Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy

With lingering doubts, Lucius followed Draco into the room where the portrait of Septimus hung, half-believing and half-doubting what he was about to hear.

It was understandable. After all, the man in the painting was his esteemed ancestor, someone who had even met that Potter. Not to mention, great-grandfather had wielded some influence in the wizarding world back in the day—he was certainly knowledgeable and well-versed in matters of magic.

Well, what influence could great-grandfather possibly have had? Nothing much… just slightly more than Voldemort in Britain, that’s all.

As soon as they entered the room, Draco impatiently rushed up to Septimus’s portrait.

"Don’t disturb me unless it’s important." Septimus’s voice carried the unmistakable grumpiness of someone who had just been woken up.

"Great-great-grandfather, great-great-grandfather!" Draco called out excitedly. "My parents don’t believe that Harry is the same Harry from a hundred years ago. Please help me prove it to them!"

Septimus gave him a long, unreadable look.

Even if there hadn’t been a prior agreement with Harry, being disturbed in his sleep was enough to make Septimus unwilling to tell him anything.

Portraits needed sleep too!

Stacking his irritation on top of that, Septimus’s expression shifted into a dangerously amused smirk.

"Lucius," he called out, shifting his gaze to the man standing behind Draco.

"Great-grandfather," Lucius immediately bent forward in deference.

"I have never doubted your financial acumen, Lucius," Septimus said with a glance at Draco. "But seeing your son now, I must question your parenting skills—"

Hearing this, Lucius’s gaze turned predatory as he directed a bloodthirsty glare at Draco.

Draco swallowed hard in terror.

Wait, great-great-grandfather, why won’t you just tell the truth?!

Internally, he let out a mental scream akin to a startled groundhog.

He spun around, attempting to flee, only to find his mother blocking his exit.

"Great-grandfather, you’re absolutely right," Narcissa smoothly picked up the conversation. "I, too, believe that a more traditional method of discipline suits children better. Overly humane approaches don’t necessarily foster their healthy development."

As Draco’s eyes filled with despair, Lucius and Narcissa each grabbed an arm and dragged him out of the room.

Moments later, the Malfoy Manor resounded with Draco’s anguished cries, startling a flock of ravens into flight.

Harry had foreseen Draco’s impending suffering, but he felt quite pleased about it.

Perhaps he had inherited a bit of James’s mischievous streak—he did have a taste for schadenfreude.

More importantly, Harry had obtained a crucial lead from the Malfoys.

While the Malfoy family did not possess Angel’s Feather or Basilisk Fang, Lucius had pointed him in the right direction—perhaps he could try his luck at the home of the legendary French alchemist, Nicolas Flamel.

Nicolas, huh? Now, that was a familiar name.

Back in the day, he and Veratia had once been guests at Nicolas’s home. Veratia’s parents were also longtime friends with the Flamels.

In fact, when Veratia’s father was still a child, the Flamels had even cradled him in their arms.

In terms of seniority and age, few in the wizarding world could rival the Flamel couple.

Considering the late hour, and out of respect for the elderly, Harry decided to write to Nicolas first and wait for a response before traveling to his residence.

Apparition could be used for long distances. Back in the day, Harry had apparated all the way from London to Hogsmeade, covering nearly the entire country in one go.

Now, with the Philosopher’s Stone enhancing his abilities, his understanding of the spell had reached new heights.

When it came to certain spells, magical strength was a simple matter—bigger was better, more was preferable, and raw power made things work.

--

Upon returning to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry found the tavern still in full swing.

After exchanging greetings with Tom and a few enthusiastic wizards, he ascended the stairs to his room.

Inside, Poppy was sprawled out on his bed, limbs akimbo and wrapped in a blanket, snoring softly.

Hearing the door open, Poppy lazily cracked one eye open.

"Poppy," Harry greeted her. "I’m back."

"Oh," Poppy sniffed the air. "I smell something delicious—You had good food, didn’t you? You did, didn’t you? Did you bring me anything tasty?"

Harry reached out, ruffling her hair with a chuckle. "It’s not very polite to take food from someone else’s house. I’ll buy you something nice tomorrow, okay?"

"Alright, alright," Poppy murmured, enjoying his touch as she closed her eyes again.

After a moment, she suddenly remembered something. "Oh, but don’t get me anything coffee-flavored. I don’t like that bitter taste—I like sweet things."

"Alright, alright," Harry laughed. "Whatever flavor you want. Here—"

He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a piece of chocolate. "This is milk chocolate—sweet. Try it."

Poppy eyed the chocolate suspiciously before popping it into her mouth.

A moment later, she beamed. "Hehe, just as I thought!"

"Only eat half," Harry warned, pulling his hand back. "Too much, and you won’t be able to sleep."

"Don’t worry, Harry," Poppy assured him, shaking her head.

"Mm, I’ll be heading to France soon," Harry informed her. "Do you want to come with me?"

"Yay! France!" Poppy cheered. "There’s so much delicious food in France—I love French cuisine!"

Harry gave her an "OK" gesture.

"Alright then, let’s get some sleep. We need to wake up early tomorrow." He opened his trunk. "Come inside and sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll head back to my uncle’s place first, then I’ll have Hedwig deliver a letter to Flamel."

"I don’t want to go in," Poppy said, shaking her head.

Harry raised a brow and sighed. "Alright, if you don’t want to, suit yourself. Sleep outside then."

Poppy let out another cheer, bounced onto the bed, and patted the covers with her hooves. "Come on, Harry, big sis will sleep with you—"

"I’m not a little kid anymore," Harry chuckled, amused by her antics.

If it weren’t for the fact that she was a unicorn, he had a feeling Veratia or Cassandra would have something to say about this...

Wait, why did that even cross my mind? he mused.

--

In the middle of the night, Harry groggily felt as if a girl in a Hufflepuff uniform was lying beside him.

Opening his eyes, he found Poppy standing on the bed, dozing off.

Oh, right—horses sleep standing up…

With that realization, he thought nothing of it, rolled over, and quickly drifted back to sleep.

Seeing him settle in again, Poppy let out a relieved sigh.

Early the next morning, Harry felt an oppressive weight on his chest, as if some unbearable burden of life had been placed upon him.

Opening his eyes, he saw Poppy’s head resting on his chest. She seemed to be dreaming about eating something delicious, her mouth still chewing unconsciously.

"Poppy..."

He was struggling to breathe.

Do you have any idea how much damage a horse-sized head can do to a twelve-year-old boy?

"Huh?" Poppy stirred and sat up with a gulp, noticing Harry’s difficulty breathing. She playfully nudged his chest with a mischievous grin.

"Alright, alright, let's wash up first—come on, I’ll help you brush your teeth," Harry said.

To his surprise, despite having lived in the forest for so long, Poppy’s teeth were still as white as snow.

He couldn’t help but feel a little envious.

"Are my teeth very bir?" Poppy mumbled with her mouth held open by Harry.

"White," Harry confirmed, brushing her teeth up and down before handing her a small basin of water. "Rinse."

Poppy obediently spit out the water—right onto Harry’s face.

"Haha!" She laughed joyfully.

Harry wiped his face helplessly and put down the towel.

"Breakfast first, then we’ll head back to my uncle’s house—you should stay in my wallet for a bit."

"Wallet?" Poppy stretched her neck curiously. "What wallet?"

"The Gringotts compensation," Harry replied honestly. "They compensated me because the inheritance Veratia left behind was lost due to their negligence."

"Eh? That’s a thing?" Poppy asked, intrigued.

"You’ll understand when Veratia returns." Harry patted Poppy’s head. "When he heads to Austria to settle things with Gellert, I’ll take you with me. We’ll be on the front lines."

"Oh, don’t forget that! I love witnessing things like that." Poppy whispered excitedly.

Harry readily agreed. Something this interesting? Of course, he wouldn’t forget his good friend.

"But Harry," Poppy suddenly said, "since you mentioned that Gringotts will cover the cost of finding materials, if you find alchemy ingredients in France, make sure they pay the bill..."

Hearing this, Harry immediately realized the significance of her words.

"You’re absolutely right, Poppy," he nodded seriously. "I think that’s a perfectly feasible plan."

After hastily finishing breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron and settling his bill for the past two days, Harry Apparated back to the Dursley household.

It was early in the morning, and the Dursleys were having breakfast.

Uncle Vernon had a cigarette in one hand and The Guardian in the other.

As someone who believed he should be running the country, Uncle Vernon was particularly devoted to reading The Guardian.

"I want more bacon," Dudley said. "I’m still hungry, Mum."

"There’s plenty in the pan, darling," Aunt Petunia said, her eyes moist as she looked at her hefty son. "We need to fatten you up while we can… the school’s meals sound awful..."

Before she could finish, Harry spun into existence right in the middle of the kitchen.

The three of them froze, and both Petunia and Vernon screamed in unison.

"I suppose you’re even more uncomfortable now," Dudley said, dropping his fork onto the table. But he quickly recovered and raised a hand to greet Harry. "Hey, Harry."

"Hey, cousin," Harry said, pulling up a chair and peering into the frying pan. "Ah, more bacon. I think I could use some."

Dudley grinned stupidly at him.

Truth be told, after a year of not seeing Harry, he actually kind of missed his cousin—especially the chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes Harry used to bring. Just thinking about them made his mouth water.

Harry made himself right at home. He’d barely eaten at the Leaky Cauldron—its breakfast was just too awful.

Seeing how much Poppy had enjoyed the food, he had given his entire meal to her instead.

Poppy, of course, had eaten everything Harry fed her without hesitation. Watching her eat so much, Harry couldn't help but worry—was this level of appetite really okay for her health?

"I specifically warned you in my letter!" Uncle Vernon’s face turned red as he slammed the table. "No using that nonsense in this house!"

"Oh, Uncle, hello there." Harry acted as if he hadn’t heard a word Vernon said and turned to Aunt Petunia. "And Aunt, you’re looking quite a few years younger."

He wasn’t just flattering her. In truth, magical beauty potions were leagues ahead of anything the Muggle world had to offer.

Their effects were immediate and undeniable. Any pigmentation, freckles, or imperfections—gone in an instant.

Hearing Harry’s words, Aunt Petunia’s expression softened considerably.

"This is for you, Aunt." Harry took a bundle of beauty potions from his wallet. "I noticed you seem to enjoy this kind of... product, so I brought you some before I left."

He carefully avoided using any words related to magic. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. At Aunt Petunia’s house, he was a Muggle; in the wizarding world, he was a wizard. Harry was flexible like that.

"Thank you." Aunt Petunia forced a smile.

You had to admit, seeing Harry bring a gift for Aunt Petunia—especially something that made her look visibly younger—changed Uncle Vernon’s attitude as well.

He grunted, sat back in his chair, and muttered, "Just... don’t let the neighbors see your tricks, or we’ll have a problem."

"And this is for you, Uncle." Harry pulled out a lighter. "I bought it from Harrods."

Mentioning Harrods was a deliberate move—it reassured Vernon.

See? This was a Muggle product, not some wizarding trickery.

Sure enough, upon hearing the name "Harrods," Uncle Vernon’s expression eased further.

Everyone knew that Harrods was a luxury department store. Harry buying him something from there was clearly a sign of respect.

Vernon took the lighter and grumbled a barely audible "Thank you."

Harry grinned and swiped a strip of bacon from Dudley’s plate.

"You didn’t bring me a gift!" Dudley protested, looking disgruntled.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia both stared at him in shock. They had never expected anyone to steal food from their precious Dudders’ plate—and for Dudley to just let it slide.

"Oh, my dear cousin," Harry drawled, his voice slick with mockery. "Of course, I brought you a gift. But—please, allow your poor cousin to eat first. He hasn’t had breakfast yet."

Aunt Petunia looked at him as if she had just seen a ghost.

This nephew of hers—after a year apart—why did he sound so much like that greasy-haired little bat?

---

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