Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 912: Dumbledore’s Inherited Pettiness

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, but inside the Hogwarts Great Hall, the atmosphere was heavy with an indescribable weight.

Everyone was dressed in formal robes, eating breakfast in complete silence. No one spoke a word—the vast hall was quieter than the library.

Well, not everyone. Over at the Slytherin table, there was still a bit of hushed whispering—Crabbe and Goyle murmuring to each other.

They’d been released just the day before. The official story was that they’d uncovered Malfoy’s plot, only to be ambushed and knocked unconscious by him at the scene.

Not just the professors—even most of the students could tell they were lying. But Malfoy, loyal to the end, had vouched for them and taken full responsibility.

As a result, they were released—and to some Slytherins, they were even seen as heroes, basking in the glow of exaggerated admiration.

Of course, after what had happened earlier, they didn’t dare act too cocky.

The last batch of dimwits who tried that were still lying in the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey was a professional through and through. She never tampered with treatments or gave the wrong potion—not even in anger.

But she had been so overwhelmed with grief lately that she no longer had the energy to maintain order in the Hospital Wing.

In the past, the Hospital Wing had to be as quiet as the library—sometimes stricter. Even a whisper could get you thrown out.

Now? Things were different. You could probably play a full game of Quidditch in there and she wouldn’t even blink. The doors were open all day and all night—anyone could come and go freely.

The result? The Slytherins kept getting injured. Just when their bruises were about to heal, they’d show up the next morning swollen all over again.

Snape eventually had to station guards at the infirmary door. But that backfired too—by the next day, those guards were laid up in beds themselves. Madam Pomfrey was so furious she spent the entire day loudly berating Snape for having something seriously wrong with his head.

After that, the Slytherins toned it down. Even if they wanted to celebrate, they could only sneak in a smile when no one was watching.

...

After breakfast, everyone left the castle in an orderly procession under Professor McGonagall’s direction.

The funeral was being held beside the Black Lake, at a clearing where hundreds of chairs had been arranged the day before.

The guests who had arrived early were already seated. At the front sat Professor McGonagall, the Minister of Magic, Scrimgeour, and several other high-ranking officials.

Chris was there again. Even though he already knew the truth, no one else did. As a former student and a Department Head at the Ministry, skipping the event would have seemed grossly disrespectful.

Whether representing the Ministry, honoring his identity as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, or simply to avoid exposing Dumbledore’s plan, he had to be there—to keep up appearances.

Kyle also spotted Aberforth among the crowd... sitting there with a miserable expression, as if Dumbledore really had died.

Or maybe... he was just bitter that it wasn’t real.

Aberforth probably knew the truth. After all, if Dumbledore couldn’t hide it from anyone, he certainly couldn’t hide it from Ariana.

And since Ariana had always favored Aberforth as her favorite brother, Kyle didn’t believe for a second that he hadn’t been told.

Kyle glanced toward a corner near the back, where an old witch stood alone, apart from the crowd.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Kyle said, walking over. “Has the Department of Mysteries run out of things to do?”

“No, let’s just say I have,” Ariana replied with a smile. “Thanks to you, I’ve been working in the Department of Mysteries for nearly a hundred years now. I still remember when Diana first joined—she got herself into some kind of trouble almost every single day.”

“Oh, and she’s the Department Head now, by the way.”

“Got it,” Kyle nodded.

Seniority really was everything. Just like Professor Marchbanks—officially the Head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority, but even the Minister would jog over to greet her with respect.

Ariana’s status in the Department of Mysteries was probably just as untouchable.

“No matter how stiff they are, no one’s going to scold a witch over a hundred years old,” Ariana said. She glanced at the growing crowd taking their seats, and her expression shifted subtly.

“So this is what it feels like...”

“What?”

“What Albus must’ve felt back in Godric’s Hollow,” Ariana said with a wry smile. “I suppose attending his funeral evens things out.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

Was this what they called... Dumbledore’s inherited pettiness?

Ariana didn’t stay long—perhaps afraid she’d burst out laughing. Once everyone had settled in and Hagrid emerged from the castle carrying something in his arms, she quietly slipped away.

Only Aberforth, lost in his own theatrical performance, remained seated, sobbing.

Kyle honestly felt like giving him an award for Best in Character. Forget the Death Eaters—even he felt like rushing back to the garden just to make sure Dumbledore hadn’t actually died.

How could anyone watch Aberforth cry like that and not believe it?

Up front, the short wizard conducting the service was a familiar face—he’d been the one to preside over Alastor Moody’s funeral last time.

Now, it was Dumbledore’s turn.

Kyle couldn’t help but wonder—when those two showed up at the same time, what kind of expression would be on his face? It probably wouldn’t be joy. Hopefully, he’d be able to hold himself together.

Still, after sitting through two fake funerals in a row, Kyle was feeling pretty drained himself. It wasn’t easy keeping a straight face at something like this, especially when laughing was absolutely not an option.

So instead of sitting in the seat Professor McGonagall had arranged for him—far too close to the front, where every movement would draw attention—he simply added a chair for himself in the very last row.

Beside him sat Grawp, Hagrid’s brother, a giant clad in a jacket and trousers the size of a tent... A giant wearing clothes was surprising enough on its own.

Maybe it was the outfit, but his massive, lumpy head—like a grotesque boulder—actually seemed to carry a hint of gentleness.

When Hagrid came back, sobbing, Grawp even reached out and patted him sympathetically on the shoulder.

By Merlin’s beard... Kyle had never imagined he’d witness genuine empathy from a giant.

Of course, Grawp’s comforting gesture came with weight—literally. The legs of Hagrid’s chair sank straight into the ground, and the man himself nearly toppled over.

Kyle barely managed to stifle a laugh, lowering his head as his shoulders shook.

Thankfully, the motion looked enough like sobbing that no one gave him a second glance.

He had no idea how much time had passed before the short wizard finally finished speaking. Then, the Phoenix’s mournful song rang out once again, casting an even deeper sorrow over the already solemn occasion.

After that, the merpeople began to rise from the lake and sing, while the centaurs emerged from the Forbidden Forest and loosed volleys of arrows into the sky.

It was quite the spectacle... That Death Eater had received a send-off fit for a hero.

A pity, really. That kind of honor should’ve gone to Crabbe or Goyle. Wonder if they were feeling any regret about it.

“Kyle.”

Hearing someone call his name, Kyle looked up and saw Scrimgeour approaching. But Chris moved faster, appearing in front of Kyle before the Minister could reach him.

“Sorry, Rufus,” Chris said. “Diana has a few things she needs to go over with Kyle. Mind waiting a moment?”

“Of course. It’s only proper,” Scrimgeour replied.

He had no reason to refuse. Chris was Kyle’s father, after all—no one was going to argue with that.

“Thanks,” Chris said, leading Kyle a few steps away from the others.

“There are people in the Ministry who suspect you killed Dumbledore,” Chris said quietly.

“Me?” Kyle looked up, pointing at himself. “...Killed Dumbledore?”

“Who’s saying that?”

“No idea,” Chris said, shaking his head. “It just started circulating out of nowhere. Not just inside the Ministry—even people outside are talking.”

“What’s the reason? Why would I even do that?”

“There is no reason,” Chris replied. “Which is the weird part. It’s like someone’s deliberately trying to pin everything on you—to turn you into the next enemy of the wizarding world.”

“Got it. Sounds like something those Death Eaters hiding in the Ministry would cook up.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re aware,” Chris said. “I came to warn you: no matter what happens, don’t leave Hogwarts. Not if that person is still around.”

“Why would I leave?” Kyle let out a short laugh. “Do the Death Eaters really think this kind of thing is enough to turn me into a public enemy? They’re underestimating everyone far too much.”

“The professors saw Malfoy kill Dumbledore with their own eyes. That carries a lot more weight than some baseless gossip.”

“Wait—Scrimgeour doesn’t actually believe it, does he?” Kyle suddenly remembered the Auror’s behavior from earlier.

“I’m not sure,” Chris admitted. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up so you’re not caught off guard.”

“All right,” Kyle said, amused. “Didn’t think I’d get the same treatment as Harry... Should I be flattered?”

“Anyway, once this is over, I’m heading back,” Chris said.

“Be careful,” Kyle warned. “I’m worried the Dark Lord might go after you and Mum.”

“He’s already tried more than once,” Chris said, spreading his hands. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing lately, but I’ve definitely run into more Death Eaters than usual.”

“Don’t worry—when it comes to dealing with the Dark Lord and Death Eaters, your mum and I have more experience than you do. Worst-case scenario, I’ll just hole up in the Department of Mysteries.”

“Mm.” Kyle nodded.

“But honestly, I don’t think it’ll come to that,” Chris went on. “Now that Dumbledore’s dead, the Dark Lord will probably set his sights on Hogwarts. He’s coming for you directly.”

“Sounds about right,” Kyle said.

“All right. As long as you’re prepared,” Chris said, leaving it at that. “Those rumors may just be noise, but they could still cause problems. Keep your guard up.”

“And if Scrimgeour says anything unpleasant... well, just handle it however you see fit. The man is good at catching Death Eaters.”

He gave Kyle a pat on the shoulder, then turned and left Hogwarts.

Immediately after, Rufus Scrimgeour stepped forward.

“Someone’s targeting you!”

The opening line was nearly identical to Chris’s, and for a second, Kyle felt a little disoriented.

So Scrimgeour wasn’t here to interrogate him?

“Chris already mentioned it to you, didn’t he?” Scrimgeour asked. “About the rumors.”

“Yes,” Kyle nodded. “Someone’s claiming I killed Dumbledore.”

“Don’t worry, kid—no one’s going to believe that,” Scrimgeour said. “The Minister and the rest of us don’t buy it. We all know how close you were to Dumbledore.”

As if to reinforce his words, the phoenix—having completed its ceremonial flight—landed naturally on Kyle’s shoulder.

Scrimgeour’s eyes flickered for a moment.

“Thank you for your trust, Director Scrimgeour. I won’t let the gossip get to me,” Kyle said.

“I’m sorry, but I really should go find Professor McGonagall. The school can’t stay closed forever—some decisions need to be made.”

“One moment,” Scrimgeour said, stepping in front of him. “Just one more question. About Mr. Dumbledore.”

“What is it?”

“Well... did he leave anything behind?” Scrimgeour’s eyes drifted to the phoenix again—intentionally or not.

“I mean, for someone as wise as Mr. Dumbledore, I imagine he must’ve made preparations in advance. Contingencies. Or even... unfinished business.”

“Oh?” Kyle gave Scrimgeour a quick glance.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Director, but I really have no idea whether Professor Dumbledore made any plans or left anything behind.”

His expression remained neutral. “Why not ask Professor McGonagall? She’s the Headmistress now—she’d surely know more than I do.”

“Right,” Scrimgeour muttered, frowning. For a split second, something flickered across his face, but it vanished just as quickly.

“But I heard you were the first one there—at the scene,” he said.

“I was,” Kyle replied without hesitation. “The other professors arrived shortly after.”

“Exactly, but you were still faster,” Scrimgeour said, his tone sharpening slightly. “From what I’ve been told, they rushed there the moment they heard something—but you still beat them.”

“No offense, but how could you be faster than a group of professors?”

“Because I had a broom,” Kyle said matter-of-factly. “At the time, I was tuning up my Firebolt—the fastest broom available. So of course I got to the tower first. That’s perfectly normal, isn’t it?”

“And why were you maintaining your broom?”

“Because of the Quidditch match,” Kyle said automatically. “Got a little nostalgic about flying, figured I’d take it out and relive a few memories. It ended up coming in handy.”

“Then—”

“Director Scrimgeour,” Kyle cut in, “do you still think I killed Professor Dumbledore?”

“No. That’s the one thing I’m absolutely sure about,” Scrimgeour said, shaking his head. “But I do want to know—what happened in that tower before the others got there?

“There were only three of you, right? After what Malfoy did... you just took his wand? You didn’t kill him?”

“Huh?”

Kyle was momentarily at a loss. What does he mean, ‘didn’t kill Malfoy’? Is that really how the Aurors see me?

“And,” Scrimgeour went on, ignoring Kyle’s reaction as he glanced again at Fawkes, “he seems to have left you a rather generous inheritance. A phoenix... not exactly something you see every day in the wizarding world.”

“Fawkes isn’t an inheritance,” Kyle corrected. “To be precise, he never belonged to Dumbledore. Like you and me, he’s a free being—he can go wherever he wants, whenever he wants.”

“Fine. But Malfoy—he killed Dumbledore. And you’re not even angry?

“You weren’t nearly this calm back in Godric’s Hollow.”

To be fair, Scrimgeour was remarkably sharp. He was just speculating, but he’d already sensed several inconsistencies.

The timing and Malfoy’s condition were indeed weak points in the plan.

If this hadn’t been a prearranged setup—if it had all been real—there was no way Malfoy would’ve walked out of that tower. In fact, it would’ve been a miracle if there was enough left of him to carry out.

Kyle rubbed his fingers together, thinking. Dumbledore really should’ve discussed this with me beforehand, instead of deciding on a whim and springing such a massive “surprise.”

With his input, at least, the plan wouldn’t have been riddled with so many obvious flaws.

“Because this is Hogwarts. Neither Dumbledore nor Professor McGonagall would ever permit me to kill a student.”

“Even if that student is a Death Eater?”

“He’s still a student,” Kyle replied calmly.

“Director Scrimgeour, I really did just arrive a little earlier than the other professors. If you break it down, I was ahead by no more than the time it takes to cast a single spell.”

“If you still don’t believe me, why not ask Malfoy yourself? He should be able to tell you the full truth—and probably in a way that’s even more convincing than anything I could say.”

Scrimgeour didn’t respond. He simply stared into Kyle’s eyes, as though trying to gauge how much of his story to believe.

“Of course,” Kyle continued, “if the Ministry is running low on Veritaserum, I’d be happy to recommend Professor Slughorn from Potions. I’m sure he could help you out.”

“No need. We have plenty,” Scrimgeour said.

Maybe the goodwill earned from tens of thousands of Galleons’ worth of favors had paid off. Though he hadn’t gotten the answers he wanted, Scrimgeour didn’t lash out. He kept his tone relatively civil.

“I hope we’ll continue to work together in the future.”

“We certainly will,” Kyle said. “Things are only going to get more dangerous for the wizarding world. The only chance of defeating the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who lies in a united front between Hogwarts and the Ministry.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Scrimgeour said with a faint smile.

“No—it’s not just me,” Kyle added. “Headmistress McGonagall and all the professors feel the same. We’ve always stood on the same side.”

He deliberately stressed the word Minister as he continued, “I hope you’ll pass that along to Minister Bones.”

“I will.”

Scrimgeour’s expression darkened slightly, and he said nothing more. With a stiff nod, he turned and walked away.

Kyle didn’t know whether he would actually go speak to Malfoy—but it didn’t matter either way.

There was no way he and Dumbledore would’ve left such an obvious hole in their story. Kyle hadn’t even lifted a wand—Dumbledore had handled everything himself.

Even if Scrimgeour poured a whole pint of Veritaserum down Malfoy’s throat, the answer would be exactly the same.