Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 910: The Song of the Phoenix

Malfoy was arrested without resistance, dragged from the tower by Snape gripping him firmly by the back of the neck.

Nearly every professor had witnessed him kill Dumbledore. That Professor McGonagall didn’t strike him down on the spot was a testament to the discipline instilled by decades of service as a teacher.

Kyle let out a subtle breath of relief and instinctively glanced around.

He knew the real Dumbledore was nearby—but no one else did, and no one knew where.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward.

Her face had gone deathly pale. She stared blankly at the open window, lost in the memory of what she’d just seen. After a moment, it was as if all the strength had suddenly drained from her body—she staggered, her legs nearly giving out.

Kyle reacted quickly, conjuring a chair just in time behind her, keeping her from collapsing to the floor.

“What… what on earth happened here…” Professor McGonagall asked weakly. “Why… Dumbledore…”

“It was You-Know-Who’s plot,” Kyle said, doing his best not to look directly at her. “He placed a special variant of the Killing Curse on Malfoy’s wand. If Malfoy failed to kill Dumbledore, the curse would rebound on him instead.”

“When I arrived… Professor Dumbledore had already made his decision.”

“He chose… Malfoy…” Professor McGonagall murmured, dabbing at her tears with a lace-edged handkerchief. “Of course he did… Even if Malfoy wanted to kill him.”

“Oh…” Professor Flitwick gave a choked, heartrending sob.

Professor Sprout clenched her apron tightly in both hands.

No one else spoke. It was as though everyone had been swallowed up by the weight of shock and fear.

“Tell me what happened!”

Snape burst back in, fury written across his face.

“Tell me—Draco… How could he have killed Dumbledore?!”

He stared directly at Kyle, trembling with rage, clearly at his limit.

Of everyone in the room, he was probably the one least able to accept what had just happened.

Not because he was deeply attached to Dumbledore—but because he simply couldn’t believe that Draco Malfoy had actually completed the task assigned to him by the Dark Lord.

And worse still, he had known absolutely nothing about it—on either side.

He had only come here after hearing the phoenix’s cry, curious to see what was going on.

Then, right before his eyes… Dumbledore had died.

Merlin help him!

“I don’t know any more than you do, Professor Snape,” Kyle said, face drawn with sorrow. “By the time I got here, I only had time to disarm Malfoy.”

“Liar!” Snape snapped, clearly unconvinced.

“If that’s true, then how did you know the Killing Curse would rebound? Draco couldn’t have told you that!”

“I recognized it,” Kyle replied evenly. “Had you been here, you’d have seen it too. It was a very recognizable piece of dark magic. Maybe that’s exactly what You-Know-Who wanted—he never planned to hide it…”

“Yes…” Professor McGonagall’s voice sounded distant, almost hollow. “Forcing Dumbledore to choose between himself and his students… He would always protect a student.”

Snape still wasn’t buying it.

Kyle’s reasoning sounded solid, but Snape’s instincts screamed that it was all a lie.

Kyle knew more. Much more—things no one else in the room could possibly know.

What they’d just witnessed… couldn’t have been the real story.

Snape said nothing more. Without warning, he turned and leapt out the window.

The sudden movement gave everyone another fright. For a terrifying moment, they thought Snape had been pushed past his limit—that he’d lost all hope.

But the grim image they imagined never came to pass.

Outside, Snape’s body transformed into a cloud of dark mist, and he swiftly located Dumbledore’s fallen form in the hedges below.

“Let’s see what you’re really playing at,” Snape muttered, pulling a small vial of potion from his pocket and sprinkling it over Dumbledore’s body.

A restorative elixir—meant to counteract the effects of Polyjuice Potion. He’d been carrying it for some time now.

But to his surprise, nothing changed. Dumbledore’s form remained exactly the same.

Snape pulled out his wand next.

“Finite Incantatem!”

“Revelio!”

“Restituo!”

...

Snape fired off spell after spell, but none of them worked. Dumbledore still lay there, completely motionless.

Everything pointed to one conclusion—he was truly dead. Limp and lifeless, like a discarded rag doll.

Snape felt a growing sense of agitation. He couldn’t believe this was all just coincidence. Dumbledore had to have kept something from him—and that gnawing sense of being left in the dark made his irritation spike.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

The tower window looked straight out over the Quidditch Pitch, and many people had seen Dumbledore fall.

The match had been forced to stop. Neither team cared about the Quaffle or the Golden Snitch anymore—they were all flying toward the tower.

Although the professors had quickly sealed off the area, a few players managed to bypass them with exceptional flying skills and got close.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Harry shouted, diving on his broom.

“Get back!” Snape, already on edge, finally found an outlet for his fury. He snapped, “Spare me your useless curiosity. Fifty points from Gryffindor!”

“You killed him!” Harry roared, glaring at Snape. “You had to be the one! Youʼre a Death Eater!”

“Silence, you arrogant, self-important fool.”

Snape’s face was like thunder. “Baselessly accusing a professor? Potter, that’s worth a hundred points from Gryffindor—and detention for the rest of the school year!”

Point deductions?

Detention?

Harry didn’t care anymore. Staring at Dumbledore’s lifeless form and Snape’s loathsome face, he felt as if he’d been whacked in the head by a Bludger. He clutched his broom tightly, just to keep himself from falling.

He’d always known Snape was a Death Eater. He just hadn’t thought he’d actually dare to lay a hand on Professor Dumbledore.

Then, a cat leapt from the tower.

Its movements were awkward—it even stumbled on the way down.

When it hit the ground, the tabby shifted back into Professor McGonagall.

“Professor McGonagall!” Harry cried, as if seeing salvation. “Snape, he—”

“That’s enough, Potter.” Professor McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin, trembling line. “What Professor Snape just said—that’s exactly what I would’ve said. Now go back to where you belong.”

“But—”

“Gryffindor’s got no points left. If you want to finish that Quidditch match, I suggest you leave. Now.”

“…”

“I understand.”

After a few moments of heavy silence, Harry turned his broom and flew off.

He realized he might’ve been wrong. If Snape had truly killed Dumbledore, there was no way Professor McGonagall would act like this.

But who else could it have been?

Dumbledore was dead. Voldemort had no rival now. Was he going to attack Hogwarts next?

Harry’s thoughts spiraled in every direction. He didn’t even notice where he was flying—until someone stopped him.

“Oi, Harry. Just ’cause you’re in seventh year doesn’t mean you get to go barreling into the Forbidden Forest like that.”

Hagrid had grabbed the tail of his broom and dragged him down. “And what were you thinking? You nearly flew straight into a tree.”

“Hagrid…” Harry looked at him, wondering—did he know? Did Hagrid know what had happened to Dumbledore?

Probably not. Hagrid rarely ever spoke about anyone with the kind of respect he had for Professor Dumbledore…

“Why’re you so quiet?” Hagrid asked.

Harry didn’t answer. He shifted the topic. “Where are you going?”

“To find Kyle. He should be in the castle,” Hagrid said. “Those centaurs came back again. Probably looking to cause trouble for him. I need to give him a heads-up.”

In the past, Harry would’ve immediately asked why the centaurs were after Kyle. But right now, he didn’t have the energy to care.

“He’s probably got bigger things to worry about,” Harry murmured without thinking.

He remembered seeing Kyle in the tower when he flew by… Right, of course. Kyle was a professor now. He wouldn’t have been driven out with the others.

“It’s alright. Kyle’s never been too bothered anyway,” Hagrid replied. “Wait—shouldn’t you be in the middle of the Quidditch match? What’re you doing near the Forest? Don’t tell me the Golden Snitch flew in here.”

He chuckled at his own joke.

“The match was canceled,” Harry said.

“What? Why?”

“Because… Professor Dumbledore…” Harry’s voice hitched.

“Dumbledore? Was he watching the game?” Hagrid looked down at him, seeming only half-focused.

He was eager to find Kyle, pass along the centaur warning, and then get back to tending the dragon.

“He was… killed.”

“Oh.” Hagrid didn’t seem to hear him properly.

“Hagrid,” Harry repeated, “Dumbledore was killed.”

Hagrid froze for a second, blinking. “What did you just say happened to Dumbledore?”

“He’s dead. Someone killed him. In the tower.”

“Hah.” Hagrid gave a disbelieving chuckle. “You’ve gotta be joking. You must’ve lost the match, and now you’re not thinking straight. Go clear your head. Find Ron and Hermione. Where are they?”

“I saw it.”

“No way.”

“On the Astronomy Tower. Professor McGonagall saw it too. Kyle was there!”

But Hagrid still didn’t believe him. When he looked at Harry, his eyes now held something else—pity.

Poor kid. Must’ve been hit hard by the loss. Now he was talking nonsense.

“You must be seeing things,” Hagrid said, striding toward the castle. “That wasn’t a funny joke. Good thing you said it to me—if any other professor had heard, they’d have taken points... and I doubt Gryffindor has many left by now.”

“Oh, look—there’s Hermione. She’s probably been looking for you.”

Hermione came running over, breathless.

“Harry, I’ve been calling you this whole time... you didn’t answer, so... was that really Dumbledore who fell from the tower?”

Ha. Here we go again. Now even Hermione was getting swept up in this?

Hagrid continued along the path.

“What are they looking at? Some kind of post-match celebration?” As they neared the castle, Hagrid glanced at the dense crowd ahead.

It looked like every student had gathered in front of the oak doors. Thanks to his height, Hagrid could see over the heads—Professor McGonagall was there, and beside her, suspended by her wand...

The expression vanished from Hagrid’s face. He quickened his pace, then started shoving his way through the students with uncharacteristic force.

Like a bull charging through a field of rabbits.

Some of the students he pushed aside turned around, furious, ready to shout at him—until they saw the expression on his face and immediately went silent.

Harry followed behind, hearing Hagrid make pained, stunned sounds in his throat.

Hagrid kept going, but Harry was stopped.

The professors wouldn’t let anyone else through, forming a barrier until Professor McGonagall and the others disappeared into the Entrance Hall.

Then, the crowd exploded with noise. Deafening speculation filled the air—everyone focused on just two questions:

“Was that really Dumbledore?”

“Is this actually happening?”

No one wanted to believe it was true, but deep down, they couldn’t deny it: the old wizard Professor McGonagall had taken away... really was Dumbledore.

A wave of grief and fear spread quickly through the students. Like Harry, many couldn’t stop thinking about Voldemort, watching from beyond the castle walls.

“Ha...”

A sudden, jarring laugh rang out from somewhere in the crowd—sharp and grating.

Harry quickly turned to find the source, and many others did the same.

It didn’t take long for all eyes to lock onto a small group of Slytherins.

They weren’t mourning. On the contrary, they looked smug. When they looked at the others, it was with arrogant superiority.

As if they already saw themselves as Hogwarts’ new masters.

Instantly, other Slytherins began backing away from them, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and these idiots—and silently disowning them from Slytherin altogether.

Most Slytherins favored Voldemort because he promised power and status for pure-blood families. To them, it didn’t matter whether Dumbledore or Voldemort ran Hogwarts—they could tolerate either.

But of course, there were always a few extremists.

The problem was, Voldemort hadn’t even entered the castle yet. Speaking up now was practically suicide.

How could Slytherin have people this stupid?

And sure enough, their instincts were right.

A second later, the little group was swallowed up by the furious crowd.

Everyone, without coordination, had dropped their wands—and taken up fists and feet instead. Their fear turned into physical rage.

This was where the Quidditch players had the advantage.

They had broomsticks—and because of Bludgers, those broomsticks were built tough. You could slam one into the ground at full force and not even see a crack.

Hitting people? Not a problem.

Whether the people getting hit cracked—well, no one was worried about that right now.

Uncharacteristically, Harry didn’t join in. He handed his broom to Hermione, whose eyes were bloodshot, then stepped away from the crowd and sat on an empty patch of grass, stunned.

He still couldn’t believe it. That Dumbledore—Dumbledore—had actually been killed.

“You alright?”

A faint floral scent drifted by, and Harry turned to see Ginny sitting beside him.

“Shame,” she said, trying to smile. “I only got one good kick in before the professor showed up and dragged those bastards off.”

Her smile was stiff. Forced.

“Yeah…” Harry wanted to crack a joke too, but nothing came out.

From high above the castle came a haunting song—the Phoenix’s cry. It echoed with a strange, lingering magic between the grounds and the castle windows, curling deep into Harry’s chest.

He listened silently. Ginny said nothing else.

They sat together for a long time before finally returning to the castle.

...

In the Great Hall, nearly half the students had gathered and refused to leave, even though lunch was long over.

They knew Professor McGonagall would have to say something eventually. Better to wait here than sit in the common rooms making wild guesses.

“I know who it was—it was Malfoy!” someone yelled, bursting into the Great Hall.

Hogwarts students had a way of revealing astonishing talents at the most unexpected times.

Like now—this student had somehow bypassed the professors’ layers of lockdown and uncovered the supposed truth.

Unfortunately, almost no one believed him.

Because no one believed Malfoy could kill Dumbledore.

Just like no one believed a Flobberworm could stomp a Dragon to death.

“It’s true!” the boy insisted, realizing he looked like some drama-chasing fool. “Sir Cadogan saw it on the Astronomy Tower. He said Professor Snape grabbed Malfoy by the neck and locked him in an empty classroom.”

“And Sir Cadogan also said that Professor Dumbledore and Malfoy were the first to arrive at the tower—before the other professors.”

As he spoke, more people began to look his way.

They still didn’t believe the outrageous claim, but the boy looked so serious... it didn’t seem like he was lying.

A few students bolted out of the Great Hall to find Sir Cadogan’s portrait.

“Don’t listen to him,” Hermione said. “There’s no way Malfoy killed Dumbledore. A hundred of him couldn’t manage it.”

“Exactly.” Harry nodded. No one knew Malfoy’s abilities better than he did. Malfoy couldn’t even beat him, let alone Dumbledore.

“Right,” Ron added.

The three of them were unusually unanimous. Even as more students returned, passing along new bits of rumor and information, Harry and the others remained unmoved.

“That Sir Cadogan’s off his rocker,” Hermione said. “He spends half his time looking for his squat little pony, and the other half insulting and challenging the other portraits. Anyone who believes him is a fool.”

...

They continued waiting in the Great Hall.

By the afternoon, Professor McGonagall still hadn’t come out with any official word—but others who had received the news had started arriving at the school.

Among them were former Order of the Phoenix members, Ministry Aurors, department heads, and elderly wizards with white hair and deeply lined faces—people the students had never seen before.

The only thing they all had in common was their expression: fear.

Mrs. Weasley came too, her eyes red from crying. She wrapped Ginny in a tight hug and refused to let go.

When Harry came over, she pulled him into the hug as well.

Ron stood nearby, watching awkwardly, unsure whether he should step in and join them.