Chapter 29: The Garlic-Scented Defence Professor

Chapter 29: The Garlic-Scented Defence Professor

"The SIG Sauer P229."

"An improvement on the P220, featuring a stainless steel slide and chambered in .45 calibre."

"The grip design is ergonomically optimized, and the magazine capacity is twelve rounds. Ideal for close-quarters combat."

"More importantly, its Nitron finish provides superior corrosion resistance in damp environments."

"The Slytherin common room and dormitories are underground. The environment is damp and cold. It's a perfect match."

Leon produced a pistol and handed it to the boy. Seeing the boy's feverish expression, Leon continued. "Armand, is it? How much money did you bring?"

"My mother gave me one hundred Galleons at the start of term... I only have fifty-three Galleons, six Sickles, and nineteen Knuts left," Armand's voice was full of anxiety. "Mr. Shelby, is that enough? The rest was... taken from me."

The market price for a SIG Sauer P229 was around seven hundred pounds, or roughly one hundred and forty Galleons. But that was the Muggle price. According to the rules Leon had established, when selling firearms to wizards, the price was to be marked up by a minimum of fifty per cent.

Therefore, the final price for this P229 should be at least two hundred and ten Galleons. Frankly, for a wizard, this was a charitable price.

"It's not nearly enough."

"The sale price for this firearm is two hundred and ten Galleons. Furthermore, first-time buyers are required to purchase the accompanying training course, which is an additional forty Galleons."

"That brings the total to two hundred and fifty Galleons."

"What you have... is barely a deposit."

At Leon's words, the light in Armand's eyes died. His lips moved, but he said nothing.

"Therefore, I recommend the rental option," Leon continued smoothly. "Fifty Galleons per week, returned upon expiration. You can use that week to solve your... problem."

"You are my first customer. As such, the training course will be included, free of charge."

"Oh, and naturally, if the firearm is damaged or lost, you will be required to pay for its full replacement."

As he was the first, Leon showed an unusual amount of patience, considerately offering the second option.

Like a man saved from the gallows, Armand's eyes lit up. He thought for a moment, then nodded vigorously, accepting Leon's proposal.

"I'll rent one! Thank you, Mr. Shelby! Thank you! I've been bullied for an entire year... that life is finally over..." Armand's voice choked.

"I said if you cry, you get out."

"I have no interest in hearing the sad story of your life."

"Sign this rental agreement. As for the training, we'll schedule it for next Thursday, from one to three in the afternoon."

"You will receive the firearm at that time. Remember to bring the Galleons."

"Now, get out. And close the door on your way."

Leon took the pistol back from Armand's hands and dismissed him without ceremony. He had Herbology at ten in the morning and had no time to listen to a coward's weeping.

Unexpectedly, Armand didn't leave. He pulled out a small coin pouch.

"I'll... I'll give you the money now," he sniffed. "If it gets taken from me before next Thursday... I won't be able to rent it."

He placed the pouch on the desk, turned, and walked out of the dormitory. His retreating back even looked a little cheerful.

Leon picked up the money, a small, amused smile on his face. He lay back on his bed and went to sleep.

The next morning, Leon went to the Great Hall for breakfast. Draco was still nowhere to be seen. That boy hadn't shown his face at the table in a long time.

The morning's Herbology lesson was dull. The professor, Professor Sprout, was also the Head of Hufflepuff, and she was an exceptionally precise witch. But by the end of the class, aside from a few simple watering charms, the only thing Leon remembered was how short she was.

Just when Leon thought Herbology was the most boring class possible, the afternoon's History of Magic proved him spectacularly wrong. It wasn't just that the professor, Professor Binns, was a ghost. It was that his droning, monotone voice was the most effective lullaby Leon had ever heard.

Leon desperately wanted to sleep, but as he was sitting in the front row, he had to force himself to stay awake. He made a silent vow to skip this class from next week on. Professor Binns' memory was so bad he often forgot he was dead mid-lecture; he would never notice one missing student.

Monday passed tediously. The only noteworthy event was that evening, when another young wizard knocked on Leon's door and, without haggling, purchased a Glock.

Compared to Monday, Tuesday's classes were far more interesting.

In his nine o'clock Charms class, Leon effortlessly performed the Levitation Charm, astounding the diminutive Professor Flitwick and earning five points for Slytherin, much to Hermione's annoyance.

The second class on Tuesday was Defence Against the Dark Arts.

For this class, the other Slytherins were shocked to see that Leon, for the first time, did not take the front-row seat. Instead, he sat in the middle of the pack.

He had done this, of course, because he had no desire to get involved with Voldemort any earlier than necessary. If things were as they should be, the Dark Lord was currently residing on the back of Professor Quirrell's head, wrapped in that ridiculous turban.

Though his housemates found this change in behaviour odd, they didn't dwell on it. Only Malfoy was losing his mind—Leon had, with an air of complete naturalness, sat down right next to him.

"Do you smell that?" Leon leaned in and whispered.

Malfoy, who had been silently praying for Shelby to suffer a sudden, fatal aneurysm, nearly jumped out of his skin. He steadied himself and gave a stiff, unnatural nod.

Leon covered his nose in disgust, mentally debating if he could find a way to skip this class, too. He stared at the back of Quirrell's turban, seriously contemplating what would happen if he just shot him in the back of the head.

Most of the Defence professors at Hogwarts were frauds. Like this turbaned fool, or the preening idiot who would take over the next year.

Finally, after an hour of reeking garlic, Quirrell dismissed the class. The students scrambled for the exit.

Leon was in the middle of the crowd when he suddenly heard his name. He turned in surprise. It was Quirrell.

"L-Leon Shelby! W-wait a moment! I n-need to speak with you!"

A thousand thoughts flashed through Leon's mind, but his expression remained calm. "Yes, Professor?"