Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy

Harry initially wanted to come up with an excuse to brush the matter off, but then he suddenly thought of the missing Cassandra.

Crossing his arms, he looked down at Draco from above.

"Of course I care about her. In fact—she’s my friend."

"Could it be... that notebook in your hand is also..."

Draco pointed at the notebook in Harry’s hand in shock, his mind instantly conjuring up a scene of an ancestral spirit mentoring Harry.

Could it be… Potter’s strength comes from the teachings of his ancestor?!

No!

He roared internally.

That’s my ancestor! Why would they teach Potter?!

"Oh, this is just an ordinary notebook, not like your Merope." Harry flipped through the pages casually and said to Draco, "But if your brain— which isn’t much smarter than a troll’s—hasn’t been completely clouded by beauty, you should have realized by now the true, evil nature of that person."

"Evil?" Draco instinctively wanted to refute but hesitated.

Something about Harry’s words felt oddly familiar, like the way Professor Snape would snarkily criticize people.

"You Slytherins must be perpetually sleepy. The professors have had to deduct a lot of points because of that." Harry lazily remarked. "That notebook is a highly malevolent magical artifact. It can drain people’s life force to strengthen itself. Trust me, while the Malfoy family may have flexible morals, they’re not that low."

"Dark... dark magic?!" Draco’s face displayed utter shock.

The Malfoy family vault certainly contained some dark artifacts.

As the Malfoy heir, he had occasionally accompanied his father there.

Every time they visited, his father would sternly warn him—never, ever touch those objects.

"What else would it be?" Harry scoffed. "Your Slytherin classmates were drained of their life force by that so-called ‘Merope.’ Didn’t you feel inexplicably drowsy and weak in the beginning?"

He added, "Though I suppose she does have some boundaries—at least she returned a portion of the life force she stole from you as compensation."

"Miss Merope does care about me!" Draco’s eyes welled with tears.

Seeing how utterly bewitched Draco was, Harry felt a deep sense of exasperation.

Thinking back to his life a century ago, Cassandra had been sharp-tongued, but in every other way, she had treated him well.

Comparing Cassandra to the Draco standing before him now, Harry genuinely felt that this kid was unworthy of being her descendant.

Damn it, how did the Malfoy family end up like this?

Harry raised his wand at Draco.

"Aguamenti!"

A powerful jet of ice-cold water shot from the tip of Harry’s wand, almost pinning Draco against the wall.

Drenched in freezing water, Draco finally regained some clarity.

"Why don’t you think for a moment—or better yet, go home and ask your father." Harry’s voice was icy.

"So... you’re not lying to me?"

Draco’s intelligence finally kicked back in.

"I told you, Cassandra is my good friend—" Harry paused, then an amusing idea struck him. He dried Draco off with his wand, poked his face, and said, "Kid, by lineage, I’m your ancestor too."

"You’re insulting the Malfoy family!" Draco looked up in indignation. "I... I’m going to tell my father!"

"Oh, even your father should be considered my grandson's generation." Harry tapped Draco’s head with his wand, watching him flinch and crouch defensively. He continued, "Think about it. Who did your great-great-aunt fight alongside to suppress the goblin rebellion?"

"It was... Harry Potter..." Draco instinctively repeated, then suddenly had an epiphany.

He pointed at Harry, stammering, "Ha—Harry Potter? Could it be that you’re really..."

"Why else do you think I was able to defeat Miss Farley so easily? Or Professor Quirrell?"

At this point, Harry decided to have some fun.

He recalled Ron once saying that the Malfoy family were staunch Death Eaters loyal to Voldemort.

"Or, let’s put it this way... even the thing stuck to the back of Professor Quirrell’s head—Voldemort?"

"How dare you... how dare you speak that name?!" Draco exclaimed in terror, but despite his fear, he was growing increasingly composed.

Yes…

If this were just an ordinary first-year, how could they achieve all this?

Forget the Dark Lord’s return—even if it were Merlin himself, he wouldn’t have such mastery over magic at this age, right?

Could it really be…

Draco lifted his head and met Harry’s amused gaze.

"I-It’s really you?" Draco’s thoughts suddenly clicked into place. "Merlin’s beard, M-M-M-Mr. Potter, it’s an honor—an absolute honor…"

If he had been bested by another first-year—even if that person was the so-called Chosen One—Draco would have found it unacceptable.

But if this person was actually a century-old geezer—no, an ancient monster—then Draco had absolutely no objections. In fact, he felt oddly honored.

I’ve dueled with a legendary wizard from a hundred years ago—three times! 3:0! Can anyone else say the same?!

In that moment, Draco began to convince himself.

Even if this Potter was bluffing, he had

Harry didn’t say anything. He simply smiled.

"You still bear Miss Merope's curse—or rather, her mark," Harry said to Draco. "When you return home, ask your father what exactly is on your left arm."

Draco's heart jolted. He hastily rolled up his sleeve, and sure enough, as Harry had said, a black skull was branded onto his left forearm. A large serpent slithered out of the skull's mouth, resembling a grotesque tongue. The sight was eerie and menacing.

"This... what is this?!" Draco asked in horror.

Harry didn't know either—such an ominous mark had never appeared even a century ago.

He merely raised a hand and gestured for Draco to keep quiet.

"Shh. I wouldn’t recommend showing this mark to others. Just ask your father when you get home."

"Oh... alright..." Draco nodded blankly.

"Also, that so-called 'gift of power' from Miss Merope is nothing more than an enhancement at the cost of your vitality," Harry warned again. "It’s a temporary spell—once it fades in a few days, you'll be left weak for at least a month."

"Thank you for the warning." Draco nodded.

"Alright, I’ve said all I needed to. I think it's time for you to head back," Harry said. "Once you ask your father about the curse on your arm, I suspect he’ll invite me over for a visit. When that happens, I have some matters to discuss with him."

With that, Harry turned and left the abandoned classroom.

If it weren’t for Poppy’s reminder yesterday, he wouldn’t have bothered getting involved with the Malfoys.

But acquiring a basilisk fang—a rare and powerful magical artifact—seemed possible only through the Malfoy family's channels…

And now, having learned about Cassandra from Draco, Harry felt a pressing need to have a proper conversation with Lucius.

But that would have to wait until the holidays. For now, he intended to enjoy the momentary relief of finishing exams.

---

A week later, the exam results were finally released.

Looking at Harry’s report card, which was filled with nothing but "O" grades, Hermione silently swore to herself that she would study even harder to achieve the same next year.

Ron’s grades were decent as well—except for Potions, in which he scored a "T." The rest of his subjects were either "E" or "O."

His mother was quite satisfied with his performance. After all, no one could expect a fair grade from a Potions professor who had no love for the Weasley family—not that the Weasleys had ever been particularly good at Potions anyway.

Aside from Bill and Percy, none of them had ever received an "E" or higher from Snape.

Not that Snape was outright biased against Gryffindor. When it came to grading, he was fairly impartial—just extremely strict.

Even Hermione understood this. After all, Potions was a precise science; a tiny miscalculation could mean the difference between a healing draught and a lethal poison.

Trust me—losing points in Potions was a small price to pay compared to the potential consequences of a careless mistake.

Before leaving Hogwarts for the break, Harry made one last visit to the Map Chamber to bid farewell to Veratia.

Professor Rookwood, reluctant as ever, had no choice but to leave with Headmaster Fitzgerald, granting the two young people some privacy.

"I'm heading back, Veratia," Harry said. "During the break, I plan to retrieve the materials stored in your vault first, then start searching for a basilisk fang."

"No, it’s our vault," Veratia corrected him.

"Uh... is there really a difference?" Harry scratched his head. "You were the one who stored everything there, weren’t you? I remember you mentioned there was even some money in it."

"It’s not the same, Harry," Vellatia crossed her arms. "The vault is in both our names. No one else can access it except for us—unless, in the future, our..."

She suddenly stopped mid-sentence, her cheeks tinged with an unmistakable blush.

"Our what?" Harry didn’t catch her meaning.

"Nothing," Veratia murmured softly. "It’s nothing."

"Oh, right." Harry suddenly remembered something. "In our year, there’s a descendant of the Malfoy family. I got some news about Cassandra from him."

"Cassandra?" Veratia’s expression grew sharp. "What news?"

"According to the Malfoy family, she apparently stole a family heirloom during her seventh year and vanished after that." Harry spread his hands.

"I see," Veratia whispered.

"See what?" Harry asked in confusion.

"That explains why she wrote me that letter. She must have feared I’d find you first by traveling through time," Veratia chuckled softly. "Looks like she had the same idea—to use the Malfoy heirloom to cross time and seek you out a century later."

"That... that’s impossible," Harry said in disbelief. "She clearly stated in her letter that she would never go along with your nonsense. So why would she..."

"Harry," Veratia’s gaze softened. "You’ve been deceived by appearances. Trust me—she has already used time magic. Perhaps, like me, she’s trapped in some corner of time, waiting for you to rescue her..."

When it came to understanding Cassandra, Veratia was second to none.

She had long since figured out Cassandra’s nature. That proud girl often meant the opposite of what she said.

For instance, Cassandra once told Veratia she disliked Harry—because he was lazy, arrogant…

Yet as she spoke, Veratia caught a fleeting gentleness in her eyes.

From the moment she met Cassandra, Veratia realized that despite their constant bickering, Harry was, in fact, the biggest threat to her heart.

And now, before her lay a golden opportunity. Given Harry’s usual habit of taking her words to heart, she could easily declare that Cassandra had never dabbled in time magic, and Harry would believe her—thus abandoning any pursuit of Cassandra’s whereabouts.

But she couldn’t do it. She never even considered it.

Even if it meant she might lose, she refused to let Cassandra remain trapped somewhere—just as she herself had been, her body frozen in time in Slytherin’s study, her soul confined to a portrait, enduring a century of solitude.

Yes, she lied to Harry—because she didn’t want him to feel guilty.

However…

She had no qualms about keeping certain things from him regarding Cassandra. After all, she was already at a disadvantage—losing her edge entirely would be unacceptable.

"Really?" Harry asked, skeptical.

"Harry, no matter how slim the chance, you must never give up," Veratia sighed. "Cassandra was your closest friend. You may not realize it yet, but in all of Hogwarts, the person who cared for you the most wasn’t me, nor Ominis, nor Sebastian—it was Cassandra. Cassandra Malfoy."

"Remember Flint? The one who used to bully you?" Veratia asked.

Just hearing the name made Harry frown.

"Of course I remember. If it weren’t for Vice Principal Weasley, I might have suffered the same way Draco Malfoy bullied Neville back then."

"Vice Principal Weasley?" Veratia giggled. "Harry, you’re so naive."

"Huh?" Harry scratched his head.

"The Flints were one of the most powerful families in magical Britain at the time," Veratia explained. "Professor Weasley may have been the vice principal, but you knew how things were back then—she had no authority to pressure the Flints into restraining their son."

"It was Cassandra. She never stepped in to help you directly, only watched from afar. But that very afternoon, she wrote a letter to her father. That same night, Septimus Malfoy convened the school governors and pressured the Flint family. Otherwise, do you really think Slytherins would have suddenly started avoiding you altogether?"

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