Hogwarts: I'm Truly a Model Wizard

At the Start-of-Term Feast, while students and professors alike were enjoying the delicious food and chatting about their holiday adventures, Kyle was the only one who wasn't.

He didn't like overly sweet things, but to maintain Dumbledore's image, he had to pretend he was simply too full from earlier, and sit there watching the others eat.

It was sheer torture—especially when the rich aroma of steak and fried meats drifted over. Kyle felt like there was a symphony playing in his stomach.

But he couldn't show it. He had to keep a straight face. When the hunger became unbearable, he forced himself to nibble at a few bites of pudding, acting as if he didn't mind at all.

And he kept that up for a full hour.

Finally, the last slice of orange pudding vanished from his plate, and the buzz in the Great Hall gradually quieted.

Kyle knew it was time for him to speak again.

Truthfully, by now he was starting to settle into the role of Dumbledore. He wasn't nearly as nervous as he had been at the beginning.

He stood up, and the Hall fell silent at once.

"I know everyone is full, content, and eager to return to their warm beds in the dormitories for a good night's rest."

"But before that, if you'll allow me, I have a few reminders to give at the start of term."

Beside him, Professor McGonagall turned her head in surprise.

The way he spoke, the tone, the manner—it was all so convincingly accurate that for a moment, she genuinely thought it was the real Dumbledore.

But Kyle didn't notice. He was focused on the crowd before him.

"Let me see… First, something I know many of you are eager to hear about: extracurricular activities. Some have suggested that, given the tense circumstances this year, we cancel Quidditch to help students focus on their studies…"

The Hall immediately erupted.

"No way!"

"You can't cancel Quidditch!"

"I was planning to go for the Quidditch Cup!" Harry looked devastated.

He was graduating next year, and if the season was cancelled, it would mean never getting the chance to win a single Cup.

If they lost to another team, it would hurt—but he'd live. A few days of frustration and he'd move on.

But losing the chance entirely because the matches were cancelled? That he couldn't accept.

"No, Quidditch has to stay!" Ron was just as worked up, nearly leaping out of his seat.

Of the three, only Hermione remained calm. She wasn't part of the team and had little interest in Quidditch to begin with. Whether it happened or not didn't matter much to her.

"But…" Kyle raised his voice slightly, ignoring the commotion.

His voice echoed through the Hall, and instantly, everyone fell silent and looked up.

"But I believe that in times overshadowed by dark clouds, we need to hold on to the things that bring us joy—let that joy chase the shadows away."

"So I've decided that Quidditch will continue as usual. Team tryouts will be held in the second week of term. If you're interested in joining your House team, please speak with Madam Hooch."

"Oh!"

"Awesome!"

Cheers rose like waves, crashing up toward the enchanted ceiling. Even the dark clouds painted over the night sky seemed to part a little.

"Don't cheer just yet—let me finish," Kyle said, raising his voice further. "This year, all Quidditch matches will use school-provided broomsticks only."

The cheers died instantly.

"That's not fair!" Ron practically shouted. "Everyone knows Harry's got a Firebolt—that's not fair to the rest of us!"

He was loud enough that not only Kyle heard, but so did every professor at the staff table.

Professor McGonagall frowned sharply, shooting a dagger-like glare toward her own House.

At that, Ron shrank into his seat, shoulders hunched, though his bright red face made it obvious he was still upset.

He wasn't alone. All of Gryffindor—even Hermione—looked disgruntled.

Hermione wasn't a Quidditch enthusiast, but winning the Cup was still a matter of House pride. No one liked being singled out for seemingly no reason.

"Some of you may be wondering why this change was made," Kyle said, his expression calm. "That's because there have been a few minor adjustments to the competition this year… starting with this:

"The team that wins the Quidditch Cup will earn two hundred points for their House."

"How much?" Hermione's face was still set in a frown, but her voice had shifted to surprise. She blurted out, "It used to be a hundred."

A hundred points was already a lot—doubling it was a big deal.

With two hundred points, any House could dramatically change the final standings. It could be enough to go from last place straight to first.

Well, assuming the gap wasn't too big.

She remembered one year when Gryffindor had finished the school year with just eight points, while Hufflepuff had racked up six hundred and eighty-nine. Even the leftover digits had been more than Gryffindor's total.

In a case like that, even three sets of two hundred wouldn't help.

But that had been a special case… hopefully, it wouldn't happen again.

Hopefully.

"Harry, Ron, you've got to step it up!" Hermione said seriously. "If we win the Quidditch Cup, we'll have a real shot at taking the House Cup."

The two of them mumbled a reply, but they didn't seem very enthusiastic.

They cared more about Quidditch itself than the House Cup. If they had the choice, they'd rather forgo the extra points just to be able to use the Firebolt.

"Also, the best-performing player on the winning team will receive a specially made solid gold medal, to be placed in the Trophy Room," the voice came again, soft as a whisper.

Trophy Room.

Special.

Solid gold medal?

Even Harry didn't realize how quickly his face was turning red—Ron's was too.

But this time, it wasn't from anger. It was excitement.

Having served multiple detentions in the Trophy Room, they both knew there was no such thing as a gold medal in there—just team awards and honors.

An individual gold medal? That was a first.

The buzz in the hall grew louder than ever.

"If we win, do you think we'll be written into the school history?" Ron jumped to his feet again.

"Only if you get the gold medal," Hermione said after thinking it over. "Then your name might actually make it into the book."

She looked a bit regretful. "If I'd known they were doing something like this this year, I would've practiced flying more."

There was a book in the school library called Hogwarts: A History, which recorded all kinds of events dating back to the founding of the school.

But because Hogwarts was over a thousand years old, it was impossible to fit everything in. So only the most important events were included.

Like the Philosopher's Stone in their first year, the Chamber of Secrets in their second, and the Triwizard Tournament in their fourth.

The Triwizard Tournament, especially—it not only made it into the book, but took up a whole five lines. Even a new headmaster's inauguration only got three.

Of course, they weren't hoping for that much. Even a single sentence, even just a name, would be a huge honor.

"Let's do this!" Ron slapped the table. "I'm training every single day this year—nobody's stopping me."

"No one's stopping you," Ginny said, rolling her eyes from across the table. She was excited too, but seeing how Ron was acting, she suddenly cooled down.

No way was she going to let it show. It looked ridiculous.

"Quiet down, quiet down! You can talk strategy back in the dorm—at least there no one else will be listening in," Kyle waved a hand, barely managing to calm the excited chatter that had nearly lifted the roof.

"Now, I have a few more announcements. First-years, listen up: the forested area on school grounds is strictly off-limits."

"Also, products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes are banned on school property, and you're not allowed to buy them from upperclassmen either."

"Oh, almost forgot." Kyle smacked his forehead.

"Since your Professor Snape was injured over the holidays, the Ministry has temporarily assigned an experienced Auror to help him teach Defence Against the Dark Arts this year."

"Everyone, please welcome Professor Kingsley."

A wizard stood up quickly—it was Auror Kingsley.

Kyle himself had only found out after arriving at school, when Professor McGonagall filled him in.

"Snape's injured?"

At the Gryffindor table, Harry perked up, looking toward the staff table—specifically at the seat he'd been trying not to look at.

Snape was sitting there silently, saying nothing.

Harry stared at him for a moment. Sure enough, he looked paler than usual and utterly drained.

"Ha, serves him right," Ron said with a grin. "I had a feeling—he was the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor last year."

"Shame they still let him come back."

"But this isn't so bad either," Harry said, clearly pleased. "Kingsley's a top Auror. It'd be great if he could teach us."

"Here's hoping."

After introducing the new professor, Kyle paused to make sure he hadn't missed anything, then led the students in singing the school song.

It was a Hogwarts tradition, after all.

There was no fixed tune—everyone could sing it however they liked.

Once the last disjointed notes faded, the students got to their feet and began heading back to their dormitories.

"I really didn't expect that," Ron said as he led a group of Gryffindor first-years out through the doors of the Great Hall. "I thought this year's Start-of-Term Feast was going to be boring, but there were so many surprises—especially the individual gold medals for the Quidditch tournament. That's never been a thing before, has it?"

"No, it hasn't," Harry replied, walking beside him, his face just as lit up with excitement.

Then again, every Quidditch player looked excited. They all wanted that gold medal, to be the first to earn such an honor.

"So, I guess we're rivals now?"

"That's only if we win the championship," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Good point. Then let's win it first," Ron said with enthusiasm. "Too bad you can't use the Firebolt, though."

"It's for fairness," Hermione said, turning her head from up ahead. "Using the same broom model is the only way to really judge who's better."

"I know," Ron replied, but his voice had gone a bit quiet.

For some reason, he glanced at Harry, then quickly looked away.

When Hermione had spoken, Ron had suddenly felt a rather shameful thought creep in.

He thought the rule was a good one.

Because if Harry were still allowed to use the Firebolt, then even if Gryffindor won, the gold medal would almost certainly go to him.

The Firebolt's advantage was just too overwhelming—it blew every other broom on the market out of the water. Of course it would boost Harry's performance.

But now, with everyone using the same broom, Ron finally had a shot.

Ron knew he shouldn't think like that. As Harry's best friend, he couldn't think like that.

But the thought had come anyway, completely uninvited, and he couldn't even bring himself to look at Harry. He had to distract himself with something else.

"Hey, you in the back—keep up! Don't fall behind!" he shouted to one of the new first-years at the rear of the group.

"Ron, you shouldn't say things like that," Hermione said sharply, glaring at him. "You should call them by name."

"I know, but I didn't remember their names," Ron said with a shrug. "I bet most people didn't. During the Sorting, everyone was too busy trying to spot Dumbledore. Who was actually paying attention to the first-years' names?"

...

Once all the students had filed out of the Great Hall, the professors also went their separate ways.

Kyle watched Snape's slightly staggering figure as he walked away, frowning. "What's wrong with him?"

"No idea," Professor McGonagall said, shaking her head. "No one knew where he went once the holidays started—he only returned to Hogwarts last night."

"And this is him in much better shape. When we found him yesterday, he could barely stand."

"Luckily, Dumbledore had made arrangements in advance. Once the Ministry was informed, they immediately assigned Kingsley to help cover his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes for a while."

"Is that so?"

Kyle found it even more puzzling.

Snape disappearing made sense—he had another role, after all. Once school was out, of course he'd go to Voldemort's side to gather intelligence for Dumbledore.

But what could've caused him to get injured? There hadn't been any major Death Eater activity lately.

The most recent incident was at Godric's Hollow, and that one had been led by Bellatrix. The others involved were mostly low-level Death Eaters whose names no one even knew—Snape hadn't been there.

Could Voldemort have blamed him for the failure?

That didn't add up.

Or maybe the Defence Against the Dark Arts position really was cursed?

"Let's set that aside for now. Your performance really caught me off guard," said Professor McGonagall.

"What, did I mess something up?" Kyle asked.

"On the contrary, it was flawless," she replied. "Even Mr. Aberforth probably wouldn't have been able to tell it wasn't the real Dumbledore."

Then she hesitated, and finally asked, "May I ask why you made that decision?"

"What decision?"

"Quidditch," Professor McGonagall said. "That wasn't part of what we discussed beforehand."

"I came up with it on the spot," Kyle said as he started up the stairs. "A school shouldn't be dull. Give the students something to focus on—it helps distract them from the fear of the Death Eaters. I think it works."

"You're not wrong, but... two hundred points is a bit much, don't you think? That's enough to decide the House Cup," she said, fixing Kyle with a stern look.

She also noticed that Dumbledore's silver beard had shortened significantly—it looked like the Polyjuice Potion was starting to wear off.

Kyle noticed it too, and picked up the pace toward the Headmaster's office, explaining as he went:

"The Golden Snitch is worth a hundred and fifty points, isn't it?" Kyle said. "If we think of the House Cup like a grand game of Quidditch, then it makes sense."

Professor McGonagall wasn't convinced.

Quidditch and the House Cup were completely different—this logic just didn't hold up.

But she had no choice. Kyle had made the announcement as Dumbledore at the Start-of-Term Feast. That meant it was official.

If she went back now and told everyone it was canceled, it would cause even more chaos.

And now that she thought about it, most students didn't seem to mind the absurd scoring system at all.

If that was the case, then there was no reason to stir things up further.

Besides, she was a Quidditch fan herself. A more intense competition was something she secretly welcomed.

"Fine, forget the points," she continued. "But what about the gold medal? Where did that come from?"

"That's just an extra prize," Kyle said, stopping in front of the stone gargoyle on the eighth floor. "Something to boost morale and get everyone more motivated."

"And where's the money coming from?" Professor McGonagall asked the most crucial question. "A solid gold medal isn't cheap. Sure, the school can afford it, but no one wants to spend that much on something with no real purpose."

"That's easy—it won't come from the school."

"So... you're paying for it yourself?"

"I'm a fresh graduate. Where would I get that kind of money?"

"Then what are you planning?"

"It's simple," Kyle said, his hair now fully black again, his eyes back to normal. He grinned. "Whoever suggested it... foots the bill."