Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 860: Bergman on the Run

Drols was in high spirits.

He never would’ve imagined that a mystery haunting the Dragon Reserve for nearly a century would be resolved on such an ordinary morning.

Ever since the Reserve had found its footing, influenced by its first dragon keeper captain, Bergman, they had been trying to track down the mysterious benefactor—to thank him in person.

It had practically become an unwritten mission. Including Drols and Bergman, six successive captains had each used their own connections to search, but none had ever turned up anything.

Drols had even asked Newt once, but back then, Newt had also claimed he didn’t know anything. Who would have thought he’d bring the person here today?

A strange sense of absurdity crept over Drols. He shook his head, trying to dispel the thought.

Maybe Newt Scamander truly hadn’t known. Drols knew the man well—an expert in magical creatures and someone completely incapable of lying. If he had been hiding something deliberately, Drols would have noticed.

And besides Scamander, Drols had someone else in mind.

He turned to glance at Kyle. If memory served, he was Chris’s son.

He couldn’t help but recall a night a few years back when he’d been chatting with Chris at a welcome dinner hosted by the Ministry of Magic. Chris had made a solemn promise then too—said he’d help track down clues about the mysterious donor...

Who could’ve guessed? That upright-looking man with thick eyebrows and sincere eyes turned out to be so underhanded. It had clearly been his family’s money all along, and yet he’d stood there pretending not to know a thing.

Pah—as if he didn’t know!

Drols was speechless. Chris had probably been laughing himself silly inside while Drols thanked him so earnestly. The fact he’d kept a straight face through it all was almost impressive.

And to think Drols had actually thought the guy was decent—never imagined he’d be the type to enjoy such twisted humor.

Muttering complaints to himself in silence, Drols went to a corner of the room, lifted the dragon painting hanging there, and retrieved a gleaming gold key from behind it.

The key to the Gringotts vault.

“It’s yours now,” Drols said cheerfully, handing the key to Kyle without hesitation.

Thankfully, the funds had been saved up bit by bit over the years. If he’d been asked to produce all 6,000 Galleons at once, he might not have been able to gather them quickly.

It might sound ridiculous that the Reserve—monopolizing the dragon materials trade in the magical world—couldn’t easily produce 6,000 Galleons, but that was the reality.

Even with a fully developed supply chain, dragon-rearing was a bottomless pit. Almost every Galleon they earned was poured straight back in.

Most of the materials they sold were eventually turned into food and other supplies, and much of that ended up in the bellies of dragon hatchlings again.

So really, the Reserve had very little left in terms of actual savings.

Kyle took the key and examined it closely.

Funny, really—heʼd always believed goblins would never let a single Galleon of his go unclaimed, yet here they were, holding a tidy sum of 6,000 Galleons in their vault.

Good thing that particular goblin never realized the vault was his.

“Oh, one more thing,” Drols suddenly remembered. “The vault’s in Gringotts Romania. If you’d like, I can help transfer the contents to a branch in the UK.”

“No need, we’ll handle it ourselves,” Kyle replied. “It’s not a special vault, is it?”

Gringotts vaults came in three types. Ordinary ones required only a key to access—less secure, but no extra fuss.

Then there were the paid special vaults, like the one Dumbledore had used for the Philosopher’s Stone—higher security, but you had to pay Gringotts to maintain them.

Lastly, there were the ultra-secure underground vaults, used almost exclusively by ancient pure-blood families like the Blacks and the Lestranges.

“No, just a regular one,” Drols said, shaking his head.

“Then it’s fine. We’ll just withdraw the Galleons ourselves when the time comes,” said Kyle.

Better to keep that money in his own hands.

“And after that?” Drols asked. “You do know, right? As long as the Dragon Reserve still exists, you’ll continue receiving a share of the profits. It’s not much—around 200 Galleons a year—but I still think transferring the vault to the UK would make things easier.”

Kyle thought it over and realized Drols was right.

If the vault stayed in Romania, he’d have to come here every time to collect. That really would be a hassle.

”Thank you for your help.” Kyle handed the key back to Drols.

”No trouble at all.” Drols stood up. ”Iʼll handle it personally. That way the goblins won’t have an excuse to drag things out—those greedy creatures don’t like the idea of transferring vault contents to another country.”

“If all goes smoothly, I should be back in time to join the three of you for lunch. Please, don’t turn me down.”

“There’s no need, really—no rush,” Kyle said quickly, stopping him. “And as for lunch, we’ll just eat when we get back.”

There was still something Kyle hadn’t mentioned—something quite important. After that, Drols probably wouldn’t be in the mood for lunch anyway.

“Oh, but I insist,” Drols replied with a smile. “Mr. Bergman visits the Dragon Reserve several times a year now. If he finds out I let you leave without doing anything, he’ll definitely give me an earful.”

At the mention of Bergman, another thought crossed Drols’ mind.

He remembered that the man who had built the Dragon Reserve from the ground up once said that if they couldn’t find the benefactor, they should stop searching—he would appear when the time came.

How many years had it been again? Drols tried to recall... and then realized, with some shock, that it was this very year.

Could it be Bergman had some talent for Divination? He’d never heard anything of the sort.

Still, he didn’t dwell on it too much. Bergman usually showed up at the Reserve around this time of year to inspect things. When he arrived, he could simply ask him about it.

Kyle, unaware of Drols’ inner thoughts, had already pulled out another piece of parchment.

”Captain Drols, I have another magical contract—also related to the Dragon Reserve.”

”Another one?” Drols snapped out of his thoughts, blinking in surprise.

That couldn’t be right. There weren’t supposed to be any other donors.

Still, despite his confusion, he instinctively took the parchment from Kyle.

And then—

Drolsʼ expression visibly changed in an instant. His eyes widened, and the hand holding the parchment started to tremble.

“Authorized dragon breeding... gifting a dragon egg... covering all raising expenses... That’s impossible. Absolutely impossible!” he all but shouted. “The Reserve would never issue such an outrageous certificate!”

“Where did you get this?” Drols lifted his head, staring seriously at Kyle. “Forging a magical contract connected to the Dragon Reserve is a serious offense. I have the right to call the Aurors and have you arrested—even if your family once helped us!”

As he spoke, he’d already drawn his wand.

“Easy now, Drols,” Dumbledore said calmly, stepping forward and positioning himself between Drols and Kyle.

“Headmaster Dumbledore, what exactly do you mean by this?” Drols said, voice low and tense. “The Dragon Reserve won’t be threatened by anyone.”

“I don’t intend to threaten you,” Dumbledore replied airily. “But I’m willing to vouch for this magical contract—as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. I assure you, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“So I suggest you take a breath and look again.”

Drols stared at Dumbledore, clearly trying to process the situation. After a long pause, he finally lowered his wand.

“There’s no need to look. I’m telling you—we would never issue something so absurd.” Drols spoke firmly. “But considering your past help to the Reserve, I’ll let this go. You may leave—I won’t press charges over a forged contract.”

“That’s not necessarily up to you, Captain Drols,” Kyle said, stepping forward for the first time, his tone calm. “You speak for yourself, not for others—am I wrong?”

“Or you could just ask Bergman,” Newt added. “He should be nearby, right? You should be able to contact him. Or, if you’d prefer, I can do it for you.”

Drols hesitated.

He didn’t trust Kyle, and he didn’t fully trust Dumbledore either. But he did trust Newt Scamander. If this really was Newt Scamander, there was no way he’d be involved in some kind of prank or scam.

As for their identities... The Reserve had protective spells to prevent anyone from impersonating a dragon keeper. The fact that they’d made it this far was proof enough.

Still, Drols wavered.

“Oh, by the way,” Kyle said casually, “I remember this contract was made in duplicate. The second copy should still be here. Why don’t you look for it? Who knows—you might be in for a surprise.”

Drols shot Kyle a look but said nothing. He took out his wand and opened a cabinet beside him. Dozens of parchments floated out, but none of them were what he was after.

“Those won’t help,” Kyle reminded him. “It should be something from ninety-seven years ago.”

Drols paused for a second, then gave his wand a sharp flick.

From a corner of the room, an old, dusty cabinet—so faded it looked like it might fall apart—creaked open. Another wave of parchments floated out.

This time, one particular piece shimmered with a silvery-white light. As if drawn by an invisible force, it glided through the air and landed gently on the table—right beside the contract Kyle had presented.

The silver patterns on the two contracts aligned perfectly, the glowing light flowing seamlessly between them like liquid mercury.

Clack!

Drols’ wand slipped from his fingers and hit the floor. He stood there, completely stunned.

It was real...

This ridiculous thing was actually real!

Drols could hardly believe his eyes.

“No—no, you must have done something.” Still unwilling to believe it, Drols snatched up his wand and, flustered, pulled out a two-way mirror, tapping it rapidly.

The mirror shimmered briefly, revealing the wrinkled face of an elderly, bald wizard.

“What’s the hurry?” he drawled. “How many times have I told you? Patience is the most important thing when caring for dragons. Stay calm when something happens—”

“Mr. Bergman,” Drols cut him off without hesitation, turning the mirror around to show the two pieces of parchment joined together on the table.

“Someone handed me this. Said it was a legal dragon ownership certificate from you.”

“Nonsense, how could I possibly—”

The instant the image in the mirror stabilized, Bergman’s voice cut off mid-sentence.

Even without seeing his face, Kyle could easily guess what kind of expression he was wearing.

“Headmaster Dumbledore is there too, isn’t he?” came a long sigh from the mirror.

“He is—standing right beside me,” Drols replied.

After a brief pause, Bergman’s voice returned.

“Give it to them. It’s real.”

“But the terms on this—”

“They’re all real... Oh! Jill laid an egg? I need to check on that—”

The mirror went dark before he could finish, leaving Drols standing in stunned silence.

If he remembered correctly, Jill was a male Swedish Short-Snout, wasn’t he?

Still, Bergman’s words had revealed plenty. The contract was very likely genuine—and even more likely had come directly from him.

Drols took a few steadying breaths, then looked up at Kyle again, forcing a strained smile.

“My apologies for the scene.”

“No problem,” Kyle replied. “I just want to know whether the conditions outlined can be honored.”

“Since it was Mr. Bergman who promised, and it’s backed by a formal magical contract... then of course,” Drols said, jaw tight.

“But you can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“The wizard who signed this contract has to claim it in person.” Now much calmer, Drols pointed to the top line of the parchment.

“Unlike a donation, this clearly states itʼs valid for the individual only—non-transferable, non-inheritable.”

“I know,” Kyle said. “But I am the one who signed it.”

Drols raised an eyebrow. Did this kid take him for an idiot?

The date on the contract was 1899—ninety-seven years ago. Kyle clearly wasn’t anywhere near that old. How could he possibly be—

“Oh! By Merlin’s beard!”

Drols nearly jumped out of his chair.

Kyle had placed his wand on the parchment—and incredibly, the contract’s magical seal lit up, dissolving into floating runes that shimmered and peeled from the surface.

That could only mean one thing: Kyle’s magic signature perfectly matched the one that had formed the contract’s enchantment.

But that was impossible... This was a ninety-seven-year-old contract.

Drols felt like his brain was about to detonate. The shock was no less than if he’d witnessed Jill actually laying a dragon egg.

This was beyond anything he understood. The sliver of reason he’d regained shattered instantly.

“So,” Kyle said with a smile, “is everything in order now?”

“W-Wait a second.” Drols shot to his feet, bolted to the door, and ran out.

“I’d guess he’s gone to find Bergman,” Newt commented from beside Kyle. “After retiring, he built a house just behind the Reserve. He’s invited me to be his neighbor several times... but the Romanian Ministry of Magic wouldn’t allow me to live here.”

Naturally... Kyle thought. Without Dumbledore’s backing, the British Ministry probably wouldn’t have let Newt settle in Dorset either.

Still, Bergman’s words just now kept tugging at Kyle’s mind.

“Professor,” Kyle turned to Dumbledore, “do you think he already knows?”

“I remember the last time he saw me, he seemed rather surprised. He asked a few questions too,” Dumbledore said. “At the time I didn’t understand—just thought they were odd. But looking back, he must have recognized me.”

After all, Dumbledore had gone with Kyle back then. Even in old age, his appearance remained quite distinctive—it wasn’t surprising heʼd been recognized.

“Is it going to be a problem?” Kyle asked.

“Doubtful,” Dumbledore replied after a moment’s thought. “Bergman’s not the type to gossip. His only real passion is dragons.”

“Good.” Kyle nodded.

About half an hour later, Drols returned.

Kyle had assumed Bergman would be with him, but even after waiting a while, no one else entered the room.

“Did you find him?”

“I didn’t,” Drols said through clenched teeth. “There was only a letter in the house.”

He placed the letter on the table. The handwriting was messy—clearly written in haste.

Its contents were brief: “I have something to take care of. Handle Reserve matters as you see fit.”

“Looks like Bergman’s feeling guilty,” Newt said with a chuckle.

To be honest, the terms in that dragon-breeding certificate were completely over the top. If he were Bergman, he’d probably disappear for a while too.

“Need us to help track him down?” Kyle asked, glancing at Drols.

“No need. I have a good idea where he’s gone,” Drols muttered, rubbing his temples.

“So now...?”

“We’ll honor it.” Drols fell silent for a moment, then said with resignation, “Since the magical contract checks out, of course we’ll uphold our end.”