Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 870: Don’t Say Anything, I Understand

France.

In the early evening, the Pyrenees were cloaked in thick clouds, and thanks to the fog spell personally cast by Nicolas Flamel at the entrance, there were few onlookers around.

But today, Beauxbatons received an unexpected visitor from afar.

Carefully weaving his way through the fog, Kyle emerged beside the magical fountain.

He looked up at the sprawling manor nestled across the mountaintop, trying to get his bearings.

“They all look exactly the same... Which one was Professor Viktor’s office again?”

Beauxbatons wasn’t like Hogwarts. It had more rooms, and because of the widespread use of alchemy, the layout of many classrooms had been altered to varying degrees.

For instance, Hogwarts’ underground classrooms had pitch-black windows that required artificial lighting. But Beauxbatons was different—their basement classrooms might have a secondary window exit on the second floor, allowing natural light in and enabling a switch between dim and bright settings.

And these weren’t like the magical windows in the Ministry of Magic—they were real second-floor windows. The process was surprisingly simple: just use alchemy to modify the wall slightly, and create a magical conduit between the two windows to channel sunlight through.

Of course, it only looked simple. Kyle certainly couldn’t manage it… but for Nicolas Flamel or Viktor, it probably wasn’t too difficult.

Which meant that the building he was looking at might not actually reflect the true position of the classroom inside.

“I should’ve remembered the location the last time I was here,” Kyle muttered as he searched again, then shook his head. “Forget it. Good thing I had a backup plan.”

He waited a little longer before an owl came flapping in through the mist. The concealment magic seemed to have no effect on it at all.

The owl landed on the edge of the magical fountain, tilting its head and blinking at him in confusion.

Kyle had come across it earlier and hired it with two bags of owl treats.

Technically, it wasn’t proper protocol—but Kyle had paid generously. Two large bags of premium imported nuts—enough for a whole month—in exchange for delivering just two letters. No owl could resist that, and this one certainly hadn’t.

Well… the nuts were from Britain, so for a French owl, they probably counted as imported goods.

“This is the second letter.” Kyle removed the first envelope from the owl’s claws—it had simply read “Beauxbatons, next to the magical fountain”—and replaced it with a plump, properly addressed one tied to its leg. “Give this to Professor Viktor, the one who teaches alchemy.”

He’d written two letters as a precaution, just in case something went wrong en route. It wasn’t likely, but better safe than sorry.

Besides, it only cost him one extra bag of nuts—not exactly a major loss.

Though now, it looked like that precaution wouldn’t be needed. Surely even here at Beauxbatons, the owl wouldn’t lose the letter.

Kyle took out a cloth pouch and placed it beside the fountain.

The owl immediately took flight, heading for a window not far away... That was probably Viktor’s office.

As expected—some things were best left to the professionals.

Satisfied, Kyle nodded and pulled out the second bag of nuts, placing it in the pouch as the owl’s final payment.

Then he looked up—and his expression froze.

At some point, Fawkes had taken off and was following right behind the owl. Just as the owl reached Professor Viktor’s window, Fawkes swooped in like a bully, snatched the envelope from its claws without so much as a word, and sent the poor bird spiraling into a nearby tree with one mighty flap of his wings.

Could an owl beat a phoenix? Of course not.

But the owl didn’t even dare try to retrieve the letter. Huffing with indignation, it flew back to Kyle and gave him a look that was three parts confusion, seven parts outrage, and the remaining ninety percent pure profanity.

Don’t think I didn’t notice.

That red-feathered brute is your buddy—I’ve seen you two together.

So this is how wizards play now? Conning and sabotaging a poor, defenseless little owl?

If you didn’t want me to deliver the letter, you could’ve just said so. I didn’t need the nuts that badly.

Kyle let out an awkward chuckle.

Honestly, he hadn’t expected Fawkes to pull something like that... Was it because of what he’d said in the Headmaster’s office earlier?

Well... technically, the letter had been delivered—by Fawkes.

But really now—he was a phoenix! Was it necessary to fight over a letter with an owl?

That was a professional messenger!

Watching Fawkes return with the envelope, Kyle silently pulled out a third bag of nuts and dropped it into the pouch.

What else could he do at this point? He had to make it right—you couldn’t just let an owl get wing-slapped for free.

Only then did the owl stop glaring at him. It snatched up the pouch and took off with a disgruntled hoot.

It was clearly struggling under the weight of the nuts, but didn’t stop for a second, flying off as if escaping something dreadful.

Kyle looked at the phoenix returning to perch and could only give him a helpless thumbs-up.

“Alright... good job.”

Fawkes was calm as ever, head held high, as if nothing had happened.

Fine, whatever.

Kyle sighed. The letter had been delivered—more or less—and the method didn’t matter all that much. At least for now, all three parties seemed reasonably satisfied.

“Who’s there?!” a loud voice called out nearby. A group of robed figures came running toward him—they’d probably heard the commotion and come to investigate.

They were all young, strong wizards, drawing their wands even before they got close.

Beauxbatons’ campus security, it seemed, was quite solid. Not like Hogwarts, where a single Squib named Filch was somehow responsible for guarding the entire school.

And not just security—he also handled cleaning and contraband inspections, all on one salary... Come to think of it, the headmasters of Hogwarts over the years really had no shame.

...

“Alright, we should head back,” Kyle said to Fawkes, glancing at the sky as it darkened.

With a flash of flame, the man and the phoenix vanished before the approaching figures could reach them.

There was no denying it—having a phoenix around was incredibly convenient. In just a few seconds, they could travel between two different countries without leaving a trace for the Ministry of Magic to track. The only downside was that the ride wasn’t exactly comfortable.

“It’s fine now, Fawkes. You can go back,” Kyle muttered, rubbing his forehead as he slowly regained his balance.

Fawkes tilted his head, eyeing Kyle with curiosity before letting out a clear, melodic trill.

“Ah, don’t worry about me, I—”

Kyle suddenly paused, frowning. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a special Galleon—one of the communication coins. A new, distinct scratch had appeared on its surface.

It was a message coin, paired with the one in Dobby’s possession. Any change could only mean one thing: Dobby was trying to contact him.

Without hesitation, Kyle Disapparated to the Leaky Cauldron and hurried straight to his shop.

...

“I didn’t expect to find a shop like this here. Finally, something decent in Diagon Alley.”

Kyle hadn’t even stepped through the door yet when he heard a familiar voice—that smug, punchable tone could only belong to Malfoy.

No wonder Dobby had signaled him. He got here that quickly?

Kyle paused at the threshold, gave a slight flick of his wand, then walked in.

Sure enough, there he was—Malfoy. And Narcissa was with him.

Dobby stood off to the side, stiff as a statue. Even though Kyle had prepared him in advance, the moment he saw his former master, instinctive fear kicked in hard.

Strictly speaking, Dobby had betrayed the Malfoy family—and to a House-elf, betrayal was among the gravest of sins.

If Dobby hadn’t insisted on staying, Kyle would have replaced him with Kreacher long ago. But clearly, Dobby had overestimated how well he could handle the situation.

The ironic part was, even at such close range, neither Malfoy nor Narcissa seemed to recognize that the polite little House-elf working the counter was once their Dobby.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t so surprising. The Dobby they remembered had been filthy, clad in a tea towel that was grimier than the rags at the Hog’s Head. Compared to the clean, well-dressed elf now standing in front of them, the difference was night and day.

When Kyle entered, he made a point of letting his wand show. Dobby immediately glanced over, his eyes lighting up as he exclaimed, “Sir, you’re back!”

“Mhm.” Kyle nodded. “We’ve got honored guests—Iʼll handle them. You step out for now.”

Dobby bolted as if he’d just been pardoned.

“What a rude little creature,” Narcissa said with a faint frown. “If that were our elf, I’d have thrown it a piece of clothing already.”

Kyle had seen her bawling her eyes out before, but in front of strangers, she still clung to that trademark Malfoy arrogance—looking down her nose at others like it was second nature.

“You’re the shopkeeper?” she asked, giving Kyle a quick once-over. “You don’t look British.”

“I graduated from Beauxbatons,” Kyle replied with a pleasant smile.

He currently looked like one of the school guards—he’d just seen one earlier, so the details were fresh in his mind.

And it wasn’t like Malfoy had ever been to Beauxbatons—there was no way he’d recognize the disguise.

“Beauxbatons…” Narcissa seemed unimpressed. She looked at him again. “And you’re really the owner of this shop?”

“Of course,” Kyle said calmly.

“That’s impossible,” she said sharply. “If you’re not British, how could you possibly have a deed in Diagon Alley?”

“Madam...” Kyle smiled politely. “I may not be British, but Galleons don’t recognize borders.”

“Hmph, so you bought it?” Narcissa scoffed. “Who sold it to you?!”

“Trade secret, madam,” Kyle replied, still smiling.

Narcissa opened her mouth to continue, but Malfoy cut her off.

“Alright, Mother. Whatever dealings the Black family has with its property, it’s got nothing to do with us.” He turned to Kyle. “Are these items genuine?”

“Now, would I open a shop in Diagon Alley and sell fake goods?” Kyle said, thumping a hand against his chest. “I can guarantee it—in Madam Maxime’s name, if you like.”

“Alright then, I’ll take this one.” Malfoy pointed to a sparkling bead.

“Excellent choice...” Kyle’s smile widened. “Rock pearl—rare alchemical ingredient, also a symbol of status. A perfect piece for accessories. Just eighty Galleons a piece.”

A bead about the size of a Knut—just one—and it matched Mr. Weasley’s monthly salary.

“One?” Malfoy frowned. “Not a whole tray?”

He put the bead down.

He actually put it down.

Kyle was momentarily stunned. Malfoy thought it was too expensive? And that was the normal market price—he hadn’t marked it up at all.

Was this really the Draco Malfoy he knew? The rich, reckless idiot with more Galleons than sense?

“Since you like it, we’ll take it.” Narcissa swiftly picked up the bead and handed it to Malfoy. “You’ve got a good eye. These things are rare, and the price is fair.”

“But Mother, we—”

“It’s fine. We can afford it,” Narcissa cut him off, then turned to glance at another shelf. “Maybe we could pick out something for your godfather—”

“Don’t mention him!” Malfoy snapped, as if someone had stepped on his tail.

“He kept saying we absolutely shouldn’t come to Diagon Alley… I bet he did it on purpose. Probably wanted to lure you here so you’d end up buying him something expensive.”

“They’re all the same—always after our family’s money.”

“Enough, Draco!” Narcissa shot him a sharp glare, then quickly cast a glance at Kyle.

Kyle tactfully turned his face away, pretending he hadn’t heard a word.

“I never want to hear you say something like that again. Ever,” Narcissa said, lowering her voice.

Malfoy looked shaken—rightfully so. At the same time, he felt relieved the shopkeeper wasn’t British, and likely not a Death Eater either.

Because if those words had reached Voldemort’s ears, he’d be done for.

“Severus isn’t like that,” Narcissa said quickly, shifting the topic. “And with his position, he wouldn’t need to do anything like that.”

“Then why did he start saying all that weird stuff out of nowhere?” Malfoy muttered. “Danger this, danger that—what danger could there be in Diagon Alley? He clearly had some ulterior motive.”

Kyle listened quietly, and from their conversation, it wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened.

Snape, failing to get the information he wanted, had gone to warn Malfoy—telling him to stay away from Kyle.

Reasonable enough. Whatever the motive, as a godfather, Snape did care about him on some level.

What Snape hadn’t expected, though, was that after their previous conflict, Malfoy didn’t care much for him anymore. Add to that a rebellious streak, and—well, tell him not to go somewhere, and of course he’d go.

So here he was, dragging his mother along for good measure.

Honestly, it was kind of hilarious. Kyle would have loved to see Snape’s face when he found out.

Suppressing a smile, Kyle continued playing the role of dutiful shop assistant, introducing various items to the two Malfoys.

Still, they didn’t act quite as he expected. They didn’t shop extravagantly or carelessly. They even asked about prices.

How un-Malfoy.

Normally, you’d expect them to gesture lazily at a few things and say, “We’ll take these. Wrap up the rest.”

Disappointing.

Kyle sighed inwardly. While Narcissa was busy examining a coral ornament and Malfoy wandered over to the far side of the counter, Kyle took out his wand, subtly positioning himself between them.

“You’ll definitely be interested in this piece,” he said suddenly.

Malfoy instinctively turned toward him—just in time to see the wand sweep past his face.

“Legilimens.”

Malfoy’s appearance here might have been a coincidence, but it would be a waste not to take advantage of it.

His pupils instantly went glassy. Kyle stepped forward, steadying him, and locked eyes, flipping through his thoughts like pages in a book.

He wasn’t interested in private matters—only anything connected to the Death Eaters.

As it turned out, Malfoy hadn’t lied. His status among them really was awkward—slightly above cannon fodder, but still firmly kept out of the inner circle. Most of them treated him with open disdain.

Kyle also caught a glimpse of Barty Crouch Jr., who wasn’t just nasty to Draco—he treated Lucius with barely veiled contempt too, barking orders at him to prepare funds for use in Cornwall.

He talked to Lucius like he was commanding a House-elf. No wonder Draco had been furious—especially after Snape showed up to lecture him. That’s what had sent him storming off to Diagon Alley, eager for some petty revenge spending...

Wait a second.

What did Barty Crouch Jr. just say?

Kyle blinked, momentarily frozen.

But just then, Malfoy’s eyelids twitched.

Kyle immediately raised his wand again, pointing it at Malfoy’s forehead.

“Obliviate.”

He stepped back two paces, repositioning himself naturally at a reasonable distance.

“Draco, why aren’t you saying anything?” Narcissa asked as she walked over.

“Huh?” Malfoy looked dazed, still trying to catch up with reality.

“Don’t just stand there.” Narcissa brushed past Kyle, unceremoniously shoving him aside. “What are you looking at? Why’ve you gone quiet all of a sudden?”

“I imagine your son must be interested in this,” Kyle said smoothly, walking over to present an item. “A Thunderbird quill—an unmistakable symbol of status. He’s still at Hogwarts, isn’t he? If he pulls this out in class, he’ll be the center of attention for sure.”

“That said, it might get flagged by the Ministry for inspection, so I wouldn’t recommend it to the average buyer... But for a lady as elegant as yourself, I imagine a little trouble is hardly a concern, right?”

Thunderbird feathers were restricted items—but would Malfoy care?

Of course not.

Still, Narcissa seemed to have misunderstood. Seeing Draco silently fixated on the quill, her eyes suddenly turned red.

“Draco… you must really want to go back to school...”

“What?” snapped out of his daze by Kyle’s pitch, Malfoy recoiled immediately. “No! I don’t! Who’d want to go back to that dump?”

“Don’t say anything—I understand.” Narcissa’s voice quivered slightly. Then, catching Kyle’s presence out of the corner of her eye, she quickly masked her emotion with a scowl.

“What are you staring at? Are all Beauxbatons students this rude?”

“My apologies, Madam,” Kyle replied with a courteous smile, retreating to his place behind the counter.