"Thank you for your generosity. If you come across any more Re'em horns of this quality, please consider giving Nimbus priority."
At the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop in Diagon Alley, a foreign wizard in a crisp suit beamed as he personally saw Kyle to the door.
"Naturally. I'm more than satisfied with this deal," Kyle replied with a smile.
An hour earlier, he had left Grimmauld Place and come to Diagon Alley to raise some funds.
The most valuable—and easiest—thing to sell was the Re'em horn. Rare, unrestricted by trade bans, and a key component in crafting broomsticks, it was practically guaranteed to sell.
So Kyle had walked straight into the Quidditch Supplies, taken out several Re'em horns, and plainly stated he was looking to sell.
Not long after, the man claiming to be Nimbus's local manager had rushed in.
He wasn't British. Thanks to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the previous manager of the Diagon Alley branch had resigned after the first attack. This man had received word via Two-Way Mirror and been dispatched from Paris to take over.
After all, Nimbus didn't just supply broomsticks to the UK.
At first, he hadn't been thrilled about the assignment.
With Britain in chaos, stepping into that mess felt like jumping into a whirlpool—one wrong move and you'd be torn to shreds. Naturally, he'd wanted no part of it.
But the moment he laid eyes on Kyle's Re'em horns, all that hesitation vanished.
The quality was exceptional. Honestly, it had been years since he'd seen horns this fine. With broomstick technology advancing rapidly, demand for materials had surged, and prices with it.
Unfortunately, quality had declined just as quickly. There were only so many Re'em beasts in the world, and once the best horns were used up, suppliers had to make do with average ones.
But Kyle's horns were not only large—they had that perfect reddish-brown hue that marked the finest grade. The only time the manager had seen horns like these was seventy years ago, on display at Nimbus headquarters.
He was convinced: if he could bring this batch back, he'd earn a hefty bonus. And if he could secure a steady supply? Maybe even replace his cowardly, self-serving boss.
Of course, using force was out of the question. He'd already picked up some background on Kyle from the shop assistant.
Champion of the Triwizard Tournament. Dumbledore's most favored student. Closely tied to the Ministry of Magic.
And this was Britain—Kyle's home turf. He'd have to be insane to cross him.
So he took the smarter route: offered a generous deal, didn't try to haggle, matched the highest market rate, and threw in a handful of perks within his authority.
Kyle was just as pleased.
He'd expected the transaction to take some effort, but the man was surprisingly cooperative. Once the authenticity was verified, it took less than thirty minutes to close a thousand-Galleon deal—five Re'em horns in total.
Not that those were all Kyle had. He had more, but unloading too many at once could drive the price down.
He had stock. No need to rush.
After leaving behind the overly enthusiastic manager, Kyle wandered down the relatively quiet streets of Diagon Alley. Now that he had an extra thousand Galleons, he didn't feel quite so pressed to sell the rest.
In fact, he realized that with how many rare items he had stored away, selling them one by one would be time-consuming. And the more transactions he made, the more likely he'd be pressured on price. Haggling would waste even more time.
Better to open a shop of his own and display everything there...
Kyle suddenly stopped in his tracks.
He remembered—years ago, during Christmas, Sirius had gifted him a shop. At the time, Kyle had thought the present was too extravagant and hadn't planned to accept it. But before he had the chance to turn it down, something had come up, and he'd had to leave Diagon Alley.
What was it again…? He thought hard, but it had been so long, he couldn't recall.
Not that it mattered.
What did matter was that he still had the magical contract somewhere. With everything that had happened since then, the whole thing had slipped his mind—and Sirius had never brought it up again.
He also remembered Sirius had supposedly set up a neighboring shop for Harry, planning for the two of them to run a little business together once Harry graduated.
"Where was that shop again?" Kyle looked around, hoping to spot a closed storefront.
But with so many shops shut down after the recent attacks, that approach was going nowhere.
He vaguely recalled sitting with Sirius, the two of them eating ice cream...
Right—ice cream!
Kyle quickly changed direction and soon found Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour in the middle of the street. Not far from it, two shops stood side by side—both shut tight, no signs above the doors.
"Yes, this is the place," Kyle said, eyes lighting up.
If he could get this shop up and running, he wouldn't need to waste time running around. The location was excellent too—not only was it right on the main street, but just a short walk ahead was Gringotts Wizarding Bank, and diagonally across was Flourish and Blotts. All key spots that young witches and wizards visited at the start of term.
Typical Black—giving away a prime location like this without the slightest hesitation.
Kyle leaned against the door and peered inside.
The shop had clearly been vacant for a while. The windows were filthy, and inside was coated in a thick layer of dust. He couldn't see a thing. Cleaning it up wouldn't be easy.
If he wanted to open for business, he'd definitely need to refurbish the place.
Luckily, he'd just earned a thousand Galleons—should be enough to cover it.
As for staffing, Kyle's first thought was the house-elves in the Hogwarts kitchen.
House-elves were perfect. He'd already seen how capable they were while helping out at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. They could definitely handle this kind of work.
Kyle rubbed his chin, seriously weighing the idea. The more he thought about it, the more feasible it seemed.
Displaying items in a store with set prices wouldn't just save time—it would stabilize prices and maybe even allow for a slight markup.
Then there was his connection with the Ministry of Magic...
Kyle knew that before long, he'd be carrying the Auror-exclusive magical communicator and reaching a preliminary agreement with Minister Bones—and he'd even had to make some concessions to get there.
With that connection, and a little help maneuvering behind the scenes, even the more ambiguously restricted trade items—like Mobic squid ink—might be fair game for sale.
It could work.
Kyle's eyes brightened. He happened to have some free time, and this version of himself was still hiding out at 12 Grimmauld Place, avoiding Voldemort. So as long as the Weasley twins and Cedric—who had access to this area—didn't catch on, he could show up in Diagon Alley without any issue.
Maybe he couldn't open the store immediately, but he could at least clean the place up. Once things settled, he could start operating right away. He might even stay here for now—rooms at the Leaky Cauldron were expensive, after all. No reason to spend more than necessary.
But first, he needed to find that magical contract—which he had no idea where he'd tossed.
It was probably in the Mokeskin pouch. He kept all his miscellaneous items in there for convenience.
Sure enough, the contract was tucked in the corner of the pouch, nestled beside a few bags of owl treats.
Kyle pulled it out, ready to get to work—when suddenly, his suitcase started shaking.
There was only one explanation: something was banging against the door of the room inside the suitcase. And judging by the frequency, it was urgent.
With no choice, Kyle put his shop plans on hold and hurried back to his room at the Leaky Cauldron, then stepped into the suitcase.
As soon as he opened the door, a massive, scaly head loomed up in his face. Kyle barely managed to leap aside in time, dodging Norbert's headbutt.
"What's going on?" he asked, heart still racing.
Norbert looked visibly anxious. She let out a couple of sharp cries, then gently swept her tail to roll over two round eggs.
Dragon eggs?
Kyle had a hunch—and after a closer look, he saw several fine cracks on the eggshells.
Norbert whimpered nervously.
"It's okay, it's okay—you didn't break them," Kyle reassured her. "If I'm right, the little ones are about to hatch."
Excitement surged through him, pushing thoughts of shops and money far from his mind.
These were dragons. Actual dragons! But… was it really normal for them to hatch this quickly? And at the same time?
Kyle wasn't sure. After thinking it over, he left the suitcase and made his way to Dorset with it in tow.
Relying on memory, he quickly found Newt's wooden cabin deep in the sprawling forest and knocked on the door.
Creak. The door opened slightly, and a cautious-looking head poked out.
"Dobby, who is it? Is it Tina?" came Newt's voice from inside. "Odd—wasn't she visiting Rolf at Ilvermorny?"
Rolf Scamander, Newt's grandson, had graduated from Ilvermorny in the United States and stayed on as a professor, specializing in Magizoology research.
"No, Mr. Scamander, it's Mr. Kyle!" Dobby answered in his high-pitched voice, clearly thrilled.
"Kyle?"
Newt came over, looking genuinely surprised. "What an unexpected visit. I thought you were busy with Order of the Phoenix matters."
"Long story," Kyle said casually as he stepped inside.
"Did something happen?" Newt asked, concerned. "Is this about Godric's Hollow? I heard seventy Death Eaters died there yesterday… Don't tell me you were involved?"
"I was," Kyle nodded, then shook his head. "But that's not why I'm here."
"Oh, good." Newt let out a sigh of relief, picked up his cup, and said, "Let's sit down and talk. Want something to eat? There are some grapefruit cookies Tina left behind."
"I'll pass on the cookies," Kyle said. "I came because I've got two dragon eggs about to hatch—and I have no idea what I'm doing…"
Newt spat out his water in shock.
"What did you say? Dragon eggs?"
"Yeah."
"Where did you get dragon eggs?" Newt's expression turned serious.
"I bought them," Kyle said. "Not recently, of course—I bought them in 1899."
Newt blinked, unsure if Kyle had been hit with the Imperius Curse. That was a hundred years ago—how could he have possibly made a purchase then?
"It's a long story. Just take a look first. I'll explain everything after." Kyle opened the suitcase and jumped inside.
Newt hesitated, then followed him in.
The moment he entered, he spotted the two round eggs resting on a velvet cushion.
Sure enough, they were dragon eggs—one Ukrainian Ironbelly, and the other...
"Oh, a Romanian Longhorn?"
"Yep," Kyle said with a grin. "I was just as surprised when I saw it."
Newt stepped closer, squinting as he inspected both eggs.
"They're definitely about to hatch, but... something's off."
"What do you mean?"
"From their appearance, they shouldn't be anywhere near hatching yet." He tapped one gently. A solid thump echoed back.
"See? Still very hard. They'd need to be exposed to flame for at least a month to be ready. But..."
Newt paused, then leaned in and took a deep breath near one of the shell's seams.
"This faint sulfur scent... It means the dragon inside is actively pushing the shell apart. What on earth…"
He looked baffled. After decades of studying dragons, he had never seen anything quite like this.
"Hmm… could going through a Time-Turner affect dragon eggs?"
"To a degree—but not like this," Newt said, shaking his head.
"What if it was a hundred years?"
"A hundred years?" Newt froze, then said in shock, "Albus's Time-Turner was repaired?"
"Not just repaired—used," Kyle nodded. "That's what I came to tell you. For some reasons I'll explain, I just came back from 1899 yesterday."
Kyle gave him a quick summary of everything that had happened.
When he heard Ariana was alive, Newt was so overjoyed he nearly broke into tears.
He was happy for Dumbledore. They had been through a lot together, and Newt knew better than anyone the weight Dumbledore carried. Ariana's death had become a lifelong shadow for him—an emotional scar that never stopped hurting.
"You did well… really well," Newt said, wiping the corners of his eyes, his voice tight with emotion.
"So these two dragons—"
"Exactly. I bought them while I was there," Kyle said. "I've got two more waiting at the Dragon Reserve. I should be able to pick them up in a few days."
As he spoke, Kyle casually handed Newt two parchments bearing magical contracts.
Newt's eyes went even wider. He hadn't expected another surprise on top of the Ariana news.
"These... so you were the mysterious donor?"
"What?"
"I heard about it from a friend," Newt explained. "The Dragon Reserve only got off the ground thanks to a mysterious wizard's donation. He brought a pile of Galleons and helped them make that crucial first step—the hardest one."
"They searched for him afterward—a young wizard with an old servant—but never found anything. It was like he vanished from the wizarding world. Not a single clue."
"That's because I came back. Of course they couldn't find me," Kyle said with a grin. "Oh, and the 'old servant'? That was actually Professor Dumbledore."
"…"
Newt's expression turned odd. After a moment of silence, he muttered, "I should've guessed. Let's hope Albus never hears about those rumors."
Technically speaking, Dumbledore had been recorded as Kyle's servant in the Dragon Reserve's founding documents for nearly a century. Probably a unique distinction in the wizarding world.
Hopefully he could live that down.
But knowing Dumbledore, Newt figured he probably wouldn't mind—especially after learning his sister was still alive.
Newt shook his head and looked down at the second parchment.
"This… is a legal dragon ownership permit?"
"Yep," Kyle said. "Bergman insisted on giving it to me as a thank-you. I couldn't turn him down, so I accepted it.
"Unfortunately, the contract won't take effect for a while, so for now it's just a fancy piece of paper."
Newt didn't believe that for a second. He knew Bergman—one of the most outspoken opponents of private dragon ownership. There was no way he'd just hand out a permit like that.
Still, the document was real, complete with magical seals and signatures. The truth behind it didn't seem to matter anymore.
"You really came back with quite the haul," Newt said, unable to hide his amazement.
"It's not bad," Kyle grinned. "But let's talk about these two. Are they going to be okay?"
"They're perfectly fine. Very healthy," Newt confirmed. "As for the early hatching, it might be related to the Time-Turner—but I've never used one, so I can't say for sure."
"Still, the idea that a Time-Turner could affect dragon eggs... I've never even considered that angle before. Is the Time-Turner still usable?"
"Nope." Kyle shook his head. "After we came back, the Philosopher's Stone powering it broke. The casing took serious damage from the strain too."
"The Philosopher's Stone?" Newt twitched.
As tempting as this new research path was, using up a Philosopher's Stone for it… that was far too steep a price.
Other, more affordable Time-Turners only offered a few hours of travel—completely useless for something like this.
Newt had never felt so conflicted. He felt like a Niffler staring at a mountain of Galleons across a canyon, close enough to see, too far to reach. Torture.
"Would you be willing to leave them with me?" Newt asked, pointing at the two eggs.
If he couldn't study the Time-Turner itself, he could at least observe the eggs Kyle had brought back from ninety-eight years ago.
"Of course," Kyle said with a smile. "That's why I came."