When he finally rose from his table, he had a mission: rebuild his life from the ground up.
First came his wardrobe.
Leon was thoroughly tired of wearing stiff, blood-stained dragon-hide coats, heavy hunting gear, or ragged hand-me-downs from the camp.
He stepped through the door of Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, the soft chime of a bell welcoming him into a shop filled with stacks of rich fabrics, floating measuring tapes, and tall, full-length mirrors.
“Hello, dear! Hogwarts robes, is it?” a squat, bustling witch in a mauve gown asked, stepping out from behind a rack of velvet cloaks.
“Not today, Madam,” Leon replied with a polite bow of his head.
“I’m looking for a complete overhaul of my everyday wardrobe. High quality, comfortable, but elegant. Trousers, shirts, boots, and a good cloak.”
Madam Malkin’s sharp eyes scanned him, taking in his current practical outfit and dusty travel boots.
“Well, aren’t we ambitious? Step up on the stool, young man, let’s get your measurements first.”
Leon stepped onto the small wooden pedestal.
Immediately, a magical silver measuring tape leapt from Madam Malkin’s apron pocket and began zipping around him—measuring his inseam, his shoulders, his chest, and his wrist.
“Hmm,” Madam Malkin murmured, examining the floating parchment where the measurements were being written in ink.
She paused, looking up at him with surprise.
“Well, well… you have remarkably broad shoulders and a very solid frame for someone your age. Not a scrap of excess weight on you.”
She personally selected a series of fine garments and led him toward a private changing fitting room.
Inside, there was a basin of warm water, a silver comb, and a large mirror.
Before trying on the clothes, Leon washed the trail dust from his face and hands.
He took the comb and worked through his thick blond hair—styling it neatly, keeping it short and clean on the sides while letting the longer top fall naturally with a slight, stylish wave.
Then, he slipped into the new clothes: a crisp, ivory cotton shirt, a charcoal-grey tailored waistcoat, dark fitted trousers of fine wool, a sleek midnight-blue cloak, and polished leather boots.
When Leon stepped out of the fitting room, Madam Malkin actually gasped, almost dropping the bolt of fabric she was holding.
Her assistant, a young witch folding robes nearby, froze in place, her mouth slightly open.
Once clean, combed, and properly dressed, the transformation was staggering.
The scruffy, tough boy from the wilderness had completely vanished.
Standing before them was a strikingly handsome young teenager with piercing blue eyes, a sculpted, leanly muscular build, and a posture that radiated confidence and refinement.
“Merlin’s beard…” Madam Malkin breathed, walking around him in a slow circle to smooth the shoulders of the cloak.
“Look at you! You look like a lord’s heir from an old pureblood estate. Such a handsome face… and those shoulders fill out a tailored waistcoat beautifully.”
The young assistant blushed slightly, offering him a timid, admiring smile.
“He really looks like a true young gentleman, Madam.”
Leon turned to face the full-length mirror, and for a moment, even he stared at his reflection in genuine surprise.
In the camp, surrounded by mud, blood, and mirrors cracked or caked in grease, he had never truly paid attention to his appearance.
Seeing himself now—healthy, sharp-featured, and impeccably dressed—a small, satisfied smirk curved his lips.
‘Not bad at all,’ he thought, feeling a pleasant, undeniable surge of vanity.
“I’ll take this set, along with four more outfits in different dark tones,” Leon said smoothly.
“And an extra winter cloak, please.”
“Right away, my dear, right away!” Madam Malkin beamed, practically floating to the counter to pack his purchases into elegant boxes.
A short while later, Leon walked out of the shop carrying his packages, stepping back into the afternoon sun with his head held high and his ego thoroughly flattery-stuffed.
Before leaving the market square, he stopped by Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop.
Remembering his partner back at the camp, Leon bought a massive box of Cauldron Cakes, Pepper Imps, and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans—intending to bring Finn a taste of the life they were working so hard to build.
Next came the most important errand of the day.
Leon navigated the bustling street until he stood before a peeling, faded storefront with gold lettering over the door: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.
A tiny brass bell chimed softly as he stepped into the quiet, dust-speckled sanctuary.
The shop smelled of aged wood and resin.
Thousands of narrow boxes were stacked neatly to the ceiling.
From behind the high shelves, an old man glided forward on a rolling ladder.
Garrick Ollivander’s pale, silvery eyes locked onto Leon instantly, filled with intense curiosity.
“Ah… a customer,” Ollivander whispered, his voice echoing in the quiet room.
He stepped down, scrutinizing Leon’s sharp posture and keen gaze.
“A bit late for a Hogwarts first-year, aren’t we? Or perhaps a bit early? I don’t recall seeing you during the summer rush…”
Leon maintained his polite smile, his sharp mind immediately constructing an easy deflection.
“I was educated privately abroad until recently, sir. But I find myself in need of a proper wand tailored to my current casting style.”
“Privately educated… I see,” Ollivander murmured, though his pale eyes lingered on Leon’s calm, composed demeanor.
“Well then. Let us see.”
What followed was a tedious process of trial and error.
Ollivander handed him wand after wand—beech and dragon heartstring, maple and unicorn hair, ash and phoenix feather.
With every wave, Leon’s hyper-analytical mind instantly registered the subtle flaws: the magical conduits were too restrictive, the core was too volatile, or the wood’s density created friction against his precise, structured casting style.
Boxes piled high on the counter as Ollivander grew increasingly intrigued.
“A remarkably structured magical flow… precise, demanding, requiring absolute stability,” Ollivander muttered, rummaging deep into the back of a bottom shelf.
He pulled out a dusty, thick velvet box.
“Let us try this one. An unusual creation. Twelve and a half inches, surprisingly thick and heavy in the grip—crafted from solid, dense Black Walnut with a core of Thunderbird tail feather.”
Ollivander lifted the lid, revealing a wand that stood out immediately.
It wasn’t sleek or delicate; it was noticeably robust, with a dark, beautifully polished finish.
“Most young wizards would find it somewhat overwhelming and difficult to handle,” Ollivander admitted, as he looked between the child and the formidable piece of wood.
“It requires a firm hand, exceptional control, and an unyielding will. Quite a handful for someone your age.”
Leon picked it up.
As his fingers wrapped around the handle, a wave of warmth coursed through his arm.
His analytical perception immediately analyzed the wand’s internal structure.
Dense Walnut wood was notoriously difficult—it resisted sloppy intent and demanded absolute mental clarity.
However, because Leon’s mind operated with geometric perfection, the wood’s inherent resistance vanished entirely.
Furthermore, the thick barrel allowed for an extraordinarily high volume of magical output without the risk of thermal feedback or spell distortion.
What other wizards found unwieldy and stiff felt to Leon like an extension of his own sharp intellect.
With a gentle flick, a shower of brilliant silver and blue sparks erupted from the tip, swirling around the shop in perfect, harmonious rings before fading into nothingness.
Ollivander blinked in surprise, leaning over his counter to admire the pairing.
“Fascinating… Truly fascinating. A wand like this one usually takes years to master, yet it yields to you as if tailored to your exact measurements.”
“It fits me perfectly,” Leon replied smoothly, twirling the wand once before sliding it neatly into his forearm holster.
“Some might find its power intimidating, but I prefer something substantial that can handle a heavy workload.”
“Indeed,” Ollivander said with a faint chuckle, eyeing the boy with newfound respect.
“May it serve you well, young man.”
After paying for his new wand, Leon headed toward his final, most anticipated destination: Flourish and Blotts.
Entering the sprawling bookstore felt like stepping into a sanctuary built purely for the mind.
Towering wooden shelves stretched up to the vaulted ceiling, connected by brass ladders and winding balconies, all packed with thousands of leather-bound volumes, glowing manuscripts, and heavy spellbooks.
The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and fresh ink.
For two long years, Leon had cast spells purely by raw intuition, harsh trial, and geometric visualization, lacking any formal academic foundation.
Now, it was time to bridge the gap between his practical lethality and nonexistent theoretical knowledge.
Leon lost himself in the aisles.
He didn’t just browse; he literally raided the store.
In the magical theory section, he stacked foundational textbooks alongside high-level academic treatises.
In the charms and defense aisles, he pulled heavy volumes on counter-curse structures and dueling theory.
Passing through the Arithmancy and Potions sections, his eyes gleamed—these were subjects where his sharp, analytical mind would truly shine once he mastered the formal rules.
Before long, Leon wasn’t just carrying a few books—he was hauling an absolute mountain of literature.
A nearby shop assistant carrying a stack of parchment froze, staring in wide-eyed disbelief as the young teenager drifted past, casually balancing a tower of heavy leather-bound tomes that nearly blocked his vision.
An elderly wizard in purple robes paused mid-sentence, pointing his cane in shock at the sheer volume of material the boy was gathering.
“Merlin’s beard, lad…” the main clerk at the counter gasped, adjusting his round spectacles as Leon dumped the massive stack onto the front desk with a heavy, satisfying thud.
“Are you planning to open your own academy, or are you trying to read the entire store?”
“Just filling a few gaps in my reading list,” Leon replied with a charming smile.
Realizing the pile would collapse under its own weight, Leon also purchased a sleek, leather expanding satchel at the counter, equipped with a Feather-Light Charm.
He watched with immense satisfaction as the clerk processed the books, ringing up titles across every major discipline:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grades 1 through 7)
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection
Confronting the Phantasm: Advanced Defense Theory
Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms
The Philosophy of Arithmancy by Bridget Wenlock
Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage
A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration
And dozens of other specialized volumes on spell architecture and magical history.
Other shoppers whispered in hushed tones as Leon handed over a heavy pouch of Galleons, leaving his pockets empty but his spirit soaring.
He slid volume after volume into the small leather bag, which devoured the mountain of paper without increasing in weight or size.
With these books, his eidetic memory, and his razor-sharp mind, he would systematically master the theoretical underpinnings of the entire Hogwarts curriculum long before he reached adulthood.
As dusk began to settle over Diagon Alley, casting long golden shadows over the cobblestones, Leon walked back toward the pub exit, carrying his bags of sweets, new clothes, new wand, and a mountain of books.
He had tasted the beauty of the magical world.