Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 806: The Start-of-Term Feast

From morning until evening, the Hogwarts Express chugged along at a pace entirely unworthy of its name.

As they neared Hogwarts, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick left for the Prefectsʼ compartment to give instructions, while Professor Sprout stayed behind, trimming excess branches from a pot of Christmas cacti.

Kyle sat in silence, gazing out the window, lost in thought.

Before all this, he had actually been worried about how the Start-of-Term Feast would be held this year.

In the past, the Sorting Ceremony was undoubtedly the highlight of the evening. But this year, it was clearly Dumbledore’s appearance that mattered most.

It wasn’t that the Sorting wasn’t important—it was just that, given the current circumstances, people cared more about seeing Dumbledore.

He didn’t even have to do anything. Just showing up would be enough to reassure everyone.

That was probably why Dumbledore had made arrangements in advance for Kyle to impersonate him.

If he didn’t show up for the feast, it would inevitably stir up unease and speculation—perhaps even provoke some testing moves from the Death Eaters.

But as long as he made an appearance, all of that could be avoided.

Ever since a week before term began, Kyle had been wondering when Dumbledore would return.

To be honest, he’d been gone a bit too long, and the closer it got to the start of term, the more anxious Kyle became.

Time travel was, after all, not without risks. It was unpredictable, filled with uncertainties. Under normal circumstances, there couldn’t be two Dumbledores in the same time period. If they saw each other, there was a chance they’d accidentally kill their past or future self.

For instance, if the Dumbledore from the past killed the one who had traveled back using the Time-Turner, then he would be truly dead in that timeline—meaning he wouldn’t return.

And if the Dumbledore who traveled back ended up killing his past self, that would be even worse. What exactly would happen then? No one knew—because no one who experienced it had ever lived to explain.

Kyle trusted that Dumbledore wouldn’t make such a fundamental mistake—but when it came to Ariana, he couldn’t be so sure.

Even the most rational person could lose their head over something—or someone—they cared about most. Dumbledore was no exception.

If he acted impulsively and tried to save Ariana, he’d inevitably cross paths with his past self. And then, anything could happen.

There was also the issue of his return.

If Dumbledore had used the Time-Turner in the usual way, he would have lived in the past for a hundred years and returned to Bathilda’s house in Godric’s Hollow this August—completing the loop by arriving at the exact moment he’d left.

But that clearly hadn’t happened. A month had gone by, and there was still no sign of him.

One possible reason was a problem with the Time-Turner itself. According to Nicolas, since it had been repaired, it might have caused a kind of temporal glitch—essentially, Dumbledore’s timeline could have stalled.

In other words, he was frozen in time, while everything else moved forward normally.

But Nicolas also said that even if such a thing did occur, it would only last a few days—not an entire month.

To hedge against that risk, Nicolas had offered another option: to use the Time-Turner to return the same way he left.

That was why he’d gone to the trouble of making a new Philosopher’s Stone—to serve as the Time-Turner’s core. The Stone’s magical power was more than enough to support two time jumps.

But apparently, Dumbledore hadn’t taken that route either. He had simply vanished.

Until today, Kyle had even wondered if Dumbledore, already quite old, might have died at some point during that century-long stretch of time. If that were the case, then of course he wouldn’t be coming back.

But just now, he had dismissed that idea.

Wizards generally lived long lives. Armando Dippet, Hogwarts’ previous headmaster, had lived over three hundred years and was still full of life. Bathilda was well over a hundred. Even the trolley witch on the train had managed to live close to two hundred.

Let alone someone like Dumbledore, whose magical power ran deep—so long as he didn’t do anything reckless, living to two hundred wouldn’t be a problem.

So then why hadn’t he come back yet? Kyle couldn’t figure it out.

Another whistle pulled him from his thoughts.

Noise and commotion began to fill the corridor outside... the Hogwarts Express had arrived.

Kyle instinctively stood up.

“No need to rush,” said Professor Sprout. “It’s better if no one knows you’re at Hogwarts.”

Her meaning was clear—he should wait before getting off. Kyle understood and nodded, then sat back down.

Professor Sprout soon left the compartment as well, guiding the other students off the train.

Kyle remained seated, watching the crowd through the window.

He spotted a familiar, towering figure—Hagrid, just like every other year, holding that ancient lantern as he led the first-years across the lake to the castle.

Twenty minutes later, the last group of students left for the castle in horseless carriages. The platform fell quiet again.

Kyle finally stepped outside and looked up at the castle, now cloaked in the deepening night.

“How does it feel? Coming back under a different identity?” Professor McGonagall, who had just returned from seeing off the students, walked over to Kyle.

“Hard to describe,” Kyle said with a shrug. “But if I had a choice, I really wouldn’t want to be here. I doubt many graduates would want to come back either.”

“Understandable,” McGonagall said with a smile. “But Dumbledore has to make an appearance at the Start-of-Term Feast.”

“I get it. Otherwise, I would’ve run already,” Kyle replied. “By the way, Professor McGonagall—how much does the Headmaster get paid?”

“Salary?” McGonagall was briefly caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. Just a moment ago, they’d been talking about school, and now this?

Still, she thought for a moment. “Shouldn’t be less than two hundred Galleons.”

Her own monthly salary was two hundred Galleons, so the Headmaster’s should logically be a bit higher.

“Is that going to me, then?” Kyle asked. “I mean, I’m technically filling in for Dumbledore. Taking his salary sounds fair enough.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” McGonagall said, rubbing her forehead with a sigh. “Alright, we should head over. Like I said, Dumbledore needs to be at the feast.”

“Right.” Kyle let out a long sigh and, with mixed emotions, stepped through the castle doors.

But instead of heading straight to the Great Hall, they first went to the Headmaster’s office on the eighth floor.

Inside, several robes had already been laid out in preparation.

“These are all Dumbledore’s preferred styles. Pick one,” McGonagall said. “And hurry.”

Kyle glanced over them.

Merlin help him—fuchsia… lilac… lilac with stripes… dark purple with gold trim. Not a single one matched his taste.

With McGonagall urging him impatiently from the side, Kyle had no choice but to pick a blue robe that was at least somewhat acceptable. He then dropped a strand of Dumbledore’s hair into the Polyjuice Potion and knocked it back.

Polyjuice Potion was a strange thing. On its own, it tasted absolutely vile—but once hair was added, the flavor changed completely, and it was different for everyone. Sort of like… Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.

As for the bottle Kyle drank… he had no idea if it was because Dumbledore always added too much sugar to his tea and it had somehow seeped into his hair, but the result tasted like honey-thickened syrup.

It was so sweet it made him gag. He barely managed to keep it down.

...

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall.

With Professor McGonagall absent, it was Professor Flitwick who stepped in to conduct the Sorting Ceremony. But few of the students were actually paying attention to the Sorting Hat.

Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the staff table—and especially the side door beside it.

“Dumbledore’s not here,” Ron muttered. “What could he possibly be doing that he can’t even show up for the Sorting?”

“No one knows,” Harry said anxiously. “But is Hogwarts really safe without Dumbledore?”

“Don’t worry,” Hermione said from beside him, far less concerned. “It’s not just Headmaster Dumbledore protecting this place. We have Professor McGonagall and the others too. And this castle’s been around for a thousand years—layered with protective spells. The Death Eaters wouldn’t dare come in.”

“I hope you’re right,” Harry murmured.

But he couldn’t help feeling Hermione was being a bit too optimistic.

Without Dumbledore, those protective spells in the castle might not be enough to stop Voldemort.

He wasn’t the only one thinking that. Ever since the first-years had arrived, the Great Hall had been buzzing with hushed conversations, the low murmur never fully fading.

And as time passed, the whispers only grew louder.

“Oh, look over there!”

Just as Harry was lost in thought, he felt someone give him a firm shove.

Ron was grinning, excitedly slapping his shoulder while pointing toward the side entrance.

“Look, Dumbledore’s here!”

Harry looked up—and sure enough, Dumbledore had just walked in, dressed in a blue robe, speaking to Professor McGonagall at his side.

“They must’ve been delayed,” Ron said, clearly more at ease now. “Remember? Professor McGonagall rushed off right after she saw us get into the carriage. She must’ve gone to find Dumbledore.”

“Obviously,” Hermione replied, though she frowned slightly as she studied Dumbledore. “That’s strange… he looks a little nervous.”

“No way,” Ron said dismissively. “It’s just the Sorting Ceremony. He’s done it a million times—why would he be nervous?”

“You’re probably right. Maybe I’m just imagining things,” Hermione said, brushing it off.

“Slow down.”

Up by the staff table, Professor McGonagall kept her face neutral as she muttered quietly, “You’re the Headmaster. There’s no need to rush.”

“I know, but I’ve never done this before,” whispered Dumbledore—no, Kyle, who had just taken the Polyjuice Potion.

He’d never been a headmaster—how was he supposed to know what pace was considered normal?

“Stop talking and follow me,” McGonagall said again, then moved to the staff table and casually pulled out the central chair—his seat.

A subtle signal for Kyle.

“Oh, Albus, what took you so long?” Professor Flitwick asked with a wink.

“Got held up,” Kyle said, taking a deep breath as he tried to recall how Dumbledore usually spoke. “I just hope I didn’t miss the Sorting.”

“You’d have had to show up ten minutes earlier,” said Professor Sprout.

She was doing a much better job than Flitwick—her tone made it sound like she was genuinely speaking to Dumbledore.

That was all part of the plan. Engage him in conversation so the other professors wouldn’t.

And with ‘Dumbledore’ now present, the Great Hall gradually quieted down, and the Sorting Hat’s voice could finally be heard clearly.

“Gryffindor!”

Another new student had been sorted. Kyle clapped along with the other professors.

He silently wished the Sorting would drag on forever.

Because during the Sorting, all he had to do was sit and applaud—nothing more.

But of course, that was wishful thinking.

When the last student was sorted into Ravenclaw, Professor Flitwick took the Sorting Hat and the stool and left the stage.

Kyle felt someone lightly kick him under the table—Professor McGonagall again.

Right. According to tradition, it was time for Dumbledore to speak.

So he stood.

Hundreds of eyes turned to him at once, and out of nowhere, a wave of nervousness hit Kyle.

“Welcome to Hogwarts. Before the feast begins, I’ll just say a few words,” he said automatically—then quickly caught himself.

“That’s all. Eat.”

He sat back down. Applause thundered through the hall.

The golden plates instantly filled with delicious food, and the first-years gaped in awe.

Maybe it was just age catching up to him, but as Harry watched their wide-eyed wonder, he couldn’t help but think back to his own first feast at Hogwarts.

He’d been just the same, amazed by the sudden appearance of so much food.

“What did that even mean?” Hermione asked, unable to stop herself.

“Who knows? Isn’t that just Dumbledore being Dumbledore? Always saying weird stuff no one understands,” said Ron, already digging into a chicken leg. “But he wasn’t wrong about one thing.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“He did say a few words.”

...

At the Ravenclaw table, Luna Lovegood tilted her head as she looked toward the staff table and studied Dumbledore. Then she turned to the student beside her.

“Can you become Headmaster right after graduating from Hogwarts?”

“What kind of nonsense are you spouting?” the girl replied, sounding annoyed.

She glanced at the carrot earrings dangling from Luna’s ears and immediately scooted away, putting as much space between them as possible.

She didn’t want to talk to Luna, and she especially didn’t want anyone thinking they were friends. Everyone knew Luna’s reputation.

But Luna didn’t mind. She never cared how others saw her—whether it was disgust or disdain. None of that had anything to do with her.

She looked back up at Dumbledore and murmured, “Is that not allowed? How odd.”

But no one heard her—there was no one sitting close enough to listen.

...

As the students tucked into their food, the professors began to eat as well.

Kyle had already set his sights on a mouthwatering roast beef steak—perfectly seared to a golden brown and paired with roasted garlic. It looked incredible.

But before he could reach for it, Professor McGonagall casually took the steak for herself and, just as casually, slid over a plate with a sugar-glazed raspberry tart.

That’s when Kyle realized.

Right. He was Dumbledore now—and he had to stay in character, not just for the students, but for most of the staff as well.

And Dumbledore didn’t like steak. He had a sweet tooth.

Kyle stared at the thick icing on the tart... One bite of that and his throat would probably clog up from the sugar.

For the first time, he genuinely regretted accepting this job.

Voldemort, the hideous robes—that had all just made him hesitate. But this? This was regret.

Clothes he could tolerate. But taste?

Sorry. As a Hufflepuff, that was a line he couldn’t cross.

Kyle forced a smile onto his face as he quietly set his fork down.

“Albus, are you alright?” asked Professor Aurora Sinistra from Astronomy, having noticed his hesitation. “Lost your appetite?”

Professor McGonagall also glanced over, her expression tense.

“No, I was just thinking—I really shouldn’t have visited Newt this afternoon.”

“Newt Scamander?” Professor Sinistra asked.

“Yes. His wife, Tina, has taken up baking, and I ended up spending the whole afternoon trying cookies. They seemed good at the time... but now, I realize it was a terrible mistake.”

Kyle sighed and gave the raspberry tart a wistful look.

“Would it be terribly rude if I took this with me?”

“Not at all,” Professor Sinistra said without hesitation. “Honestly, you’re probably the only one who likes it.”