Leon didn't need Lucius to spell it out—his face said it all.
Well, damn, old Dumbledore's got a ruthless streak.
The school governors? Reduced to a bunch of figureheads who just rake in Galleons without any real power or perks. Talk about a demotion.
Even so, Leon wasn't about to give up on worming his way into the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Galleons? He had more than he could count. His plan was to swoop in the moment Lucius Malfoy's seat opened up, seamlessly taking his place.
Sure, the governors' authority had been gutted to almost nothing. They couldn't meddle in admissions, management, or the school's teaching philosophy anymore. But the gig still had its perks.
Top of the list? Governors and their families were untouchable—no risk of expulsion. Leon figured that was the ultimate safety net. The last thing he wanted was to end up like old Gellert, kicked out of school before finishing his education.
Then there was the access to Hogwarts' top graduates. Governors got insider info, letting them recruit the best talent before anyone else. And let's not forget the social clout. It might not come up every day, but when it mattered, that kind of influence was priceless.
Leon kept his chat with Lucius brief. They hashed out a preliminary deal to buy up Malfoy's stash of banned items—price to be negotiated later, of course. Then, with a sly grin, Leon nudged Lucius to spread the word among the other governors about "Mr. Green's" generosity. Gotta make a good impression, right? It'd smooth the way for snagging a governor spot down the line.
Lucius agreed without hesitation, completely oblivious that Leon had his eyes on the very seat he was sitting in.
After the funeral, Leon didn't head back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. That place was too remote, and the lighting? Awful. Okay, maybe complaining about lighting in London was a bit rich, but the Black family's old house had a gloom that went beyond bad windows. Too many witches and wizards had died there, leaving a Leoning stench of death that no amount of Scourgify could scrub out.
Instead, Leon crashed at a London apartment building he'd bought. The whole building was his—top floor for himself, the rest rented out. The money for it? Let's just say it wasn't earned the old-fashioned way. It came straight from Queen Vicky's vaults. After all, the royal family had spent centuries looting the world and offing anyone in their way. Leon helping himself to a bit of their ill-gotten gains? No harm, no foul. The royals had been robbed so many times they couldn't even cobble together a full set of crown jewels anymore. Tough luck. If they couldn't handle it, maybe it was time to ditch the whole monarchy shtick. It's 1991, for Merlin's sake—feudal empires in a developed country? What a joke.
The next day, Leon popped into a Muggle hospital to get a stack of X-rays of his arm. Still feeling paranoid, he poked around about 3D printing tech—new on the market, rough around the edges, but he managed to get his hands on a crude model anyway. With that sorted, he canceled his leave and headed back to Hogwarts.
Leon returned a day later than Draco Malfoy. No clue what Lucius told his son, but surprisingly, Draco didn't blab Leon's true identity. Just called him a "relative" who'd also taken leave for the funeral. When they crossed paths, Draco's usual hostility was dialed down a notch. Whatever. Leon wasn't about to waste brain cells decoding a Malfoy's thought process—trying to understand them was a one-way ticket to insanity.
Back at Hogwarts, Leon's mates wasted no time filling him in on the chaos he'd missed over the past three days. Peeves and Filch had gone to war. In just three days, the poltergeist and the caretaker had clashed in what felt like eight hundred rounds, each one more ridiculous than the last. Filch's office nearly got blown to bits by Peeves, and in retaliation, Filch ratted him out to Dumbledore. Rumor had it he was planning to take his complaints to the school's ghosts next.
Then there was Filch's scrawny cat, Mrs. Norris, who'd picked a fight with Ron's pet rat, Scabbers. Ron didn't dare let Scabbers out of Gryffindor Tower anymore, but the rat kept gnawing through his cage and escaping. It was like Scabbers was taunting Mrs. Norris, prancing around the castle just to provoke her. Whenever they crossed paths, Scabbers bolted, and Mrs. Norris chased like her life depended on it. The already skeletal cat was wasting away to skin and bones, while Scabbers—fueled by potions and all that exercise—was thriving. Eating more, looking healthier, practically bursting with energy. The rat looked like it could live another five hundred years.
Ron griped about Filch's "crazy cat" and worried about Scabbers' safety, but deep down, he was chuffed. Scabbers was holding his own against the most hated cat in Hogwarts, giving Ron some serious bragging rights.
Leon listened to his friends' tales with relish, but his mind was elsewhere. The "special sauce" he'd slipped to the cat and rat—ultra-concentrated wormwood extract with hallucinogenic properties—was working a bit too well. Just a few days, and things were already spiraling. Time to kick the "Chamber of Secrets" plan into high gear. Why wait for Halloween, the destined disaster day? Not his style.
That night, Leon slipped into the Chamber of Secrets. The Basilisk—Pippi, as he called it—was unusually calm, coiled up in a heap, either sleeping or zoned out. Leon climbed onto the massive serpent's body, patted its giant head, and whispered, "Peeves, I know you can hear me. You can understand, too, even if you can't think or speak clearly right now. What I'm about to say is a matter of life and death, so I trust you'll make the right call.
"You must've sensed it, haven't you? Hogwarts has a new Peeves. This new poltergeist is brimming with energy, while you, old Peeves, haven't pulled a prank or caused a ruckus in over two weeks. From what I've figured out, a Peeves that doesn't stir up trouble is like a human who stops eating—it's a slow march to death. And the new Peeves? It's speeding up the process. You know how this ends if things keep going… and I'm guessing you don't want to fade away like that."
Leon paused, watching as Pippi shook its massive head. He continued, "Good. You don't want to die. So let's make a deal. I'll take care of the new Peeves and set you free. In return, you keep quiet about everything you've seen these past few days and do me one small favor. Nod if you're in."
In Leon's pale eyes, the Basilisk's glowing green head reflected back, nodding slowly but firmly.
…
Catching the new Peeves was quick work, though most of the time went into tracking it down. By the time Leon returned to the Chamber, the sky outside was starting to lighten. He had to hurry—double Potions was in a few hours, and if he skipped it, Snape would probably deduct every last Gryffindor point.
Leon opened the Nameless Book, meticulously following its magical ritual step by step, leaving no room for error. This was a trial run for his own bone-replacement plan—and a wildly ambitious one at that. The swap? Old Peeves, trapped in the Basilisk's body for over two weeks, and the freshly captured new Peeves. A complex magical array drawn without pause, obscure runes painted in rare beast blood, and an unprecedented swap target.
Leon placed a massive green magical gem in the slot meant for the energy source. He stood, stepped back, and took a deep breath. Mentally, he ran through every step one last time, confirming it was perfect. Then he raised his hand and unleashed a surge of raw magical power.
Buzz—
Green light flooded the Chamber, blinding and all-consuming. The magical array trembled violently, runes cracking with faint lines, but the green glow didn't falter. Tears streamed from Leon's eyes under the intense light, but he refused to blink, staring maniacally at the array, pouring in more magic without pause.
…
Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's office on the eighth floor of Hogwarts, Dumbledore jolted awake from a dream. He sat up, his expression grave, sensing the flow of magic through the castle. Deep beneath, an immense magical surge—strong enough to make his heart race—erupted from somewhere underground.
The Chamber?
His eyes blazed like twin blue flames, piercing through the window to the dawn-lit sky.
"It's been opened again…"