Leo gripped the cold beer can in his hand, every nerve screaming at him to smash it over the old man's silver head. He swallowed the urge, forced his temper down, and dragged a stool to the other side of the table.
Professor Fox didn't seem to notice the storm simmering across from him. He snatched the beer from Leo's hand, popped it open, and took a deep swig.
"German dark beer." He smacked his lips and tilted the can in faint disapproval. "Tsk, tsk. Not my favourite, but it'll do."
He tore open the packaging and without a thought tossed another can toward Leo.
"I'm still a minor, you know," Leo muttered, catching it with a glare. "Legally, I can't drink alcohol."
Despite his words, the tab hissed as he pulled it open. Today had already spiraled into madness; one beer wasn't going to kill him.
Fox let out a booming laugh, the kind that crinkled his eyes into crescents. Amusingly, Leo realized they shared the same expression when they laughed.
"Squinting at your age is one thing," Leo shot back, eyeing the crow's feet etched into Fox's face. "But you've been doing it long enough to carve wrinkles."
Fox only grinned, unfazed, and dipped a slice of lamb into the bubbling cauldron. Steam rose in fragrant curls.
Leo grabbed a pair of chopsticks, sampled the broth, and froze. The taste was unmistakable.
"Hotpot?"
Fox beamed. "Not just hotpot. This recipe came straight from Chengdu, China. I brought it back myself. Forget your five-star hotels and their overpriced tricks true Eastern cuisine hides in alleys and street stalls. This, boy, is the real deal."
He raised his beer can in mock toast. "You bring the German brew, I bring the Chinese feast. Not a bad partnership, eh?"
Leo wasn't impressed. "You're pale as parchment, yet you're scarfing down chili broth and drinking beer. Don't keel over in my house."
Fox waved off the warning. "Relax. I've only got acrophobia." He gestured with his can. "This, my dear boy, is the cure-all."
Leo narrowed his eyes. "Wizards can get acrophobia?"
"Of course we can!" Fox said around a mouthful of lamb. His chopstick skills betrayed long practice, each movement smooth. "We're human. Humans get sick. Simple as that."
He sighed, leaning back. "Don't look so resentful, Turner. Do you know how much I went through just to get here?"
Leo raised a brow. "Enlighten me."
Fox launched into his tale with the air of a long-suffering martyr. "I couldn't Apparate, I've never been to your home before. I had no Muggle currency, and goblins at Gringotts rob you blind when you exchange. Public transport was out of the question. So I flew. On a broom."
He paused dramatically. "With acrophobia."
Leo pictured the crash site on his lawn and winced.
"I lasted ten minutes before losing control. Nose-dived. But at least I landed in the right place," Fox finished with a bitter sip of beer.
The ridiculous image softened Leo's anger. The old man had traveled halfway across Britain, nearly killed himself in the process, and all to meet… him. An eleven-year-old. Maybe the beer was deserved.
By the time the broth boiled down, Leo found himself laughing with Fox, chopsticks darting through the steaming pot.
"So you're really teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year?" Leo asked between bites.
"That's right." Fox swirled his can lazily. "Though I originally applied for Ancient Runes. If I didn't owe Dumbledore a favor, I'd never touch this cursed position. It's a job with no gratitude and plenty of risk. Honestly, I can only hope to survive the year."
"Risk?" Leo asked, feigning ignorance. "What risk?"
Fox gave a low chuckle and leaned closer. "Tell me, do you know how many Defense Against the Dark Arts professors Hogwarts has had since 1956?"
Leo shook his head.
"Twenty-one," Fox said gravely. "And in twelve of those years, no one filled the post at all."
Leo tried to guess. "Ten dead?"
"Guess again."
"…Thirteen?"
"Fourteen." Fox's voice was almost a whisper. "Over sixty percent mortality. Of those who survived, one never left his sickbed. Two came out permanently crippled."
Leo inhaled sharply. He had known the post was cursed, but the numbers chilled him.
"Why would anyone apply then? Surely wizards aren't suicidal."
Fox smirked. "Do you think Hogwarts advertises those statistics? Even I only found them after digging through restricted files in the library. A good thing I have some conscience. Anyone else would've run."
He tipped his empty can against Leo's. "As for the cause? Who knows. Some whisper Voldemort cursed the position. Others suspect Dumbledore's machinations. Or perhaps it's just cruel coincidence."
For a moment, his eyes darkened, shadowed by something deeper than fear.
Leo offered the only comfort he could. "You're a good man, Professor. Good things happen to good people."
Fox barked a laugh and cracked open another beer. "Superstitious nonsense." He studied Leo with keen interest. "Minerva said you were sharp-tongued. Seeing you now, I'd say she undersold you."
Leo shrugged, casual. "Getting more usually means giving more. Doesn't sound like a bargain to me."
Fox nodded, pleased. "Precocious, yes. Dangerous, no. But clever." He narrowed his eyes. "I also heard about your… arrangement with your adoptive father."
Leo sipped his beer with calculated calm. "It wasn't paying him, exactly. I drafted a conditional adoption agreement. He'd get a third of my inheritance but only after I inherit it. Seemed fair enough."
"And he agreed to that?"
"Of course not. He wanted to trick me into signing full guardianship so he could get everything. He underestimated me." Leo's smile was thin. "I caught him embezzling public funds and used that leverage. He signed."
Fox stared at him, stunned. "…You were ten?"
"Just after my birthday, yes."
For a long moment, the professor said nothing. Then, slowly, he set down his chopsticks and beer. A smile crept across his face mischievous, vulpine.
"You really are something, Turner. Clever, sharp, pragmatic. Just the sort of boy I like."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
"Tell me, Leo. Would you be interested in a little investment from me?"