Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 869: The Score Is Even

“Ding-a-ling...”

“Welcome!”

With a clear jingle of the wind chimes, Dobby—sent by Newt to help out in Diagon Alley—sprang out from behind the counter, staring wide-eyed at the customer who had just walked in.

It was a middle-aged wizard, who had only come to withdraw some money. On his way, he had unexpectedly noticed this newly opened shop.

Strange. With Death Eaters running rampant, Diagon Alley growing increasingly desolate, and shops shutting down every day as people fled abroad, who in their right mind would go against the tide and open a new store? Wasnʼt he afraid of attracting Death Eatersʼ attention?

Though his instinct was to leave this crowded and conspicuous area of Diagon Alley as soon as possible, curiosity got the better of him. He stepped inside, wanting to see who was bold—or foolish—enough to try this.

His first impression upon entering was quite good. The shop was bright and inviting, and a faint woody scent lingered in the air… the distinctive fragrance of pearwood, likely coming from the brand-new counter.

A pearwood counter—tasteful, and not cheap. Whoever opened this place had both taste and money.

At the same time, a fruity sweetness wafted through the air—rich, but not cloying—refreshing and pleasant.

Not bad, the wizard thought. If this were a few years ago, the place would be packed with customers. But now...

He shook his head. Honestly, in times like these, who still felt like shopping? No matter how well-decorated the store was, it’d just be a waste of Galleons.

Ignoring the eager House-elf who had jumped out to greet him, he turned his attention to the shelves, curious to find the source of the unfamiliar fruit aroma—and to leave quickly afterward.

It was a bunch of grapes. But the grapes were much larger than usual, each one plump and round, looking incredibly appetizing—especially with that intense aroma reaching straight into his nostrils.

They must taste amazing, the wizard thought, swallowing involuntarily. Maybe I’ll buy a bunch to take home. I just withdrew money, after all—a bit of fruit wouldn’t be a problem...

Until he saw the price listed below.

Without the slightest hesitation, the wizard held his breath, turned on his heel, and all but ran out of the shop. Only after he’d fled far down the street did he finally gasp for breath.

Are you mad? Ten Galleons for a single grape? Is it made of gold?

No—even if it were, it wouldn’t cost that much. At this price, just smelling it should cost a Sickle!

He had certainly taken in a fair bit of the scent while searching for the fruit. Hopefully the shopkeeper wouldn’t chase after him demanding payment.

On instinct, he picked up his pace again.

No wonder someone had the guts to open a shop in Diagon Alley right now. His heart’s blacker than a Death Eater’s! Why not just rob Gringotts instead?

The customer stormed off, cursing, while the ever-enthusiastic Dobby could only return behind the counter.

That was what—fifth one today? Or sixth?

Not a single sale all morning. Dobby, who had only a vague sense of prices, let out a sigh, feeling a bit guilty about disappointing Mr. Kyle’s trust.

...

Meanwhile, on the other side, Kyle wasn’t concerned with the newly opened shop. He was upstairs in his house in St. Catchpole Village.

The peaceful village was suddenly disturbed by a faint explosion. Kyle instinctively walked to the window and glanced outside.

Mrs. Weasley had returned and was standing at the front door of The Burrow. And he—was standing there, too.

Kyle remembered it clearly: the first time he left Hogwarts after impersonating the Headmaster, he had run into Mrs. Weasley just as she was preparing to move out of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. This—was that very scene.

By tomorrow, he should be heading to France to look for Kanna.

His gaze flickered. He pulled out the completely broken and unusable Time-Turner from his pocket.

Then he took two steps back and vanished from the room with a crack—he had Disapparated.

...

Outside the window, the Kyle who had just been about to enter The Burrow suddenly stopped, as if sensing something. He turned and looked up at the second-floor window of his house.

“Kyle, is something wrong?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“Nothing,” Kyle shook his head and walked inside. “Mrs. Weasley, let me help you get rid of the pests.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “Those Doxies just never stop showing up. I have no idea how they’re getting in.”

...

While the two of them were busy cleaning The Burrow, the other Kyle had already arrived outside the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade.

He didn’t go in—just peered inside through the window.

Aberforth was the same as ever, scowling behind the bar, wiping a filthy glass with an even filthier rag.

Same as always. Dumbledore and Ariana still hadn’t come back to find him.

Kyle looked away and headed toward Hogwarts.

He remembered Dumbledore saying, before leaving, that he and Ariana had something to do—for the next time travel.

That so-called ”next time travel” should be when Kyle went back to the past to save Dumbledore.

He didn’t know when they would return. Just in case, he had some things he needed to take care of.

But before that, he had to go to Hogwarts.

It was time to settle some scores.

...

Since it was class time, Hogwarts was quiet. Kyle walked straight through the main entrance and ran into Professor Sprout, who had just come out of the greenhouse.

“Kyle?” Professor Sprout looked surprised and walked over quickly. “Didn’t Minerva say you just left the school? Why are you back?”

“Oh, I just realized I forgot something,” Kyle said calmly. “So I came back for it.”

“No one saw you, right?” Professor Sprout asked nervously.

“Relax, Professor,” Kyle said, waving a hand and lowering his voice. “I’m an outstanding graduate just coming back to visit my old school. No one’s going to suspect I’m Dumbledore.”

“Still, it’s better to be careful,” she said. “Want me to inform Minerva?”

“No need,” Kyle shook his head. “I’m just grabbing something. I won’t be long.”

“All right, come with me then,” she said, taking off her dragon-hide gloves. “Class isn’t over yet. No one will notice you going into the Headmaster’s office.”

“Okay.”

Kyle followed Professor Sprout into the castle. On the way, they ran into Filch.

It was clear that Filch, who guarded the school entrance, didn’t welcome Kyle—the now-graduated “social loafer.” But with Professor Sprout accompanying him, there was nothing Filch could do. He could only lurk in the shadows of the corridor, glaring viciously.

“Argus, you can go,” Professor Sprout said with a glance. “Kyle just came to discuss something with me. I’ll escort him out of the school afterward.”

That was a very clear dismissal.

Filch’s face stiffened, but with Professor Sprout being the Head of House, he could only bow slightly and leave the hall in silence.

The two of them then made their way up the empty staircase to the eighth floor, stopping before the gargoyle statue.

“I won’t go in with you,” Professor Sprout said, checking the time. “Class is about to end, and next period is Gryffindor’s Herbology. If you want to leave the school, you can have a ghost fetch Minerva.”

“Oh, right—just tap the second silver jug on the desk, and a ghost will come.”

“So that’s what the silverware in the Headmaster’s office is for?” Kyle clicked his tongue, a little surprised.

He’d suspected those items weren’t just for decoration.

“Yes, the second one—don’t tap the wrong one.”

“No worries,” Kyle said. “I’ll leave the school another way. No one will see me.”

“Good, then.”

With the sound of the bell ringing, Professor Sprout hurried off. She’d come back to the castle specifically to retrieve an antidote potion from her office.

The next class was seventh-year Gryffindor, and the subject was Stinger Cactus. Since Mr. Longbottom would be in attendance, it was wise to prepare extra antidote in advance.

Otherwise, Madam Pomfrey would probably start grumbling again about canceling dangerous Herbology lessons.

Honestly—those adorable, delicate magical plants weren’t dangerous at all. The real hazard was clearly Mr. Longbottom.

Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to teach him much longer...

...

Once Professor Sprout left, Kyle slipped behind the gargoyle and into the Headmaster’s office.

It looked the same as ever. The portraits of the former headmasters had their eyes closed, feigning sleep, but stirred when they heard movement. A few cracked open one eye.

When they saw it was Kyle, they dropped the act.

“You again, boy? What are you doing back?” Phineas Black snapped bluntly.

“Oh, nothing,” Kyle said with a smile, walking over. “Just came to bring you a gift.” He pulled a large pile of finished magical paints from his pocket.

These were high-quality paints used for enchanted portraits. Kyle had spent quite a lot of money acquiring them, but he didn’t mind in the slightest.

Phineas deserved the best.

Drawing his wand, Kyle deftly sketched a menacing spiked mace—its three-inch-long spikes gleaming coldly even within the portrait.

“Wait… what are you doing?!” Phineas felt a chill run down his spine, while several other headmasters, led by Armando Dippet, gathered around with eager eyes.

“I haven’t done anything to you! You can’t—” Phineas was already trying to flee.

“Oh, don’t be so formal,” Kyle replied without looking up. “I just thought you lot must be bored sitting in these portraits all day, so I figured I’d bring you a little fun.”

Fun?

This wasn’t fun—this was turning him into the fun! That bastard Dippet was already doing warm-ups!

Phineas’s legs went weak. He wanted to bolt.

But the other portraits moved quickly. Two middle-aged wizards immediately stepped in behind him, grabbing his arms to prevent him from slipping into another frame.

“The boy means well. Where are you going?” one of them said with a sinister smile, glaring at Phineas like a predator. His intentions couldn’t have been more obvious.

Phineas began to struggle with all his might, but no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t shake off the grip of his fellow headmasters.

Meanwhile, Kyle had already finished his work.

In addition to the fearsome spiked mace and a double-headed axe, he had also thoughtfully drawn single-handed swords, daggers, and thorn whips for the witch headmasters—covering all bases, as always.

Throughout this, Armando Dippet had been silently observing Kyle.

While portraits couldn’t think in the conventional sense, his years of experience told him that the Kyle now wasn’t quite the same as the one who had left earlier.

Of course, the fact that he could enter this room meant he wasn’t an imposter. He was Kyle—but something about him felt... different.

It was also clear to him that Kyle was here specifically for Phineas. That raw, unmasked malice was obvious—even to a portrait.

But so what? Armando chuckled quietly to himself.

He was just a portrait. He didn’t care what happened. What mattered was that some real entertainment was about to begin.

In fact, he should thank Phineas—for his generous spirit and selfless contribution to their shared leisure.

What a fine man...

Armando rubbed his hands together eagerly and reached for a suitable long-handled axe from the pile of weapons—it matched the ones the Hogwarts statues carried, and he’d always wanted to give it a try.

...

Hearing the howls echoing from the portrait, Kyle felt utterly refreshed.

Back when he had first returned to 1899, Phineas had tried to deduct a full hundred points from him—but since there weren’t enough points left, he’d simply reset Hufflepuff’s house score to zero. Kyle had never forgotten that.

So, as payback for the esteemed headmaster, he had gone all out, drawing one hundred swords, clubs, axes, and other weapons to the highest standard. With that, they were even.

Lowering his wand, Kyle rolled his slightly sore wrist.

As enjoyable as the uproar from the portraits was, he hadn’t forgotten why he came here in the first place.

He searched the headmaster’s office thoroughly until he found a blue scarf threaded with a phoenix feather. Carefully, he pulled the feather free, placed it on the perch by the door, and lit it.

He needed Fawkes right now, but couldn’t exactly go talk to his current self—this was the only method he could think of.

Phoenixes could sense their own feathers, and this was Dumbledore’s office. With any luck, that would be enough...

Kyle wasn’t sure if it would work. If not, he’d just have to go in person.

As he stood thinking, the headmaster’s office suddenly lit up.

Fawkes appeared on the perch, tilting his head in confusion as he stared at Kyle, clearly unsure why he was here.

“Fawkes, I’m really glad you came,” Kyle said. “Don’t be confused—both of us are me. It’s just… something happened.”

Fawkes straightened his head.

“There’s something I need your help with.” Kyle pulled out an envelope. “Can you take this to Beauxbatons and give it to Professor Viktor, the one in charge of alchemy? It’s about Professor Dumbledore.”

Fawkes grasped the envelope, but didn’t take off. Instead, he continued looking at Kyle and let out a crisp, clear cry.

“You don’t know where it is?” Kyle blinked. Phoenixes could travel anywhere at will, but they couldn’t pinpoint locations just from an address... That was an owl’s talent—the main reason they made such perfect messengers.

“Professor Dumbledore never took you there?” Kyle asked.

Fawkes nodded.

“Oh...” Kyle rubbed his forehead. “What about Beauxbatons? Do you know that place?”

Fawkes shook his head again.

“Forget it. Just take me with you,” Kyle sighed. “We’ll go to France first.”

The contents of that envelope were too important to entrust to an owl. Fawkes was a far safer option.

This time, Fawkes moved, gliding smoothly to Kyle’s side and allowing him to grab hold of his tail feathers.

Kyle didn’t notice that behind him, the headmasters had gathered together.

“Did you hear that?” Armando Dippet whispered to a witch beside him. “He just said, ‘Both of us are me.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Time-Turner,” Dilys Derwent replied without hesitation.

“So... the boy standing here now came from the past?” Armando blinked. “Albus vanished into the past, and he’s returned from it. Does that mean the boy brought Albus back? But if that’s true, why hasn’t he come to Hogwarts?”

“Albus always has his reasons,” Derwent said, not even turning her head. “But are you really going to stand here talking? Phineas is about to make a run for it.”

Armando instinctively looked over and spotted Phineas sneaking toward the edge of the frame. If he crossed into another portrait, it would be nearly impossible to catch him.

After all, once they left Hogwarts, they could only move within their own assigned paintings.

“Hey! You stay right there!” Armando forgot all about Dumbledore, grabbed the long-handled axe beside him, and charged after him.

“Watch out for my new spell—Stupefy!”