state forever. Worse still, their human consciousness would gradually fade until they became fully animal.

Newt knew Nagini personally and had asked Kyle to leave her with him. Kyle had no reason to refuse—he wasn’t Voldemort, after all, and had no desire to carry a snake around. Besides, he had a Basilisk, which was far more useful if he ever needed one. Thus, he had happily entrusted Nagini to Newt.

This mutual understanding explained why Newt had never requested the return of the Wampus Cat Kyle kept. The two shared an unspoken agreement.

However, one aspect continued to trouble Kyle: Nagini was female, which meant that before becoming cursed, she had been a witch.

The thought of Newt carrying around a “snake girl” gave Kyle pause. He couldn’t decide whether to tell Tina about it or leave well enough alone.