Hogwarts: I'm Truly a Model Wizard

The days leading up to the start of the school year were busy and exciting for Kyle. He spent every waking moment in his room, experimenting with a variety of charms and spells. Although he came from a magical family, his opportunities to practice magic before now had been limited.

For starters, neither Chris nor Diana treated their wands like ordinary tools—they considered them almost like an extension of themselves. Their wands were precious, and it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say they viewed them as their second lives. As a result, Kyle was only allowed to hold their wands twice a year, on Christmas and his birthday.

Kyle understood the significance of these moments. He made sure to keep things simple, using basic spells like the Wand-Lighting Charm or the Unlocking Charm, both of which had minimal risks even if they failed. But there was another challenge: wand compatibility.

Even though Kyle was their son, both of his parents' wands showed no affinity for him. The rejection was clear. Diana's wand, in particular, felt completely inert in Kyle's hands, no different than holding a regular stick. No matter how many times he recited the incantations, the wand refused to respond.

Due to these limitations, Kyle had spent most of his pre-Hogwarts years focusing on non-magical subjects like Quidditch, Herbology, and Magical Creatures. He had very little actual practice with Spells. But now, at eleven years old, with his very own wand in hand, he could finally cut loose and explore his magical potential.

Chris didn't mind this at all. In fact, he enjoyed it, often offering Kyle enthusiastic advice and relishing his brief moments of playing the teacher. As a result, Kyle's room became a small haven of flickering light as he practiced spell after spell.

At first, things went smoothly. Kyle was practicing basic charms that didn't cause much trouble for anyone else. But as he mastered more and more advanced spells, complications inevitably arose.

...

One afternoon, as Chris sat at the dining table enjoying a cup of black tea, the teacup across from him suddenly lifted off the table and began to float slowly upstairs.

Chris, unfazed, tapped his wand and gently guided the cup back down to the table. "Kyle," he called out, "you must always know exactly where you want the object to go when using Accio. And I suggest starting with a quill or parchment—at least they won't break."

"Okay, Dad," Kyle's voice echoed from upstairs, though Chris wasn't entirely convinced he was listening. After all, this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. In fact, Chris had used more Mending Charms in the last few days than he had in the past ten years. He had even been forced to apply Anti-Summoning Charms to every fragile object in the house.

Just as Chris was lost in thought, a loaf of bread whizzed past his head and smashed into the ceiling with a loud crunch.

"..."

To be fair, Kyle was improving—the bread had flown much faster this time.

With a sigh, Chris waved his wand to send the loaf back to the kitchen, all while silently praising Diana's foresight. She had confiscated Kyle's cauldron on the very first day. If not for her quick thinking, Chris shuddered to imagine what state the house might have been in by now.

After all, eleven-year-old wizards, especially new ones, were notorious for causing a bit of chaos. The Weasleys next door had proven that much. And their own family was no exception.

But fortunately, those chaotic days were almost over. Hogwarts was starting tomorrow, and that thought filled Chris with relief.

Finally, a break.

With a contented sigh, Chris lifted his cup of black tea and took a long, satisfying sip.

...

As evening approached, time passed quickly. Diana hadn't returned home yet due to a task she had to finish, so Chris, who was utterly useless in the kitchen, eagerly accepted Mrs. Weasley's invitation to bring Kyle over for dinner at The Burrow, which was just a short walk away. He brought along some ingredients, but his gesture wasn't met with the warmest reception.

Mrs. Weasley, unsurprisingly, was not pleased. She scolded Chris for bringing food when he was supposed to be a guest, telling him it was a sign of distrust in their friendship. Chris didn't argue, though. He simply tossed the ingredients into the kitchen with a laugh and allowed her to vent, knowing this routine all too well.

Meanwhile, Kyle had naturally blended in with the Weasley children. This was nothing new for him—whenever Diana was off on an errand and couldn't make it back, he and Chris often had dinner with the Weasleys. This familiar scene played out every time, making it a regular part of their lives.

Not far from the house, Kyle and the Weasley kids were "cleaning up" the gnomes from the garden. The term "cleaning" was used loosely—they were really just playing a game. The rules were simple: one person grabbed a gnome by the legs and flung it into the air, while the other used a wooden bat to hit it like a hacky sack. Whoever sent the gnome the farthest won the game and earned the grand prize—a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

Initially, Chris didn't approve of the game. He thought tossing the gnomes out of the garden should be enough, without the added element of batting practice. But his perspective shifted when, one day, he discovered that the gnomes had dug up the Scurvy-grass  he'd been carefully cultivating for a year.

After that, he stopped objecting. In fact, he even gifted Kyle a top-quality bat for Christmas, signed by the batsmen of the Wimbourne Wasps. It was well-crafted, perfectly balanced, and ideal for smacking gnomes. Since then, Kyle had won five consecutive gnome-batting championships.

Today was no exception.

"It's not fair," Ron complained, glancing at Kyle's signed bat and then at the stick he'd picked up from the ground. "The equipment gap is too big."

"It's not that big," Kyle said, smiling. "Equipment is secondary. What's important is having the belief in your heart that you can win. I don't win because my bat is better—I win because I want it more than you do."

Kyle tossed Ron a bright red Bertie Bott's bean. "By the way, Ron, before you start grumbling about equipment, you might want to focus on beating Ginny first. Her stick is way smaller than yours, and she's still ahead of you."

There were five players in today's game, and Ron had landed in last place, even several meters behind his younger sister, Ginny.

Kyle's words made Ron's face flush with embarrassment. Losing to Ginny wasn't exactly something he could brag about.

But his attention was quickly drawn to the bean Kyle had tossed him. It was bright red and looked tempting. He cautiously popped it into his mouth, hoping for a decent flavor. As soon as the taste hit, Ron's face lit up—it was raspberry! He chewed happily, savoring the sweet flavor. Somehow, Kyle always managed to pick out the best Bertie Bott's beans.

Ron couldn't help feeling envious. He had never figured out how Kyle did it. Every time Ron picked a bean, it was something awful like liver or spinach. Once, he even had the misfortune of eating one that tasted like dragon dung. The mix of fishy, rotten berry with fermented undertones had been enough to make him gag. The mere thought of it made his stomach churn all over again.