Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 748: Six Hundred Years of Character, Is That It?

As Ryan had said, Gryffindor was incredibly lucky. Not only were two of Slytherin’s starting players unable to participate, but the match was over in just twenty minutes.

260:0

The staggering score difference left everyone stunned. No one had expected the burly Slytherins to fail to score even a single goal.

Ron was like a wall, making brilliant saves—some so precise that the ball barely skimmed his gloves before deflecting off the goalpost and rebounding out. It was almost magical. And while the Slytherin supporters chanted the Weasley song in unison, he had the audacity to orchestrate them from above, his taunting skills in full display.

By the time Kanna rushed over, the stands were already emptying.

“That fast?” she asked, puzzled. A match usually lasted at least half an hour.

“Slytherin didn’t score once, and their morale collapsed,” Kyle shrugged. “They were relieved to get it over with. When Harry grabbed the Snitch, they barely even resisted.”

“Their Beaters looked like they were sleepwalking,” Mikel added. Then, turning to Kyle, he asked, “But if it had been our match today, do you think you could’ve scored?”

“I don’t know.” Kyle pondered for a moment before shaking his head. “There are two possibilities. One, he was in top form today. If that were the case, I might have scored, but not much. We wouldn’t have been able to dominate.”

“What about the other possibility?” Mikel asked, frowning.

Kyle hesitated for a moment before answering. “If it was the other case... then not just me, even if Moran played, I doubt she could score against Gryffindor.”

Moran was the star Chaser for the Montrose Magpies and one of the most renowned professional Quidditch players. She had led the Irish national team to victory over Bulgaria in the last Quidditch World Cup.

Kyle said this because Ron’s performance today had been too extraordinary—so much so that he couldn’t help but think of the birthday gift Slughorn had given him yesterday… that tiny bottle of Felix Felicis.

It was just too similar.

Suddenly patching things up with Lavender… the Slytherin student he’d been arguing with inexplicably tripping… both of Slytherin’s key players withdrawing… and then, a performance on the pitch that could rival The Boy Who Lived.

He was like a different person today, as if he had a spotlight shining on him.

If all of this was just coincidence, it was an awful lot of coincidences.

But then again, would someone really use Felix Felicis just for a Quidditch match?

This wasn’t even the final—it was just a regular House match.

Was it really worth using Felix Felicis for something like this?

Kyle didn’t think so. Not only would it be a ridiculous waste of money, but it would be outright foolish.

“Kyle, he probably didn’t drink… that,” Kanna said, considering Felix Felicis as she listened to their discussion. “But isn’t that illegal? Felix Felicis is banned in official competitions—even school ones.”

“I don’t think so…” Kyle hesitated, his voice uncertain. “Ron’s not stupid. Why would he waste Felix Felicis just to win a game?”

Even as he said it, doubt gnawed at him. There was no getting around it—Ron’s performance today really seemed like he had taken Felix Felicis.

“What are you guys talking about?” Ryan asked, catching up from behind.

“Nothing.” Kyle shook his head, deciding not to spread rumors without proof.

After all, maybe Ron really had just been lucky.

…

When they returned to the castle, it had turned into a sea of gold and red.

The Gryffindors were celebrating their victory over Slytherin, and their excitement rivaled that of Christmas morning.

”Weasley is our king!”

”Heʼs invincible!”

”Not a single ball gets past him!”

The song had evolved into a new version, one that truly lived up to its name: Weasley is Our King.

Ron had become Gryffindor’s hero, completely surrounded by ecstatic housemates.

“If he plays this well next time, we’re in trouble,” Mikel said worriedly. “Gryffindor’s score has already surpassed ours.”

“It’s okay,” Kyle replied indifferently. “We’re only a little behind, we can catch up.”

The Quidditch match was just a passing event, and before long, Kyle stopped thinking about it and headed for the library.

He was still a little curious about what Malfoy had been reading earlier.

Since most students had just returned from the pitch, the library was relatively empty. Kyle only needed a quick glance around to spot Malfoy sitting near the aisle.

Feigning interest in borrowing a book, he walked past nonchalantly, sneaking a glance at Malfoy’s desk as he passed.

To his disappointment, all he saw was a copy of The Advanced Transfiguration Guide, a standard reference book for Transfiguration after O.W.L.s. A stack of parchments sat beside it, making it clear that Malfoy was just doing homework.

Kyle never would have guessed that Malfoy would skip a Quidditch match just to catch up on assignments.

It was honestly a little surprising. Since when had he become such a bookworm?

But there was nothing Kyle could do about it—this was simply what he saw. So, without dwelling on it further, he quickly borrowed a book and left.

Kyle didn’t go anywhere after that. He spent the afternoon brewing potions with Kanna in the Room of Requirement, and after dinner, he returned to the common room to play a few rounds of wizard chess with Mikel.

Until nine o’clock in the evening.

He and Mikel were in the middle of a heated match when the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff ghost, suddenly emerged from beneath the chessboard.

Mikel jumped in surprise, his hand twitching involuntarily. The chess piece he had been holding slipped from his fingers, and his crucial queen was promptly smashed by Kyle’s knight.

“Hey, do you even know how to play?!” the tiny king spun around angrily, scolding Mikel. “How can you just wander under another piece’s hoof? Even a troll would do better than you!”

“Can you blame me?” Mikel shot back, equally frustrated. “Do you think I wanted to go there? I was scared, okay?”

“Sorry, kid,” said the Fat Friar with a bow. Then he turned to Kyle. “The headmaster is looking for you.”

“Now?” Kyle glanced toward the dark sky outside.

“That’s what the headmaster said. They’re waiting for you.”

“Alright.”

With some reluctance, Kyle got up. As he made his way to the door, he suddenly thought of something and turned back.

“Kanna, you take over this game for me.”

“Okay,” Kanna nodded.

But before she could sit down, Mikel’s expression changed drastically.

“Ryan, I just remembered—we haven’t finished our Charms homework yet, right? We need to get it done right now!”

Without waiting for Ryan’s response, Mikel bolted for the dormitory.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of losing—he just knew how painfully slow Kanna was at chess.

Having already suffered through one excruciating match against her, he understood all too well that even if he was down a critical piece, this game could easily drag on for another half an hour.

And rather than endure that slow torture, Mikel would rather do his homework.

Luckily, Kanna remained unaware of his reasoning. Seeing that Mikel had left, she simply sat back down and resumed reading her book.

…

Kyle, on the other hand, left the common room and made his way up to the eighth floor.

Inside the headmasterʼs office, in addition to Dumbledore, Harry was also present.

On the table before them sat the familiar Pensieve, its surface rippling gently as silver memory strands swirled like tiny fish. It looked as if they had just finished reviewing another memory.

”Professor, is there something you wanted?” Kyle asked, absentmindedly rubbing the feathers on Fawkes’s neck by the door.

But strangely, neither Dumbledore nor Harry responded for a long time.

Kyle instinctively looked up, only to find Dumbledore staring at him with an expression he had never seen before—three parts shock, seven parts disbelief, and at least nine hundred and ninety points of utter bewilderment.

”...Whatʼs wrong?” Kyle asked again.

”I heard from Harry that you gave Slughorn a glass of aged mead?” Dumbledore’s voice trembled slightly, as though he was holding something back.

”Ah, thatʼs right,” Kyle nodded. ”Professor, do you like mead too?”

”If itʼs all the same to you... I’d like to try some,” Dumbledore said after a brief pause, attempting to sound nonchalant. ”I rarely drink spirits anymore now that I’m older, so mead is just right.”

”Okay.”

Kyle retrieved the golden cup again and gave it a gentle shake.

Almost immediately, the rich, sweet aroma of aged mead filled the office.

But no one in the room was looking at the drink. Every single eye—Dumbledore’s, Harry’s, and even those of the figures in the surrounding portraits—was fixed squarely on the golden cup in Kyleʼs hands.

”Armando, is that the one...?” a witch in one of the portraits murmured.

”To be honest, I’ve never seen the real thing myself,” Armando Dippet admitted. ”But judging from its appearance, it certainly seems to be.”

”Kyle...” Dumbledore finally spoke again, his voice quieter this time. ”What is this cup?”

”This? Hufflepuff’s Cup,” Kyle said calmly. ”What’s wrong with it?”

”You’re actually asking what’s wrong with it?!”

Phineas Nigellusʼs voice rang out from above, and at some point, the former Heads of House had gathered around the nearest portrait to the table, craning for a better look.

”This is Hufflepuff’s Cup!” Phineas practically shrieked.

”Calm down, Phineas... calm down,” Dumbledore said, waving a hand to quiet him. Then, turning back to Kyle, he asked, ”May I see it?”

”Certainly.”

Kyle pushed the cup across the table without hesitation.

Dumbledore carefully poured the mead into a teapot nearby before lifting the cup for closer inspection. His crooked nose was nearly pressed against its surface as he scrutinized it, turning it in his hands.

”Professor, is this really Hufflepuff’s Cup?” Harry asked in a low voice.

”I believe so,” Dumbledore answered, sounding slightly dazed.

”But...” Harry hesitated, his brow furrowing. ”In the memory we just watched, didn’t Voldemort trick that woman—Hepzibah Smith—into giving it to him?”

What they had just viewed was a memory related to the golden cup—or rather, an early chapter in Voldemort’s rise to power.

Voldemort had discovered the cupʼs existence while working at Borgin and Burkes, having learned that Hepzibah Smith kept it in her collection. Using his characteristic charm and manipulation, he had deceived her into parting with it.

At the time, Harry had thought the golden cup looked oddly familiar, as if he had seen it somewhere before. Then, the realization struck—he had seen it, just yesterday, in the Hospital Wing.

Kyle had used that exact same cup to pour mead.

At first, he hadn’t thought much of it, dismissing it as a coincidence. After all, golden goblets were fairly common. Maybe Kyle just happened to have one that looked exactly like the cup in the memory.

But then, under Dumbledore’s persistent questioning, he had recounted the entire scene from the Hospital Wing.

And that was why Kyle had been called here.

”What the hell is going on? Is that memory fake?” Harry asked.

”No, I can assure you that the memory must not be fake,” Dumbledore shook his head. ”As for what happened in the middle... Iʼm afraid only one person knows.”

He looked up at Kyle. ”Can you tell me whatʼs going on?”

”Didnʼt Nicolas tell you?” Kyle blinked. ”Just like Ravenclawʼs Diadem, this was originally Voldemortʼs Horcrux. I found it and gave it to Nicolas, and he took care of it for me.”

Dumbledoreʼs mouth twitched twice.

Why Nicolas again?

He still remembered that after learning about the Diadem, he had made a special trip to Nicolasʼs manor to ask if there was anything else he was hiding.

At the time, Nicolas had sworn on his six hundred years of character that there was absolutely nothing more.

Dumbledore had believed him.

And now, barely any time later, another artifact had appeared.

Six hundred years of character, and this was the result?

In an instant, Nicolas’s image in his mind collapsed.

Liars... all liars!

Dumbledore took a long moment to compose himself before deciding to set that topic aside for now.

”So, how did you find this Horcrux?”

Harry turned his attention to Kyle as well, clearly curious.

”It was a coincidence,” Kyle said. ”Didnʼt Lucius Malfoy take a notebook before? I wondered if the other Death Eaters also had Horcruxes, so I took the time to go to the Lestrange family ancestral home.”

”And thatʼs where you found this gold cup?” Harry couldnʼt help but ask, his tone full of disbelief.

”Well... sort of,” Kyle nodded.

This time, not only Harry but even Dumbledore was left speechless.

Since when had finding Horcruxes become such an easy task? They still had barely any leads on the remaining ones, yet Kyle had just happened to find one in a Death Eaterʼs ancestral home?

Dumbledore took a few deep breaths. As unbelievable as it sounded, he accepted it.

After all, this wasnʼt the first time. Kyle had been involved in finding every Horcrux so far.

After experiencing it so many times, Dumbledore was slowly getting used to it.

Setting the gold cup down, he looked at Kyle with a serious expression.

”Kyle, it is very important that you tell me honestly—are there any more Horcruxes that we donʼt know about?”

He had never imagined that a single person could find so many Horcruxes in just a few years. Even after learning about the Diadem, he hadnʼt considered the possibility.

But now, reality had shown him otherwise. Kyle could do it.

”No more, I promise!” Kyle said.

He really didnʼt have any more. Dumbledore already knew about the Diary, the Diadem, and the Locket.

He had also taken one of Voldemortʼs snakes, but it hadn’t been used as a Horcrux. It was currently with Newt.

Dumbledore looked into Kyle’s eyes for a long time before slowly nodding and sitting back down.

”I believe you,” he said. ”But Kyle, you really shouldnʼt hide something this important. If I hadnʼt called you here today, were you planning on telling me?”

”If I had thought about it, Harry wouldnʼt have seen the Hufflepuff’s Cup at all,” Kyle shrugged. ”And the cup was with Nicolas the whole time; I only got it this Christmas.”

He wasnʼt going to take the blame for this. When he had taken the golden cup out of the Hospital Wing, he hadnʼt intended to hide it from Dumbledore. If he had wanted to keep it a secret, he wouldnʼt have used it so openly—he could have used any other cup when asking Slughorn to test the mead.

”Iʼm sorry, Kyle,” Dumbledore sighed. ”But as I said, this is important, and we have to take it seriously.”

”I understand.”

”This...” Dumbledore glanced at the cup again. ”Can I keep it for a few more days?”

”Canʼt you just look at it now?” Kyle hesitated.

The cup was no longer a Horcrux, so there was no real reason for Dumbledore to keep it... and what if he suddenly remembered that he had taken his black tea?

”Donʼt worry, Iʼll give it back to you in a week at the most,” Dumbledore reassured him.

”Okay then,” Kyle nodded after a moment of hesitation.

But just to be on the safe side, as he left the headmasterʼs office, he took Fawkes from the perch with him.

Dumbledore’s mouth twitched again, but he didn’t say anything.