Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Of course, Voldemort wasn't so bored that he came all this way just to listen to the Death Eaters report their utterly dull experiences.

His real purpose was simply to confirm whether any among them were impostors who had taken Polyjuice Potion.

While Polyjuice Potion could perfectly transform someone into another person, it had one limitation: no matter the amount—whether a sip or an entire cauldron—the transformation would last for no more than two hours. After that, the drinker would revert to their original appearance.

To maintain the disguise, one had to take another dose within that time frame.

Voldemort exploited this limitation by gathering everyone together and watching them for over three hours. Only when no one showed any signs of changing did he finally leave.

It was clear that Voldemort had been tormented by Kyle to such a degree that he was beginning to suspect even his own followers.

Fortunately, Alastor Moody had come prepared, which was the only reason he wasn't exposed.

After returning to Cornwall, he immediately entered a rundown dark magic shop. He carefully closed the door behind him and approached a dusty, gray-streaked mirror.

The reflection of "Lennis" in the mirror had already begun to change—several strands of white hair had appeared, and the once well-fitting robe now looked tight and ill-suited.

These were early signs that the Polyjuice Potion was wearing off.

Moody reached behind the counter, pulled out a bottle, uncorked it, and took a swig.

His hair returned to its dull golden hue, and the robe once again fit properly.

But when he opened his mouth, several gaps in his teeth were plainly visible. Although they were molars and not easily spotted, someone observant enough would still notice.

Moody's throat moved, as if something had risen from his stomach. He spat it into his palm.

It was a handful of teeth.

Under the lamplight, he could clearly see that each tooth had a small hole in it, resembling cavities.

Moody placed the teeth on the table, his expression grim.

Even though he'd made preparations this time, time had been tight—and it still hadn't been quite enough. If Voldemort had delayed even a little longer, he might have been exposed.

Without a moment's hesitation, Moody shoved his wand into his mouth and gave it a sharp flick.

Three more teeth fell out, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth.

But Moody didn't care. He carefully used his wand to drill tiny holes into the teeth, then flicked it again.

The teeth seemed to undergo some kind of transformation, though nothing was visible on the surface.

He poured an entire bottle of Polyjuice Potion through the tiny holes and stuffed the teeth back into his mouth.

He tentatively opened his mouth.

Not bad. It felt a bit odd, but it would keep him safe.

...

While Moody was doing everything he could to hide the Polyjuice Potion on himself and avoid detection, things at Hogwarts were far more lively.

It was Saturday—a rare chance to sleep in—but the students were woken up early by loud knocking on their doors.

The Prefects bustled through the common rooms, dragging everyone out of bed and lining up the bleary-eyed students to head to the Great Hall together.

"Honestly, it's finally the weekend, and now we have to get up early to go to the Great Hall? What could be so important?" Ron yawned as he led a group of younger students through the corridor of the common room.

"You've already complained three times since we started walking," Hermione said irritably from behind. "Ron, don't forget—you're a Prefect."

"I know, I know," Ron said dismissively. "So, Madam Head Girl, do you know what's going on?"

"No idea," Hermione replied.

All she'd received was a message from the Headmaster instructing her to bring all the students to the Great Hall. As for why—he didn't say.

"Come on, let's move," Hermione urged. "If the Headmaster called us there, it must be something important."

As the group passed through the corridor, the portrait of Madam Violet saw the crowd emerging and instinctively hid a wine glass behind her back.

Her cheeks were flushed—clearly, she'd had more than a few drinks.

"Let's hope she can still hear the password later," Harry muttered, glancing over his shoulder.

Madam Violet had already been drunk several times, and students trying to return to the common room had to wait until she sobered up to get back in.

She wasn't supposed to be the one handling the portrait entrance—normally, that job belonged to the Fat Lady. But the Fat Lady had been feeling unwell lately, which was how this drunkard had ended up filling in.

A portrait feeling unwell... It sounded ridiculous, but it was true. Harry had seen it with his own eyes.

The day Kyle went to the Headmaster's office, the Fat Lady had become extremely emotional. In just one hour, she changed the password five times.

From "Heavenly Harmony" to "Melodious Echo," every password was music-related.

But five changes in an hour? No one could keep up. Neville had given up entirely and was just waiting for someone else to let him in.

Left with no choice, Professor McGonagall had moved the Fat Lady elsewhere to let her calm down and temporarily assigned Madam Violet to take over.

Not that she was particularly reliable, either.

The group followed the stairs down to the Great Hall.

By the time they arrived, the hall was already filled with people.

"Something big is definitely going on," Ron said, instantly wide awake as his eyes landed on Amelia Bones, the Minister for Magic, seated at the front of the hall.

And she wasn't alone. Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office, was there, along with several department heads or deputy heads—and even reporters from the Daily Prophet.

This lineup was seriously over the top.

"Are the Death Eaters going to attack Hogwarts?" Harry said anxiously.

Just then, a sudden commotion erupted outside, as if something massive had slammed into the ground.

Moments later, Hagrid entered the hall—accompanied by an equally towering witch.

Harry recognized her immediately: Madam Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons.

But why was she here? This wasn't the Triwizard Tournament.

"Hagrid, what exactly is going on?" Madam Maxime said, her tone grave. "When I first got the message, I thought it was a prank."

"Sorry, Olympe," Hagrid said. "This might sound unbelievable, but I set out as soon as I got the news—and just happened to spot your carriage."

"Are you kidding?" Madam Maxime turned instinctively.

"I swear I'm not," Hagrid said firmly.

"This is very strange," Madam Maxime said, frowning deeply. "Dumbledore's still alive, isn't he?"

Listening to their conversation, Harry felt a growing sense of unease.

What could possibly have happened to make Madam Maxime rush all the way from France...

He wanted to go over and ask, but Hagrid walked straight past him, not even acknowledging his presence.

Left with no choice, Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table with the others.

More people continued to arrive, though Harry didn't recognize most of them.

The only constant was the serious look on everyone's faces.

For a moment, Harry even wondered if Voldemort had already appeared at the school gates, and this was some kind of pre-battle assembly.

"Hey, scoot over—make some space for me."

A familiar voice behind him snapped Harry out of his thoughts. He turned instinctively.

"Kyle?" he blurted. "What are you doing here?"

"Here to watch the fun," Kyle replied.

That line sounded all too familiar—like he'd heard it just yesterday.

But Hogwarts wasn't exactly full of 'fun' events.

Kyle didn't elaborate. He just awkwardly wedged himself between Harry and Ginny, earning an immediate glare from Ginny.

"Sorry," Kyle said with a grin. "This is the best spot. Any closer and Professor McGonagall might see me—you know she's banned me from coming back."

"Then you shouldn't be here," Ginny snapped. "You've graduated. Why do you keep coming back to Hogwarts?"

"I can skip other days, but not today," Kyle said, wagging a finger. "Today's a big day. Missing it would be a tragedy."

"So what's going on?" Harry asked, curious.

"You'll see soon enough," Kyle said, fiddling with a camera. "I promise—it'll blow your minds."

Kyle's mysterious tone only made Harry more intrigued.

"Just wait. If I tell you now, it'll ruin the surprise." Kyle pulled out a potion bottle and placed it on the table beside him. "Besides, you probably wouldn't believe me."

It was Developing Solution—used to make the figures in magical photographs move. Once the photos were taken, the potion would take care of the rest in a single step.

Harry narrowed his eyes. If he could take Kyle in a fight, he really would've... Never mind. He had to stay polite. Fighting meant losing house points.

They didn't have to wait long. Soon, all the guests had arrived, and the professors had taken their seats. Everyone turned their gaze toward the center of the hall as Dumbledore finally arrived, fashionably late.

He was wearing a deep magenta robe, and both his hair and beard had been immaculately groomed.

Hundreds of eyes fixed on him without blinking.

"Welcome, welcome, to all our guests from afar—and to the students who had to leave their warm beds, I sincerely apologize. I'm truly sorry to take up a bit of your precious weekend time."

A wave of murmuring spread through the Great Hall.

"All right, to avoid delaying your breakfast, I'll keep this brief."

Dumbledore cleared his throat and spoke solemnly, "I, Albus Percival Dumbledore, once abandoned my responsibilities due to personal matters, and nearly caused an irreparable mistake. Here and now, I must apologize to everyone who has ever placed their trust in me."

The murmurs around the room grew louder.

"What's the Headmaster talking about?" Ron asked, puzzled. "He's been here the whole time, hasn't he?"

Hermione frowned as well, clearly confused.

He was talking about a grave mistake caused by personal issues... but she had no memory of anything like that. The wizarding world had been quiet lately—there hadn't been any major incidents at all.

And that was exactly what most people were thinking—at least, those who didn't know the truth.

A representative from The Daily Prophet was furiously clicking away, eager to capture every second of this rare moment.

The greatest of all wizards, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, formally apologizing in front of everyone… He didn't know the details, but he could tell this was huge. If written well, it would be a front-page sensation.

And it wasn't over yet.

Dumbledore stepped forward again.

"I am deeply ashamed. After much deliberation, I have decided to voluntarily resign from my position as Headmaster of Hogwarts!"

His words were like a bomb dropping in the middle of the Great Hall, instantly setting off a storm of reactions.

"This has to be a joke!" someone shouted.

"This is insane—everyone's gone mad—I must be dreaming!"

"This isn't funny at all!"

...

The hall erupted in chaos. Dozens of students jumped to their feet in shock and disbelief.

No one wanted to accept the idea of Hogwarts without Dumbledore. It felt like a disaster.

"Quiet!"

Dumbledore's voice rang out powerfully, instantly silencing the room.

"I'm not joking, Mr. Finnigan," he said. "And besides, I'm over a hundred years old. I can't hold onto the Headmaster's seat forever—that wouldn't be fair to others."

He added a lighthearted remark, but no one laughed.

No one cared who the Headmaster should be. What mattered was that Hogwarts couldn't lose Dumbledore.

"Of course, I'll still be at the school—just in a different role," Dumbledore continued. "As for my successor, after extensive discussions with the Board of Governors, we unanimously agreed that Madam Minerva McGonagall is fully capable of taking on the job."

Dumbledore stepped back and gestured toward Professor McGonagall, who looked completely bewildered, then began to applaud.

Amelia Bones followed, clapping as well.

She had known about this ahead of time, so she wasn't surprised.

More and more people joined in.

Within moments, the Great Hall was filled with thunderous applause.

As long as Dumbledore remained at Hogwarts in some capacity, everything else was secondary. And having Professor McGonagall as Headmistress wasn't unacceptable.

A few Gryffindors even stood up in excitement.

But in the middle of the applause, Professor McGonagall hadn't moved—she still hadn't processed what was happening.

No... this isn't right. How did I become Headmistress?

Someone explain what's going on!

Just then, Professor McGonagall felt a gentle nudge from the side.

It was Professor Sprout, who leaned in and whispered quietly, "Minerva, what are you waiting for? Everyone's looking at you."

Only then did Professor McGonagall snap out of it and raise her head.

Sure enough, every eye in the room had shifted from Dumbledore to her.

The problem was—she still had no idea what was going on.

"Congratulations, Minerva," Dumbledore said softly as he approached. "Now it's time for your inauguration speech. It's a necessary part of the process."

A muscle twitched in the corner of McGonagall's eye.

Now it all made sense.

It had to be Dumbledore.

He didn't want to deal with the paperwork anymore, so he just dumped the Headmaster position on her—plain and simple.

Professor McGonagall took several deep, steadying breaths.

She never imagined Dumbledore would be this decisive. Knowing she would never agree on her own, he simply went ahead with it and left her no room to refuse...

Down below, the Daily Prophet reporters were snapping photos so fast it was a wonder their cameras hadn't started smoking.

And now, if she refused to accept the position, then tomorrow—no, by this afternoon—Hogwarts would be the laughingstock of the entire magical world.

There was no way out. Reluctantly forced into the spotlight, Professor McGonagall walked to the front of the hall. Facing the students, reporters, school governors, the Minister for Magic, and the headmasters of other wizarding schools, she stiffly said:

"I am honored..."

Her mind was a blur—she wasn't even sure how the ceremony ended.

The students were stunned as well. They had imagined all kinds of possibilities, but none of them involved being called to the Great Hall on a Saturday morning to witness a change in headmaster.

There was supposed to be breakfast afterward, but under the circumstances, no one had the appetite. Everyone split into small groups, animatedly discussing what had just happened.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore—who had just stepped down—had already returned to the Headmaster's office and was calmly packing up his belongings: the Mirror of Erised, the Pensieve, Fawkes's perch...

He decided to leave the silver instruments on the desk—they'd be more useful if they stayed.

Just then, the door opened.

Kyle poked his head in.

"Hey, Headmaster—clearing out space?"

"Yes." Dumbledore let out a breath of relief when he saw Kyle. "One must maintain some dignity. It'd be rather disgraceful to be thrown out."

"I don't think Professor McGonagall would throw you out," Kyle said, shaking his head. "She'd probably rather kill you. While she was giving her speech, I swear I heard her grinding her teeth."

Dumbledore didn't reply, but his hands began to move even faster.

"No rush, sir," Kyle said with a smile. "Headmistress McGonagall is right outside the door. You're not going anywhere."

Dumbledore froze mid-motion.

"How do you know...?"

"Because I brought her here," Kyle said, grinning wider. "I went to find her right after you left the Great Hall."

"Why... why would you do that, child?" Dumbledore sounded genuinely wounded. "What possible benefit is there for you?"

"I told her you might try to sneak off, and in return, she forgave me for coming back to Hogwarts. I'd say it was a fair deal."

"I... I could've done that too," Dumbledore said. "Hogwarts welcomes every graduate back to visit."

"You're not the Headmaster anymore." Kyle wagged a finger. "Times have changed, Mr. Dumbledore. Now it's Professor McGonagall—no, Headmistress McGonagall—who makes the rules. Your promises don't count."

How pragmatic.

Dumbledore sighed. Just minutes ago, Kyle had still been calling him "Professor." It hadn't even been ten minutes since his resignation, and already it was "Mr. Dumbledore."

Very well...

He let out a long breath, steeling himself with the air of someone facing execution, and waited for Minerva to burst in.

But he waited for quite some time, and the door remained quiet.

"We've still got a moment," Kyle said. "Headmistress McGonagall agreed to let us have a bit of privacy—so I could give you your gift."

"A gift?"

"Mm-hmm. A resignation gift," Kyle said. "Just a small token from me."

Dumbledore turned to look at him, intrigued. Now that he was sure Minerva wasn't about to storm in, he relaxed.

As long as he wasn't caught on the spot, he could always leave the Headmaster's office via Phoenix... Clearly, Kyle's betrayal hadn't gone completely too far.

"I'm curious—what are you giving me?" In good spirits, Dumbledore even requested a cup of tea.

"This." Kyle slapped his hand down on the table.

And suddenly, a photograph appeared in front of Dumbledore.

"What's this?" he asked instinctively.

"The full record of you and Mr. Grindelwald forming the Blood Pact in 1899," Kyle said. "I figured you'd appreciate it."