Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy

As Dudley made his way downstairs, Harry finished writing his letter to Nicolas Flamel.

He spent quite some time deliberating over the signature before finally signing it as "Veratia."

Well, hopefully, the old man wouldn't let out a sharp, piercing shriek upon seeing it.

Hmm… but considering how frail Flamel had appeared the last time they met, with bones as brittle as biscuits, he probably wouldn't be able to make such a sharp sound anyway.

What Harry hadn't expected was that Dudley never came back upstairs after leaving.

He didn’t think much of it. It was only when dinner time arrived that he finally went downstairs.

Before heading down, he made sure to send off his letter to Flamel—Hedwig had to take on the task again.

He specifically instructed Hedwig that once she arrived at Flamel’s residence, she didn’t need to fly back. He would bring her back himself when he went to France.

As for the reply, he was certain Mr. Flamel would find a way to deliver it.

Hedwig: At least you still care about me crossing the ocean.

Dinner was rather sumptuous. Aunt Petunia’s cooking was actually quite good—otherwise… well, Uncle Vernon and Dudley wouldn’t be so well-fed.

Sometimes, Harry wondered—if Aunt Petunia ever opened a pig farm, she’d probably make a fortune.

Just look at the two right here at home...

The meal was mostly silent. Just when Harry thought it would pass without incident, Uncle Vernon suddenly spoke up.

“Harry.”

Harry was a little surprised—this was the first time Uncle Vernon had ever called him that.

Usually, it was “boy,” “freak,” “Potter,” or “Harry Potter.” Never just “Harry.”

“Is something the matter?” he asked casually.

“Dudley told me… about that potion,” Uncle Vernon said, his face turning red, as if he found it difficult to voice what came next. “Do you think it really works? Not that I—well, I mean… does it really work?”

“It does, Uncle.” Harry pulled out the small bottle of shimmering potion from his pocket and placed it on the table. “Just add a little to the food, and the person who eats it will feel happy—do you want to try?”

“…Alright.” Uncle Vernon nodded.

Harry uncorked the bottle and poured a small amount into Uncle Vernon’s wine glass.

Uncle Vernon picked up the glass and downed it in one gulp.

Within moments, the corners of his mouth curled up uncontrollably.

“I feel… happy.”

He turned to look at Harry, a complex expression on his face.

“To be honest, for the first time in over ten years, I actually find you pleasant to look at… feels like looking at Dudley—”

At this point, he realized something was wrong.

“Good heavens! It actually works?!”

“Just like I said.” Harry shrugged.

“Thank you.” Uncle Vernon reached out and patted Harry on the shoulder. “I owe you one, boy.”

Harry simply smiled at him.

On the day of Harry’s birthday, he even received a huge birthday cake at noon.

His small room had long since been filled with gifts from his friends. Ron had also written, anxiously asking why he hadn’t come over yet—he had been waiting for so long, and the whole family was looking forward to seeing him.

Harry sent a reply, telling him that he’d be there that afternoon.

During lunch, he informed his aunt and uncle that he wouldn’t be home for dinner—especially emphasizing that his owl had already left.

After Uncle Vernon’s half-hearted attempt to make him stay, which Harry declined with a wave of his hand, he packed up, took Poppy, hailed a taxi, and headed for the Leaky Cauldron.

Inside the pub, Ron was already waiting at their usual spot.

As soon as Harry walked in, Ron put down his butterbeer and rushed over.

“Harry! Happy birthday!” he said.

“Thanks, Ron.” Harry grinned and patted his shoulder.

“Oh, we need to wait a bit,” Ron glanced toward the entrance. “Dad should be here soon, and then we’ll head home together.”

Just as he finished speaking, the door of the Leaky Cauldron swung open again.

A slightly thin, middle-aged man walked in. Harry noticed he was balding a little, but the remaining hair was the same shade of red as Ron’s.

If he wasn’t mistaken, this was Ron’s father—Arthur Weasley.

Mr. Weasley was wearing a long green robe, looking rather travel-worn.

“Dad!” Ron waved.

Mr. Weasley spotted Ron, waved back, and walked over to their table.

“A pint of beer!” he called out loudly, collapsing into a chair, removing his glasses, and closing his eyes as if utterly exhausted.

“What a day,” Mr. Weasley muttered. “The Aurors dropped the ball again, and we had to clean up the mess—”

“What happened, Dad?” Ron asked, before quickly introducing, “Oh, Dad, this is Harry—Harry Potter, the one I always talk about.”

“Harry?” Mr. Weasley blinked in confusion. “Which Harry?”

He glanced around and spotted Harry sitting quietly to the side.

“Merlin’s beard! The Harry Potter?” He immediately sprang to his feet.

“It’s an honor to meet you! Ron’s told us so much about you… Hello, I’m Arthur Weasley, Ron’s father. Thank you for looking out for him at school.”

“Nice to meet you, Uncle Arthur. That’s what friends do,” Harry replied with a friendly smile. “You seemed really busy just now—was there something urgent happening?”

Mr. Weasley’s expression turned complicated. He waved a hand and said, “Good heavens, there was a Dark wizard in Knockturn Alley who had captured several Muggles. Some unknown kind soul rescued them—but forgot to Obliviate them. So, as soon as they got out, they went and published everything in the Muggle newspapers! Cleaning up the aftermath was a nightmare… And tonight, unless something unexpected happens, we’ll probably have to go out again to modify their memories.”

“What was the Dark wizard doing with the Muggles?” Ron asked, curious.

“You really don’t want to know, Ron.” Mr. Weasley gave him a look that clearly said, You’re better off not asking.

Just then, the bartender handed him a mug of ice-cold beer, and he took a long, deep gulp.

“Ahhh… now that’s life.”

“Do you know who rescued them?” Ron asked again.

“No idea. The Muggle Prime Minister and Fudge discussed it and decided we’re not allowed to use Veritaserum on the rescued Muggles,” Mr. Weasley sighed. “It makes sense, though. They’ve already been through enough, and giving them Veritaserum would just… be too cruel.”

“Which means more work for us.” He took another swig of beer before turning to Harry. “I heard from Ron that it’s your birthday today—Happy Birthday, Harry!”

“Thank you, Uncle Arthur,” Harry replied politely.

Mr. Weasley sighed internally. This child… He really is a good kid. Just like his mother…

“So, I heard you’ve been living in the Muggle world all this time?” Mr. Weasley asked again. “Tell me—what exactly is the purpose of a rubber duck?”

Harry chuckled. “It’s actually just a toy for Muggle children to play with during bath time—nothing more.”

“Oh! So that’s what it is!” Mr. Weasley’s eyes lit up, as if he had finally solved a long-standing mystery.

He added, “I’ll take you two home first, then I’ll have to get back to work. Honestly… exhausting.”

Then he turned to Harry again and said warmly, “Don’t be shy, Harry. Our home is your home. Molly’s been talking about you nonstop. Especially when Ron said you were coming today—she’s made loads of delicious food for you.”

“Really?” Harry’s face lit up with excitement.

"Of course." Mr. Weasley panted for a moment before saying to the two of them, "Let me rest for a bit, and then I'll take you back."

After speaking, Mr. Weasley leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes to rest. Ron nudged Harry in the ribs and whispered, "He might have fallen asleep."

Just as he finished speaking, the sound of snoring began.

"Mr. Weasley is already exhausted." Harry patted Ron. "We’d better not disturb him. He’ll wake up on his own in a bit."

As he said this, he felt a little guilty—after all, he was the one who hadn’t erased the Muggle’s memory.

It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if it were just anyone else, but this was Mr. Weasley... the descendant of his good buddy Gareth, and more importantly, Ron’s father.

The family ties... yeah, they were a bit messy.

"If I ever find out who did this, I’ll make sure they regret it!" Ron was still fuming—not for any other reason, but because his father had been worn out to the point of collapsing. "Just wait and see, Harry!"

"Uh... yeah." Harry turned his head away, feeling extremely guilty.

"What’s with you?" Ron patted Harry on the shoulder. "It’s not like that person was you."

Harry thought to himself, No, that person was me.

Wait—

No, hold on. Back in Knockturn Alley, he had used the alias "Sebastian 'None of Your Damn Business.'" So whatever Sebastian did had nothing to do with Harry Potter, right?

Thinking this way, Harry’s guilt eased a little.

Before long, Mr. Weasley suddenly snored so loudly it seemed like he had choked on something, jolting himself awake.

Groggily, he smacked his lips and asked, "How long was I out?"

"Half an hour," Ron replied.

Mr. Weasley rubbed his face haphazardly and let out a long yawn.

"Let me wake up a bit more." Mr. Weasley said, "Then I’ll Apparate you two home—ah, I forgot to drive today. Otherwise, I’d have let Harry see our car..."

"I remember Mr. Granger seemed quite interested in flying cars," Harry said to Ron. "Back at Hermione’s place during Christmas, you told Mr. Granger about your flying car."

"Did I? Haha!" Mr. Weasley chuckled proudly. "That took me a lot of work to modify—you mean Mr. Granger? Hermione’s dad? I remember Ron often mentioned a little girl named Hermione who’s quite close with you lot?"

"Yeah, she’s a member of our Duel Club," Harry said with a smile.

"I’ve heard about your dueling group, Harry." Mr. Weasley patted Harry’s arm. "If you don’t mind, could you include Fred and George? Those two have boundless energy every day. It’s better for them to burn it off practicing dueling than pranking people at school."

"Sure," Harry agreed without hesitation.

"Great." Mr. Weasley stood up. "You two, come with me to the door. I’ll Apparate us back."

A moment later, the three of them appeared at the entrance of the Weasley home.

As soon as Ron landed, he gagged and vomited up all the Butterbeer he had just drunk.

"No matter how many times I do it, I’ll never get used to this," Ron groaned.

"Go inside and drink some water; you’ll feel better." Mr. Weasley patted Ron’s back, trying to help him recover.

Harry looked up at Ron’s house.

To be honest, the Weasley home was quite simple—it seemed to have once been a large stone pigsty, later expanded bit by bit with additional rooms until it reached several stories high, tilting slightly as if held together by magic.

Harry swore that if it weren’t for magic, the house would have collapsed ages ago.

The red roof had four or five chimneys, and in front of the house stood a slanted sign with the words "The Burrow."

By the door lay a few high-top leather boots and a rusted cauldron, while a few plump brown hens pecked at the ground in the yard, looking quite content.

"Not much to look at, huh?" Ron turned his head away awkwardly, his ears turning red.

"It’s amazing." Harry sincerely put an arm around Ron’s shoulder. "I mean, it feels like a real home—so warm and inviting."

"You think so?" Ron finally smiled. "I think so too—though it’s a bit shabby, it’s definitely a warm home."

"Alright, kids." Mr. Weasley sighed. "I won’t be staying for the evening feast. I need to head back to the Ministry... oh, Merlin..."

"Take care, Uncle Arthur," Harry said politely.

"Thank you, Harry." Mr. Weasley said, and then he disappeared on the spot.

Ron waved toward the spot where Mr. Weasley had vanished, then turned to Harry and said, "Come on, let’s go inside..."

"Wait, I brought a friend along," Harry said as he opened his wallet and released Poppy.

The moment Poppy touched sunlight, she neighed excitedly and bounced twice in delight.

"Damn hell, you smuggled a unicorn?!" Ron pointed at Poppy, his face full of shock.

He truly hadn’t expected his best mate to be this bold—to actually smuggle a unicorn!

"Relax, we’re all friends here." Harry patted Poppy’s side.

Before Ron could say anything else, they saw an owl flying toward them from the distant sky.

"Whose owl is that?" Ron asked, looking up.

They quickly got their answer.

The owl flew straight to Harry, dropping an ornate envelope at his feet.

"Oh, it’s for you."

Ron bent down to pick up the letter, glanced at it, then looked at Harry with widened eyes.

"Nicolas Flamel?! Harry, you know Nicolas Flamel? And he’s writing to you?!"

Hearing this, Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

Nicolas Flamel?

How did he know that letter was from me?!"

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