Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 841: Goodbye, Dumbledore

Godric’s Hollow was a small place, and news traveled fast.

Take, for example, the recent departure of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. Within just a few days, the entire village knew they had left without a word.

This time, the gossip spread even faster. Aberforth emerged from the woods in the evening, and within an hour, word that he’d been beaten up by Kneazles had already become the hottest topic at the valley’s bar.

People laughed until they were gasping for breath, many ordering an extra round—including Corder.

“Hahaha… That kid’s got guts. Even we don’t dare mess with those Kneazles, and he went in there alone!”

“What, the Kneazles here are that dangerous?” Kyle asked, curious.

He’d been through that forest before and hadn’t thought it was anything unusual.

“They’re not so much dangerous as they are clever,” Corder explained. “The Kneazles in Godric’s Hollow are the smartest magical creatures I’ve ever seen. They even set traps to prank wizards who wander into the forest.”

“Traps?” Kyle raised an eyebrow.

He believed they were smart, sure—but traps? That sounded like a stretch.

“I’m serious,” Corder said, completely earnest. “I don’t know how they learned—maybe they picked it up by watching wizards—but I swear I’m not exaggerating.”

“I remember when we first moved here, I went into the woods to pick some wildflowers for the garden. I hadn’t gone far before I fell into a pit…”

At that point, Corder grimaced and took a long gulp of brandy. “I won’t go into the details—you wouldn’t want to hear them. But I’m telling you, that hole was dug by a Kneazle. They even camouflaged it with a layer of dry leaves.”

Kyle lifted an eyebrow.

Kneazles... pits...

From the way Corder’s expression darkened, it was clear the experience had left a lasting scar.

Sensing it was best not to pry, Kyle shifted the conversation. “You said when you first moved here... So you didn’t always live in the valley?”

“Of course not.” Corder shook his head. “We used to live in Gerton Heights—just south of the valley. Not far.”

“So why did you move?”

“Too close to the Muggles,” Corder sighed. “There were several times I almost got spotted using magic. And since our family deals in potions, the brewing process gives off strong smells. It’s just more convenient here in Godric’s Hollow.”

Kyle stroked his chin thoughtfully.

The Highlands… south of Godric’s Hollow… That might just be where Grindelwald and Dumbledore had gone.

He remembered Grindelwald saying he’d gotten information from Bathilda—that one of the Deathly Hallows might be hidden in the southern Highlands near the valley.

And Corder’s surname was Potter. In the story of the Three Brothers, the youngest—Ignotus—had received the Cloak of Invisibility, and the Potters were his descendants.

In other words, the item Grindelwald was searching for was the Cloak of Invisibility, one of the three Hallows. But since the Potter family had already moved from the Highlands to the valley, he was going to come up empty-handed.

Suddenly, everything made perfect sense.

Kyle chuckled quietly. Grindelwald probably never imagined that the thing he was chasing had been right under his nose all along.

“But it’s a good thing we moved,” Corder said, raising his glass and downing it in one go. “It’s much more comfortable living among wizards. We can have drinks together when things are quiet. Patina and I really enjoy the life here.”

“Yeah.” Kyle nodded, finishing off his own drink.

...

Soon, it was the early hours of the morning.

Though Aberforth had come back empty-handed from his Kneazle-hunting, he ended up having a rare good night’s sleep—no strange noises, nothing to disturb him.

The reason, of course, was that Kyle had other plans that night. He hadn’t gone to visit Ariana as usual.

...Because Dumbledore had arrived—not the young Albus Dumbledore, but the white-haired Headmaster of Hogwarts, returned from a hundred years in the future.

That night, after parting ways with Corder at the bar, Kyle had been heading toward the Dumbledore house, planning to see Ariana. But midway there, he suddenly heard a dull thud through his Extendable Ears.

He had previously hidden one end of them in the barn to monitor any activity inside.

Back then, only the young Dumbledore and Grindelwald had ever gone there. They seemed to treat it as a secret hideout—talking about life, their dreams, and ideals, thinking no one would disturb them.

But now, both of them had gone elsewhere and were no longer in Godric’s Hollow. And Kyle himself was away...

So what was that sound?

His heart skipped a beat. Without hesitation, he turned and ran toward the barn.

He pushed the door open—and there was Dumbledore, slumped weakly on the floor.

His face was ghostly pale. He wore a shabby old robe that looked like it had been scavenged from a bin. His once well-kept beard was now a tangled mess.

Kyle had never seen Dumbledore look so worn down.

“Professor…” He rushed over and helped Dumbledore sit up.

“Are you alright?”

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said weakly. He looked at Kyle with a confused expression. “But I’m sorry, my boy—you just called me ‘professor.’ I’m afraid you might be mistaken. I don’t recall ever having taught you.”

“You don’t remember me?” Kyle froze.

Then he realized—Dumbledore really was looking at him like a complete stranger.

Dumbledore’s eyes flickered. “Or perhaps I’m simply misremembering.”

“Then do you remember who you are?” Kyle asked.

“Of course, my boy. I’m Albus Dumbledore, Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts.” He looked Kyle up and down, smiling. “This might sound a little arrogant, but if you’re a student at Hogwarts, you must have heard of me.”

“I have,” Kyle replied. “But our Transfiguration professor is Minerva McGonagall.”

“Minerva... that first-year Gryffindor?” Dumbledore chuckled as he sat down on the chair Kyle had conjured. “You really are full of jokes. Still, she does have quite a talent for Transfiguration. She might very well become a renowned Transfiguration Professor one day.”

“Then why are you here?” Kyle pressed.

“I ended up here by accident,” Dumbledore replied calmly.

“No.” Kyle shook his head firmly. “You used a Time-Turner to come back—to save your sister.”

Instantly, the atmosphere inside the barn shifted, thick with tension.

Kyle saw it clearly: Dumbledore’s wand was already in his hand, his gaze sharp and fixed on Kyle.

“The strong scent of brandy… My boy, perhaps you’ve had a bit too much to drink tonight. You should get some rest. No one can travel back in time, after all.”

“Really?” Kyle’s right hand moved slightly. He was now certain—Dumbledore truly didn’t recognize him.

From what he’d said, his memories seemed to stop at the time when Professor McGonagall had just started school. He remembered nothing beyond that.

Is this the effect of temporal rejection?

Kyle felt a wave of frustration. He’d expected complications, but not like this—and now, Dumbledore was clearly on guard against him.

Any explanation would likely be useless. He wouldn’t believe it.

“Then I’ll take my leave,” Kyle said.

He turned and walked toward the door.

One step.

Two steps.

Three...

He placed his hand on the door and gently pushed.

...

The next second, Kyle spun around.

“Protego!”

A silver-white shield materialized in front of him, deflecting a spell that had come from behind.

“A sneak attack from behind… Professor, that’s not your style.”

“I can only apologize, child,” Dumbledore said, now standing as well. His body was still frail, but his eyes were unwavering. “I don’t know how you know me, but the things you’ve said could jeopardize my plans. I must make you forget.”

“But rest assured, I won’t harm you.”

“Professor, we can talk this out,” Kyle said. “I truly mean you no harm—”

Before he could finish, another spell came flying toward him.

It was clear—Dumbledore had no intention of listening.

With no choice, Kyle raised his arm again.

The Memory Charm was once more blocked by his silver shield. He flicked his wand, casting an orange spell straight at Dumbledore.

“Incarcerous!”

The spell morphed in midair into three thick ropes, aiming for Dumbledore’s neck, chest, and legs.

But with a simple wave of his hand, Dumbledore vanished the spell entirely.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he disappeared—reappearing behind Kyle, wand pointed at his head.

He had assumed that would be enough to subdue this unfamiliar wizard.

But to his surprise, Kyle had vanished as well.

Apparition in the middle of combat?

Dumbledore’s heart gave a jolt, but before he could process it, a powerful gust of wind swept in from his left. Forced to act, he raised his wand instantly.

A silver-white barrier shimmered into place, blocking the howling wind blades.

The blades slammed into the barn’s roof, slicing cleanly through a thick wooden beam.

“Dark magic!” Dumbledore’s face grew even grimmer.

“No, no, no. This was taught to me by the Head of Slytherin House—definitely not dark magic.”

“Horace doesn’t know that kind of magic,” Dumbledore said coldly, flicking his wand upward again.

“It wasn’t Horace. It was another Head of House—someone you trust more than anyone,” Kyle said, casually deflecting the spell.

But he quickly realized the spell had only been a distraction. Dumbledore’s real move was behind him.

From the barn wall, several wooden arms burst forth. One of them had already wrapped around his shoulder without his noticing. It clung tightly, as if coated in glue.

“Sectumsempra!”

Kyle slashed through the wood without hesitation and tried to move forward, wanting to get clear. But before he could take a step, the ground beneath him shuddered violently. A stone wall shot up from nowhere, reaching the ceiling and sealing off all possible escape routes.

Immediately, the wooden arms surged forward in droves, piling atop each other and pressing in together with the stone wall, wrapping Kyle in a tight, impenetrable cage.

Dumbledore staggered forward, gasping for breath. He still needed to cast an Anti-Disapparition Jinx to stop Kyle from slipping away.

Otherwise, it would be nearly impossible to trap a wizard who could Apparate mid-duel.

But just as he raised his wand, a blast of scorching red flame tore through the wooden prison and burst outward.

Then a second blast. A third...

In mere seconds, the intricate trap Dumbledore had created disintegrated into ashes. Kyle emerged completely unscathed, surrounded by a radiant, silver-white shield.

The fire didn’t vanish. Instead, it surged upward, coalescing into a massive, roaring three-headed Runespoor that lunged toward Dumbledore.

Flames spewed from its mouths, igniting the wooden barn instantly.

“Fiendfyre!”

“You really are a dark wizard!”

Dumbledore’s expression turned severe—but his first instinct wasn’t to defend himself or counterattack Kyle. Instead, he quickly cast spells to extinguish the flames and shield the barn. Only after securing the area did he turn his wand on the blazing serpent.

But he hadn’t noticed: Kyle had Apparated again, now standing right behind him.

Dumbledore’s focus was fixed on the Fiendfyre. By the time he realized what had happened, his wand had already flown from his hand, spinning once before landing squarely in Kyle’s grip.

“Expelliarmus,” Kyle said from behind him with a smile. “Professor, I really think we need to talk.”

Even disarmed, Dumbledore didn’t panic. He raised his right hand high, locking the Fiendfyre in place, then slowly turned to face Kyle.

“If you’d cast the Killing Curse just now, you might’ve killed me.”

“Doubtful,” Kyle replied with a shake of his head. “You’ve been holding back—trying to protect the barn. But if I had cast Avada Kedavra, I doubt you would’ve stayed so restrained.”

Dumbledore said nothing, which was as good as admitting it.

“If I’m not mistaken, you don’t want anyone else noticing what’s going on here. Or rather... you don’t want Ariana to hear anything.”

Kyle held out the wand, offering it back to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting that. After a brief hesitation, he cautiously accepted it.

“What is this supposed to mean?”

“I told you—I mean no harm.” Kyle waved his hand, and the Fiendfyre vanished. The beams that had been sliced from the roof reassembled themselves.

As he calmly repaired the damage inside the barn, he added, “I know why youʼre here. Because I’m just like you. I came back using a Time-Turner too. In fact... the one you used was given to you by me.”

“Impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible.” Kyle paused, then said, “Or think carefully, Professor—where did your Time-Turner come from?”

“Do you remember? I’m guessing you don’t.”

Dumbledore fell silent.

Kyle was right—he couldn’t recall. No matter how hard he tried, there was nothing. No memory of the Time-Turner at all.

That’s when Dumbledore realized something was wrong.

How had he come by it? It couldn’t have simply appeared out of thin air. And even if it had, surely he would remember it.

Why hadn’t he questioned that before?

And the more he thought about it, the more things didn’t add up—like the way he’d reacted to Kyle when they first met.

He’d instinctively trusted him. When Kyle had come over to help him, he hadn’t been on guard at all. He’d accepted the kindness without hesitation, revealing his most vulnerable self.

That kind of trust... felt like the kind that came from years of knowing someone.

It wasn’t until Kyle had revealed his biggest secret that the sense of trust had vanished.

“Everything you said—is it true?” Dumbledore asked gravely. “I need proof. Proof you really know me.”

“That’s easy.”

Kyle took out his wand and tapped it against his wrist.

As the wand passed over his skin, a thin golden thread appeared—followed by an identical thread lighting up on Dumbledore’s wrist. The two threads met in the air, intertwining perfectly.

“Contract magic?!” Dumbledore exclaimed in shock.

“That’s right. We once bound ourselves with a magical contract,” Kyle said. “The reason doesn’t really matter now—it’s not relevant to this situation. But at least now you know: we really did know each other.”

Dumbledore lowered his wand.

He could feel it—the contract magic on his wrist had indeed been cast by him. And the moment the golden thread appeared, fleeting images flashed through his mind—scenes that didn’t exist in his current memory.

“I’m sorry,” Dumbledore said quietly. “But I truly don’t remember you.”