Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 710: The Battle of Diagon Alley

“Hermione, do you think Kyle has a grudge against Harry?” Ron asked nervously, his heart pounding as Harry’s screams echoed from the door near the basement utility room.

Ron had always been curious about how Harry was learning Occlumency, and today, with the opportunity to watch, he had eagerly dragged Hermione down right after breakfast. But now, seeing what was happening, he wasn’t sure it had been a good idea.

This wasn’t special training—it looked more like Harry was just getting pummeled.

Inside, Harry was being batted around by a Magical Creature with six legs. The creature looked like a Wampus Cat but behaved like a sentient Bludger, delivering blows that sent Harry sprawling left and right. It was painful just to watch.

Next to Ron, Hermione nodded hesitantly, her unease mirroring his.

She had briefly considered joining Harry’s training sessions. With the Weasleysʼ Wizard Wheezes no longer needing much help and her parents settling comfortably into life on Diagon Alley, she had been looking for something productive to do.

Learning a few advanced Charms or even Occlumency had seemed like a good idea—especially since everyone kept stressing its importance.

But now, seeing Harry flung around like a rag doll, Hermione hesitated. She couldn’t imagine enduring what Harry was going through, even if it meant faster progress. Compared to this, studying at her own pace seemed much safer.

“Ah!” Harry’s agonized scream broke through her thoughts.

The Wampus Cat had landed another direct hit, its heavy tail smacking against Harry’s thigh with a thud.

Outside the door, Ron and Hermione winced simultaneously. Even from a distance, they could feel the sting of the blow.

Hermione’s sympathy finally overcame her curiosity. “Forget it, let’s go,” she said, turning away.

“Okay,” Ron agreed immediately, eager to leave.

He suddenly understood why Sirius and the others never ventured into the basement during Harry’s training sessions. If they didn’t see it, they wouldn’t feel guilty—and Harry would probably improve faster without their interference.

Adults really are clever, Ron thought wryly.

The two quietly closed the door behind them. Out of sight, out of mind.

When they returned upstairs, Mrs. Weasley was walking through the living room with a basket of laundry.

“There you are,” she said with a warm smile. “Arthur just delivered the post—I believe your O.W.L. results are in.”

“The results are out already?” Hermione gasped, jumping to her feet and hurrying over to Mrs. Weasley.

Mrs. Weasley retrieved three envelopes from the basket and handed them over. Hermione quickly spotted hers, tore it open, and unfolded the parchment inside.

Her expression immediately fell.

“Did you do badly?” Ron asked, craning his neck to peek at her results.

The long list of “O”s—Outstanding marks—made his head spin.

“Nine Outstandings and one Exceeds Expectations... in Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Ron read aloud, half amused, half exasperated. “And you’re disappointed?”

“But Kyle got all Outstandings,” Hermione protested.

“Can’t you compare yourself to someone normal for once?” Ron said, raising his voice. He couldn’t understand why Hermione insisted on holding herself to Kyle’s ridiculous standard. “Seriously, if I got one Outstanding—just one—I’d be jumping for joy!”

Ron tore open his own envelope.

As expected, there were no Outstanding marks, but the parchment showed seven Acceptables.

“Not bad,” said Mrs. Weasley warmly, running her fingers affectionately through Ron’s hair. “Seven O.W.L.s—that’s better than I expected.”

To be fair, this result was a significant improvement over Ron’s previous performance. Mrs. Weasley had long since tempered her hopes for a string of Outstanding marks from Ron. This steady result would still give him seven certificates by the time he graduated, and that was enough to make her proud.

“And Harry’s.” Ron glanced at the last unopened envelope in his hand. “Should we take it to him?”

“Do you want to go?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ron shook his head immediately. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about Harry—it was just that he was afraid the Magical Creature in the basement might take a liking to beating up anyone who dared to interrupt.

“Why don’t we just leave it for Harry to open himself tonight when he’s done?”

“Good idea.”

The two quickly agreed, and Ron brought Harry’s report card up to his room for safekeeping.

“By the way, where’s Kyle?” Hermione asked, suddenly realizing she hadn’t seen him all morning.

“He went to the Ministry with Arthur this morning,” Mrs. Weasley replied.

“He’s already gone to the Ministry?”

“Yes. I tried to convince him to take a few days off, but he insisted it wasn’t necessary,” Mrs. Weasley said with a sigh. “Did you need him for something?”

“I had some questions about Runes I couldn’t figure out,” Hermione admitted.

“Well, you’ll have to wait until this evening,” Mrs. Weasley said reassuringly. “He’ll be back for dinner and staying here for the rest of the holidays.”

“I see,” Hermione said. “Mrs. Weasley, can I help with the laundry?”

“No need, dear. A quick charm takes care of most of it. I was just going to hang it out to dry—the only downside to this house is it doesn’t get much sun.”

The day passed quickly, and by evening, Mrs. Weasley had prepared a hearty beef stew for dinner. She set it on the table just as the Ministry’s working hours ended.

Hermione sat with a heavy Runes book in front of her, ready to ask Kyle her questions after dinner. But as time went on, she realized that not only had Kyle not returned, but neither had Mr. Weasley, Lupin, Sirius, or the other Weasley children.

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the clock for the seventh time, forcing a smile. “Oh, I’m sure they’ve just gotten caught up with work. Let’s not wait—let’s eat before it gets too late.”

She waved her wand, reheating the beef stew until it was steaming again, and ladled generous portions into everyone’s bowls.

Still, it was clear that she was distracted—she spilled the gravy several times while serving.

“It’ll be fine,” Hermione whispered, trying to reassure her. “It must be work-related. You-Know-Who… he wouldn’t dare attack the Ministry, would he?”

Mrs. Weasley smiled faintly. “You’re right, dear. Eat up, and then get an early night.”

“Mum…” Ron began, but Hermione gave him a subtle shake of her head, signaling him to let it go.

Dinner was quiet and subdued, with everyone finishing quickly. Afterward, the children retreated upstairs, while Mrs. Weasley lingered in the living room, frequently glancing at the front door.

Ginny and Ron crouched around the corner of the stairs, peering at the door, which remained frustratingly still.

“Why aren’t they back yet?” Ginny asked nervously.

“I don’t know,” Ron muttered.

“Maybe the Ministry’s keeping them busy,” Hermione suggested, though her worried expression betrayed her doubt. “Don’t worry, Mr. Weasley and the others will be fine. Even if it’s You-Know-Who…”

Her voice trailed off, and she quickly corrected herself. “If something important had happened, someone from the Order would have come to tell us by now. Don’t forget, this is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.”

Ginny didn’t budge. “I’m staying here. I’ll wait.”

“Me too,” Ron added, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Despite Hermione’s logical reasoning, it was hard to ignore that most of the Weasley family—and others they cared about—were still out. The idea of going back to their rooms to sleep felt impossible.

Harry soon joined them, limping slightly after his grueling day of training but equally determined to wait for Sirius’s return.

Hermione, seeing their resolve, sighed and sat down beside them.

The four waited in silence as the hours ticked by, the house growing quieter and darker. Soon, it was late at night.

...

Meanwhile, in Diagon Alley.

The normally bustling street was eerily deserted, the shop doors on either side tightly shut. Loud explosions and ferocious roars echoed in the background.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A Killing Curse shot through the air, shattering the sign of the Owl Emporium.

A middle-aged wizard, flanked by two Aurors, hurried from the main street into a narrow alleyway. Behind them, a group of Death Eaters in black cloaks and masks advanced menacingly.

”Hand him over now!” snarled the lead Death Eater, his hoarse voice dripping with menace.

“Donʼt even think about it!” Tonks shouted, waving her wand to cast a bright red light into the sky.

“There!” someone yelled from a distance.

“Kill her!” the Death Eaters roared.

Before they could raise their wands, more Aurors appeared, swooping in from all directions on broomsticks.

“Expelliarmus!”

“Stupefy!”

Charms flew through the air, forcing the Death Eaters to abandon their plan to attack Tonks. Instead, they turned their wands on the Aurors, plunging the street into chaotic combat.

Meanwhile, the middle-aged wizard, who had slipped into Knockturn Alley, was far from safe. From the shadows, several pairs of eyes watched him, steadily closing in.

He nervously pulled out his wand, preparing to flee, when a voice spoke behind him.

“I wouldn’t go any further, Mr. Fortescue. The depths of Knockturn Alley aren’t necessarily safer than the chaos outside.”

“Who’s there?”

Terrified, Florean Fortescue spun around, pointing his wand at the approaching figure.

“Relax, Mr. Fortescue,” Kyle said calmly as he stepped closer. “It’s me.”

“Prove it!” Florean demanded, keeping his wand raised. “Prove you’re not an impostor using Polyjuice Potion!”

“Voldemort’s a nose-less fool,” Kyle said without hesitation.

At the mention of Voldemort’s name, Florean Fortescue shuddered involuntarily. Still, he finally lowered his wand.

Now certain of the man’s identity, Florean felt a small measure of relief. No Death Eater would dare utter such an insult about Voldemort.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” Kyle said as he stepped closer to Fortescue.

Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George spread out around them, keeping watch and driving back anyone lurking with malicious intent.

“Go home and get to bed,” Fred said to the shadowy figures in the distance. His tone carried a faint threat. “Otherwise, starting tomorrow, I’ll be visiting Knockturn Alley every hour. I guarantee you won’t sell a single thing.”

There was a rustling of movement, accompanied by a few muttered curses, but Fred and George paid it no mind.

Gradually, the sounds faded, and the alley fell silent once more.

“I didn’t think it would be that easy,” George remarked with a grin.

“They weren’t afraid of you,” Bill said, shooting him a look. “They’re scared of the Aurors and Death Eaters out there.”

“I know,” George said with a shrug. “But there aren’t any Aurors here right now—just us.”

“Kyle,” Charlie called, walking over. “How did you know the Death Eaters would attack Diagon Alley?”

“It wasn’t me,” Kyle replied, shaking his head. He lowered his voice.

In truth, the credit for this information went to Mr. Granger.

As everyone knew, the rooms at the Leaky Cauldron were notoriously poorly soundproofed. Most wizards cast soundproofing charms after moving in to ensure their studies were undisturbed. However, Mr. Granger, unfamiliar with wizarding practices, hadn’t done this.

When a few Death Eaters had discussed their plans in the corridor, he overheard fragments of their conversation. While the details were sparse, phrases like “wait until tonight to act” and “we want him alive” caught his attention.

As luck would have it, Kyle had business at Gringotts that day and ran into Mr. Granger outside the Owl Post Office, where he was about to send a letter to Hermione. During their chat, Mr. Granger casually mentioned what he’d overheard.

To protect Mr. Granger, Kyle had kept his involvement secret, simply claiming publicly that the information came from an anonymous source.

“Anyway, thanks to your tip,” Charlie said, glancing toward the explosions echoing in the distance. “Who would’ve thought the Death Eaters would attack Diagon Alley? What were they after?”

“We’ll need to ask Mr. Fortescue,” Kyle said, turning to the middle-aged wizard.

“I don’t know,” Florean Fortescue replied, shaking his head. “They didn’t say anything when they stormed in—just blasted my door to pieces. If the Aurors hadn’t arrived when they did, I’d probably have been captured.”

“That’s odd,” Fred said, frowning. “It’s not like You-Know-Who wants ice cream.”

The absurdity of the idea made Fred pause. But then again… did You-Know-Who like ice cream? The mental image was both hilarious and unsettling.

“I think they might also have been after Mr. Ollivander,” Florean suggested. “As the Aurors were leading me away, I saw a few Death Eaters heading into the wand shop.”

“Ollivander’s not there,” Fred pointed out, frowning. “His shop’s been closed for ages.”

“That’s normal,” Florean explained. “Mr. Ollivander often goes off to gather materials for wand-making. It’s a time-consuming process, and he only comes back about two weeks before the start of term.”

“Well, at least he’s not here now, so he dodged this mess,” George said.

“It’s not that simple,” Kyle interjected, shaking his head.

If Ollivander had been in Diagon Alley, the Aurors might have had a better chance of protecting him with their advance warning. But if the Death Eaters found him somewhere else, there would be little anyone could do to save him.

Boom!

Another explosion rocked the alley. A Death Eater charged into Knockturn Alley, his mask slipping to reveal a crazed, snarling face.

It was Antonin Dolohov, the same Death Eater previously captured by the Department of Mysteries. Somehow, he had escaped again—likely during the mass rebellion of the Dementors, when Voldemort had conveniently freed him.

“You again!” Dolohov bellowed, his voice filled with venom. “Die! Crucio!”

Seeing Kyle, Dolohov wasted no time, immediately casting a Cruciatus Curse. But his intent was too transparent, and Kyle easily dodged behind a barrel.

“Don’t get so worked up,” Kyle taunted from his cover. “Don’t you want to know why your plan failed today?”

“Why?” Dolohov snarled, his tone icy. “Tell me, and maybe I’ll be merciful and let you die quickly.”

“Of course someone told us,” Kyle said, his voice tinged with triumph. “Otherwise, how do you think the Aurors knew about your plan?”

“You’re lying!” Dolohov narrowed his eyes, suspicion flaring.

He wasn’t a fool, and Kyle’s words practically reeked of misdirection.

“Suit yourself,” Kyle said, with a hint of mockery. “I’m just being kind, making sure you understand what happened today. But if you don’t want to hear it, that’s fine too.”

“Tell me the name,” Dolohov demanded, his voice low and menacing. “Who dared betray the great Dark Lord?”

“You’re so clever—why don’t you guess?” Kyle replied with a laugh. “Maybe it’s someone close to you, someone you’ve lived next to for decades.”

“Tell me!” Dolohov roared.

“He’s right there...”

Before Dolohov could react, several Aurors charged into the alley. Their wands were raised, their voices commanding as they cast their spells.

“Stupefy!”

“Incarcerous!”

“Petrificus Totalus!”

...

“Damn Aurors!”

Antonin Dolohov snarled as he waved his wand, deflecting the barrage of spells hurled his way.

Though he burned with the desire to capture Kyle and force the name of the supposed traitor from him, it was already too late.

Facing a swarm of Aurors, Dolohov knew all too well that lingering any longer would guarantee his capture.

“Just you wait—one day I’ll get you!” he shouted, leaving a threat in his wake.

Without a backward glance, he bolted into the shadows of Knockturn Alley. Several Aurors immediately gave chase, disappearing after him.

“Are you okay, Kyle?” Lupin called out as he hurried over from the main street.

One of his arms hung limply at his side, clearly injured, but he paid it no mind.

“Iʼm fine,” Kyle assured him with a shake of his head. “What’s the situation outside?”

“Most of the Death Eaters have been subdued,” Lupin replied. “It’s only a matter of time before we catch the rest. What about Dolohov?”

“He ran,” Kyle said, glancing meaningfully at Lupin’s injured arm. “A few Aurors are already on his tail. In your condition, even if you went after him, you wouldn’t be much help.”

Lupin hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the direction Dolohov had fled. After a moment of consideration, he sighed and nodded.

“That… okay,” he said reluctantly, finally choosing to stay put.