Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 972: Rosier’s Efficiency

Kyle didn’t bother judging whether Hogwarts or Beauxbatons was more impressive, but he truly disliked the way Rosier, Grindelwald, and their ilk conducted themselves.

They showed up unannounced, criticized everything, and acted as if Hogwarts was inferior to the schools they’d attended.

If Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were so exceptional, then why hadn’t they won the last Triwizard Tournament?

Did they just not like trying?

“Are you thinking something rather rude?” Rosier looked at him suddenly and asked.

“No, of course not!” Kyle denied at once. “I was just thinking about the exams. You know how important N.E.W.T. results are to every witch and wizard.”

“And as a responsible professor, it’s only natural to be concerned.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely.”

Rosier gave him another look.

She didn’t believe a word, but didn’t bother arguing.

“The item,” she said, holding out her hand. “You know what I came for. Don’t disappoint me.”

“It’s ready.” Kyle pulled out the photo album he always carried and handed it to Rosier.

She reflexively reached out to open it.

“I’d advise you not to do that,” Kyle said, pressing his hand lightly on the album. “It’s for your own good. What’s inside isn’t something Grindelwald would want a third party seeing—not even someone as loyal as you.

“If you’re worried about safety, you don’t need to be. I’m not dumb enough to think a single photo album could bring Grindelwald down.”

Rosier said nothing.

Neither did Kyle.

In truth, he wasn’t applying much force. If Rosier had wanted to pull it away, she easily could’ve—but she didn’t.

After a brief standoff, Rosier smiled.

“Fine. I’ll take your advice.”

She slipped the album into a small handbag, then looked up.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink? Leaving a lady nearly a hundred years old standing outside in the courtyard like this—how ungentlemanly.”

“Oh, my mistake.” Kyle stepped aside slightly and held out a hand. “Madam Rosier, may I invite you to lunch?”

“I’d be delighted.” Rosier took his hand and stepped forward.

“Where are we going?”

“Hogsmeade,” Kyle said. “Madam Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks makes excellent scones, and her homemade orange marmalade isn’t bad either.”

“No need to go so far.” Rosier glanced back toward the castle. “I’ve heard Hogwarts food has its own charm—made by House-elves, isn’t it? I’d like to try it.”

“It’s honestly not that special. Fairly average, really,” Kyle said offhandedly. “Besides, today’s a big day—N.E.W.T. exams are underway. Probably best for strangers to stay clear of the castle.”

“And what if I insisted on going?” Rosier narrowed her eyes slightly.

“You could…” Kyle replied calmly. “But show up now, and you’ll likely be mistaken for some shady witch trying to help students cheat. And if youʼre not careful, you might end up being dragged off to the dungeons by the professors. That would be a bit awkward.”

“Especially since Hogwartsʼ dungeons haven’t been used in ages. The conditions are rather poor.”

“And would that professor be you?”

“Who knows.” Kyle shrugged. “Could be me. Could be someone else.”

“Forget it then. Since the students are testing, I won’t get in their way.” Rosier gave a light laugh, turned, and started walking toward the school gates.

Kyle followed after her.

They arrived at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. With the school in the middle of exams, the place was nearly empty—only two wizards sat at the bar, quietly chatting over drinks.

Rosier picked a table by the window and sat down, glancing out at the quiet street beyond.

“Is it safe to talk here?” she asked softly. “I don’t want to cause him any trouble.”

“It’s fine.” Kyle waved his wand casually.

“And even if you shouted that Grindelwald was coming here, no one would believe you. They’d just think you were drunk.”

“True enough.” Rosier chuckled to herself. The younger generation of wizards probably didn’t even know who Grindelwald was anymore.

If not for Dumbledore...

Rosier abruptly shook her head, brushing the thought aside.

Just then, Madam Rosmerta arrived with their order.

Two plates of orange marmalade scones, a bottle of Butterbeer, and a glass of wine.

“I don’t know your preferences,” Kyle said, “but since you studied at Beauxbatons, I figured you’d appreciate wine.”

“A clever boy.” Rosier raised the glass and took a small sip.

The taste was nothing special—but considering they were in Britain, she was prepared to tolerate it.

British wizards preferred Firewhisky and Butterbeer. Wine didn’t sell well here.

She tried a bite of the scone... It was, surprisingly, quite good. At least on that point, Kyle hadn’t lied.

“Now tell me about your plan... regarding those after the Horcruxes.” Rosier set her utensils down after just a few bites.

“What kind of help do you need from me? Or if you’d prefer, I could help you draft a plan myself. It’s hardly a bother.”

“We don’t need one yet,” Kyle replied, shaking his head. “If no one’s after the Horcruxes, there’s no need to act.”

“Do you really believe that?” Rosier swirled her wine glass thoughtfully.

“I did some digging these past few days. News about the Horcruxes has already begun spreading through Britain.”

“But we haven’t heard a thing.”

“That’s because you’ve been at Hogwarts,” Rosier said with a short laugh. “If you’d step outside this castle and visit some of the rat holes out there, you’d come to a very different conclusion.”

Kyle frowned.

Now that she mentioned it... he really hadn’t left Hogwarts in quite a while.

And when Rosier said “rat holes,” one name sprang to mind—

Mundungus.

That misfit member of the Order of the Phoenix had provided plenty of intel—stuff you’d never hear at Hogwarts or the Ministry.

But Mundungus had probably realized no one liked him. After Dumbledore’s funeral, he’d all but disappeared.

No wonder Kyle felt like something had been missing.

It was the lack of black market intelligence.

No wonder Dumbledore had wanted him in the Order.

“But how do you know all this?” Kyle asked, frowning.

“Is it really that hard?” Rosier chuckled softly. “I just spent two days looking around, and that was enough to figure out most of what I needed.”

“What exactly do you know?”

“I need a set of British robes,” Rosier replied, eyeing him. “Your food and wine may be absolutely dreadful, but your robe-making craft isn’t bad. The ones I brought are a bit outdated.”

“No problem,” Kyle replied without hesitation. “Gladrags Wizardwear has the most up-to-date designs. It’s right across the street.”

“I trust your taste.” Rosier took another small sip of wine.

“To start with—there were two people who leaked the information, both members of the Wizengamot who attended the hearing a few days ago.”

“But you don’t need to worry,” she continued. “Probably due to the recently ended war, most of the wizards who were powerful or ambitious enough to go after the Horcruxes died at Hogwarts. That’s why the news hasn’t stirred much reaction in Britain.”

“But in other countries, it’s caused quite a commotion.”

“That’s good.” Kyle let out a breath of relief. As long as trouble didn’t show up at his doorstep, he didn’t care what happened elsewhere—nor was it his business to intervene.

“You really are different from Dumbledore,” Rosier said suddenly, looking at him.

“Professor Dumbledore always took on too much. I have no desire to tire myself out like that,” Kyle replied.

“But this isn’t something you can just ignore,” Rosier said. “After all, Voldemort was British. Whether they’re looking for clues or chasing some other purpose, they’re going to come here eventually.”

She leaned in slightly. “But for a small price, I could deal with them for you. What do you think?”

“No need,” Kyle said, turning her down without hesitation.

Rosier wasn’t like Grindelwald—whatever price she asked wouldn’t be easy to pay.

Besides, it was just a few foreign wizards. The Auror Office of the Ministry of Magic wasn’t just for show.

“What a pity,” Rosier murmured.

“What else do you know?” Kyle pressed. “Grindelwald sent you to help—surely you didn’t come all this way just to deliver a few truthful words.”

“I paid you already, remember?” He gestured toward Rosier’s handbag, indicating the photo album—that was the payment he’d offered Grindelwald.

“Of course it’s not that simple,” Rosier said as she sliced a bit of her scone. “While you were still at school playing pretend with your little wizards, I already found the main culprit behind all this.”

“Who was it?”

“Funny enough, it’s an old acquaintance of yours,” Rosier said thoughtfully. “He once worked with others to strip Dumbledore of his title as Chief Warlock of the International Confederation of Wizards.”

“Not that it matters anymore. Even if you wanted to find him now, you couldn’t.”

“He ran?”

“Do you think I’d let him run?” Rosier laughed, clearly pleased with herself.

“You killed him...”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Rosier flicked a strand of hair back. “How pitiful the International Confederation of Wizards has become. For someone that weak, arrogant, and deluded to have had the authority to judge Dumbledore—it’s laughable.”

“So?” she said. “Wouldn’t you say I’ve shown my sincerity?”

“I wouldn’t.” Kyle looked up. “Did you kill him out of sincerity? Or because Grindelwald ordered it?”

Grindelwald wasn’t the kind to let someone who had wronged Dumbledore walk away.

“Our goals align, don’t they?” Rosier smiled. “And don’t worry—I found him in Hungary, not Britain. Ever since I arrived here, I’ve been very careful to follow Wizarding Law.”

Kyle took a sip of Butterbeer.

To be honest, he’d never expected this to tie back to the International Confederation of Wizards.

But thinking about it, maybe it wasn’t so surprising. There had always been something suspicious about the way Dumbledore was removed from office.

Voldemort’s power and influence had been mostly confined to Britain. Even neighboring France barely reacted to his return—they hardly took it seriously.

When Dumbledore announced Voldemort’s return, Fudge made a scene and that was it. Why did the International Confederation of Wizards feel the need to get involved, even going so far as to strip Dumbledore of his title?

What did Voldemort’s status have to do with them?

As for the idea they were helping Fudge—utter nonsense. He was a Minister of Magic whose position depended on Dumbledore’s support. He didn’t have the clout to get the International Confederation of Wizards to cooperate with him.

So someone else must’ve been taking the opportunity to target Dumbledore.

Of course, thinking about it now felt pointless.

Dumbledore had never cared—he could treat it as if nothing had happened. But Grindelwald? Grindelwald never forgot a slight.

Kyle glanced again at Rosier.

“You figured all this out in just a few days?”

It had only been shortly before the exams that he’d met Grindelwald and agreed to this plan.

And now, just a few days later, the informants, the instigators, and the international response to the Horcruxes were all laid bare in front of him.

That level of efficiency was almost unreal.

“Is it really that difficult?” Rosier rested her chin lightly on her fingers. “This whole matter isn’t nearly as complicated as you think. Everything leaves a trail—at most, itʼs just a bit of a hassle.”

“Luckily, we’re quite good at handling these kinds of things. Add in a few insignificant coincidences… If I’d had more people available, I could’ve come to you even sooner.”

As she spoke, Kyle kept his eyes fixed on her.

He could believe there were traces to follow, and that they were good at this sort of work—none of that was surprising. But to believe everything she said? Not a chance.

Especially that bit about a “few insignificant coincidences.”

Kyle strongly suspected that Rosier had initially acted under Grindelwald’s orders—sent to eliminate the wizard who had once opposed Dumbledore—and had only stumbled across the Horcrux connection during the process.

Of course, it was just speculation. Maybe Rosier really was that competent.

“So, can you tell me your plan now?” Rosier asked, pressing again.

“Do you want me to take care of those people planning to come to Britain? I’ve had seventy years of rest—I quite enjoy giving myself something to do.”

“Or you could just ask for a list. Given our past cooperation, I’d even offer you a very generous discount.”

“No need,” Kyle replied after a moment of silence. “I don’t plan on killing them. At least, not for now. Besides, I’ve already paid you—I don’t owe anything more.”

“But the list wasn’t part of the agreement.”

“Then I don’t need the list,” Kyle said. “I’ll have someone spread the news later. All you need to do is cooperate and help guide them into the forest where Nurmengard is. That shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“You’re not worried any will slip through the cracks?”

“No,” Kyle said calmly. “In fact, I want them to.”

Rosier hadn’t expected that answer. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond.

He wants the ones who slip through the cracks… She couldnʼt quite understand what Kyle meant by that.