"Honey-lemon water," Kyle said to the enormous, hideously ugly stone gargoyle on the third-floor corridor.
The gargoyle suddenly sprang to life and hopped aside. The wall behind it split in two, revealing a spiral staircase that was slowly ascending like an escalator.
Kyle stepped onto it. With a loud rumble behind him, the wall sealed shut again.
The moving staircase rose higher and higher until it deposited him in front of a gleaming oak door with a brass knocker shaped like a griffin.
Kyle thought the whole school should really install these escalators everywhere.
Otherwise, every time he wanted to visit the Weasley twins in the Gryffindor common room on the eighth floor, he had to climb endless flights of stairs.
Sure, he could just scale the walls like he was climbing a tree—zip, zip, zip—and be up there in seconds.
But with students and staff milling about Hogwarts all day, he had no desire to be gawked at like a circus monkey.
He pushed the door open and walked in.
It was a spacious, beautiful circular room filled with funny little noises.
Spindly-legged tables held all sorts of strange silver instruments that spun and puffed out tiny clouds of smoke.
The walls were covered with portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses, all framed and gazing kindly at this descendant of the Dumbledore family.
In the middle of the room stood an enormous desk with clawed feet. On a shelf behind it sat a battered, frayed old wizard's hat—the Sorting Hat.
Kyle gave a slight bow to the portraits of Hogwarts' past heads, then strolled over and plopped himself down at Dumbledore's desk as though he owned the place.
Without the slightest hesitation, he grabbed the candy jar on the desk, fished out a sweet, and popped it into his mouth.
This wasn't his first time in the Headmaster's office.
Last year, right after the attack in the Forbidden Forest, Dumbledore had played him some juicy teenage gossip about Snape right here in this very room.
And at the beginning of this term, he'd dragged Dumbledore—his honorary old man—up here for a proper scolding.
Mostly because Dumbledore had grilled him about why he'd only sent two letters over the entire summer holidays.
Of course, Dumbledore hadn't summoned him just for that; the greatest white wizard of the age wasn't that petty.
He'd mainly wanted to hear how Kyle's summer had gone and, in that roundabout way of his, fish for news about Gellert Grindelwald.
In Kyle's opinion, the Grindelwald inquiry was the real point; the summer chit-chat was just the side dish.
Even though Dumbledore had done his best to sound casual, Kyle could hear the concern underneath.
Both of them were hopeless tsunderes. If you care, just say you care—why all the beating around the bush?
Kyle finally understood how Ran Mouri felt trying to get her parents back together.
A loud, melodious cry rang out behind him. Kyle turned around. "Hey there, Fawkes."
Fawkes the phoenix was perched on a tall golden stand near the door.
Compared to the last time Kyle had seen him, Fawkes looked noticeably older—his fiery red plumage no longer quite so brilliant.
His Burning Day must be drawing near.
A door on the upper level of the office opened, and Dumbledore, hearing the commotion downstairs, descended the small staircase.
"Old man," Kyle called, waving cheerfully. "So… I need a favor."
Dumbledore shot him a look. "When do you ever come here without needing a favor?"
Despite his words, the warmth in the old man's voice made it clear he was secretly pleased with the nickname.
Kyle just grinned shamelessly. "I want to buy a Nimbus 2000."
As he spoke, he set a heavy sack of Galleons on the desk with a satisfying clunk. "With my own money, of course. I just need you to order it from Diagon Alley for me."
Dumbledore didn't look the least bit surprised.
He already knew Professor McGonagall had bought Harry a Nimbus 2000, so he had no reason to deny Kyle the same.
Descending the last few steps, Dumbledore nodded in agreement.
But he knew Kyle far too well. The boy would never trek all the way up here just for a broomstick.
"And the other thing?" Dumbledore asked, settling into the chair behind the desk.
Kyle met the old man's gaze steadily. "I'm curious—what exactly is it you have Fluffy guarding?"
He already knew it was the Philosopher's Stone, of course. He'd watched the first Harry Potter movie, after all.
But he could hardly admit that without raising some very awkward questions.
Dumbledore wasn't surprised that Kyle had poked around the forbidden corridor on the fourth floor, either.
When it came to mischief, this kid had long since surpassed even Dumbledore's own record from his Hogwarts days.
"It's the Philosopher's Stone," Dumbledore answered calmly. "The legendary Sorcerer's Stone—one of the highest mysteries of alchemy."
"So those are the trials you set up for Harry?" Kyle asked, crumpling the sweet wrapper and tossing it neatly into the bin.
"Exactly. I hope he'll grow through the experience."
Dumbledore interlaced his fingers beneath his chin, bright blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on Kyle.
"I'd have far fewer headaches if he were half as mature as you."
Kyle scratched the back of his head, grinning. "Thanks, I guess."
"I'd like you not to interfere with the trials," Dumbledore continued. "They'd be far too easy for you anyway. That said, stay vigilant—especially around Quirrell."
Kyle didn't particularly mind. He'd never intended to get mixed up in the Savior-versus-Dark-Lord drama in the first place.
"Quirrell? What about him?"
"Voldemort is possessing him. No one is more perfectly suited to be Harry's final opponent in those trials."
"I couldn't care less about your trials or the Stone itself," Kyle said with a shrug. "What does interest me is the alchemical knowledge behind the Stone."
To be precise, what interested him was upgrading his private stash of muggle firearms into something far more devastating.
Infinite-ammo AKs, incendiary RPGs, a Type 59 star-destroyer cannon… you get the idea.
Dumbledore, for his part, was delighted to see Kyle pursuing something as relatively harmless as alchemy instead of following in his father's footsteps with dark magic.
So he agreed without a second thought.
He would come to deeply regret that decision later.
Kyle nodded lightly, eyes gleaming. "You're pretty accomplished in alchemy yourself, right, old man?"
"Naturally," Dumbledore replied, a hint of pride creeping into his voice.
Then he changed tack entirely. "However, I have an even better recommendation for your alchemy teacher."
"Who?"
"Nicolas Flamel."
Kyle's eyes lit up. Hell yes.
The legendary alchemist who actually created the Philosopher's Stone as his personal tutor? No one in the entire wizarding world had better connections than that.
Dumbledore smiled.
"I'll write to him. Considering our friendship of many years, I doubt he'll refuse. Look forward to his reply."
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