Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 508: The Gift

In the days following the wand inspection, Kyle’s routine remained largely unchanged. Every morning, he awoke to find a towering stack of books on the table in the Hufflepuff common room. They were sent by well-meaning students and staff who seemed determined to help him succeed in the Triwizard Tournament, bringing in enough books to rival a small library.

Even Madam Pince, known for her strict library rules, had relaxed her standards, no longer insisting that borrowed books be returned before new ones could be checked out. As a result, Kyle’s collection of books grew rapidly, cluttering his dormitory. The desks couldn’t contain the sheer volume, and the excess was stacked in corners, forming precarious towers of leather-bound tomes. Madam Pince assured him he could keep them until after the competition.

Although Kyle appreciated the sentiment, the gesture was ultimately futile. There was simply no way to read or even skim through dozens of books in a single day. The surplus became a daily nuisance, but he didn’t have the heart to discourage the support.

...

A week later, during breakfast on Halloween morning, Rita Skeeter’s much-anticipated article was finally published in The Daily Prophet. The owls delivered the papers promptly, and soon the Great Hall was filled with the rustling of pages and murmurs of discussion.

The front page featured an elaborate story on the Triwizard Tournament. Dominating the page was a group photograph of the Champions, the jury members, and Fudge. At the bottom right corner, the photographer had captured part of the Gryffindor table, where Harry could be seen clapping enthusiastically.

The photo was widely praised, with many people cutting it out and keeping it as a collectible. Even Harry kept a copy, proclaiming it his way of participating in the Triwizard Tournament. Ron, meanwhile, was green with envy, regretting his absence from the photo-op.

While the previous issue of The Daily Prophet had focused on the history and origins of the tournament, this edition spotlighted the Champions themselves.

Viktor Krum, being the most famous of the four, occupied a significant portion of the article. A detailed account of his Quidditch career and achievements filled one section, while the rest was packed with juicy gossip. Tales of his frequent romantic escapades, altercations with teammates, and rumors about him forcing the previous captain out of the team made for scandalous reading. Rita Skeeter’s vivid descriptions gave the impression she had been present for every event.

Fleur Delacour’s segment was comparatively smaller and lacked the same sensational flair. However, it wasn’t flattering either. The article subtly hinted at her Veela heritage, mentioning comments from her Beauxbatons peers and sprinkling in some of Rita Skeeter’s signature embellishments. Fleur’s mixed-race background was used as a basis for veiled, snide remarks that bordered on slander.

Fleur’s anger was palpable as she read the article. Her breakfast sat untouched, and she scowled at the newspaper.

“No wonder Madam Maxime told me to stay away from her,” she muttered through gritted teeth, her gaze fixed on a particularly offensive paragraph.

(It seems she wants to steal everyone’s heart, and even the Hufflepuff girls have fallen into the trap she has woven.)

“Am I some kind of evil sorceress?” she said, her tone sharp with indignation.

“Oh, is there something about me in here?” Kanna, sitting beside her, leaned over curiously. Given the phrasing, she likely counted as one of the “Hufflepuff girls” mentioned.

“Strange…” Kanna mused, picking up the newspaper Fleur had tossed aside. She skimmed it, then looked up in confusion. “Kyle, why is there so little about you?”

“I guess she thinks I’m just so-so,” Kyle replied with a shrug, “and there’s nothing worth writing about.”

Indeed, Kyle’s mention in the article was minimal—buried in an obscure corner and barely three lines long. It felt like an afterthought, akin to a free gift thrown in with a larger purchase. His classmates, noticing the disparity, voiced their support for him, expressing indignation at Rita Skeeter’s apparent slight.

Kyle, however, didn’t share their concern. In fact, he considered it a blessing. When it came to Rita Skeeter, the less coverage, the better.

After all, this was Hogwarts. He didn’t need The Daily Prophet to promote his name—his actions within the castle were more than enough to define his reputation.

“Bang!”

The sudden crash drew everyone’s attention to the Slytherin table. Viktor Krum, typically stoic and expressionless, was visibly fuming. His face turned an alarming shade of red, and in his anger, he accidentally knocked over his plate. The spilled soup splattered across the table and landed directly on Crabbe’s head, drenching him.

Krum didn’t apologize—or perhaps he didn’t even notice. He muttered something sharp in Bulgarian under his breath and stormed out of the Great Hall, leaving behind a stunned silence. Although no one understood exactly what he had said, Kyle had a strong suspicion it wasn’t complimentary, likely a colorful remark on Rita Skeeter’s ancestry.

This latest issue of The Daily Prophet only fueled the school’s excitement for the Triwizard Tournament. The anticipation for October 30th was palpable. Conversations buzzed in every corner of Hogwarts, with students speculating about the challenges.

The mood among the Champions, however, was noticeably different. While Kyle couldn’t read Krum’s thoughts, Fleur’s increasing anxiety was plain to see. As the countdown to the first task reached its final week, her nerves seemed to fray further with each passing day.

At Madame Maxime’s insistence, Fleur had moved back to the Beauxbatons carriage and stopped attending classes with the Year 7 Hogwarts students. When Kyle did see her on occasion, she seemed distracted, barely acknowledging his greetings before hurrying away.

Friday arrived, only two days before the first event. From early morning, the castle was abuzz with energy, the atmosphere electric with anticipation.

“So, are you nervous?” Cedric asked Kyle during breakfast, grinning as he slid yet another plate of eggs and bacon in his direction. The other Hufflepuffs seemed to have made it their mission to feed Kyle excessively, and they eagerly joined in, piling his plate until it resembled a towering mountain of food.

“I’m not nervous,” Kyle said, trying to push the plates away, “but could you all please act a little more normally? The first task isn’t about who can eat the most bacon…”

His plea fell on deaf ears. Everyone laughed and continued piling food in front of him. Resigned, Kyle sighed and began eating faster, hoping to escape the overzealous display.

As Kyle took the last bite of his sandwich, the morning’s mail delivery swooped into the Great Hall. A flurry of owls descended, dropping letters and packages at nearly every table. Among them, six large long-eared owls drew the most attention. Together, they carried a long, narrow package that they deposited onto the Hufflepuff table with a heavy thunk.

“Kyle, this is for you!” someone called out excitedly, pointing to the package.

“For me?” Kyle asked, swallowing the last of his sandwich and getting up to inspect it.

“What did you order?” Cedric asked curiously.

“I didn’t order anything,” Kyle replied, puzzled. “But it looks like a broom.”

The package’s shape—a long cylinder that tapered at one end—was unmistakable. It was the signature packaging from Quality Quidditch Supplies.

As Kyle moved closer, he noticed a card attached to the package. He pulled it free and read the neat handwriting:

“Congratulations on becoming a Champion. This is such a big surprise. I wanted to get you a present, but I didn’t know what to choose.

After much thought, I decided this was the most appropriate gift. I hope you like it…

Sirius Black.”