Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 715: Kanna, the Transferred Student

Harry had never endured such a grueling lunch. For the rest of the afternoon, Slughorn rambled—half the time about topics he found interesting, the other half about the past.

He recounted numerous anecdotes about famous wizards, mentioning how they had all joined an organization called the Slug Club during their time at Hogwarts. Slughorn proudly explained that he had founded the club, naming it after the first part of his surname. It had started as a joke, but he’d found it so amusing that the name stuck.

The so-called lunch break dragged on until the evening shadows lengthened and lamps were lit.

“I didn’t even notice they had lit the lamps,” Slughorn said in surprise, as though only just realizing how much time had passed. “Well, as much as it pains me, you must now hurry back to change into your school robes… Kyle, Harry, you’re welcome to come and see me anytime, as are the rest of you, of course.”

Several Slytherin students stood up, slowly packing their things. They didn’t leave until Kyle, seated by the door, exited the compartment, prompting them to follow.

“Finally,” Neville said with a relieved sigh once they were outside.

“Yeah,” came a voice in agreement beside him.

It was Belby, who glanced back at the compartment, winked at Kyle and Harry, and whispered, “Between you and me, I actually get along with my uncle.”

“Then why did you say that earlier?” Harry asked, confused.

“My uncle taught me that,” Belby said in a low voice. “He doesn’t like Professor Slughorn much, and when he heard Slughorn was returning to Hogwarts, he figured scenes like today’s would happen again.”

“So he told me that if I pretended not to know him well, I could dodge those boring parties. And it worked, didn’t it?”

“You’re lucky,” Harry said, clicking his tongue.

“Haha,” Belby laughed triumphantly. “But I’m sure that trick won’t work for you. He’ll definitely be after you.”

“Stop it,” Harry groaned. He’d already thought as much, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

“Good luck.” Belby waved, then turned and disappeared into a nearby booth.

“Kyle,” Harry asked, “you seemed to be listening really closely back there. How did you manage that?”

“Oh, that?” Kyle said, rubbing his forehead. “It’s easy. Remember the Patented Daydream Charm? I was just sleeping.”

“The Patented Daydream Charm... isn’t that from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?” Harry asked, recalling the product.

“But that doesn’t make sense. I’ve used the Patented Daydream Charm, and it made me look dazed and drool.” He remembered clearly—it was a standout item at the Weasley twins’ shop, displayed front and center. Yet Kyle hadn’t appeared asleep at all.

“You don’t understand,” Kyle said with a grin. “The charm’s real purpose is the same as the Skiving Snackbox: to get away with things unnoticed. If it were that obvious, what would be the point?”

“But I distinctly remember…”

“That effect was added deliberately,” Kyle explained. “It’s meant to confuse any professors who might visit the shop.”

Harry’s expression shifted to one of frustration. Why hadn’t Fred and George told him something so critical?

“All right, we’d better hurry back,” Kyle said, glancing at the darkening sky. “The train should be arriving soon.”

The group quickened their pace toward the back of the train. Harry followed along silently.

Hermione and Ron, busy with their Prefect duties, were maintaining order elsewhere. With no one waiting for him, it didn’t matter where he went.

On the other side of the train, in the Slytherin sixth-year compartment:

“What do you think, Zabini,” Draco Malfoy asked lazily, “what does Slughorn want?”

“Just to suck up to the rich and famous,” Zabini replied scornfully.

“Who are they?” Pansy asked, leaning forward with a sneer.

“McLaggen from Gryffindor,” Zabini said with a roll of his eyes.

“His uncle’s some bigwig in the Ministry of Magic...” Malfoy said dismissively.

“Belby from Ravenclaw,” Zabini continued.

“That’s a loser,” Pansy snorted, her tone dripping with derision.

Zabini rattled off a few more names, each one met with a mixture of mockery and disdain, particularly when Neville Longbottom was mentioned. Pansy was especially ruthless, scoffing at Slughorn’s taste and declaring him senile for inviting someone so widely recognized as a fool.

“Oh, and Potter. And Kyle from Hufflepuff,” Zabini added with a shrug. “You should’ve seen how enthusiastic Slughorn was. You’d have thought he and Kyle were best friends.”

This time, Malfoy said nothing, and even the ever-spiteful Pansy fell silent. The atmosphere in the compartment grew tense, the smug derision giving way to an uneasy quiet. Pansy, in an attempt to lighten the mood, unwrapped a piece of chocolate and tried to feed it to Malfoy, but he turned his head away.

“Don’t be upset, Draco,” Pansy cooed. “Slughorn probably didn’t know you were on the train. If he had, he’d definitely have invited you.”

“I’m afraid not,” Zabini cut in with a sharp edge to his voice. “I noticed Slughorn didn’t invite anyone whose family includes Death Eaters. Isn’t your father still wanted by the Aurors? Two months now, hasn’t it been?”

“Why should I care what he thinks?” Malfoy retorted with a snort of derision. “I might not even be at Hogwarts next year. What does it matter to me if some old fool who’s lost his touch likes me or not?

“You have no idea what I’m going to do, and that’s the point. That’s what’s exciting.”

The compartment fell silent again, the tension thick and unspoken.

Zabini broke the silence tentatively. “Could it be that you’re talking about... him?”

Malfoy shrugged, his expression carefully nonchalant.

But Zabini’s response was sharp, almost mocking. “Who do you think you are?” he sneered. “You’re only sixteen. What makes you think you’re qualified to work for him?”

“Actually, I am,” Malfoy said softly, his voice steady but cold. “The Dark Lord doesn’t care about age. He cares about ability and loyalty.”

“And besides, some things have nothing to do with age. When I’m done, I’ll be the one he trusts the most... because I’m the only one who can do it.”

Crabbe and Goyle gawked at him in disbelief, their mouths hanging open. Zabini’s sneering expression faltered, the mockery in his eyes replaced by uncertainty.

He didn’t think Malfoy would dare lie about something like this.

Could it be true? Had Malfoy really earned the Dark Lord’s trust at just sixteen?

Perhaps out of jealousy—or disbelief—Zabini’s face twisted into a scowl.

But Malfoy didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he was being looked down upon, or perhaps it was something else entirely. His gaze hardened, his pale features set with a quiet determination, as though he’d resolved himself to some unspoken task.

...

The train gradually slowed down and finally came to a halt at Hogsmeade Station.

When the door opened, Kyle was the first to step off.

“Kyle,” Harry called after him, “I remember you’re a Prefect. Don’t you need to stay back and maintain order?”

“Oh, I forgot,” Kyle replied without turning around. “But I’m already down here, so it’s fine. They’ll manage.”

With that, he strode quickly toward the carriages.

Harry hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to follow. He’d agreed with Ron and Hermione to wait for them here, so he decided to stay.

On the other side, Kyle didn’t seem to care if Harry followed or not. He made his way directly to the long line of carriages. Normally, the carriages would wait until they were filled with four passengers, but Kyle had managed to get one moving on its own with nothing more than a piece of warthog leg.

One carriage detached from the group and started down the path to the castle.

The Thestral pulling it moved swiftly, and within minutes, Kyle was in front of the familiar oak doors. He jumped down, climbed the stone steps, and entered the castle.

“Why are you alone?” Professor McGonagall asked as she glanced behind him. The next carriage was still at the school gate.

“I came early because I had something to do,” Kyle replied. “Sorry, Professor McGonagall, but I need to visit the common room first.”

“Very well,” she said with a slight nod. “But don’t forget to attend the Start-of-Term Feast.”

Kyle nodded in acknowledgment.

He was heading to the common room to check if Kanna had returned. If she wasn’t there, he’d ask Snape again—though he doubted Snape would tell him anything. Maybe Dumbledore would know.

Crossing the foyer, Kyle made his way to the corridor leading to the kitchen. Just as he took out his wand to knock on the barrel, the door to the common room opened on its own.

Kanna, dressed in her school uniform, stepped out.

“Kyle!” she said, surprised. “I was just heading to the Great Hall. Are you already back?”

“Ah, yes,” Kyle said, slipping his wand back into his pocket. “By the way, why didn’t you take the train?”

Kanna’s face paled slightly as she walked past him toward the Great Hall.

“Actually,” she said after a moment of hesitation, “I almost didn’t make it back to Hogwarts this year.”

“Didn’t make it back?” Kyle frowned. “Was that Snape’s idea?”

Kanna nodded. “Yes. At the end of the holidays, he took me to Norway to take the test for the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. Everything was going smoothly until yesterday. After we left Norway, he took me straight to France. He said he’d arranged for me to study at Beauxbatons this year.”

The murmur of other students filled the air as they reached the Great Hall.

“I never understood why he insisted I learn French,” Kanna continued quietly. “I thought it was because the person in charge of the Society’s exams was a French wizard. But now I know it was for this.”

Kyle paused at the doorway, not stepping inside.

It suddenly struck him that perhaps it wouldn’t have been a bad idea for Kanna to study at Beauxbatons. At least she’d be safe there. But why had she come back?

Could it have been Snape? No, that didn’t make sense.

Snape had already decided to leave her in France. If he’d gone to such lengths to make those arrangements, why would he bring her back now?

If it wasn’t Snape, then who...?

“You haven’t gone to see Madam Maxime, have you?” Kyle asked, turning his head toward Kanna.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Kanna replied with a sly smile. “Although I don’t know why Professor Snape would do that, I definitely wasn’t staying at Beauxbatons.”

“As it happens, I know you’re on good terms with the headmistress of Beauxbatons, so I thought I might ask her to help me get back.”

“And Madam Maxime agreed?” Kyle asked, surprised.

“I didn’t see her,” Kanna said. “I found Gabrielle, Fleur’s sister, and she told me Madam Maxime hasn’t been at the school for a while. Someone else brought me back.”

“Someone else? Who?”

“I don’t know,” Kanna replied, shaking her head. “I met him by the enchanted fountain at Beauxbatons.”

“You know, there’s a really beautiful enchanted fountain there, said to have been carved from a single piece of crystal. It doesn’t hold water, but potions—sometimes healing potions, sometimes wake-up potions.”

Kanna’s tone grew animated as she wandered off-topic, curiosity glinting in her eyes. She seemed more intrigued by the mechanics of the fountain, wondering where the potions came from and where they went afterward.

Kyle, however, wasn’t interested. Beauxbatons valued alchemy, and odd magic like that wasn’t surprising.

“Mm-hmm. And then what?” he prompted.

“Then I met an old wizard,” Kanna continued. “He seemed to know you and said he had a way to get me back to Hogwarts.”

Before Kyle could respond, a loud knock echoed through the hall—it was the sound of the new students arriving. At Professor McGonagall’s urging, Kyle and Kanna quickly entered the Great Hall.

The door closed behind them, and Kyle found himself wondering about the old wizard Kanna had mentioned.

He didn’t know many people at Beauxbatons. Other than Madam Maxime, there was Fleur, Gabrielle, and Professor Lochneal, whom he’d met in Romania. But none of them fit the description.

Once seated at the Hufflepuff table, Kyle leaned closer and asked, “Did you ask him his name?”

“He didn’t say,” Kanna replied with a shake of her head.

“Then how did you get back here?”

“Apparition,” Kanna said simply. “But the old wizard was really old. I barely grabbed his arm, and it broke. It surprised me.”

Kyle suddenly understood.

There were many old wizards in the magical world, but the only one fragile enough to break at a touch was Nicolas Flamel, the alchemist who had lived for over six centuries.

That explained it.

Although Nicolas Flamel lived in Devon most of the year, he occasionally vacationed in France, attended the opera, or simply wandered about—like a randomly appearing NPC in a game. Many wizards had run into him by chance.

And Beauxbatons was Nicolas’ alma mater, so it wasn’t strange for him to visit. What puzzled Kyle was how Nicolas knew Kanna.

Kyle didn’t dwell on it for long. The Start-of-Term Feast began, and the new students were sorted into their houses. The empty golden plates on the tables filled with an assortment of delicious food.

Kyle, who hadn’t eaten much all day, decided not to overthink things. He grabbed a grilled steak and started eating.

“By the way,” he said, turning back to Kanna, “how did your Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers exam go?”

“Very well,” Kanna replied with a grin. “Although there were a few bumps. Some people thought I was too young and suggested I take the exam in two years, but Mr. Damocles didn’t agree. He insisted on adding me to the list and personally supervised me while I brewed the potion.”

“For the first time, I’m hearing that the brewer’s age could affect a potion’s success rate. Could that possibly be true?”

Kyle snorted. “If you don’t have the skill, the cauldron doesn’t care how old you are. By the way, do you remember who tried to disqualify you?”

“What are you planning?” Kanna asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Nothing much,” Kyle said, popping a French fry into his mouth. “It’s not just about you—it reflects on me, too. Everyone in Britain knows I’m the youngest in the Ministry.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re plotting,” Kanna said, tapping his shin lightly under the table. “They may be old-fashioned, but they didn’t object after I passed the assessment. Don’t do anything reckless!”

“How could I? What kind of person do you think I am?” Kyle said innocently. Then, sensing her disinterest, he changed the subject. “But why did you have to go to Norway for the exam?”

“Because Mr. Damocles is in Norway,” Kanna explained. “Apparently, he’s discovered a special herb there that can improve the Wolfsbane Potion.”

Kyle nodded, recalling that Damocles Belby—uncle to the Belby he’d met on the train—was the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion. It made sense for someone of his stature to oversee the exam.

“So, you passed?” Kyle asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Kanna admitted, cutting into her pork chop. “The results won’t be out until after Christmas. But I think I did well.”

“Then you definitely passed,” Kyle said with a smile.