Dumbledore had finally left Hogsmeade, heading to Nurmengard in search of Voldemort.
Although he had made it seem like he was being completely transparent when they spoke earlier, Kyle could tell—Dumbledore was still hiding something.
The Elder Wand, for example.
Granted, that might have been because Kyle forgot to ask.
Still, Voldemort’s Elder Wand couldn’t have cracked without reason. There had to be something else going on, something Kyle didn’t yet know.
Even Aberforth had said it—Dumbledore’s things weren’t so easy to steal. Which meant the wand had likely been rigged with traps. Maybe just one, or maybe several.
The most plausible explanation was that the Elder Wand had already changed allegiance.
Someone had claimed ownership of it from Dumbledore, even if they hadn’t physically taken it.
Which meant, no matter how much effort Voldemort had put into stealing it, he still wouldn’t be its true master—and so couldn’t wield its full power.
But that raised two more questions.
First—how had Dumbledore known Voldemort was going to make a move against him?
According to The Tales of Beedle the Bard, you had to defeat or kill the previous owner of the Elder Wand to become its true master.
And that previous owner was Dumbledore.
Beating him in a duel was virtually impossible for any other wizard.
Unless, of course, Dumbledore had foreseen Voldemort’s plan and deliberately relinquished ownership before it happened.
Which wouldn’t have been difficult. The Elder Wand was powerful, but it wasn’t sentient. No thoughts, no will of its own... If Dumbledore had allowed himself to be disarmed—tossed the wand away after a Disarming Charm—that would’ve fulfilled the “defeated” condition.
And that brought up the second question: who had “defeated” Dumbledore?
Kyle made his way back through the secret passage, deep in thought.
His first instinct was to suspect himself. During the battle, Voldemort’s wand had been breaking spell after spell, eventually even snapping in half. That alone made it seem plausible.
But then he remembered Voldemort’s duel with Aberforth—where the wand had also refused to cooperate.
That gave him pause.
True, he had technically “defeated” Dumbledore once in 1899... but that timeline was murky.
If they went by the standard flow of time, Kyle had used a Time-Turner—by that point, Voldemort had already taken the wand, so any victory over Dumbledore afterward wouldn’t have mattered.
And by the timeline of that moment in 1899, Dumbledore hadn’t even been the wand’s master.
Kyle puzzled over it for a long while but couldn’t make sense of it. So he gave up and moved on.
If it wasn’t him, then the most likely candidates were Draco Malfoy or Harry.
He recalled that during Draco’s first infiltration of Hogwarts—when the Death Eaters got in—he and Harry had confronted Dumbledore atop the Astronomy Tower.
Kyle had rushed over not long after, but he didn’t know what had happened before he arrived.
Should’ve just let Harry face Voldemort head-on, he thought. Would’ve saved me all this guessing.
Still, it didn’t really matter.
Whoever the wand belonged to—so long as it wasn’t Voldemort—that was enough.
He stepped out of the secret passage. Daylight had fully broken by now.
Up ahead, Harry was vigorously shaking two sleeping bags, trying to wake Ron and Hermione.
Kyle didn’t bother interrupting or asking why he hadn’t just used a counter-spell. Instead, he turned and walked off in another direction.
A few minutes later, he arrived at the remains of the wooden bridge on the southern side of the castle.
Dumbledore’s earlier reminder had prompted Kyle to check the area again—not just to see if he could recover any of the Chomping Cabbages, but also to clean up anything that might point back to him.
But...
Kyle stared at the immaculate ground, momentarily baffled. If it weren’t for the remnants of the destroyed bridge, he might’ve thought he’d wandered to the wrong spot.
The area had clearly been cleaned ahead of time. The open space leading back to the castle was spotless—not even dust. All the Chomping Cabbages and Death Eaters were gone. Kyle glanced around—he couldn’t even find a single leaf.
Just a few professors and students were left, busy repairing the ruined bridge.
“Oh, Kyle! You’re here to help too?” Sinistra, the Astronomy professor, poked her head out from the crowd and called to him.
Kyle noticed her arm was wrapped in thick bandages. As he approached, he could smell the sharp scent of Skele-Gro and healing potion.
The combination meant only one thing: her arm had been broken, then reattached by Madam Pomfrey.
It looked hastily done—the wrapping was a mess—but considering the whole castle was overflowing with injured, it was lucky she’d been treated at all.
“Yeah, I’m here to help,” Kyle said, stepping forward and giving his wand a casual wave.
Planks of wood flew through the air—slightly crooked—and began stacking themselves across the half-repaired bridge.
“Professor Sinistra, I’m really glad you’re safe…” Kyle said casually, “When did you get here?”
“Just now—about ten minutes ago,” said Professor Sinistra.
“But are you sure you’re okay?” Kyle glanced at the bandage on her arm. “I really think you’d be better off resting back at the castle.”
Sinistra, however, waved it off without concern. “If we all needed to rest over a few minor injuries, we might as well just stay holed up in the castle and let everything fall apart.”
“Fair enough,” Kyle said. “Still… this place looks really clean. You all cleared it up that fast?”
“Cleaned it? No.”
Sinistra shook her head. “It was already like this when we arrived. Maybe Filius and the others came by earlier. All we need to do is fix the bridge…”
She trailed off, then suddenly grew irritable.
“Those damned Death Eaters are only good at destruction. I don’t get it—why blow up the wooden bridge and the Astronomy Tower? Did they think it’d make them look powerful?
“A bunch of ill-bred, barbaric wizards—dumber than Flobberworms…”
Sinistra continued cursing the Death Eaters, listing off their crimes, while Kyle simply pressed his lips together and stayed silent.
The Astronomy Tower—maybe. But the bridge? That had been blown up by the students.
If he remembered right, it had gone something like: Neville baiting them in, Ginny calling the shots, and Seamus lighting the fuse. The Death Eaters hadn’t been involved at all. If anything, they were the ones who’d gotten caught in the trap.
Still, since Professor Sinistra didn’t know, Kyle didn’t see the point in correcting her over such a trivial mistake.
He kept directing the wooden planks into place, glancing down over the edge as he worked.
Now that he thought about it, the Death Eaters might’ve been thrown off the cliff… That would’ve been the quickest and most effective way to clear the battlefield.
But whether it was the early morning cold or something else, all he could see between the towering cliffs was a thick layer of white mist. There was no way to tell what lay at the bottom.
So Kyle couldn’t be sure if the Chomping Cabbages or the Death Eaters were still down there.
“Kyle… Kyle…”
Professor Sinistra’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up quickly.
“Sorry—I just realized,” she said gently, “you really should be resting right now, not helping out here.”
She dropped her voice to a near whisper. “Facing the Dark Lord in person must’ve taken a toll. Go get some rest—we can handle this.”
At first, Kyle didn’t catch her meaning—until he looked up and noticed the row of planks in front of him, tilted at odd angles and completely misaligned. He quickly waved his wand.
He must have been so deep in thought that he’d stopped paying attention to where he was placing them.
“My apologies, Professor.”
The wooden boards detached themselves and floated back into their correct positions.
“There’s no need to apologize,” Sinistra said firmly, shaking her head. “You were facing… someone whose name we couldn’t even say… Well, all right—Voldemort. I really hope I get used to saying that soon.”
“You were up against Voldemort,” she repeated. “That’s on a completely different level than what the rest of us faced. Go get some rest. Leave the rest to us.”
...
With Professor Sinistra gently ushering him away, Kyle let himself be half-pushed from the scene.
He’d actually wanted to check the bottom of the cliff, but after a moment’s thought, he decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Going down there now would only raise suspicion. Better to leave things as they were.
He didn’t know who had done the cleanup here, but whoever it was, they’d done him a favor.
Kyle returned to the castle as if nothing had happened.
The sun was slowly rising over Hogwarts. In the Great Hall, the shattered ceiling still clung to its illusion, holding firm. Twin beams of sunlight streamed in from outside, flooding the hall with warmth and light.
People were mourning the fallen and celebrating the victory, their grief and joy tangled together in a blur of emotion.
As soon as Kyle stepped inside, he became the center of attention.
Everyone had seen him drive Voldemort away, and they instinctively saw him now as the hero of the war—the savior, the symbol, the guide. Everyone wanted to speak to him, to thank him.
Kyle found himself surrounded, unable to move, stuck standing still as he accepted thanks and tried to comfort the families of the dead.
This had always been Dumbledore’s job. But now, somehow, it had become his.
Professor McGonagall and the other teachers stood nearby, saying nothing—seemingly accepting this new arrangement without question.
Kyle wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. His lips were growing dry by the time the crowd finally began to disperse.
He sank onto a nearby bench, and Neville came to sit beside him.
But there was no joy on Neville’s face. No trace of celebration, despite the victory.
“What’s wrong?” Kyle asked instinctively.
“M-My grandmother’s here,” Neville stammered, his nerves suddenly intensifying.
“Mrs. Longbottom?” Kyle glanced at him. “This was the final battle against the Death Eaters. Once the news got out, every student’s parents were bound to show up—not just her. It’s nothing unusual.”
“I know…” Neville clenched his fists tightly. “But I didn’t do anything this time. I didn’t help at all. She’s going to be so disappointed.”
“What are you talking about, Neville?” Kyle raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t do nothing. On the contrary, you did a lot. I can promise you, everyone here could vouch to Mrs. Longbottom that you’re a true hero—no doubt about it.”
“Really?” Neville’s eyes lit up.
“If you don’t believe me, ask Ginny or Seamus. They’ll say exactly the same thing.”
That seemed to boost Neville’s confidence a bit, though he still didn’t leave. He just stood there, visibly anxious.
...
“Is there something else?” Kyle asked again.
“I’m sorry, Kyle. I think I really messed something up,” Neville said, his gaze flickering. “I lost your Chomping Cabbages.”
“It’s alright…” Kyle blinked. “Wait, did you just say Chomping Cabbage?”
“Y-Yes!” Neville drew a deep breath, then said solemnly, “The Chomping Cabbages you left to slow down the Death Eaters—I lost them. But don’t worry, I promise I’ll make it up to you!”
“That’s not urgent,” Kyle said, waving his hand. “Just tell me what happened. Were you the one who cleaned up the clearing behind the castle?”
“Kind of…” Neville nodded, then explained, “Right after V-Voldemort fled, I happened to see the Ministry checking for any remaining threats—they were heading toward the bridge.”
“It hit me that Chomping Cabbages are banned for large-scale cultivation, so I rushed ahead to hide them.”
As he spoke, Neville’s face went pale. It was clear he was recalling something unpleasant. His throat bobbed as though he were about to be sick.
But he’d already emptied his stomach the night before—there was nothing left to bring up now.
“Because... there wasn’t much time, I wanted to gather the Cabbages quickly.” He paused for breath. “But I screwed up. I aimed the Sliding Spell in the wrong direction... and by the time I realized it, all the Chomping Cabbages had fallen into the ravine.”
At some point, Kyle had straightened in his seat, staring at Neville in disbelief.
He hadn’t expected this at all.
It wasn’t Dumbledore who helped him. It wasn’t Diana or Chris either. It had been Neville—accidentally erasing all evidence in one fell swoop.
Kyle knew the Sliding Spell well. It was an old-school prank spell passed down by generations of students.
Its effect was to turn a staircase into a steep slide—so slippery even Mrs. Norris would’ve lost her footing.
But the joke had become so cliché, and used so often, that hardly anyone fell for it anymore.
“I should have seen this coming,” Neville muttered, knocking his own head. “I always mess things up, even with the simplest spell.”
“Don’t say that, Neville,” Kyle said quickly, stopping him. “You did great.”
“You don’t have to comfort me, Kyle,” Neville said, visibly moved. “I know I mess everything up. I’ll make it up to you—I’ll replace the Chomping Cabbages...”
“No, Neville, don’t say that,” Kyle cut in. “I swear on Dumbledore’s good name, I’m not just trying to make you feel better.”
He gave Neville a firm pat on the shoulder. “I mean it. You did really well.”
“You know how difficult Chomping Cabbages are. They’re not tame plants—it’s nearly impossible to collect them all in such a short time.”
“And like you said, large-scale cultivation is banned by the Ministry. If they had found them, it would’ve been a huge problem. What you did was the smartest thing you could’ve done.”
“R-Really?” Neville asked, dazed.
“Of course,” Kyle nodded. “You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, you did me a huge favor.”
The more he spoke, the happier Kyle seemed. In the end, he even pulled a flowerpot out of his suitcase and forced it into Neville’s hands.
Inside was a plant he’d bought all the way back in 1899—not particularly useful, but beautiful, rare, and now nearly impossible to find.
Kyle remembered that Neville loved magical plants. Herbology was the one subject he consistently excelled in—this made for a perfect gift.
Neville stood there stunned. By the time he realized what was happening and tried to give the pot back, Kyle was already gone from the Great Hall.
Mainly, Neville had reminded him that more and more parents would soon be arriving at Hogwarts. If Kyle stayed put, it was only a matter of time before he got surrounded again.
Once was more than enough.
...
Afterward, Kyle found the Weasley family. They were gathered in a second-floor corridor, where Fleur and Bill were in the middle of a heated argument.
“You don’t want to marry me anymore… just because you lost an ear?” Fleur’s voice was loud—it echoed down the entire hallway.
“Bill, what do you think I married you for? Because you had two ears?!”
“Pfft—” Fred, who’d been sipping water nearby, spit it out immediately. He turned his head quickly, covering his mouth—only to see Kyle walking over.
“Oh, here comes our hero. Did they finally decide to let you go?”
“Nope. I snuck out,” Kyle said. “What’s going on here?”
“As you can see,” George chimed in, “Bill lost an ear and now he’s looking down on Fleur for still having both of hers…”
“Huh?” Kyle stared at him, sensing something wasn’t quite right.
“You sure it’s Bill who’s doing the rejecting?”
“Of course! That ear was taken by a Death Eater—it’s practically a badge of honor,” George said, completely serious.
Then he lowered his head, radiating an unmistakable air of gloom, and muttered, “It’s not fair. Fred and I are the twins. I should be the next one to lose an ear—not Bill. This isn’t fair…”
The jealousy in George’s voice was completely unfiltered… and the truly unbelievable part was that Fred stood beside him, looking smugly proud.
As if losing an ear was something to be celebrated.
Honestly... even Merlin might’ve been baffled by this one.
But what could you say?
If it were anyone else, Kyle might’ve thought they’d lost their minds.
But if it was Fred and George?
Well… this was just business as usual.