Staring at the glowing arm covered in magical runes, Leon's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
He'd never seen such dazzling special effects in real life.
It had the sleek, cyber-gangster vibe mixed with the enigmatic allure of magic.
One look, and you knew it held immense power.
Grindelwald: "A wand. This is the wand I use now."
A wand.
A wizard's tool for channeling and conducting magic.
Crafted from special wood for the body, infused with a magical core from a magical creature, and handcrafted by a wandmaker.
That was the wizarding common sense Leon knew up until this moment.
But now, for the first time, he learned a wizard's arm could be turned into a wand.
Big shots were on another level—insane power, wild ideas, and the guts to pull them off.
A century-old legend, living up to the hype!
Leon was completely entranced, clutching Grindelwald's arm and refusing to let go.
He studied every inch, marveling at the magical runes hidden beneath the skin, gasping in awe.
"Wow! Using an arm instead of a wand shaft, with runes carved into the flesh via magic!"
"Wow! Brilliant design! No visible traces on the surface—only shows under powerful light spells!"
"Wow! This craftsmanship! Wow! This quality!"
Leon somehow produced a scalpel, ready to dissect and study it on the spot.
"Is the core the radius or the ulna? Dual cores—doesn't that risk backfiring? The magic flows out through the fingers—do the hand bones act as cores too? How do the wrist bones connect? What about magic loss and flow efficiency?"
He was starting to sound like a mad scientist.
Grindelwald felt a chill on his arm and swiftly pulled it back, stepping away from Leon.
"I miscalculated. Stealing a wand would've been the better plan."
With that, he turned to leave.
Leon lunged, grabbing Grindelwald's leg, yelling, "Kreacher!"
The loyal house-elf burst through the door, instantly reading his master's look and fearlessly latching onto Grindelwald's other leg.
"Coach, I want this! No wands! No wooden sticks! I want this!"
Leon's eyes gleamed with manic excitement.
What a genius idea!
Brilliant—crisper than a Wonder Wand, worthy of a shrine!
Who said a magic-conducting stick had to be wood?
Why not flesh and bone?!
Wand cores came from magical creatures with magical properties.
So why not from a magical wizard?!
The possibilities were endless!
If an arm could be a wand, why not a leg?
By that logic, could the torso work? Or even… you-know-what?
Untrained wizards could cast wandless magic—so a fully modified wizard would be…
A walking, human-shaped wand!
Leon's passion for body modification was ablaze.
For some reason, two images flashed through his mind:
Grindelwald, holding a knife, muttering as he carved runes into Leon's back while he grimaced in pain.
Leon sitting in a cauldron over a fire, stewing in bubbling green potion—cooking himself.
Wait, wasn't that the dream he had when Grindelwald first nabbed him?
Why did it feel like a preview of what was coming?
Was this dream homegrown in his head, or did Grindelwald smuggle it in?
…
Days later, in Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England.
A typical Muggle village.
Not so typical were the wizarding families living on its outskirts, near the hills, and beyond.
The redheaded Weasley clan lived closest to the Muggle village, on the southern edge.
Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of The Quibbler, lived on an unnamed hill.
The Diggorys and Fawcetts lived farther out.
A pesky drizzle wove a curtain of rain across the landscape.
Through the misty haze, three figures approached—one tall, two short.
"I hate rainy days," Leon grumbled, his right arm bandaged, frowning at the muddy path.
His shoes were charmed to repel mud, but seeing Grindelwald's pristine, dry ground made him feel outclassed.
Kreacher shuffled behind, holding up a slender finger to maintain a magical shield over Leon's head.
Hearing his complaint, Kreacher's big head drooped. "It's all Kreacher's fault! Useless Kreacher! Bad Kreacher!"
He moved to bash his head on the ground.
Leon, used to this, cut in sharply. "I order you not to punish yourself over this!"
Grindelwald ignored them, pausing to compare a photo with a nearby building.
"English taste is absolutely dreadful," he sneered, eyeing a crooked, red-roofed house half-hidden by hedges.
Leon's sharp eyes caught the lopsided sign by the door: The Burrow.
In the yard, four redheaded kids darted about.
Leon recognized the Weasley home.
He tiptoed to glance at Grindelwald's photo.
It showed an even odder house—like a stubby, rounded wizard's tower, painted black, with a moon hanging behind it.
What was this old man after?
What was he up to?
Halfway in the grave and still causing trouble!
Leon trailed Grindelwald as he moved on, his gaze lingering on the four redheaded kids until trees blocked them from view.
After more walking and climbing a hill, they found the house from the photo.
In person, it was even stranger.
A cylindrical building, eerie moonlit vibes, and a lush garden.
The door, with a bronze eagle knocker, had three signs:
Editor of The Quibbler, Xenophilius Lovegood.
Pick Your Own Mistletoe.
Do Not Touch the Dirigible Plums!
Luna Lovegood's name popped into Leon's head.
"We should be in time," Grindelwald said, peering through a brass telescope for a minute before continuing.
"Today, a magical accident will happen here. The lady of the house will die."
He locked eyes with Leon. "If you save her, I'll let you contact Ms. Maeve to let her know you're safe."
"Really?" Leon's face lit up.
"I keep my word," Grindelwald nodded.
Leon eyed the quirky Lovegood house, gritted his teeth, and stomped forward. "Let's do this!"
With a dramatic flair, he charged toward the "battlefield."
The Lovegood's wall wasn't high. Leon sprinted, used the wall for leverage, and vaulted over cleanly.
He moved so fast that Grindelwald didn't get a chance to add any instructions before he vanished from sight.
Grindelwald felt a twinge of unease—but not too much.
The Anti-Apparition Charm was active, and Leon's small frame couldn't manage Apparition on his own. Kreacher, who could help him escape, was still by his side.
The Lovegood's wall was enclosed, so he shouldn't—
Wait! The indoor fireplace!
Grindelwald spotted the loophole and moved to fix it, but a sudden blaze erupted in the yard.
Ghostly blue Fiendfyre spread like wildfire, consuming the garden in seconds.
Rain hit the flames, vaporizing into a weird, pale blue mist.
Paired with the already eerie moonlight, it was straight out of a horror movie.
Bang! A second-floor window flew open.
A blonde mother and daughter peered out, panic-stricken, before the flames forced them back.
Grindelwald's usual calm cracked.
That little brat had caused a ruckus at a Muggle stadium just days ago, and now he was setting a mountain ablaze!
If he didn't act fast, this would spiral out of control.
Before he could move, the flames surged, pouring through the open window.
BOOM!
In a thunderous explosion, the house shot skyward.