After a long wait, the magical contract finally met the conditions to take effect. It emitted a brilliant silver-white light, and the once-blurry markings became much clearer.
Newt looked at the parchment, a little moved.
"From now on, even if someone sees Norbert, it won't cause you any trouble."
To be honest, he was actually a bit envious.
Although everyone now recognized Newt Scamander as the foremost Magical Creatures expert in the wizarding world, he had never actually received a legal dragon-breeding license.
Perhaps it was because his youthful reputation had been too prominent—so much so that the folks at the Dragon Reserve didn't dare issue him one.
As for the Hungarian Horntail in his suitcase, that was merely tolerated by the Dragon Reserve… I don't agree with it, but I won't inspect either—keep it if you must; we'll all just turn a blind eye.
This way, even if the Hungarian Horntail one day broke free and soared over London, they could always find an excuse to brush it off.
It was Newt, after all. You couldn't be too careful.
So technically speaking, Newt was still keeping a dragon illegally and could only house it inside his suitcase.
Unlike Kyle.
From now on, Kyle could even put up a fence in front of his house and let his dragon out into the open.
Even if a Muggle saw it, it would be a matter for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad—no one could charge him with illegal dragon keeping.
Of course, keeping it was fine, but letting the dragon hurt someone was another matter entirely.
"Are we heading to Romania now?" Kyle couldn't help but ask... Aside from the dragon egg, he still had a large amount of Galleons waiting to be recovered.
"No rush, we're waiting for someone," Newt replied.
"Waiting? For who?"
"Well... Oh, he's already here," Newt said, glancing out the window.
Kyle instinctively turned his head.
"Professor Dumbledore?"
He hadn't expected it at all. Dumbledore, who had practically vanished without a trace over the past few days, had suddenly appeared here.
Dumbledore pushed open the door and walked in.
Kyle looked at him and felt something was off—like he wasn't quite the same person.
The Dumbledore he remembered was always calm and composed… The very image of a powerful, dependable headmaster of Hogwarts.
But now he looked far more relaxed. Even his robes had been swapped for something more comfortable and casual. If he'd had a teacup in hand, he'd have looked exactly like a retired old gentleman.
Anyone who didn't know him would never have connected him with the legendary headmaster of Hogwarts.
"Newt, Kyle, long time no see." He greeted them with a smile, sat down without hesitation, and casually picked up a grapefruit cookie from the plate and popped it into his mouth.
The ease with which he carried himself completely upended Kyle's impression of Dumbledore.
So this is the Dumbledore who's made peace with himself?
"Tastes quite good," Dumbledore said, glancing around. "Where's Tina?"
"She went to Ilvermorny," Newt replied. "You… are you really okay?"
He, too, felt there was something unusual about the Dumbledore in front of him. Not in a bad way—it just didn't quite match the image he had in his head.
"Of course I'm fine," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Ariana said I was too uptight and should take the chance to unwind a little."
"I think she's absolutely right," he added, taking another cookie. "I'm over a hundred years old—time I started enjoying retirement."
Ariana, huh… then it's fine, Kyle thought to himself.
He had the feeling that if Ariana said Hogwarts would look better in pink, Dumbledore would show up the next day—if not sooner—paintbrush in hand, ready to give the walls a fresh coat.
"So the person we've been waiting for is Professor Dumbledore?" Kyle turned to Newt.
"If you're going to Romania, then yes, it's me," Dumbledore said, nodding before Newt could respond. "Didn't you say you'd come to find Newt? Based on the timing, your contract should be taking effect soon. I sent him a letter in advance, asking him to notify me before he left for Romania."
"You're coming too? Is that really necessary?" Kyle looked between the two of them, a bit confused.
He was just going to collect two dragon eggs—did it really warrant this much fanfare? The last time Dumbledore and Newt Scamander had joined forces, it was to confront Grindelwald.
"Ariana thinks I should get out more, revisit my plan to travel the world after graduation," Dumbledore said.
"Even if the timing's a bit awkward, I think Romania makes a fine first stop."
All right, Ariana again.
Kyle shut his mouth. No objections.
"Are we heading out now?" Kyle glanced out the window.
It wasn't even noon yet—if everything went smoothly, they should be back by nightfall.
"If you're ready, then let's go," Dumbledore said.
The group rose and stepped outside together.
"I'll leave the house in your care, Dobby," Newt said to the house-elf trailing behind them.
"Don't worry, sir." Dobby stood straight, back rigid with pride.
"I really do miss this," Newt added, turning to Dumbledore. "I think the last time we worked together was fifty years ago."
"To be precise, fifty-seven," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "Those two Mistwing Mothfly that escaped from your suitcase caused quite a bit of trouble in Colombia."
Mistwing Mothflies looked like fist-sized blue butterflies, but these insects carried a natural Smokescreen Spell when flying and could change their color to match their surroundings. Typically, they lived only in untouched forests.
But if one of them appeared in a city, it was a very different story.
Just imagine it—Muggles walking down the street and seeing a swirling, brightly colored mist floating and drifting through the air. The looks on their faces must've been something to see—especially over fifty years ago.
Back then, the Colombian Ministry of Magic had to work around the clock for a full week to modify memories. The complaints were louder than those of an Obscurial.
"It was one. Just one came out," Newt said sheepishly. "And only because it picked up the scent of a nearby female Mistwing."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
That was the curious thing about Newt—he never deliberately let his magical creatures out, but somehow, they always managed to escape on their own.
There was a reason he wasn't exactly popular.
When Newt decided to retire, Dumbledore had to pull a lot of strings before the then-Minister of Magic agreed to let him settle down in Dorset.
"All right, let's get moving," Dumbledore said, casually picking up a twig and turning it into a Portkey.
Kyle and Newt stepped over and placed their hands on it.
"Ready? Here we go…"
The moment Dumbledore finished speaking, a sudden tug yanked all three of them away.
...
After a dizzying spin, Kyle's feet hit solid ground again.
"Who goes there?"
The sharp voice came from nearby—a group of muscular dragon keepers had surrounded them, wands at the ready.
But a second later...
"Mr. Scamander!"
"Headmaster Dumbledore!"
The leader of the dragon keepers quickly lowered his wand. "Apologies—I didn't recognize you right away."
"It's fine. I should've sent word ahead," Newt said with a shake of his head. "Is Drols here? I need to speak with him."
"He is—he's in the hatchery, keeping an eye on a nest of eggs that are about to hatch," the dragon keeper said. "Please follow me. He'll be glad to see both of you."
He instinctively overlooked Kyle, which wasn't all that surprising.
Kyle had been here once before, but it had been a long time ago—and back then, it was Charlie who'd received him.
Now that Charlie had resigned and returned to England, it was only natural these dragon keepers didn't recognize the assistant who'd once tagged along with Newt.
Kyle didn't mind. What caught his attention was what the man had just said.
The hatchery. Eggs about to hatch...
Looked like his timing was perfect.
The dragon keeper led them through the winding paths of the reserve, passing at least three checkpoints before they stopped in front of a massive cave.
Even from a distance, Kyle could feel waves of heat rolling toward him. Now, standing at the entrance, it felt like the edge of an erupting volcano.
"This is the hatchery," Newt explained. "All dragons preparing to hatch are brought here, away from prying eyes."
"Exactly," the dragon keeper added, finally acknowledging Kyle. "And bringing the eggs here also keeps them from being accidentally trampled by other dragons. Those big ones aren't exactly gentle—they're fighting almost every day."
"Are there many eggs here?" Kyle asked, intrigued.
The dragon keeper hesitated, clearly reluctant to answer. But after another glance at Dumbledore and Newt, he said, "Right now, there are only two nests. We originally had three, but the remaining Hungarian Horntail is too aggressive. We've got no idea how to move it."
"There's no need to," Newt said with a chuckle. "I doubt any other dragons would be foolish enough to mess with a Hungarian Horntail."
"The captain said the same thing."
As they spoke, footsteps echoed from deep within the cave. Moments later, a man emerged from the shadows.
"Captain!"
"Mhm. Good work. Go on, I'll take it from here," Drols said.
He was leaner than Kyle had expected—not as solidly built as Charlie—but the scars on his body told a different story. A long gash running down his left cheek in particular gave him a fearsome, battle-worn look.
"It's a pleasure to see you both," said Drols. "Mr. Scamander, Professor Dumbledore, and... you must be Kyle. You've shot up quite a bit since the last time."
"You remember me?" Kyle asked.
"I remember everyone who has helped the Dragon Reserve—of course I remember you," Drols replied.
Then he turned back to Newt and Dumbledore, his smile fading. "Forgive me for being blunt, but what brings you to the Dragon Reserve so suddenly? As far as I know, Britain seems to be in serious trouble right now.
"If you've come to ask for the Reserve's help, I'll have to apologize in advance."
"No, Drols, you've misunderstood," said Dumbledore seriously. "Rest assured, we'll handle our problems ourselves. The Dragon Reserve won't be dragged into it."
"I'm sorry, Headmaster Dumbledore," said Drols. "I just don't want dragons to become weapons of war."
"Neither do I," Dumbledore agreed earnestly.
He was grateful the dragons were under protection. With dozens of dragons and so many dragon keepers, even Voldemort wouldn't dare provoke them easily. Otherwise, given how he'd recruited giants, he definitely wouldn't have overlooked dragons as war machines.
"In that case, let's talk somewhere else. This place isn't exactly ideal for conversation." Drols wiped the sweat from his brow. He might be used to working in this heat, but that didn't mean he enjoyed chatting in it.
He led the three of them to an office nearby... Though calling it an office was generous—it was more like a stone hut that happened to keep the wind out.
Once inside, Drols grabbed a jug of water and drank deeply before turning to ask, "So, what brings you here?"
"Not much," Newt said, nudging Kyle forward. "He just has a bill related to the Dragon Reserve."
"A bill?" Drols frowned, puzzled.
He certainly didn't recall the Reserve owing anyone money.
If anyone else had said that to him, he would've walked off without a word. But this was Newt Scamander—that made all the difference...
As the Reserve's most important guest and partner, Newt had contributed more than most, and he was held in high regard.
And then there was the fact that Headmaster Dumbledore was here too.
So even though it sounded impossible, Drols still looked seriously at Kyle and said, "May I see it?"
"Of course." Kyle nodded and handed over a piece of parchment.
The moment Drols laid eyes on it, he froze.
It was real. He knew the magic contract on it all too well—unique to the Dragon Reserve. And the signature...
Bergman Strick, the Reserve's very first director.
Drols quickly took the parchment in hand and examined it closely, his expression shifting rapidly.
From confusion, to shock, to outright disbelief...
"This is... a donation certificate?" he asked, suddenly looking up, his voice trembling slightly. "By Merlin's beard—are you the mysterious benefactor?"
He shook his head. "No, that can't be. The dates don't add up. The Reserve received this donation a hundred years ago, and you're not even twenty. If I'm right, this must've belonged to someone in your family—a generation or two before you."
"Is that a problem?" Kyle asked, not confirming but not denying it either. After all, even if he explained, Drols probably wouldn't believe him.
"Of course not." Drols shook his head and said seriously, "In fact, we've been searching for this person. Their help to the Reserve was invaluable. I'm just a bit curious why only Mr. Bergman's signature is on here."
"Maybe that was just the custom at the time," Kyle said. "In any case, a magical contract can't be faked, right?"
Of course it wasn't custom—it had been Kyle's request. It was 1899; he couldn't very well sign his own name.
At the time, Bergman hadn't really understood the request, but since Kyle didn't seem to care and was eager to make the donation, he hadn't questioned it.
"That's true," Drols admitted, handing the parchment back to Kyle. "If I'm not mistaken, you're here to claim what's rightfully yours."
"Exactly," Kyle nodded. "Is that alright?"
"Of course it is." Drols let out a sudden laugh. "We've been waiting nearly a hundred years. But since no one ever came to claim it, the money's been stored in a vault at Gringotts."
"How much is it?" Kyle asked curiously.
"Six thousand three hundred and fifty Galleons," Drols replied.
Kyle raised an eyebrow. It looked like the Reserve's growth had boosted his returns a fair bit.
Is 6,350 Galleons a lot?
Absolutely. Even a department head at the Ministry of Magic would have to save every Galleon of their salary for six years to match that.
But from another angle, it wasn't all that much. In terms of purchasing power, 3,000 Galleons from a hundred years ago would be worth ten or twenty thousand today.
Of course, Kyle wasn't looking at it that way. All things considered, he had definitely come out ahead.
Even Dumbledore glanced at him, a bit taken aback. He'd been present through the whole process.
Well now—3,000 Galleons doubled just like that. The money came faster than robbing Gringotts. Why hadn't he thought of it before?
What's that—memory loss?
Alright then, never mind.