By the end of this year, Harry would use the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix, and two years later he would use the Imperius Curse on the goblin Griphook at Gringotts. Both were things he had learned from Barty Crouch Jr.
In sixth year, Snape might have been a terrible person, but his teaching ability was undeniably high. If the hatred between him and Harry hadn't been so deep, and if Harry hadn't resisted him so strongly, he wouldn't have taken so long to learn Occlumency.
But when Leon enrolled, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor happened to be Umbridge. She was a pure political bureaucrat, and as an adult witch her combat ability was probably worse than that of a centaur holding only a bow. In class, all she could teach was theoretical knowledge.
It looked like he would have to think of some other way to make up for those lessons.
After dinner, Leon followed the Hufflepuff group out of the Great Hall and down the wide stone steps.
The torches on both sides of the corridor stretched their shadows long across the walls. The first years chattered endlessly about the Sorting Ceremony. Some were still frightened, while others were excitedly saying the Sorting Hat had almost sent them to Ravenclaw. Walking in the middle of the group and listening to them, Leon felt a strange sense of distance. He was a fifth year, yet these first-year topics somehow felt far more relaxing than the undercurrents swirling among the older students.
The group turned a corner and kept going downward. Hufflepuff's common room was said to be on the basement level near the kitchens. The prefect, a sixth-year boy, kept turning back to introduce things to the new students, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
"Leon."
A voice came from behind him.
Leon turned around and saw Professor McGonagall standing a few steps away. Her dark green robes gave off a dim sheen in the torchlight, and her expression was stern, her thin lips pressed into a line.
"Prefect," she called, raising her voice slightly to stop the boy in front, "I need to borrow the Hufflepuff first year Leon for a while. Someone will bring him to the common room later."
The prefect froze for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, Professor."
Leon glanced at him, then looked toward McGonagall. The old professor offered no explanation. She merely tilted her head slightly to signal him to follow, then turned and walked back the way they had come.
Leon quickly followed.
They passed through the corridors, moving past students chatting in small groups, and headed upward all the way. As they passed one stretch of stone wall, Leon noticed that the portraits hanging there were secretly watching them. One plump wizard even pretended to be dozing, only to open his eyes the instant they passed and whisper with the portrait beside him.
Professor McGonagall stopped in front of a gigantic stone gargoyle.
"Sherbet lemon," she said clearly.
The gargoyle leaped aside, and the wall behind it split open to reveal a spiraling stone staircase rising upward.
Professor McGonagall stepped onto the staircase, and Leon followed behind her. The stairs slowly rotated as they rose, carrying them up level after level. Portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses hung on the walls. Some were snoring, while others leaned out curiously to examine them.
At last, they stopped before a gleaming oak door. On it was a bronze knocker shaped like a griffin.
McGonagall knocked.
"Come in," said a calm elderly voice from behind the door.
McGonagall pushed it open and stepped aside to let him enter.
The Headmaster's office was far more spacious than Leon had imagined. It was a tall circular room, its walls covered with portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses. Most of them were pretending to sleep, but judging by their twitching eyelids, at least seven or eight were sneaking glances at him. On slender-legged tables sat many delicate silver instruments that released faint curls of smoke, which gathered into strange shapes in the air before slowly dissipating. A huge bookcase occupied an entire wall, and the spines bore writing Leon couldn't understand. In one corner stood a thin bird. It was Fawkes the phoenix, and at that moment it was watching the visitor with bright black eyes.
At the center of the room, behind that massive claw-footed desk, sat an old man.
Albus Dumbledore.
Leon stood where he was and for a moment forgot how he ought to react. Dumbledore wore deep purple robes, his silver-white beard draped over his chest, and behind his half-moon spectacles his blue eyes regarded Leon with gentle warmth.
"Good evening, Leon," Dumbledore said, his voice calm and mild, carrying the faintest trace of a smile. "Thank you for coming. I know you ought to be tired right now, after a long journey, the Sorting Ceremony, and... well, certain people making extra speeches at the wrong time."
"I'm not especially tired, actually. It's just that I often have many questions and want answers to them," Leon said as he sat down properly.
"You are a clever young man, but there are some answers I would rather leave for you to discover in time. I imagine that would be more interesting," Dumbledore said with a slight smile. "I expect you have already begun wondering why. You will slowly learn those things later. I invited you here tonight for another reason."
Damn it, another riddler.
Leon felt displeased, but he said nothing. After all, Dumbledore was the legendary wizard with the bigger fist. If he wanted to speak in riddles, no one could stop him.
But Dumbledore was clearly an expert at handling children, and he easily smoothed over Leon's dissatisfaction by producing something.
He spread both hands, and with a sharp smack a hardcover book flew into existence before Leon.
"Here, this is for you."
Leon took it and looked. On the cover was a large letter H.
"Could this be..."
"The Wizard's Practical Guide," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "A hundred years ago, that transfer student received a similar item, so according to the records I had the same thing prepared for you. It is a very special book. You may think of it as a spellbook that can grow. It can record magical knowledge. Any spell you come into contact with, learn, or comprehend can be entered into it."
"And not only that. When you repeatedly practise a spell, this book will record your progress, mark your mistakes, and even offer suggestions when you reach a bottleneck. It is, in a sense, a private tutor that cannot speak."
"You are a fifth-year transfer student, which means you missed four years of systematic education. The British magical education system is different from others. Your O.W.L.s are next June, and the amount you need to master goes far beyond what you currently know. This book will help you catch up."
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