Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 849: Kyle’s True Purpose

After that, Bergman listed a few more regulations—mostly restrictions against interfering with the Dragon Reserve’s affairs—but compared to what had already been discussed, these were relatively minor, and Kyle agreed to them all without hesitation.

As he’d said earlier, this wasn’t why he had come. If it were just about making Galleons, he could sweep through Diagon Alley again. There was no need to travel all the way out here.

So even if some of the terms struck Kyle as a bit over the top, he didn’t mind.

Across from him, Bergman looked like he was on the verge of tears, as though he wanted to praise Kyle with every word in his vocabulary.

Over the course of just a few minutes, he had mentally built Kyle up into a benevolent figure—a man who genuinely loved dragons and was willing to spend a fortune to protect them.

Truly, the wizarding world still had good people!

With that mutual understanding, everything progressed smoothly.

Ten minutes later, Bergman had repaired the snapped quill, dipped it in ink, and with trembling hands, managed to complete the certificate.

It was a sponsorship document, and everything he had just explained to Kyle was written clearly on it.

Bergman then raised his wand and murmured a complex incantation. The ancient spell merged with the ink as he signed his name in the most prominent spot on the page.

A flash of bright white light followed, and the simple parchment transformed into a magical contract.

Kyle gave it a cursory glance, then tucked it away without much thought. If anyone else were to see it, they’d probably assume he was an idiot.

No—honestly, not even an idiot would make such a deal, one with absolutely no profit to be gained.

“Oh, one more thing,” Kyle said, as though something had just occurred to him.

“No problem, go ahead,” Bergman said, still hugging the chest of Galleons, his grin nearly reaching his ears.

All he could think about now was rushing to the Owl Post Office to write to the dragon keepers who had left, telling them they could finally return.

“Right. I was wondering if I could get a legal dragon-breeding certificate,” Kyle said, narrowing his eyes. “Like I said earlier, I really love dragons.”

Bergman’s head snapped up, and the joy and excitement instantly drained from his face.

“I’m afraid that’s absolutely out of the question,” he said flatly.

By now, he had already figured out Kyle’s true intention—and in an instant, the high regard he’d held for him plummeted to rock bottom.

Before the Dragon Reserve was established, all dragon-related materials on the market came from certain pure-blood families. They captured and kept dragons, then slaughtered them when needed, breaking them down into various components to sell for large sums of Galleons.

This practice had led to a sharp decline in the dragon population. After all, it was much easier to capture dragons than to raise them.

Although dragons were among the most powerful magical creatures—immensely destructive—if one had enough money, it wasn’t hard to find wizards willing to take the risk. If ten couldn’t do it, then send fifty, or a hundred.

The cost of hiring them was nothing compared to the profits a single dragon could yield.

If things continued that way, dragons could vanish from the wizarding world within a few decades.

Outlawing all dragon-related materials might seem like a solution, but that simply wasn’t realistic.

After hundreds of years of integration, dragons were deeply embedded in magical society. Take dragon blood, for example—it spanned multiple fields, from alchemy to potion-making.

And dragon-hide gloves were essential for conducting dangerous magical experiments.

If their sale were banned, entire industries would grind to a halt. And the powerful elites would never allow that to happen.

So, to prevent the complete extinction of dragons while keeping the market from collapsing, the Dragon Reserve was created.

Even though they were still stuck at square one with very little influence, their mere existence made the private sale of fire dragon materials illegal. Those trades now had to happen in the shadows, not out in the open.

The same applied to capturing dragons.

In a way, the Reserve served as a buffer—it slowed the dragons’ march toward extinction.

As for the legal dragon-breeding certificate Kyle had asked about... possessing one would allow him to openly trade dragons without any legal consequences.

But if that were allowed—what would be the point of the Dragon Reserve’s existence?

Bergman’s face turned cold in an instant, and without hesitation, he threw the suitcase back onto the table.

“If that’s the reason you’re here, then please leave. I’ll return the Galleons to you exactly as they came.” His tone was cold and blunt, without the slightest hint of regret.

“Don’t be so quick to turn me down.” Kyle didn’t seem the least bit surprised by his response and said calmly, “It’s not like I’m asking for it right now.”

“It doesn’t matter when. The answer is still no,” Bergman replied flatly.

“Not even in ninety years?” Kyle pulled two bottles of Butterbeer from the case and tossed one to Bergman.

“What?” Bergman froze.

“Like I said—I really like dragons.” Kyle casually popped the cap and took a sip of the sweet Butterbeer before continuing, “But I’m still young, and I don’t know all that much about them yet.”

“But I believe that in ninety years, I’ll be a seasoned expert on dragons. By then, though, I probably won’t be up for traveling back and forth between London and Romania so often. It’d be too much of a strain—just like it is for him.”

He nodded toward the figure behind him.

Dumbledore was slumped in a chair, looking thoroughly drained.

Of course, that was due to the strain of repeatedly jumping through time—but Bergman didn’t know that. He simply assumed the old man couldn’t handle the toll of frequent Apparition anymore.

“Well...” Bergman hesitated.

“So I was thinking, when that time comes, it’d be nice to live a little closer to the dragons.” Kyle smiled. “That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

Bergman didn’t reply.

It was true—if the Dragon Reserve were to be officially established, the only way to see dragons would be to come here or find them in the wild. Ninety years from now, the boy standing before him would be over a hundred. Not wanting to make that trip again would be completely reasonable.

“You could just settle in Romania,” Bergman offered. “I can authorize a sizeable plot of land for you here—enough to build a large estate.”

“But attachment to one’s homeland is hard to give up, isn’t it?” Kyle countered.

Bergman fell silent again.

“Or how about I compromise a little more? What if the certificate only takes effect after ninety-eight years?” Seeing Bergman begin to waver, Kyle seized the moment. “A legal dragon-breeding license that doesn’t activate until ninety-eight years from now—surely that’s not an unreasonable request.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I suppose... but—”

“You’re going to issue licenses eventually.”

Kyle cut him off and continued, “There are plenty of people in the magical world who are fascinated by Magical Creatures. Dragons are one of the most iconic species, so naturally, there are many who study them. Not everyone can come to Romania.”

“Whether it’s for research collaborations or other reasons, you’ll inevitably grant special permissions to certain people. Take mandrakes, for example. The Ministry of Magic once banned their trade entirely, yet now there are at least five approved locations where they can be cultivated.”

“Well... uh...” Bergman hesitated even more, stammering, “That’s different. Dragons aren’t like mandrakes.”

“You’re right,” Kyle said with a shrug. “Mandrakes were added to the restricted list in 1869. That’s only thirty years ago.”

“Compared to that, ninety-eight years seems like a fairly long wait.”

Bergman was speechless.

That’s not what I meant at all.

What he had meant was that mandrakes were plants, and their uses were mostly limited to potion-making and a few niche areas—unlike dragon-derived materials, which were used across nearly every magical industry.

But Kyle didn’t give him the chance to explain.

“Well, in that case...” Kyle clapped a hand on the suitcase.

Bergman’s heart skipped a beat, and he blurted out, “Are you calling off the donation?”

“No, of course I’m still donating. I don’t want to be someone who only reads about dragons in books,” Kyle said. “But I might need to adjust the amount. After all, I need to start preparing for the future.”

Bergman let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Let’s say... three hundred Galleons, then.”

Bergman nearly jumped out of his chair.

“Three hundred?!”

He had thought Kyle might cut it in half. Even if only a thousand Galleons remained, that would still be enough to ease their current crisis with careful budgeting. But to slash it down to just a tenth—he hadn’t seen that coming.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Kyle said with a sigh. “Think about it—I can’t raise dragons on my own yet, so I’ll need to build a place here, and that’s not cheap. I’ll also have to find assistants, buy all kinds of equipment, hire House-elves to manage daily needs—food, clothes, everything... When you add it all up, 2,700 Galleons barely seems like enough.”

“It’s enough—more than enough!” Bergman rushed to say.

By Merlin’s beard, is this guy trying to build a castle? Even something Hogwarts-sized wouldn’t cost over 2,700 Galleons.

Well, that’s assuming you only count the structure. If you factored in interior features, even ten times that wouldn’t cut it... But for a simple place to live, you wouldn’t need all that.

“Alright, 2,700 it is. I’ll keep it modest—just enough to get by,” Kyle said through gritted teeth as he began scooping Galleons from the case. At the same time, he placed the parchment back on the table and said apologetically, “But I’ll need to trouble you, Mr. Strick, to write up a new certificate.”

Bergman watched in agony.

2,700 Galleons... just to ‘get by’?

He couldn’t wrap his head around those words.

And the clink clink clink of the Galleons as Kyle pulled them out made it impossible to concentrate.

It felt like someone was tearing down the Dragon Reserve’s sign right in front of him—and he was powerless to stop it.

As the pile of coins in the case dwindled, Bergman’s breathing grew faster and heavier. He looked at the original certificate for the 3,000 Galleon donation, and the quill in his hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. He simply couldn’t bring himself to write a single word.

Damn it, couldn’t he just leave 300 Galleons behind? Why take 2,700 right in front of me?

Isn’t that more trouble than it’s worth?

Before he knew what he was doing, he suddenly stood up and slammed a hand down on the suitcase.

“Don’t take any more!”

“What?” Kyle looked up at him, puzzled. “Oh, no worries. I’ll just speed up—try to finish before you finish writing the new certificate.”

By Merlin’s holey socks... how am I supposed to write anything like this?!

Bergman was screaming internally, but all he could do on the outside was force a strained smile.

“Sir, what if we extended the delay a bit? Say... two hundred years? I can authorize a dragon-keeping certificate that won’t take effect for two full centuries.”

“Two centuries?” Kyle gave him a long look. “Do you even hear yourself?”

Bergman looked slightly embarrassed.

“Ninety-eight years is my bottom line,” Kyle said. “That’s plenty of time for the Dragon Reserve to grow and flourish. I’m only planning to raise a few young dragons—there’s no way I’d pose a threat to you.”

“But if you’re really that uncomfortable with it... forget it.”

As he spoke, Kyle deliberately grabbed another handful of Galleons.

Bergman was nearly in tears.

Over the past two years, Kyle was the only person who had shown up to donate. Who knew how long it would be before another came?

But three hundred Galleons just wasn’t enough.

While he was still agonizing, Kyle extended his hand again, muttering under his breath, “This should cover a nice set of chairs.”

Another handful...

“This could make a good table. I like Wiggentree—helps me concentrate when I’m reading.”

And another...

“These can go toward some goblin-forged silverware. Pricey, sure, but essential for a comfortable life.”

That handful alone was at least twenty Galleons—enough to feed ten dragon keepers for a month. Essential for life?!

“I agree!”

Something in Bergman snapped.

“Ninety-eight years, right? Fine—I agree!”

Kyle’s lips curved slightly before returning to a neutral expression.

“It’s alright, Mr. Strick,” he said, feigning indifference. “Really, you don’t have to feel pressured. I’ve thought it over—building a place here wouldn’t be so bad. At least I wouldn’t need to pay for raising dragons myself. And there’d be variety. Come to think of it, I might be getting the better end of the deal.”

“No trouble at all, really.” Bergman jumped in. “I’ve thought about it too. You’re absolutely right—since we’re going to work with other Magizoologists anyway, why not choose someone we know? Your generosity and kindness match everything we’d want in a partner.”

“But raising dragons on my own would be quite expensive,” Kyle said, glancing into the suitcase. After a brief pause, he shook his head. “On second thought, staying here seems like the better option.”

Clink!

Another fistful of gold vanished into his pocket.

Bergman was truly on the verge of crying. He wanted nothing more than to slap himself—twice.

Why... why did I try to turn him down earlier?

As Kyle had said, ninety-eight years was more than enough time for the Reserve to become strong. If he really did anything illegal in the future, they could simply revoke the certificate.

Wizards respected strength—and background.

And they had the International Confederation of Wizards behind them. What did Kyle have? By then, he’d just be an elderly wizard in his hundreds—how could he possibly oppose such an institution?

They’d hold all the leverage.

“Um... sir, you really don’t understand. Living here is truly unpleasant.” Bergman changed tack at once, his face full of concern.

“The wind is brutal. On windy days, the entire sky fills with dust.”

“It’s fine. I can handle that.”

“And the dragons howl all night. Their roars make it impossible to sleep.”

“No problem. Magic can fix that too.”

“Well... there’s no entertainment here,” Bergman added weakly. “You won’t even be able to find a bar for a drink.”

Kyle’s hand paused mid-reach. He hesitated.

There’s hope!

Bergman’s eyes lit up.

“When we chose this location, we deliberately picked somewhere remote—far from both Muggles and wizards. No one in their right mind would open a pub out here, right?

“Now London, that’s a different story. Diagon Alley’s always buzzing. You can grab a drink anytime, and it’s right next to the Ministry of Magic—convenient for whatever you need.”

“Hmm, that does make sense.” Kyle rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Exactly!” Bergman beamed. “To be honest, if I weren’t forced by circumstance, I wouldn’t want to live in this dump either. Look—the roof even leaks.”

“But dragon care costs are...” Kyle still looked unsure. “And I just remembered—whether I care about it or not, dragons themselves are outrageously expensive. It’s just not practical.”

“We’ll cover it. We’ll cover everything.” Bergman patted his chest confidently. “Once the dragon-keeping license takes effect, any dragon-related expenses—you leave them to us. And beyond that, I can authorize a gift of... hmm, two dragon eggs.”