Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 832: Hogwarts a Hundred Years Ago

The golden pocket watch shimmered on the table, and through the hands and tiny gaps, one could faintly see the vibrant red glow of the Philosopher’s Stone inside.

Kyle looked at Nicolas.

“It’s already fixed?”

“The process went smoothly,” Nicolas said with a smile. “Even smoother than I expected—not a single error.”

That caught the attention of everyone in the room. One by one, the portraits of former headmasters leaned in, craning their necks to get a better look at the table.

“So this is the Time-Turner?” Phineas smacked his lips in curiosity.

“No kidding,” Armando Dippet shot him a glance. “What else would it be, a fork?”

“I meant, can something this small really send someone back a hundred years?” For once, Phineas didn’t argue with Armando. His eyes stayed locked on the golden pocket watch.

“What, planning to use it?” Armando mocked. “Too bad portraits can’t use Time-Turners.”

“Who said I wanted to use it? I’m just asking—is that a crime now?” Phineas huffed, flustered.

“It absolutely can,” came a woman’s voice from behind them. “Even further back than a hundred years, if needed.”

“Incredible. No wonder it’s the work of Salazar Slytherin.”

“No—it only retains his framework. Most of it has been modified. Strictly speaking, this is a different creation altogether.

“And using the Philosopher’s Stone as the core… a bit extravagant, perhaps, but an excellent idea. It minimizes the risk as much as possible—truly well done.”

“It’s an honor to hear that from you,” Nicolas said with a smile. “But I must admit—without that critical framework, I wouldn’t have been able to recreate this Time-Turner.”

“Now that’s a fair statement,” said Phineas. “Salazar Slytherin’s wisdom is unmatched.”

He lifted his chin, looking quite pleased with himself.

Unfortunately, no one was paying him any attention.

“It’s still a bit too extravagant,” the voice continued. “As a magical power source, there are many alternatives.”

“True,” Nicolas said, shaking his head. “But at this point, finding your so-called alternatives would be more trouble than making a Philosopher’s Stone. At least we already had everything needed to produce one.”

“Well, you’re not wrong... Salazar once considered using a Philosopher’s Stone as a power source too. But back then, no one in the magical world could track down a phoenix, so he had to go with something else.”

“Hah, you say that like you were there,” Phineas scoffed, turning around. “Can you not spout such—”

His voice cut off abruptly.

His eyes went wide, like a rooster with its neck wrung, mouth agape but no sound coming out.

It was several long seconds before he managed to croak something out.

“Raven... Ravenclaw?”

“It’s me,” Rowena Ravenclaw said calmly with a slight nod.

Her gaze moved from the Time-Turner to Phineas.

“You were a Headmaster of Hogwarts as well?”

“Yes—yes, about a hundred years ago,” Phineas said nervously.

“I see.” Ravenclaw gave a brief nod and said nothing more.

Armando dragged Phineas aside in exasperation.

“Lady Ravenclaw, I didn’t expect you to actually be in the school...”

“You can act as though I’m not,” said Rowena Ravenclaw, her face unreadable. “And I won’t interfere in any of the school’s decisions.”

“You must be joking!” said another female headmistress excitedly. “We’d all welcome your guidance. I’m sure the current headmaster would as well.”

“No, I won’t do that,” Ravenclaw said, shaking her head. “I’m just a memory that shouldn’t exist in this time. I don’t want to, and I cannot, interfere with anything that happens here.”

“Then why appear now?”

“To resolve something I left behind,” she replied, her gaze returning to the Time-Turner.

The others exchanged confused looks, but Kyle had a rough idea.

This Time-Turner had been left by Salazar Slytherin. Strictly speaking, it was also something that “shouldn’t exist.”

That must be why Ravenclaw had shown up. If Kyle’s guess was right, once he brought Dumbledore back, the Time-Turner would disappear as well.

“Do you have any questions?”

Kyle noticed that Ravenclaw had turned to look at him.

“Do I need to prepare anything?” he asked quickly. “I remember you once told me to stay away from the Time-Turner.”

“That advice still stands,” Ravenclaw said. “But… if you’re determined to go, then make sure you keep your mind clear. From what I can tell, you’re already prepared for that. You have a stabilizing potion… or whatever it’s called now.”

Kyle looked over at Nicolas.

“Yes,” Nicolas nodded. “It’s the same potion you drank before. It protects your mind from temporal interference. Even if there are two versions of you, your consciousness will remain independent.”

“Then it should be fine.”

“Wait a second,” Kyle muttered. “If I’m going back a hundred years, there shouldn’t be a second me… not even my dad was born yet.”

“The effect isn’t just about encountering another version of yourself,” Ravenclaw explained patiently. “In many ways, going back to a time you never lived through is even more dangerous than normal time travel. Without the potion’s protection, you could gradually forget everything and become lost in the past.”

“But it seems,” she added, glancing once more at Nicolas, “someone’s already accounted for that.”

With that, her figure vanished from the portrait frame.

No one saw how she arrived—and no one saw how she left.

Outside the door, the sound of Professor McGonagall and Minister Bones arguing echoed once more.

Kyle looked up.

“Don’t worry about them—it’s fine,” said Nicolas. He picked up the Time-Turner and pressed lightly on its surface. “You’ve got something far more important to do now.”

As he did, a stream of red light spread outward from the Philosopher’s Stone within the Time-Turner, trailing along the etched patterns until it lit up all five of the hands evenly.

“Alright.” Kyle accepted the pocket watch, a bit tense. “What time should I travel to in order to find Professor Dumbledore?”

“To the beginning of it all,” Nicolas said softly. “If Albus has been rejected by time itself, that’s where you’ll find him.”

“What do I do?”

“Turn the longest hand one full rotation. I’ve marked it.” Nicolas pointed to a newly drawn symbol on the Time-Turner—it was clear and easy to spot.

“That’s the time I calculated. You might not hit it perfectly, but as long as you’re close, it’ll be fine. Worst case, you’ll just have to wait a few days.”

“Got it.”

Kyle took a deep breath, placed his finger on the longest hand, and slowly applied pressure.

The hand began to turn easily at first, but as it neared the halfway point, resistance built up. The closer he got to the marked position, the harder it was to turn.

“Don’t stop,” Nicolas reminded him calmly from the side. “You can take it slow—but whatever you do, don’t stop.”

Kyle pushed the hand all the way to the mark in one continuous motion… Not bad. It looked like it landed right on target.

As soon as he lifted his finger, the red glow on the hand surged into the engraved mark like it had found a release valve. The Time-Turner began to vibrate violently, wrenched itself from Kyle’s grasp, and floated up into the air.

Kyle wasn’t surprised. He’d seen this once before—back when Dumbledore used the Time-Turner, the reaction had been just as intense.

Nicolas took a step back and suddenly slapped his forehead.

“Oh—I forgot. I shouldn’t have let him go back from here.”

“What’s wrong?” Armando asked.

“Because he’ll probably appear in the headmaster’s office in 1899—the year Albus graduated.” Nicolas frowned. “Who was the headmaster then?”

Everyone turned to look at Phineas Black.

“Why are you all looking at me?” Phineas instinctively stepped back two paces.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Armando squinted slightly, “you were headmaster at the time, weren’t you? I didn’t take the post until 1927.”

“It was me, yes,” Phineas admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’d remember any of it—”

“Oh!” he exclaimed suddenly. “I think I did see him! That Kyle… No wonder he always looked vaguely familiar.”

“You didn’t hassle him, did you?”

“How should I know? That was a hundred years ago! I see tons of people every day—you think I can remember who’s who? Wait, what are you doing?!”

Armando immediately drew his wand.

“Kyle went to save Albus. If you did anything unnecessary back then, we won’t let it slide.”

...

But by that point, Kyle could no longer hear them.

Everything around him blurred into a dizzying swirl. Countless images flickered past like a film on fast rewind—so fast he couldn’t make out a thing. Lines of every imaginable color raced before his eyes.

It was a long and thoroughly unpleasant process. His eardrums ached from pressure, and he had the urge to scream. Maybe he actually did, but he couldn’t hear a sound—not even his own voice.

Finally, after what felt like forever, his feet touched solid ground.

The world snapped back into focus.

He found himself standing in the headmaster’s office—familiar, but not quite.

The overall layout was about the same, but the prominent silver instruments and the enormous portrait behind the desk were gone. In their place were a few ugly statues and a hideous color scheme.

“Who are you?” came a sharp voice behind him.

“You’re a seventh-year student, aren’t you? It’s exam time. Why are you in the headmaster’s office? Trying to steal something?”

Kyle turned automatically and came face-to-face with someone who looked both unfamiliar and strangely familiar.

Phineas Black.

Much younger than in his portrait—his hair was still black, and he sported a neatly trimmed mustache.

But his attitude was just as insufferable.

The first thing he did upon seeing a student was accuse him of theft—completely baseless and unnecessarily hostile.

Kyle curled his lips into a practiced smile.

“Respected Headmaster Black, do you really think I’m a seventh-year student?”

“What else?” Phineas replied irritably. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to say you’re a first-year?”

“No, I really am a seventh-year.”

Once Kyle was sure Phineas genuinely believed that, he relaxed. At least he wouldn’t have to come up with an excuse.

“Then do you know who I am?”

“Why should I?” Phineas said stiffly. “Why should I know you? Hurry up and tell me—what house are you in?”

“Hufflepuff,” Kyle answered.

The moment the word left his mouth, Phineas’s expression soured further. His impatience became even more apparent, and he instantly lost interest in the conversation.

“You’re not preparing for exams, and instead you come barging into the headmaster’s office. What are you here for—trying to steal something?”

“Of course not. I just happened to be passing by and thought I’d stop in to say hello. After all, I’m graduating soon...”

“Spare me,” Phineas cut him off harshly, jabbing a finger toward the door. “Get out, or you won’t be graduating at all. And for the record, for maliciously entering the headmaster’s office, Hufflepuff loses 100 points... Oh wait, I forgot—you don’t even have 100 points left. Make that 57!

“Congratulations. Thanks to you, Hufflepuff is now the only house with zero points.”

He let out a smug little laugh, his expression practically begging for a punch.

“No problem, Headmaster. As long as you’re happy,” Kyle said with a polite smile before turning and walking out.

He hadn’t expected Phineas to be even worse in person than in his portrait—at least a hundred times more insufferable—and openly disdainful of Hufflepuff, with no attempt to hide it.

Was that really how a headmaster should behave?

Kyle glanced back at the office door, eyes narrowing slightly.

Fifty-seven points, huh? He’d remember that.

No rush—he’d settle the score later.

Still, thanks to Phineas, he now had a clear idea of the current timeline.

Seventh-year exams meant it had to be June of 1899. According to the information he had, Dumbledore’s objective would surface in August. That gave him a two-month window—Dumbledore was bound to appear.

Perfect timing.

Kyle strolled slowly down the corridor, observing his surroundings.

He’d now seen Hogwarts in three different eras: his own, the thousand-years-ago version, and now this—Hogwarts a century in the past.

And this one, strangely, made him feel the most out of place.

It was exam season, so everyone was busy but disciplined. Students moved quickly through the halls, careful not to make noise. No one spoke. Even when younger students tried to start a conversation, they were immediately hushed.

Filch would probably love this, Kyle thought to himself, quickening his pace to get out of the area.

There was something stifling about this period in Hogwarts’ history. No wonder Phineas had gone down as one of the least-liked headmasters.

Kyle passed a row of classrooms and a group of students waiting outside to be called in for exams. Just as he was about to head downstairs, a witch’s voice rang out behind him.

“Next—Albus Percival Dumbledore. It’s your turn for the Transfiguration exam.”

Kyle immediately stopped in his tracks.

He turned and saw a handsome boy step out from the crowd.

Dumbledore couldn’t have been more than seventeen—actually younger than Kyle himself. His features still held a boyish softness, and his short reddish-brown hair gleamed under the light. His expression was bright and spirited.

“I’m here,” he said, raising a hand and smiling politely. “Thank you for your hard work, Madam Marchbanks.”

“I’ve heard all about you,” said the middle-aged witch—none other than a younger Madam Marchbanks—with a warm smile. “Hogwarts’ star pupil.”

“But remember, I won’t go easy on you just because of your reputation. If anything, I’ll be making things a bit more difficult.”

“No problem,” said young Dumbledore with confidence. “I’m sure I can rise to the challenge.”

And with that, he strode into the classroom.

Professor Marchbanks suddenly glanced around, sensing something. Her eyes landed on Kyle, who had been watching them closely.

She looked down at her list, then back at the students queued up, frowning.

“Why is there an extra person? Who are you?”

“Ah, I’m a sixth-year,” Kyle said quickly. “I was curious about the exam and came to watch.”

“Is that so,” said Marchbanks, nodding.

“So… is it alright if I observe up close?” Kyle asked. “Just to get a better understanding of the exam.”

“Absolutely not. There must be no distractions during the N.E.W.T.s,” Marchbanks said sternly. “There’s nothing for you to be curious about. You—”

“It’s alright, Professor Marchbanks,” Dumbledore called, poking his head back out through the door. “He’s just watching—he won’t affect me. Letting a lower-year student observe the exam might actually help them gain some experience.

“Besides, it’s a Charms exam. It’s not like he could help me cheat, right?”