Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model

Despite Kyle's repeated reassurances that he was fine, Professor McGonagall insisted on taking him to the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey, after a thorough examination, found nothing physically wrong with him, but after hearing what he'd been through, she insisted he stay the night.

Once Professor McGonagall had left, Madam Pomfrey went to her cupboard, took out a bottle, and poured Kyle a generous glass of light blue liquid.

"Drink it!"

Kyle, lying on the bed, grimaced. "That's really not necessary, Madam Pomfrey."

The potions in the Hospital Wing were renowned for their effectiveness… and for their dreadful taste. He remembered Cedric once taking a Pepperup Potion for a cold, and, according to him, it had tasted like dishwater left out in the sun for days. It had taken all Cedric's willpower just to choke it down. Kyle had no interest in drinking something just as vile.

Besides, the worst he had was a tooth mark on his arm—hardly something that warranted a potion.

But Madam Pomfrey was unmoved. With a stern look, she declared, "This restorative potion will help you quickly regain your energy and strength. You will drink it all, or you can forget about leaving the Hospital Wing!"

Kyle's face fell. Everyone knew the Hospital Wing was Hogwarts' ultimate authority. Even Dumbledore yielded to Madam Pomfrey's judgment here. If she decided Kyle wasn't leaving, then he really wasn't going anywhere.

Resigned, Kyle lifted the cup and downed the potion.

Gulp...

After Kyle drank the potion, Madam Pomfrey left. Lying on the bed, he couldn't tell if it was exhaustion or the effects of the potion, but soon his eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted into a deep sleep.

He had no idea how long he slept. In a daze, he heard a faint rustling near his ear, like someone munching on something. Hmm… eating? As the thought registered, a wave of hunger hit him, growing stronger by the second.

With some effort, Kyle cracked his eyes open, squinting against the blinding sunlight. Slowly, he adjusted, taking in the familiar ceiling of the Hospital Wing—and then the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore.

"Good afternoon, Kyle," Dumbledore greeted him, his words slightly muffled as he chewed. An open box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans sat beside him.

Kyle blinked, now fully alert. The greatest wizard of all time, the headmaster of Hogwarts, was snacking on his treats!

"The table was simply overflowing," Dumbledore said, as if reading Kyle's thoughts. "And I would suggest you avoid this box. I've tried three beans, and each was dreadful. I suspect they've been jumbled together haphazardly."

"Headmaster, you could try the golden brown one," Kyle suggested, glancing toward the table, which was stacked high with snacks—a literal mountain of sweets. And there wasn't just one table. Someone had pulled over the table from the adjacent bed to help hold the stash.

"All gifts from your friends," Dumbledore explained with a smile, popping the bean Kyle recommended into his mouth. "They may have cleaned out Honeydukes just for you. Ah, champagne flavor—a rare find."

"Headmaster, how long have I been asleep?"

"Three hours shy of a full day," Dumbledore replied.

Kyle sat up, stretching his stiff neck. He hadn't realized he'd slept so long. It was already the afternoon of the following day. No wonder he was hungry... Wait! The afternoon of the next day?

"Headmaster, the Quidditch match!"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore nodded. "You missed it, I'm afraid. But Hufflepuff took the victory. They wanted you to know that they played with extra spirit, hoping the win would speed your recovery."

"Curse that Oren!" Kyle muttered, pounding his pillow in frustration. He'd looked forward to that match all year.

"Speaking of Oren…" Dumbledore began thoughtfully, "Kyle, do you have any idea why he's targeting you?"

"He said it's because of my dad," Kyle replied.

"But as I understand it," Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled, "twelve years ago, if it weren't for Chris, Oren would've died at the hands of Death Eaters. It was your father who saved him."

"That's impossible! If Dad saved him, then why did he do it—repaying a favor?" Kyle said firmly. "He wanted to kill me. If the Centaurs hadn't arrived in time, he'd have used the Killing Curse on me."

"This is indeed perplexing. I'm afraid only Oren himself knows the reason," Dumbledore replied softly. "But he's already on the run, and catching a bard is no easy feat."

"Bard?"

"Yes," Dumbledore explained. "After that close encounter with the Death Eaters, he left and traveled to France, wandering the world as a troubadour. As for when he got involved in Magical Creatures smuggling, I couldn't say."

"Then why did he come to Hogwarts?" Kyle asked, puzzled. "To try to kill me?"

"Certainly not, my boy," Dumbledore shook his head. "As I understand it, the Ministry received an anonymous tip in mid-August with details about smugglers' routes. Thinking back, the sender was likely Oren himself, which is why he applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position two months early. But his reasons remain unclear. Perhaps he sought Hogwarts as a sanctuary, or maybe he needed the funds. It's hard to say—bards are notoriously unpredictable."

Hearing all this, Kyle felt even more at a loss about Oren. All he could do was plant more Chomping Cabbage, and if he ever saw Oren again, he'd make sure the man got a nice, thorny bath in them. This was the first time he'd ever endured such humiliation, and he'd almost uncovered the truth, too. A hundred Chomping Cabbages would be a fitting present for Oren.

"Now," said Dumbledore brightly, "let's move on to something cheerier. For keeping your head in a crisis, using a Broomstick to get Kanna Prince out of the Forbidden Forest at a critical moment, and for your noble spirit in facing two dark wizards alone to buy her time, we have unanimously decided to give you a Special Award for Services to the School."