Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy

Harry stared blankly at the envelope in his hands, unable to utter a single word for a long time.

His throat tightened, and a bitter sensation welled up in his chest.

If this were a letter from Cassandra filled with insults and accusations, he might not have felt this awful.

But…

In his memory, Cassandra had always been a proud girl.

A noble young lady, protected by her father and elder brother, always carrying herself with an air of dignity.

He had never seen Cassandra sad, let alone crying. She was always dazzling, like the sun—so bright that one dared not look directly at her.

Yet now…

Harry remained silent for a long time, walking to the window with the envelope in hand.

The night breeze ruffled his messy black hair, and the moonlight poured down as softly as water. Harry lifted his head, as if hoping to catch Cassandra’s reflection in the moon’s glow.

Through that pale moon, he seemed to see a girl, stripped of all her pride, curling up in helplessness, clutching that letter and reading it over and over again until her tears soaked the entire page.

Why…

A sharp, twisting pain clutched at Harry’s heart, a pain so deep it was almost unbearable.

Draco and Septimus’ portrait watched his back but said nothing to disturb him.

Draco had no idea what had happened, but Septimus knew everything.

Harry stood there before the window, lost in thought, gazing up at the moon.

His mind drifted back to his time at school with Cassandra, to every little moment they had shared. No matter how hard he tried, he could not picture that proud and confident young lady sobbing alone in her room.

Suddenly, an overwhelming sadness washed over him.

If he had been more cautious back then, if he hadn’t been struck by Ranrok’s spell, he wouldn’t have been sent back to 1991.

If that hadn’t happened, would Cassandra still be that proud girl, cherished by her family?

Would Veratia have remained unbound by time, watching her younger brother grow in Nurmengard?

Perhaps… perhaps he could have even prevented Poppy from turning into a unicorn.

“Potter.”

Septimus spoke.

Harry snapped back to reality and turned to look at the portrait.

“I remember, besides Cass, you befriended another girl at school, didn’t you?” Septimus said. “If I’m not mistaken, she was from the Austro-Hungarian Empire… A certain Miss Grindelwald?”

At those words, Draco let out another exaggerated "Whoa!"—his signature reaction to gossip.

Draco was more than familiar with the significance of the surname Grindelwald.

To him, Gellert Grindelwald, though branded as a Dark Wizard, was far more formidable than the so-called Dark Lord. Not necessarily in terms of personal power, but in sheer influence and charisma.

Voldemort ruled through fear and intimidation, binding his followers with terror.

But Grindelwald? He had wielded the vision of “The Greater Good.”

And now… Harry actually knew Grindelwald’s sister? Or was it his niece?

Draco felt like a spectator in the greatest drama of all time, caught in a whirlwind of shocking revelations.

“Her name is Velatia Grindelwald, Gellert’s sister,” Harry confirmed. “You’ve heard of her?”

“Yes, that’s the name. Cass mentioned her before.” Septimus snorted.

His lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something more, but in the end, he remained silent.

Every Christmas, Cassandra had always claimed that her father and brother were too busy, leaving her with no choice but to stay at school—and forcing her little tagalong, Harry, to spend the holiday with her.

Especially during the summer of their fifth year, Septimus had expected his daughter to act as usual, dragging that Muggle-born brat along.

But she came home instead.

Her brother, Ignatius, had pried the truth from her: The boy she had doted on for five years had been stolen away by a girl he had only just met.

When Septimus heard this news, he had uncharacteristically held his tongue. Instead, he drowned himself in beer, saying nothing at all.

“I heard from Cass that after you disappeared, that Miss Grindelwald locked herself away in your so-called ‘beloved little cottage,’ obsessing over time magic. After that, I never heard of her again…”

“I suspect that foolish girl, like Cass, tried to traverse time…”

He fell silent for a moment before speaking again. “If you find her, perhaps Cass will be with her. If you do see her… bring her back. Even if it’s only her belongings, let me see them.”

Harry opened his mouth but hesitated. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Septimus that Cassandra wasn’t in the Map Chamber or Slytherin’s study.

“Cassandra will be fine,” Harry assured, though even he didn’t believe his own words. “Don’t worry, Mr. Malfoy.”

Septimus let out a sharp laugh.

“Do you have anything else to say? If not, then get out,” he said curtly.

That was his way of showing restraint—he had managed not to lash out at Harry in rage.

He was reminded of that summer in their third year…

The scrawny, messy-haired boy had landed his broomstick right in Malfoy Manor’s courtyard and had the audacity to ask him if his broom was safe there.

Even as a portrait, Septimus could still feel the exasperation clogging his chest.

Someone get me a calming potion!

Harry carefully folded the letter, cast a protective charm over it, and tucked it behind the picture frame.

As he reached the door, he suddenly turned back.

“Oh, right, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Speak.” Septimus was as concise as ever.

Harry patted Draco’s shoulder. “You go on ahead.”

“Got it, Harry,” Draco agreed instantly, slipping out without hesitation.

Once Draco was gone, Harry lowered his voice and said to the portrait, “I’d appreciate it if you could keep a secret for me…”

“Why?” Septimus narrowed his eyes.

“You know how it is—when people discover your true identity, it’s always a hassle. Instead of being poked and prodded like an experiment, I’d rather spend my time searching for your daughter.” Harry shrugged.

Septimus studied him for a moment before giving a slow nod.

“Fine. I’ll keep your secret… at least for now. Not even my own descendants will hear it from me.”

Harry smiled in satisfaction—this was just one of his little amusements.

In truth, he didn’t mind if his secret got out. He just enjoyed tormenting Draco.

As he stepped outside, Harry’s mind returned to Cassandra’s letter.

Wiltshire… Malfoy Manor was in Wiltshire.

It seemed that before Trelawney expelled her, Cassandra had returned home one last time.

And then… she had stolen a family heirloom from the vault.

However, judging by Mr. Malfoy's demeanor, he didn’t seem to harbor any resentment toward his daughter for stealing the secret treasure. On the contrary, he still loved her as deeply as ever.

Harry had no intention of prying further—after all, this was a family matter. It was better to wait until Cassandra returned and let the father and daughter handle it themselves.

Sigh...

Cassandra.

Where was she now?

Harry felt utterly clueless. Other than knowing she had briefly returned to Malfoy Manor once, there had been no news of her since.

He should really start gathering information from multiple sources.

With that thought in mind, he stepped out the door.

"Harry, what did you and my great-grandfather talk about?" Draco asked curiously.

"That's a conversation between elders—you'd best not meddle," Harry replied.

"Elders?" Draco repeated, still oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

Even though they were classmates at Hogwarts, the fact remained that Harry had been a student alongside Draco’s great-great-aunt over a century ago—and they had been quite close.

"Yeah," Harry glanced at Draco and flashed a mischievous grin. "You know, if you hadn’t reminded me, I almost forgot—when we're out in public, you calling me Harry is fine, but when it’s just the two of us, don’t you think you should address me differently?"

Draco's brain kicked into overdrive as he carefully traced their familial ties.

Hmm… Cassandra was Grandfather’s aunt, Father’s great-aunt, which made her my great-great-aunt…

And she was so close to Harry—she even seemed to like him.

Judging by the way Harry spoke about her, he seemed to have deep feelings for her too…

With a sudden flash of insight, Draco decided to curry favor with Harry.

"Great-great-uncle?" he tentatively ventured.

Harry ruffled his blond hair and chuckled. "If she hears you calling me that, you’re done for."

"Why?" Draco asked, puzzled.

"We're just friends. Good friends," Harry sighed.

He wasn’t sure how to define his relationship with Cassandra. If he went purely by instinct, she had always seemed rather dismissive of him. Harry had long convinced himself that they were simply friends—somewhere between good friends and just friends.

But now, Cassandra had chosen to cross time itself for him. Did that mean… she really saw him as a close friend?

He refused to entertain the notion that she might actually like him, even denying it outright—he couldn't imagine someone as proud as Cassandra having romantic feelings for him.

On the other hand, the mere thought of it made him feel guilty toward Veratia—even though Veratia wasn’t his girlfriend.

Even before he traveled through time, Harry had just been a seventeen-year-old boy—still a high school student in the Muggle world.

…Forget it. The most important thing now was to save them.

He didn’t want to let down Veratia, and even more so, he didn’t want to let down Cassandra.

Draco, meanwhile, discreetly pulled a face of disdain.

A legendary wizard? This guy?

Excelling in spellwork yet completely clueless when it came to emotions? Tsk.

Still, Draco wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

Some things were best left unsaid—having someone read your mind with Legilimency was not

After leaving Septimus’s room, Draco took Harry on another brief tour around the manor.

Despite his aristocratic upbringing, Draco still had the playful energy of a young boy—he even chased after the estate’s white peacocks for fun.

"This was my first broomstick," Draco pointed at a small training broom. "Next year, I’m planning to join the Quidditch team, though I doubt I’ll ever be as good as you. You were incredible—wait, were you a Quidditch star a hundred years ago too?"

"No," Harry replied, his expression turning indescribable at the mere mention of Phineas Nigellus Black. "Back then, the headmaster was Phineas Black, and he didn’t allow Quidditch matches at Hogwarts."

"That's awful!" Draco exclaimed, outraged.

Despite coming from a pureblood family, Draco was a diehard Quidditch fan. The idea of a headmaster banning the sport at Hogwarts was simply unforgivable in his eyes.

Oh? This kid has potential.

Harry extended his hand.

"What?" Draco took it, and Harry shook it twice.

"In my time, there was a saying—" Harry grinned, "if you hate Headmaster Black, you're one of us."

"Absolutely!" Draco nodded firmly. "Merlin, I used to think Dumbledore was the worst headmaster imaginable, but I guess I was wrong—there was someone even worse before him…"

"Why do you think Slytherin got along so well with the other three houses back then?" Harry laughed. "Because we all had a common enemy—Headmaster Black."

Draco chuckled at that.

"If I had been a Slytherin in that era, I probably would’ve befriended Gryffindors just for that reason alone."

"Slytherin back then was nothing like Slytherin now," Harry said with a hint of nostalgia. "In those days, Slytherin valued honor more than blood purity, and its members strived for excellence above all else. But now? Aside from that Farley girl, how many decent Slytherins are there? Including you."

If this had been first-year Harry Potter saying those words, Draco would have argued with him until his face turned red.

But coming from the legendary wizard Harry Potter, Draco had no room to argue.

"You’re right," he admitted.

"That’s why change has to start with you, Draco," Harry patted him on the shoulder. "When we have time, I’ll tell you about two of my Slytherin friends from back then—Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt."

"Alright," Harry cut off Draco before he could ask more questions. "It’s getting late, and I’ve got a friend waiting for me at the Leaky Cauldron."

Seeing Harry’s determination, Draco had no choice but to suppress his curiosity.

"Fine, but don’t forget," he reminded him.

"Don’t worry, I won’t," Harry assured him.

After bidding farewell to the Malfoys, Harry Disapparated, leaving the manor behind.

"He really is the Savior, isn’t he?" Narcissa murmured as she watched the spot where Harry had vanished.

Lucius nodded slightly, acknowledging her words.

"Father, Mother," Draco suddenly said, "he’s not just the Savior—he’s also a legendary wizard from a hundred years ago!"

Hearing this, Lucius felt a sudden surge of irritation.

"I think you—"

Before he could finish, Draco cut him off.

"We just visited the room with Great-Grandfather’s portrait. He recognized him," Draco said quickly. "If you don’t believe me, Father, Mother, come with me and ask Great-Grandfather yourselves."

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged glances.

Could it be… that the boy was telling the truth?

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