What lies within Hogwarts' Restricted Section?
Quite a lot, actually. Beyond the harmless "white lotus" books you'd expect to pass any age rating—titles like Potions for the Powerful and Seal Your Mind—there were tomes that were pitch-black from the first glance, books so sinister you didn't even need to open them to feel their malice.
Infernal Fiends of the Thirteenth Century, Erasing the Enemy's Soul, Dark Rituals—even their titles gave off something deeply wrong, and their contents were even more disturbing.
Some books looked innocuous but hid monstrous knowledge. The Little People in a Bottle, for instance, described in detail how to use countless living human lives to create those so-called "bottle people."
There were also volumes so profound they bordered on incomprehensible, like The Paracelsus Manuscripts, a detailed record of alchemy and potion-making that described a connection between the two through magical flow patterns.
Yet after searching through the shelves, Leonard still couldn't find the infamous Secrets of the Darkest Art—the book said to detail the creation of Horcruxes.
It seemed Dumbledore had taken it. Leonard guessed the old wizard must have found clues indicating that Voldemort had already created Horcruxes, and removed the book to prevent others from following the same path.
Leonard felt a twinge of disappointment. The kind of magic that resembled a lich's "soul vessel" fascinated him. Killing someone didn't bother him in the slightest, and if it could buy him another chance at life, the act would hardly feel like a waste.
It seemed Dumbledore was trying to protect the world from people like him—people unbothered by such madness.
Every book in the Restricted Section was chained to the shelves, each spine bound to a long iron chain to ensure no volume ever left the area.
Standing before one of the bookcases, Leonard slipped on his dragonhide gloves and carefully opened Infernal Fiends of the Thirteenth Century.
The gloves served to block curses or hexes that some of these twisted books might carry—the treated dragonhide easily resisted such malice.
Fortunately, the book in his hands carried no curse.
It recorded the origins of the Fiendfyre Curse, along with detailed instructions for casting it.
The incantation itself was nothing special, but the accompanying gestures gave Leonard an odd sense of unease.
After mastering numerous forms of wandless and silent casting, he had developed a still-incomplete framework linking hand motions to magical energy flow.
He couldn't yet predict precise magical movement from a glance at a gesture, but he could tell the general direction of the flow.
The Fiendfyre's flow was unusual. Unlike most spells that required refined control, this one relied purely on brute force—its few crude gestures channeled a huge burst of power, feeding the flames into something monstrous.
Leonard had only felt this level of raw magical output in ancient spells, but compared to those intricate, elegant arts, the Fiendfyre felt rough—almost primitive.
"That's probably why it's so prone to losing control," he muttered. "Still, the Fire Protection Charm that accompanies it seems useful. Worth studying."
He quietly memorized the method for the Fiendfyre Curse, planning to experiment with it later.
Then he picked up Erasing the Enemy's Soul.
The soul—a truly advanced subject. Against any foe, an attack aimed directly at the soul would always strike harder than flesh or bone.
Even the strongest body became fragile when its soul was under assault. Learning this kind of magic could easily turn weakness into strength.
Leonard thought this ability would suit him well—or rather, suit his many plant-based minions even better.
In short, it was a power worth mastering.
The moment he touched the book, though, he knew it wasn't an ordinary one. Its disturbingly smooth texture made it clear—the cover was bound in human skin.
"A book bound in human skin? Let's hope your contents don't disappoint me," Leonard muttered as he opened it.
By the time he finished reading, disappointment was written all over his face.
"Who would do something so shameless—destroying a public book like this? Absolutely no sense of decency," he grumbled, glaring at the heavily mutilated tome.
Every page that once contained the details of spellcasting had been ripped out, leaving only vague descriptions of each spell's effects and their original purpose.
"What's the point of reading about some lunatic inventing spells to torture people?" Leonard swore under his breath.
It was probably the work of some former Headmaster—not necessarily Dumbledore, since the book had clearly been around for centuries, its most recent entries dating back to the 14th century...
Perhaps a Headmaster had once decided these spells were too vile to exist and tore out the pages deliberately.
Still, Leonard hadn't come away empty-handed.
Near the back of the book, one page recording several hand gestures had somehow survived.
Maybe whoever tore out the pages thought that section was unimportant—or believed the detailed account of the caster's tragic end was educational enough to leave untouched.
Either way, those remaining gestures gave Leonard a lead. With time and analysis, he might be able to deduce part of the spell's magical flow from the gestures and slowly reconstruct the rest using other spells as reference.
After memorizing the patterns, Leonard placed the skin-bound book back on the shelf and turned his gaze deeper into the Restricted Section.
He might as well spend the rest of the time searching for traces of ancient magic. A Quidditch match could drag on, but if a Seeker caught the Golden Snitch early, it could end in minutes.
He returned the book to its spot, activated his Magical Sight, and peered into the faint traces of ambient magic, searching for the telltale silver-white glow of ancient spellwork.
Following the compass-like sense in his mind pointing toward 3.9, Leonard soon found a staircase leading underground.
The stairs weren't especially well-hidden, though the thick layer of dust suggested no one had been here in ages.
No one living, at least. But ghosts—especially Peeves—still wandered about.
As Leonard descended, the air filled with Peeves's shrill, obnoxious singing. He frowned, cloaked himself in a powerful Disillusionment Charm, and moved forward silently.
Soon he spotted the poltergeist floating in the air, dressed in his garish clown outfit, clutching two large balls while howling tunelessly and laughing to himself.
A quick scan of the surroundings told Leonard that Peeves had claimed this spot as his personal storage room for prank supplies.