"Do you believe in the light?"
At lunchtime, the Great Hall on Hogwarts' first floor was packed with hungry young witches and wizards.
At the Gryffindor table, Leon was tucked away in a corner, putting on a brooding act.
No matter who came by to check on him, he'd hit them with that cryptic line.
When Harry, Ron, and Hermione came looking for him, they were utterly baffled.
Make that three baffled heads.
"Don't mind him. He got rattled in Charms class," Ginny explained from the side.
She launched into a detailed recap of what went down in the lesson.
"…So, yeah, that's what happened. Professor Flitwick didn't say much or criticize Leon. In fact, he said Leon's got a rare talent and way more magical power than most kids his age. He just needs to work on controlling it better with practice."
"No wonder," Ron said, glancing at the other students eating.
"I was wondering why I saw a bunch of first-years stumbling around with their eyes closed, groping at everything. Thought it was some weird new trend I didn't get…"
Sure enough, as Ron pointed out, the Gryffindor first-years—minus Leon and Ginny—had temporarily turned into little blind ducklings.
They'd waddled into the Great Hall in a tight line, clinging to each other, moving at a snail's pace.
At the table, they were fumbling around blindly.
Colin managed to dunk both elbows into a soup bowl, soaking his sleeves.
Leon's blond roommate somehow shoved a chip up his nose, coated in mustard sauce no less, which sent him into a sneezing fit, tears and snot streaming down his face until he was practically gasping for air.
Another round-faced roommate with natural eyeliner mistook Neville's Remembrall for an apple, chomped down, and promptly chipped a baby tooth.
The area around the first-years was a warzone—no one dared sit nearby.
The group snickered at the chaos, but Hermione, ever serious, turned to Leon.
"Don't beat yourself up. It wasn't on purpose. Just practice more, and if you're not sure how, come find me this weekend. I'll help you make a training plan."
Hermione, always ready to lend a hand, clearly saw Leon as another Neville-type, struggling with studies.
Leon dropped the brooding act. "That's nice, but I don't want to cut into your downtime."
Hermione tossed her head confidently.
"I've already finished this week's homework. I was planning to dive into a massive book this weekend. Sparing half an hour to help you with a plan is no trouble at all."
Leon was about to thank her when Ginny cut in.
"This weekend, we're kicking off club promotions. You're the editor of our monthly newsletter, so you've got to pitch in, too."
The mention of their shared project snapped Hermione into work mode.
"Flyers and posters alone are too basic. We should whip up some badges before the weekend launch. Not a ton, just enough for everyone to wear during the promo—it'll look super professional…"
The two girls leaned in, deep in planning, completely forgetting Leon.
Leon: "…"
So much for his dramatic brooding.
"Hey, don't worry, mate. We've all got your back," Harry said, clapping a hand on Leon's shoulder.
Aw, brothers are the best. So touching!
…
The rest of the day passed quietly.
Herbology class in the afternoon was a bit hectic.
Leon had to help the still-blind Gryffindor first-years loosen soil for seedlings.
The only excitement came at dinner when Lockhart showed up in the Great Hall, causing a stir.
It had only been a day since Snape had given him a proper thrashing, but it felt like ages ago.
No one expected Lockhart to bounce back so fast.
Last night, the whole school had watched Snape knock out at least half of Lockhart's dazzling white teeth.
His face had been swollen like a pig's head, but that was just cosmetic—nothing a few healing charms couldn't fix.
With Madam Pomfrey's skills, Lockhart probably didn't even need to stay in the hospital wing.
But how had he regrown all those teeth overnight?
Leon suspected he'd chugged some Skele-Gro.
Funny—Lockhart was supposed to make Harry drink that nasty stuff, but now he'd beaten him to it.
Lockhart looked decent enough: same handsome face, sleek hair, flashy clothes.
But something was off. It was like someone had slapped a gray filter over him.
Gone was his usual radiant glow.
Maybe it was because he wasn't flashing his sparkling teeth anymore—his face lacked its usual "lighting."
When Lockhart entered the Great Hall, he didn't strut in with his typical cocky swagger.
Instead, he moved cautiously, almost tiptoeing.
He crept toward the staff table, where the professors sat.
When he spotted Snape calmly slicing his steak, Lockhart visibly flinched and quickly looked away.
No way was he sitting in his usual spot next to Snape.
After weighing his options among the professors, he plopped down next to Hagrid.
Probably figured Hagrid's massive frame offered some serious protection vibes.
Leon noticed Lockhart and Hagrid actually hitting it off pretty well.
So, Lockhart could hold a normal conversation.
All that showing off and putting others down? Totally intentional.
Good to know Lockhart was fine—meant their shampoo deal could keep going.
No way Leon was passing up a chance to make some galleons.
After dinner, everyone headed back to the Gryffindor Tower.
On the second floor, Leon, Ginny, and Colin ran into Filch's scrawny cat, Mrs. Norris.
Cats are usually adorable—those big, baby-like faces humans can't resist.
Even Professor McGonagall's Animagus form, a cat, is all grace and elegance.
But Mrs. Norris? She's the exception.
Skinny as a rake, dull fur, bulging eyes glinting with neurotic hostility.
She and her owner, Filch, were dedicated to a lifelong mission of making students' lives miserable.
Day and night, they patrolled the castle, always on the hunt for rule-breakers, like they had a quota to meet.
Ginny and Colin had heard the warnings from older students and were ready to steer clear.
Even if they weren't breaking any rules, no one wanted to see Filch's spiteful mug two minutes later.
But Leon had other ideas.
He crouched down in front of Mrs. Norris and, quick as a flash, pulled a handful of premium cat food from his ring.
"Hey, kitty, want some tasty treats?"
Mrs. Norris bristled, arching her back, claws out, eyes locked on Leon with a low, threatening growl rumbling in her throat.
"Leon, don't feed her!" Ginny warned. "Fred says Mrs. Norris is Filch's pride and joy. If something happens to her, he'll come after you!"
"Alright, alright, no feeding. Just messing around," Leon said casually.
He stashed the cat food and pulled out a pinch of catnip instead.
This time, Mrs. Norris didn't go full feral.
Her nose twitched, sniffing the air, her eyes flickering with curiosity.
Just as she started inching toward Leon—
"Hey! Kid! What're you doing? Get away from my cat!"
Filch's wheezing voice and frantic footsteps echoed from behind.
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