Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 833: The Generous and Mysterious Wizard

“Since you believe you can handle it…”

Perhaps because Dumbledore was a special case, Professor Marchbanks hesitated for a moment before nodding.

“Alright, then.”

She turned to Kyle and added,

“Remember—once you’re inside, not a single sound, no unnecessary movement. Otherwise, you won’t be sitting your exam next year at all.”

“Of course. I understand.” Kyle smiled and nodded.

Professor Marchbanks turned away and briskly entered the classroom, muttering under her breath,

“Letting an unrelated student into a N.E.W.T. exam room… I must be mad.”

She clearly regretted the decision already, realizing how rash—and against protocol—it had been.

After all, the N.E.W.T.s were the most important exams in a student’s magical education. If this unrelated student ended up disrupting the test, it would reflect as serious negligence on the part of the proctors.

Which was why, under normal circumstances, they absolutely wouldn’t allow anyone else into the examination room.

So why had she agreed?

Professor Marchbanks couldn’t quite figure it out. But they were already inside the classroom, and she glanced at Dumbledore again.

Never mind. If it’s this student, I doubt he’ll be affected.

She shook her head and set aside the thought. Turning to Dumbledore, she began the official process.

“This is the N.E.W.T. Transfiguration examination. Your task: Human Transfiguration. You must change your appearance.”

“A simple enough task,” Dumbledore said with a confident smile, then pressed his wand lightly to his forehead.

He didn’t utter a single incantation. It was as if a bucket of water had been poured over his head—his entire form began to blur.

In the next moment, there were two Professor Marchbankses standing in the room. Appearance, height, robes—everything was exactly the same.

“Oh, brilliant!” The real Professor Marchbanks clapped her hands, picked up a piece of parchment, and drew a large, bold “O” on it.

“Outstanding, without question.”

“I must say, Mr. Dumbledore—you’re the most gifted student I’ve ever seen.”

“The honor is mine,” Dumbledore said as he transformed back into himself.

“Well, that concludes your exam.” Professor Marchbanks nodded in satisfaction.

“Your results will be delivered to you in mid-July. For now, go enjoy your holiday.”

“I look forward to seeing you again, Professor.”

Dumbledore placed a hand over his chest, gave a small bow, and stepped out of the classroom.

Kyle, who had been silent the whole time, quickly followed after him.

But it seemed Dumbledore had already forgotten he was there. He didn’t look back at all and simply headed straight upstairs—likely on his way to the common room.

Kyle jogged a few steps to catch up and took the initiative.

“Thanks.”

“Hmm?” Dumbledore turned to look at him. “Oh, it’s nothing. I hope watching helped. Maybe it’ll make your own N.E.W.T. experience a bit smoother.”

“You’ve already helped me more than enough,” Kyle said with a smile.

He knew Dumbledore was probably eager to return to his friends and had no interest in chatting with a stranger. But it was such a rare and amusing thing to see the headmaster in his youth that Kyle shamelessly stuck around.

“I honestly didn’t think Professor Marchbanks would let me observe,” he said. “Under normal rules, that’s completely out of the question.”

“You said it yourself—normal circumstances,” Dumbledore said with a knowing smile. “This outcome, in fact, might be my proudest exam result.”

“So you used a Confundus Charm?” Kyle asked, suddenly realizing.

It was the only logical explanation for why Marchbanks had agreed to something so against protocol.

To use a Confundus Charm on a proctor—during a N.E.W.T. exam, no less—young Dumbledore was certainly bold… and a bit mischievous.

Dumbledore didn’t reply. He simply gave a small smirk and winked. That charming expression, paired with his youthful good looks, made several nearby witches stop and stare.

“Oh, right. I remember you said you were a sixth-year, didn’t you?” Dumbledore suddenly asked.

“Which house are you in? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“Ah…” Kyle tensed slightly. “I’m in Hufflepuff. Maybe… you just haven’t noticed me.”

“Ah, that explains it. You Hufflepuffs do tend to stay out of sight outside of class.”

Dumbledore nodded, apparently accepting Kyle’s improvised explanation without question.

“Though it might be presumptuous to say so, some of the headmaster’s decisions really are quite absurd. I’ve always believed the four houses of Hogwarts should be equal—not ranked or divided by status.”

“Of course, we Gryffindors aren’t exactly better than you lot either.”

He glanced at Kyle and gave a small shake of his head.

“Sorry, I’ve been rambling today. And you don’t need to thank me—I just had my own reasons and happened to give you a little help along the way.

“If there’s nothing else, I’d like to head back to the common room.”

“Of course.” Kyle stepped aside.

As much as he enjoyed chatting with a young Dumbledore, this was probably enough. If he stuck around too long, Kyle worried Dumbledore might start noticing something was off.

After bidding farewell, Kyle made his way out as well. In his current situation, leaving through the main entrance would be nearly impossible. If he were stopped and someone realized he wasn’t actually a Hogwarts student, things would get messy fast. He needed another exit.

Fortunately, Kyle already had a plan. He made his way to the third floor and found the familiar hunchbacked witch statue.

Sure enough, the secret passage was still there.

He drew his wand.

“Dissendium.”

The witch’s humped back slowly split open, revealing a pitch-black tunnel.

The other end of the tunnel led to Honeydukes. Since Hogwarts was still in the middle of exams, the shop was nearly empty. Only a middle-aged wizard sat behind the counter, carefully checking candy inventory.

Kyle, already under an invisibility charm, crept past him and exited the shop. But after a moment’s hesitation, he turned back and walked in normally.

“Oh, welcome!” the shopkeeper said, rising from his seat with a puzzled expression. “A Hogwarts student? Shouldn’t you be in exams?”

“I’ve already graduated,” Kyle replied with a smile.

“Oh, my apologies—I thought you were still a student,” said the shopkeeper. “What can I get for you? I can offer you a nice discount.”

“I’ll have some of your classics,” said Kyle. “The best-selling stuff.”

“Well, our top sellers are definitely the Exploding Chocolates and Raspberry Honeybees.”

“Mind if I try a few?” Kyle asked. “Of course, I’ll pay.”

“Try them?” The shopkeeper looked a bit surprised. These were top-selling items—reasonably priced and wildly popular. They sold by the bucketful every week. Any Hogwarts student should have tried them at least once.

Still, he didn’t think much of it—just assumed Kyle had been too broke as a student to splurge on sweets.

He grabbed a box from the shelf, selected an assortment, and handed them over.

“Help yourself. My treat. No charge.”

“Thanks.” Kyle popped a chocolate ball into his mouth. The moment he bit down, it exploded, flooding his mouth with the rich flavor of roasted steak.

Steak-flavored chocolate—it was a little strange, but not bad. Sort of like a savory spin on Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.

Then there were the Raspberry Honeybees: they looked exactly like little bees and could even fly. Once you opened the box, they buzzed around for six hours. When you wanted one, you just opened your mouth and theyʼd fly right in. Quirky, fun—and delicious.

“I’ll take the lot.”

Kyle pulled out twenty Galleons and placed them on the counter.

“Twenty Galleons?” The shopkeeper was startled. “Isn’t that a bit... much?”

He assumed the young man had suddenly come into money and was now splurging to make up for lost time.

“It’s fine—they’re for my friends,” Kyle said. “Could you pack them up for me? And toss in some other classics while you’re at it.”

At Kyle’s insistence, the shopkeeper nodded and got to work.

Twenty minutes later, he hauled an enormous bundle onto the counter.

Looking at the package—big enough to fill an entire cart—Kyle blinked in surprise.

Twenty Galleons... really buys this much candy?

His eyes drifted to the price tags. A large chunk of nut-filled Chocolate Cauldron went for just two Sickles. Back in his time, the same item would’ve cost at least twelve.

Kyle slapped his forehead.

Right... it’s a hundred years ago.

Same currency, very different prices.

No wonder the shopkeeper had been giving him odd looks.

But he’d already paid, and there was no point in backing out now. Kyle drew his wand and levitated the oversized bundle, guiding it along beside him as he walked toward the door.

Then he paused.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at a twig on one of the shelves.

A few large, sluggish beetles were crawling along it. It was hard to imagine why something like that would be in a candy shop.

“Oh, that’s our newest item—Beetle Skewers,” the owner said proudly. “The branch is chocolate, the beetles are made of brown sugar, and inside there are bits of popping fruit. The idea came from my daughter—she’s only three.”

“That’s brilliant,” Kyle said. “I’ll take a box of those too.”

“You really like them?” The shopkeeperʼs eyes lit up. “They taste great, but most people are put off by how realistic they look.”

“Of course.” Kyle grinned. “How much?”

“No charge. Consider it a gift—for a valued customer.” The shopkeeper quickly grabbed a hefty box. “If you like it, come back anytime.”

“Thank you.” Kyle accepted it without protest.

After leaving Honeydukes, he found a quiet spot and stashed the mountain of candy in his suitcase.

He didn’t rush off to Godric’s Hollow right away. Instead, he took a leisurely stroll through Hogsmeade.

The village hadn’t changed much from the way he remembered it. Most of the shopfronts looked exactly the same, as though a century had passed without touching them.

However, the interiors of the shops were quite different.

Take the Three Broomsticks, for example.

The current proprietor was certainly not the charming Madam Rosmerta, but a dour-faced middle-aged wizard who looked perpetually displeased. Even with Kyle as his only customer, the man didn’t offer so much as a smile.

Still, the drinks were just as good as ever.

The Butterbeer was rich and warming—one sip sent a cozy heat through his whole body. Kyle bought a hundred cups in one go.

He planned to store them in his suitcase later, sealing the bottles with a Bubble-Head Charm so they wouldn’t spoil.

A hundred cups of Butterbeer, plus a few other drinks and liquors, cost him less than fifty Galleons in total—an absolute bargain.

The only downside was that the grumpy owner had to scramble to prepare everything, which left him looking even more disgruntled.

Next, Kyle headed to The Scribbulus Writing Implements shop, where he promptly bought out their entire stock of Thunderbird quills and Mobic Ink from the Mobic Squid.

Especially the Mobic Squid—classified alongside dragon eggs as a Class A Non-Tradeable Material. Its ink, known to last a thousand years without fading, would eventually be worth more than dragon’s blood—and even then, nearly impossible to find.

Yet here, an entire shelf was stacked with it.

Kyle didn’t hesitate. He bought all of it, including two full crates of reserve stock.

And from that moment on, he couldn’t stop.

He made his way meticulously through Hogsmeade, visiting every shop. Whenever something caught his eye, he didn’t even look at the price. He simply waved his hand and bought the lot.

Soon after, a new legend began circulating in the village: a mysterious, wealthy young wizard was spending Galleons like water.

Some shops saw their entire two-month supply vanish in minutes—and he still wanted more.

Before long, this mysterious patron became the talk of the village.

At first, some suspected he was paying with counterfeit gold—after all, who shops like that? He wasn’t buying one or two items; he was clearing out whole inventories.

Some cautious merchants even rushed to Gringotts. But the goblins confirmed: every coin he paid was a real Galleon, forged with genuine goblin craftsmanship.

For all their greed, goblins were fiercely proud of their work—they never cut corners. Whether minted a century ago or a century later, a Galleon was a Galleon.

In fact, it was very possible Kyle had been paying with Galleons from a hundred years ago—or even older.

That only fueled the villagersʼ curiosity. They began speculating wildly about the young man’s identity.

Some said he was heir to an ancient pure-blood family. Others thought he was a self-made wizard of great talent. And a few suspected he was a shady figure profiting from illicit dealings.

But no matter which theory they entertained, they always came back to the same point: the man spent money lavishly.

Several shops even tripled their inventory overnight, hoping the big-spending customer might return.

Kyle, of course, had no idea he was earning such bizarre titles. By this time, he had already left Hogsmeade and was heading toward Diagon Alley.

Yes—Diagon Alley, not Godric’s Hollow.

After circling Hogsmeade, Kyle found himself completely enamored with this era. But the village was too small—he’d seen everything in half a day, and it left him wanting more.

Diagon Alley, on the other hand, was a treasure trove. Rare and fascinating items filled the shelves—he even saw dragon eggs being sold openly.

Well, egg shells, at least.

Kyle paid ten Galleons for one.

“Do you have a complete one?” he asked the shopkeeper. “I’m willing to pay ten times the price.”

Ten times?

That was a hundred Galleons!

The shopkeeper hesitated, tempted. He didn’t think Kyle was bluffing. The man had been visiting shops for days now, and by his estimate, had spent over two hundred Galleons already.

He’d also bought plenty of things that seemed absolutely useless—like Reʼem horns. As far as the shopkeeper was concerned, they were expensive and purely decorative.

To him, Kyle was just a rich fool with more gold than sense—of course he could afford a hundred Galleons.

Naturally, Kyle didn’t bother to explain that, in sixty-seven years, a company called Nimbus would take the wizarding world by storm with its line of racing brooms—and that one of its major breakthroughs would be the inclusion of powdered Erim horn in its models.

The ingredient, it would turn out, dramatically improved broomstick flight stability.

The result? A tenfold price surge within a single year.

And though prices eventually cooled somewhat, they remained far higher than before... All of this was valuable commercial intel—and every bit of it glittered gold.

“I can try to find you a complete dragon egg,” the shopkeeper said in a hushed tone. “But I can only promise to try. You know dragons are Class A Non-Tradeable Materials. Empty eggshells are one thing, but a whole dragon egg? The Ministry keeps a close eye. It’s a huge risk.”

“Risk?” Kyle raised an eyebrow and casually shook a coin pouch. “What if I offered you two hundred Galleons—would the risk feel a little smaller?”