Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy

Harry and a few of his dormmates returned to their room, chatting and laughing. He sat on his bed, propped his pillow against the headboard, leaned back, and let one leg dangle over the edge, swinging idly.

"If you ask me, Dumbledore must be losing his mind—letting someone like Lockhart be a professor," Ron grumbled, still indignant.

"Exactly!" Seamus chimed in. "I've always thought he was overrated. He’s just a novelist! What does he even know about the Dark Arts? Or Defense Against the Dark Arts, for that matter?"

"You’re right, Seamus," Ron agreed. "Did you see the way the girls were looking at him? Tsk tsk… I really don’t see what’s so admirable about him."

"Maybe he’s just like Quirrell," Harry suddenly said. "You know, all talk and no skill—just spouting off about running into ghouls or why he wrapped his head in garlic-scented turbans—"

"It’s fine," Neville cut in. "I don’t think our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor’s teaching ability matters much to us anyway. After all, we’re members of the Duelling Club, and we’re learning from you, Harry. You know, my gran was so happy when she heard about my progress at school that she even took me to get a new wand as a reward."

"Why?" Ron asked with interest. "Hasn’t she always insisted that you use your dad’s wand?"

"Yeah," Neville’s expression dimmed slightly. "She wanted me to remember my dad’s courage. But I told her—after you got a new wand, your spellcasting improved a lot. So she went to ask Mr. Ollivander. After getting a definite answer from him, she stopped insisting and took me to buy a new wand instead."

"Sorry, mate," Ron said, patting Neville’s shoulder. "Didn’t mean to bring up something painful."

"Oh, it’s alright, Ron," Neville reassured him, giving his hand a pat in return. "That’s all in the past now. I just have to keep practicing my spells. One day, I want to be useful in battle against the Death Eaters and Dark wizards—or at the very least, I need to avenge my parents."

"Yeah, revenge!" Ron nodded seriously. "Burn those Dark wizards to ashes!"

"Oh, that might be Seamus’s job," Neville suddenly remarked.

"Hahahaha—!" The whole group burst into laughter, both at Neville’s sudden sense of humor and at Seamus himself.

"So, what’s our study plan this year, Professor?" Once they had laughed enough, everyone turned to Harry.

Harry thought for a moment before saying, "This year, we’re going to focus on real combat—actual battle tactics, not just dueling… Also, the Duelling Club will be welcoming some new friends."

"New friends?" That caught everyone’s interest. "Are they from Gryffindor? Who are they?"

"They're from Hufflepuff," Harry shook his head. "That good-looking Prefect, Cedric Diggory—he’s really interested in our Duelling Club. He actually stopped by our compartment on the train before the holidays to talk about it. I think it’s great—after all, we need more people to train with. The more we learn from each other, the more we improve, right?"

"You’re the boss, we’ll follow your lead," they all agreed.

"Then let’s take a vote," Harry said. "Hermione and Ron already agreed on the train, so now it’s up to you guys."

Voting was a tradition—one that Harry had established back when he was in the Order of the Phoenix.

"No objections from me," Neville raised his hand.

"Me neither," Seamus followed.

"That makes it five to zero—unanimous," Harry grinned. "Alright, now that the serious stuff is out of the way, it’s time to relax…"

Saying that, he pulled out his wallet.

"I’ve always believed that the best people deserve the best treats—here, Butterbeer," he said, taking out five bottles of the frothy, non-alcoholic wizarding drink. "And I also brought some snacks from France—both Muggle and magical. It’s fascinating—France’s wizarding world has all kinds of unique snacks you won’t find in Britain."

"Like what?" Ron asked, chewing on a bag of spicy beef tripe.

"Like what you’re eating now," Harry said. "The French have a real knack for preparing beef tripe—I think we should get the Hogwarts house-elves to learn a thing or two from them. Wouldn’t hurt to mix things up a bit, right?"

"I’m all for it," Seamus laughed. "We’ve been eating the same stuff for years. It’s about time we expanded the menu."

"Maybe the Hogwarts house-elves already know how to make it," Neville mused. "I remember my gran once said there’s a hidden menu at Hogwarts—if you go into the kitchen, you can order whatever you like. French cuisine, Italian, Indian, even Mexican."

"Mexican?" Ron put down his shrimp crisps. "I know about France, Italy, and India, but I’ve never even heard of Mexico!"

"It’s not too far," Seamus said. "I read about it in a book—just across the sea."

"I’d love to try Mexican food," Ron said wistfully. "Just listen to the name—Meh-hee-ko! Sounds like a place full of mystery!"

"You should ask Hermione about that—she’s the smart one," Harry chuckled, patting his bed. "When it comes to the Muggle world, we wizards are pretty clueless."

Ron turned to Harry. "Hang on, Harry, didn’t you go to a Muggle school before Hogwarts? Shouldn’t you know where Mexico is?"

"I forgot," Harry answered honestly.

Of course he forgot. It might have only been a year ago for everyone else, but for Harry, five whole years had passed since he last studied in a Muggle school. Five years was plenty of time to forget whatever little geography he had learned—especially when magic was far more interesting than anything from the Muggle world.

"Fair enough," Ron shrugged and went back to eating his shrimp crisps.

The first night back at Hogwarts was always one filled with endless chatter—there were no early classes the next day anyway, so they could afford to sleep in a bit.

They kept talking until well past ten o’clock, only stopping when Neville, utterly exhausted, could barely keep his eyes open. After bidding each other goodnight, they climbed into bed and drifted off to sleep.

Once he was sure his friends were sound asleep, Harry slipped out of bed, cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, and silently made his way out of Gryffindor Tower.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to bring them along, but the place he was going could only be accessed through ancient magic—aside from Harry, a direct inheritor of that magic, no one else could even get inside.

As he stepped out, the Fat Lady muttered something about "someone sneaking out again."

But she was just a portrait guardian, not a dormitory supervisor, so she didn’t raise the alarm.

Not her problem—so why should she care?

Harry pondered her words. That "again" probably referred to the Weasley twins.

Besides them, who else would go sneaking around on the first night of term?

Descending the stairs, Harry made his way to the entrance of the Map Chamber.

It had been over a month since he last saw Veratia. Truth be told, he kind of missed that girl.

Drawing his wand, he traced the magical patterns in the air, revealing an archway.

Through that archway, Harry stepped into the Map Chamber.

As soon as he stepped through the door, Veratia’s voice rang out.

“Harry,” she said. “You’re finally back.”

“Yeah, school’s starting again.” Harry walked down the stairs. “You know, Hogwarts doesn’t allow students to stay over the holidays.”

He glanced at the portraits nearby. Professor Rookwood had barely opened his mouth before Headmistress Fitzgerald yanked him away.

“What’s that about…?” Harry asked, puzzled.

Veratia chuckled. “Headmistress Fitzgerald thinks young people should have their private conversations, so she doesn’t want to linger and overhear any secrets. So, well—you saw what happened.”

“I see.” Harry nodded in understanding.

He found a spot and sat down on the floor. Beneath him was a miniature model of Hogwarts, resting under a transparent floor. Tiny twinkling lights shimmered below, like a starry sky.

Before coming to the Map Chamber, he had a whole lot to say.

But now that he was here, he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“Anything fun happen over the summer?” Veratia asked with a smile.

“Oh, plenty.” At her question, Harry recalled the events of the summer and started recounting them. “I caught gnomes at the Weasleys’—twice. Those little things are ugly, like misshapen potatoes, and when you grab them, they actually scream, ‘Let me go!’…”

“Aunt Molly’s cooking is amazing. When you’re out, I have to take you to the Weasleys’ for a meal—ah… Every time, Aunt Molly insists on giving me four extra servings. Honestly… I’m starting to worry I’ll end up as big as my cousin Dudley.”

Veratia smiled warmly, listening to Harry’s stories.

“Dudley? Dudley Dursley?” she suddenly asked. “That fat kid who used to bully you?”

“Yeah, but I taught him a lesson.” Harry quickly added. He knew how protective Veratia could be—if he didn’t clarify, his cousin’s family might be in trouble.

The Dursleys hadn’t treated him well, but in Harry’s eyes, they didn’t deserve anything too extreme.

Veratia understood what he meant. She simply chuckled softly and didn’t say anything more.

“Oh, right. I used magic at the Dursleys’ place and got a serious warning from the Ministry.” Harry started complaining to Veratia. “Also, I originally wanted to help the Weasley twins sell their joke products in the Muggle world. Their stuff is actually really good, but the Ministry absolutely forbids wizards from selling magical items to Muggles.”

“Is that so?” Veratia still wore her gentle smile, but inwardly, she was already thinking—once she got out, how could she break these outdated rules?

She was tired of living in the shadows. If wizards couldn’t walk in the sunlight, how were they any different from rats?

“Of course.” Harry sighed. “Ron’s my good friend, after all. I think I should do what I can to help them, as long as it doesn’t hurt their family relationships.”

“You’re a good person, Harry.” Veratia gazed at him, her eyes soft. “Such a kind-hearted boy.”

“Right?” Harry grinned. He always enjoyed Veratia’s praise.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Harry added, “Poppy—I went to see Mr. Flamel. He told me Poppy’s health isn’t great, so she’s staying with him for treatment. He’ll send me a letter once she recovers.”

“What happened to Poppy?” Veratia asked with concern. “Was it because of Voldemort? Or is it some lingering curse?”

“I don’t know. Mr. Flamel didn’t say.” Harry sounded helpless.

Veratia fell silent for a moment before saying, “Let’s hope he can help her… He always finds a way—after all, the Angel’s Feather was a gift from him.”

“Speaking of the Angel’s Feather,” Veratia suddenly remembered, “you went to Gringotts, right? Did you take out the money and alchemy materials I stored there?”

Harry opened his mouth but found himself at a loss for words.

Honestly, he really wanted to complain right now, but he was also afraid of making Veratia angry.

How should he put it…? He was still figuring it out.

“What’s wrong?” Veratia instinctively noticed the shift in his expression. She asked quickly, “Did something happen to the vault, Harry?”

“Uh—” Harry took a deep breath. He decided to tell the truth—at least part of it first. If her reaction wasn’t too bad, he could hold back on the rest.

“Go on,” Veratia said gently.

“Alright, I did go to Gringotts.” Harry carefully chose his words. “But… in Vault 313, there wasn’t any gold. Oh, except for one Knut and a silver tiara.”

“The money?” Veratia’s eyes darkened. “Did the goblins secretly transfer it? Hah… As expected of such lowly creatures. I should have—”

Harry shivered. He was grateful for his quick thinking.

Hurriedly, he pulled out the copied withdrawal receipt. “Uh, actually, no, Veratia. It wasn’t the goblins’ fault.”

Veratia’s sharp gaze flicked to him. “Oh? Then whose fault was it?”

“It was Gellert—look, Veratia, here.” Harry unfolded the document. “It says here that back in the summer of 1899, Gellert Grindelwald emptied the vault…”

Crack!

A fissure suddenly split across Veratia’s portrait.

“Veratia!” Harry cried out in alarm. “Calm down! Don’t get angry—look, your portrait is cracking!”

“Oh.” Veratia smiled at him, appearing relaxed. “I’m not angry—this isn’t worth getting angry over.”

“Really?” Harry asked skeptically. He had a strong feeling she was lying but had no proof.

“This isn’t worth my anger, Harry.” Veratia crossed her arms, her voice cold. “Very well, my foolish little brother. That’s one more debt between us.”

Harry quickly bowed his head, offering Gellert a silent half-second of mourning.

Oh, man, you were bold, little bro…

Stealing from your sister and even leaving evidence behind? Did you really think she wouldn’t come back?

So naive.

Veratia seemed to put aside the matter of her brother raiding her vault. Her tone turned light as she asked, “So, you went to Mr. Flamel’s place to ask about the Angel’s Feather?”

“Yeah…” Harry hesitated before saying, “Mr. Flamel did have some left, but they were all given to Professor Dumbledore.”

“Oh.” Veratia nodded knowingly. “So they’re with Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“I don’t know what to do now.” Harry scratched his head. “You know, Dumbledore and Gellert… have some history. I don’t know if he’ll be biased against you because of that name. But, well, let’s be honest—the name ‘Grindelwald’ did cause quite a stir in the magical world at the beginning of this century.”

“So?” Veratia’s lips curled into a smile.

“So I’m just… worried.” Harry sighed.

“Don’t worry,” Veratia said softly. “There’s no rush. After all, we still don’t have a lead on the basilisk’s fang. Even if we find the Angel’s Feather, I won’t be able to return right away. So we’ll take our time and figure things out.”

Her words reassured Harry, calming him down.

“Alright, I’ll do as you say,” he agreed.

Then he suddenly remembered something about Gringotts and added, “By the way, Veratia, about Gellert’s withdrawal—Gringotts actually compensated me. They also promised that if I find the Angel’s Feather and the basilisk fang, they’ll buy them under Gringotts’ name, covering all the costs.”

“Really?” Veratia raised an eyebrow. “That’s rare. Those greedy goblins treasure Galleons like their lives. For them to be so generous… They must be scared.”

“Hahaha.”

Harry burst out laughing, pulling out his holly wand with the phoenix feather core. He said, “You wouldn’t believe it—when I walked into Gringotts and took out this wand, some enchantment on it scared the goblins half to death…”

Veratia pressed a hand to her lips. Oh, she knew exactly why.

“Anyway, they agreed to everything,” Harry concluded. He turned the wand over, showing her the engraved letters. “By the way, when did ‘Veratia’ get carved onto this?”

“Don’t you like it?” Veratia asked softly.

“Of course I do,” Harry said with a grin.

Veratia’s delicate face lit up with a delighted smile—she was pleased that Harry had admitted his feelings.

"But… after hearing what you just said, I actually have a pretty good idea," she suddenly remarked.

"What idea?" Harry looked up and asked.

"Since you said the goblins at Gringotts would be willing to cover any cost to purchase an Angel’s Feather and a Basilisk Fang, and you’re worried that Headmaster Dumbledore might be prejudiced against me because of my surname—then why not pass this information on to the goblins at Gringotts? Just tell them that Hogwarts' headmaster, Mr. Dumbledore, has an Angel’s Feather."

Veratia spoke softly, yet her words instantly illuminated Harry’s thoughts.

He clapped his hands together, exclaiming in excitement, "That’s right! Why didn’t I think of that before?"

Harry felt overjoyed. Ever since he had unlocked the Map Chamber, he had been feeling smarter.

At the same time, he felt a tinge of regret—why hadn’t he thought of this sooner?

If he had figured it out earlier, would he have spared himself so much agonizing?

"Yeah, why didn’t you think of it?" Veratia’s eyes curved into a charming crescent shape. "Silly Harry."

Harry made a playful face at her before saying, "Then, if that’s settled, the issue of the Angel’s Feather should be resolved—the only thing left is the Basilisk Fang. Mr. Flamel said the last recorded sighting of a Basilisk was back in the time of Tsarist Russia."

"Tsarist Russia?" Veratia raised an eyebrow. "Why do you say ‘the time of’? Did Tsarist Russia fall?"

"It’s been gone for a long time, probably over eighty years now," Harry said. "Actually, the Austro-Hungarian Empire is gone too—it only lasted about a year longer than Tsarist Russia…"

"Compared to that, I’m much happier that Tsarist Russia is dead." Veratia showed a schadenfreude-like smile.

It was common knowledge that the Austro-Hungarian Empire and Tsarist Russia had always been at odds. In the four years before Veratia entered the Slytherin study, Austria-Hungary had clashed violently with Russia in the Balkans, leading to a drastic deterioration in their relations.

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to that comment, so he simply continued, "When I contact Gringotts, I’ll urge them to find the Basilisk Fang as soon as possible."

"Alright." Veratia nodded with a smile.

After chatting a while longer, Veratia urged Harry to leave and return to his dormitory to rest.

Harry was reluctant, but he had no choice. He stood up, left the Map Chamber, and returned to the Gryffindor common room.

After Harry left, Headmaster Fitzgerald and the other two professors returned to their portrait frames.

To their surprise, Veratia was sitting on the floor, staring blankly ahead with vacant eyes.

"Hey, little girl?" Professor Rookwood asked. "What’s wrong with you?"

Veratia didn’t answer; she just stared into space, lost in thought.

"Veratia?" Headmaster Fitzgerald asked gently. "What’s wrong? Did that Potter boy say something he shouldn’t have?"

"My money… my money…" Veratia murmured.

"Ah, the color’s fading," Professor Rackham(Pockham) suddenly said.

Only then did the three of them notice that Veratia’s portrait had turned black and white.

"Little girl, it’s just some money," Rookwood began to console her. "You said it yourself—it was just a small sum. If it’s gone, it’s gone. Wait—did Potter spend it all?"

Veratia lifted her head, and the color returned to the portrait.

"That was no small sum…" she said softly. "That was the money I saved from poachers' dens in the Forbidden Forest, villages, highlands, mountains… all over Britain… from one poacher hideout after another, from one bandit stronghold after another, from one Ashwinder gang after another, and from one goblin treasure hoard after another… and now, Gellert stole it all… That thief…"

Hearing Veratia’s words, the three of them were taken aback.

Judging by her reaction, it was clearly a massive amount of money. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be this distraught.

More importantly, she had painstakingly gathered it bit by bit.

They had long known of this girl’s formidable reputation, but they hadn’t realized that every dark wizard, Ashwinder gang member, rebellious goblin, and poacher entrenched across England had been personally wiped out by the little witch before them.

"Then… just how much money was it?" Headmaster Fitzgerald hesitantly asked. "And this Gellert… I recall he’s your younger brother, right?"

"A total of 2,763,215 Galleons," Veratia murmured. "All that money… saved up little by little… and now Gellert has taken it all…"

"Two hundred—" Professor Rookwood shouted in shock. "Million?!"

He couldn’t believe it. Veratia’s so-called "small sum" turned out to be an astronomical figure in the millions.

Merlin’s beard! Even if you gathered all the wealth accumulated by the Rookwood family over generations, it wouldn’t amount to two million Galleons!

He groaned in disbelief. "Good heavens, girl… just how many dark wizards did you take down?"

With over two million Galleons, the number had to be astronomical…

"Since the money’s already gone, why not look forward?" Headmaster Fitzgerald offered some consolation. "You’re still young. Even if Potter rescues you later, you’ll only be seventeen—you’ll have plenty of time to make money again, won’t you?"

"Exactly," Professor Rackham and Professor Rookwood chimed in.

They had watched this girl grow up, almost like their own daughter, and none of them wanted her to suffer too great a blow.

"But I…" Veratia murmured.

"Among those Galleons… there was money I saved before I turned fifteen…"

"Back then, that was the only thing I could do…"

"Before fifteen?"

The three professors exchanged glances.

"Yes, before fifteen."

Veratia revealed a somewhat broken smile, tinged with sorrow.

"Back then… I was a Squib…"

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