In the afternoon, Kyle went to Hagrid's hut.
"Kyle, what brings you here?" Hagrid warmly offered him a plate of rock cakes from inside the hut, "Thank you for your gift — I really like it."
The dragon models sat on the hut's only table, where Hagrid had thoughtfully installed a small fence around the edges to keep them from falling off.
Kyle shook his head at the offered plate, "Hagrid, I really couldn't eat anything right now."
"That's true, your stomach must be full of turkey and sausages already." Hagrid didn't mind, taking a bite of rock cake himself, "Did you need something from me? And just so we're clear, I won't take you into the Forbidden Forest."
"I'm not here for the Forest." Kyle said, "I wanted to ask if you know any wizards with the surname Prince."
"Prince? I think that name is..."
Hagrid suddenly paused mid-sentence, then patted his head.
"Sorry Kyle, I think I've caught a cold these past few days. My head feels foggy, and I can't remember many things. Oh, right... Poppy asked me to see her after the feast." He suddenly stood up and hurriedly said: "Sorry Kyle, I need to go to the hospital wing now. If I remember anything, I'll write to you."
"Alright…" Kyle sighed disappointedly, following the half-giant out of the hut.
It seemed he would have to wait until his father was free and write to ask if he knew anything.
Besides Hagrid, he didn't plan to ask any other professors about this matter.
Professor McGonagall and the others were too tight-lipped — if this "Prince" really had any connection to Snape, they definitely wouldn't say anything even if they knew.
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Returning to the castle, Kyle went back to the library and continued reading the hardcover book he had borrowed that morning, having nothing else to do.
It was a biography about a legendary dueling master's life.
The master was truly exceptional — he had never lost a duel since his first match and had set an unprecedented record of two hundred consecutive wins, claiming the dueling championship eleven times in a row.
This record remained unbroken to this day; even Professor Flitwick in his prime had achieved no more than one hundred and fifteen consecutive wins.
However, the master's writing skills left much to be desired. Complex magical theories that needed careful analysis were hastily condensed into brief sentences.
It was like solving mathematical problems — where you'd normally need several formulas to reach a solution, this master simply stated the answer without showing his work. While technically correct, it wasn't very helpful.
Moreover, though he offered many tips about spellcasting, his instructions were frustratingly vague:
"When facing a moving enemy, your wrist should rotate slightly at the appropriate moment while casting spells."
"To increase the range of your spell, lift your wand slightly upward, but not too high or you'll miss — just follow your instincts."
"If you feel lost during a duel, ask your wand — it will tell you what to do next."
...
What constituted an "appropriate moment"? What did "following instincts" really mean?
These passages gave Kyle a headache, but unwilling to give up on the content, he could only try to interpret the author's meaning and practice repeatedly in the Room of Requirement.
This proved to be the most time-consuming part — sometimes a single ambiguous sentence would require an entire day or longer of practice in the Room of Requirement.
It wasn't until near the end of the holiday that he finished reading through the surprisingly thin book.
The day before term started, Kyle went to return the book to the library.
Madam Pince took the book, performed her usual inspection, and, finding no issues, put it away.
Just as Kyle was about to browse the nearby shelf, a cold voice spoke from behind him.
"I suggest you stop borrowing these biographical books."
"What?" Kyle turned around, puzzled.
Madam Pince sat in her chair, expressionlessly leafing through the hardcover book, "The content isn't complex, yet it took you two whole weeks to read it. Clearly, it's not suitable for you."
Kyle was startled — this was the first time he'd seen the witch actively speak to a young wizard about something beyond her usual duties.
Gathering himself, he quickly asked, "Do you mean my foundation is too weak?"
"No, your basic magical knowledge is good. Looking at your borrowing record, you're even ahead of many third-year students." Madam Pince said, raising her eyes, "But understanding a legendary wizard's biography requires experience and perspective."
Kyle clicked his tongue — he couldn't argue with that. Being only in first year, he had little experience beyond magical creatures.
"If you really want to learn something, don't waste time on these biographies." Madam Pince pointed to a nearby bookshelf, "I suggest you look over there."
Kyle didn't hesitate — given how unusually forthcoming she was being, he ought to at least take a look.
Besides, he hadn't decided what to borrow next — perhaps he'd find something interesting there.
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As it turned out, Madam Pince's advice proved valuable.
Five minutes later, Kyle returned with a thick book in his arms.
[The Evolution of Charms: Origins]
Madam Pince's expression flickered briefly before returning to its usual composure.
After completing the borrowing slip, Kyle decided against staying in the library. Instead, he took the book back to his dormitory to read later — he still had tasks to complete on this final day of holiday.
His first stop was the Room of Requirement. As soon as he entered, a group of furry little creatures gathered around him — five mooncalves gazing up with their large, round eyes.
Kyle patted each of their heads, "It's daytime, why aren't you sleeping?"
One of the mooncalves tilted its head and cooed twice.
"Are you worried someone might come in and disturb you?" He smiled reassuringly, "Don't worry, no one else will come here except me."
Comforted by Kyle's words, the mooncalves finally retreated to the burrow that the Room of Requirement had created for them.
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