Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 801: Inventing in the Wizarding World

First Floor, Minister’s Office.

Kyle knocked on the door, and Bones’s voice came from inside.

“Come in.”

Compared to when Fudge was in charge, the office had become much simpler. The ornate, finely crafted desk made of mountain ash wood was gone, replaced by a much more ordinary one.

Its material and design were the same as the desks in other offices, with the only difference being its considerably larger size.

There wasn’t much choice—if the desk were any smaller, it wouldn’t be able to hold the mountains of documents and files stacked on top of it.

Upon hearing footsteps, Bones instinctively looked up.

“Kyle? I didn’t expect it to be you,” she said. “What’s this, are you thinking of coming back to work?”

“Maybe in a while,” Kyle replied. “I came today because of this.”

As he spoke, he placed a button, a Galleon, and a Sickle on the desk.

“What are these?”

“Communication tools for Aurors,” Kyle said.

“Oh, right, I almost forgot—Scrimgeour came to me about this just last week,” Bones said, rubbing her temples. “Things have been hectic lately, but your communication parchment is already in use, and the department’s feedback has been very positive.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Then why three of them?” Bones looked at the items on the desk. “The button and the Galleon seem a lot more convenient than parchment. Am I supposed to choose one?”

“No, all three are part of it,” Kyle said, pointing to the Galleon and Sickle. “These work the same way as the parchment. As long as the correct password is spoken, the Sickle can communicate with whoever holds the Galleon.”

“There are plenty of Sickles for Aurors working in the field. The Galleons, though, there are only two—one for you and one for Scrimgeour. If more are needed, I can make them, but the anti-eavesdropping runes are fairly complex. It’d take about three to five days.”

“What kind of anti-eavesdropping magic are we talking about?” Bones asked, her tone serious.

“A lot,” Kyle said after a moment’s thought. “Password magic, tracking magic, binding magic, name magic, voice magic... basically, once a user is assigned, it can’t be changed, and no one else will be able to use it.”

“Sounds pretty secure,” Bones nodded. “So how exactly do they work?”

“Each Sickle has a serial number. The Galleon can contact all Sickles, but the Sickles can only call the Galleon—not each other.”

“Oh, that’s clever,” Bones said. She picked up the Galleon and gave it a little weigh in her hand. Then, with a curious look, she asked, “Are these real? They don’t seem like it.”

“Of course not,” Kyle shook his head. “Real Galleons and Sickles are enchanted with special goblin magic, and I can’t replicate that. This is just Transfiguration.”

“Items like these are pretty common, so even if someone saw one, they’d never guess it was for communication.”

“Not bad. And what about this one?” Bones turned her gaze to the button.

“That... is basically a magical signal,” Kyle said, thinking of how best to explain. “The button can transform into a brooch or an Auror badge and be sewn onto a collar.”

“In practice, when an Auror is using a communication coin, they should be within three feet of their chest to hear clearly. Within that range, the magical signal will keep the conversation smooth.”

“What if it’s farther than that?”

“Then there’ll be static.”

“There’s a restriction like that?” Bones frowned, clearly less impressed.

Sure, three feet wasn’t much and wouldn’t affect normal use—but having a limit still made it feel a bit inconvenient.

“No, it’s not a restriction—it’s a safeguard,” Kyle said, shaking a finger.

“Think of it this way: if you hear static, it means the communication coin has been taken by someone else.”

Bones suddenly looked up, instantly understanding what he meant.

“You’re saying the button can tell whether the coin is still with one of our own?”

“Exactly. It’s not foolproof, but it should work in most situations,” Kyle said with a smile. “But there’s a catch—the Aurors can’t know about the button. As long as they’re unaware, any Death Eater spy among them won’t know we’ve got this safeguard either.”

“A brilliant plan...” Bones tapped her fingers on the table, barely pausing before making a decision. “The Aurors never had any official means of identification. I didn’t think it was necessary before, but now it’s perfect... let’s go with badges, issued uniformly by the Ministry.”

“Actually, I think a work pass could work too—one they have to wear to enter the Ministry.”

“But we already have Name Magic and Revealing Mirrors at the entrance. Wouldn’t a work pass be redundant?”

“Itʼs misdirection,” Kyle explained. “Everyone wears one, but only the Aurors have a special version. That way, it draws less attention. Besides, they’re easy to make—I can finish them in an hour or two.”

“Very thorough.”

“The only question is whether the Ministry will approve.”

“Don’t worry about that. I can issue a notice right away. We’ll have it fully implemented before the end of the day.” Bones looked up at Kyle, her eyes full of appreciation. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back to work? I could give you a raise.”

“I’m a coward,” Kyle said with a grin, politely declining.

”Fair enough,” Bones said, letting it go. She glanced at the small items on the table again and suddenly laughed. ”Susan’s told me before—the thing she talks about most at home is that little business your group used to run back at Hogwarts.”

“Partners,” Kyle corrected. “Calling it a ‘group’ sounds shady—we were running legitimate business.”

“My mistake,” Bones waved her hand. “If I remember right, there were auto-navigation maps, exam protection charms, and Quidditch cheering gear, right?”

“Yeah, and a few other gadgets,” Kyle said. “We were just kids, trying to earn a bit of pocket money.”

“You earned quite a bit,” Bones raised an eyebrow. “Susan gave most of her allowance to you lot.”

“Not really,” Kyle quickly shook his head. “The costs were high—we just made a little for our trouble. At most, enough to buy some sweets.”

“Is that so?” Bones teased. “Does anyone else run a business like that?”

“Making friends is what matters,” Kyle said. “The money doesn’t really matter.”

“In that case,” Bones’s expression shifted to something more official, “why don’t we talk about compensation? Would you be interested in making friends with the Ministry of Magic?”

“Huh?”

Kyle froze, his mouth twitching slightly.

He’d already found it strange that Bones had suddenly brought up his school days. Now he realized she’d set him up.

Amelia Bones hadn’t always been like this.

Back when she was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, everyone knew she was fair and honest. But now she’d become... sly.

Trying to save a few Galleons by tricking someone who used to be her student... well, technically he wasn’t a student anymore, since he’d already graduated.

Still, she didn’t even have to pay out of her own pocket—the funds came from the Ministry.

Clearly, the title of Minister for Magic could change a person in no time.

“To be honest, I’m very satisfied with what you’ve brought.”

Watching Kyle’s shifting expression, Bones smiled.

“So, how do you plan to transfer it to the Ministry of Magic?”

“And listen carefully—I said transfer, which means that from then on, you won’t be allowed to sell this product in any form, not even anything similar.”

“That would be a different price,” Kyle replied.

“I’m not arguing,” Bones said, standing up. “I’ve thought of two options so far. The first is a direct purchase.”

“How much can the Ministry pay?” Kyle asked.

“Five hundred Galleons.”

“That’s a bit low,” Kyle frowned.

If they were just buying the items, not to mention five hundred, even fifty Galleons would be fine—a friendly price.

But for full rights transfer? That was way off.

He had spent over half a month developing this thing, testing nearly a thousand different combinations of magical runes.

This was a magical phone.

In a world where communication mostly relied on owls, Kyle was confident that even just the voice call function would be enough to make a fortune.

And that was without even mentioning the built-in security features.

Take the “Galleon,” for example—seventeen rune formula combinations layered with six advanced rune sigils.

Unless Nicolas Flamel or Dumbledore personally showed up, eavesdropping on it would be practically impossible.

So calling five hundred Galleons “a bit low” was generous—it was a massive undercut. Borderline daylight robbery.

He was only being polite because it was Bones.

“I know,” Bones glanced at him. “But you’re also aware the Ministry doesn’t have that many Galleons to spare right now.”

“I can accept an IOU,” Kyle said flatly. “As long as it’s paid within ten years.”

“What about interest?” Bones asked.

“Oh come on, no need to be so formal,” Kyle waved a hand. “Susan’s a friend—and a regular customer.”

“So no interest?”

“Just whatever Gringotts usually charges.”

Bones’s expression stiffened. Reflexively, she said, “Then why mention Susan?”

“To highlight that we’re friends,” Kyle answered matter-of-factly. “Business is all about building connections. Makes the money easier to part with.”

“So that line was meant for me?” Bones pointed at herself.

“Of course. I can’t be the one taking the loss, can I?”

Looking at Kyle’s completely justified expression, Bones felt a sudden pang in her teeth. Her appreciation for this young wizard took a sharp dip.

“Fine. Just tell me—how much do you want?”

“In that case, I’ll take a bit of a loss.”

Kyle gritted his teeth, grabbed a piece of parchment, and wrote down a number.

“This will do.”

Bones glanced at it.

When she’d heard him say he’d “take a loss,” she’d actually held out some hope.

But the next second, after seeing the string of zeros on the parchment, she nearly choked.

“Ten thousand Galleons? Are you out of your mind? That’s impossible!” she all but shouted. “These are just a few trinkets! How could they possibly be worth that much?”

“No, not ten thousand—one hundred thousand,” Kyle corrected calmly.

“Minister, you might not know much about alchemy... which is perfectly normal, of course, since Hogwarts doesn’t teach it. But that’s the going rate these days.”

“Think about it—this is something that could compete with the Owl Post. Do you think you could buy the Owl Post for one hundred thousand Galleons?”

“That’s different.”

“It’s all about delivering messages. What’s the difference? In fact, this form of communication is even more convenient and efficient.”

Bones fell silent.

Kyle smiled slightly.

In truth, he was bending the facts a bit. Even if these communication coins became widely used, they couldn’t replace the Owl Post—at the very least, Hogwarts would still use owls to send admission letters every year.

Plus, with Kyle’s current level of alchemy, these things had a limited range. They’d work in Britain, but anything further and they’d be nothing more than scrap metal.

Still, Bones didn’t know any of that, and Kyle wasn’t about to volunteer the information.

Like he’d said—Bones might excel in many areas, but alchemy wasn’t one of them.

That was also a flaw in Hogwarts’s education system. For such an important subject, they didn’t even offer it as an elective. Meanwhile, at Beauxbatons, alchemy was treated almost like a core class.

Bones lowered her head and thought for a moment.

“I must remind you—this is to deal with the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters.”

Apparently giving up on logic, she tried a different tactic... the moral high ground.

“I know. That’s why I said an IOU would be fine,” Kyle replied calmly. “You can use the items now and pay later, once things settle down. I still have full confidence in Madam Bones’s integrity.”

Bones’s eye twitched slightly. For a moment, she wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered or annoyed.

“Maybe we could go another route,” she said in a low voice. “What if we treat this as your official contribution? When you return to work at the Ministry, it’ll count as an achievement—and it could even fast-track you to Senior Undersecretary.”

“You’ve heard, I’m sure—Dolores was hit with the Cruciatus Curse three times by the Death Eaters. Her mind suffered greatly, and she’s been unconscious at St. Mungo’s ever since. The Ministry just happens to be short one Senior Undersecretary.”

“Wait a minute...” Kyle, momentarily caught up in the tempting offer, frowned. “The Cruciatus Curse... I thought it was twice?”

“There was a third time that wasn’t made public,” Bones sighed. “It happened the day Fudge died. Remember how a lot of people were sent to St. Mungo’s for treatment?”

“Yeah, I was there that day,” Kyle said. “But what’s that got to do with this?”

“Just hear me out,” Bones continued. “One of the victims had been hit with the Imperius Curse by a Death Eater. While receiving treatment, he suddenly lashed out and used the Cruciatus Curse on Dolores, who was in the same ward.”

“What was the point...” Kyle looked puzzled. “Attacking someone in St. Mungo’s? Were the Death Eaters that confident they wouldn’t get hurt?”

In the British wizarding world, St. Mungo’s had always been considered neutral territory. No matter how intense the fighting got between the Death Eaters, the Order of the Phoenix, and the Ministry, they all avoided that place.

And St. Mungo’s never cared who came through their doors. They’d treat injured Aurors just as readily as Death Eaters.

It was an unspoken rule—everyone wanted to keep a fallback option.

Even during Voldemort’s peak, the Death Eaters only kept an eye on St. Mungo’s; they never tried to take control.

Kyle had even once wondered whether that resurrection potion Voldemort used had come from St. Mungo’s... Though it was just speculation, and he firmly believed Director Sykes would never have handed over something like that.

“In the end, the Aurors determined it was a misunderstanding,” Bones said. “That Death Eater probably just wanted to cause some chaos. He was told to attack people nearby during the rescue and didn’t even realize he’d been sent to St. Mungo’s.”

“Same with the Ministry—two people suddenly turned aggressive, but they were quickly subdued. As for the one at St. Mungo’s... well... the Healers were very busy that day.”

Her gaze drifted slightly.

“So, Umbridge was just... unlucky?”

“That’s right,” Bones nodded. “But keep that to yourself. Don’t tell anyone else. What we need right now is a morale boost.”

“I understand,” Kyle agreed.

“So, have you made up your mind?” Bones asked. “Do you want the Senior Undersecretary position?”

“Right now?”

“We’ll need some time to observe,” Bones said. “It’s an important role—I can’t just hand it over on a whim.”

“Then I’ll stick with the Galleons,” Kyle said without hesitation, tossing aside the tempting offer.

“But the Ministry doesn’t have that kind of money. And even if we did, we can’t spend it all on a few communication tools.”

“You can write an IOU.”

And just like that, they were right back where they started.