Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

"Mmm, this one's good... and this one too…"

Now that he was back at Hogwarts, Kyle wasn't about to leave empty-handed. At the very least, he was going to snag a free lunch.

He strolled into the Great Hall and sat down casually between Harry and Hermione, digging into the spread in front of him without a care in the world.

As he ate, he glanced sideways at the others.

"Why aren't you eating? Not hungry?" Kyle stabbed the last piece of honey-glazed pork chop with his fork.

"If you're not hungry, I won't hold back."

With that, he took a big bite.

Ron flinched.

He'd been eyeing that pork chop for ages. In just the blink of an eye, it had ended up on Kyle's plate.

That was ridiculously fast.

Also—what was a graduate doing here anyway? Had he come back just to steal their lunch?

"What are you really doing here…" Hermione finally voiced the question on everyone's mind.

"Did something happen with the Death Eaters again?"

"When have Death Eaters ever behaved themselves?" Kyle swallowed his mouthful of steak and chased it with a gulp of pumpkin juice.

"As for why I'm here… didn't I already say? I came to watch the show."

"Watch the show?" Hermione looked even more confused. "But the Minister already left."

Amelia Bones had exited the headmaster's office about twenty minutes ago, hurrying out of Hogwarts with Scrimgeour in tow.

No one knew exactly what they'd discussed with the headmaster, but judging by Bones' calm and composed expression, the conversation had gone smoothly—maybe even resulted in some sort of agreement.

"Exactly," Ron muttered from the side. "The Minister's gone. What show is there left to watch?"

He was still grieving over the pork chop.

"There's definitely something worth watching," Kyle said as he looked up toward the staff table.

Dumbledore wasn't there. Neither was Professor McGonagall.

In fact, the moment Bones and Scrimgeour had left, McGonagall had followed them straight into the headmaster's office.

Dumbledore had tried to walk them out—only to be yanked back inside.

Kyle had stayed behind to see whether he'd need to escort Dumbledore to the Hospital Wing later.

After all, this whole mess had a little something to do with him.

Back when he'd been impersonating Dumbledore, he'd promised Professor McGonagall that he wouldn't touch the Time-Turner—that he'd leave the dangerous part to her.

But he'd gone back on his word.

Granted, he had his reasons, but that didn't mean McGonagall was happy about it.

She was getting on in years, and bottling up anger wasn't good for her health.

So, in the interest of peace—and maybe just a bit of self-preservation—Kyle had decided to give her a better target for her frustration: Dumbledore.

It wasn't hard. All it took was a little redirection.

McGonagall had been at Hogwarts for decades. Nothing set her off more than irresponsible professors who let students take dangerous risks. In her view, if something was risky, the professor should be the one to handle it—no question.

Even though Kyle had already graduated, it had only been a few months ago. To her, he was still a student.

Compared to the unknown dangers of a Time-Turner, Voldemort—an openly declared Dark Lord—was far more serious.

So once Kyle told her he'd encountered Voldemort on the Hebrides Islands, his reckless use of the Time-Turner suddenly didn't seem so important anymore.

Add in Dumbledore's unexplained disappearance, and it became laughably easy to shift the blame—easier than Kyle had anticipated.

As for what would happen to Dumbledore? Kyle didn't really care. He wasn't going to die from it. McGonagall wasn't about to kill him.

He was over a hundred years old—prime age for taking the fall. Besides, it wasn't his first time. A few more knocks would be good exercise.

A three-way win. Everybody benefited.

...

Kyle took another bite of the pork chop, then pulled out a small box and handed it to Harry.

"For me?" Harry blinked in confusion.

"Yep. A gift," Kyle said.

Huh?

Still clueless, Harry instinctively accepted the box and opened it.

Inside was a full case of sweets he had never seen before. Though the Honeydukes logo was printed on the packaging, every single variety was unfamiliar.

"Th-thanks," Harry said. "But… why? Why are you giving me a gift all of a sudden?"

"No particular reason." Kyle wiped his mouth and glanced around. "Let's just say I'm congratulating you in advance for Gryffindor finishing last in the House Cup for the seventh year in a row."

The moment he said it, everyone's faces darkened.

That was brutal. What did he mean, last place for seven straight years? Was that something to celebrate?

But none of them could deny it.

Because of this morning's mass tardiness, Gryffindor had been docked a whopping 300 points—putting them far behind every other house.

Hermione's face turned even gloomier.

Over the years, she'd earned Gryffindor more points than anyone else. But 300 points… on top of the existing deficit? How many questions would she have to answer to make that up?

Even if she used a Stiffening Charm to freeze her arms in the classroom, it probably still wouldn't be enough.

For a while, the Gryffindor table was deathly silent.

"It's all Snape's fault," Ron muttered. "He deducted fifty points from every seventh-year who was late… fifty points each! That's why it added up so fast."

"Seventh-years…" Kyle gave Ron a thoughtful look. "So you all knew Snape's class was next, and still went running off to watch the commotion?"

"Yeah..." Harry admitted, then quickly added, "But we lost track of time!"

"Then you deserved to lose those 300 points," Kyle said coolly. "You know Snape hates Gryffindor, and you were still that curious?"

Harry sighed.

There was one thing he hadn't said. They'd actually been about to head to class—until they ran into Kyle. One conversation led to another, and before they knew it, time had slipped away.

But it wasn't Kyle's fault. He hadn't stopped them from leaving.

After lunch, Harry and the others returned to the common room to prepare for afternoon lessons.

Kyle, bored and with nothing better to do, thought he'd tag along. But whether it was because he'd already graduated or something else, the Fat Lady absolutely refused to let him in.

Even with Kyle standing right beside them, Harry and the others couldn't get through the portrait hole.

"So petty," Kyle muttered. "No wonder your singing's so awful."

"What did you say?!" The Fat Lady had heard him loud and clear. She slammed her face against the inside of the frame, looking like she was ready to break through the canvas.

"Come say that to my face, you tasteless brat... Everyone says my voice is angelic!"

She flailed her arms furiously.

"Ha, the voice of the world's biggest toad—truly a toad's song," Kyle said blandly, arms folded.

"You—what—did—you—say?!"

The Fat Lady erupted. She flailed her arms like she was swimming, furiously trying to hurl herself out of the portrait, her face so distorted with rage it barely looked human.

She was so terrifying that a few nearby first-years were trembling in fear.

"Kyle, we need to go back in and grab our textbooks," Hermione said, rubbing her forehead. She'd never seen the Fat Lady this angry before.

Granted, Kyle hadn't lied—the Fat Lady's singing really was somewhat… punishing.

But still, she was the gatekeeper of the Gryffindor common room. They had no choice but to keep her appeased.

Now, though, completely fixated on giving Kyle a piece of her mind, the Fat Lady had forgotten her job entirely. Over a dozen students were trapped out in the hallway.

"What on earth is going on here?!"

Just as everyone stood frozen and unsure what to do, Professor McGonagall arrived.

"Minerva, perfect timing—" the Fat Lady took a deep breath, ready to report Kyle, "He—"

"She won't let the students into the common room," Kyle cut in smoothly. "Everyone's waiting to get back to their studies, but the Fat Lady is insisting we all listen to her sing instead of opening the door."

"That's not—" the Fat Lady stammered, stunned, "I—"

"Professor McGonagall, this sort of behavior simply can't be allowed," Kyle continued without missing a beat. "Everyone's time is valuable—especially for fifth and seventh years. One extra minute of studying, one more charm learned—it could mean the difference between passing and failing their exams."

"I—"

"How can such precious time be wasted listening to someone sing?"

"I didn't—It's not—"

"She's jeopardizing these young wizards' futures!"

"No, that's not what happened—"

"As a graduate, I must strongly condemn this blatant abuse of authority."

THUD!

It was clear the Fat Lady truly intended to launch herself out of the frame—she tucked her head down and charged.

As expected, she collided with an invisible barrier and collapsed backward with her eyes rolling up, knocked clean out.

The hallway went dead silent.

Most of the students present knew the truth, but none of them had expected it to escalate like this.

It was so bizarre that a few of the younger ones started questioning their own memories. Had they just blacked out?

Professor McGonagall's eye twitched.

Truthfully, from the moment Kyle interrupted the Fat Lady a second time, she'd already had a feeling what was going on.

Whatever had happened, it certainly wasn't what Kyle had just described.

But she hadn't had a chance to speak either. All she could do was watch as the Fat Lady knocked herself unconscious.

Deep breath.

McGonagall forced herself to stay composed.

"The Headmaster wants to see you… If you're not busy, go to his office."

"Oh. Alright." Kyle turned to leave.

"Wait," McGonagall called after him.

"Yes, Professor? Something else?"

"Hogwarts is a school," she said, choosing her words carefully. "You've graduated. If you don't have any business here, it's best you stop coming back."

Kyle stared at her in disbelief.

What was that supposed to mean? When she'd needed him to impersonate Dumbledore, she couldn't wait to tie him down to the castle. And now that the real one was back, she was kicking him out?

Using and discarding people—wasn't this a little much?

"That's all." McGonagall didn't even look at him—she simply waved her hand.

The portrait door opened automatically, revealing the passage inside.

"Well? What are you all waiting for?" she shouted at the group. "Every minute you waste here could knock your exam grade from an O to a P! Get back inside!"

Hermione blinked. She wanted to point out that one minute probably wouldn't cause such a dramatic grade drop—maybe from O to E at most.

But after one glance at McGonagall's tightly pressed lips, she wisely kept that thought to herself and joined the crowd flooding through the door.

...

Meanwhile, seeing that McGonagall was clearly done with him, Kyle sighed and turned toward the Headmaster's office.

It wasn't far—also on the eighth floor, just around the corner from the Gryffindor common room.

The gargoyle guarding the entrance was standing aside, probably because McGonagall had deliberately left it open.

Kyle didn't mind and headed straight up the spiral staircase.

The oak door at the top was also ajar.

The moment Kyle walked in, he was met with a pair of listless, despondent blue eyes.

"Professor Dumbledore," Kyle said in surprise, "What kind of outrageous demand did Minister Bones make to get you this riled up?"

"Amelia," Dumbledore said, eyes fixed on him, "suggested that members of the Order of the Phoenix should be placed under Auror command. Unified leadership."

"That's... wow, that's bold."

Kyle curled his lip. "The Ministry's riddled with holes, practically falling apart thanks to the Death Eaters. Who knows how many double agents are in there? 'Unified command'—isn't that just handing You-Know-Who our entire playbook?"

"I agreed."

"...Huh?" Kyle blinked. "Wait—you agreed?"

"Let's not dwell on that for now," Dumbledore said, waving it off. He stared at Kyle with pointed intent. "I'd like to know exactly how many things you've done in my name while I was away."

"Uh... not many," Kyle said, eyes drifting evasively.

Truth be told, he'd lost count.

Whenever a situation was too tricky, he'd default to using Dumbledore's name. Any time something went wrong, the blame went straight to Dumbledore. The exact number? No clue.

"Then why," Dumbledore said slowly, "did Minerva just give me a furious lecture about taking you to the Hebrides Islands, encountering Tom… and then running off?"

What?

Kyle looked up, stunned. He could swear on his life—he'd said no such thing.

He had clearly told Professor McGonagall that he encountered Voldemort on the Hebrides Islands and that Dumbledore had been elsewhere at the time.

That was the absolute truth. Not a single lie.

He had just wanted Dumbledore to help deflect McGonagall's anger—not get crucified.

Seeing Kyle's genuinely confused and alarmed expression, Dumbledore let out a long, weary sigh.

Minerva had just torn into him with the force of a hurricane, and it had taken ages to talk her down and preserve what was left of his dignity.

And now, looking at Kyle, he had no idea who to complain to.

"It really wasn't you?"

"I swear!" Kyle said earnestly.

"Then what about this?" Dumbledore pulled out another piece of parchment. "Before coming to the school, I stopped by the Hog's Head. Why do I suddenly owe Aberforth more than 7,000 Galleons?"

"How much?"

"Seven thousand five hundred and sixty-three Galleons," Dumbledore said, lifting the parchment.

Kyle leaned in and took a look. It was an itemized bill—very thorough.

Twenty bottles of whiskey, 150 Galleons each. Paid by Albus Dumbledore on behalf of Order of the Phoenix member Kyle Chopper.

A hundred and fifty Galleons per bottle?

Kyle swallowed hard. Even if you multiplied it by five, that price was outrageous. He wouldn't dare charge that much for… well, anything.

And that was just the beginning. There was more.

Assistance with cover. Transportation and relocation. Use of a secure location. Strategic advice on infiltrating Hogwarts. Passageway usage fees. Passageway maintenance fees. Confidentiality fees.

A long list of miscellaneous charges, adding up to exactly 7,563 Galleons—rounded to the last digit.

Kyle had always thought he was fairly shameless. But clearly, there were professionals out there.

All he'd done was visit the Hog's Head twice, and those twenty bottles of cheap whiskey—who knew where they came from—somehow turned into a bill north of 7,500 Galleons.

It had only cost 3,000 Galleons to build an entire dragon reserve. And now—7,000...

"Professor, Scrimgeour probably hasn't gone far. Call him back," Kyle said in a low voice. "This is extortion. He needs to be arrested and handed over to the Dementors for lunch!"

"Aberforth said you agreed to all of it," Dumbledore said, eyes narrowing. "Every number is backed up by record. He even played back the Echo Charm for me."

"Echo Charm?"

"It's a spell that records and replays someone's spoken words," Dumbledore explained evenly.

Kyle was briefly speechless. "I really said yes to all that?"

Dumbledore didn't respond—but that silence was answer enough.

Uh-oh.

Kyle looked slightly guilty.

That can't be right… Did he really dump that many expenses on Dumbledore?

Surely not.

He had no memory at all of any so-called "passageway maintenance fees." Something that absurd—would he really have agreed to it?

And yet, Dumbledore didn't seem like he was bluffing.

Had he just gotten so used to using Dumbledore's name for everything that he said it without thinking?

That… seemed the most plausible explanation.

"Well… it was a necessary expense," Kyle muttered, looking away. "Professor, if you don't have that kind of money, I can lend you a bit."

"You're offering to lend me 7,000 Galleons?" Dumbledore said flatly.

"Um… not quite that much." Kyle considered. "How about seventy Galleons? You know I just opened a shop in Diagon Alley—I'm pretty strapped right now."

Dumbledore said nothing, just continued to stare at him.

"…Alright, fine." Kyle braced himself. "Seventy-five. I'll cover it. No need to pay me back."

"Forget it. You don't have to pay," Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Ariana already took care of it."

"Ariana…" Kyle blinked, then looked back at Dumbledore. "She agreed to see Aberforth?"

"She's at the Hog's Head now."

Dumbledore smiled gently. "After all these years, I've never seen Aberforth cry like that. His customers were so shocked, they thought he'd been cursed with some kind of dark magic."

"Did you get it on camera?" Kyle asked immediately.

"What?" Dumbledore blinked. The topic had been about family—what did photos have to do with anything?

"You know—take a picture!" Kyle mimed snapping a photo with an imaginary camera, even pulling out a real one for effect.

"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "I didn't have my camera on me. And I rarely use it anyway."

Now that Kyle mentioned it, he did feel a twinge of regret. That kind of once-in-a-century reunion really was worth preserving.

"What a waste," Kyle muttered, thumping his leg. "If we'd caught a shot of Aberforth bawling his eyes out, we could've sold it to him later."

Dumbledore's eye twitched slightly. He was beginning to suspect that Kyle's idea of 'family moments' might be… slightly different from his own.

"It was the perfect opportunity! I bet Aberforth wouldn't even hesitate to drop 7,500 Galleons for a photo filled with such deep emotional significance."