"Catch you later! Eat my broom's dust!"
Soaring through the air on a rickety broom, Leon taunted the eight-eyed giant spiders scuttling below. No matter how many millennia they evolved, those creepy crawlies weren't catching him up here.
On the ground, the flying car—now without a target for its revenge—couldn't see the two boys fading into the distance or hear Leon's jeers. In a fit of rage, the battered old car barreled through the spider swarm, flipping over several unsteady arachnids with a series of satisfying clangs as its front bumper collided with their legs.
Leon whooped and hollered, egging it on. "Yes! Like that! Smash 'em! Awesome! Take that one out too! Wooo! Epic! Thrilling!"
The guy, who'd been grumbling about how brooms were a pain in the backside, was side-saddling his, waving his fist like he was at a Quidditch match, not fleeing for his life. His antics made the already overburdened broom wobble dangerously.
In that moment, Harry felt a deep kinship with Mrs. Weasley. This kid is a nightmare to manage!
"Stop squirming, Leon! We're gonna crash!" Harry shouted, wrestling with the broom's handle to keep it from plummeting. Their legs stung as they grazed the treetops.
Leon wasn't exactly a broom expert. The Comet 180 he'd grabbed from the school's broom shed was practically as old as Voldemort himself and was now pushing its limits. But Leon had a plan.
"No worries, Harry! I'll give this broom a boost!"
He might not know flying brooms, but he knew magic. Gripping the broomstick with his right hand, he cast a braking charm usually reserved for top-tier racing brooms. The Comet 180 jolted forward like it had been stung, shooting off with a whoosh.
Talk about a kick! That top-tier charm delivered.
"AAAAAAH!"
The two boys rocketed toward Hagrid's hut like a cannonball. Harry yanked the broom handle, desperately steering to avoid smashing into the walls.
At this speed, even a wizard's durability wouldn't save them from a two-hour knockout if they hit. Leon, sensing the broom was about to fall apart, decided it was now or never.
He tucked his parrot, Tom, under one arm and Harry under the other. With a light hop, he cast a cushioning charm mid-air, and the trio landed smoothly on the ground. The runaway Comet 180, free of its riders, veered sharply, skimming Hagrid's hut before plowing straight into a massive pumpkin in the back garden.
Hagrid, hearing the commotion, burst out of his hut. "???"
Harry, just freed from Leon's armpit, stared in silence. "…"
Leon, completely unfazed, grinned. "Hey, Hagrid! It's me, Leon! Remember me? Harry and I dropped by for a visit! Oh, that broom? No idea—must've been the wind. Haha, that pumpkin looks tasty. Let's stew it up!"
Without missing a beat, Leon took charge of dinner plans. Minutes later, he'd volunteered as head chef, setting Hagrid's massive cauldron over a fire and whipping up a fragrant pot of pumpkin, potato, and beef stew.
Harry, assigned sous-chef duties, was sent to the garden to grab lettuce and spring onions. Hagrid tagged along.
Earlier, when Leon claimed the broom had been "blown in by the wind," Harry couldn't exactly call him out for their reckless Forbidden Forest adventure. Now, seeing Hagrid looking like he had something to say, Harry braced himself, thinking he was about to get grilled. He jumped in first, "Hagrid, we really just came for dinner. The broom thing? No clue."
"It's not about that," Hagrid said, looking troubled.
His wild hair and beard, softened by Lockhart's new haircare product, made his expression easier to read. Harry had never seen Hagrid so conflicted.
"Then what's up?" Harry asked.
Hagrid glanced at him, his eyes heavy with something unspoken, then looked over at the giant motorcycle parked behind the hut. "Harry, remember last weekend when you, Ron, and Hermione came by? What did I tell you?"
It had only been three days, so Harry remembered clearly. That day, Hagrid had acted strange, asking tons of detailed questions about Leon. When he learned Leon was a "half-blood" with only a Seer mother at home, Hagrid went quiet for a long time before warning them to steer clear of him.
It came out of nowhere. Hermione pressed him for answers, but Hagrid only mumbled that Leon was Irish, and Ireland was a messy place full of dark wizards. He was worried Harry and his friends might be led astray.
Back in the dorms, the trio agreed Hagrid was being narrow-minded, stereotyping Leon. They completely overlooked that their classmate Seamus Finnigan was also Irish, yet Hagrid hadn't warned them about him.
Truth was, everyone loved hanging out with Leon. He was full of wild ideas, always up for fun and jokes, and being around him made you feel relaxed, like no problem was too big, no trouble unsolvable.
For Harry, there was another, private reason. Leon's fierce refusal to be sorted into Slytherin, forcing the Sorting Hat to place him in Gryffindor, had untangled a knot in Harry's heart. It made him like Leon even more.
Hagrid's warning was easy to brush off. Harry didn't want to argue—he considered both Hagrid and Leon good friends. So he just said, "Don't judge people by old ideas, Hagrid. Leon's a good guy. You'll see that in time."
With that, Harry headed inside to help with dinner.
Hagrid paced restlessly in the backyard, fighting the urge to kick the giant motorcycle. Unlike Snape, who was driven by pure hatred, Hagrid's perspective was different. If it weren't for the whole Voldemort mess, he'd view the Marauders—Black and Potter, the school's former troublemaking legends—like he did the Weasley twins.
But life was cruel, and fate was twisted. How could Hagrid stand by and watch Harry befriend the son of his parents' betrayer? Even if, rationally, he knew Leon was clueless and innocent, and the true culprit was rotting in Azkaban, paying for his sins, emotions weren't so logical. How could Hagrid not feel some resentment over such a deep betrayal?
Yet he couldn't tell Harry the full truth. It wasn't his place, at least not in his mind. The one who should tell Harry—some white-bearded old riddle-master—kept everything cloaked in mystery. Others who knew the truth didn't care enough to speak up. Why would they?
At Hogwarts, aside from Sybill Trelawney, who genuinely hadn't known Sirius Black and was clueless about the situation, every other staff member had likely guessed Leon's identity the moment they saw his face at the Sorting Ceremony.
Yes, even Lockhart. Back in his school days, the Marauders' fame was legendary. Lockhart had even tried mimicking Black's swagger and charm but gave up when he couldn't pull it off.
But a known secret wasn't the same as an open one. Reality was harsh. In a place full of clever people, the first to spill the truth always had an agenda. Silence could be a matter of principle—or just cold indifference.
Like the reasons behind Voldemort's rise, the wizarding world had too many who stood by and watched. Dumbledore needed them to run the school. Voldemort spared them when he took power. Black's betrayal didn't affect them personally.
Harry Potter, orphaned and pitiable, befriending his enemy's son? Dramatic, sure. But so what?
Was Hogwarts some cozy, harmonious haven? Hardly. A place that could slap the "Savior" with a dark wizard label based on flimsy "witnessed" evidence wasn't exactly brimming with pure-hearted souls.
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