“How did it go?”

It was the first weekend of the new school year, and Hagrid had invited Kyle to the Three Broomsticks for a drink. As they sat down, he asked curiously about Kyle’s first Alchemy class the day before.

“Not bad. It wasn’t exactly smooth, but definitely not terrible either,” Kyle said as he took the Butterbeer Hagrid handed him.

Everyone was starting from zero, which meant they were all on equal footing. That came with its own advantages—he could simply follow the curriculum step by step, starting from the very basics.

He’d also noticed something interesting: almost every student who chose Alchemy was from a Muggle family—only two came from wizarding households.

Students from Muggle families were great in their own way. Sure, they lacked any kind of magical foundation—practically none at all—but they had no preconceived notions about Hogwarts, and they approached every subject with genuine curiosity and enthusiasm.

All it took was a few trinkets Kyle had picked up from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to leave them wide-eyed and speechless.

Especially when he showed them a fist-sized flying, fire-breathing Hungarian Horntail and a set of lifelike enchanted wizard chess pieces—those third-years were so amazed their eyes lit up red with excitement. They sat there yelling and bouncing in their seats, practically ready to dive headfirst into Alchemy on the spot.

“Well, that’s good. I was a bit worried you’d be nervous,” Hagrid said as he sat down beside Kyle.

“I was so nervous before my first lesson, I didn’t sleep for days.”

“Hagrid, I think you’ve got the wrong idea…” Kyle gave him a look. “I’m just switching subjects. It’s not like it’s my first time teaching.”

“That’s different.” Hagrid waved his hand. “Before, you were just covering classes. Now you’re a real professor.”

Kyle didn’t respond—mainly because he couldn’t figure out what the big difference was.

Still, seeing how serious Hagrid looked, he let it go and turned his attention to a nearby copy of The Daily Prophet.

At first, he just wanted to check if the media frenzy around the Hogwarts Alchemy course had died down. But then something on the front page caught his eye—a photo that instantly grabbed his attention.

It showed a filthy, wild-looking wizard with matted hair and a deranged expression—he looked almost exactly like Sirius had after escaping Azkaban.

Above the photo was a large, bold headline:

Nurmengard—Treasure, or the Dark Lord’s Hoax?

“What’s this?” Kyle blurted.

“What?” Hagrid followed his gaze to the paper. “Oh, that’s today’s Daily Prophet. It just got delivered this morning. I was using it to wrap walnuts.”

“Mind if I borrow it?”

“Not at all. Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” Kyle picked up the paper and started reading the front-page article carefully.

“Most people haven’t noticed that, ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic hasn’t actually returned to peace—especially in Cornwall, where there have been several small-scale conflicts in recent weeks.

‘We’re handling it. No comment,’ said one irritable Auror who refused to give his name when returning to the Ministry yesterday.

However, it has since been confirmed that this ongoing unrest is tied to a secret hearing.

Although the Ministry’s spokesperson still refuses to acknowledge the contents of that hearing, many in the wizarding world believe that the subject they’re so desperate to conceal is none other than the Horcrux—widely speculated to be the key reason the Dark Lord was able to return after more than a decade.

Rumor has it that some Death Eaters, in the chaos following You-Know-Who’s defeat, attempted to flee and made off with a treasured map from his collection…”

...

The article was long—nearly a full page.

Kyle was only halfway through it when Hagrid had already downed two pints of mead.

“If you ask me, that map’s nothing but a load of rubbish,” Hagrid said as he uncorked his last bottle of mead and let out a burp.

“A map showing how to make Horcruxes... Come on, there's no way You-Know-Who would hand something that important to some no-name Death Eater.”

“Honestly, I don’t even recognize the bloke in the photo. For all we know, he’s not even a Death Eater.”

“He definitely isn’t,” Kyle said, lifting his eyes from the paper. “He’s a wizard from Norway—and he only arrived in Britain a month ago.”

“Hagrid, you didn’t read the whole article, did you?”

Hagrid gave another burp.

He hadn’t, actually. The moment he saw the phrase ‘treasure left behind by You-Know-Who’, he’d tossed the paper aside and used it to wrap walnuts.

He didn’t believe for a second that Voldemort had left behind any treasure. And if there was something, it had to be a trap—just another one of his tricks.

So as far as Hagrid was concerned, the whole thing was nonsense, another piece of drivel from The Daily Prophet.

Why waste time on a worthless fake story?

He took a swig from his final bottle of mead without a care.

Kyle, meanwhile, kept reading the second half of the article.

“...Sources say the struggle over the map ended a few days ago. No one knows who emerged victorious.

The only confirmed detail is that a group of wizards vanished suddenly and have not been seen since.

Fearless journalist Rita Skeeter ventured into the chaos of Cornwall and, using her exceptional intellect and unmatched Transfiguration skills, managed to uncover the latest developments.

The so-called treasure map is, in fact, a map marking a mysterious location... Nurmengard.”

That was where the front page ended.

Kyle flipped to page two, which was filled with information about Nurmengard and Grindelwald.

At a glance, Kyle could already see plenty of exaggeration—like the claim that Grindelwald had once summoned a Patronus the size of a giant.

That, of course, was a feat attributed to the legendary Andros the Invincible, the only known wizard capable of conjuring such a Patronus. But the article credited it to Grindelwald.

Then there was the supposed “fated duel” between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, which allegedly lasted seven days and seven nights—complete with detailed narration.

“The sky hung low, day and night spun in endless cycles, golden streaks flickered across the heavens, and unseen spells roared past their ears...”

Dramatic, sure—but also pretty dubious.

In reality, wizard duels rarely last that long. Even if Dumbledore and Grindelwald were hurling spells at each other nonstop, they’d have worn out every magical item in their possession by the third day. By the seventh, the wands—or the duelers—would’ve exploded.

If Kyle had to guess, the article’s imagery was probably borrowed from a Quidditch match.

Golden flashes? The Golden Snitch.

Unseen spells? Probably just Bludgers flying around.

That interpretation made everything much clearer.

Rita Skeeter had likely skimmed an old issue of Quidditch Weekly.

How to describe it... Anyone sharp enough to catch the reference would probably laugh and toss the paper aside, just like Hagrid.

But for those who didn’t spot it? They just might fall for it.

...

At that moment, the door of the Three Broomsticks swung open. A figure stepped inside, glanced around the room, then quietly took a seat in the far corner.

The sound of the bell above the door drew Hagrid’s attention. He glanced outside.

“Is it nearly noon already?” Hagrid stood up. “I’ve got to head into the Forbidden Forest this afternoon. Let’s get going.”

“I’ve got something to discuss with Fred,” Kyle replied. “You go ahead without me.”

Hagrid nodded and didn’t think much of it. He headed out on his own.

Kyle often came by to see the Weasley twins—nothing unusual about that.

But after Hagrid left, Kyle didn’t go to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. He stayed right where he was.

Moments later, a witch approached and took the seat Hagrid had just vacated.

“Long time no see, Rita,” Kyle said, looking up.

“Long time indeed.” Rita Skeeter had a new handbag—looked like it was made of dragon hide.

“I really ought to thank you for tipping me off with such a sensational scoop,” she said. The words sounded grateful, but her tone wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. If anything, there was a faint trace of hesitation.

She masked it well, though.

“The legendary Nurmengard and Grindelwald! You have no idea—I received almost as many responses as I did after the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“As long as you're happy,” Kyle said with a smile.

“But there's something I don’t get.” He unfolded the newspaper and pointed to the sensationalized article on page two.

“You’re not afraid of being exposed for making things up like this?”

“Not at all,” Rita Skeeter replied matter-of-factly. “Who can say for certain that Grindelwald can’t summon a Giant Patronus?

“And who has actually witnessed the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald?”

“No one. So I can say whatever I like. Besides, most people don’t really care about that. What they do care about is whether someone has managed to create a new Horcrux.”

Kyle paused, realizing she had a point.

“All right.”

“So, when are you going to release the coordinates of that group?” he asked, changing the subject. “They can’t have gone far yet, right?”

“On a deserted island near France,” Rita Skeeter answered without hesitation, as if those people had always been under her watch.

No—more accurately, under her watch.

“Perfect. Write down the location in detail. We might be able to reel in a few more curious stragglers and let them start another fight.”

“After that, the British wizarding world should finally enjoy a bit of peace.”

Rita Skeeter said nothing. She looked across the table at Kyle and suddenly shuddered, as though something had just come to mind.

He was like that. And so was that witch.

Those self-proclaimed victorious Dark wizards—vicious, merciless—all of them now looked like puppets on a string, every move exposed.

Rita Skeeter even suspected that Kyle hadn’t introduced her to the witch out of trust or cooperation, but simply because her Animagus form was small and discreet—perfect for tracking and unlikely to arouse suspicion.

After all, no one else knew their route or hideout.

And if the location of the island were revealed now, those people would immediately turn on each other, consumed by paranoia and infighting.

She glanced at Kyle again. He hadn’t participated in any of it, and yet he had guessed the witch’s plan.

Was that... a shared understanding?

Rita Skeeter shook her head, pushing away the jumble of thoughts.

“She said it’s not time yet. We need to wait a little longer.”

“Then we’ll wait a little longer,” Kyle replied calmly.

Since Rosier was handling everything, he had no reason to interfere or make extra work for himself.

“So what did you come to me for this time?”

“I need a guarantee.” Rita Skeeter hesitated for a moment.

She had originally come with another purpose in mind, but changed her mind on the spot and said seriously,

“I don’t want to end up like those people.”

She wanted to say that no one even knew how they had died—but when the words reached her lips, she swallowed them back.

“You’re afraid?”

“How could I not be?” she said without a trace of shame.

“I trust you. But that witch doesn’t strike me as a kind soul. I have every reason to believe that once she’s done with her business, she wouldn’t think twice about crushing a helpless little beetle.”

Rita Skeeter had been bold before, relying on her illegal Animagus status.

Beetles were tiny—almost impossible to spot unless someone was really looking.

But now, that protection seemed useless.

That witch—despite her age—wasn’t the least bit blind. She’d recognized her Animagus form instantly.

Rita still didn’t even know how she’d slipped up—but she’d ended up caught, just the same.

“I can give you a letter,” Kyle said quietly. “If she tries to kill you, show her this.”

“Will it work?”

“No idea.”

“What did you say?!”

“Don’t look at me like that.” Kyle shrugged. “I’ve only met her a few times. It’s not like we’re close—one letter probably isn’t going to change her mind.”

“Then what’s the point of giving it to me?”

“Worth a try,” Kyle replied. “I don’t think she really cares either way. Killing you or letting you go—it’s all the same to her.”

Rita Skeeter fell silent.

“You’re free to refuse,” Kyle added. “Don’t worry—I won’t do anything to you. If you back out, I’ll just find someone else to go to Nurmengard.”

She still didn’t respond—clearly still torn. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs Novᴇl_Fire(.)net

But when Kyle mentioned Nurmengard, her expression suddenly changed to one of panic, and she even started trembling.

“You just said... Nurmengard. That place is real?”

“Of course.”

“You know where it is?”

“Of course. They’ve got a proper, official map of Nurmengard—it’s where they’re headed.”

“If they’re lucky, they might even get to see Grindelwald himself—legendary wizard from seventy years ago…”

Before he could finish, Rita Skeeter sucked in a sharp breath.

“I must be out of my mind!” she cried, suddenly jumping up and knocking over her chair.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend, and there were only a few people in the Three Broomsticks.

Then, as if afraid she’d second-guess herself, Rita turned on her heel and stormed off.

“Don’t forget your letter! I need it as soon as possible!”

“Don’t worry,” said Kyle.

He’d actually intended to tell her he could write the letter right now and let her take it with her—no need for any extra steps.

But by then, she was already gone from the Three Broomsticks, vanished without a trace.