"Gryffindor!"
Leon's fate was finally sealed.
The Great Hall let out a collective sigh of relief as the Sorting Hat's decision echoed. But almost immediately, tension crept back in.
Merlin's beard, a kid bold enough to sway the Sorting Hat itself had gotten their wish to join Gryffindor. Was this a blessing for Gryffindor? Or a curse?
Professor McGonagall, Gryffindor's current Head of House, admitted it was too early to tell whether this was fortune or disaster. But honestly, she was seeing double darkness before her eyes, half-hoping it was all a bad dream.
Memories—unpleasant ones—came rushing back from dusty corners of her mind. That face, that attitude… Oh, Dumbledore, my head's killing me!
Over at the Slytherin table, Professor Snape's face was as dark as Neville's cauldron bottom, his brows furrowed enough to squash two Harrys flat.
Dumbledore himself sat expressionless, though his blue eyes flickered behind his spectacles, betraying some hidden thoughts.
Professor Trelawney, meanwhile, was practically rolling her eyes out of their sockets, downing elderflower wine like there was no tomorrow. She knew trouble was brewing, so why not get sloshed now?
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were torn—relieved this chaotic wildcard hadn't landed in their houses, yet a bit miffed, as usual, at being overlooked by the latest campus sensation.
Slytherin, true to form, embodied pure tsundere energy. Who's this upstart rejecting our house? What a fool, choosing that reckless Gryffindor lot! A high elf slumming it with barbarians? They've lost their mind!
But the Gryffindors—the carefree little lions—were thrilled to welcome a new master of mischief into their ranks. They erupted into cheers, clapping and standing to greet their newest member.
"Welcome to Gryffindor!"
"Thanks! Thanks! Big love to my new family for the warm welcome!" Leon soaked up the applause with zero humility, giving an exaggerated bow. Standing tall, he raised his right hand with a flourish and declared, "Tonight, Gryffindor's drinks are on me!"
Snap! A Gellert Grindelwald-style finger click.
Whoosh! Though it wasn't mealtime yet, the empty tables suddenly brimmed with rows of drinks—butterbeer, eggnog, fruit wine, champagne, sherry, redcurrant rum… the works. All low-alcohol, of course. Leon wasn't about to get the whole house plastered on the first day of term. McGonagall would have him strung up by his robes!
"Wooo!"
"Leon, you legend!"
"No one's sleeping sober tonight!"
"Chug, chug, chug!"
The Gryffindors went wild, banging tables, stomping feet, and howling with glee. The Weasley twins even climbed onto the table, barely restrained from launching into the ceiling.
McGonagall was convinced this was the darkest moment of her life. Nothing could be worse than trying to maintain the illusion that her house was full of normal kids, only for them to reveal themselves as a pack of rowdy baboons the second she turned her back.
She was too drained to even think about disciplining Leon. Right now, she just wanted to throttle her younger self for not choosing Ravenclaw—lovely, sensible Ravenclaw—when the Sorting Hat gave her the option. Why, oh why, had she picked this baboon den called Gryffindor?
"Silence!"
Dumbledore, sensing his deputy's spirit crumbling, stepped in to clean up the mess. "I know you're all excited, but hold your wands. The Sorting Ceremony isn't over yet. Settle down, please."
Dumbledore's voice worked like a charm. The Gryffindors quieted instantly. With a calm smile, he nodded to McGonagall. "Professor, please continue."
The Sorting resumed, but the remaining first-years barely registered. Leon had stolen the show. It was clear he'd dominate Hogwarts' gossip for the next week—probably topping the trending list with a big, bold "HOT" next to his name.
Soon, the lackluster Sorting wrapped up, with all the new students assigned to their houses. Ginny Weasley hurried to the Gryffindor table, plopping down next to Leon and jumping straight into Hermione's ongoing rant.
"It's not about whether you're Muggle-born or not," Hermione was saying. "The problem is you can't just make up stories!"
"Exactly!" Ginny chimed in. "Boy, girl, whatever—you can't go around tricking people!"
Leon raised both hands in mock surrender. "Ladies, ladies! Let's not dwell on past nonsense." With a quick flick of his robes, he produced two pink, fluffy, round, adorably irresistible Pygmy Puffs—one in each hand.
"Cute, right? These are Pygmy Puffs, gifts for—"
His words were cut off by ear-piercing squeals.
"Oh my gosh, so cute!"
"Fluffy! Pink! Adorable little furballs!"
Hermione and Ginny were instantly smitten, snuggling the Pygmy Puffs against their cheeks. The little creatures squeaked and rolled in their hands, somehow making them even more endearing.
No girl could resist such criminally cute fluffballs. A gaggle of Gryffindor girls quickly crowded around, cooing over the Pygmy Puffs' tiny hops, their eyes practically sprouting hearts.
"Phew, crisis averted," Leon muttered, wiping his (surprisingly dry) brow. Easy peasy.
His seat now overrun with girls, he slid over to sit between Harry and Ron. As Dumbledore's brief pre-dinner speech ended and the tables filled with food, Leon grabbed two steaks and a lamb chop, leaning in to whisper, "Harry, Ron, you didn't spill the beans, right?"
"Nope," Harry said, swallowing a mouthful of soup. Glancing around to ensure no one was listening, he added, "We stuck to the story: me and Ron were playing in your pet crate and lost track of time."
He glanced at Hermione, still fawning over her Pygmy Puff. "But I don't think she totally buys it."
"Fred and George are fine," Ron added, clutching a chicken leg in one hand and a drink in the other. "They're more curious about that Undetectable Extension Charm on your crate than anything else."
"Hmm," Ron continued, chewing and sipping. "You'd better actually have a crate like that. I bet they'll come sniffing around."
Leon nodded. So far, aside from the missing car, everything seemed under control. And the car issue? Easy fix.
Finishing his plate, Leon shifted again, squeezing in between Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. "Hey, Dean! Remember me?"
Dean, with his round eyes and deep skin, looked Leon over and gasped. "You! That weird kid from Upton two years ago!"
Dean was buzzing with excitement. "Mate, you got me in so much trouble! I was stuck at the police station giving statements forever."
Leon grinned. "But you got an early sneak peek at magic, didn't you?"
"True," Dean admitted. "When I got my Hogwarts letter the next year, I was like, 'I knew it! Magic's real!' My family finally believed I wasn't hallucinating."
The two dove into a lively chat about West Ham United. Dean was a diehard Hammers fan, and Leon knew enough to pass as one—not hard, considering West Ham had been a test subject for Grindelwald's schemes. That season, they should've been promoted, but Grindelwald (with a little help from Leon) kept them stuck in the second division. That chaotic draw in Upton? The match that sealed West Ham's fate.