“I say it’s real—so it is real…”
The once-boisterous headmaster’s office fell silent in an instant.
Every portrait turned to Kyle, eyes filled with disbelief.
They had all assud Kyle had simply made a mistake. None of them expected he had written it that way on purpose.
And using the Cruciatus Curse and the Imperius Curse on oneself—was that even an idea a sane wizard could co up with?
“They’ll die,” one of the headmasters couldn’t help but mutter. “No one casts the Imperius Curse on themselves. It could spiral completely out of control…”
“Oh? Just could?” Kyle blinked and guided the Self-Writing Quill back to the parchnt, scratching out a line and jotting down a few new ones.
When he held up the parchnt again, the place where the Imperius Curse had been ntioned was now replaced with the Killing Curse.
There was no more ambiguity—he clearly intended to kill them.
So of the headmasters turned their eyes to Dumbledore, who stood quietly off to the side.
“These are the students you taught?” Phineas smacked his lips. “I may be rembered as the most unpopular headmaster in history, but I’d say I was more competent than you.”
Phineas had always resented that particular label. He didn’t believe he had done anything wrong and firmly maintained that others had simply been out to get him.
But now, Phineas suddenly found himself coming to terms with the title.
So what if he’d been unpopular? At least his students had all been decent.
Not like Dumbledore—tangled up with Grindelwald in his youth, raised a dark arts-obsessed Tom Riddle in his middle years, and now, in his old age, had produced Kyle… a wizard who seed even less human than the last.
And yet, Dumbledore carried the title of “Greatest Wizard” and was beloved by the world.
“Unbelievable…” Phineas muttered bitterly. “You really deserve it.”
Dumbledore chuckled awkwardly and looked away. Even he hadn’t expected Kyle’s plan to be quite so… outrageous.
“This way, it’s even more foolproof,” Kyle continued, oblivious to the headmasters’ reactions. “Actually, I’d wanted to write the Killing Curse from the start, but I figured they wouldn’t believe it, so I swapped it for the Imperius Curse instead.”
“Even the Imperius Curse wouldn’t be convincing,” Armando Dippet couldn’t hold back anymore. “Even we—just painted portraits incapable of thinking—can tell this is completely wrong. Let alone living wizards… Their brains aren’t made of pignt.”
“But what if they had to go through enormous effort just to get it?” Kyle smiled. “If we simply toss the parchnt out there, of course no one will believe it. But what if it’s carved into stone, hidden deep beneath Nurngard?”
“The secret that Grindelwald—who once swept across Europe—guarded so fiercely that he chose seventy years of imprisonnt rather than reveal it… Doesn’t that sound a lot more convincing?”
A sharp intake of breath echoed around the room.
Say what you will about Grindelwald’s reputation, the things he did already carried a mythical weight. If this parchnt was put through all the right steps, it would beco real in the minds of those who found it.
Even if Grindelwald himself stood up and denied it, no one would believe him. They’d just assu he was trying to mislead them. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ NoveI~Fire
“But…” Headmistress Dilys Derwent frowned. “This false thod of creating Horcruxes could kill people.”
In addition to being a forr headmistress of Hogwarts, she was also a renowned Healer—so her mind naturally went to the consequences.
“So what?” Kyle said indifferently. “The actual thod for making a Horcrux requires murder to split the soul. If soone is capable of casting the Cruciatus or Killing Curse on themselves, then they’re certainly capable of using it on others.”
“So, if you look at it from a different angle, we’re saving lives.”
Dilys Derwent frowned deeper.
She knew Kyle was twisting words, but she also couldn’t find fault in what he’d said.
Indeed, any wizard determined to create a Horcrux would be in direct violation of Wizarding Law.
Aside from the mandatory act of murder to split the soul, the process also required more than a dozen different forms of dark magic—each strictly forbidden.
So whether they succeeded or not, just attempting it would be enough to earn them a Dentor’s Kiss.
From that point of view, Kyle’s claim of saving people wasn’t exactly wrong.
“Then how do you plan to place it beneath Nurngard? And who could even find it?” soone finally raised the key question.
This whole plan hinged on Nurngard—a place even more secretive than Azkaban, and completely inaccessible to ordinary wizards.
“That’s where we’ll need your help, Professor,” Kyle said, turning to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore looked back at him and blinked. He neither agreed nor refused.
“Of course, this is just a rough draft,” Kyle went on. “If we’re going to make it happen, we’ll need a lot more detailed planning.”
“For example, how to identify those wizards truly obsessed with creating Horcruxes… How to guide them, through whispers from fugitive Death Eaters, to accidentally stumble upon legends of Nurngard… And how many lives would need to be lost before they finally uncover the supposed blueprint for Horcrux creation. All of that will need careful discussion.”
“Haven’t you already said it all?” Armando Dippet muttered darkly. “Just fill in the rest and you’ve got a complete plan.”
“Not quite,” Kyle said, shaking his head modestly. “We’ll still need to refine it—just to make absolutely sure it works flawlessly…”
The headmaster’s office fell silent once more.
“I like this kid,” a bearded headmaster suddenly said, breaking the silence. “If you'd been born a hundred and fifty years earlier, I wouldn’t have had to hand the headmaster’s post to that idiot Phineas.”
“Hey, you old fossil, I heard that!” Phineas leapt up, lunging to claw at the other’s face.
Armando was quicker—he stuck out his leg just in ti.
With a loud thud, Phineas went face-first into the floor and slid forward a considerable distance.
“Definitely an idiot,” the bearded wizard muttered with a sneer. “...A very lucky idiot. The rest were just even dumber back then.”
“You’re not exactly a prize yourself!” Phineas pushed himself off the ground, wiping the mud and gravel from his face.
Portraits had their perks—no real injuries to worry about. Even if your head fell off, you could just slap it back on with your hand.
Sotis, if the mood struck, you could even try on soone else’s head.
Phineas had long wanted to borrow Armando’s head and sneak over to the second floor of the castle to spend the night chatting with the witch in the portrait who carried a flail. Unfortunately, he’d never found the chance.
“And look at how many rules you added. Hogwarts had fifty school rules that lasted for eight hundred years—then you ca along and doubled them overnight…”
“Hah! If it weren’t for , you’d have been the ‘Most Unpopular Headmaster!’”
As he spoke, Phineas took his chance—he spun suddenly and landed a solid punch to Armando’s face.
“That’s payback!”
Without waiting for a response, he bolted and vanished from the headmaster’s office in the blink of an eye.
“That idiot,” Armando Dippet muttered.
“You’re not going after him?” Kyle asked, curious. The two of them were usually inseparable when it ca to these gas—why was Armando letting it slide today?
Even after taking a punch to the face, he didn’t seem angry.
“It’s fine. He’s not getting far. His connections across the Hogwarts portraits are far worse than mine.” Armando waved a hand dismissively. “Right now, I’m more interested in your plan. You didn’t co here just to ask Albus for help, did you? You deliberately avoided Minerva.”
“Oh... I thought portraits couldn’t think?” Kyle asked, feigning surprise.
“Chocolate Frog portraits can’t,” Armando replied, giving him a wink. “Ours are a little more advanced.”
“Not by much,” he added, “but you haven’t exactly hidden your purpose, have you? After all, you didn’t go to the real Albus.”
“That’s true,” Kyle nodded. “I want the headmasters to lend a hand in this.”
“What exactly do you want us to do?” Armando asked.
“This.” Kyle held up the parchnt again. “I want you to pass it on to a wizard who knows how to make Horcruxes—and is still alive.”
The headmasters from three centuries ago turned away without a word.
Everyone they’d known was either long gone or a portrait by now. The few who remained weren’t exactly close.
“We can talk about that part later,” Armando said, stroking his chin. “First, explain your idea. And keep in mind—we don’t know any legendary types like Grindelwald. You’ll have to co up with plenty of stories.”
“This ti it won’t be that complicated,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “They don’t need to do anything deliberately. All I want is for them to let it slip—accidentally—if soone cos looking.”
“They can use this one of mine, or co up with their own Horcrux diagram. The only condition is that it has to be fake. The faker, the better.”
“Why? Wouldn’t using yours be better?” the bearded wizard asked, puzzled. “It’d add credibility.”
“We don’t need more credibility,” Kyle replied. “Borrowing Grindelwald’s na is just to deal with the current situation. What I’m talking about now is for the future.”
“Oh?” The headmasters leaned in, clearly intrigued.
“Let’s hear it,” one of them said.
“If your reasoning holds up, we’ll help you out,” another added.
“I do know a few old folks,” one portrait muttered. “Can’t say if they’ve made Horcruxes, though.”
“That’s fine. They don’t need to. Even a fake will do.”
“If there’s only one Horcrux blueprint, people will catch on that sothing’s off pretty quickly. But what if there were a hundred? Or a thousand?”
Kyle paused for a mont, then began outlining his plan.
“You all know people who are well-known in the wizarding world, don’t you?”
The headmasters silently nodded.
After all, as headmasters of the only wizarding school in Britain, not just anyone could count themselves among their acquaintances.
“Then would you say their words carry weight?”
“Of course,” Kyle said with a chuckle. “Their credibility alone is enough to convince others.”
“Wait a mont,” said Dilys Derwent. “If that’s the case, I doubt many would be willing to put their reputations on the line just to help you spread a lie. So of the older wizards take their nas very seriously.”
“How is this lying?”
Kyle looked perfectly serious. “The Horcrux-making thod was sothing they found in ancient magical texts… or uncovered while exploring magical ruins… or passed down through their family for generations. In other words—it’s all real.”
“What if they die?”
“Even better. That way, no one will be around to question it,” Kyle said matter-of-factly. “Just like a shop that sells mandrake earplugs—there’s never a bad review.”
Dilys Derwent blinked. For a mont, as a portrait, she found herself struggling to follow Kyle’s logic.
“But… what if there are two of them?”
“Headmistress Derwent, isn’t that a bit of a stretch?” Kyle spread his hands. “Horcruxes have been around for over a thousand years. They’re not suddenly going to beco a trend because of this. There’s hardly going to be a rush of people hunting them down.”
“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Armando quickly cut in. “Dilys isn’t trying to make things difficult for you. She’s just trying to think ahead—how to persuade those old wizards.”
“You know how it is. If you want their help, especially with sothing that might tarnish their na, you need to be thoroughly prepared.”
“…Alright.” Kyle sighed. “Let put it this way: the blueprints are real—the thod, or at least the steps, might be flawed. Or maybe the Horcrux just has a high failure rate. But it’s definitely not a fake.”
“If soone doesn’t believe it, let them try it themselves. Maybe they’ll get it right the next ti.”
“That’s a solid excuse,” Armando nodded. Dilys said no more.
“If we keep this going—if there end up being a thousand different Horcrux blueprints, from old wizards, ancient books, magical ruins… then even if soone gets lucky and finds a real one, they won’t believe it.”
“And when that happens, Horcruxes might just vanish altogether, in a different form.”
The more Armando listened, the brighter his eyes beca.
“Fascinating. I’m going to find those old fellows right now.” With that, he darted out of the portrait.
So of the other headmasters still hesitated.
“This is still, in a way, spreading Horcrux knowledge.”
“A lot of people will die…”
“So of them might not have even been thinking about making Horcruxes to begin with.”
“I understand what you’re getting at,” Kyle said loudly. “But do you all rember what I said at the start?
‘If no one asks—say nothing.’”
“So I’m not promoting Horcruxes. I’m just making sure that if anyone does go looking for a thod, what they find will be sothing they changed on their own.”
“Just like Professor Slughorn…” Kyle looked over at Dumbledore, who was still standing quietly.
“Professor Slughorn knew how to make Horcruxes. Did he influence the students at Hogwarts?”
“No,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head.
“That’s exactly my point,” Kyle shrugged. “And besides, if he had given Tom Riddle false information back then, maybe there never would’ve been a Voldemort.”
...
“Alright, you’ve convinced ,” said Dilys Derwent, speaking up first. “I’ll pass your ssage along—but I can’t guarantee how many will actually help.”
“Thank you.”
“No need.” She, too, disappeared from the headmaster’s office.
At the sa ti, Dumbledore vanished from his fra as well.
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