In the southern part of Romania, nestled among the remote mountain ranges, there lies a stretch of land rarely visited by anyone. The area's isolation, coupled with its lack of appeal, meant it almost never saw a soul.
That is, until a few years ago, when it briefly came to life.
Back then, the International Confederation of Wizards had reached a consensus to establish a dragon reserve, and this quiet spot was chosen as the location.
However, the project soon ran into funding issues. Progress slowed, then stalled completely.
After all, this was a place meant for housing dragons. The food, the protective measures, the recruitment of trained specialists—none of it came cheap. Without a steady flow of Galleons, the project couldn't be sustained.
To take a basic example—caring for dragons required people. Not just any wizards either, but those professionally trained under strict standards.
And professionalism came with a high price tag.
Without decent wages, who would risk being crushed under a dragon's foot just to work in such a remote and desolate area?
Well, a few did come purely out of passion. But after three days of skipping meals and going hungry, even their enthusiasm started to falter.
The only thing keeping them from leaving was pride.
When they first arrived, they'd sworn up and down that they wouldn't give up just because of a few hardships. If they turned tail now, wouldn't that be a complete slap in the face?
They couldn't afford that kind of humiliation—so they gritted their teeth and stayed.
But these passionate few were in the minority. Under the growing strain of inadequate manpower, the only dragon reserve officially recognized by the International Confederation of Wizards was now home to just two dragons—both of them the smallest and most common breed: the Welsh Green. It was practically laughable.
Not for lack of interest—ministries from other countries, burdened by confiscated dragons, were eager to send them over just to be rid of the hassle. But the reserve was already stretched thin caring for the two they had. Taking on more was simply impossible.
As always, it came down to one problem—money.
Bergman Strick, the reserve's first appointed director, sat in his bare-bones office, pulling his hair out in frustration every single day.
He was only thirty years old, but one look at his head and you'd believe he was sixty.
You know a Quaffle? Stick two feathers on top of it—that's about how much hair he had left. It was... plainly visible.
But today, for the first time in a long while, Bergman left that so-called office of his—really just a few enchanted stones stacked together. Drafty in winter, sweltering in summer, it was good for one thing: it cost nothing.
He even dug out his old robe, one he hadn't worn in two years. Though badly faded, it was still the most respectable thing in his wardrobe.
He'd poured everything he had into building the dragon reserve—sold everything he could. But the funds he managed to raise were just a drop in the bucket.
If no miracle came, and the last few dragon handlers decided to give up, then he truly didn't know what would happen. Most likely, the whole project would be shelved indefinitely.
Luckily, after years of scraping by, things had finally begun to turn.
Bergman strode quickly down a narrow path and spotted two figures standing beside a massive beech tree—the only two unfamiliar faces he'd seen in years.
"Welcome, welcome…"
He broke into a near run, hurrying to greet them.
"It's an honor to meet you both," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Bergman Strick, director of the Dragon Reserve."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Strick." Kyle shook his hand.
Indeed, the visitors were none other than Kyle and Dumbledore.
After settling matters with Ariana, Dumbledore had planned to return immediately. But Kyle mentioned he had a few things to take care of.
Though he was eager to see Ariana, Kyle had done more than enough to earn that courtesy—so Dumbledore accompanied him here.
As for why Kyle came, it dated back a month earlier, when he'd overheard two Ministry of Magic employees chatting in the Leaky Cauldron. Their conversation had revealed the situation here.
Kyle had wanted to come at once, but his main mission hadn't been completed yet, so he'd put it off.
Now, with some time to spare, he figured he might as well stop by.
The two men shook hands.
"Mr. Strick, I assume we're not going to discuss matters out here?" Kyle glanced around. "I don't mind, but the gentleman with me… well, he's a bit too old to stand around for long."
"Ah, my apologies!" Bergman said quickly, then led them to his modest office. On the way, he prepared some tea and snacks.
The tea was pine needle tea—literally just a handful of pine needles, rinsed and tossed into boiling water. It didn't taste great, but it was the only drink with any flavor available.
The snacks were dense, grayish lumps, somewhat like Hagrid's infamous rock cakes—only worse. Even from a distance, they gave off a bitter stench.
Kyle had expected harsh conditions, but not this harsh. Honestly, not even a House-elf would touch this stuff.
Bergman seemed to guess his thoughts and gave a helpless sigh.
He didn't want to eat this either, but what choice did they have? Wizards couldn't conjure food from nothing, and everyone here only knew how to care for dragons—nothing more.
So all their resources came from collecting the naturally shed scales of the two Welsh Greens and exchanging them for Sickles or Galleons. That was the only way to afford basic supplies.
If the money ran out and there were no new scales to find, they'd have to forage for food nearby.
Seeing Bergman's embarrassed expression, Kyle said nothing. He simply picked up the cup, took a sip of pine needle tea, and quietly placed it back on the table.
It was bitter and astringent. Honestly, plain water would've been better.
"Okay, let's get straight to the point." Kyle paused. "Mr. Strick should already know the purpose of our visit—unless, of course, that gentleman didn't pass the message on."
Kyle had found this place relying on memories from before, but because the timeline was different, he had no idea where he was when he first arrived. He wandered around for quite a while before finally running into a wizard.
When the wizard heard why Kyle had come, he got so excited he nearly fainted, scrambling off in a panic, saying he needed to fetch the most important person to receive Kyle.
That led to the earlier scene—less than five minutes later, Bergman showed up.
"I heard from Mukardo," Bergman said, suddenly energized. "Is it true? About your decision to fund the Dragon Reserve?"
"Of course. That's exactly why I'm here," Kyle replied with a smile. "But my resources are limited, so I may not be able to contribute too much."
At those words, Bergman's expression faltered slightly, a flicker of disappointment showing on his face.
Of course—judging by Kyle's appearance, he couldn't be more than twenty. Even though he had a servant with him, at that age, it was unclear who was looking after whom. Most likely, he came from a declining family. Someone like that probably couldn't solve their current financial crisis.
Still, Bergman quickly pushed those thoughts aside.
In any case, having someone willing to sponsor the Dragon Reserve was good news. Even if it only meant they could eat proper lunches for another week, it was a hopeful change... At the very least, it meant someone still supported the cause.
"It's quite all right. No need to worry," Bergman said sincerely. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and asked, "How much would you like to contribute in Galleons... Sickles are fine too. I can provide you with a receipt."
Although the Dragon Reserve was broke, it was still a legitimate organization recognized by the International Confederation of Wizards. All the formal procedures were in place.
During the development phase, financial backing counted as a form of partnership, and there would be returns eventually—though modest and not something that could be expected in the short term.
"Three thousand Galleons," Kyle said flatly.
"All right, three thou—"
"Wait..." Bergman jerked his head up. "How much did you say?!"
"Three thousand Galleons," Kyle repeated, pulling out a case and setting it on the table before opening it.
It was as if a wave of golden light poured out.
The quill in Bergman's hand snapped from the shock, and he winced—it was the last one they had in the Reserve. But that thought quickly faded from his mind.
The light radiating from the case made his head swim. He felt like he was drifting among the clouds, clinking glasses with the stars, or lying atop ocean waves, listening to the enchanting songs of a mermaid princess...
"Mr. Strick... Mr. Strick? Are you alright? What should we do, Professor? He doesn't seem to hear me."
"You can try stimulating him a bit."
"Oh."
Then came a jolt of sharp pain from his leg.
The stars turned into gorillas, beating their chests and knocking over his goblet, and the mermaids morphed into Mermen, their beautiful songs becoming ear-piercing wails.
Bergman finally snapped out of it.
He immediately looked down and saw a plump cabbage clamped tightly to his calf. The throbbing pain was growing clearer by the second, and cold sweat began to break out on his forehead.
"You're finally back," Kyle said with a grin. "Sorry—when you didn't respond, I had no choice but to try something a bit more direct."
"N-no, it's fine," Bergman forced a strained smile. He bent down with difficulty and pried the cabbage off his leg, the pain making him grimace again.
But when he got a good look at what it was, he froze.
"No, wait… is this... Chinese Chomping Cabbage?" he asked, surprised.
This magical plant from Asia wasn't cheap—a single one cost two Galleons in Diagon Alley, and the fresh ones went for even more.
For a moment, the pain in his calf didn't seem quite so bad. Just look at how round and plump it was, those neat little teeth—what a beauty.
What? You're saying it bites? Tch, don't talk nonsense—that's just lively behavior.
The only unfortunate thing was that this lively little darling didn't belong to him.
Bergman reluctantly handed the Chomping Cabbage back to Kyle.
"Uh..." Seeing the fond look in Bergman's eyes, Kyle couldn't bring himself to take it away. He simply waved a hand and said, "Forget it. If you like it, it's yours."
As if afraid Kyle might change his mind, Bergman swiftly hugged the Chomping Cabbage to his chest, not caring at all whether it might bite him again.
His practiced movement and determined expression made one's heart ache a little.
"Mr. Strick," Kyle had to remind him again, "shouldn't we take care of the main business first?"
Prompted by the reminder, Bergman finally recalled that there was something even more important than Chomping Cabbage waiting for him.
He looked again at the suitcase full of Galleons on the table, a strange sense of unreality washing over him—like he was dreaming.
But the throbbing wound on his leg reminded him this was no dream.
Three thousand Galleons… with that, not only could he restart the defense projects that had stalled, he might even be able to bring back the dragon keepers who'd been forced to leave for various reasons and finally get the Dragon Reserve's initial construction back on track.
"Sir, are you sure you want to sponsor us with three thousand Galleons?" Bergman asked, full of excitement.
"That's all I've got left at the moment," Kyle replied.
Three thousand Galleons wasn't exactly a fortune—he had spent half already—but with current prices, it shouldn't be considered insignificant either.
With Kyle's confirmation, Bergman began trembling all over. He ran a hand over the Galleons in the case, then looked back at Kyle. After a moment's hesitation, he forced down his excitement.
"Sir, while I'm truly grateful for your support, there are a few things I must clarify beforehand. I can only accept the funds if you agree."
"Go ahead."
"First, about the returns," Bergman said, gritting his teeth. "While funding the Dragon Reserve can bring eventual returns, the number is... quite low. Let me put it this way—if we had ten dragons, this is what you'd get in a year."
He held up three fingers.
"Three hundred Galleons?"
"No... thirty Galleons."
Kyle's mouth twitched.
He'd expected a low return, but this was beyond low... just one percent.
No wonder those two staff members said it'd take a hundred years to break even—they weren't wrong.
Good thing Kyle hadn't come here for profit.
"That's fine," he said with a wave of his hand, completely unconcerned. "I like dragons. I'm not interested in return rates. As long as they're well cared for, I don't mind throwing Galleons into the wind."
Bergman had braced himself for Kyle to back out.
That was what most people did—coming to the Dragon Reserve with grand plans, only to abandon them the moment they learned how pitiful the returns were. After that, fewer and fewer people came, and in the past two years, no one had come at all.
Bergman had gotten used to disappointment.
What he hadn't expected... was to hear a different answer.
The young wizard before him—not even twenty—said he didn't care about the return.
Returns meant Galleons. Was there really anyone in the wizarding world who didn't care about Galleons?
Well, yes. To be a bit self-flattering, he himself didn't care, and neither did the dragon keepers who'd stayed behind. Nearly everyone here had been holding on through sheer grit.
But they all shared one thing in common: they didn't have many Galleons to begin with.
The man in front of him was the only exception—someone who had Galleons and didn't care about them.
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely," Kyle said with a smile, giving the suitcase a push. "Write up the certificate—then it's yours."
"Wait, wait…" Bergman gasped, fighting down a sudden urge, and continued, "In addition to what I mentioned, you won't be able to participate in the daily operations of the Dragon Reserve. That includes, but is not limited to, rule-making, staff management, and resource allocation... To put it simply, you'll have fewer rights here than an ordinary dragon keeper."
"Even better—less hassle for me," Kyle said.
"You also won't be able to purchase any products from the Reserve at a discounted rate."
Bergman's voice dropped noticeably, as if even he felt this was a bit too much—but these were regulations set by the International Confederation of Wizards after extensive deliberation.
The goal was to maintain the authority and independence of the Reserve and prevent it from being dominated by wealthy pure-blood families.
But Kyle still didn't seem to care.
"I've got money. I don't care about a few discounts... But." He paused.
Bergman's heart jumped into his throat as he looked nervously at Kyle.
"If I want priority in purchasing the highest-quality materials available at standard prices, that should be allowed, right?"
"If that's all, of course it's allowed," Bergman let out a breath of relief, then added quietly, "If we have them, that is."
He thought of those two Welsh dragons.
To be honest, the dragon scales and teeth they'd managed to collect weren't of great quality. In Diagon Alley, they barely qualified as second-rate goods. Otherwise, they wouldn't be living this close to the edge.
But out of a small selfish impulse, he didn't mention this to Kyle. Though his conscience pricked at him, they really, truly needed the money.