Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy

Deek was overthinking things a bit. At present, Poppy always made a conscious effort to guide Harry into accepting the fact that he was a unicorn, while Harry, in turn, avoided mentioning Poppy’s humanoid form, lest he upset her.

Sometimes, Harry would even forget that Poppy was actually a seventeen or eighteen-year-old girl…

Besides, patting a unicorn’s foreleg didn’t seem like such a big deal—it was equivalent to patting someone’s arm, after all.

“Oh, right.” Deek said, “Young Master Potter, please allow me to excuse myself for a moment.”

“Alright.” Harry nodded, then sat down on the sofa, taking in his surroundings.

The Flamel residence was a perfect balance of disorder and organization. Various bottles, jars, cauldrons, and ink-grinding mortars were scattered across the tables in a seemingly haphazard fashion. In one corner of the table sat a massive crystal ball, swirling with nebula-like patterns, an enchanting sight to behold.

“So, this is Nicolas Flamel’s house?” Poppy asked softly.

“Yes.” Harry glanced at Poppy and grinned. “Maybe he has a way to fix your problem. But before that, I have some good news for you—I forgot to tell you earlier.”

Poppy blinked in confusion and asked, “What good news?”

“You’re about to become a school governor.” Harry raised a thumb. “The first unicorn school governor in the history of Hogwarts. Congratulations.”

“Huh?” Poppy’s ears perked up instantly. “School governor? Is that something tasty?”

Harry reached out and patted Poppy’s head. She stuck out her tongue mischievously and giggled. “Just lightening the mood… But really, a school governor? Why me?”

“Because I’ve already discussed it with the goblins at Gringotts.” Harry answered succinctly. “It’s part of their compensation—they did, after all, lose something of mine. So, what do you say, Poppy? Do you want to be a governor?”

A sudden sense of duty welled up inside Poppy. She nodded in understanding and rubbed her head against Harry’s arm.

“Alright, Harry, I’ll take on this responsibility—”

Just then, Deek returned from outside.

“Young Master Potter.” He stepped forward, followed by three house-elves.

One of them was familiar—Veratia’s house-elf, Luchi.

“Po… Potter, Young Master Potter?”

The moment Luchi saw Harry, she rushed forward, her large eyes brimming with tears.

“A hundred years… A hundred years… Luchi has finally seen you again…”

“Hello, Luchi.” Harry, too, was filled with emotion.

House-elves typically lived two to three hundred years. At around one hundred and thirty to forty years old, both Deek and Luchi were in their prime.

“Young Master Potter,” Deek’s voice was soft, “before Miss Grindelwald left, in her presence as a witness, Luchi and I were married. Look, these are my two children—Ruby and Garnet.”

He gestured for his children to step forward. “Come on, kids, greet the young master.”

“Young Master.” The two little house-elves quickly bowed.

“Hello.” Harry nodded in acknowledgment.

He felt a little awkward but, knowing house-elf customs, decided not to overthink it.

“Please allow Deek’s family to return to the Potter household, to serve the Master and Mistress.” Luchi said in her sharp voice.

“This… This should depend on Mr. Flamel’s decision, shouldn’t it?” Harry asked.

Deek stepped forward at the right moment and said, “Master Flamel has no objections. Deek and Luchi were only staying at the Flamel residence temporarily. When Young Master Potter and Miss Grindelwald return, we will serve you again…”

“To serve the Master and Mistress is Luchi’s greatest honor.” Luchi chimed in.

“Well then.” Harry thought for a moment before saying, “But we’ll have to discuss this again once Veratia returns. Besides, Mr. Flamel is very old now, he still needs people around to assist him.”

Before Deek could reply, a deep, aged voice rang out.

“Children,” the voice said, “I have no objections.”

It was Nicolas Flamel.

“Mr. Flamel.” Harry stood up and bowed respectfully. “It’s been a long time.”

“Time is truly a magical force, Harry.” Flamel shuffled forward in small steps and extended a hand toward him. “It’s a pleasure to see you—”

“I think I’d better not shake hands.” Harry said hesitantly. “I’d hate to break your bones again…”

After all, the last time he had met Flamel was over a year ago.

That had also been the first time Harry ever met the legendary alchemist. When they shook hands, Harry hadn’t controlled his strength properly—or rather, he hadn’t used any force at all—yet Flamel’s bones had made an audible cracking sound.

They broke.

“Come on, you can’t avoid shaking hands forever.” Flamel stretched his withered face into a smile that was both kindly and… strangely eerie.

It was odd how those two expressions could coexist on one face.

Harry reached out and clasped Flamel’s hand, only to find that it was no longer as fragile as before.

“This is all thanks to the Bone-Growth Elixir from your Potter family,” Flamel said with a smile. “Without it, these old bones of mine wouldn’t even be able to withstand daily activities.”

“Won’t you introduce me to this young unicorn lady?” He looked toward Poppy.

Poppy instinctively shrank back. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she felt as though this wise old man could see right through her.

“She’s my friend, Poppy Sweeting, from Hufflepuff.” Harry introduced her. “She was practicing the Animagus transformation when something went wrong—now she can’t change back.”

Because Harry had pushed Poppy forward when introducing her just now, he couldn't see her face properly.

Upon hearing Harry’s words, Poppy’s eyes showed a pleading expression—she was silently begging Mr. Flamel not to reveal her secret.

“Oh…”

Mr. Flamel noticed Poppy’s gaze. “I see. Well, in all my years, I’ve never seen a Muggle successfully practice magic—you're half an exception.”

He changed the subject. “I know that whenever you and Miss Grindelwald are together, you tend to come up with all sorts of wild ideas, but I strongly advise against trying them.”

“Oh… oh.” Harry nodded stiffly. “Then how did you figure out the letter was from me, Mr. Flamel?”

“That was a clue Miss Grindelwald left for me. She stopped by my alchemy chamber before setting off on her time-traveling journey.”

Mr. Flamel raised his arm stiffly, as if he were a rusted machine, and then, out of thin air, a chair appeared beneath him.

“At the same time, she also entrusted me with Deek and Luchi…”

“I see.” Harry nodded in understanding.

“And, of course, your handwriting.” Mr. Flamel’s expression showed slight disdain. “I don’t believe Miss Grindelwald would have such terrible handwriting. Given that only a handful of people know about my alchemy chamber—Albus doesn’t know Miss Grindelwald; he knows another Grindelwald. As for Newt, let’s not even mention him—just hearing the name ‘Grindelwald’ makes him physically uncomfortable. That leaves only you.”

“Dumbledore?” Harry asked with interest. “You mean Dumbledore knew Grindelwald… as in, Gellert?”

“Of course he knew Gellert. They were friends… And I knew him too.” Mr. Flamel didn’t seem particularly pleased as he spoke the name. “Back then, Gellert caused quite the commotion at Père Lachaise Cemetery. His Fiendfyre nearly burned all of Paris to ashes.”

Harry tried to recall, but no matter how hard he thought, he just couldn’t connect the image of that eight-year-old cockatoo-like boy with the dark wizard who nearly reduced Paris to cinders.

Just picturing that little kid’s mischievous grin while commanding an inferno to engulf Paris felt utterly surreal.

But… Harry had caught onto something interesting—like the fact that Dumbledore and Gellert had once been friends?

“They were friends before they became enemies?” Harry’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “—I mean, Dumbledore and Gellert. What happened that turned them against each other?”

“I remember reading on a Chocolate Frog card that in 1945, Dumbledore defeated Gellert and imprisoned him in Nurmengard…”

“You think what’s written on a Chocolate Frog card is the truth?” Mr. Flamel said with an amused smile. “To outsiders, that event is considered Albus’s greatest triumph—but for Albus himself, it was the deepest wound of his life… It’s a complicated history, though I must say, it aligns well with the British stereotype.”

At that, Mr. Flamel gave Harry a meaningful smile.

“…Stereotype?” Harry was stunned.

He ran through every possibility in his mind but couldn’t figure out what stereotype Flamel was referring to.

“Stereotype,” Mr. Flamel repeated. “A rather modern one—about a hundred years old.”

Harry racked his brain, trying to recall how the French typically viewed the British. He hesitantly guessed, “Bad cooking?”

Then again… even the British themselves acknowledged that, so it wasn’t exactly an unfair slander from the French.

Mr. Flamel looked at him like he was an idiot.

Bad cooking? Would bad cooking turn two people into lifelong confidants? Was there something wrong with Harry, or with the world itself?

Poppy curled up on the floor, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.

She did not want Mr. Flamel to notice her.

“Think again,” Mr. Flamel prompted. “A relationship even closer than friendship…”

Something clicked—hard—in Harry’s brain.

Under Mr. Flamel’s guidance, a rather terrifying possibility surfaced in his mind.

“…Could it be…” He tentatively asked.

He really didn’t want to think about this any further. He had a feeling Veratia wouldn’t be able to handle it…

Just imagine—such an adorable younger brother, with a face that was so soft and pinchable, someone the family was counting on to carry on the Grindelwald bloodline… and then…

Harry suddenly felt that Austria might be doomed to suffer the same fate as Paris all those years ago.

“Welcome to another world.” Mr. Flamel nodded with a smile.

Harry took a sharp breath. Even though he had already guessed it, he still found it difficult to accept.

“No, no, no, no…”

“Yes,” Mr. Flamel said.

“No!” Harry was truly in denial. That little cockatoo-like boy and the white-bearded headmaster…

“Yes.” Mr. Flamel kept nodding.

Harry felt like his entire existence was crumbling. He turned around abruptly. “Firewhisky. One glass, Deek.”

He needed alcohol to numb himself.

Sometimes, having too good an imagination was not a blessing. By the time he realized where his thoughts had gone, it was already too late.

“Understood, Master Potter.” Deek swiftly disappeared and soon returned with a glass of Firewhisky.

“I should remind you that underage drinking is prohibited,” Mr. Flamel said.

“It’s fine, I’m British.” Harry took a deep swig, hoping the alcohol would erase the thoughts from his mind. “Besides, technically, I’m of age.”

He paced back and forth, glass in hand, but no matter how much he drank, he couldn’t forget what Mr. Flamel had just told him.

“So… you’re saying… Professor Dumbledore and Gellert really…”

“Yes.” Mr. Flamel smiled.

“And then… they had a falling out?” Harry asked again.

“That’s right.” Mr. Flamel nodded.

“…So I…” Harry sighed. His mind was a chaotic mess, as if someone had stuffed an entire nest of Nifflers into his brain.

“So what is it that still surprises you?” Mr. Flamel asked with a teasing smile. “It’s quite unexpected—you’re even more old-fashioned than I am.”

“I’m trying to be open-minded, but…” Harry gripped his glass. “I considered every possibility, but I never imagined that one day, the white-bearded headmaster would call Veratia ‘sister.’”

Mr. Flamel’s previously amused expression faltered.

He seemed to contemplate for a moment, then, with a swiftness unfitting for his age, snatched the glass from Harry’s hands.

Before Harry could even process what had happened, Mr. Flamel had already downed more than half of the Firewhisky in a single gulp.

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