Chapter 151: Thestral Bookmark, Harry's Absence
Back in his dormitory, Leonardo was still thinking about the "magic of love".
The story that Voldemort had been defeated by Harry Potter was widespread.
The world praised Harry as the Boy Who Lived, the legend who had vanquished the Dark Lord.
But the truth was that Harry's mother, Lily Evans, had used her own life and her love for Harry to cast a protective charm.
That magic had shielded Harry and rebounded Voldemort's Killing Curse.
And because of that magic, Voldemort not only could not harm Harry, but suffered terrible backlash from even touching him.
Dumbledore's final words had been: "Love is the greatest magic in this world. It has wrought countless miracles and holds infinite possibility."
Leonardo believed it. Voldemort at the time had been at the height of his power. Aside from Dumbledore, almost no one could have stopped him.
But Lily had.
Not as a witch who defeated a feared Dark Lord, but as a mother who protected her child.
"Love" was probably something Voldemort would never understand.
Tom Riddle. His very birth had perhaps been a mistake, the child of a love potion. How could he know love?
Leonardo sat at his desk and pulled out a book.
He turned the pages slowly until he reached the one with the bookmark.
A black bookmark rested quietly between the pages, its feather sparse and elegant.
This was one of the bookmarks Hagrid had given him, made from a Thestral's tail hair.
Only those who had witnessed death could see Thestrals.
Leonardo ran his fingers over the Thestral bookmark. It felt cold.
"I suppose I can see Thestrals now."
…
The next morning, Leonardo sat in the Great Hall eating breakfast. There were few students about. Most were sleeping in.
With no more academic pressure and the holidays nearly upon them, this week was the happiest, most relaxed week of the year for the students.
But there were exceptions.
"Wood, we want to win the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor too."
"But Harry is not here. Without a Seeker, it is really hard," the Weasley twins said, one after the other, trying to ease Wood's agitation.
The exams were over, but the Quidditch finals were still ahead.
Wood had been drilling them relentlessly. This year, with Harry's arrival, Gryffindor had finally drawn within reach of a Cup they had not held in years.
And now Harry was ill, at the worst possible moment.
"No. We still have to give everything we have. Wring out every last drop…"
Leonardo sipped his red bean porridge and glanced toward the twins' table.
Oliver Wood was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.
According to Harry, Wood was fanatical about the sport. He would drag his players out at the crack of dawn to discuss tactics and run drills.
He was harsh on his teammates and on himself.
Seeing Wood's red‑rimmed eyes, Leonardo gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Poor man. He had finally got his genius Seeker, and the Cup was still going to slip through his fingers.
After some more discussion, Wood rose with his team, heading off to the pitch.
On the way out, Fred and George spotted Leonardo. They looked as if they wanted to say something, but in the end only waved and trudged out with their brooms, dejected.
"Good morning, Leonardo."
He had just lowered his head when he looked up again to find a black‑haired girl sitting across from him.
"Morning, Cho. Off to Quidditch practice?" he asked.
"Mm‑hm."
Just like during normal training, Cho had her hair tied back in a practical high ponytail. She had probably just finished early practice; there was still a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead.
"Leonardo, you seem more relaxed today," she said suddenly.
He was not surprised.
Over the year at Hogwarts, he had learned a great deal and paid off two heavy, time‑consuming annual loans. He really had eased up quite a bit.
He still had one loan left, Magical Pathway Weavecraft, which required him to raise Norbert into a dragon queen, but that had only just begun. He was still in the foundation‑laying stage.
"Perhaps it is because the exams are done. Debt‑free and light as air?" he offered.
Cho laughed behind her hand. "Ha, you make it sound like you took out a loan to go to school."
"By the way, you will be a second‑year next term. Want to try out for the Quidditch team?"
Quidditch.
Watching other people play seemed more interesting. How many times had Cho tried to sell him on the sport now?
She really did love it.
It reminded him a bit of the upperclasswomen at university in his past life, who had tried to get him to sign up for membership cards…
"Ah, I will see how it goes next term," he said. "Good luck in the match, though."
…
Leonardo visited Harry and Ron in the hospital wing.
Ron was already awake, enjoying his hospital meals.
Harry, though, was still unconscious. His soul had probably been affected during the contact with Voldemort.
As for whether Leonardo's use of Harry as a human projectile might have had something to do with it—well, Leonardo was quite confident in his preparations. He had even cast a Head Hardening Charm. The protections had been thorough.
During the days Harry lay unconscious, the Quidditch finals came and went.
Chasers and Beaters could be worked around if one was missing. Defence and offence might be weaker, but it was manageable.
But the Seeker was critical.
Catching the Golden Snitch was worth a hundred and fifty points. It could end a match in an instant.
Without a Seeker, the opposing Seeker could hunt in peace.
And so, in the match against Ravenclaw, Gryffindor lost by an embarrassing margin and missed out on the Cup once more.
That, however, was only a minor piece of news.
What had everyone's attention was the real story.
Professor Quirrell, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, had tried to steal a treasure from Hogwarts.
A Dark wizard had infiltrated the school.
"I told you. I observed Quirrell. Something was off about him."
"Oh, please. Which Defence lesson were you even awake for?"
"Our Defence Against the Dark Arts post really is cursed, is it not?"
"Who could argue? Since I got here, not one professor has lasted a full year."
Conversations like that were everywhere. Leonardo heard them several times a day.
The students' curiosity and love of gossip aside, Dumbledore was probably spreading the word on purpose.
Harry was only a first‑year, but Dumbledore had already started building his legend.
Not only did he need to cultivate Harry's own courage and confidence, but he also needed to reinforce his image as the saviour.
Suddenly, the sound of running footsteps broke Leonardo's thoughts.
Ron's voice followed. "Leonardo! Finally found you. Harry—Harry wants to see you."