Unfortunately, that ragged old hat was locked away in Dumbledore’s office until the start of the next school year, so finding an opportunity to get to it wouldn’t be easy.
Leon had no desire to visit Dumbledore’s office.
While the place wasn’t exactly a church, it wasn’t particularly friendly to a handsome young boy like him.
Of course, this wasn’t about anything untoward; it was simply because Dumbledore’s nickname, “the Old Bee,” wasn’t just a play on his name—it also stemmed from his fanatical obsession with sweets.
That love had reached a pathological level.
He adored things the sweeter they were, and he had a habit of offering the same sugary treats to the children who visited him.
As someone who preferred spicy and savory flavors, Leon kept his distance from this walking sugar monster.
While silently roasting the “Old Bee” and the Sorting Hat, Leon didn’t forget to record the knowledge points Professor Flitwick had covered on his parchment.
Although a quill didn’t have the same satisfying grip as a proper fountain pen, a magical quill wrote quite smoothly.
It had a generous ink capacity and could even perform minor corrections on sloppy handwriting, making the notes appear neat and clear.
By the end of the class, even though Leon had filled a full inch of parchment with notes, the ink color hadn’t faded in the slightest, which gave him a new appreciation for the little tool.
Since it was the first lesson, Professor Flitwick hadn’t rushed the students into learning spells, much to the disappointment of quite a few young wizards.
However, Leon believed this was exactly where Professor Flitwick’s brilliance lay.
The magical theory and the techniques for using wands and spells that he had spent the entire class explaining were the real deal—solid, invaluable substance.
Anyone who had tried to teach themselves spells from books at home would certainly be able to appreciate the depth of Professor Flitwick’s well-meaning approach.
It wasn’t just Leon who felt this way; Hermione felt the same.
After class, on their way to the History of Magic classroom with Neville, she discussed Flitwick’s theories with Leon.
The two of them even compared notes, cross-verifying information and filling in the gaps of what the other might have missed.
This scene made Neville, who was walking alongside them, unintentionally fall two steps behind.
As a struggling student, he felt distinctly out of place at that moment.
With the foundation laid by Professor Flitwick, Hermione had been full of anticipation for the rest of her Hogwarts classes.
Unfortunately, when History of Magic began and the ghost professor in charge, Cuthbert Binns, started his lecture, it was like a bucket of cold water poured over her.
Dull, monotonous tone; an unchanging cadence; reading straight from the textbook—every aspect was the exact opposite of what Hermione had hoped for.
Even Leon found himself growing sleepy, though Hermione still forced herself to perk up and scribbled away furiously in her notebook.
As soon as the class ended, Professor Binns simply floated through the wall, utilizing his ghostly nature to depart without the slightest interest in holding them over—perhaps the only highlight of the History of Magic class.
“Finally, that’s over.” Leon let out a sigh of relief, stretching his limbs, which had grown stiff from sitting for so long.
“Yeah, I didn’t think History of Magic would be so…
plain,” Neville said, searching for a word that wouldn’t sound too offensive.
“You’re doing alright.
At least you stayed awake through the whole thing.
Look over there.” Hermione curled her lip, gesturing toward Ron, who was still fast asleep in the front right, and Harry, who was bobbing his head in a half-dreaming state.
Because they hadn’t interacted on the train, Hermione didn’t have any particular affection for Harry and Ron, though she didn’t harbor any prejudice either; she simply treated them like ordinary classmates.
“Let’s go.
Time to eat.” Leon glanced over and merely smiled, signaling for Hermione and Neville to head to the Great Hall.
Hermione followed Leon immediately, while Neville hesitated for a moment, choosing to wake Ron and Harry first to tell them class was over before catching up.
By lunchtime, the house tables in the Great Hall were not as quiet as they had been at breakfast; essentially every student in the school had gathered there to enjoy their meal.
This time, Leon couldn’t just go to the Gryffindor table to eat.
After all, it was his first day of school, and he didn’t want to draw too much attention to himself—not to mention that the professors were mostly all present.
Besides, his own Head of House was famously, officially known for his dislike of Gryffindor.
Leon felt he should at least give the “King of Snakes” some face.
So, at the edge of the Gryffindor table, Leon parted ways with Hermione and Neville and made his way to the Slytherin table.
Before Leon could even sit down, Draco Malfoy, who had greeted him earlier, stood up.
Looking at Leon with an expression of disdain, he mocked, “I thought you were going to stay at the Gryffindor table, you Slytherin traitor.” “Do you not have friends in other houses?” Leon looked at Draco, feeling somewhat speechless.
He hadn’t expected the little brat to pick a fight with him at a time like this.
“Of course not!
I am pure-blood.
How could I possibly be friends with that trash who don’t understand the honor of pure-blood, or even with Mudbloods?” Draco answered, looking haughty.
“What did you say?” Hearing the word “Mudblood,” Leon’s eyes narrowed instantly.
Draco’s description was clearly aimed at Neville and Hermione.
Leon had originally intended to ignore Draco as if he were just barking, but he no longer wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard him.
“I said Mudbloods, so what?
Do you want to refute this ironclad fact for your little girlfriend?” Draco, completely unaware of the shift in Leon’s demeanor, continued to lift his chin and taunt him.
Leon laughed at this.
Then, before Draco was prepared at all, he swung his hand and delivered a crisp slap directly across Draco’s face.
The force was so great that it sent Draco reeling to his left; if Goyle hadn’t been standing there to catch him, he likely would have ended up on the floor.
The sound of the slap was so crisp and clear that the bustling Great Hall fell into instant silence.
Everyone turned their eyes toward them, witnessing the striking, red handprint on Draco’s face.
“You dare hit me!
My father has never hit me!” The burning, stinging pain sent Draco into a fit of rage.
As soon as he steadied himself, he lunged at Leon.
At the same time, his lackeys, Goyle and Crabbe, also threw themselves toward Leon.
The three of them rushed forward with significant momentum and speed.
The students hadn’t reacted yet, but the professors had all stood up.
However, they didn’t move immediately; instead, they turned to look at Snape.
After all, this was a conflict within the Snake House—it was only fitting that the Head of Slytherin handle it.