Leo had always been a bit of an enigma in the tapestry of Hogwarts, a Slytherin whose thoughts danced along unconventional lines. His disregard for the conventional approach to wizarding dilemmas set him apart, especially in the face of the looming return of the Dark Lord, Voldemort.
While the wizarding world clung staunchly to their spells and incantations, Leo harbored a different belief—one rooted in the pragmatic application of non-magical solutions against formidable magical foes. It was a notion that garnered curious glances and raised eyebrows from his peers, yet Leo remained resolute, unyielding in his divergence from the magical norm.
Within Slytherin, Leo was a curious anomaly, a figure feared and respected in equal measure. His reputation, embellished by whispered tales and rumors, spoke of a confrontation in his first year that left a group of sixth years in awe. Slytherins hesitated to cross him, an unspoken caution born from fear and perhaps a hint of admiration. Yet, outside the confines of his house, Leo was a phantom, a presence barely acknowledged by the other houses, save for a select few.
When the head of Gryffindor issued a command that led the Slytherins into a perilous situation, Leo opted for discretion. Without a word, he vanished from the group, his steps leading him to a strategic haven—an abandoned classroom overlooking the grounds, its high window a perfect vantage point for the impending conflict.
The imminent arrival of Voldemort and his dark followers set Leo's heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and resolve. His unconventional approach to warfare extended beyond the bounds of magic; his arsenal, a cache of non-magical weaponry concealed within his trunk, bore testament to connections far removed from the magical world's reach.
"Accio Sniper rifle" he muttered under his breath.
Gripping the sniper rifle—a foreign instrument in a wizard's hands—with practiced ease, Leo positioned himself with precision, ensuring its concealment amidst the encroaching shadows. His gaze scanned the schoolyard, seeking the telltale figure of Voldemort among the gathering darkness, a solitary beacon of malevolence within the mass of dark followers.
Voldemort's self-aggrandizing monologue permeated the air, a symphony of ego and grandiosity that grated on Leo's nerves. A snide remark about Voldemort's chosen moniker slipped from Leo's lips, his disdain for the Dark Lord evident even in that fleeting mutter.
"Fucking Stewie Griffin knock-off. Naming yourself after moldy shorts. What an idiot."
The stark incongruity between the wizarding grandeur and the pragmatic functionality of a firearm didn't escape his observant eye.
With meticulous precision, Leo adjusted the scope of the sniper rifle, aligning its crosshairs with unwavering determination. Every slight movement was deliberate, every breath calculated as he prepared to shatter the norms that tethered magical warfare.
As Voldemort's theatrics persisted, Leo's resolve crystallized. The moment for action had arrived. With steely determination, he steadied his aim, the world around him receding into insignificance as his focus narrowed to a singular, decisive point.
The shot tore through the oppressive silence, a disruptor of the Dark Lord's grandiloquence. The projectile found its mark with a chilling accuracy, shattering the monologue and sending Voldemort crashing to the ground, a ghastly wound between his eyes.
Leo - 1
Evil Lords - 0
In the Hogwarts schoolyard, chaos swirled amid the impending confrontation. Harry Potter stood amidst his friends and allies, a whirlwind of emotions churning within him. The weight of their mission, the perilous situation they faced, hung heavily in the air.
As Voldemort's menacing presence loomed over the gathered dark wizards, Harry's thoughts were consumed by a mix of apprehension and determination. His friends—Hermione, Ron, and the others—stood steadfast by his side, their expressions reflecting a blend of fear and resolve.
In the midst of this tension, a sudden disruption shattered the charged atmosphere. The abrupt crack of a gunshot reverberated through the air, followed by an eerie silence that descended upon the schoolyard. For a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as the unexpected sound reverberated across the grounds.
The dark wizards flanking Voldemort, caught off guard by the unforeseen turn of events, faltered in their allegiance. Panic seized them as they realized the vulnerability of their leader, and in a desperate scramble, they fled in disarray, their allegiance to the Dark Lord crumbling in the face of unforeseen mortal danger. Their leader was dead.
Confusion rippled through the ranks of both allies and adversaries alike. Students and professors from different houses gazed in shock and disbelief as the ominous figure of Lord Voldemort fell, his monologue cut short by the unforeseen strike. The suddenness of the act left everyone stunned, their minds struggling to process the events unfolding before them. Then the older wizards started aiming and trying to capture the escaping criminals.
For Harry, it was a moment of bewildered astonishment, a mix of relief and incredulity at the unforeseen turn of events. He did not have to kill. His gaze darted around the schoolyard, meeting the bewildered expressions of his friends and fellow students. The disbelief etched on their faces mirrored his own, each grappling to comprehend the audacious act that had just transpired.
Among the chaos, Hermione's astute mind raced to make sense of the situation. Her eyes darted between the fallen Dark Lord and the abandoned classroom, piecing together the puzzle of the unexpected gunshot that had brought Voldemort to his knees. Her logical mind struggled to reconcile the use of a non-magical weapon in a world so heavily reliant on spells and charms. Who had a gun in Hogwarts?
Ron's eyes widened in disbelief, his initial shock giving way to a mix of awe and bewilderment. What was it that killed the Voldemort? It did not seem like a spell. Whatever it was it was Fucking amazing.
As the initial shock began to ebb away, whispers and murmurs rose among the bystanders, speculation and disbelief swirling through the crowd. The unexpected disruption had shattered the carefully orchestrated aura of power and invincibility that Voldemort had meticulously cultivated.
Amidst the confusion, Harry's mind raced with a myriad of questions. Who had killed the man? Who had guns in the magical world? Where they finally safe?