Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 238: The Department of Mysteries

Early that morning, Kyle went downstairs for breakfast, as usual. Chris was the only one in the living room. Diana, in fact, had not returned since the last investiture ceremony. Kyle had already asked Chris about it, but he didn’t seem to know much either, aside from mentioning that the Department of Mysteriesʼ mission appeared exceptionally important this time.

Just two days ago, the entire ninth floor of the Ministry of Magic, where the Department of Mysteries is located, had been completely sealed off. The elevators could no longer reach it, and even the enchanted paper airplanes carrying messages were halted outside. Not even the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, could get in. The Minister had lost his temper over this.

Yet, no matter how furious Fudge got or how many times he banged his head against the elevator doors, the ninth floor remained closed. Unlike other departments within the Ministry, the Department of Mysteries enjoyed significant independence and wasn’t under the Minister’s direct jurisdiction. After all, it had existed long before the Ministry of Magic was established, and technically, the two entities merely cooperated with each other. Typically, the Unspeakables might show Fudge some deference, but in extraordinary circumstances, things were different. At times like these, Fudge, the so-called minister, held less significance in their eyes than a crystal ball of prophecy.

I wonder if this mission of the Department of Mysteries has anything to do with Voldemort, Kyle mused, feeling a twinge of curiosity. But unfortunately, Diana never shared any details about the Department’s work with him.

...

”Today marks the second week of your vacation, right?” Chris asked, handing Kyle a plate of bacon as they sat at the dining table. His tone held a hint of apprehension. “Are you sure that was really a letter from Mr. Nicolas Flamel?”

“Dad, I’ve explained this many times already,” Kyle replied, setting down his bread with a sigh. “The letter was given to me by Mr. McPhail, and Headmaster Dumbledore approved it. They wouldn’t joke about something like that.”

“I know… but it’s Nicolas Flamel!” Chris still sounded incredulous. As a legendary wizard spanning six centuries, Nicolas Flamel was a figure of immense renown. It could be said that wherever there were wizards, there were legends of him. Meeting him was nearly impossible for most, and the idea of Kyle being invited as his guest was astonishing.

Since hearing the news, Chris had been caught in a sense of disbelief. Kyle bit into his bread, exasperated yet resigned; Chris had been acting this way for days now, and Kyle had grown used to it.

It’s just an invitation, he thought. Why is he so surprised? After all, I am the youngest person to receive the Order of Merlin; it shouldn’t be such a big deal.

...

“Bang... bang...” A knock sounded at the door.

“Is that the person here to pick you up?” Chris asked.

“I don’t think so,” Kyle replied calmly, shaking his head. Today was indeed the scheduled day, but it was still too early—barely eight o’clock. Besides, the knock on the door was unmistakably familiar, the kind he’d heard almost daily around this time last year.

Kyle got up and walked over to the door. As he opened it, two identical faces appeared in front of him.

“Kyle! Thank goodness you’re still home,” George said with visible relief. “We remembered you were leaving today.”

It was, in fact, Fred and George.

Kyle looked entirely unsurprised. With a steady expression, he said, “Come in, let’s talk.”

Fred peered over Kyle’s shoulder, then shook his head in mock seriousness. “No, you’re probably busy today. We won’t take up your time. We’re just here to borrow your owl.”

“Borrow my owl?” Kyle raised an eyebrow, surprised. He had assumed they’d be asking to use the attic again for their Skiving Snackbox experiments, like last year. Besides, he thought the Weasley family’s owl, despite its age, was still in good health under Chris’s recent care and could manage a letter delivery.

“Yes,” Fred explained, a grin tugging at his lips. “The Skiving Snackbox line is a hit—we’ve gotten so many orders, even during the holidays…”

“We need to send out our goods,” George added, producing a parchment densely packed with names.

“That’s… quite a few names,” Kyle remarked, still a bit surprised. “But they’re not even in school right now. What do they need Fat Tongue Toffees for?”

“Ah, but have a look,” Fred replied, grinning. “Most of the names are first-year wizards, all snapping up the Fat Tongue Toffees.”

“They can’t use magic at home over the holidays,” George added, “but these treats let them show a bit of magic anyway.”

“George and I thought it up just before break,” Fred said, obviously pleased with himself. “We even dialed down the Swelling Solution so the tongue wouldn’t grow too much.”

“It’s been a huge hit…” Fred’s expression darkened slightly. “Only problem is, Percy the Brainiac’s been hogging Errol lately and won’t let us use him.”

“Got it.” Kyle nodded, walked to the door, and raised his arm. “Ratton!”

A massive owl swooped down from the nearby woods, its belly rounded, looking as if it had just returned from a buffet.

“Magnificent,” Fred murmured in awe. Even after all this time, Ratton’s size was still impressive. The owl was easily twice the size of Errol, practically a giant among owls. Somehow, Kyle had managed to keep him in such impressive shape.

As he looked at Ratton, Fred seemed to recall something and lowered his voice. “Does he follow other owls around when they’re out delivering?”

“What are you plotting?” Kyle asked, eyeing him suspiciously. Are they planning to have him tail someone? That would be going too far—did they want to end up in Azkaban just to develop more “clients”?

“It’s not just any owl,” George said mysteriously. “It’s Percy’s. He keeps claiming he’s sending letters to swap homework with other prefects…”

“But we don’t buy it,” Fred added. “The way he acts when he’s delivering them—he looks like a Gnome who’s just pinched a potato…”

“We want to find out who he’s really writing to.”

Kyle shook his head firmly. “I’d advise against that idea. Ratton wouldn’t agree to it—no owl would. They might even go on strike.”

“Don’t worry,” Fred said with an innocent smile. “We know owls won’t agree. We were just talking. We weren’t actually going to do it.”

Kyle saw the mischievous glints in Fred and George’s eyes and realized they were putting on an act just to rile him up.

George shrugged, still smirking. “Anyway, we’d better get moving to deliver these goodies our customers have been eagerly waiting for.”

“That’s much more important than nosy old Percy and his big head.”