Three weeks slid by almost without Leo noticing. Even with a buzzing system in his head and the certainty of Hogwarts waiting, his life kept its quiet, small rhythms: tending the garden, feeding the strays, and trading half-serious conversations with the girl next door.
One afternoon Hermione tugged at his sleeve and insisted he come with her to the alley. "The cats will be hungry," she declared, already swinging the packet of dried fish in her hands.
Leo watched her scatter the strips with the same gentle attention he gave his plants. The cats swarmed, whiskers and tails and joyous little snarls. He found himself smiling more often these days partly because Hermione's chatter filled the dull corners of his days, and partly because such tiny acts of kindness made the world feel less sharp.
"You really think every cat likes dried fish?" he teased after they'd finished, playing the weary supervisor. He watched Hermione feed them, resisting the urge to pet every soft head that rubbed his knees.
"Maybe not," Hermione considered, thoughtful for once. "If a cat ate fancy food every day, it might be bored of dried fish."
Leo's mind wandered in a ridiculous direction. "Or what if some cats repay kindness by turning into beautiful girls?"
Hermione's eyes went wide and offended. "You're being ridiculous." She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a smile. Their conversations had grown comfortable, easy; teasing had become the glue between them.
Leo grinned, leaning back on his heels. "Do you believe in superpowers, Hermione? Not magic—superpowers. Like comics."
She stiffened, then tried to sound sensible. "We're too old for that."
At that moment his system pinged nothing in his head, only a private, ridiculous thrill and he played his part like a seasoned actor. "Don't lie to me. You've awakened something. I can tell."
Hermione's face flushed. "How.....how did you know?"
"People with superpowers sense each other," Leo said solemnly. He adopted the grave posture of a conspirator. "The first time I saw you, I could tell you were extraordinary."
"Then why didn't I sense you?" She narrowed her eyes, suspicious now.
Caught, Leo improvised. "Maybe yours is weak. Mine… is extremely niche. I can kill anyone"
Hermione blinked, then blinked again, pulled from suspicion into laughter. "That's nonsense."
"Maybe," he agreed, solemn again. "But it means they won't find you." He let the lie hang in the air like a promise. "There's an evil organization that hunts people with strange powers. They found me once. They wanted to recruit me. I begged them bargained and now I get two months of summer off every year."
Hermione gasped, face pale and then awed. The world, small as it had been, suddenly spread its edges. "Are you serious?"
He put on his most heroic expression. "Absolutely. I promised them I'd never hurt innocents. I'll protect you. When they come, I will make sure they overlook you."
She clasped her hands, breathless with admiration. "You'd do that for me?"
Leo's voice softened. "Of course. We're friends." He felt a small, triumphant flutter when she believed him when she trusted him.
She hesitated, worry creeping back. "But you'll be in danger. Shouldn't we run away? I have about nine pounds fifteen pence saved…"
Leo shook his head, earnest. "No. Running would only cause trouble for your parents. And besides, my power is useful to them. They won't harm me. I'll be back every summer. You don't have to worry about the house I'll miss the garden and the stray cats too much."
Hermione brightened at that. "If you're gone, I'll look after your garden. I promise I'll clean once a week."
He squinted with mock suspicion, then bowed. "Deal."
They clasped hands like conspirators two children sealing a pact. Leo felt an odd warmth: the ease of the lie, the comfort of being believed, the dangerous smallness of the world they'd made for themselves.
A soft chime thrummed through his mind.
[You have gained the trust of Hermione Granger (young). Title unlocked: Despicable Kidnapper.]
The title unfurled on his inner screen, ridiculous and blunt.
Title: Despicable KidnapperEffects:
1. 50% chance that children under 16 will absolutely believe what you say.
2. Favourability of parents with children under 16 toward you is halved.
3. If the lie is exposed, you will be beaten 100%.
Leo read it and laughed short, incredulous. The system's humor had no sympathy for nuance. The title fit the afternoon in the same way a ridiculous mask fits a safe street theater: improbable, a little shameful, and oddly useful.
He felt the truth of it immediately. Hermione's trust felt real, soft as the lily he'd once given her. But the cost parents' mistrust, and the risk of a beating if the lie collapsed at like a stone at the bottom of his chest. He'd traded a sliver of dignity for a pocket of peace, and the ledger balanced in ways that would reveal themselves later.
"Despicable Kidnapper," he murmured, tasting the absurdity.
Hermione squealed and hugged him impulsively. "You're the worst but you're my friend, so it's fine!"
Leo returned the hug, feeling the delicate gravity of small promises. They parted, the alley already shrinking behind Hermione's skipping steps.
That night, Leo sat on his windowsill and watched the streetlights smear into rain. Titles, system pings, and children's belief none of it explained why a packet of dried fish could make afternoons feel like the most important things in the world.
Outside, a cat padded across the garden and vanished into shadow. Leo smiled, fingers tracing the worn edge of his packet. The next few months promised wands, Diagon Alley, and a life that would tilt and spin. For now, he had a promise, a title with a ridiculous name, and a friend who would look after his garden.
Small things, he thought, were sometimes the most dangerous and the most necessary.