Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

To avoid drawing attention—and partly out of curiosity—Kyle wandered around for a while. By the time he returned to the Valley Bar, it was already evening. The place was packed, even livelier than it had been at noon.

Kyle also came across a familiar face—or rather, a familiar voice.

"Give it up, Aberforth. I'm not selling alcohol to a fourth-year runt like you." The bartender stood behind the counter, looking playfully at the young boy in front of him.

"I'm in fifth year!" the boy snapped, his face flushed with anger.

A burst of laughter erupted around them. Everyone turned to watch, as if enjoying an amusing performance.

"Fifth year doesn't cut it either," the bartender replied with a raised brow. "If you're under seventeen, you're still a kid—and kids don't drink."

"Here, this is for you." He slid a cup across the counter. "Milk and pumpkin juice. That's what you should be drinking."

Another round of laughter rang out. A burly wizard nearby slapped a Sickle onto the table and shouted, "Will, don't rob the kid of his pocket money. That milk's on me!"

"You guys… I want Firewhiskey!" Aberforth shouted, his face turning redder as he slammed a handful of Sickles down. "I'll pay double!"

"Even ten times wouldn't help," the bartender said, shaking his head again. "You're underage. It's milk and pumpkin juice for you, and that's final."

"And you care about that?" Aberforth retorted, chin raised defiantly as he looked around. "Don't think I don't know—half the booze in here is smuggled in from Romania!"

Instead of getting angry, the bartender chuckled. "Correction: not half—two-thirds. And only items on the prohibited trade list count as contraband. Alcohol's not on it."

The patrons all burst into laughter again. Clearly, this wasn't news to them.

Fueled by their amusement, Aberforth grew even more indignant. "Fine! I'll open my own bar one day, and I'll drink as much as I want!"

"Can we come drink for free then?" someone asked, tone thick with teasing, as if the idea of Aberforth opening a bar was the funniest thing they'd heard all week.

"You'll have to pay double!" Aberforth snapped.

"Then I'm definitely coming."

"Count me in. I love overpriced drinks!"

Amid the laughter and banter, Aberforth brushed past Kyle and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The moment he left, as if on cue, the cheerful atmosphere in the bar shifted. Laughter faded. Conversation died down. A heavy silence settled in its place, carrying a strange sense of tension.

Kyle found it odd. He approached someone at the bar and asked what was going on.

The response was a curt, impatient growl.

"None of your business, outsider." The man gave Kyle a sideways glare. "Do yourself a favor—keep that curiosity in check if you want to walk out of Godric's Hollow with your pride intact."

"Don't be like that, Corder," the bartender said, coming over. "He's a friend of Bathilda's—not exactly an outsider."

"Bathilda's friend?"

"Yeah, I checked—he's a Hogwarts student, really into history of magic."

The man grumbled something under his breath, drained the last of his drink, and moved to another table.

"Don't mind him," the bartender said to Kyle. "That was Potter—he's got a bit of a temper, especially when it comes to Kendra. But he's a decent sort."

"Kendra?" Kyle repeated the name softly.

"Just someone local," the bartender replied. "Nothing to do with history—you wouldn't be interested. Want a brandy? On the house."

"Oh—sure," Kyle said.

He could tell the old man didn't want to talk about Kendra, so he let it drop.

And he understood. He hadn't been here long. Even with Bathilda's help, there was no way he could blend in overnight.

Take it slow. No rush.

...

Over the next few days, Kyle stayed close. Most of his time was spent in his room or casually strolling around the village. In the evenings, he returned to the bar to drink and chat with the locals. Sometimes, if the mood struck him, he'd pick up the tab and treat everyone to a round.

It didn't cost much. The regular crowd here was pretty consistent—two Galleons usually covered it.

Besides, he wasn't paying out of pocket… Horlick was footing the bill.

After a few rounds on his tab, Kyle's popularity rose quickly. He could strike up a conversation with just about anyone now.

During this time, Aberforth showed up several more times, still trying to buy alcohol—only to be shot down by the bartender every single time.

After the fifth rejection, Kyle set down his glass and turned to ask, "How many times is that now? Why does he keep coming back?"

"What else? Another fight with Albus, no doubt," said the wizard next to him, taking a sip of brandy.

It was Corder Potter—the same man who had once called Kyle an outsider. But lately, after seeing Kyle's genuine efforts, he had begun to lower his guard.

Hard to resist when the drinks were free.

"Judging by their names, they sound like brothers," Kyle asked casually.

"Real brothers. They used to be really close," Corder replied, letting out a boozy belch.

"You said they used to be close. What happened?" Kyle pressed, seizing the moment.

"Well… before Albus graduated..." Corder mumbled, clearly tipsy. "You're not really an outsider anymore, so I guess it's fine to tell you a few things… better than you saying something wrong one day."

He reached for his glass, only to find it empty.

"Another brandy," Kyle called to the bartender, waving him over. "Your best—my treat."

"Heh, that's what I call a friend." Corder slung an arm around Kyle's shoulder, squinting as he tried to recall.

"You probably don't know… Ever since Kendra Dumbledore died… the two of them have grown more and more distant…

"My family lives right next door to theirs. We'd often hear them arguing in the middle of the night, the sound of things being thrown."

By now, Kyle had learned that Kendra Dumbledore was Aberforth's mother.

"How did she die?" he asked.

"No one knows…" Corder shook his head. "We only heard a loud bang from the Dumbledore house..."

"Did the Dumbledore brothers know what had happened?"

"Not at first," Corder said. "Albus was about to take his N.E.W.T.s. It wasn't until after the exams that their uncle, Fortlin, told them."

"They rushed home to attend the funeral…"

At that point, Corder's voice caught in his throat. He took another drink to choke down the emotion.

"I don't know what exactly happened… but ever since then, those two have been fighting constantly. Every time Aberforth comes in here, it's to drink himself numb."

"So you all just refuse to sell to him?" Kyle asked.

"Pretty much," Corder nodded. "We just don't want to see him turn into an alcoholic at that age…

"But listen—if you ever run into either of the Dumbledore brothers, don't mention Kendra. Don't ask about their parents either."

"I understand." Kyle nodded, ordering another full bottle of brandy for Corder. The man clearly preferred it over the more popular Firewhiskey.

Now that he knew some of the backstory, Kyle didn't try sneaking around the Dumbledore house out of curiosity. He stuck to his usual routine.

That said, when he went out during the day, he'd find a hidden spot to quietly observe from a distance.

He caught sight of the young Dumbledore once. But unlike the confident, spirited figure he remembered from Hogwarts, this version of Albus looked withdrawn and joyless—haunted, almost.

Then, before long, the moment Kyle had been waiting for finally arrived…

Young Dumbledore met Grindelwald.

It happened one perfectly ordinary afternoon. Grindelwald had been snooping around again—he'd been doing that a lot lately, always digging into other people's family histories.

Plenty of locals at the bar were saying Bathilda's grandnephew must have inherited her peculiar interests. What kind of normal wizard spends his free time nosing into other people's family trees?

Still, for Bathilda's sake, most were willing to humor him. It wasn't like they had anything better to do. At worst, it was a bit of fun.

Of course, not everyone was so indulgent. Corder, for one, couldn't stand Grindelwald.

Probably because Grindelwald was from Durmstrang. Corder had no love for a school that openly taught Dark magic, and that distaste extended to Grindelwald himself. He didn't bother hiding it.

That day, as usual, Grindelwald was wandering through the valley. Dumbledore happened to be out for a walk, and by some twist of fate, the two of them arrived at the abandoned barn at the exact same moment.

Kyle was watching from a nearby patch of trees, and he saw it all—clear as day.

His heart raced. This was the moment he'd been waiting for. After all these days, he was finally witnessing history.

And just as he'd expected, Dumbledore and Grindelwald hit it off instantly. Within half a day, they'd gone from strangers to close friends.

After that, it wasn't uncommon to see them walking side by side through the valley. Dumbledore's face, once shadowed with grief, was now lit with laughter again—returning to the vibrant self Kyle remembered.

Two bright, confident young wizards like them quickly became the talk of Godric's Hollow.

Everyone was genuinely glad to see Albus change. They all knew what a true genius he'd been at Hogwarts, and it had been painful to watch him fade into despair.

If things had continued like that, even someone as gifted as Albus could have faded into obscurity—and what a waste that would've been.

Some had tried to comfort him before, but it hadn't helped much. Albus always put on a front, pretending nothing was wrong—but they could see through it. He was still carrying that weight.

It wasn't until Grindelwald showed up that things really began to shift.

Everyone believed it was Grindelwald who had pulled Albus out of that darkness—and they were happy for it.

Everyone, that is, except Aberforth.

He seemed furious over his brother's change in demeanor. Their arguments became more frequent and more heated.

Aberforth, who used to stop by the bar only every few days, was now practically a regular. If the bartender refused to sell him anything, he'd stubbornly refuse to leave—and threaten to head over to the Leaky Cauldron instead.

But the owner didn't care in the slightest.

The reason was simple: there was only one fireplace nearby connected to the Floo Network, and it was in his pub. As long as he didn't give Aberforth permission to use it, the guy would have no choice but to walk all the way to Diagon Alley.

Sometimes, when he got really fed up, he'd mix a large glass of pumpkin juice with mead and shove it into Aberforth's hands to send him on his way.

"This kid has no manners—he's nowhere near as decent as that Grindelwald."

Gradually, that sentiment became a shared opinion among all the bar's patrons.

To them, Aberforth ought to be glad about his brother's transformation, not picking fights with him every day.

Next to him, Grindelwald came off as even more remarkable, to the point that even Corder's attitude toward him had changed.

"Maybe I had him wrong," he said to Kyle one night over drinks. "Sure, Durmstrang is a terrible school, but Gellert was expelled—which means he couldn't have been that bad, right? Otherwise, why would they have expelled him?"

Or maybe what he did was too much even for Durmstrang to tolerate, Kyle thought to himself, but he said nothing. Instead, he looked at Corder with interest and said,

"So, are you planning to let him visit your home?"

"Let's wait a bit," Corder said with a smile. "We'll talk about it after my child is born—should be just a few months now."

"Oh? You never mentioned that." Kyle looked at him, surprised.

"I didn't?" Corder blinked. "Well, now you know. Better late than never."

"Then I'll have to prepare a proper gift." Kyle thought for a moment. "How about a whole case of aged oak barrel brandy?"

"If it were for me, I'd be over the moon," Corder smacked his lips. "But generally speaking, we don't give newborn wizards alcohol."

"Haha, just kidding," Kyle laughed. "I'll make sure it's something thoughtful."

"Then I'll be looking forward to it," Corder said with a grin. "By the way, I've got an idea."

"What is it?"

"Would you like to be my child's godfather?"

Pfft...

Kyle nearly spat out his drink.

"You're serious?" he stared at him, stunned. "We haven't even known each other that long—is that really appropriate?"

"There's nothing inappropriate about it," Corder said earnestly. "Honestly, I think you're a good person. You've got great potential, and I'd be honored to have you as my child's godfather."

"Is that so?" Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Funny, you were telling me just yesterday to switch careers—said studying the history of magic was a dead end."

"That was just drunken talk, don't take it seriously," Corder waved it off. "Besides, it's not like you'll be stuck studying that stuff forever."

"Well… let's talk about it later," Kyle said, steering the conversation elsewhere. "So, have you picked a name yet? Need help with that?"

"No need, already decided," Corder replied. "His name's Henry. What do you think?"

"Nice," Kyle said. A strange feeling crept over him, like he'd heard that name somewhere before—until his eyes accidentally landed on Corder's hair.

A mess of unruly black hair, like a bird's nest. He really ought to use some Sleekeazy's Hair Potion to get it under control.

"Wait a second…" Kyle suddenly had a thought. "Corder, what's your last name?"

"You mean you still don't know my surname?" Corder said, clearly surprised—and maybe even a little offended.

"Sorry, I—"

"Listen closely. My name is Corder Potter. Honestly, I might need to rethink making you my child's godfather."

Kyle didn't catch a word after that. If Corder's last name was Potter, then his child would be...

Henry Potter.

Kyle finally remembered where he'd heard that name—on an old poster in a Diagon Alley shop.

Back when he was buying a stockpile of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion as a gift for Snape, he'd seen it printed right there.

Henry Potter. Fleamont Potter... the inventor of Potter's Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.

That wasn't the key point. The key point was: they were father and son. Fleamont was Henry's son. And Fleamont later had a son named James, who went on to marry a Muggle-born girl named Lily Evans.

In other words, this unborn Henry was Harry Potter's great-grandfather.

Tsk...

Kyle smacked his lips.

It was hard to imagine what Harry would call him if he really became Henry's godfather.

Oh, and then there was Sirius—he wouldn't be off the hook either, being Harry's godfather himself.