When Fred and George found Kyle in the entrance hall, he was in the middle of hunting down the younger students.
No one knew who had let the news slip, but the students had already heard rumors that Voldemort was coming to Hogwarts before the evacuation began.
As a result, some of the more justice-driven students had immediately decided to stay and fight alongside Hogwarts, no matter the cost.
They did everything they could to sneak out of the evacuation lines and hide in corners throughout the castle. The professors were too busy escorting most of the students out to go looking for each one individually.
So the task of rounding them up had fallen to Kyle—by far the most unoccupied person in the entire school.
By the time Fred and George tracked him down, three little kids were already trailing behind him, heads hung low.
“It’s one thing for the fifth and sixth years to want to stay, but what are you second-years doing here?” Kyle said, scowling. “You’re not even as tall as a Death Eater’s leg. What could you possibly do here…”
“Poke them in the butt with our wands…” came a quiet, childish voice. “My wand’s made of iron birch. It’s really hard.”
“Ambitious,” Kyle said, giving a thumbs-up. “But you’re still not staying.”
“Why not?!”
“Because I’m a professor. What I say goes!” Kyle kicked them one by one out the door toward Professor Sinistra, who was waiting at the castle gate.
It would be the Astronomy professor who would escort them to Hogsmeade.
Though the Knight Bus had already departed, Professor McGonagall had arranged other means of transport.
The older students would Apparate under supervision, taken directly by the shopkeepers of Hogsmeade. The younger ones would fly out on Bluebottles broomsticks.
It might not be the most comfortable ride—but then again, the Knight Bus wasn’t exactly luxury travel either. More or less the same in the end.
“Hey, Kyle!” Fred called out, but before he could say anything more, Kyle—eyes gleaming—grabbed him and pulled him along.
Looking for people in Hogwarts… This was practically a job custom-made for Fred and George. They knew every hiding spot in the castle.
And sure enough, once the twins joined in, Kyle’s efficiency skyrocketed. Before long, they’d rounded up the last of the hidden students.
Ginny was among them. She was still underage. Fred and George had been thinking about cutting her some slack, but unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley showed up at just the wrong moment.
“You’re not old enough!” she said, frowning at Ginny. “I won’t allow it.”
“Why can Ron stay?!” Ginny shouted, unwilling to back down.
“He’s of age and you’re not. So you’re going home!” Mrs. Weasley snapped, grabbing her by the arm.
Ginny struggled, yanking herself free from her mother’s grip.
“No! I’m part of Dumbledore’s Army—”
“…That’s just a bunch of teenagers!”
“But they’re a bunch of teenagers getting ready to fight You-Know-Who,” Fred stepped in to defend his sister. “Not many would dare do that.”
“Shut up, she’s only sixteen!” Mrs. Weasley turned on him furiously. “She’s still too young! What were you two thinking—actually teaming up to hide this from me!”
“Oh, Mum, don’t look at me. I had nothing to do with it,” George said quickly, throwing Fred under the bus to save himself a scolding.
Kyle didn’t even glance their way, slipping right past Mrs. Weasley without a word.
“Oh, right, I think Professor McGonagall wanted to see me.”
“I’ll come with you!” George hurried after him.
At a time like this, saving yourself came first.
Brotherly loyalty? That could wait.
...
The two of them returned to the ground floor. In just that short time, it seemed even more people had arrived.
The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was dim and shrouded in shadows, flickering faintly with starlight. Beneath it, the four long house tables were filled with people—hair tousled, wrapped in travel cloaks.
They all looked like former students who had rushed back upon hearing the news. Some were filled with anticipation, others with nerves, but anyone who chose to return to Hogwarts at a time like this had clearly made up their minds.
Professor Sinistra bustled back and forth, easily the busiest person in the hall.
“Kyle, what are we doing next?” George asked eagerly—mainly looking for an excuse to get out of the castle before Fred could get his revenge.
“We—”
“Looks like I’m not too late after all,” a voice interrupted Kyle.
Two beautiful witches stood side by side at the entrance to the Great Hall.
“Kanna?” Kyle blinked, thinking he was seeing things. “How did you...?”
“Surprised to see me?” Kanna asked as she and Fleur walked over.
“To be honest, yeah,” Kyle replied.
He had considered the possibility. Given Kanna’s personality, there was no way she’d just sit back and do nothing while Voldemort was on the move. She was bound to return.
Still, this entire battle had come together almost on a whim. Up until recently, everyone believed Voldemort was still hunting for Ravenclaw’s Diadem—no one had expected him to strike at Hogwarts so soon.
If Fred and George hadn’t gotten the word out immediately, hardly anyone might have shown up in time.
And yet, Kanna and Fleur had been in France. Even if they’d received the message, it didn’t seem like there would’ve been enough time.
“We’ve been back for a while now,” said Fleur. “Since after Dumbledore’s funeral.”
“What?” Kyle was caught off guard. “How come I didn’t know?”
“Because you’ve been at Hogwarts this whole time,” Fleur said.
“Kanna figured things wouldn’t stay quiet in Britain after Dumbledore died.”
“And it turns out she was right—hasn’t even been that long, and that dark wizard is already coming after Hogwarts.”
Kyle turned to look at Kanna.
But she seemed distracted, her gaze scanning the room, as if searching for someone.
“Kyle, have you seen Uncle Severus?”
“No,” Kyle replied. “I’ve been busy evacuating students. I haven’t seen Professor Snape... maybe he went to Hogsmeade to Apparate students out.”
“Alright.” Kanna nodded, not questioning it, and quickly joined the ranks of the returning graduates.
...
At the same time, up on the eighth floor, Harry was asking the same question.
“Snape? He got kicked out!” Ron said with a gleeful expression. “Professor McGonagall saw the Dark Mark on his arm. He came clean—admitted he was a Death Eater. The two of them fought, and in the end, he smashed through a window and ran.”
“Ha! I knew it, he was a Death Eater!” said Harry. “Looks like I made the right call.”
“Absolutely,” Ron said, smacking his lips. “You have no idea what Snape was like after becoming Headmaster. He tried to bring in Death Eaters to teach, and even wanted to lock all the students inside their common rooms.”
“Good thing Professor McGonagall found him out in time,” Hermione added.
“Too bad he still got away,” Harry sighed.
“Can’t be helped,” said Ron. “Death Eaters are good at running.”
“Yeah, that’s true...”
“I know you’re preparing to resist!”
Harry’s words were drowned out by a chilling voice that echoed through the castle. It was high-pitched, cold, and seemed to come from everywhere at once—as if the very stones of the castle were speaking.
“Your efforts are futile. I don’t want to kill you, nor do I wish to see wizard blood spilled.”
Everyone fell silent.
In the Great Hall, several people turned pale, and a heavy tension pressed down on the room.
Even though they'd all chosen to stand against Voldemort, the moment they heard his voice, fear surged through their minds like a wave.
“Hand over the Diadem, and I’ll let you all leave unharmed... Hand over the Diadem!”
By the end, Voldemort’s voice had turned nearly hysterical—he was clearly running out of patience.
Then...
Buzz...
Something vibrated in the air, and the entire ceiling lit up.
The Fianto Duri Charms cast earlier by the professors had activated, blocking a powerful incoming spell.
Kyle immediately left the Great Hall and stepped outside.
In the brightened sky, he saw that Death Eaters had already surrounded Hogwarts. They all wore the same black cloaks, forming a dark mass like a storm cloud blotting out the light.
No wonder he was running late—it looked like he’d gone to rally reinforcements.
Still, the professors didn’t seem particularly surprised. They must’ve had some warning.
The first spell had failed, but it had only been a signal. In the next instant, thousands of spells came raining down like a magical downpour.
Beams of every color flashed in the sky, turning the area around Hogwarts as bright as day.
Professor McGonagall stood at the forefront, calmly and efficiently organizing the defense. She, Flitwick, and Sprout each led a battle group to one of the three strategic towers—Ravenclaw Tower, Gryffindor Tower, and the Astronomy Tower.
All three offered wide views, ideal for spellcasting.
“Lupin, Arthur—take a group out to the grounds. We also need people posted at the entrances throughout the school. The Aurors checked them last time, and I suspect the Death Eaters know about them now too.”
“Sounds like our kind of job,” George said with a grin. “I’d better go find Fred. Catch you later, Kyle.”
He took off running, just as Fred came down the stairs.
The twins quickly gathered a few familiar Gryffindors and scattered to cover the school.
Everyone had been assigned a task—everyone except Kyle.
Once again, he’d been forgotten.
Which was just as well.
Kyle slung his broomstick over his shoulder and sat casually off to the side, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Just then, a beetle landed on a rock in front of him—and transformed into a witch.
“What the hell did you do?!”
“Why is You-Know-Who leading a full-scale assault on Hogwarts?!”
Rita Skeeter was nearly hysterical. She’d come to find Kyle to collect on his promise—that exclusive report he had agreed to.
She’d arrived just fine... but now there was no way out.
Hogwarts was completely surrounded by Death Eaters—not even a beetle could sneak through.
“This has nothing to do with me,” Kyle said with a shrug. “You saw it yourself—we’re just defending ourselves.”
“You...” Rita Skeeter suddenly remembered something Kyle had said earlier.
So it was all true?
The Diadem really could attract Voldemort... Otherwise, why had he stayed hidden for so long, only to show up immediately after she used her special channels to publish the story about it?
And there was something else. Back in the tavern, Kyle hadn’t disguised himself at all. She’d even attached a high-resolution photo on purpose—and that had been his idea. He’d provided the photo himself.
Why had secrecy been necessary back in Diagon Alley, but not now? There had to be some connection Rita Skeeter wasn’t seeing.
She stared hard at Kyle, clearly demanding an explanation.
But Kyle only shrugged, making it plain he had no intention of satisfying her curiosity.
In truth, the photo had been a message—a signal to Voldemort, meant to tell him exactly who had taken the Diadem.
Kyle figured his name still carried some weight in Voldemort’s mind. He’d caused him no small amount of trouble in the past and had always stood on Dumbledore’s side.
If someone like that had gotten hold of a Horcrux, Voldemort was bound to panic—and his instinct would be to check on the rest.
Voldemort knew Dumbledore far too well. He’d be certain that once Dumbledore uncovered the secret of the Horcruxes, he would stop at nothing to find and destroy every last one.
Under those circumstances, the already-exposed Diadem would seem less important. Voldemort’s priority would be confirming the safety of the others.
And once he made the rounds and realized every one of them had been destroyed, of course he'd come looking for Kyle.
After all, each Horcrux was essentially a piece of his life. With the diary, the Diadem, the Cup, the locket, and the Resurrection Stone all gone, it was like he’d been killed five times over.
As for who had done it... Voldemort’s first thought would naturally be Dumbledore. But with Dumbledore dead, that hatred would shift—right to Kyle.
Harry had only killed him once and had still earned Voldemort’s grudge for over a decade. Kyle had “killed” him five times. Did Voldemort seem like someone who’d just let that go?
If he were capable of that... he wouldn’t be Voldemort. So here he was—driven by vengeance... and a bit of delusion.
From what he’d shouted earlier, it was obvious he was still clinging to the hope that the soul fragment in the Diadem might be intact.
But he hadn’t stopped to consider: the Diadem looked brand new. There was no way it still held his filthy soul.
Kyle couldn’t help laughing out loud, which only made Rita Skeeter even angrier.
“Isn’t it perfect?” Kyle said with a grin. “The final showdown with the Death Eaters. What could be bigger news than that?”
“You’re the only reporter on the scene. Don’t you realize what that means?”
His voice was light, almost whimsical, and carried a strange, enchanting undertone. Rita Skeeter started to tremble all over.
A final battle with the Death Eaters...
Yes. There was no bigger headline than this. Not even Dumbledore rising from the grave could top it.
She was going to be famous.
Her breathing quickened.
This wasn’t about Galleons—it was about the recognition. The glory. No matter who won, publishing this story would make her name known everywhere.
“Even if it’s dangerous... it’s worth it,” Rita muttered, clenching her fists.
But a moment later, she calmed down. One critical thing was still missing. Without it, none of her plans would matter.
“Here, this is for you.” Kyle handed her a brand-new camera. “I’m guessing you didn’t bring one, did you?”
“How did you know?” Rita’s heart skipped a beat.
He was right. That was exactly what she lacked. Without photos, no matter what she wrote, it wouldn’t be enough. No one would believe her.
“Oh—how did you even get this!” Rita gasped, her red-painted nails gripping the camera tightly.
“This one’s from my private collection. Imported from France. Expensive stuff,” Kyle said, giving her a look. “So take care of it. Don’t break it.”
“Don’t worry, not a scratch!” Rita said. And silently, she vowed that no matter what, she wouldn’t let the Death Eaters destroy it. She’d shield it with her own body if she had to.
“And one more thing. I want half the profits from this report,” Kyle added.
“...Fine...” Rita hesitated, then agreed. “But one condition. We split the profits, but my name goes first on the byline.”
“No problem,” Kyle nodded.
He was after the Galleons. Rita wanted the fame. They were both getting what they needed.
Moments later, Rita transformed back into a beetle and vanished into the night.
Kyle didn’t ask where she was going, nor did he invite her to stay at Hogwarts for protection from the professors or the Order of the Phoenix.
When it came to keeping herself hidden, Rita Skeeter was a seasoned expert.
Boom, boom, boom!
Another volley of dazzling “fireworks” exploded overhead—yet another wave of attacks from the Death Eaters.
This time, the Fianto Duri Charms the professors had cast in advance finally gave out, shattered by the barrage of spells.
At Voldemort’s command, the Death Eaters surged forward like a tidal wave.
Voldemort moved too, heading straight for Kyle, who was still seated calmly by the Black Lake.
He’d spotted Kyle earlier—and the fact that Kyle had just sat there without flinching felt like a deliberate provocation.
“Your opponent is me!”
At the crucial moment, an old wizard with a white beard stepped in front of Kyle.
“You’re finally here, Professor Dumbledore—wait, what? It’s you?”
“What’s your problem?” Aberforth said darkly, shooting Kyle a sideways glance. “Want me to step aside so you can face Voldemort yourself?”
“No, no, I was joking.”
Kyle said that, but his eyes were still sweeping Aberforth from head to toe, trying to spot signs of a Transformation Charm.
It didn’t make sense. They’d agreed beforehand—Kyle would draw Voldemort’s attention, and Dumbledore would handle everything else.
Why had there been a last-minute switch? Aberforth... could he really handle this? What if he died at Voldemort’s hands?
“Stop staring. It’s not a disguise—it’s just me.” With a sharp motion, Aberforth flicked his wand, sending out a whip of red light that cleanly deflected Voldemort’s Killing Curse.
The swift, decisive action let Kyle exhale in relief.
“That bastard had something else to take care of. He sent me to save your neck.”
“Something else...?” Kyle frowned. “At a time like this, what could possibly be more important than taking down Voldemort?”
“How should I know?” Aberforth’s expression was equally sour. “I asked him. That bastard wouldn’t explain—just said something like, ‘if that’s not dealt with, Voldemort can never be truly destroyed.’”