Every movement Voldemort made was laid bare before Leonard's eyes.
"So this is Magical Sight? Convenient indeed—every trace of magic in range has nowhere to hide." Leonard watched Voldemort thrash about in the room, a mischievous grin spreading across his face like a prank well played.
A wizard of Voldemort's level could feel the weight of Magical Sight watching him. By that logic, Dumbledore likely could as well.
Leonard quickly shut it off. He had no intention of provoking Voldemort further—push him too hard and he might snap. Even a cornered dog will leap at the wall; if Voldemort lost control, he could very well unleash a massacre.
The moment Leonard cut off the vision, Voldemort relaxed. That ancient, dreadful gaze had vanished.
What was it?
Unease prickled at Voldemort's mind. His temper flared again when his eyes fell on Quirrell, still whimpering under the curse's torment.
"Get up!" he roared. A surge of magic lifted Quirrell off the bed and flung him to the floor with a heavy thud.
Dazed from the impact, Quirrell's thoughts quickly turned to bitter sorrow and resentment.
What horrible luck had cursed him with such a master? A master who dictated his life and death, who spent each day tormenting him with curses, barking orders, and heaping abuse.
How was he supposed to go on like this?
But Quirrell didn't want to die. So even with his back aching and his body bruised, he bowed low before the serpent on the floor, speaking with trembling reverence.
"Please forgive me, my lord. What are your orders?" he asked cautiously.
"This place is no longer safe. Someone is watching us. We leave at once. The attack on Gringotts must be moved forward." Voldemort slipped back into Quirrell's body. "Go. Now."
"Yes… my lord." Though questions burned in his mind, Quirrell didn't dare let them show. He quickly gathered his belongings and hurried out with Voldemort.
...
Leonard stood by his own door, ear pressed to the wood, listening closely to the sounds in the corridor.
The Magical Sight had clearly startled Voldemort. Leonard figured his reaction could only go one of two ways: either start searching immediately for whoever was watching, or leave at once.
Given Voldemort's condition and what Leonard had seen through the vision, the second seemed far more likely. He stayed alert, tracking every sound outside. Sure enough, he heard Quirrell's door open, followed by the scrape of something heavy being dragged past.
Leonard silently followed the footsteps with his ears. When they reached the stairs, he cracked his own door open and peeked out. As expected, he caught a glimpse of Quirrell, suitcase in hand, vanishing around the stairwell.
"Scared him off after all." Leonard let out a long breath and closed the door.
With one less "nighttime companion" wandering the streets, he figured his own outings would be much easier for a while.
"This is an unexpected bonus. I didn't think Magical Sight would be this strong. But Voldemort's move feels too timid—Quirrell looked like he was flat-out running away." Leonard rubbed his chin, frowning in thought.
If it had been him being watched, his first instinct would be to flush out the observer. Even if he wasn't in great shape, he'd at least lay traps and strike back.
Wouldn't running away in a panic just reveal weakness? Wouldn't that only tempt the one watching to pursue more aggressively?
The thought made Leonard stop short, his expression tightening.
"Unless… that's exactly what Voldemort wants? To bait out whoever's spying on him and then quietly take them out?" The more Leonard mulled it over, the more likely it seemed.
What he didn't know was that the gaze of Magical Sight carried the heavy aura of ancient magic. Voldemort had mistaken it for some terrifying being locking onto him, which was why he bolted in such a panic.
He hadn't set any trap at all. In his current state, he could still throw his weight around with Quirrell, but against an experienced elder wizard, he didn't stand a chance.
He was no longer the fearsome Dark Lord of old—just a broken remnant soul clinging to the body of a snake.
It was nothing more than a harmless misunderstanding, but it left Leonard more wary of Voldemort and planted a dangerous seed in his mind.
"Never try to outscheme a Dark Wizard of that level. Never count on luck. The only way forward is to crush them with overwhelming power."
Leonard's resolve solidified, and his longing for his own Botanical Garden deepened.
With a thriving, self-sustaining garden, he could have an endless supply of magical plants. Then, whether it was a duel or a brawl, he'd have nothing to fear.
So what if the enemy had numbers? As long as he had seeds, turning them into soldiers would be easy. Scatter a handful, and an army of enhanced, lethal magical plants would rise to fight.
With that kind of power, what good would an ambush do? It would all be crushed underfoot.