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Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 152
🕑 Added 2025-11-20 14:00:22 +0000 UTCChapter 152: Harry’s “Busy” Summer, The House Cup Belongs To…?
In the hospital wing.
Perhaps Hermione and Ron’s earlier visits had worn her down, because Madam Pomfrey did, in the end, allow Leonardo in.
“Five minutes,” she said. “No more. The patient needs rest.”
“No problem. Thank you, Madam.”
Leonardo stepped inside. Only Harry was there now.
A few other students from the Quidditch match had been sent in earlier, but broken arms and legs were “little injuries”. Madam Pomfrey had sorted those out in no time.
Harry waved when he saw Leonardo, but remembering Madam Pomfrey’s instructions, did not dare raise his voice.
“Ron said you wanted to see me?” Leonardo asked.
He took a Chocolate Frog from his pocket and handed it over.
“Thanks.”
Harry accepted it but did not open it. He hesitated for a long moment before speaking.
“Professor Dumbledore came to talk to me,” he said. “He told me the Philosopher’s Stone has been destroyed. Nicolas Flamel and his wife will die in the end anyway. He said death is just the next great adventure…”
Leonardo was sceptical about that.
The Stone Flamel had entrusted to Dumbledore had already been incomplete. It could no longer be used to brew the Elixir of Life.
This was a perfect chance to declare publicly: the Stone is gone.
Those who coveted Flamel and his Stone would slowly give up.
Perhaps Flamel was simply using this to slip free.
If a wizard could forge one Stone, why not a second?
“Headmaster Dumbledore also said Voldemort is not really dead,” Harry went on. “He is still out there. Hiding. Waiting…”
“My dad, my mum… they were killed by Voldemort…”
“It turns out I only survived because of my mum’s love…”
His voice grew softer and softer, until it caught in his throat.
He had been sad when Dumbledore told him the truth, but there had been so much to take in at once that the grief had not fully sunk in. Now, in the quiet, the more he thought, the worse it hurt.
He had no real memories of his parents. He had grown up at his aunt’s, an unwanted, invisible child.
Then he had come to the wizarding world, and suddenly people respected him, adored him. It had left him bewildered—and a little pleased with himself.
Now he understood. That fame was bought with his parents’ lives.
“Leonardo, I… I think Dumbledore wants me to be brave enough to face Voldemort, but…”
Harry’s head drooped. He remembered that night. Faced with Voldemort, he had been helpless, pinned down in an instant.
While Leonardo had stood beside him, casting spell after spell, unleashing strange, unheard‑of Transfiguration, trading blows with Voldemort.
That calm, steady figure had carved itself deep into Harry’s memory.
He had been the only witness. He knew perfectly well who had actually broken Quirrell’s plot and stopped Voldemort.
The memory of his own powerlessness made his hands curl into fists.
“Leonardo, I want to be stronger,” he said. “I want to learn more magic. I… I want the strength to face Voldemort.”
Leonardo smiled, quietly pleased.
He had prepared words of comfort, but they were no longer needed. Better this way.
No lecture could compare with real understanding.
Whatever the reason, wanting to learn was good.
“Knowledge is no problem,” Leonardo said. “You already have courage, Harry. Now you need steady study and practice.
“Next year we can start proper extra lessons in Defence Against the Dark Arts and practical work. You cannot use magic outside school, but you can still make good use of the holidays. We will go to Diagon Alley first and get some materials for you to study…”
As Leonardo laid out his “grand” plans, Harry’s face grew a little stiff.
He was delighted at the idea of combat lessons next term. The rest—the full holiday study timetable—made his heart clench.
“I will be busy this summer myself,” Leonardo added. “So I probably will not check your progress very often. We will just have a diagnostic test when term starts…”
Harry thought of his stirring declaration a few minutes before and could only grit his teeth and listen. He had a feeling his summer was going to be very… full.
After a while, another thought struck him.
“Leonardo, erm… about my family,” he said. “My aunt and uncle. They hate magic. If you want me to study over the holidays, I…”
Leonardo waved a hand. “Do not worry. When the holidays start, I will visit your home and explain.”
“Education should be every family’s first priority.”
He paused, then asked almost idly, “By the way, what is your uncle’s company called?”
…
A few days later.
The Great Hall was as crowded and noisy as it had been at the Opening Feast.
Students chattered about who would win the House Cup or gossiped about their summer plans.
Green and silver hung everywhere, and behind the staff table a huge banner bearing a serpent waved.
Slytherin’s colours.
The Slytherin table was already in celebration. This would be their seventh House Cup in a row. For such a historic moment, the snakes were understandably delighted.
“That was close. I have been here a few years, and they have taken the Cup every time.”
“Of course. The glory is ours.”
“The lions were no match. Without Harry, even the Quidditch Cup slipped through their fingers.”
“Speaking of, thank goodness for Quidditch. If we had not had those points from the Cup, we would not have overtaken Ravenclaw. They were brutal this year.”
“Tell me about it. We only just edged them out. Apparently they have a first‑year who earned a ton of points…”
Leonardo sat at the Ravenclaw table, not particularly invested in where the Cup ended up.
It was a collective honour. For an individual, it was mostly just a talking point.
Most of Ravenclaw seemed similarly unmoved. No one looked especially bitter about missing the Cup by a hair.
Over the year, Leonardo had noticed that Ravenclaw was probably the least “united” of the four Houses.
Little eagles chased knowledge and prided themselves on their wits. Most were absorbed in their own paths of exploration and study.
In that light, an eagle was an apt emblem.
Hawks did not flock. They soared alone.
Ding.
A clear ring echoed through the hall. Dumbledore set down his spoon and goblet, and his voice rolled out.
“Another year gone!”
“Before you all fall upon the feast, you must endure a few more words from an old man…”
