Kyle had actually known from the start that Sykes would come—he’d sent a letter to St. Mungo’s through Ratton the night before.

It was just that he’d suggested meeting at noon in the letter, and hadn’t expected her to arrive so quickly.

Outside the door stood a witch who looked quite a lot like Dumbledore, her brow furrowed.

“Mrs. Sykes, it’s a pleasure to see you here…” Professor McGonagall walked over.

“No need to be so formal, Minerva.” Sykes gave her a hug. “Forgive me for missing your inauguration as Headmistress—things have been overwhelming. I hope it’s not too late to offer my congratulations.”

“Of course not…” said Professor McGonagall.

To be honest, she’d been in such a daze during the ceremony that she hadn’t even noticed who was sitting in the audience.

Now, the two tall, thin witches—both serious in expression—stood side by side, looking for all the world like older sisters.

“Welcome, Pegasia…” Dumbledore came over as well. “I’m surprised to see you outside St. Mungo’s.”

“Long time no see, Albus,” Sykes nodded.

After the brief greeting, her gaze shifted to the doorway, where Hagrid was still pacing in circles, and her frown deepened.

“Albus, is he also a professor here?” she asked, puzzled. “At first I thought some sort of magic had affected his mind, but after a closer check, there was nothing unusual.”

“Is this some kind of Hogwarts ritual? Or maybe a half-giant tradition?”

Sykes could clearly sense that something was off with Hagrid. Her fingers twitched—driven by professional instinct, she wanted to examine him more closely.

“Ah, just a little trick,” Dumbledore said with a smile. With a wave of his hand, the runes on the door immediately dimmed.

Hagrid finally came to a halt and noticed the group standing nearby.

He tried to greet them, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he felt something rising from his stomach.

Forgetting all about courtesy, Hagrid clamped a hand over his mouth and staggered off toward the Forbidden Forest behind them.

“Ugh!”

The scene turned a little awkward.

“My apologies for the spectacle,” Professor McGonagall said stiffly, shooting Kyle a glare.

Kyle gave a weak tug at the corner of his mouth and turned his head away.

He’d actually remembered Hagrid was outside while they were in the garden, but hadn’t thought it was a big deal.

Kyle had figured that, with a half-giant’s constitution, the alchemical mist wouldn’t affect him much. But apparently, alchemy worked very differently from magic.

Sykes observed the reactions of those present... Though she still didn’t know exactly what had happened, she could guess it had something to do with Kyle.

She looked around briefly, then drew her wand.

At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, seven or eight nameless wildflowers floated into the air, quickly shriveled, and released a few drops of sap into a small orb of clear water.

Next, she plucked a few leaves from a rowan tree, crushed them, and mixed them in as well.

Dumbledore was the first to respond. With a casual flick of his wand, he turned a stone into a bottle and caught the now-tinted liquid.

“Have the half-giant drink this—it’ll do him good,” said Sykes.

“I have no doubt,” Dumbledore replied with a smile.

The most renowned potioneer in the wizarding world... Even if she claimed the items Professor Sprout had gathered were useful, Dumbledore wouldn’t hesitate to feed Hagrid a spoonful.

“Please excuse me a moment.” Holding the bottle, Dumbledore started walking toward Hagrid. “Oh, Minerva, I just remembered—Horace was looking for you. Something about potion ingredient procurement, I believe.”

Of course, he could tell exactly who Sykes had come for.

Professor McGonagall took a moment to catch on—she wasn’t too familiar with the connection between Sykes and Kyle.

But she understood Dumbledore’s hint and called for Professor Flitwick to head back to the castle with her.

Once everyone had left, Sykes chuckled. “Albus is still as considerate as ever.”

“Isn’t he, though?” Kyle shrugged. “Director, when did you arrive?”

“An hour ago,” Sykes replied.

“You sent me that letter last night, didn’t you? I happened to have some potions simmering this morning that didn’t need constant supervision, so I took the opportunity to drop by.”

“About what I mentioned in the letter—the Hospital Wing...?”

“I’ve already spoken with Poppy,” said Sykes. “I can’t officially represent St. Mungo’s in any collaboration with Hogwarts, but I can share a few potion recipes with the Hospital Wing as a private individual.”

“This has nothing to do with St. Mungo’s. They’re my personal formulas,” she emphasized again.

Kyle understood. St. Mungo’s had to maintain neutrality—especially in the current climate. The Death Eaters certainly wouldn’t want to see the hospital growing too close to Hogwarts.

But this was enough. At least he’d fulfilled the promise he made to Madam Pomfrey.

Last night, when Dumbledore suggested a break for a late-night snack, Kyle hadn’t stayed in the Headmaster’s office. He’d used it as an excuse to step out.

He’d gone to the Hospital Wing and made Madam Pomfrey an offer she couldn’t refuse—collaboration with Sykes.

Sykes, not the Director of St. Mungo’s.

Kyle knew full well the constraints St. Mungo’s was under and didn’t want to make things harder for her. He hadn’t mentioned any terms of the collaboration, leaving it entirely up to them.

Madam Pomfrey had agreed immediately and given her word on the spot. Kyle had written a letter right in front of her and sent it off to St. Mungo’s by owl.

If not for that, last night’s meeting might still be unresolved.

“Thank you,” Kyle said sincerely.

Sykes raised an eyebrow but said nothing, simply watching him.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Kyle slapped his forehead, reached into his bag, and pulled out two bottles—one large and one small. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t let you come all this way for nothing.”

“As a token of thanks...” He handed her the larger bottle. “This is basilisk blood—about a pint.”

“And this,” he pointed to the small bottle, about the size of a thumb, “is basilisk venom.”

“There might be some dragon blood mixed in, so it’s not entirely pure.”

“No problem. It’s a bit of a hassle, but I can separate them,” said Sykes, eyeing the dark red bottle. Her expression grew increasingly puzzled.

“But now I’m curious—why is there dragon blood mixed in with basilisk venom…”

“No, actually, it’d be more accurate to say the venom’s mixed into the dragon blood. At least two-thirds of this is dragon blood.”

She had seen real basilisk venom before—pale yellow. But what she was holding now had the color and consistency of dragon blood, and not even fresh—it was spoiled and degraded.

Saying two-thirds was generous.

“It’s all the same, really,” Kyle said with an awkward smile. “Dragon blood’s pretty valuable too, isn’t it? Just think of it as an extra gift from me.”

He’d scraped that venom from the wounds on the Horntail just a while ago—no reason to waste good materials.

The reason the Horntail had been so quiet and unresponsive was that it had been knocked out cold by the Basilisk’s venom.

Typical—too weak to win, but still eager to pick a fight. If Kyle hadn’t warned the Basilisks in advance not to kill the Horntail, it might have ended up as a midnight snack.

The Basilisk blood had been collected the same way. Despite its poor performance, the Horntail had managed to leave quite a few gashes on the Basilisk’s massive body. Kyle had just placed a few containers beneath the wounds and let gravity do the rest—soon enough, he had what he needed.

Sykes gave a small, crooked smile.

Dragon blood might be expensive, but if it was for sale, she could get it. What she needed were materials specifically tied to the Basilisk.

Luckily, there was more than enough Basilisk blood, so the trip hadn’t been in vain.

She tucked the two bottles away and, at Kyle’s invitation, stepped into the wooden hut.

“I heard you’re going to be a professor at Hogwarts?” she said, glancing around the space and shaking her head slightly.

Too many windows. Far too bright for potion brewing. If it were up to her, she’d block off the roof and the windows on the left side.

But this was Kyle’s home, so she said nothing aloud.

“Yeah.” Kyle nodded. “I’ve annoyed the Dark Lord one too many times lately, so I figured I’d lay low at Hogwarts for a bit. The school happened to be looking for someone to fill in for Professor Babbling, and since I know a fair bit about Runes, the timing worked out.”

Sykes suddenly felt her throat go dry.

He’s annoyed the Dark Lord one too many times?

That was a new one. She’d never heard such a bizarre reason before.

There were wizards in the magical world who’d crossed Voldemort—but almost all of them met the same fate: killed by the Killing Curse.

Only one and a half people had survived angering Voldemort.

Dumbledore was one—the one wizard Voldemort truly feared. That was common knowledge.

The other was Harry Potter—the so-called “Boy Who Lived”… but he only counted as half.

As a seasoned witch, Sykes knew full well that it hadn’t been Harry Potter who defeated Voldemort—it had been some kind of magical protection from Lily Evans that had affected him. The whole “Boy Who Lived” title was largely a convenient narrative crafted by the Ministry to help settle the fear caused by the Death Eaters.

In truth, the one Voldemort had wanted dead was Lily. But she was already gone. Only Harry had survived.

And now, there was someone else. Even if only temporarily, it was still astonishing.

Then there was that phrase—one too many times.

It sounded like Kyle had done more than she knew, and whatever it was, it had been enough to make Voldemort want him dead at any cost.

Could it have been that Gringotts vault incident...? No, probably not. Voldemort hadn’t shown up in person—just a Death Eater.

Still, Sykes wasn’t one to pry. She didn’t ask, and deliberately changed the subject.

“Being a professor at Hogwarts isn’t a bad thing,” she said softly. “Maybe in a few years, you’ll become Headmaster.”

“Not a chance,” Kyle waved her off.

“What, you don’t believe it?” Sykes gave him a glance. “Don’t you think it’s a bit too convenient? Why would Minerva and Albus suddenly agree to give Bathsheda time off?

“From what I know, one hard requirement for becoming Headmaster at Hogwarts is having taught here before.”

“Maybe that’s true,” Kyle said calmly, “but even so, it’s not going to happen.”

Perhaps Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall did have that in mind—but even if they did, it was only a thought.

Dumbledore, the greatest wizard, the one who defeated Grindelwald and earned the Order of Merlin, First Class.

Professor McGonagall, the most renowned Transfiguration master and a dutiful Deputy Headmistress.

Both had only become Headmaster in their eighties.

Kyle had seen the portraits in the Headmaster’s office—everyone who’d earned the position through proper channels had reached that age or close to it.

He wasn’t even twenty. It was far too early.

Besides, Kyle knew himself. Teaching for sixty years straight? He couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t get bored and bolt halfway through… just like Professor Babbling.

Professors of Ancient Runes were as free-spirited as the ever-shifting runes they taught—never bound by tradition. The castle couldn’t hold the spirit of runes… and Professor Babbling was a prime example. Eccentric, elusive—if it wasn’t class time, good luck finding her.

Kyle felt it was only right to carry on that fine tradition.

They chatted a little longer, and then Kyle took Sykes to see his garden.

As it turned out, the Director’s professional instincts kicked in again. She stared fixatedly at the golden horns on either side of the Romanian Longhorn’s head, her gaze intense enough to scare the poor thing into hovering midair, too frightened to land.

A treasure, no doubt. The horns were a primary ingredient in flying potions, also useful for brewing fire-resistance and reinforcement draughts… In the eyes of any potioneer, they were priceless.

Unfortunately, they were still small.

The Longhorn wasn’t fully grown yet, so the potency of the horns would be about half what it could be.

In the end, Sykes gave up on a certain impulsive idea and looked away.

But it still gave Kyle a scare—he’d been worried Sykes might suddenly whip out her wand and give the Romanian Longhorn a haircut.

Thankfully, her mind was still on the potion simmering in her cauldron, and she was soon ready to leave. Kyle walked her to the edge of the school grounds.

Before parting, Sykes handed him a piece of parchment.

“Boomslang skin, unicorn blood, mandrake sap, leech juice, lacewing flies, ginger root, powdered sulfur…”

Kyle scanned the list of ingredients with a puzzled look.

“What kind of potion is this? I’ve never seen this combination before.”

“A medieval formula,” Sykes replied. “It was developed by a dark wizard.”

“A dark wizard?”

“Mhm. Singedore, the one who controlled dragons. Heard of him?”

That rang a bell for Kyle.

He was fairly well-known—not all that powerful himself, but born with a talent for taming dragons, and dangerously ambitious. Essentially, the Voldemort of his era.

The dragons under his command had caused serious problems for the Ministry of Magic.

But his reign didn’t last long. As troublesome as dragons were, they were still magical creatures. Just like Antioch with the Elder Wand—if the wizard himself lacked strength, even the strongest tools wouldn’t help. Singedore had been quickly taken down once the Aurors got close.

With his death, the dragon threat disappeared.

He later became a cautionary tale, a reminder to every Magizoologist not to stray down the wrong path.

“This potion was his invention?” Kyle asked.

“That’s right,” said Sykes. “It temporarily enhances a dragon’s strength and increases the heat of its flame. I figured you might find it useful.”

“Your dragons are still too small. Aside from the Horntail, it wouldn’t take more than three or four Death Eaters working together to take them down.”

“…”

“Thanks,” Kyle said, pocketing the parchment.

“I just happened to know about it,” Sykes replied. “And brewing it isn’t easy. The ingredients are expensive—you’ll have to source them yourself.”

“I figured.”

“Good.” Sykes stepped through the school gates, then added with a half-smile, “Maybe once you’re Headmaster, I’ll consider teaching Potions at Hogwarts.”

“Well, you’ll be waiting a while.” Kyle shrugged, clearly uninterested in the topic.

It was too far off to bother thinking about.

...

When Kyle returned to the cabin, Dumbledore was already chatting with Hagrid out in the garden.

“I honestly didn’t think you’d be able to get Sykes to come,” Dumbledore said, glancing over and giving Kyle a subtle wink. “That’s what made Poppy change her mind, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. The Director agreed to share some of her personal potion recipes.”

“No wonder,” Dumbledore said. “Didn’t expect you to have that kind of pull… Actually, looks like you’ve got more sway than I do. Sykes wouldn’t come to Hogwarts just because I asked—whenever we meet, it’s always me going to her.”

“It’s not me—it’s the Basilisk,” Kyle said with a grin. “I’m the only one who can provide Basilisk blood and venom. She seems to value that a lot.”

“Fortifying Potion,” Dumbledore said abruptly.

“What?”

“A potion that offers defense against spells,” Dumbledore explained. “It’s a recent invention—functions similarly to a Shield Charm, but lasts much longer. It’s especially effective against Dark magic.”

“Director Sykes invented that?” Kyle was clearly impressed. That basically made it a liquid version of Protego. Drink a bottle during combat, and you could probably shrug off a couple of Stunners.

“I should’ve given her more Basilisk blood,” he said, a bit regretfully.

With how massive the Basilisk was, he could’ve easily spared another five pints.

“It’s fine,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “Aside from Basilisk blood, the potion also requires Quintaped claws. Just as rare.”

“…”

Honestly, Kyle suddenly felt his own Shield Charm was perfectly adequate. No potion needed.

“By the way, one more thing,” Dumbledore added. “Bathsheda’s already left the school. The notice will be posted tomorrow. Once the break is over, you’ll officially take over her classes.”

Kyle’s mind instinctively went back to what Sykes had said earlier. But he quickly shook it off.

“I understand,” he said.

“My advice—put the garden on hold for now,” Dumbledore said. “Being a good professor is very different from just knowing the subject. Best to start preparing early.”

“I will,” Kyle nodded. “But Governor Dumbledore, I had an idea…”

Governor?

Hearing that formality, Dumbledore tensed up slightly. Kyle being that polite was never a good sign.

“Let’s hear it,” he said warily. “But you know, I’m just one of twelve governors, and a relatively new one at that. I don’t carry much weight.

“As you saw earlier, even Minerva gets more done than I do.”

“Don’t worry—it’s a small thing,” Kyle said. “As a new professor, I’d like to rearrange the class schedule a bit. That’s not asking too much, right?”