People's joys and sorrows don't connect, and to Leon, they were just being noisy.
He didn't get it. Wasn't this just everyday human stuff?
If you wanted to get poetic, call it the "spark of life."
What was so special about it that they had to come gawk?
Leon figured it was just some old wizard, cooped up too long, finding Muggle routines novel and amusing.
Maybe his blank expression was too obvious.
Gellert Grindelwald finally realized this kid was a bit dense—no spark of brilliance here.
His interest fizzled out.
Had he picked the wrong person again?
Or misread another prophecy…
As a so-called prophecy master, he'd lost count of how many times his own visions had tripped him up.
His confidence was nearly shot.
Was this just another tally in his book of mistakes?
Noticing Grindelwald zoning out, Leon nimbly hopped off his chair.
"Gotta take a dump!" he blurted, then bolted out of sight.
Leon didn't know how long Grindelwald would be distracted, but he was seizing this fleeting chance.
Just a few minutes—no, one minute alone—and he could—
"Kreacher!"
In the restaurant's bathroom, Leon hurriedly locked the door and called for Kreacher.
Pop! The scrawny, aged house-elf appeared.
Kreacher had a white towel wrapped around his waist, a few stray hairs sticking up on his bald head, bat-like ears drooping slightly. His skinny arms and legs, wrinkled chest, and big, bulging eyes held a complicated expression.
"Good afternoon, Master Leon," Kreacher croaked in his frog-like voice, bowing so deeply his fleshy nose nearly touched the floor.
"Alright, get up!" Leon grabbed Kreacher's arm impatiently. "No time to waste—take me out of—"
"Leave? To where? Sneaking off without a word isn't very gentlemanly."
Just as Leon was about to order Kreacher to escape, the bathroom door swung open.
Grindelwald leaned casually against the frame, eyeing the two runts like they were monkeys trying to slip out of his grasp.
The sudden appearance of the dark wizard made Leon's curly hair stand on end.
"Kreacher! Go, now!"
Kreacher jumped, immediately trying to Apparate with his young master to safety.
But the elf's form flickered like a bad connection, reappearing in the same spot.
Kreacher's ugly face twisted in panic, his voice shrill: "Kreacher can't Apparate!"
Grindelwald had cast an Anti-Apparition Charm over the area, trapping even a house-elf.
Knowing escape was hopeless, Leon and Kreacher slumped against the wall, trembling like scared chicks.
Under Grindelwald's amused gaze, Leon forced a stiff, ingratiating smile.
"Sir, if I said… uh, I forgot toilet paper, yeah, and called Kreacher to bring some… would you buy it?"
…
Britain's skies were mostly gray, and today was no exception.
In the dull, muted tones, people bustled about.
Then an intruder broke the monotonous scene.
Leading the way was Grindelwald, dapper in a tailored suit, his posture straight and commanding.
A step behind floated Leon, trussed up like a smoked chicken, alongside the homely Kreacher.
This bizarre trio strolled through the busy street, unnoticed by anyone.
Leon kept squirming.
He tried every trick he knew, but Grindelwald's control relied purely on raw magical power—counter-spells were useless.
He'd need to either physically break free or overpower Grindelwald's magic.
A kid like him didn't have the strength, and he wasn't delusional enough to challenge a wizard of that caliber.
Looked like he wasn't escaping anytime soon.
So annoying!
What did this cryptic old man want?
If he was going to kill or curse him, just get it over with.
Saying nothing, just playing mysterious—it was infuriating!
Ugh, nothing worse than a pretentious poser!
All Leon could hope for was that Maeve, when she got home, would spot the feather on the living room couch, catch his warning, and hide somewhere safe.
Leon flailed his limbs in frustration, keeping his head down to hide his scowl.
This constant lack of control was making him more and more irritable.
His hyperactive, stubborn, and hot-tempered state was partly because he was leaning into being a bratty kid this time around, but it was also tied to Voldemort.
When Leon first crossed into this world, he'd lucked out and absorbed a fragment of Voldemort's soul. At first, there were no side effects.
But as he grew older and his magical talent emerged, the influence became clearer.
The most obvious sign was that whenever his negative emotions spiked, a dormant beast inside him would greedily feed on them.
He had to stay calm and happy to keep that beast from growing.
Because of this, Leon, already set on living freely this time, never held back.
So, the older this brat got, instead of maturing, he became more willful, reckless, and domineering.
A prime candidate for Azkaban.
Beyond that, under the subtle influence of Voldemort's soul over the years, Leon developed a fascination with creature modification.
His pet parrot, Tom, started as an ordinary macaw but was infused with Bowtruckle blood, turning it into the chatty bird it was now.
He was currently working on blending in Thestral blood, though the process wasn't complete.
These were minor issues. The real problem was this:
Even now, when Voldemort's main soul was at its weakest, and even though Leon was a year younger than Harry, his symptoms showed up much earlier and were far worse.
Everything pointed to a deeper, more complex soul-bond between Leon and Voldemort than Harry, the sixth Horcrux, ever had.
Voldemort could resurface through Leon at any moment.
His situation was beyond dangerous.
Leon was mentally prepared, though.
He'd survived once—his grit and luck had pulled him through.
Facing another life-or-death crisis, who knew how it'd turn out?
Over the years, Leon had made guesses and plans, but testing and acting on them would have to wait until he got to Hogwarts.
While Leon stewed in his frustration, Grindelwald wasn't idle.
How did that kid's little brain hold so much random junk?
Grindelwald sifted through a mess of "cute girls dancing," "don't underestimate a kid's potential" hot-blooded nonsense, keyboard warrior insults, hoof-trimming, carpet-cleaning, earwax-digging, glass-cutting, fruit-slicing, F=ma, System.out.println()…
His brain was practically frying—pure elder abuse.
The house-elf's mind, on the other hand, was blissfully empty.
In no time, Grindelwald skimmed through Kreacher's memories.
Most were repetitive chores, followed by punishments and scoldings. Filtering out the noise was quick.
The useful bits? About the Black family, Regulus, and Leon…
Oh, the night Leon was reborn, Kreacher was under control the whole time and had no record of it.
In Kreacher's long life, three people mattered most:
His longest-serving, harshest mistress, Mrs. Black.
The kindest, who treated him like family, Master Regulus.
And, in the year Mrs. Black died, the boy he met who said, first thing:
"Kreacher, trust me. Within ten years, I'll find Uncle Regulus's body and give him a proper burial."
That boy, Leon, won his loyalty.
After a moment's thought, Grindelwald had a plan.
He yanked Leon up to face him. "Hey, let's make a deal. I'll help you find Regulus, and you help me take down Voldemort."