Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

"Who are you?!"

"Who are you?"

Deep in the mountains, Kyle had barely landed when he came face-to-face with an old wizard with a head of white hair. The two of them raised their wands at each other almost simultaneously.

"Miles MacFusty," the old wizard spoke first with a sneer. "Don't pretend. You're here for me, aren't you? I just didn't expect you to be bold enough to follow me in—and to find this place so quickly."

As he spoke, his wand lit up.

"MacFusty?" Kyle froze for a second. He blocked the incoming red light with a Shield Charm and said, "I think you've misunderstood. I'm not a Death Eater."

To be honest, this old wizard was kind of weak.

Kyle eyed the unmoving silver shield and muttered to himself.

Based on what he'd overheard from the conversation between Voldemort and the Death Eaters, he was fairly certain that this Miles was either the head of the MacFusty family or at least someone high up.

Death Eaters didn't strike deals with low-level flunkies.

Kyle instinctively assumed this Miles was on par with Drols, the captain of the dragon keepers at the Dragon Reserve.

But that spell just now… it was so weak. That level was barely on par with your average cannon-fodder Death Eater. Was this guy a fake?

"Such a pathetic lie."

Before Kyle could respond, the frail-looking old wizard cut in.

He was surprisingly hot-tempered. Seeing that his spell hadn't worked, he took two steps back, put his fingers to his mouth, and let out a piercing whistle.

A furious roar echoed from the cave behind him, accompanied by a flash of orange-red light.

Kyle knew that light all too well.

Dragonfire!

He took off running.

The dragonfire grazed his robes and, in the blink of an eye, incinerated a tree behind him into charcoal.

A pitch-black dragon crawled out of the cave, nearly thirty feet long, radiating a terrifying presence.

"You're not here for the Black Dragon? Then why are you running?" Miles asked coldly.

"I told you, I'm not a Death Eater!" Kyle tried reasoning with him, but it was no use. The man was convinced he was one of Voldemort's people.

Then again, it wasn't exactly surprising. Right now, the only wizards showing up on the Hebrides Islands were Death Eaters. Assuming that made sense.

No helping it, then.

Kyle opened his suitcase.

He wanted to call Norbert out to help him reason with the wizard and the dragon. Maybe then they'd calm down and actually listen.

A Norwegian Ridgeback, second only to the Hungarian Horntail in combat power, was perfect for "reasoning."

The suitcase trembled slightly as it opened, like something huge was about to crawl out.

Kyle glanced down instinctively—he caught a glimpse of shimmering black and three bronze-colored spikes, each over ten inches long.

"I..."

Without a moment's hesitation, the semi-transparent silver shield in front of Kyle expanded and solidified, becoming as sturdy as a real shield.

At the same time, the ground rose up, forming a stone wall.

The next second, the massive creature climbed out of the suitcase—and without any pause, it swung its spiked tail and smashed it into the stone wall.

The hastily-formed barricade didn't last a second before shattering to pieces.

The tail struck the shield with a heavy thud, like a siege cannon slamming into a fortress wall.

Cracks spread across the shield like spiderwebs—but it held.

Good thing he'd reacted quickly. Kyle wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, staring at the Hungarian Horntail in front of him with lingering fear.

He'd clearly called Norbert. Why did this thing come out?

Ever since Kyle had forcibly taken the Basilisk away, he and the Hungarian Horntail had been on bad terms.

These days, he rarely even went into the suitcase—if the Horntail saw him, its tail was coming for him.

That was its unique way of saying hello—basically telling him to hurry up and let the Basilisk out.

"You're dreaming," Kyle said with a slow grin. "I'm not letting you see the Basilisk. If you've got what it takes, kill me and put it back from its deep sleep!"

Kyle wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but the Horntail's jet-black scales seemed to carry a faint red glow.

That threat really worked. Ever since it had decided the Basilisk was a mortal enemy, this hot-headed, stubborn Horntail had made it its mission to fight it.

For the Horntail, forcing the Basilisk into a deep sleep was worse than killing it.

It gave in, thrashing its tail in frustration and turning its head away from Kyle. Seething with rage, it urgently needed something—or someone—to take it out on.

But there were only a few beings nearby. Kyle was off-limits. The other wizard… The Horntail's orange-yellow eyes skipped right over Miles.

That left one clear target: the Hebridean Black Dragon.

Without hesitation, the Horntail pounced on its fellow dragon. Its razor-sharp claws latched onto the Black Dragon's wings. It reared back, opened its jaws, and unleashed a blast of searing dragonfire straight at its opponent's head.

The Hungarian Horntail—infamous for its violent temper and terrifying combat skills—was overwhelmingly dominant over the more reclusive Hebridean Black.

Especially Kyle's Horntail, who'd nearly torn apart three adult dragons just a few months ago.

The Hebridean Black didn't stand a chance. In no time, its scales were falling like rain, ripped off one after another by the Horntail.

Miles was utterly dumbstruck. He instinctively raised his fingers to his mouth again.

"I'd think twice if I were you," Kyle said from the side. "If you call more dragons, I'll have to bring in reinforcements. And trust me, they'll probably get beaten to death."

"You have more dragons?"

"Yep. And they're all legal," Kyle nodded, pointing at the Horntail, who was now busy playing "scratch tickets" with the Black Dragon's scales. "I've got a whole suitcase full of them."

A suitcase?

Miles finally noticed the briefcase in Kyle's hand—and the Horntail that had just crawled out of it.

A tiny suitcase that could store dragons?

That scene looked way too familiar.

"Wait a second," Miles frowned. "Do you know Mr. Newt Scamander?"

"Of course. This suitcase was a gift from him."

"You killed him?" Miles' voice changed pitch entirely.

"Are you serious? What kind of nonsense are you thinking?" Kyle snapped. "In a way, Mr. Scamander is my teacher. He gave me this suitcase as a birthday present."

Miles blinked and realized—this suitcase was different from the one he remembered.

It was too new. Not nearly as worn out.

"If that's the case, then why did you join the Death Eaters?" Miles demanded angrily. "Mr. Scamander has always been one of the staunchest opponents of dark wizards. As his student, don't you feel ashamed?"

"I already told you—I'm not a Death Eater," Kyle explained again. "I'm with the Order of the Phoenix. You know, the group Professor Dumbledore founded? I stumbled across a Death Eater plot and used Polyjuice Potion to sneak in."

"Albus Dumbledore?"

The greatest of all wizards… Even someone as reclusive as Miles had heard of him.

"And why should I believe you?"

"Believe whatever you want," Kyle said indifferently.

Creeeak…

A jarring, teeth-grinding sound cut through the silence between them.

The Horntail had sunk its teeth into the Hebridean Black's neck. That awful noise was the sound of dragon fangs piercing through scales. At this rate, it wouldn't take long before the Horntail ripped the Black Dragon's throat clean off.

Of course, it wasn't unscathed either.

In its rage, the Horntail had no intention of defending itself. It was fighting recklessly—trading injuries just to land a blow, a classic case of "hurt the enemy a thousand, injure yourself five hundred."

Kyle let out a sigh. To keep the Black Dragon from getting killed, he raised his wand.

Several nearby trees shot up at an unnatural speed, intertwining in mid-air to form a giant hand. It grabbed the Horntail and forcefully stuffed it back into the suitcase.

As it was being pulled away, the Horntail fought back furiously—lunging one last time to tear off a large chunk of flesh.

"In a few days, I'll let you fight the Basilisk for five minutes," Kyle muttered helplessly.

The moment the words left his mouth, the Horntail's violent demeanor vanished without a trace, like it had never been angry at all. It snorted out two small jets of flame and obediently slunk back into the suitcase.

Why does it feel like I've been tricked?

Kyle scratched his head, increasingly convinced that something was off about his Horntail.

Miles, meanwhile, looked on in agony as his Black Dragon—neck gashed, bloodied from head to tail—whimpered in pain. His eyes filled with tears.

"We'd better relocate," Kyle said, snapping the suitcase shut and glancing up at the sky.

"That ruckus was way too loud. The Death Eaters could be on their way—or worse… Him."

Without waiting for Miles to respond, Kyle jumped on his broomstick and shot off into the distance.

The noise the dragons had made just now wasn't subtle. For safety's sake, it was best to move.

If it were just Death Eaters, Kyle wouldn't have minded staying a bit longer to talk—or even helping Miles out. From what he'd said, he clearly knew Newt, and they seemed to be on good terms.

But the problem was, Voldemort himself was here.

There was nothing he could do about that. They were all targets now, and sticking together wouldn't make them any safer. Best to look out for himself.

...

Elsewhere, as he watched Kyle's figure vanish into the distance, Miles hesitated for a moment—then raised his fingers to his mouth and let out an even louder whistle.

Suddenly, the entire mountain range erupted into chaos. Dragon roars echoed in every direction, and plumes of dragonfire shot up like bamboo after the rain.

This was, after all, Hebridean Black territory—no one really knew how many dragons called these mountains home.

But it was certainly no small number.

The thunderous roars made the Death Eaters scouring the mountains freeze in place. If it weren't for Voldemort's terrifying presence, nearly ninety percent of them might've already turned and run.

Elsewhere, a few black dragons swooped down from the skies and lifted the wounded Black Dragon away to safety.

Miles pulled a broomstick from the Mokeskin pouch at his waist and flew after Kyle in the direction he had gone.

Though the MacFusty Clan were as reclusive as the dragons they protected, they hadn't completely cut ties with the outside world. Some members even attended Hogwarts. So it wasn't surprising that Miles owned a broomstick.

Thanks to his familiarity with the mountain terrain, it didn't take long before he located Kyle again—this time in a secluded, hard-to-spot valley.

The scene he stumbled on was a bit odd: Kyle was forcibly pouring a potion down someone's throat.

"You're really with Albus Dumbledore?" Miles walked over and asked.

"You followed me all the way here—don't you have your answer already?" Kyle replied casually, then stuffed the now-unconscious Death Eater, who'd just swallowed the potion, back into the suitcase. "You're not here alone, are you?"

He still remembered how the whole village had been deserted. With that many houses, there was no way only one person lived there.

Miles didn't respond, but Kyle could already tell.

"Here's a bit of advice. If you're all nearby, you'd better relocate—fast. Right now, anywhere on the Hebrides Islands is safer than here."

"What do you mean by that?" Miles frowned.

"It's not something I can explain in a sentence or two," Kyle said, spreading his hands. "Just stay away from me. That way, at least you won't run into You-Know-Who. Of course, running into Death Eaters is inevitable, but you lot... well, the dragons should be able to handle them."

Kyle glanced at him, recalling that feeble spell from earlier, and quickly corrected himself. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that... but seriously, are all of you that weak?"

He really couldn't figure it out. The old wizard didn't look young—so why was he so lacking in magical strength?

"Black Dragons hate magic," Miles muttered vaguely.

By now, he was almost convinced Kyle was telling the truth. If Kyle had wanted to kill him, he could've done it easily—but he hadn't.

And his mannerisms were so similar to Newt's. Miles didn't believe someone Newt valued would ever side with dark wizards.

Even so, out of instinctive caution, he still didn't answer Kyle's earlier question.

He valued the safety of others more than his own life. When he'd stepped out of hiding, he was already prepared to die.

"A brave choice," Kyle said with genuine admiration.

Miles' heart gave a sudden jolt—almost leapt out of his chest.

"You... you can read my mind?"

"No, but it can." Kyle pointed behind him.

There, a large six-legged feline was watching Miles with glowing orange-yellow eyes.

It was the Wampus Cat. It had relayed Miles' thoughts to Kyle.

Anyone with spells as weak as that clearly wasn't capable of Occlumency. The Wampus Cat had seen right through him.

"You should leave," Kyle said again. "Even if your hiding spot isn't nearby, if you're captured, there's no way that secret will stay safe."

"I'll find a way," Miles said. "He won't get anything from me."

"Find a way?" Kyle let out a short, dry laugh.

"Pointless. This is the Dark Lord we're talking about... If he wants something from you, you won't even get the chance to refuse."

Voldemort had undergone multiple dangerous magical transformations. The Killing Curse was just his signature—it certainly wasn't all he had.

Miles said nothing more. He turned and left without hesitation.

Kyle let out a quiet breath of relief.

He'd been worried the old wizard would keep stalling. If he ended up running into Voldemort, then what? Was he supposed to help?

If he didn't help... it was technically because of him that Miles had been exposed. Kyle couldn't help feeling a bit guilty.

But if he did help... that would just be a two-for-one death special.

This way was better.

Kyle stood up and headed in the opposite direction.

"I found him!" a Death Eater nearby shouted, spotting Kyle by chance. He raised his wand to fire the Dark Mark.

But the next second, he met a pair of glowing purple eyes—and collapsed to the ground with a thud.

"Next time, you don't have to knock them out first. Bit of a time-waster."

Kyle darted over, pried the man's mouth open with practiced ease, and poured in a small bottle of red potion. Then he bolted, searching for a spot suitable for Apparition.

The Death Eaters weren't idle either. Under the command of Old Crabbe and Old Goyle, they had been combing the area from afternoon until dusk.

But wandering around this place was like opening a blind box—you never knew when you might bump into a dragon. Those with strong enough magic might barely escape. The weaker ones? Crushed on the spot.

And with all the spells being flung around, the ambient magic had agitated the Black Dragons beyond tolerance. They now saw the intruders as mortal enemies and were leaving their lairs, actively hunting them through the mountains.

That only made the search even slower.

Of course, beyond the dragons' interference, there was another reason the Death Eaters still hadn't found Kyle.

...

"Avada Kedavra!"

On a distant slope, Voldemort—wielding the Elder Wand—effortlessly struck down the fleeing Kyle.

Yet oddly, there wasn't the slightest satisfaction on his face.

When Voldemort approached the body, his expression turned murderous.

As expected—another fake.

He had clearly seen Kyle. But the moment the curse hit, the corpse transformed... into someone else entirely. Judging by the clothes and features, it had been one of his own Death Eaters.