Even though Kyle had already gone through it once, he still felt a wave of nausea as the Ti-Turner activated.
It was as if all sound vanished. A low, constant buzzing filled his ears, and everything around him turned into a swirl of shifting, multicolored blurs. He could just barely make out Dumbledore at his side and the Ti-Turner gripped tightly in his hand.
As the hands of the device spun, the red glow wrapped around them grew fainter and fainter—clear proof that the magic of the Philosopher’s Stone was being rapidly consud.
And perhaps because there were now two of them, the rate of depletion was far faster than when Kyle had traveled here alone.
Kyle had no idea whether the Philosopher’s Stone would last long enough to bring them back to the correct point in ti—or what would happen if it didn’t.
Maybe they’d end up in a random year. Maybe they’d be hurled back another hundred years. Either way, it was a scenario Kyle desperately wanted to avoid.
He had no sense of how long it lasted, but slowly, the swirling blur began to clear.
He could see houses springing up from the ground at a surreal speed—built in the blink of an eye. Saplings shot up into towering trees, growing at an almost impossible pace.
Everything around him seed to be unfolding at ten tis the normal speed, if not more.
Kyle knew—the journey through ti was nearly over.
Finally, the Philosopher’s Stone inside the Ti-Turner went completely dim. The red glow vanished, and the world around them returned to its normal pace.
The buzzing in his ears was replaced by a chaotic burst of singing—loud, off-key, and lacking any clear lody. It was all shouts and emotion, no technique to speak of.
"This is... a bar?" Kyle glanced around.
A group of tall, broad-shouldered n with sun-darkened skin sat at the worn bar. One of them was the source of the song he’d heard. They all had oversized tankards in hand, and the air was thick with the pungent scent of strong spirits.
Kyle had the distinct feeling he’d been here before.
Right—The Oak Barrel Pub. He recognized the dragon emblem above the bar. This was the one near the dragon reserve. Charlie had brought him here the last ti he visited Romania.
Just like when he appeared in the Headmaster’s Office at Hogwarts, the Ti-Turner only shifted ti—not location.
Since they’d left from Romania, it made sense they’d return to Romania.
What Kyle hadn’t expected was that the iconic beech tree from before stood right beside The Oak Barrel.
Strangely, no one around them seed to notice their sudden appearance—at least, not until Dumbledore, weakened and unsteady, accidentally knocked over a bottle of liquor on a nearby table.
"Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!"
Only then did the n at the table realize two strangers had suddenly joined them. They shot to their feet in anger, rolling up their sleeves, clearly ready to give the newcors a piece of their minds.
But the mont they recognized who had knocked over the bottle, their aggression vanished in an instant.
"Oh—Mr. Dumbledore! I can’t believe it’s really you."
Kyle finally allowed himself a small sigh of relief.
The man recognized Dumbledore and didn’t seem surprised to see him. That ant the worst-case scenario hadn’t happened—they’d made it back to the correct ti.
But this was no ti to relax. Dumbledore was in rough shape, swaying as if he might collapse at any second.
And thanks to that outburst, more and more eyes were turning their way.
The Oak Barrel Pub, being closest to the dragon reserve, was always a mix of people—tourists, dragon handlers, and more than a few shady characters.
If any of them noticed how frail Dumbledore looked right now, there was no telling what kind of thoughts they might have.
It wasn’t highly likely, given Dumbledore’s reputation—but it wasn’t impossible either. People who dabbled in Dark Magic weren’t exactly known for rational thinking. There was no predicting what kind of mad ideas they might cook up. Better to be cautious.
As Kyle considered what excuse he could use to deflect attention, a sudden burst of bright fire lit up the bar.
A phoenix swooped down from midair, grabbed Dumbledore by the shoulder, and vanished with him in another flash of flas.
For a mont, the entire bar froze.
Even Kyle was dumbfounded.
Wait... what just happened?
That was... Fawkes?
Under normal circumstances, it had to be Fawkes. After all, the magical world only knew of one phoenix.
But hadn’t Fawkes burned up to provide materials for repairing the Philosopher’s Stone? He shouldn’t have grown back this quickly.
And more importantly... even if Fawkes was here to retrieve soone, shouldn’t he have taken both of them? Why only Dumbledore?
Kyle stared, expressionless.
He couldn’t help but feel a bit slighted by Fawkes’ very selective rescue—but only a little.
Given Dumbledore’s current condition, he really wasn’t fit to be out in public. Kyle, on the other hand, was fine—and there were so things he’d need to handle personally anyway.
As for where Fawkes had taken Dumbledore... that wasn’t hard to guess.
Hogwarts. The Hog’s Head. Nicolas Flal’s manor.
There were only a few places where Dumbledore would feel truly safe.
After a while, there was still no sign of Fawkes returning.
Dumbledore’s brief appearance at The Oak Barrel Pub had caused quite a stir. People were abuzz with speculation—why had he co here, and more importantly, what had happened to put him in such an unusual state?
So had already noticed that Dumbledore looked extrely weak, as if he’d suffered serious injuries.
They were eager to know: who could possibly have hard the greatest white wizard of their age? Was it the rumored Dark Lord?
Since the Death Eaters’ influence hadn’t reached Romania, most people here had only heard vague stories—tales of a terrifying Dark wizard wreaking havoc in England and turning the entire country upside down.
But what this so-called Dark Lord had actually done, or even what he looked like, no one could say for certain.
As for Kyle, standing beside Dumbledore, no one seed to associate him with the old wizard. They just assud he was a bystander who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong ti.
Kyle was more than happy to leave it that way. Naturally, he offered no explanation. He casually took an empty seat at the bar and spent a Galleon on a glass of brandy.
The price matched what he expected.
Still, as he handed over the coin, Kyle couldn’t help thinking back to a hundred years ago—back then, a single Galleon could buy everyone in the bar a round. Now it barely covered one drink.
That kind of inflation was a little hard to stomach.
He took a sip of his brandy and listened in on the surrounding conversations, quietly gathering useful information. Every now and then, he would chi in.
In a place like this, filled with travelers, strangers starting up casual conversations wasn’t unusual. While so might be annoyed at having their chat interrupted, no one thought it was strange.
And Kyle’s generosity certainly helped. Every ti he asked a question, he ordered the other person a brandy as well. Unsurprisingly, people were happy to talk.
It didn’t take long for Kyle to get the information he wanted.
He could now confirm without a doubt: he was truly back—just a little earlier than expected.
It was only August. No wonder Fawkes had been able to take Dumbledore away. He hadn’t undergone rebirth yet.
Also, if Kyle rembered correctly, today was the very day Dumbledore had used the Ti-Turner.
Coincidence?
Kyle didn’t think so.
The Philosopher’s Stone inside the Ti-Turner had been repaired by Nicolas, who would know better than anyone how much magic it held. Sending them back to August might have been a deliberate choice—to fill the gap left by Dumbledore’s earlier disappearance.
Even the timing of the phoenix’s arrival was oddly precise. Maybe it could be explained by so mystical connection between Fawkes and Dumbledore—but to Kyle, it all felt a little too well-tid.
Was it Dumbledore’s doing?
Maybe. But as Voldemort’s longti rival, it didn’t seem like him to abandon Hogwarts and risk disappearing from this era just to travel back a hundred years—especially after knowing the Elder Wand had been taken.
Kyle hadn’t questioned it before because Dumbledore had explained that Voldemort had been seriously wounded in the struggle for the Elder Wand and would need to hide and recover. That would bring a rare mont of peace to the wizarding world.
And, sure enough, that was exactly what had happened.
Since the incident in Godric’s Hollow, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had largely gone quiet. Even the occasional skirmish with the Ministry of Magic had been avoided whenever possible.
It was as if the wizarding world had suddenly reverted to how it was two years ago—tense beneath the surface, but outwardly calm.
Still, now that Kyle thought about it, it was just as likely that Dumbledore had known he would return and had planned everything in advance.
Or perhaps it had been Nicolas Flal.
Kyle rembered that his estate in Devon held a crystal ball far larger than normal.
Fawkes might very well have taken Dumbledore there just now.
Kyle tapped his fingers lightly on the tabletop, lost in thought.
A mont later, he felt a tug at his robes.
The Niffler had climbed up along the fabric and now perched at his side, chirping at him twice.
"I know," Kyle said with a nod. He stood, left a few more coins on the counter, and walked out of the pub.
Outside was the bustling gathering spot closest to the Dragon Reserve—just as lively as before. In addition to the permanent shops, plenty of people lined the roadside with cloth bags in hand, furtively offering their "special goods" to anyone who passed by.
"A whole dragon heart—still warm. Want it?"
"Dragon-hide coat, fresh from a Hungarian Horntail..."
"Dragon blood, half price—only a pint left!"
Kyle ignored them all.
Let’s be honest—if any of their goods were real, the dragon handlers would’ve already co knocking. In a place like this, selling fakes was a lot safer than selling the genuine article.
He slipped into a quiet, secluded corner, made sure no one was watching, then pulled the Niffler out.
"The stuff?"
The Niffler reached into the pouch on his chest, rummaged around for a mont, and produced two pieces of parchnt—one large, one small.
Part of the reason Kyle had lingered at The Oak Barrel Pub was to gather intel. The other was to give the Niffler ti to dig these up.
Before coming here, Kyle had deliberately hidden them: the sponsorship certificate and the legal dragon breeding permit.
He’d chosen to return near the beech tree specifically so he could retrieve them as quickly as possible.
Even the "98 years" figure hadn’t been chosen at random. From 1899 to now, it had been exactly 98 years.
Grinning, Kyle eagerly took the parchnts from Niffler’s paws.
Thanks to the protection of a magical contract, they’d held up surprisingly well. Even so, after nearly a century buried underground, they slled of damp earth and had clearly discolored. Fortunately, the writing remained perfectly legible.
He focused on the smaller parchnt—or more precisely, on a complex symbol near Bergman’s signature.
That was the magical contract they’d signed. Once it took effect, the design would glow gold. Right now, though, it remained dull.
No surprise there. When he’d last visited the reserve, it had been just before the Hogwarts term started. Now it was only early August—still a little ways off from the official 98-year mark.
Kyle wasn’t worried. He carefully tucked the docunts into his suitcase.
As for the sponsorship certificate—after nearly a century of accumulation, even modest returns would an a solid profit. In short, he’d secured a legal dragon breeding license without spending a single Galleon... and he might’ve even made money in the process.
Especially considering the current reserve housed far more than ten dragons.
Still, there was no rush to cash it in. He planned to wait until the magical contract took effect—no point making an extra trip.
First, he needed to find Dumbledore. And besides, he wanted to get back to England as soon as possible.
Kyle hadn’t forgotten his encounter with Voldemort in Godric’s Hollow. That had been the closest he’d ever co to death.
The timing of his return was just too suspicious—he had to see what was happening.
But how to get back... that was the problem.
Things were much easier in 1899. Apparition and Portkeys were used freely. But now? The Ministry of Magic had clamped down hard. Only officially registered Portkeys were permitted, and getting around had beco a logistical nightmare.
What if he tried mailing himself again via owl?
Kyle shook his head. No good—there wasn’t enough ti.
Even under the best conditions, an owl delivery to the UK would take at least a day or two. By then, the situation would have already played out.
If all else failed... he’d just have to use a Portkey.
Kyle clenched his jaw. He did know a few people at the Ministry—worst case, he’d pay a fine. It’s not like he was short on Galleons.
He bent down to grab a stick, ready to turn it into a Portkey—but before he could cast the spell, a flash of fire-red appeared before him.
Fawkes.
The phoenix had returned, landing lightly on Kyle’s shoulder.
"You—"
Kyle didn’t even get the words out before a sudden, overwhelming dizziness swept over him from every direction.
The next thing he knew, he was staring into the wrinkled, tiworn face of Nicolas Flal.
"Welco back," Nicolas said cheerfully. "Albus thought you might have a few things left to pick up, so he figured it was better for Fawkes to co get you a little later."
Dumbledore?
Kyle rubbed his temples, still a bit dizzy, and glanced around.
This was Nicolas’s estate in Devon. Dumbledore was lying on a nearby sofa, looking far better than he had before.
On the table beside him sat an empty potion bottle. Clearly, Nicolas had prepared a brew for him.
A potion capable of restoring soone from that level of exhaustion in such a short ti wasn’t common—it had to have been prepared in advance.
Which only made Kyle more certain of his suspicions.
"You knew, didn’t you? That I’d go save Professor Dumbledore. And that I’d co back at this exact ti," he asked directly.
"You could say that," Nicolas replied.
"Because of a prophecy?"
"Prophecy?" Nicolas looked montarily surprised, then shook his head. "No, definitely not. Prophecies aren’t nearly as mystical as people like to think. Most of the ti, they’re vague and don’t reveal anything concrete."
"The reason I knew is... because I’ve seen you before."
"Huh?" Kyle frowned. "Of course you’ve seen before."
"Not now," Nicolas clarified. "I an back in 1899. You were at Beauxbatons, washing your face with a little girl at the magical fountain."
"You saw ?" Kyle’s eyes widened.
He and Ariana hadn’t seen Nicolas anywhere nearby during their ti at Beauxbatons. If they had, Kyle would’ve avoided showing himself no matter what.
"I saw you," Nicolas said with a smile. "But I didn’t rember that mory until today. That’s when I realized sothing must have gone wrong for Dumbledore in the past."
"Unfortunately, by then, he’d already used the Ti-Turner. It was too late to warn him. All I could do was prepare potions he might need ahead of ti."
"And Fawkes...?"
"That was ," Dumbledore said, sitting up from the sofa. Now that he had returned to the correct tiline, all of his lost mories had co flooding back.
"The phoenix cos whenever a Dumbledore needs him most. And in that mont, I happened to be the one in need."
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