The rest of the ride to Hogwarts was mainly composed of Ron and Harry chumming it up, with Leon intermittently being included in their conversations.
When the train finally slowed down and came to a gentle stop, Leon was glad that the trip was over.
The three of them had already long since changed into their robes.
Exiting the train, Leon heard a familiar voice calling out “Firs Years!
Gather roun!
Firs Years!” Leon looked over the crowd to see Rubeus Hagrid, looming over the crowd and calling out repeatedly for the First years to gather to him.
Leon was extremely glad to see that Hagrid was as he remembered.
Leon quietly slipped into the crowd at the train station, quickly losing Harry and Ron as he scanned the departing crowd of people from all years.
He had a sinking feeling as he observed the students.
The gender ratio was way skewed.
For every male student in the crowd, he spotted four or five female students.
And seemed almost universal across the crowd.
Leon was, however, glad when he spotted a bushy brown head of hair in the crowd moving with the first years towards Hagrid.
Only person that mane could belong to was Hermione Granger.
She was moving alongside a lightly pudgy girl around her height with long dark hair that Leon didn’t recognize.
As the first years gathered around Hagrid, Leon felt dismayed at the sight.
His entire year only had three boys in it.
Leon, Harry, and Ron.
All of the others were girls.
This clinched it.
This was definitely a Harem or Smut AU of the Harry Potter world.
Harry being a fairly confident and more well adjusted individual, along with his natural fame, would make the subject of a lot of attention in the coming years.
He’d be drowning in it.
With Ron as his only competition, he would have had his pick.
Leon was uninterested in relationship stuff as of yet.
Not only was he being influenced by his Avatar’s biochemistry, but even in his Coldharbour Avatar, he wasn’t really interested in forming relationships of a romantic or carnal nature.
Being immortal and bound to have myriad Avatars, Leon was in no rush to find partnership of that sort.
And on top of that, he had never really been one for casual flings and the like in his past life.
Then there was the fact that if he met someone he wanted to stay with, he would definitely need to figure out some method of granting them immortality that wasn’t converting them into a Dremora or turning them into a Vampire.
Dremora were utterly loyal and incapable of being anything but loyal.
That completely enforced servitude was not how a relationship should work.
Vampirism could work, from what he understood, it didn’t bind nearly as tightly as the Dremora transformation.
There had, after all, been Vampires that rebelled against Molag Bal in the Elder Scrolls.
But Vampirism came with its own issues.
The need for blood could be managed, and Leon’s Daughters of Coldharbour, Pureblood Vampires, were significantly more resistant to sunlight than the lesser vampires.
But it was still a weakness.
He would prefer to make a potential partner in his immortal life into an immortal without weird side effects.
Leon shook off his musing as he followed the crowd of first years to gather around Hagrid who made sure to do a quick headcount before he began guiding them all towards the shore of the lake.
Where a bunch of wooden boats were waiting.
“No mor’n four to a boat.
Load up!” Hagrid called out to the first years.
Leon picked a boat and hopped in; he spotted Harry and Ron getting into the same boat as Hagrid before the girls clambered into the boat with him.
Harry didn’t recognize them, but that was hardly surprising.
Even in canon, this first-year class had something like 45 or 50 children.
Yet only like 20 of them got named and had actual screen time.
From what Leon could see, there were at least a hundred girls around him in the various boats, and with that significant increase in numbers, there was no way he was going to recognize all the other students.
Especially since they were all female versions now.
Once everyone was loaded up into the boats, they gently shifted and floated out into the water on their own.
No need to row.
Heading out from the little docking area that blocked off their view of the castle and into the lake proper.
The view of Hogwarts castle from the lake at nighttime was even more amazing than Leon had expected.
Its impossible architecture, the shimmering lights.
The obvious magical nature of everything was breath taking.
With the still waters of the lake, disturbed only by the ripples of the boats passage, the reflection made everything feel even more magical.
Leon smiled at the sight, genuinely pleased to have gotten to witness this in person.
∞∞∞
“Albus, have you seen the list of this year’s batch of first years?
The curse seems to have been at its strongest 11 years ago.”
“We already knew that Minerva, it was strongest right before Voldemort’s defeat.
But it has broken with his absence.
We can expect the next several years batches to taper off into the normal ratios.”
“Yes, but only 3 boys to 102 girls?
The wizarding world cannot sustain this level of disparity.
Even when the curse was weaker.
The old families have been considering removing the restrictions on Coven’s.
You’ve seen the motions in the Wizengamot.”
“Yes, and it seems inevitable.
Voldemort wanted more than just control.
He wanted to completely alter wizarding society.
He succeeded in many ways.
That curse could be considered his Magnum Opus as far as inducing change in magical Britian goes.”
“I don’t like seeing the degeneration of our society like this Dumbledor.
You should push for an immigration policy of some sort.
We need to do something to prevent what I fear will be an entire generation of weak-willed hedonism.
Our future is at stake.”
“I know, and you know.
Magical Britian has never offered as many incentives as it is offering right now to attract young men.
But the rest of the Magical communities view us as an old backwater, steeped in ancient tradition.
Almost as bad as China’s magical community.”
“We are not that bad!”
“Minerva, Magical Britain almost fell to a ‘Dark Lord’ who was the equivalent of a street thug compared to Grindelwald.
The world trembled at Grindelwald’s name; Magical Britian can’t even bring themselves to say Voldemort’s moniker without flinching.
And his power and ability barely brushed against the rest of Europe, let alone the rest of the world.
They view us as cowards on top of viewing us as old-fashioned.
The America’s are wealthy and rich with opportunity.
Australia has the fewest restrictions on magic of any magical nation, even France has more opportunity.
Britian will not be an attractive destination without major reforms.
Reforms that the ministry would never even consider making.
Only the desperate middle-aged men who can’t find anyone in their nations may come here.
Even then, they would probably marry and move back to what they are familiar with.”
“Surely there is something we can do?
This is getting ridiculous.”
“*Sigh* I am not sure what to do about it.
I don’t think that there is anything to be done about it.
Voldemort thought it would be easier to control a nation with a majority of women… show’s how out of touch he really was.
And now we have to live with the consequences.”
∞∞∞
“Watch your heads!” Hagrid yelled, ducking as the boats passed under the cliff edge heading towards the underground docks.
Leon laughed at Hagrid’s antics.
Even if the children all jumped for all they were worth, they wouldn’t be in danger of hitting their heads.
The clearance was like 8 feet.
But almost all of children ducked for cover when the half-giant shouted.
Who ever said that Hagrid didn’t have a bit of prankster in him?
It was just that his pranks were entirely harmless.
The first years all clambered out of the boats and onto the stone docks, gathering around Hagrid at the base of the staircase leading up to the Great Hall.
Leon, tried his best to be unobtrusive, but a crowd this large was difficult to navigate.
And seemingly by fate’s design, Leon found himself standing beside Harry and Ron once more.
The crowd was led up to stand before the giant double doors of the Great Hall.
There a woman that Leon recognized instantly stood with a serious and severe demeanor in her expression and posture.
“Thank you Hagrid.
I shall take it from here.” she said before turning her attention to the crowd of children before her.
“Welcome to Hogwarts.
I am Professor McGonagall.
Now, in a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates.
But before you can take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses.
They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.
While you are here, your house will be like your family.
Your triumphs will earn you house points, and any rule-breaking will cost you points.
At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup.
The sorting ceremony will begin momentarily.
Any questions?”
Leon immediately raised his hand.
“Yes mister?” Professor McGonagall asked.
“Leon, Leon McKinnon-Prewett.
And I’d like to ask a question about the house cup.” Leon said.
Recognition flashed in McGonagall’s face as she took in Leon’s appearance, “And your question?”
“Do we actually win anything with the House Cup?
Or is it just bragging rights?” Leon asked.
“An excellent question!” McGonagall smiled at the question, “It is mainly bragging rights, but the true ‘reward’ is that the castles tapestries, drapes, decorations, and even the statues around the grounds will change to reflect the house that wins until the next winner.
Tidbits of history only visible during Slytherin years, paintings and statues that only reveal secrets during Ravenclaw years, obstacle courses and challenge rooms that only appear during Gryffindor years, and special hidden pantries and hidden nooks that only appear during Hufflepuff years.
The rewards are nuanced and tailored towards a varied school experience.
There are also various secret passageways, if you can find them, that only exist during specific house years.
But for most, these features are simply ‘bragging rights’ as you could imagine.
Any more questions.” She asked, searching the sea of faces.
“Good, remain here, I will be back to retrieve you all in a moment.” With that McGonagall turned and entered the Great Hall.
The crowd of kids instantly started buzzing around Leon like a swarm of bats.
Everyone was seemingly curious as hell about how the sorting ceremony actually worked.
Leon actually felt that it was impressive that the wizarding world seemed to be united in keeping their children in the dark about the sorting ceremony.
Even in the fantasy books, the history books, and the personal diaries that Leon had found and perused.
The Sorting hat seemed to be omitted or glossed over.
Leon thought that the commitment to make this boring ceremony into a minor sort of hazing ritual at such a scale was commendable.
It created something for the children to bond over as they waited to be sorted, created a sense of mystery that tickled at the kids wonder and curiosity.
It was one of those minor deceptions that made life more instead of less.
But Leon was mildly stunned by the fact that the House Cup actually served a real function.
Most Fanfics completely dismissed the Cup as irrelevant.
A needless competition driver, inciting student rivalry and potentially alienating those who underperformed during the school year for no real reason.
But with actual rewards, albeit not super tangible rewards, Leon could see the value in it.
He would actually like to see the iterations for each of the houses winning.
See the differences in the aesthetics and such.
And the fact that different secret passageways only existed during certain house years was also interesting.
Slytherin had been on a winning streak, meaning that this year was a Slytherin House Year.
The fact that Dumbledor was most likely going to rig next year to go to Gryffindor meant that Leon would at least see half of the differences in the castle over the next two years.
It was a welcome and interesting dynamic added to Hogwarts that Leon had not expected.
Only a few moments later, Professor McGonagall returned and with a few crisp orders had the children lined up in two orderly rows before she swung open the doors to the Great Hall and signaled for them to follow.
The Great Hall was expansive, the familiar layout with four great tables representing their house colors, the candles floating through the air.
The ceiling looking like the open sky.
Leon was glad for the fact that he had remained in his Avatar for long enough to feel the wonder that the sight induced.
The whimsical and casual nature of wizarding grandeur was spectacular to his mundane senses, and awe inspiring in his metaphysical ones.
The sheer magnitude of magic all around him, woven into the stones, flowing through the air, and dancing across the hall was beyond anything that Leon had ever seen.
He’d thought that the train was magically dense.
But it was like cheesecloth compared to a steel plate when looking at Hogwarts.
While Leon was looking at all the wonderous magic, the Sorting ceremony had gotten underway.
The Sorting had had been placed onto a stool and its face suddenly appeared in its ancient wrinkles and folds.
Then, it started to sing.
“Oh you may not think I’m pretty,
But don’t judge on what you see,
I’ll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There’s nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can’t see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you’ve a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You’ll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on!
Don’t be afraid!
And don’t get in a flap!
You’re in safe hands (though I have none)
For I’m a Thinking Cap!”
The crowd all cheered and clapped at the end of the songs performance.
And Professor McGonagall stepped up with a sheet of paper in her hand clearing her throat, “Step up and take a seat to be sorted when I call your name.
First up, Hannah Abbott!”
And so, the Sorting began in truth.
Names that he recognized and names that he didn’t recognize were called one after the other.
Most who sat down on the stool barely had moment of the hat contacting their head, not even fully set on them before it yelled out the name of the house that they would go to.
A couple seemed to give the hat a moments pause before it would yell out a house name.
“Leon McKinnon-Prewett!” Leon heard his name finally called.
He made his way up to the stool and sat down, Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head, and he simply sat there, waiting.
It felt like an abnormally long time before he suddenly heard a voice in his head.
“Curious, very curious.
You are not the first to have thoughts opaque to even me, and you won’t be the last.
But thoughts and memories are an unnecessary part of this.” The hat grumbled in his mind.
“I thought that was how you decided where people go?
Personality and such.
You’d need to read minds to know that.” Leon thought back at the hat.
“hahaha, one would think that wouldn’t they?
But I’ll tell you a secret since you are so good at keeping them.
I do not sort based on personality; I sort based on Fate!
The house that any student will have the best experience in, the best fate among the four paths to choose from.
That is where I place them.
Like minds tend to gather when it is fate taking the reins.
Rarely do I meet those whose strands of fate are independent of the house they enter.
You are one such young man.
No matter where I place you, your fatelines remain completely unchanged.
So, where do you want to go kid?
Your Choice.” The hat whispered everything conspiratorially as if this conversation was not taking place within Leon’s mind.
“That’s easy, Hufflepuff is the house for me.” Leon said confidently.
The hat didn’t bother replying and simply yelled out “HUFFLEPUFF!” and was promptly removed from atop his head.
Leon’s robes suddenly gain yellow highlights, and the Hufflepuff crest appeared on his chest as he stood up and headed towards the Hufflepuff table.
“That was easy.” He muttered under his breath as he approached the table to a warm applause and was pointed to a spot among the other first years to sit down.
As Leon sat down, he sighed with a little bit of relief.
The sorting hat was one of the few things that he had been worried might cause a problem.
The Daedric Prince nature of his mind made mind reading a dubious affair at best when used against him.
But he had been worried that the Sorting Hat might pick up on something and freak out.
The fact that it hadn’t been concerned at all was a good sign, the fact that its main method of sorting was not actually the mind reading but an act of divination was intriguing.
And he was unsurprised that his fate was completely unaffected by the house he entered.
He wasn’t planning on getting a job after Hogwarts.
At least, not a traditional one.
He had minions for that.
And he already had a thirty-year plan for how he was going to handle this world.
It would have been more surprising if his fate was actually tied to the house he was sorted into.
The sorting continued, Harry, predictably, ended up in Gryffindor along with Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.
Leon would keep an eye on them, but for now they were not a priority.
He wasn’t all that concerned with the timeline.
And to be honest, he didn’t care anymore about interfering.
His plans for while he was at Hogwarts were more than likely going to drastically alter everything to the point that the future was utterly unpredictable anyway.
For one, Leon had already put a few plans into motion while he was waiting for the school year to start.
He had written to Amellia Bones, requesting that she send him transcripts of the Sirius Black case files, his trial and conviction.
Citing his curiosity at unraveling the dark plots of the past.
The reply he’d gotten was interesting.
And Leon knew that he had opened a can of worms in the ministry with that single letter.
He knew damn well that there had been no trial, no evidence, and only the ramblings of a man in the throes of grief taken as a confession.
On top of that… Ron had not yet noticed that his pet rat was missing.
Currently undergoing conversion into a Dremora minion.
Leon was going to have him find Rita Skeeter and give her an interview where he confessed everything, then he would turn himself in at the ministry.
Pettigrew would then ‘Die’ in Azkaban and Leon would have his Dremora busy in Coldharbour extracting Ebony and other resources from the mines.
With just that single alteration to the timeline, Leon was already causing irreparable harm to any predictability of the timeline.
The trickle-down effects were impossible to predict.
On top of that, he was going to be collecting the Horcruxes early.
Regardless of whether or not he could get something out of them.
The whole second year plot was never going to happen.
Leon was just going to intercept the Diary at the bookshop when Lucious Malfoy planted it among Ginny’s belongings.
Gilderoy Lockhart would make a fine addition to Leon’s Minion forces as well.
And the cherry on top?
He was almost certain that he could capture Voldemort’s main wraith with a simple [Soul Trap] spell.
Meaning that before the second year was even started, Leon might have averted every plot of the first four years, which basically meant the entire plot of the whole series would be gone.
No Tri-Wizard cup conspiracy.
More than likely Barty Crouch Jr.
was about to be revealed due to the investigation into Black’s case.
Meaning that there would be no attack on the Quidditch world cup.
No Umbitch.
Leon caught himself running away with his thoughts again.
He was already counting his chickens before they hatched, and this world had already thrown a few curveballs at him.
He shouldn’t do that.
Depending on how things played out, his predictions could be wildly off the mark.
For now, Leon settled in and enjoyed the festive atmosphere.
The sorting concluded and all the students had taken their seats.
Dumbledore stood and tapped his glass, producing a surprisingly loud ringing sound that grasped everyone’s attention.
“Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words.” Dumbledore paused for dramatic effect, “And here they are: Nitwit!
Blubber!
Oddment!
Tweak!
Thank you.” Then he sat down and waved his hand, the feast appearing on the tables instantly and filling the hall with the rich fragrances of cooked meats, vegetables, and gravy.
The insane swirl of magical energies that burst forth when the food appeared left Leon in a daze.
Spatial manipulation, so delicately and expertly done that not a single peep or pop of cavitation could be heard.
The only indication of the displaced air from the sudden appearance of the feast was a gentle puff of air containing all that delicious scent.
After recovering from the sheer scale of the display, Leon took a moment to absorb the staggering spread of food laid out before him.
Traditionally, people loved to rag on British cuisine, and rightfully so, in his opinion.
The historical irony of conquering three-quarters of the globe for spices, only to lock them in a cabinet and rely exclusively on salt and prayer, was nothing short of disgraceful.
Yet, while those blanket critiques were entirely justified on a macro level, they utterly failed when it came to the individual cultural institutions of the UK.
Looking at the feast, he had to admit that when the British committed to a specific comfort dish, they executed it with a heavy, soul-warming perfection that defiance couldn’t argue with.
The polished mahogany tables should have groaned under the opulent, sprawling banquet that transformed traditional British comfort into a spectacle fit for royalty.
The sheer weight of the food should have collapsed the tables, but they didn’t even creak.
Towering silver platters held glistening joints of roast beef and honey-glazed ham, carved so thin they practically melted into the pools of rich, aromatic gravy.
Flanking the meats were mountain-sized pyramids of golden Yorkshire puddings, and deep pewter bowls overflowing with duck-fat roasted potatoes.
The crisp, clean scent of malt vinegar wafted from mounds of flaky, beer-battered fish served in faux-newspaper cones, while intricately decorated game pies boasted crusts stamped with elaborate, Hufflepuff crests.
Further down, the heavy aroma of spices anchored the feast, where silver tureens of vibrant chicken tikka masala bubbled gently next to stacks of warm, pillowy naan.
It was a staggering display of culinary deliciousness, heavy, magnificent, and served with a theatrical grandeur and whimsey that was almost mandatory for wizard kind.
Leon was the absolute opposite of a picky eater; he would eat damn near anything that didn’t bite back, and even a few things that would.
He quickly began piling his plate high with towering portions of every dish within arm’s reach and immediately tucked in.
Around him, his new ‘peers’ seemed friendly enough.
Some of them tried to engage him in conversation, but they maintained a distinct, unspoken boundary.
It was a familiar pattern.
Just as most animals and stray insects instinctively steered clear of him, humans tended to drift away from his immediate orbit too.
It wasn’t driven by active malice or fear on the people’s part but rather, a primal survival instinct.
Leon almost always unconsciously projected a heavy, suffocating ‘leave me alone’ aura, a subtle, ambient static that people felt subconsciously, and frequently acted upon without realizing it.
He hadn’t been a textbook introvert in his past life, he’d enjoyed a good party, or gathering of friends.
But he had also always valued his privacy.
Now, backed by the passive reinforcement of his supernatural repellant aura, Leon had accidentally cultivated the closest thing to an isolated hermit’s existence possible for a child legally forced to attend a boarding school.
The setup felt completely ideal for the time being, mostly because Leon couldn’t genuinely relate to a single kid his own age anyway.
Trying to make small talk with eleven-year-olds about wizard chess or juvenile schoolyard gossip felt entirely pointless.
Still, he knew this total isolation was a habit he seriously needed to fix before it got out of hand.
It was a comfortable trap; if he allowed himself to get too cozy in his own little bubble now, breaking out of it later would be a nightmare.
He knew that as his classmates grew up, finding common ground and making real friends would get a whole lot easier.
But only if he hadn’t already completely locked himself away behind a wall he couldn’t tear down.
His goal was to steal planet Earth, not rule it with an iron fist.
There was a massive, fundamental difference between the two.
One required endless political theater, managing tedious mortal bureaucracies, and crushing rebellions every other Tuesday, while the other was just a clean, magnificent heist that resulted in having a fully functioning Biosphere within Coldharbour, or whichever Realm he decided to place Earth in by the time his plans were realized.
Friends were definitely not out of the question, and genuine relationships weren’t off the table either; a successful thief still needed a crew they could trust, or at least a few people to share a drink with when the job was done.
Sure, he looked at certain people and saw nothing but useful tools to be manipulated, chess pieces to be slid into place for his own benefit.
But he wasn’t a complete, unfeeling psychopath.
He just had a very pragmatic, detached approach to his grand plans, and keeping a few real, unfiltered connections along the way sounded a hell of a lot better than trudging through decades or centuries alone with only fanatically loyal Dremora for company.
The golden desserts appeared across the tables just as Leon was losing himself in his thoughts.
Pulling himself back to reality, he eagerly reached out, grabbing various plates of treacle tart, chocolate gateau, and bowls of thick custard to sample absolutely everything he could get his hands on.
But while his hands were busy piling his plate high, his mind was hyper-focused on a completely different task.
Attempting something he had never tried before something that had never even occurred to him to try.
He was actively trying to tamp down on, or completely turn off, that passive, suffocating aura of his.
It was an odd feeling.
Like discovering a limb that was all staticky from having been sitting on it his entire life.
But once he got hold of that feeling, it started feeling more and more natural, like the limb waking up with newly freed up blood flow.
Finally, he managed to reel in the aura to the barest minimum, enough that perhaps only highly sensitive animals like cats would still avoid him, but less than a tenth the potency of what it had been before.
That should help with social interactions.
∞∞∞
Up at the staff table, Voldemort watched the feast through Quirrell’s eyes, directing the stuttering man’s gaze exactly as he saw fit.
The Potter boy had predictably ended up in Gryffindor, just as his insufferable parents had.
Nearby, that Molly Weasley bitch had somehow managed to produce son after son, a baffling display of defiance after the dark curse Voldemort had personally lain across Britain’s magical lines to prevent male births.
But the greatest anomaly in the entire hall.
The one that truly arrested the Dark Lord’s fractured mind.
Was the McKinnon-Prewett boy.
How anyone from those two families had managed to slip out from under his net during the first war was a mystery he couldn’t fathom.
Yet there the boy sat, the legally confirmed Heir to both houses.
It meant that somehow, someway, at the very minimum, the boy’s mother had slipped past his Death Eaters completely undetected.
Worse still was the timeline.
Voldemort had never known about this boy’s birth, but a recent look at the official student files had revealed a terrifying coincidence: Leon had been born on the exact same day as Harry Potter.
The realization threw massive, clawing doubts across Voldemort’s mind.
Could he have been wrong?
Could the prophecy have been about the McKinnon-Prewett boy all along?
It didn’t seem entirely likely; the Potter boy had, after all, physically rebounded his Killing Curse and ‘defeated’ him while still in the cradle.
But unknown variables were like a rusted thorn in Voldemort’s side.
They gnawed at his psyche with a relentless, maddening abandon.
He needed to know the truth.
He needed to see inside the boy’s mind.
The boy in question seemed deep in thought, his gaze moving idly over the crowd around him, occasionally glancing up at the staff table.
He didn’t seem much like the sociable type.
Which was a shame, really; the boy was attractive enough that he likely could have followed in Voldemort’s own footsteps if he had only been sorted into Slytherin.
Seduction was an incredibly useful tool, and social charms were always vastly easier for the naturally pretty.
Voldemort stared the boy down through Quirrell’s eyes with intense, unblinking focus.
The plan was simple: the exact moment the boy met his gaze; he would launch a sharp Legilimency probe and see what secrets he could pull from him.
He didn’t expect to break the whole mystery wide open tonight.
The boy was only eleven, after all.
Likely, he would eventually need to hunt down the boy’s mother and probe her thoughts instead.
The mere fact that she had gotten away from his Death Eaters in the first place made him suspect there may have been a traitor among his ranks back then, and he absolutely needed to know who that was.
Down at the Hufflepuff table, Leon finally looked up from his dessert and met Quirrell’s intense stare.
Voldemort didn’t hesitate.
Seizing the opening, he forced his host to strike, thrusting his mental probe straight into the child’s mind.
And immediately recoiled in absolute, unmitigated terror at the eldritch mind that he found.
But there was nothing he could do.
He’d touched on something that now had a death grip on him.
He felt some kind of incomprehensible magic wrap around his shattered self.
Severing the ties he had to Quirrell like dry grass meeting an enchanted yard scythe.
He felt this shard of his soul wrapped tightly in an unyielding cage of foreign magic.
With a terrifying, crushing force, Voldemort found himself pulled inescapably out of Quirrell’s body and sent his dark, wispy, Wraith-like self, hurtling across the room, directly into the waiting hand of the terrifying entity posing as a child in the Great Hall.
∞∞∞
Leon had to fight back a choke of surprise when he had idly glanced up at the staff table.
the moment that he met Quirrell’s oddly intense gaze, a mental probe struck at his mind like a viper, razor-sharp and driven by immense power, The probe was entirely doomed to failure.
The architecture of Leon’s mind was not something that any wizard would be able to comprehend.
But that wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that Leon had lashed out automatically the moment that the probe struck.
And it was with the spell he had been thinking about earlier.
[Soul Trap] It was one of the simplest spells he knew, he could cast it in his sleep and the reaction was instantaneous.
From Leon’s perspective, a vibrant rainbow of mystical lights burst out of Professor Quirrell’s body in a loud, brilliant spectacle, the magical illumination arching from where Quirrell sat thirty feet away straight into Leon’s chest.
No one else in the Great Hall saw or heard a thing.
But in that split second, Leon was mentally looking into Coldharbour, where the wraith of Voldemort was suddenly floating over the desolate, azure-lit plains, screaming in absolute terror.
Leon sighed to himself.
He briefly transferred his consciousness into his Coldharbour Avatar for the few moments it took him to grab the wandering spirit of Voldy and cast it into the Waters of Oblivion to be reborn as a Dremora Minion.
Then he was back in his avatar in the Great Hall.
Leon had genuinely not expected any of that to happen.
He had fully thought that he was going to need to wait until the end of the year, hide in the shadows, and capture Voldemort’s shade after the final confrontation with Harry Potter before the spirit could escape.
But right at the beginning of the year?
And so ridiculously easily?
Leon shook his head in disbelief at how quickly his master plan had just been derailed by sheer reflex.
Up at the staff table, the physical consequences of the spell manifested.
Severed from the parasitic entity that had been keeping him standing, Quirrell went completely rigid, gasped loudly, and passed out cold.
He crashed face-first into his unfinished plate of food, the impact causing his purple turban to come entirely undone.
It unraveled across the table, revealing nothing but a completely clean, bald head that was now partially covered in a sad dollop of mashed potatoes.
Madam Pomfrey immediately hopped up from her seat, rushing over to check his pulse and tend to the unconscious teacher.
Aside from the school nurse’s dutiful panic, the rest of the professors seemed mostly amused by the ridiculous situation, quietly chuckling into their goblets at their colleague’s spectacular, potato-covered blunder.
Dumbledore merely watched with a mild, twinkling curiosity, entirely unaware that the Dark Lord had just been permanently drafted as an unpaid but definitely appreciated worker drone.