Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 888: A Second of Guilt

“Pfft!”

It was like someone had installed a sprinkler in the Headmaster’s office.

Dumbledore’s expression froze. The sip of black tea he hadn’t yet swallowed sprayed straight out of his mouth.

Kyle, who clearly saw it coming, stepped aside just in time, then calmly watched as Dumbledore snatched up the photograph, his face cycling rapidly through shades of red and pale green.

In the photo were two young men, solemnly carrying out a ritual.

And thanks to the angle, the image was crystal clear—even the expressions on their faces could be seen in perfect detail.

The window!

That was the first thing Dumbledore thought of.

There had been a small window in that barn. It had to be through that very window that Kyle had taken the photo.

The faint outline of the window frame at the edge of the picture confirmed it.

But Dumbledore couldn’t understand—how had that one small, inconspicuous window captured the entire Blood Pact so perfectly?

Combined with the effects of Developing Solution, it matched his memory almost exactly.

“You...” Dumbledore’s voice was strained. “How did you do this?”

Back when they made the Blood Pact, they’d thoroughly checked their surroundings—there shouldn’t have been anyone nearby.

So how was this photo that clear? It looked as if it had been taken inches from their faces.

Was this even possible?

His shock was so obvious that even the portraits of former headmasters, who had been pretending to sleep on the wall, sensed something was off. One by one, they opened their eyes and craned their necks, trying to peer down at the table.

What had Kyle just said...?

Albus and Grindelwald’s Blood Pact?

Their curiosity was instantly piqued.

But before any of them could move, Dumbledore suddenly waved his hand.

Every portrait spun around to face the wall—all at once.

“Hey! Albus, you can’t do that!” someone shouted. Judging by the voice, it was probably Phineas.

Others muttered their discontent as well.

They were just portraits—it wasn’t like they could spread this around. What was the harm in satisfying a bit of curiosity? Did he really have to be so stingy?

But Dumbledore ignored them, his eyes fixed on Kyle.

“We have Ariana to thank for that,” Kyle said coolly. “Her attic was far enough from the barn but had a clear view of the upper window.”

At the mention of Ariana’s name, Dumbledore’s resistance crumbled.

“As for the photo, I used a little gadget,” Kyle continued.

“Let me guess—another one of Mr. Weasley’s creations?” Dumbledore asked, already considering whether it would be too unethical to use his influence to shut that shop down.

Sure, it would go against his usual principles to suppress a former student’s business—but the impact of this photo was just too overwhelming.

“No, not a Weasley product. This one’s something else we both know well.” Kyle pulled out a slightly worn-looking pair of Omnioculars.

“Full zoom capability. Came in handy.”

He’d bought them at the Quidditch World Cup for ten Galleons. A little pricey, maybe—but absolutely worth it.

Not only could they zoom with clarity, they had playback and slow-motion features as well.

It was thanks to those Omnioculars that Kyle had managed to capture this nearly perfect photo.

Honestly, he was a bit reluctant to part with it.

The photo was priceless—one of a kind, and impossible to reproduce. No exaggeration, it was likely the only one of its kind in the entire wizarding world.

If he took it to Nurmengard, it would be a universal bargaining chip. Anything Grindelwald knew—any spell at all—Kyle could ask to learn, and Grindelwald would teach him, no hesitation.

Even if Kyle got greedy and asked for two or three spells, Grindelwald wouldn’t say no.

But in the end, Kyle had handed it over with no conditions attached, freely offering it to Dumbledore as a retirement gift.

Dumbledore was delighted. He even forgot about his favorite black tea, clutching the photo with trembling hands.

“I really am too kind,” Kyle said, complimenting himself.

Dumbledore stared down at the photo, his thoughts in turmoil. But when he heard Kyle muttering, he couldn’t help glancing up at him.

“What’s wrong, sir? Don’t like it?” Kyle asked. “If not, I can take it back and get you something else.”

“No... no need,” Dumbledore said, drawing a deep breath. “I... well, I do like it.”

His fingers brushed over the photo’s surface.

Logic told him he should destroy it—tear it up, shred it completely, wipe it from existence.

But the moment he tried to do so, his fingers went stiff—unmoving.

And as he looked at the two vibrant, determined young men in the photo, a flood of memories came rushing back.

Dumbledore didn’t want to revisit those memories. In the end, he simply placed his palm over the image and pressed down hard.

A spark flickered from the photo on the table, and it vanished before their eyes.

Of course, whether it had truly been destroyed—or merely hidden elsewhere—only Dumbledore knew.

“You don’t have a second copy, do you?” Dumbledore seemed to recall something and asked again.

It was Kyle, after all—he couldn’t be certain the boy hadn’t made a few duplicates for safekeeping.

“No. Absolutely not.” Kyle shook his head firmly.

And he really hadn’t.

After all, with a photo like that, only the first copy had any true value. Any more would cheapen it.

Dumbledore gave him a skeptical look, but chose to believe him—for now—and sat down slowly, expression unreadable.

He’d already expected Kyle’s gift to be unusual, but he hadn’t imagined it would be so... unexpected.

The Blood Pact... Dumbledore had never thought he would see that moment again.

Was it a shameful chapter of his past? Or an important memory?

Even Dumbledore wasn’t sure.

He only knew that he’d spent most of his life deliberately avoiding that memory.

After seeing the photo, he even caught himself wondering—should I visit Nurmengard?

Now that he was retired, free from Hogwarts and its obligations, time was no longer an issue...

But the thought barely formed before Dumbledore snuffed it out.

No. I can’t go.

Grindelwald wasn’t Voldemort.

Dumbledore’s mind was in disarray. He’d originally meant to discuss a few other things with Kyle, but now... he no longer felt up to it.

He didn’t even notice that Kyle had tiptoed out of the office—taking Fawkes with him on the way out.

Phoenixes grew fast. In just a few days, the once-wrinkled little chick had regrown brilliant red feathers, and was now about the size of a common owl.

And since the feathers were newly grown, they were soft and fluffy to the touch—extremely pleasant to handle.

“Let’s go, Fawkes,” Kyle said, extending a hand. “Time for something tasty. The new mandrakes are ripe—the leaves are tender. You’ll love them.”

Fawkes didn’t hesitate. Without so much as a glance back at Dumbledore, he leapt decisively onto Kyle’s shoulder and followed him out of the Headmaster’s office.

...

As Kyle stepped off the revolving staircase, he was greeted by a sea of people outside.

Sprout, Flitwick, Snape, Slughorn, Sinistra... nearly every professor was present—except for a certain ghost.

Kyle even spotted Professor Babbling from Ancient Runes. She rarely appeared at school outside of class, yet here she was.

Alongside them stood Amelia Bones, Scrimgeour, Madam Maxime, and a representative from The Daily Prophet.

They all had questions—plenty of them—and were eager to speak to Dumbledore. The only reason they hadn’t flooded the office already was because one person was holding them back.

“Professor McGonagall… ah—no, Headmistress McGonagall.”

Kyle looked at the woman standing at the front and said, “Thank you for your trust. Mr. Dumbledore is inside, waiting. I’m sure he’ll be able to give you all the answers you’re looking for.”

“Just call me Professor. ‘Headmistress’ still sounds strange,” Professor McGonagall said, shaking her head. “And I’ll still be teaching Transfiguration, so there’s no issue sticking with ‘Professor.’”

“All right then, Professor McGonagall,” Kyle said, adjusting easily.

He’d already graduated—whether she was professor or headmistress didn’t really matter to him.

McGonagall nodded and said no more. She strode toward the revolving staircase, and the rest of the professors followed behind her.

All except one.

Snape remained in place, staring at Kyle with a complicated expression.

“You really are something,” he said, voice laced with familiar sarcasm. “All these people—professors, ministers, headmasters—wanted to speak with Dumbledore, and somehow you got in first.”

“Maybe I just arrived early,” Kyle shrugged. “Professor Snape, if youʼre quicker next time, maybe youʼll be first.”

“Next time?” Snape arched a brow. There would be a next time?

Kyle didn’t explain. He hadn’t meant anything by it—just polite small talk—and was about to leave.

But Snape didn’t seem inclined to let him go.

“What did you two talk about?” he asked bluntly, stepping into Kyle’s path. “Or rather—what are you planning to do to Draco? He’s a marginal figure. He can’t possibly be of much use to you.”

“Draco Malfoy?” Kyle blinked, then suddenly smacked his thigh.

Right—he’d promised Malfoy he’d try to find a way to get him back into Hogwarts.

And then, in the chaos, he’d completely forgotten.

Kyle felt a pang of guilt—for about one second.

Honestly, if it hadn’t been for the lead Malfoy gave him, he’d never have found Cornwall, let alone rescued Alastor Moody along the way.

Even his later trip to the Hebrides had happened because he’d spotted Lucius Malfoy in Diagon Alley.

Whether intentional or not, Malfoy had helped him. And yet Kyle had forgotten all about his promise to Draco.

Maybe I should go back and talk to Dumbledore while I’m still here…

He glanced over his shoulder.

Forget it. At least twenty people had gone in just now. If he wanted to speak to Dumbledore now, he’d probably have to queue.

I should’ve waited a little longer… Kyle sighed.

Then another thought hit him: Dumbledore wasn’t the Headmaster anymore. Whether Malfoy could return to Hogwarts was no longer his call.

That decision would be up to the new Headmistress.

So, he might as well go find Professor McGonagall. Whether it worked out or not, at least he could say he’d kept his word.

...

Watching Kyle sigh and shake his head without even acknowledging him, the vein on Snape’s forehead throbbed visibly.

He had disliked Kyle from the moment they met. Over the years, he’d even warmed up to Harry a little—but his dislike for Kyle had only grown stronger with time.

And, as it turned out, not without reason.

“I’m speaking to you,” Snape said, his voice like ice, every word forced through clenched teeth.

“Huh?”

“Oh, sorry, Professor—I got distracted!”

Kyle turned around as if only just noticing him. “No offense, but you really are underestimating Malfoy. He’s been a lot more helpful than you think.”

Snape frowned. “Tell me everything. Now.”

“I’m going to have to decline,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “Like I told you before, my answer hasn’t changed.”

“What did you say?” Snape stepped forward. “Do you have any idea—I’m Draco’s godfather. I’m responsible for his safety. I have the right to know what he’s involved in!”

“I know. You’ve already said that,” Kyle replied, calmly meeting his eyes. “And I’m still saying no.”

”Let’s not get worked up, Professor Snape,” Kyle said calmly. ”This was Draco’s choice. He’s of age—he can decide for himself. And honestly, if he wants out of the life heʼs stuck in, this might be his only way.”

“He could go to Dumbledore,” Snape said coldly.

“Then why haven’t Lucius or Narcissa done that?” Kyle smiled faintly. “You tried. It didn’t work, did it?”

Snape’s face darkened further.

“Thought so,” Kyle said. “The Dark Lord might ignore a lot of things, but Dumbledore isn’t one of them. Going to him now is too risky. The Malfoys aren’t fools—they can’t, and they won’t, take that chance.”

“You underestimate yourself,” Snape said suddenly, voice oddly flat.

Kyle paused for a beat, then carried on as if he hadn’t heard.

“Professor, like I said, there’s no point in pushing me. I’m not hiding anything out of malice—but Draco has already taken the first step. The fewer people who know, the safer he is.”

He added, “In fact, just telling you this much has already increased the risk to him.”

“You—” Snape started to speak, but then his pupils contracted sharply.

That last line stuck with him.

Secrecy to keep Draco safe—that part made sense. But why would telling him make it more dangerous?

The greatest threat to Draco Malfoy was, of course, Voldemort.

But a Hogwarts professor knowing a few things shouldn’t matter—Voldemort wasn’t about to storm the school. And if he ever did, any secrets would be irrelevant by then.

Which meant… only someone close to Voldemort could be a risk.

Snape’s gaze flickered. A long-held suspicion surfaced once more.

What exactly does Kyle know?

Did Dumbledore tell him something?

He shouldn’t have… right? Snape thought uneasily.

His work as a spy in Voldemort’s inner circle was top secret. Other than Dumbledore, no one else knew.

Dumbledore had sworn he’d never tell another soul.

But then—what had Kyle meant by that? Could he really know nothing?

Snape wanted to believe it was all a coincidence. But years of undercover work had taught him never to rely on coincidence.

...

Across from him, Kyle scratched his head, puzzled by Snape’s sudden silence and shifting expression.

What the heck? He was fine a second ago. Now he’s gone quiet—and pale.

Snape now looked exactly like Dumbledore had when shown the Blood Pact photo… except Kyle hadn’t given him any photo.

Instinctively, Kyle took a cautious step back, widening the distance between them.

Better safe than sorry—Snape wasn’t Dumbledore. If he suddenly snapped, Kyle needed space to bolt.

After a long inner struggle, Snape finally seemed to make a decision. He said nothing more, gave Kyle one last look, and turned to leave.

He needed to speak with Dumbledore.

If Dumbledore really had told Kyle about his identity, then all bets were off.

Snape’s undercover status was his absolute bottom line. He might have agreed to help Dumbledore, but no one else was allowed to know—not without his permission.

And certainly not someone like Kyle.

“Professor, wait!”

Seeing Snape about to leave, Kyle quickly called after him.

“What now?” Snape turned back, icy as ever.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Kyle said with a friendly smile. “Just—remember that shelf you broke a while back? I wanted to ask about that… you know, the compensation we agreed on?”

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Of course, I’m not trying to rush you,” Kyle added quickly. “I know everyone’s busy, but since we’re both here, I figured… why not settle it now?”

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together meaningfully—clear as day: pay up.

“Hah…” Snape chuckled. Not his usual cold sneer, but an actual laugh.

“If it’s compensation you’re after—I already paid.”

“You did?” Kyle blinked.

Snape may have been unpleasant, morally dubious, greasy-haired, perpetually grim, and always dressed in that awful black robe—but he didn’t lie about this sort of thing.

And he had no reason to.

As a renowned Potions Master, a few hundred Galleons were nothing to him. If he hadn’t wanted to pay, he would’ve said so to Kyle’s face.

But… Kyle hadn’t received any money.

Could it be Snape brought the payment to the shop while I was away on the Hebrides?

No way. That’s not his style.

Kyle knew Snape almost as well as he knew himself.

If their roles were reversed—if Kyle were the one paying—he definitely wouldn’t have done it quietly. He’d have turned the Galleons into a sack of Knuts at the very least. Might’ve added a sarcastic note too.

“I can guarantee I paid every Galleon—and not a single Knut short,” Snape said, watching Kyle’s contemplative face with evident amusement. He was even smiling—genuinely, if smugly.

“As for whether you ever receive it… well, that’s your problem.”

With that, he turned his back on Kyle and stepped onto the spiral staircase to the Headmaster’s office.