October brought damp air and bitter winds to Hogwarts.
The stone corridors grew colder with each passing day, yet the gloomy weather did nothing to diminish the students’ growing enthusiasm for Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Professor Cromwell’s theory of combat classes had become one of the most popular topics in the castle.
Rumors had also spread that Hagrid—who had previously been known only for raising dangerous creatures—had become a Druid under Leon’s guidance and could now create magical berries with his bare hands.
That story ignited the students’ imaginations.
Naturally, not everyone was pleased.
Snape had complained to Dumbledore several times, describing Leon’s lessons as childish, undignified, and dangerously tolerant of rule-breaking.
Each time, the headmaster dismissed his objections by saying that Professor Cromwell was merely adapting his teaching to the individual talents of his students.
Professor McGonagall had her own concerns.
After answering the same question seven or eight times—no, Druids were not Animagi, and transforming into a bear would not earn extra Transfiguration marks—she finally cornered Leon in the staff room and demanded that he explain the difference during his next lesson.
Professor Flitwick, on the other hand, was fascinated by Leon’s foreign spellcraft.
He had visited Leon’s office several times to discuss magical theory and had even added a comparison between the Levitation Charm and [Feather Fall] to one of his Charms lessons.
Argus Filch was probably the most miserable of them all.
Several students had begun sneaking through the castle at night while claiming to practice “Rogue stealth.” Their activities had driven the caretaker nearly insane and, according to rumor, caused him to lose even more hair.
The source of these changes was not enjoying himself nearly as much as everyone believed.
The mysterious girl’s attack on his mansion had cast a shadow over Leon’s previously comfortable life.
The knowledge that someone connected to the Forgotten Realms might be watching him left him with the unpleasant sensation of a blade hanging over his head.
He desperately needed more power.
Leon had reached level eleven with fifty-six percent experience, but without Voldemort serving as a renewable training target, his progress had slowed almost to a halt.
He remained far from level thirteen, where he would finally unlock seventh-circle spells.
After the battle at Highgate Cemetery, Cornelius Fudge had stormed into Hogwarts and demanded that Leon be taken into Ministry custody for questioning.
Dumbledore had stopped him through a mixture of political pressure and gentle intimidation.
The conversation apparently ended when Dumbledore calmly asked whether Fudge honestly believed Azkaban could hold Professor Cromwell.
That question had left the Minister sweating.
Leon himself was not particularly concerned.
If the Ministry truly sent him to Azkaban, he might have thanked Fudge for providing an entire prison filled with Dementors to farm for experience.
Time passed quickly, and soon the final evening of October arrived.
The Halloween feast was one of the most anticipated events of the Hogwarts calendar.
Students were allowed to wear ridiculous costumes, enjoy mountains of sweets, and cast harmless prank spells without immediately receiving detention.
The Great Hall had been decorated with hundreds of live bats, while Hagrid’s enormous pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough to hold several students.
Rumors also claimed that Dumbledore had invited a dancing skeleton troupe to perform during the feast.
At seven o’clock, Leon entered the Great Hall with the rest of the faculty.
He rarely ate there outside official events.
British wizarding food could not compete with his homemade hamburgers, french fries, or the flavors from his previous life that he had recreated through magic.
“It appears tonight’s entertainment is about to begin, Professor Cromwell.” Dumbledore sat in the center of the staff table wearing deep-purple robes decorated with golden stars and moons.
He raised his goblet and gestured toward the temporary stage.
The floating candles dimmed.
A painfully loud melody resembling wood being dragged across a saw filled the Great Hall.
A dozen pale skeletons entered through a side door, sliding onto the stage in perfect formation.
Unlike ordinary undead, they released neither a rotten odor nor an aura of negative energy.
They wore colorful theatrical costumes instead.
Some had battered top hats perched on their skulls, while others wore bright veils covered in moth-eaten holes.
As the terrible music continued, the skeletons kicked, spun, and leaped across the stage.
Their bones clattered together with every movement, and occasionally they removed their own skulls and tossed them through the air like juggling balls.
The students responded with equal amounts of cheering and horrified screaming.
“A marvelous performance, wouldn’t you agree?” Dumbledore asked.
“I invited the troupe from France as a small surprise for the students.” “Animated skeletons,” Leon said thoughtfully.
“An entertaining application of necromancy.” He raised his glass toward the headmaster, then lowered his voice so no one else could hear.
“Thank you for dealing with the Minister.” “There is no need to thank me, Leon.” Dumbledore’s expression remained cheerful.
“I do not believe you are an evil man.
Should you encounter any serious difficulty, you may always ask for my help.” “Does the celebrated Professor Cromwell truly encounter problems he cannot solve?” Snape’s silky voice came from Leon’s other side.
“Your combat-class theory has already caused considerable trouble in my lessons.
Several students have begun claiming that Fighters have no need for potions and that divine magic will heal every injury.
Some now consider Potion-making beneath them.” “Have you considered that the problem might be your teaching methods?” Leon asked.
Snape’s interruption had already begun to ruin his mood.
“Perhaps the students simply dislike your classes.” “You encourage children to abandon their wands and attack enemies with swords.
Is that your definition of education?” “It is called teaching according to individual aptitude.
Even Mr.
Malfoy takes my lessons seriously.” “In my opinion, your so-called class system does nothing but fill their heads with nonsense.” “Nonsense?” Leon turned toward him.
“What would you say if I told you that one of those classes can eventually resurrect the dead?” Snape’s knife and fork struck his plate with a sharp clatter.
He did not respond immediately.
His brow tightened, and his dark eyes fixed upon Leon with a mixture of anger, suspicion, and something far more desperate.
“Gentlemen, this is a celebration,” Dumbledore interrupted before the argument could continue.
“Let us avoid discussing work or advanced magical theory for one evening.” He rose with a warm laugh and applauded as the skeleton troupe completed its performance.
At that moment, a green point of light appeared at the edge of Leon’s enchanted vision.
After hearing the basilisk inside the walls with Harry, Leon had permanently linked [Locate Creature] to his glasses.
The warning meant the monster had entered the range of the spell once again.
His relaxed expression disappeared.
“It seems our entertainment is over, Headmaster.” Dumbledore immediately noticed the change in his voice and lowered his goblet.
“What happened?” “Something uninvited is moving through the castle.” Leon narrowed his eyes as he followed the signal.
“There has also been a strong reaction from dark magic on the second floor.” He stood.
“We should investigate.” When Leon, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape reached the second-floor corridor, they found Argus Filch screaming at Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
“My cat!
What have you done to Mrs.
Norris?” The caretaker’s face twisted with rage and grief.
“You killed her!
I’ll kill you!
I’ll—” “Argus!” Dumbledore stepped forward and stopped him before he could approach the terrified students.
Mrs.
Norris hung stiffly from a torch bracket, her body rigid and her eyes wide open.
Leon carefully removed the cat and glanced at the message written across the wall.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
Leon turned toward Dumbledore.
“My office?” “Thank you, Leon.” The crowd silently separated, allowing the professors and students to pass.
Inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, Dumbledore placed Mrs.
Norris on the desk and examined her through his half-moon spectacles.
Leon had already activated the analytical enchantment within his glasses.
[Name: Mrs.
Norris] [Race: Beast] [Condition] [Basilisk-Induced Petrification: The target successfully resisted an instant-death effect.
The failed death effect was reduced to permanent petrification.] “She isn’t dead,” Leon said.
“Not dead?” Filch stared at his cat through trembling fingers.
“Then why is she stiff like that?
She looks frozen!” “She has been petrified by a dangerous magical creature.” Filch appeared not to hear the explanation.
He spun toward Harry with tears streaking down his face.
“Ask him!
He did this!” Leon tapped Mrs.
Norris lightly on the forehead.
Her stone-like body produced two hard clicks beneath his finger.
“Creating petrification this severe requires advanced dark magic,” he explained.
“The original effect was intended to cause instant death, but something interfered and reduced it to petrification.” He turned toward Harry and the furious caretaker.
“If a second-year student could perform an advanced death effect that even I would find troublesome, Mr.
Potter should already be running the Ministry’s Auror Office rather than standing here accused of breaking school rules.” “Professor Cromwell is correct,” McGonagall said sternly.
“Even most seventh-year students would be incapable of producing such magic.” “Forgive me, Headmaster,” Snape said from the shadows.
His eyes narrowed as he studied Harry and his friends.
“Perhaps Potter did not petrify the animal.
However, one must still wonder why he and his companions were wandering the upper corridors instead of attending the Halloween feast.” Harry, Ron, and Hermione opened their mouths to explain, but Leon stepped forward first.
He rested one hand lightly on Harry’s head and looked toward Snape.
“They were helping me prepare new teaching materials.” Snape’s expression became openly suspicious.
“During the Halloween feast?” “You may not be aware, Professor Snape, but I intend to introduce a new educational tool next week.
I call it an Adventurer’s Record.” Leon continued without hesitation.
“Producing them requires a large quantity of enchanted parchment.
Mr.
Potter and his friends possess extraordinary patience and craftsmanship, making them ideal for the basic assembly work.” He glanced down at Harry, who was staring so intently at the floor that his chin nearly touched his chest.
“As the Potions professor, surely you have noticed their natural talent for precise manual work.” Snape’s mouth twitched.
He knew Leon was lying.
Potter could barely handle the ingredients in a beginner’s potion without creating a disaster.
The idea that he possessed delicate craftsmanship was laughable.
Unfortunately, Snape had no evidence to disprove the alibi.
“I hope you understand that protecting students who violate the rules will not improve your achievements as an educator,” he said coldly.
“A person remains innocent until proven guilty, Severus,” Dumbledore said calmly.
His blue eyes gleamed behind his spectacles.
Snape looked furious.
Filch looked even worse.
“My cat has been turned to stone!” he shrieked.
“Someone needs to be punished!” “Mrs.
Norris can be cured,” Dumbledore assured him.
“Professor Sprout recently acquired a supply of Mandrakes.
Once they have matured, a restorative potion can be prepared.” He turned toward Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
“You may return to your common room.” The three students gave Leon grateful looks before hurrying out of the office.
Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Filch soon followed, leaving Leon alone with Snape.
“Thank you for providing Potter with such a convincing alibi,” Snape said, though his voice contained no gratitude.
“It does not change the fact that the boy is an arrogant troublemaker.” He paused beside the door.
“You had also better possess these teaching materials you invented.” “They exist.
You’ll see them next week.” Leon dismissed him with a small wave.
“Was there anything else?” Snape remained still.
“That spell…” He stepped closer, lowering his voice until the words barely escaped through his clenched teeth.
“What you said during the feast—was it true?” Leon stopped organizing the books on his desk and turned around.
Snape’s dark eyes burned with desperate hope beneath the doubt and hostility.
“I do not joke about matters like this, Severus.” Leon’s voice remained calm, but it carried undeniable certainty.
“Just as Mrs.
Norris can be restored from petrification, death is not always irreversible.
A sufficiently powerful Cleric can cast the seventh-circle spell [Resurrection].” Snape stared at him.
“What is the price?” “The price?” A mysterious smile appeared on Leon’s face.
“You would have to abandon your ridiculous pride and reconsider everything you believe about magic.” He waved one hand.
Two bound manuscripts flew from the nearby shelves and stopped in front of Snape.
The first was The Adventurer’s Handbook.
The second carried the title Power Through Faith: The Path of the Cleric.
Snape looked from the books to Leon as though he wanted to ask another question.
In the end, he seized both volumes, turned sharply, and swept out of the office.
A cold draft followed him through the closing door.
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