Hogwarts: I'm Truly a Model Wizard

The Oak Barrel Pub.

A popular haunt near the Romanian Dragon Reserve, it was packed any time the door swung open. Dragon keepers often gathered here on their days off, unwinding with a glass of brandy or almond mead. But they weren't the only regulars; all sorts of folk filled the place.

It was a bit like The Hog's Head in Hogsmeade, with a mixed crowd—tourists, shadowy figures in dark hoods hiding their faces, and elderly witches who looked like villains in a fairy tale. And, of course, there were non-humans among them.

At the far right of the bar sat a Goblin with a ragged bag and a reputation for cheating, though he called himself a traveling merchant. Nearby, a Centaur who had parted ways with his tribe was eagerly offering to tell fortunes.

"Bang!"

The door to The Oak Barrel Pub suddenly flew open, drawing a few heads. A frail-looking wizard entered, glasses perched on his nose, exuding the air of a Ministry office clerk who spent his days hunched over reports.

I bet he's just another tourist who came to see the dragon reserve, someone mused, and the thought was likely shared by many. The reserve was famous, attracting scores of admirers each year.

Most of the pub's patrons returned to their drinking and boasting. A few regulars muttered, predicting that Old Brown, the bartender, would profit once more from tourists by peddling his "aged" wine.

But no one saw fit to warn anyone; as long as tourists were drinking, no one really minded what was in their glasses.

The bespectacled wizard didn't linger at the bar or order a drink. Instead, he headed straight for a corner table where two others sat: a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and a hulking frame, and a robed figure who concealed his face beneath a wide hood.

"Roy failed," said the bespectacled wizard, taking a seat and helping himself to a glass of dragon brandy already on the table. "All twelve of them. Roy was the only one who got away—he betrayed his companions and ran. Aurors from the Romanian Ministry of Magic just took the others in."

"I told you from the start he couldn't pull it off…" the hooded wizard murmured, swirling his brandy. "But that fool wouldn't listen."

"But I thought the plan was sound," the burly man across from him said, downing his drink in one gulp. "The raid was timed to hit just after the melee, when the dragon keepers would be at their most worn out. In that state, Apparition would be almost impossible, and they'd be sluggish. Twelve men, one acting as bait to divert attention, and the others attacking from all sides. It should have left the keepers no time to react. Even if they couldn't Apparate away with the eggs, they had the fastest brooms. There's no reason they should've all been caught."

"Just because the keepers couldn't Apparate doesn't mean no one else could," replied the hooded figure. "Did you forget about the other guests invited? Or do you think they're all weak-kneed scholars?"

"Don't be absurd," the hooded wizard sneered. "Handling magical creatures isn't a trip to a muggle zoo. The weak ones don't survive out here—most die somewhere in the forest. And those who make a name for themselves aren't exactly saints."

"That old woman in North America? She took down a Giant once. And Newt Scamander? He went toe-to-toe with Grindelwald multiple times in his youth and lived to tell the tale. Not many in the wizarding world can say the same."

"But that was over sixty years ago," the bespectacled wizard remarked nonchalantly. "He's old now."

"Dumbledore's old, too," the hooded wizard sneered. "Why don't you challenge him and see if you get famous in the process?"

"Pfft!" The bespectacled wizard spluttered, spitting his drink all over the burly man sitting across from him.

"Philwyn, you—"

"Sorry, Larry." Philwyn, the bespectacled wizard, hastily apologized, then turned to the hooded figure with a look of mock horror. "Please, don't say such terrifying things. Challenge Dumbledore? I'm not nearly ready to die."

"Well, then you should understand that a wizard's power doesn't simply fade with age." The hooded wizard's tone turned cold. "And don't forget the younger ones… like Chris. Twelve years ago, fresh out of Hogwarts, he single-handedly drove off two werewolves during a full moon. And five years ago, he captured a Peruvian Vipertooth, one that had gone mad from dark magic—not killed it, mind you, captured it alive."

"Do you think Roy and his band of fools are stronger than a transformed werewolf? Or more dangerous than a crazed Peruvian Vipertooth?"

Silence settled over the table. Neither the gentle-natured Philwyn nor the burly Larry could find a rebuttal.

If Roy had been anywhere near that strong, he wouldn't have needed to betray his friends to save himself.

"So, what do we do?" Larry asked. "Wait until those people leave and then make our move… They won't stay here forever."

"Make a move? What move?"

"Didn't you say before…"

"I'll remind you one last time, Larry," said the hooded wizard, raising his head to reveal a familiar face. "We're just here for a visit. If you slip up, or make some kind of stupid mistake, I won't hesitate to let you stay here forever, keeping company with those dragon eggs."

"I… I know…" The burly man immediately fell silent.

The atmosphere grew tense.

Philwyn hurriedly broke the silence, saying reassuringly, "The reserve is clearly well-prepared. Roy and those others are proof enough. If you don't want to join them, just listen to Oren and enjoy the show."

He then turned to Oren and changed the subject. "And you, Oren—I've been meaning to ask—why were you wearing a hood in the bar? As if you weren't conspicuous enough already."

"Just in case." Oren pulled back his hood. "There's a dragon keeper named Charlie who knows me. If he sees me, I'll be in trouble. I've still got things to do, and I don't have time to deal with those hyena-like Aurors and Hit Wizards."

"Haha… Aren't you his professor? Why are you so afraid of your students?" Philwyn teased with a laugh. "Every time I hear about this, I'm amazed. To avoid the Ministry of Magic's all-out search, you actually went to Hogwarts and taught Defense Against the Dark Arts for a year. And then, when they finally caught on, you managed to slip away. You're something else."

"I've always been lucky." Oren stood up. "Let's go, get back to bed. This wine is good—pick up two bottles to take with you."

"Okay." Philwyn shrugged, grabbed the empty bottle, and walked over to the bar, where an old wizard was polishing glasses. "This one, and two more, please," he said.

"Dragon Brandy?" the old wizard looked up. "Thirty Galleons a bottle."

"That expensive?" Philwyn's hand paused as he reached for his money.

"I've been selling Dragon Brandy for fifty years, and it's always been this price. You can ask anyone; it's the same everywhere," the old wizard said. "But if you buy two bottles, I can give you a discount."

"How much?"

"Fifty-nine Galleons and ten Sickles."

What is this, a 99% discount?

Philwyn was a little speechless, but he still pulled out sixty Galleons. "Two bottles."

It wasn't that he cared about the nine-Sickle discount, but mainly because the wine genuinely tasted good, and he'd grown quite fond of it.