Chapter 54: Thank Goodness for You, Tom

Chapter 54: Thank Goodness for You, Tom

"We haven't met privately many times, but every single time, you seem to end up yelling at me..."

After enduring Leon's tirade, Dumbledore remained silent for a long while before finally speaking, a weary, wry smile on his face.

Leon replied coldly, "My original plan was to get it all out in one go, but I worried your old heart couldn't take it. So I decided to space it out."

"..." Dumbledore blinked awkwardly and raised his teacup to his lips. After a small sip, he decided to drop the subject of the Peaky Blinders. After all, Leon's group was, at most, a school club right now, hardly a political faction. Even the Headmaster of Hogwarts couldn't forbid that.

"The last weekend before the Christmas holidays," Dumbledore said, abruptly changing the subject, "I have urgent business that requires me to leave Hogwarts. I shall be gone for three or four days..." He looked pointedly at Leon. "During that time, if you could perhaps..."

"You want me to lure Quirrell out?" Leon instantly understood. "Don't worry, Headmaster. I'll keep a close eye on Harry." He paused, then added pointedly, "The Peaky Blinders never abandon their brothers. Unlike some organizations."

Dumbledore suspected Leon was being sarcastic, but he had no proof. He simply banished Leon from his office. One moment Leon was sitting there, the next he found himself outside, the oak door shut firmly in his face.

Someone's lost their composure, Leon thought. Shrugging indifferently, he turned and headed back downstairs.

After that conversation, Leon essentially had Dumbledore's tacit approval.

And so, the "black suit" group at Hogwarts – dubbed the "Fifth House" in hushed whispers by some students – grew rapidly under his management.

The Peaky Blinders dressed uniformly. Thanks to Leon's weekend "private tutoring," their spellcasting and combat skills far surpassed those of ordinary students. Though mostly composed of younger years for now, they had already become a force to be reckoned with when gathered together.

However, Leon knew that a fledgling team needed more than just appearances and slogans; it needed a clear objective. And Quirrell – that clumsy, obvious traitor – was the perfect whetstone.

That evening, seven or eight young wizards, impeccably dressed in black suits, stood silently as Leon gave his orders in a low voice.

"Professor Quirrell... is acting suspiciously," Leon began, scanning their faces. Seeing no surprise, only focused attention, he continued, satisfied.

"I need to know his movements. Outside of classes and meals, where does he go? Who does he meet? Even if he lingers too long looking at a suit of armour, I want to know."

He looked at the students he had hand-picked. They came from different Houses, but their eyes held the same mix of excitement and nervousness at being entrusted with this mission.

"Work in pairs, rotating shifts. Don't get too close. Remember what I taught you: use the environment, gather information, conceal yourselves."

"What if... what if we're discovered?" asked a second-year Ravenclaw, chosen by Leon for his exceptional memory and logical reasoning.

A faint smile, devoid of warmth, touched Leon's lips.

"Then you smile politely, greet him, and ask him a question about Defence Against the Dark Arts. Say you need his help clarifying something."

"He won't dare make a scene."

The assignments were accepted without question. Leon felt no anxiety; the Peaky Blinders never doubted their judgment of character.

In the following days, Quirrell began to notice that wherever he went, he seemed to bump into students wearing black suits.

Sometimes they'd be practicing wand movements in a corridor; other times, they'd be "discussing homework" on a staircase landing, their eyes flicking towards him almost imperceptibly. Whenever he looked back, suspicious, they would offer impeccable, slightly detached, polite smiles.

This silent scrutiny unnerved Quirrell far more than open hostility would have. Coupled with Voldemort's increasingly draining demands on his life force, Quirrell began to unravel. His stutter worsened, and he made frequent mistakes during his Defence lessons.

Meanwhile, every morning at breakfast, Leon sat at the long table, receiving and processing the information brought to him by his agents.

"Professor Quirrell went to the third-floor forbidden corridor yesterday at three p.m., but he only lingered at the door for five minutes before leaving."

"He spent less than ten minutes at dinner tonight. Seemed rushed."

"He spoke briefly with Professor Snape near the library. Professor Snape appeared irritated."

"Good. Continue."

Leon gave them nods of approval. The suited members looked more confident, exchanging knowing glances. They had successfully completed a covert operation, making them feel less like ordinary students and more like part of something significant.

Leon ate his porridge slowly, his gaze drifting towards the staff table. His eyes met Dumbledore's once more. This time, the mischievous twinkle was gone, replaced by a look of careful assessment. The Headmaster saw that Leon hadn't just lit a fire; he had rapidly forged his own instrument.

Leon met his gaze steadily and gave a slight, almost imperceptible lift of his milk goblet.

He then turned his attention back to the reports, piecing together the fragments. Though trivial individually, they painted a clear picture of Quirrell's mounting anxiety. The pressure was building. Quirrell and Voldemort were nearing their breaking point.

Finally, at the Friday evening feast, a Slytherin first-year sidled up to Leon and spoke in a barely audible whisper.

"The past few days... our people have often seen Professor Quirrell near the Forbidden Forest. During Flying class, I flew a bit higher than usual... I saw him. In the clearing between the Whomping Willow and the forest edge."

Leon nodded slowly, then clapped the boy reassuringly on the shoulder. "You will speak of this to no one. In time, everything will become clear." He paused, then added, "I was right about you. You're a proper Peaky Blinder."

The young wizard beamed, clearly encouraged.

Leon finished his dinner quickly and left the Great Hall, heading straight back to his dormitory.

Sitting at his desk, he thought for a moment, then opened the diary.

Tom, I'm going to teach someone a lesson tonight. Wish me luck.

Green ink bled onto the page almost immediately.

Of course! Malfoy, remember the spells I taught you. The results will astound you!

Leon smiled faintly and wrote back.

Thank goodness for you, Tom.