A quiet stillness, a weightless sensation, and a chilling sense of suffocation.
Leon sank slowly, enveloped by the pool's water.
His hands brushed the pool's bottom, and half his body passed through it, vanishing entirely into the depths…
Oh, it was just a wizarding trick—hidden magical architecture at its finest.
Like the British Ministry of Magic tucked away beneath London, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies hidden in an abandoned department store, Diagon Alley concealed behind a shabby pub's back courtyard, or Platform 9¾ nestled inside a station pillar…
The swimming pool was a passageway, too.
The pool's edge was Leon's home in the wizarding world, while the bottom led to the bathroom on the third floor of his family's Muggle house.
"I'll never understand how wizards' minds work," Leon muttered as he climbed out of the toilet, his body dry but his mood anything but.
Who in their right mind crawls in and out of a toilet every day?
But there was no helping it—this house was built long before Leon was born.
Traveling between the wizarding and Muggle worlds via toilet was, apparently, inspired by the British Ministry of Magic's design.
Leon had objected once, but his mother, Maeve, shut him down with, "It's good for the feng shui."
Feng shui, really?
Was he supposed to call his eccentric mother a master of miscellaneous knowledge or just admit she was terrible at making up excuses for her kid?
Speaking of Maeve Green, Leon's mother was no ordinary woman.
Back when Leon, in a moment of impulsiveness, chose to be reborn without doing any research, he had no idea what he was getting into.
It wasn't until long after his birth that he learned his father was none other than Sirius Black!
Thankfully, in the wizarding world, having a close relative in Azkaban didn't stop you from getting a job at the Ministry.
The year Leon was conceived, the British wizarding world was in chaos, and Sirius was on the run, dodging Death Eaters left and right.
When Maeve discovered she was pregnant, she fled to a small town in County Kerry, Ireland, to keep herself safe.
Two and a half months after Leon was born, Voldemort was taken down a peg by baby Harry Potter, Sirius was thrown into Azkaban, and Maeve raised Leon alone.
They lived in a Muggle town with fewer than a thousand people.
In the Muggle world, Maeve's identity was that of a fortune-teller, medium, and spiritualist.
Her services? Divination, séances, tarot cards, crystal balls, astrology, palm reading, feng shui consultations—you name it, she did it all, covering every mystical art imaginable.
She was openly a figure of the mysterious, wasn't she bold?
Of course, she didn't need to use magic for her Muggle clients.
Maeve's true power shone only when she took on divination jobs for wizards.
In Ireland, whether in the Muggle or wizarding world, Maeve was a renowned seer.
You'd think constantly hopping between the Muggle and wizarding worlds, flirting with the edges of the International Statute of Secrecy, would've landed her in Azkaban by now.
But Ireland was a special case.
With so few wizards, they didn't have their own magical government.
Instead, they were grudgingly under the jurisdiction of the British Ministry of Magic, which the locals despised and ignored.
The Ministry tried multiple times to rein in Ireland's rebellious wizarding community, only to fail spectacularly.
Unable to solve the problem—or the people causing it—the Ministry adopted an ostrich-like approach, burying their heads in the sand and pretending nothing was wrong.
This left Ireland's wizarding world nominally under British control but, in reality, a lawless, anything-goes haven.
Dark wizards, Muggle-world entrepreneurs, smugglers, fake potion peddlers, con artists, fugitives, elopers, and recluses—all flocked to Ireland, a land brimming with extraordinary talent.
Pick any wizard off the street, and they might just be a hidden powerhouse.
Ordinary wizards wouldn't survive here without some serious skills.
From that perspective, Maeve—a young, single mother raising a kid and thriving in this chaotic place—was no ordinary witch.
Lost in thought, Leon turned on the shower to wash up again.
He pulled off his t-shirt, revealing a gleaming golden locket around his neck.
The letter "S" formed from emeralds sparkled with a brilliant fire.
Funnily enough, Maeve always thought the locket was a parting gift from Sirius.
The "S" for Slytherin, she mistook for Sirius's initial.
Her explanation to Leon? "This is your father's heirloom."
Sure, a Slytherin heirloom—why not?
The locket might not have become Leon's permanent home, but its massive storage space was undeniably useful.
What's that? Sirius is still alive?
Who's that guy?
Never heard of him, never met him, don't know him, doesn't matter.
"I love to bathe, my skin's so fine, oh-oh-oh-oh~~ Silly Tom's got so much hair, oh-oh-oh-oh~~ The Dark Lord's on the run!…"
The bathroom's acoustics made Leon's off-key singing sound almost professional.
Song done, shower done.
Still humming, he reached for a towel, eyes half-closed.
Someone handed him one.
"Oh, Kreacher, thanks," Leon said, taking the towel and thanking them out of habit.
A second later, he froze, as if hit with a Freezing Charm, a chill racing from his feet to the top of his head.
Kreacher never showed up at his house without being called!
And Maeve, who'd just left for Diagon Alley, wouldn't barge in while he was showering!
So, who was handing him a towel?
And more importantly—should he cover his face or… lower?
"Ahem, put some clothes on first. This look isn't exactly gentlemanly for receiving guests."
A deep, leisurely male voice broke the silence.
…
A few minutes later, in the second-floor living room.
Leon sat on the sofa, on high alert, a stiff fake smile plastered on his face. He kept his gaze lowered, watching the intruder out of the corner of his eye.
Suit, top hat, monocle.
Tall, white-haired, mismatched eyes.
Wow, a handsome, familiar-looking old man!
The old man strolled slowly, admiring the Muggle-style decor of Leon's home.
He stopped by the fake fireplace with an electric heater, picked up a still Muggle photo of Leon and Maeve, studied it, and suddenly said, "We're the same kind."
"Huh?"
Leon's nerves were on edge, his mind racing through melodramatic possibilities.
He didn't quite catch what that cryptic comment meant.
The old man didn't mind the lack of response. He sat beside Leon, extending a hand.
"Gellert Grind."
?
You're a Green, too?
I don't buy it!
If you're not that Gellert Grindelwald, the notorious criminal, I'll stew Tom for dinner!
Leon's mind screamed with skepticism, but he kept up his polite facade.
"Hello, sir, I'm Leon Green. Are you a relative? I've never heard of you. My mum will be back soon. Did you have urgent business, dropping by unannounced?"
Grindelwald looked at Leon, who still avoided his gaze, and drawled with a playful tone, "I don't need eye contact to use Legilimency."