"I don't get it!"
"How is that not a needle?!"
"It's metal, pointy at both ends. If that's not a needle, what is it?"
"Okay, fine, it's a *tad* big. Just a smidge, really."
"Alright, I'll admit it's not exactly practical."
"But Professor McGonagall is way too strict!"
"Can you believe she docked points from her *own* house? Just because my needle wasn't 'standard' enough?"
"Seriously, is that even fair? People who didn't even manage to transfigure anything didn't lose points, but I did it and *still* got docked!"
The first Transfiguration class for Gryffindor first-years had just ended, and as soon as they were out of Professor McGonagall's earshot, Leon let loose. Beside him, Colin scurried to keep up with Leon's long strides, his short legs working overtime. He hesitated, wondering if he should spill the truth.
"Er, Leon," Colin finally blurted, unable to hold back, "that thing you made? It's not a needle. It's more like an iron pole. Unless… there's a hundred-meter-tall giant out there who needs a needle that size."
Leon choked on his words. Truth cuts like a knife.
Colin wasn't done. "McGonagall only took points. That's her being *nice*. She just said anyone disrupting class won't be allowed back."
Leon protested, "Disrupting? Me? All I did was…"
Oh. Right. He'd conjured an iron pole that nearly tripped McGonagall in front of everyone. Okay, maybe that was a *bit* much.
Leon was annoyed. Before his late-night jaunt to the Chamber of Secrets, he hadn't anticipated that devouring the basilisk's soul would have such wild side effects. His magic was out of control, and it was all Grindelwald's fault! That human-wand-transformation project was moving too slowly. Leon needed to get involved himself.
At the very least, he had to speed up regaining control over his magic. Constantly overshooting his spells, with power spilling out like a burst dam—who could deal with that every day?
As they talked, the pair reached the third floor.
"Leon," Colin said, "I'm heading back to Gryffindor Tower to grab my camera from the dorm. You coming?"
Leon glanced toward the corridor leading to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Opening the Chamber's entrance was loud—too risky in broad daylight. Going back to the dorm? He'd just change out of his tattered robes, but that was it. The library? Hitting the books right after one class didn't exactly scream Gryffindor vibes. They had no more lessons until Herbology that afternoon. So where could he kill time?
Leon hadn't decided, so he followed Colin up to the eighth floor. Say what you will, but Leon had an eye for talent. Colin, his randomly chosen guide, was top-tier—SSR-level, no question. A Muggle-born first-year with zero prior exposure to magic, Colin had walked from the first floor to the eighth with the prefect just once on the first day. Yet in Hogwarts' sprawling, maze-like castle, with its hidden passages and moving staircases, he hadn't taken a single wrong turn. Secret doors? Handled. Tricky stairs? No problem. He navigated better than some upperclassmen. Was this kid secretly gifted or what?
At the eighth floor, Colin headed toward the Fat Lady's corridor. But Leon had a sudden idea. Divination class and Professor Trelawney's office were also on the eighth floor, in the North Tower. He needed to pay "Auntie Sybill" a visit for a little favor.
Muttering a Point-Me Charm to keep his wand pointing north, Leon set off. Maybe he'd wandered the eighth floor too much last night, because he found the Divination classroom in no time. The entrance was a circular trapdoor. A light knock, and it swung outward, revealing a ladder.
Leon climbed up. The classroom was a cozy blend of attic and old-school teahouse, dripping with hazy, mystical vibes—dim lighting, dreamy decorations, and a whiff of incense. It felt like home. The previous class had just ended, and Professor Sybill Trelawney was slowly collecting used teacups.
"Auntie Sybill! Miss me? I've missed you *so* much!" Leon bounded in like an overexcited owl, rushing to hug her. He snatched the teacups from her hands, cleaning up with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Trelawney wasn't fooled. She let him hug her and take over her chores, but she wasn't thrilled. She knew this was the start of seven years of chaos. Ever since becoming besties with Maeve, and realizing Maeve's son was a walking disaster, Trelawney had dreaded this day. The first time Leon pranked her, she'd argued with Maeve. By the tenth, she'd accepted her fate—Maeve had it worse. By the umpteenth time, it hit her: Leon was coming to Hogwarts. She'd nearly quit right then. If Dumbledore hadn't begged her to stay, praising her talent, and if the school hadn't clung to her like a barnacle, she'd be long gone.
"So, what do you need help with?" Trelawney asked as Leon finished tidying the classroom. Better to deal with it quickly before he stirred up more trouble.
"No big deal," Leon said. "I just need to borrow your fireplace to contact Mum."
Trelawney eyed him skeptically. *That* simple? She didn't buy it. Leon flashed an innocent grin. Really, it was that simple.
Meanwhile, in a small town in County Kerry, Ireland, Maeve Green was basking in the joy of living alone. No chaotic, trouble-making son. No squawking bird louder than a thousand ducks. She'd slept in, had a leisurely breakfast, and was prepping to bake homemade biscuits—perfect for snacking or gifting clients. Humming, she flicked her wand.
*Poof!* The fireplace flared green, and a very familiar head popped out.
"Leon?"
"Hey! Morning, beautiful lady!" Leon chirped in his bubbliest tone. "Miss me? Wait, what's that smell?" He sniffed eagerly. "Are you baking biscuits? Mum, save me some!"
Maeve's good mood evaporated. "Alright, spill it. Did you mess up and need rescuing, or are you planning to cause trouble and need backup?"
Leon's bright smile froze. "What? I'm a good boy, okay!"
"Heh."
"…"
Fine, Mum was grumpy in the morning. Leon would let it slide. He got to the point. "I need a magical printing press, pronto. Plus a ton of paper, ink, and all the stuff for making a newspaper or magazine. The works."
Maeve jotted it down, raising an eyebrow. "What's this for? Starting a *Mischief Daily* to rival the *Daily Prophet*?"
Leon blinked. *Mischief Daily*? What kind of ridiculous name was that? It sounded like a tabloid for pranksters!
But, well, she wasn't entirely wrong. "I'm planning to start a little business with some classmates," he said. "You know, earn some pocket money."