"What? Who? Me? Take on Voldemort solo?"
Leon pointed at himself, finger jabbing his nose, utterly baffled.
"You're giving me way too much credit here!"
"What am I, some special cookie from a fancy tin?"
"And now I'm supposed to go toe-to-toe with the Dark Lord?"
"Maybe you should check in with Headmaster Dumbledore for a brain scan. Even if it's hopeless, you can't give up on treatment!"
A good employee knows how to snap the boss out of wild fantasies with a cold dose of reality, dousing their spark with icy water.
Sure, Leon had absorbed a fragment of Voldemort's soul, picking up a tiny sliver of the Dark Lord's skills.
And yeah, he'd need to take out Voldemort eventually to fix his own hidden issues.
But Gellert Grindelwald didn't know any of that.
No matter who investigated or how, Leon was just a squeaky-clean, pre-Hogwarts little wizard.
He had some magical talent, sure, but nothing jaw-dropping. He'd need years at Hogwarts, studying and training, to grow into his potential.
So why was Grindelwald so convinced Leon was some once-in-a-century prodigy, ready to take down Voldemort right now?
And let's be real—Grindelwald, powerful enough to set Paris ablaze, could squash Voldemort like a bug without breaking a sweat.
Why drag a kid into this?
Was he taking a page out of Dumbledore's playbook?
Something was off. Way off.
There was a catch here, no doubt about it.
Even without a scam alert popping up, Leon could smell a new kind of con.
No way he was falling for it!
Leon shook his head frantically. "I'm not doing it!"
"Not right this second. It's a long-term plan. Take your time," Grindelwald said calmly, his tone gradually turning persuasive.
"But if you nod your head right now, you can bring Regulus's body back immediately."
Leon was speechless. A shady loan deal, huh?
All sweet talk, like they're handing out free Galleons, but then the interest hits you like a Bludger, and you're stuck repaying forever.
Besides, Grindelwald called it a trade, but the terms were totally lopsided.
Retrieving Regulus's body from the Inferi-filled lake? Leon couldn't do it now, but in a few years, with more skill, it'd be manageable.
For Grindelwald, it'd be a piece of cake—one Fiendfyre spell to wipe out the Inferi, a quick Summoning Charm, and done.
Compare that to taking down Voldemort. What kind of impossible task was that?
Leon didn't have the clout to curse out Grindelwald, so he chose his words carefully and refused again:
"No thanks. I promised Kreacher I'd bring Uncle Regulus home myself. It's my duty as a Black family heir."
Tch, talk about sounding noble.
Grindelwald, the old schemer, wasn't fazed.
But Kreacher, standing nearby, was moved to tears, his bulging frog-like eyes brimming.
"Oh, Master Leon… sob… If Mistress could hear you, she'd be so proud… sob sob…"
Grindelwald shot Leon a look, as if to say, Didn't expect you to scam even the house-elf.
Leon didn't flinch, puffing out his chest with righteous confidence.
But then Grindelwald dropped a bomb: "What if I teach you… that gas stove trick?"
"For real?!"
Leon blurted it out, his cool facade crumbling instantly.
Then his excited expression froze.
A pampered old wizard like Grindelwald, who'd probably never set foot in a Muggle kitchen, knowing the term gas stove? Yeah, right.
He must've plucked it straight from Leon's racing thoughts.
Sure enough, Grindelwald stroked his chin, clearly proud but playing it coy: "Interesting. Gas stove—you mean that time I nearly burned Paris down with my Fiendfyre shield?"
He sighed theatrically. "Got a bit carried away back then, went a tad overboard. Paris is so lovely, I'd hate to have actually burned it all. That'd be such a shame."
Leon stayed silent.
He was annoyed at himself for slipping up, forgetting to guard against Grindelwald's Legilimency.
He focused hard, emptying his mind and firing up his Occlumency.
With Leon quiet and Kreacher sniffling, there was no one to hype Grindelwald's ego. His grand moment fell flat, leaving him a bit miffed.
To cover his awkwardness and maintain his mystique, Grindelwald waved a hand dramatically.
The scene shifted.
"Aaaaaaah!"
"I'm forever blowing bubbles…"
"Roooaaar!"
"…floating up to the sky…"
A deafening roar filled Leon's ears, nearly knocking him over.
His head buzzed, Occlumency crashing.
The overwhelming noise sent his brain into a tailspin.
It took him a moment to process where he was, muttering dumbly, "Where's this?"
Kreacher, used to noise and familiar with London, answered helpfully: "Master Leon, this is Upton Park Stadium in Newham, East London."
Right. A green pitch, stands on all sides.
On the field, twenty players (minus the two keepers) chased a single ball.
In the stands, a mob in maroon jerseys howled and jumped like crazed baboons.
Football.
Full of energy. Very spirited.
The English First Division hadn't become the Premier League yet, so Leon wasn't sure if this was a First or Second Division match.
With his half-baked football knowledge, he could only tell from the home team's colors that this was the famous Hammers—West Ham United.
"…like my dreams, they fade and die… I'm forever blowing bubbles…"
The crowd's singing grew louder.
Leon glanced at the scoreboard: five minutes left, home team up by one.
No wonder the fans were so pumped, belting out songs and heating up the stadium.
Did Grindelwald think the Muggle world earlier wasn't lively enough, so he brought them to this chaotic spectacle?
Could he even follow it?
With a wizard's mindset, a ball game with just one ball that doesn't even fly probably seemed dumber than a bag of Hammers.
But when Leon turned, the old man was casually peering through brass opera glasses, clearly enjoying himself and even commenting:
"No worries, I'll step in."
?
Leon's mind filled with question marks.
Step in? Step into what?
Or… kick something?
Was this old guy planning to jump in and take a shot himself?
As Leon puzzled over this, he felt a tug on his sleeve.
He turned to see Kreacher pouting unhappily, big eyes glaring, one hand yanking Leon's shirt, the other pointing nearby.
Leon followed his gesture to a boy about his age—big eyes, dark skin, mouth agape, popcorn spilling all over his jersey.
"Hey, mate, watching the game?"
Leon flashed an awkward grin, trying to seem friendly and harmless.
He cursed his sharp eyes and quick brain, instantly reading the boy's shocked, terrified, confused expression.
This poor kid had just seen three people—and a house-elf who definitely didn't look human—pop out of nowhere into the seats next to him.
His worldview took a hit, his brain overheated, and his system crashed.
Leon wondered if the Muggle-Repelling Charm had failed.
If Kreacher went invisible now, could they salvage this kid's fragile mind?
But then it got worse—Grindelwald overheard Leon, turned, and saw the scene.
He raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, stretched out his arm, and pointed at the boy.
"NO!"
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