Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

"Respected Auror, if there's no issue, could you please step aside?"

At the entrance to Diagon Alley, a double-decker bus had been forced to stop. Surrounded by a circle of Aurors, the conductor spoke with clear impatience. "I've already told you many times—the person you're looking for didn't take the Knight Bus."

"But according to our information, someone did board the Knight Bus here," the lead Auror replied, expressionless.

"And what's the problem with that?" the conductor snapped, growing more irritated. "We're here to help wizards in need. It's not just today—we get passengers from Diagon Alley every single day."

"But today is different," the Auror continued. "Someone murdered five wizards in Knockturn Alley. Such a brutal act… he's bound to target others. We have to catch him as soon as possible. You wouldn't want a ruthless Dark wizard coming after you, would you?"

"Killed… five wizards…" The conductor paled, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with his ticket pouch. "Oh—you said Knockturn Alley? Maybe it was one of the wizards from there?"

"Knockturn Alley has its own rules. They don't act recklessly—especially not in a way that would cause trouble for themselves."

"Then how can you be so sure he left on the Knight Bus?"

"That's not for you to ask," the Auror said coldly. "All you need to do is cooperate."

"Fine. What do you want to know?" the conductor grumbled. "But you'd better be quick—there are plenty of wizards waiting for our help."

"Don't worry. It won't take long," the Auror said. "But your answers are too vague. I may need to resort to other methods."

"Legilimens."

Before the conductor could react, she saw a wand raised toward her—and then, everything that had happened in the past three hours began flashing rapidly through her mind.

And those memories weren't just visible to her—the Auror across from her could see them, too.

"You... you used Legilimency on me?!"

The conductor exploded, finally realizing what had happened. "You can't do that! I'm going straight to the Ministry to report you!"

"Go ahead," the Auror said calmly. "The situation is urgent—some methods are necessary. If it helps us catch that Dark wizard, I'm willing to face the consequences."

"Easy for you to say." The conductor wasn't remotely appeased. "So? Did you find any clues?"

The Auror didn't answer.

He hadn't found the wealthy stranger described by the shopkeepers in the conductor's memories.

In the fragments, only two people had boarded the Knight Bus.

The first was a middle-aged wizard—immediately ruled out. Not because of his appearance; it's far too easy to alter that in the wizarding world, whether through Transfiguration or Polyjuice Potion.

The real issue was that the man didn't even have a single full Sickle. He had to count every Knut twice. Clearly penniless—not the type to spend money like water.

The second was a witch, and she'd looked rather anxious. She could be their target, but it was only a possibility.

Dark wizards capable of such cruelty were usually highly cunning, with countless ways of evading the Ministry's pursuit. She might have slipped away long before they noticed.

The Auror rubbed his forehead. Either way, it was worth checking—if only to keep himself busy. Otherwise, he'd have nothing to report back to the Ministry.

Right now, the only option was to create as much noise as possible. Force the other side into laying low, at least for a while.

Because if another five wizards died, his time as an Auror would be over.

He waved a hand to signal that the Knight Bus could leave.

The conductor snorted and climbed back onto the vehicle.

"You three, stay here," the Auror ordered, then turned to the others. "Bartok, come with me to Northampton."

"Captain, you don't really think that guy took the Knight Bus, do you?" an Auror stepped forward. "A wizard that rich probably doesn't even know this kind of transport exists.

"I still think we should look into old Malfoy. Everyone knows Horlick was working for him. What if he knew too much—and got silenced?"

"Do you have proof? Malfoy is a favorite guest of several department heads," the Auror Captain said in a low voice. "We could be ordered to leave the moment we step onto his estate."

"We can get proof," Bartok insisted. "Didn't we hear someone saw Horlick with a Dragon egg? But the egg later disappeared."

"And Malfoy's the most vocal opponent of creating a Dragon Reserve. Maybe Horlick was silenced because of that."

"Good point," the captain replied, without even turning his head. "In that case, you're not coming to Northampton. Go find that Dragon egg. If you can track it down, this job's yours."

"Uh…" Bartok scratched his head awkwardly. "I… I don't know where to look."

"That's fine. I know. The egg was most likely taken by the Dark wizard who killed Horlick. Find him, and you'll find the egg."

Bartok looked even more embarrassed… Wasn't finding that Dark wizard exactly what they were already doing?

Left with no choice, he kept his mouth shut and quietly followed behind.

"But you were right about one thing," the Auror captain said after a moment's thought. "Here's what we'll do—you go to the area near Malfoy Manor and keep a close watch on everything that happens. Stay hidden and don't get spotted. I'll try to get a search warrant from the Minister."

"Will that even work?"

"It's worth a try. Killing five wizards is a serious offense, even in Knockturn Alley. The Minister won't overlook any potential lead."

...

At the same time, in Godric's Hollow—

Kyle had found the valley bar that Bathilda Bagshot had mentioned.

It sat at the lowest point of the valley, just a few minutes' walk from her house, and was one of the most popular spots among the local wizarding community.

Many people liked to stop by for a drink during their free time, catch up with acquaintances, and chat—it was one of the best ways to relax.

By the time Kyle arrived, it was already lunchtime, but the place was still full of people. The bar was noisy and bustling with life.

As Kyle stepped inside, his unfamiliar face immediately drew attention. Several patrons turned to look at him.

He ignored the curious stares and walked straight to the counter, where the bartender was polishing glasses.

"I'd like a room," he said, then added, "Bathilda Bagshot sent me."

At the mention of Bathilda's name, the bartender—who had seemed rather indifferent a moment ago—immediately looked up.

"Bathilda… Are you her grandnephew too?" the man asked, eyeing Kyle from head to toe before settling his gaze on his black hair.

"No," Kyle shook his head. "I just arrived in Godric's Hollow today. I'm a student with a strong interest in history of magic."

"Oh!" The bartender nodded in sudden understanding. "That explains it. Not many wizards share her passion."

He took out a key and handed it to Kyle. "Your room is on the second floor—left side at the top of the stairs. How long are you staying?"

"Let's say a month for now," Kyle replied after a moment's thought.

"You'll need to pay upfront—ninety Sickles."

"Ninety Sickles?" Kyle thought he must have misheard.

Not because it was expensive—just the opposite. It was too cheap.

That worked out to only three Sickles a day. Even a century ago, the price was so low it made Kyle wonder if he'd walked into some shady establishment.

Was Bathilda's name really that influential?

Though a little puzzled, Kyle still pulled out six Galleons and handed them over.

"Use the rest to get me some lunch, if you've got it."

"That's too much," the bartender remarked.

"Then include tomorrow's lunch as well."

This time, the bartender said nothing more.

Kyle took the key and headed upstairs. He unlocked the room on the left.

The space was much better than he'd expected. Though small, it had everything he needed, and much of it looked relatively new. In the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley, a room like this would easily go for at least two Galleons per night.

Of course—that was in his time's Leaky Cauldron.

Kyle took out his wand and gave it a light tap. A ripple, like a bubble, spread outward from the point of contact, quickly reaching the walls and ceiling.

It was a Search Charm—a fourth-year level spell used to detect objects or creatures related to Dark magic within a certain range.

Once he confirmed the room was safe, Kyle finally sat down at ease.

Just then, lunch arrived.

In a place like this, he hadn't expected a feast—just a basic meal.

Fried fish, thick-cut chips, a whole baked potato with the skin on, mashed potatoes, a slice of buttered bread, and a bottle of pumpkin juice.

The taste was average. The chips were cut too thick and still raw in the middle, and the mashed potatoes lived up to their name—there were potatoes, and there was mud.

But Kyle wasn't surprised. After all, it was 1899. Meals like this were typical. Even a century later, things wouldn't be much different.

Only in places with a higher wizard population—like the Leaky Cauldron or the Three Broomsticks—would there be a bit more attention to detail.

Kyle ate a few bites, just enough to fill his stomach, then left the room and returned to the streets of Godric's Hollow.

He needed to locate the barn Grindelwald had told him about in advance.

According to Nicolas, Dumbledore would appear—suddenly and without warning—at a moment he deemed most fitting.

Kyle's job was to take him away immediately. No one knew how many times Dumbledore had repeated the same cycle here over the past two months. Even the greatest wizard wouldn't be able to endure that kind of mental strain for long.

And that was assuming he hadn't done anything. If he'd made even the smallest attempt to change something that had already happened, the toll would be even greater.

Kyle retraced his steps, this time deliberately avoiding Bathilda's house so he wouldn't be spotted again.

He continued on a bit farther and finally found the legendary barn, tucked away on a secluded hillside.

It had clearly been abandoned for quite some time. The moment he stepped inside, the stench of rotting straw hit him, and aphids and Doxies were everywhere... the place had practically become a haven for pests.

Unfortunately, Kyle didn't see Professor Dumbledore there—nor did he find any sign that he had ever been.

"Yeah, of course not," Kyle muttered, shaking his head.

He had arrived earlier than Dumbledore, so it made sense that there would be no trace of him yet.

Kyle stepped into the center of the barn and looked up at the only window above.

It was a small window with a limited view, but it faced directly toward the attic of a nearby house. Every detail matched perfectly.

Grindelwald had said that attic belonged to the Dumbledore family, and that Ariana lived there year-round. It wasn't something they had a choice about.

As an Obscurial, once Ariana was exposed to external stress, she was very likely to unleash the Obscurus.

If she lost consciousness, the Obscurus would lash out indiscriminately at everything around her—living or not—until nothing remained but ruin. Only then would it return to her body.

And when she woke up, she wouldn't remember a thing.

But if Ariana was still conscious, she would probably resist the Obscurus and do everything she could to suppress it.

Ordinary emotional swings, she could usually manage to force it back down—but it would leave her even weaker. That weakness couldn't be healed, and it would continue to build until one day, she could no longer suppress it.

There was also another possibility: if her emotions became too intense and she still tried to force the Obscurus back, it would erupt inside her, and the violent, dark energy could kill her on the spot.

The Dumbledore family must have understood this. That's why they kept Ariana in a place no one could reach, didn't send her to school, and never let her outside.

It was the only way to prevent her from being triggered.

But that meant Ariana was confined to a cramped attic. Her entire world consisted of Albus, Aberforth, and that tiny window.

Kyle felt a pang of sympathy. That kind of protective imprisonment was far too cruel for a child.

Especially since Ariana was already a teenager—an age when curiosity ran high.

Maybe it was his gaze lingering too long, but suddenly, a small head appeared in the attic window. It was a little girl, quietly staring toward the abandoned barn.

Kyle quickly stepped forward, moving out of view.

He didn't know if Ariana had seen him—she probably had—but either way, he didn't want any interaction with her right now.

He shook his head. Now that he had confirmed the location, it was time to head back. All he had to do now was wait for Dumbledore to show up.

Before leaving, Kyle placed an Extendable Ear in a corner of the barn, carefully concealing it beneath straw and broken barrels. This way, even if he wasn't here, he could still monitor what was going on.

But just as he finished, the barn door creaked open from the outside, and a golden figure immediately filled his view.

"You?" Grindelwald looked at him. "What are you doing here?"

Kyle's mouth twitched. He couldn't understand why Grindelwald would suddenly show up in this abandoned barn.

And why now, of all times?

"Oh, you're Madam Bagshot's grandnephew," he said, trying to sound casual. "I just stumbled across this place and thought I'd take a look—see if I could find any interesting traces."

"Liar. You didn't stumble across this place," Grindelwald said, narrowing his eyes. "But I don't really care what you're doing here. You're suspicious, sure, and you must have some purpose in coming—but I don't think you're a threat to us."

"Instinct?"

"No. I can see it," Grindelwald said, still staring straight at him, making Kyle more than a little uncomfortable.

"Right, you said you study magical history," Grindelwald said suddenly. "Then you've heard of the Deathly Hallows?"

"You mean the three alchemical artifacts mentioned in The Tales of Beedle the Bard?" Kyle replied.

"You think they're alchemical artifacts?" Grindelwald's voice lifted slightly.

"Of course. How else would you explain them?" Kyle said. "They're not divine creations—that's not magic. I'd much rather believe they were the work of some powerful alchemist, and over the centuries, they were wrapped in legend and mystery."

"What's with the sudden question? Do you actually believe that story?"

"Nothing. Just asking."

At Kyle's response, Grindelwald's expression shifted—flattened, really—as if he'd lost interest.

"I've got things to do. You carry on…"

"No need, I've already looked around," Kyle replied. "This is clearly just an ordinary barn. It has nothing to do with Godric Gryffindor."

Grindelwald didn't even pause this time. He turned and left without looking back.