This has been a very strange day, already. He remembers being guided in here. Wherever here is. A big open room.He's been told to stay here until informed otherwise. Right now, he has no reason to leave. He'll have to evaluate the situation later. His name is Leonardo Fiori. He plays a sport called probably Quidditch. He's good at it. He gets the distinct impression he's good at a lot of things. There's a place called the grotto, where they serve punch. He can speak another language, and sometimes does, when he doesn't mean to.

It's a strange time and a stranger place to be alive.

Leo has in his possession too many notebooks, and he has them spread out over a table in the Atrium. It's how he's trying to learn his surroundings. Unfortunately, while the notebooks outline in possibly exhaustive detail the Quidditch faults and strengths of an entire team, they do not let him know where he is or why he's there. It's somehow a comforting ritual, to read through these anyway, instinctively snapping the notebooks shut whenever anyone comes near. This extensive information is probably not meant for anyone's eyes. He's pretty sure.