Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy

Harry felt that the most incomprehensible thing in the world was women—and Cassandra was even harder to understand than most women.

But for some reason, Poppy had a way of handling Cassandra better than anyone else. And it wasn’t just Poppy—even Veratia seemed to understand Cassandra quite well.

However, neither of them was willing to share their secret with him, so he had no idea how to properly communicate with Cassandra.

“Your suggestion is great, Poppy,” Harry said. “I think I should first check with the Malfoy family and see if they have any Basilisk fangs—if they do, I can buy some.”

“Or Knockturn Alley shops,” Poppy added. “I remember that Borgin and Burkes deals in contraband like that. I’m sure they have a way to get it.”

“That’s not a guarantee,” Harry replied. “Mr. Borgin isn’t omnipotent.”

As he spoke, he noticed Poppy leaning forward slightly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Poppy lifted her head and cheerfully said, “Lowering my head to eat grass.”

Harry: …

Fine. After all, she was a unicorn now.

“Don’t worry, Poppy,” Harry said with some sadness. “When Veratia returns, she will definitely find a way to turn you back into a human.”

“Really?” Poppy jumped happily twice before adding, “Actually, I don’t mind this form too much—it’s pretty nice! Look, magical creatures are all so close to me, and you know I love them.”

Seeing that Harry was about to say something else, Poppy quickly cut him off.

“More importantly, you should be figuring out how to rescue Veratia! Compared to me happily spending time with magical creatures in the Forbidden Forest, she’s been trapped alone in Slytherin’s study for over a hundred years!”

“You’re right, Poppy,” Harry admitted, reaching out to ruffle Poppy’s mane.

Poppy neighed happily, carried Harry for two laps around the Forbidden Forest, and then dropped him off by the Black Lake.

Hermione was lying on the ground, arms and legs sprawled out, while Ron was skipping stones across the lake.

“Hey, Hermione, Ron.” Harry jumped off the unicorn and greeted his two friends with a smile.

Hermione tilted her head and scoffed.

She really wanted to ride a unicorn too…

But she also knew that unicorns were not horses. Despite their similar appearance, if you treated them like ordinary horses, you’d be the one to suffer.

There had been someone who tried to ride a unicorn before. Unfortunately, they ended up with a gaping, transparent hole in their chest.

Only those truly recognized by a unicorn could ride one.

“Well then, see you tomorrow.” Harry waved at Poppy.

“Alright, Harry,” Poppy nodded. “I heard you’re playing in the Quidditch finals? Can I come watch?”

“Of course, Poppy,” Ron and Hermione chimed in together. “We’ll make space for you in the Gryffindor stands! If you want, we can even make you the Gryffindor Unicorn!”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m actually a Hufflepuff,” Poppy said with a playful squint. “But I can visit Gryffindor as a guest.”

“Yay!” The two cheered together.

The next afternoon, Poppy arrived at the Quidditch pitch as promised.

The professors warmly welcomed the unexpected unicorn guest. A sacred, noble creature visiting Hogwarts? That was Merlin’s blessing!

Poppy politely declined the professors’ invitations and followed Hermione and Ron to the Gryffindor stands, taking the seat that originally belonged to Harry.

This match was the Quidditch championship final of the school year—Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw.

Madam Hooch, seated on her broom, blew the whistle to start the game.

In just three seconds, Harry caught the Golden Snitch, setting a new record for the fastest game in Hogwarts history.

At the same time, he earned himself a new nickname—“The Fastest Man.”

That name was coined by the Weasley twins. They probably didn’t mean anything by it, but to Harry, it sounded incredibly awkward.

Gryffindor’s captain, Oliver Wood, was beaming with joy. Winning the Quidditch Cup had been his biggest dream since he enrolled.

And now, thanks to the collective effort of the team—and, of course, the decisive strike by “Mr. Three Seconds”—

Harry felt utterly exasperated. He never expected that the most ruthless nickname-givers at this school weren’t the Weasley twins, Snape, or even Draco Malfoy.

It was none other than his own captain, Oliver Wood.

“No! I don’t want to be Mr. Three Seconds!” Harry cried in despair.

But it was futile. The enthusiastic Gryffindors lifted him up and tossed him into the air repeatedly.

Fortunately, his protests were somewhat effective, and the nickname didn’t last long before it was decisively vetoed.

By none other than Professor McGonagall, who found it entirely inappropriate.

At some point, Poppy had quietly left. Harry searched around but couldn’t find her, so he gave up.

After celebrating with the Gryffindors, Harry headed to the Great Hall.

Miss Fawley was already waiting for him at the entrance. When she saw Harry approaching, she quickly stepped forward.

“Hello, Gemma,” Harry nodded at her. “Could you call Draco for me? I need to talk to him… Same place as always—the abandoned classroom on the second floor.”

“Understood.” Gemma curtsied slightly before turning to leave.

Harry made his way to the abandoned classroom on the second floor.

Not long after, Draco Malfoy arrived at the door.

To be honest, Draco had been in a foul mood lately.

On one hand, Harry’s success irritated him. He wasn’t jealous, per se—he just found it annoying that Harry was always in the spotlight.

If you asked him why he disliked Harry, it all traced back to that time when Harry rejected his offer of friendship.

Saint Potter!

On the other hand, Miss Merope had vanished from his side.

She disappeared on the day Professor Quirrell attempted his grand scheme. Draco could only vaguely remember bringing his notebook to the fourth floor, but after that, everything was a blur.

Without Miss Merope, it wasn’t just Draco who felt unsettled—half of Slytherin was practically losing their minds.

Miss Merope wasn’t just beautiful; she was also incredibly gentle and understanding. More importantly, she was a genius at magic—no matter how difficult the spell, she could solve it effortlessly. Her mastery of magical techniques was unmatched.

Slytherins had always revered strength. It was true a century ago, and even now, despite many of them being the children of criminals, they still carried an innate pursuit of power.

Power and glory!

More than a few people came to Draco, accusing him of hiding Miss Merope’s notebook.

But Draco was equally frustrated—if they wanted to know where she was, so did he.

The Malfoys were a pureblood family, but so was nearly every other Slytherin family.

The Malfoy name once held great power, but that was in the past.

This wasn’t the 19th century when Septimus Malfoy ruled from the shadows—those days of glory were long gone.

Draco had no choice but to open his dorm for a search. When they found nothing, the other Slytherins had no choice but to give up.

But still… at least the power remained.

Just as he was feeling irritated, Miss Fawley found him and told him that Gryffindor’s Potter was waiting for him in an abandoned classroom on the second floor.

Draco would never pass up such a perfect opportunity for revenge. Unable to contain his excitement, he immediately got up, abandoning his half-eaten meal, and hurried upstairs without a moment’s hesitation.

The moment he laid eyes on Harry, Draco flashed a sinister yet confident smile.

"Well, well, Potter!" Draco stepped out from behind the door. "If I were you, I wouldn’t have chosen to meet me alone in a place like this—don't worry, I’ll leave you alive just long enough to admit in front of the entire school that the so-called Savior—"

"Listen to me, Malfoy." Harry cut off Draco’s trash talk. "I need to ask you—what’s the deal with that notebook circulating among the Slytherins?"

"You don’t deserve to know!" Draco’s brow twitched twice before he pulled out his wand. "The only thing you need to know is that you, Saint Potter, are about to be defeated by me!"

Harry sighed.

Could they not have a proper conversation for once?

He didn’t even bother drawing his wand. Instead, he simply snapped his fingers, and in an instant, a ring of brilliant blue flames encircled the two of them.

Then, the flames surged, and from within the blazing blue fire, a lion emerged, its silent roar directed at Draco.

Draco opened his mouth, at a complete loss. What spell was he supposed to use against a flaming lion?

He wasn’t Hermione, after all—he had never had much enthusiasm for academics.

Left with no choice, Draco fired off a few spells, but they were utterly ineffective against the fire lion.

The creature advanced on him, forcing Draco back step by step until he stumbled into a chair and fell into it with a thud.

"This... this is..." Draco’s voice was dry. "Impossible! Absolutely impossible! Miss Merope granted me so much power—how... how did you become this strong?!"

Gaining power himself had been exhilarating, but Potter’s ever-growing strength filled him with an undeniable sense of despair.

Harry almost wanted to laugh.

Why had he become stronger?

I absorbed the Philosopher’s Stone, my guy. What about you?

But upon hearing the name "Merope," Harry let out a breath of relief.

"Tell me about your Miss Merope." He leaned against the table and asked lazily.

"No! I’ll never tell you anything!" Draco stiffened his neck. "Never!"

Seeing that Draco refused to cooperate, Harry reached into his robes and pulled out his wand.

"W-what are you going to do?" Draco asked in horror.

Harry had no intention of wasting words. He met Draco’s panicked gaze and cast his spell.

"Legilimens!"

A sharp pain suddenly shot through Draco’s head as memories surged forward like tidal waves.

Miss Merope bestowing power upon him, teaching him spells, instructing him to spread the notebook in the Slytherin common room... the Malfoy Manor, conversations with his parents, discovering Merope’s notebook...

Finally, the scene froze on Draco frantically searching his dormitory for Miss Merope’s notebook.

"Feeling sentimental?" Harry’s voice sounded from behind him.

Draco snapped back to reality—he was no longer searching for the notebook but was still under Potter’s control.

"This is my private business!" Draco gasped.

"Not to me." Harry smirked. "Malfoy, you should be thanking me, because it looks like you’ve been tricked."

"Tricked?" Draco still hadn’t recovered from his shock.

Harry sighed helplessly. "That notebook... are you stupid? Think about it—your family, the Malfoys. Your grandfather, your father, and you—all of you have pale blonde hair. I’ve seen a picture of Septimus Malfoy—he had the same blonde hair. How could your family suddenly have a black-haired member? With red eyes, no less?"

"Impossible!" Draco flatly refused to believe Harry’s words. "Absolutely impossible! Miss Merope wouldn’t lie to me! Never!"

Without a word, Harry reached into his robes and pulled out a different notebook—one belonging to Cassandra.

"Take a look. This is the real Cassandra Malfoy’s notebook. Yours is a fake."

"You... how do you know Cassandra?!" Draco asked in alarm.

Seeing Draco’s reaction, Harry twirled his wand.

"No, don’t use that spell again..." Draco scrambled backward, tears welling up in his eyes. "I’ll tell you whatever you want to know—"

"Tell me about Cassandra." Harry sat back down, crossing one leg casually over the other.

"W-why do you want to know about her?" Draco sniffled. The searing pain from earlier had left him utterly broken.

Harry didn’t answer. Instead, he waved his wand and conjured a clock.

He adjusted the hands, set the timer for five minutes, and placed it on the table with a sharp snap.

"You have five minutes," he warned. "Or I’ll use Legilimency again."

"Huh? I..." Draco couldn’t hold it in anymore and started sobbing again.

Even though he was born into an illustrious family, he was still just a twelve-year-old child.

Having been raised in a sheltered environment, adored and protected all his life, Draco had never been treated like this before.

"Crying?" Harry let out a cold laugh. "Crying still counts as part of the five minutes."

Draco hiccupped through his sobs.

"I’ll talk—"

Like a bamboo tube spilling beans, Draco poured out everything he had heard from Lucius.

"Wait!" Harry suddenly felt a jolt in his heart. "Are you saying... Cassandra stole your family’s ancestral heirloom and then disappeared?"

"Y-yes... yes." Draco nodded frantically. He glanced up, sneaking a look at Harry, only to find that the other boy’s expression was flickering unpredictably—as if he cared deeply about Cassandra, the Malfoy ancestor.

"You... seem very concerned about my ancestor?" Draco asked cautiously, trying to please him.

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