Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 659: Building a Nest for Norbert with Galleons

The tea room on the sixth floor was unchanged since Kyle’s last visit. He was in the same booth, sitting in the exact same seat, but this time, the person across from him wasn’t Dumbledore—it was Director Sykes.

For reasons Kyle couldn’t quite pin down, the renowned Potioneer seemed a bit nervous. He had seen this expression before, most notably on Fred and George’s faces when they first sold their Maps. Nervous, but more than anything, filled with anticipation.

But this was different. The person in front of him wasn’t a mischievous entrepreneur; this was the Director of St. Mungo’s, a master of potion-making even more famous than Snape. There was no way someone like her was short on Galleons.

“How have you been?” Director Sykes asked, pouring two cups of black tea. “How are your studies going?”

Kyle had to admit, it was a painfully awkward start—like meeting a distant relative after ten years and being forced into small talk. He couldn’t shake the feeling.

“Well, it’s not bad,” Kyle replied, taking his cup of tea. “When I graduate next year, I should be able to earn around ten certificates.”

“Ten? That’s quite impressive,” Director Sykes remarked.

“It’s possible,” Kyle said softly. “Though, it might end up being less.”

“Is that so?”

With that, the conversation hit a sudden lull. The atmosphere in the booth grew thick with awkward silence. Kyle wasn’t used to this kind of stilted interaction. He wanted to break the ice, but since he didn’t know why Sykes had invited him, he could only grope for a neutral topic.

“By the way, Director Sykes, how is Mr. Sturgis’s injury?”

“Not bad. Your method worked wonderfully.” At the mention of dark magic, her tone grew noticeably more relaxed. “I managed to concoct the antidote early the next morning. It was effective, and the effects of the dark magic have begun to subside. He should be fully recovered in about a month.”

“That’s excellent news,” Kyle said with a smile. “You managed to create an effective antidote overnight—no wonder Professor Dumbledore calls you the greatest Potioneer.”

“It wasn’t a completely new antidote,” Sykes corrected, shaking her head. “Dark magic often follows interconnected principles, even if the branches seem disparate. The magic affecting Sturgis was a type of heart-sucking curse.”

“This particular curse was prevalent about a decade ago—I’ve dealt with it often enough. Plus, with the Phoenix Tears Dumbledore provided, creating the antidote wasn’t especially difficult. The only challenge was time.”

“And, of course, the Basilisk... that creature solved a key part of the problem.”

At the mention of the Basilisk, Sykes paused, her expression momentarily unreadable, before she continued:

“I never thought I’d encounter a living Basilisk, let alone one that seems to follow your every command. But I’ve always wondered—doesn’t a Basilisk only obey the wizard who created it? Judging by the size of this one, it must have been around for hundreds of years.”

“More than a thousand, to be precise,” Kyle said. “But I’m afraid I can’t disclose its origins for certain... special reasons.”

“No, of course, I understand,” Sykes said quickly.

She didn’t seem particularly concerned with the Basilisk’s origins, or perhaps her curiosity was outweighed by her fascination with the creature itself. She cut straight to the point.

“I came to see you today to ask if you’d be willing to sell the Basilisk. St. Mungo’s is prepared to offer a price equivalent to ten Dragons.”

Kyle didn’t hesitate. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Ten Dragons was undoubtedly an enormous sum, but the Basilisk was far more valuable than mere Galleons. Moreover, keeping such a dangerous creature under his own control was the safest option.

He couldn’t bear the thought of waking up one day to a pair of unblinking yellow eyes staring him down.

To steer the conversation away from outright selling the Basilisk, Kyle added, ”This Basilisk has a unique origin. I only have the right to use it, and even if I were inclined to sell it, Professor Dumbledore would never allow it.”

Director Sykes nodded, seemingly unsurprised by the answer. ”Understood,” she said, her tone composed, as though she had anticipated this outcome.

“Then how about materials related to the Basilisk? That shouldn’t pose a problem.” She poured more tea into her cup. “If it doesn’t harm the Basilisk directly, things like venom, blood, scales, or shed skin would be valuable to St. Mungo’s.”

”Although these items don’t have a set price on the market, I assure you that you’ll be compensated generously. How about ten times the price of comparable materials from a dragon? For instance, dragon blood is six Galleons per ounce, so Basilisk blood would be sixty. Venom? We’ll match the Acromantula rate: 1,000 Galleons per pint.”

Kyle blinked, caught off guard by the offer.

Basilisk blood and venom?

He had the distinct feeling that this was Director Sykesʼs true goal all along. The quoted price, though steep, was something Kyle found hard to refuse.

Sixty Galleons for just one ounce of blood—nearly a month’s salary for most Ministry employees. Given the Basilisk’s size, it could easily produce an enormous quantity. If Fawkes ever decided to peck at the Basilisk just for fun, the spilled blood alone might be worth hundreds of Galleons.

And the venom? That was even more lucrative. Extracting blood might cause the creature some discomfort, but venom was practically effortless. It was as natural to the Basilisk as the flames a dragon breathed. With careful collection, it could easily produce a pint every few days.

Even factoring in the cost of feeding it—say, a couple of Warthogs worth a few Galleons each—Kyle could hardly believe the potential profits. Adding in shed skins and scales, he calculated he could rake in over 5,000 Galleons a month.

The thought made Kyle’s pulse quicken. His imagination ran wild, picturing himself constructing a gilded cave for Norbert entirely out of Galleons.

But the initial excitement gave way to a growing sense of caution. Sipping his tea to steady himself, Kyle asked, “Director Sykes, I can’t imagine St. Mungo’s would need to buy venom or blood indefinitely. What’s the long-term plan here?”

Sykes smiled, her gaze thoughtful as she poured him another cup of tea. “You’re absolutely correct. Our goal isn’t to maintain a steady supply but rather to conduct research and develop new potions.”

She paused, leaning forward slightly. “Over the past few days, I’ve been reviewing potion recipes and journals left by previous Directors of St. Mungo’s. In one notebook from 300 years ago, I found a fascinating entry regarding Basilisk materials—venom, blood, and even skin.”

”These components naturally resist most herbs and are compatible with only a very narrow range of similarly toxic plants. This makes them extraordinarily difficult to work with. In fact, there are no more than three Healers at St. Mungo’s who are skilled enough to handle such materials.”

”Even then, we can’t dedicate all our resources to experimenting with new potions. Based on my calculations, a single pint of venom would last us about six months.”

Kyle’s heart sank.

Six months? That was still a sizable profit, but far less than the extravagant visions he’d entertained just moments earlier. A pint of venom every three or five days had sounded far more lucrative. Now, it was clear why Director Sykes had been willing to offer such a high price upfront.

Kyle rubbed the rim of his teacup, his mind churning with thoughts and calculations.

“I don’t have any venom or snake blood right now, but I do have this,” Kyle said, reaching into his Mokeskin pouch and pulling out a greenish object about the size of his palm, with clear, shimmering scales still visible.

“Is that... the skin shed by a Basilisk?” Director Sykes asked, her voice tinged with excitement.

Compared to venom or blood, Basilisk skin was far more valuable to her. It wasn’t toxic and was the most versatile of the materials, making it highly sought after in potion-making. Furthermore, she had discovered in the notes of previous directors that Basilisk skin made up the majority of ingredients in a specific magical potion she was researching.

The only reason she hadn’t mentioned it earlier was the extreme rarity of such material. Basilisks shed their skin only once every century, and she hadn’t dared to assume Kyle would have any. Yet here he was, casually presenting it.

A whole, intact snake skin from a thousand-year-old Basilisk? That possibility left her breathless.

“Is there more?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly with anticipation.

“A whole, intact snake skin,” Kyle replied calmly, “about fifty feet long.”

Dang!

The teacup slipped from Director Sykes’s hand, clattering onto the table. She rarely lost composure, but the idea of an intact fifty-foot Basilisk skin was enough to break even her professional demeanor.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to sell it to St. Mungo’s?” she asked hurriedly, though she hesitated mid-sentence, collecting herself. “But... a snake skin like this, we wouldn’t be able to afford it at ten times the price of dragon-hide. Perhaps we could start with 5,000 Galleons for a five-foot section?”

For five feet, 5,000 Galleons was a reasonable offer. It wasn’t dragon-hide, after all. But Kyle shook his head after a moment’s thought.

“No, Director Sykes...”

“6,000 Galleons, then? That’s the highest we can go.”

“You misunderstand,” Kyle said with a faint smile. “I won’t take a single Knut for the five-foot snake skin. I’ll give it to St. Mungo’s for free, along with a pint of venom.”

Director Sykes froze, her expression a mix of astonishment and disbelief.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “That’s an enormous sum of money.”

“If I think about it too much, I might regret it,” Kyle admitted with a sheepish laugh.

Five feet of snake skin and a pint of venom were worth 7,000 Galleons. That kind of money was almost equivalent to the bounty placed on Sirius Black when he was a wanted fugitive.

Still, Kyle felt uneasy about accepting such a payment for materials meant for potion research. Besides, as he reasoned, earning the goodwill of someone as influential as Director Sykes was a significant advantage.

After all, even Lucius Malfoy had donated heavily to curry favor with Cornelius Fudge. Compared to Fudge, who was capricious and self-serving, Sykes’s favor seemed far more valuable.

Kyle didn’t conceal his thoughts, and Director Sykes, perceptive as she was, recognized his reasoning. Yet she didn’t seem offended. If anything, she appeared pleased at the arrangement.

“How about this?” Sykes offered, smiling shrewdly. “Consider the materials as a 7,000 Galleon donation to St. Mungo’s. In return, I will personally endorse Albus Dumbledore in his campaign for Minister of Magic.”

“What?” Kyle blinked, caught off guard.

“Your headmaster is running against Fudge for Minister, isn’t he?” Sykes continued. “I’ve been debating which side to support. As the Director of St. Mungo’s, even if I declare my support in a personal capacity, people will inevitably associate it with the hospital.”

“But... I’ve decided to resign as Director soon. Once I do, I’ll fully back Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix.”

“No, no, no,” Kyle said, waving his hands quickly. “Don’t do that.”

Sykes frowned slightly, puzzled by his reaction.

She was sure Kyle was affiliated with the Order of the Phoenix, at least indirectly. Wasn’t their goal to secure Dumbledore’s position as Minister? The newspapers had been filled with speculation about the headmaster’s candidacy, sparking widespread debate. Why was Kyle rejecting the idea?

“You probably don’t realize it,” Sykes said cautiously, “but I do have a fair amount of influence in the wizarding world. I could help Dumbledore secure more support.”

“That’s exactly what worries me,” Kyle replied firmly. “Dumbledore won’t become Minister. He doesn’t even stand a chance.”

“You underestimate Albus,” Sykes said, smiling slightly.

“No, I’m serious,” Kyle said. “Just trust me on this. Professor Dumbledore isn’t going to be Minister, no matter how much support he has.”

“If you openly endorse him, you’ll put yourself at odds with the Ministry, and that won’t be good for you or St. Mungo’s.”

Sykes’s smile faded as she regarded him seriously. His tone wasn’t joking, and his conviction made her pause.

If Kyle was right, then publicly supporting Dumbledore could have serious repercussions, especially with a vindictive Minister like Fudge.

“How about this,” Kyle proposed. “When Fawkes delivers you a letter next, just accept it in front of everyone and write back to Professor Dumbledore. Keep it vague and ambiguous.”

Sykes blinked, momentarily confused.

Didn’t Kyle just insist Dumbledore wouldn’t become Minister? Then why create the illusion of support?

She couldn’t quite grasp his reasoning, but she trusted his judgment. It was, after all, just a letter. No harm would come to St. Mungo’s from that alone.

“Very well,” Sykes agreed. “I’ll do as you say.”