Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy-Chapter 301

Regarding Harry's questions, Veratia remained tight-lipped, as if guarding a profound secret.

In short, her stance was clear: just keep moving forward step by step.

The path had already been laid out. Whether Sirius could keep walking it depended on whether he was truly made of the right stuff.

The holidays always passed quickly. It seemed like no time at all before Professor Lupin appeared before them again.

Lupin looked in good spirits, unaffected by the monthly discomfort that plagued him.

A few days later, the day to return to Hogwarts arrived.

Dumbledore appeared listless—not because he was still in a weakened state, but because his eating habits had been strictly curtailed.

One of his few joys in life was indulging in sweets daily, but now even that basic pleasure had been ruthlessly stripped away. How could he possibly be happy?

In Veratia's eyes, however, Dumbledore was nothing like those frail Muggle elders on their last legs. For them, indulging their sweet tooth was understandable—they didn't have many years left to live. But Dumbledore? He was different. He was in the prime of his life, a time for striving and achieving. How could he let something as trivial as sugar intake cause problems?

Besides, calling what Dumbledore did "eating sweets" was an understatement—it was more like devouring them.

The entire Gryffindor dormitory's annual sugar consumption probably couldn't match what Dumbledore went through in a few days.

This wasn't just a simple craving—it was an obsession that had to be reined in!

As a result, Dumbledore was in a particularly foul mood, even when he returned to the headmaster's office.

Poppy Sweeting had secured the Board of Governors' approval to confiscate all the sweets in the headmaster's office. She had even coordinated with Honeydukes to temporarily cut off Dumbledore's supply of their confections.

The fact that Dumbledore was a major shareholder in Honeydukes was no secret at Hogwarts. After all, on the very first day he became a shareholder, he had bragged about it to anyone who would listen, proclaiming his new status to the world.

Now, Dumbledore was filled with regret—deep, bitter regret.

If he had known things would turn out like this, why had he been so loud-mouthed, broadcasting his shareholder status to everyone?

Now, his supply of sweets was cut off, and he could only watch enviously as others enjoyed their treats.

Recent news had been overwhelmingly favorable to the Black family. Not only was The Daily Prophet covering their story, but other publications—like America's New York Pixie Press and France's Le Cri de la Gargouille—had sent reporters sniffing around, eager to interview Sirius.

The French reporters, in particular, were relentless in digging up juicy tidbits from the British wizarding world.

Even though the wizarding communities of the two countries were locked in a love-hate rivalry—unlike the bickering, spouse-like relationship between Muggle Britain and France—their magical counterparts preferred to trade sharp-witted jabs more directly.

"Mr. Black," Pierre, a reporter from Le Cri de la Gargouille, asked with a look of feigned concern, "how do you view the British Ministry of Magic's misunderstanding of you all these years?"

"It's not entirely the Ministry's fault, my good sir," Sirius replied smoothly, his words carefully chosen. "After I mistakenly trusted a traitor, leading to the death of my dear friends, my regret was beyond measure… Even Azkaban couldn't atone for a fraction of my guilt…"

"No, Sirius," Harry interjected, throwing his arms around him. "It's not your fault—not your fault at all… I know Mum and Dad wouldn't blame you either…"

Harry was speaking the truth. He had his fair share of grievances with his father.

Back then, some had suggested making Dumbledore the Secret-Keeper, but James, in a show of loyalty to his friend, had flatly refused. That decision led directly to him and Lily being targeted by Voldemort.

If it weren't for his father's arrogance, perhaps both his parents would still be alive today.

Pierre's quill scratched furiously across the parchment, producing a rapid swish-swish sound.

"And so," James, a reporter from The New York Pixie Press, chimed in, "Mr. Black, are the reports in The Daily Prophet true? If so, why hasn't the British Ministry of Magic exonerated your brother and restored his reputation?"

Truth be told, the American wizarding community wasn't exactly saintly either. They harbored a particular resentment toward Britain, their former colonial overlord.

"I don't know how The Daily Prophet got their information," Sirius said, deflecting the question. "We only just rescued Regulus and uncovered the truth, and somehow The Daily Prophet got the scoop first… That said, not everything in their reports should be taken at face value. For instance, their recent feature on the so-called 'secret history of the Black family' was complete nonsense. The later parts, though, are somewhat credible."

"As for why the Ministry hasn't yet exonerated Regulus," he continued, "the reason is simple. It's the Christmas holidays, for one, and we also want to give Regulus some peace while we verify the truth. I'm confident that once we present sufficient evidence to the Ministry, they won't hesitate to clear the name of a true hero."

"And what if the Ministry refuses to exonerate your brother?" Pierre suddenly pressed.

"I have faith in the Ministry and in Minister Fudge," Sirius replied, his polished words delivered with impeccable grace.

To Pierre and James's disappointment, the interview at 12 Grimmauld Place didn't yield the scandal they were hoping for.

Unlike Rita Skeeter, at least these two lacked the journalistic knack for exaggerating and distorting the truth.

But it wasn't a complete loss. Sirius's responses gave them enough material to needle the British Ministry in their papers, staging a dramatic public shaming.

After a series of foreign articles about the Black family hit the presses, the Ministry could no longer sit idly by.

Fudge convened an emergency meeting to devise a strategy with his team to address the current situation.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere at 12 Grimmauld Place was remarkably relaxed.

Not only had The New York Pixie Press and Le Cri de la Gargouille sung the Black family's praises, but even Rita Skeeter's Daily Prophet had gone all out in glorifying them.

Rita, in particular, after recounting Sirius's heroic deeds, didn't miss the chance to elevate his character to near-saintly status.

"Look at this," Sirius said, holding up a copy of The Daily Prophet and pointing to a line in the article. "'I felt a truly human heart beating at 12 Grimmauld Place…' I really like that one."

"Actually, Mr. Black," Cassandra interrupted, cutting through her godfather's fanciful musings, "there are nine hearts beating in this old house."

"Nine? Shouldn't it be ten?" Poppy Sweeting piped up, counting on her fingers. "Let's see… Sirius, Lupin, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, Kreacher, Veratia, you, and me—that's ten, isn't it?"

"You're a ghost, my dear Sweeting," Cassandra said, casting her a pitying glance.

Poppy opened her mouth to protest, but her spectral form seemed to dim, and she floated off to the side dejectedly.

Oh, right. I forgot—I'm a ghost.

"Don't lose heart, Poppy," Veratia said, reaching out to pat her spectral head. "Soon enough, you'll have your body back. Then there really will be ten hearts beating in this house."

"Yay!" Poppy cheered, shooting Cassandra a triumphant look.

Cassandra, however, merely crossed her arms and gazed haughtily at Harry in the distance, not sparing Poppy so much as a glance.

"She's awful!" Poppy whispered to Veratia. "She says she doesn't like Harry, but her eyes are glued to him…"

Veratia followed Poppy's gaze and saw that, indeed, Cassandra was staring at Harry.

What a duplicitous woman, Veratia thought to herself. If it weren't for that temperament of hers, how could she ever have gotten close to Harry in the first place?

That's just how people are. Life shouldn't be too smooth. Take someone like Cassandra, pampered by her father and brother—she's got a personality that's impossible to fathom.

Compare that to Veratia, an orphan Squib, and the difference is stark.

As for why Cassandra ended up the "first loser" in this game? Well, that's no mystery.

"I'll recommend you for a position at the Ministry, Sirius," Dumbledore suddenly said. "Once the term starts, I'll speak with them to get you a post there."

"Oh, thank you, Dumbledore," Sirius replied, setting down the newspaper with a grin.

A violet glint flashed in Veratia's eyes. "This summer… perhaps after the Quidditch World Cup, a department head position at the Ministry will open up. At that point, Headmaster, you could work behind the scenes with Mr. Malfoy to secure the role of department head for my godfather… What do you think?"

With Lucius involved, the plan would be far more secure.

For one, both Sirius and Lucius hailed from pure-blood families. Plus, Lucius's wife, Narcissa, was Sirius's cousin. With that connection, Lucius would surely do him a favor.

"Department head?" Dumbledore latched onto Veratia's words, his curiosity piqued. "Are you saying someone will lose their position? Which department, may I ask?"

"Can you keep a secret, Dumbledore?" Veratia asked with a faint smile.

"Of course! I swear I'll be as silent as the grave!" Dumbledore assured her.

Veratia chuckled.

"You see, Dumbledore," she said, "so can I."

Dumbledore took a deep breath, deciding not to press her further.

She had him beat in both words and wands.

If she didn't want to say, so be it. Prophecies were best left unspoken anyway.

"It's not the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, is it?" Ron blurted out, suddenly realizing his own father was a department head.

Startled, he dropped the melon he'd been munching on.

"No, Ron," Veratia replied with a reassuring smile. "If it were your dad, I'd have told you already."

Weasley… Uncle?

What an oddly specific term.

Sirius rubbed his brow, trying to keep his eyebrows from twitching uncontrollably.

Well, it seemed his status had risen alongside Harry's.

He'd never dared to dream that Gellert Grindelwald's older sister would call him "godfather."

But, come to think of it, it was kind of thrilling.

Did this mean he was a generation above both Dumbledore and Grindelwald?

The thought nearly made Sirius's grin uncontainable.

Hearing Veratia's reassurance, Ron let out a sigh of relief.

He didn't think much of the "Uncle Weasley" comment. Even knowing that the people before him were legendary wizards from a century ago, Ron's laid-back nature made him see them as just peers—nothing particularly special.

That night, Veratia slipped into Harry's room as usual for their late-night rendezvous.

Nothing untoward happened—just the usual chatting, a bit of kissing, or some light touching and cuddling.

"Do you remember that gem?" Harry asked suddenly. "After we get back to Hogwarts, we need to visit Mr. Flamel's cottage and ask him what the cost of using it is."

"I must warn you, Harry," Veratia said, her head resting on his chest. "If Lady Death is at Mr. Flamel's cottage, you need to ask her about it, not him. Understood?"

"I'm not that dim," Harry said with a chuckle.

The next morning, after breakfast, they boarded a carriage back to Hogwarts.

It was the same carriage, enchanted with an Extension Charm, spacious enough to fit everyone comfortably.

Dumbledore rode back in the carriage as well, though he was still a bit weak—

—not from any ailment, but from going over ten days without sugar. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

Now, he eyed everything with a desperate urge to nibble, wondering if it contained even a trace of sweetness.

Hermione and Ron headed straight to their dorms, while Harry, Veratia, and the others went to Mr. Flamel's alchemy lab.

"It seems you've received my gift," Lady Death said, perched on the edge of a desk, holding a crystal ball as if playing some intriguing game. Harry couldn't quite make out what it was.

Mr. Flamel sat beside her, his face flushed, as though they'd just had a heated argument.

But as soon as they entered, she dismissed the image in the crystal ball.

"Lady," Harry greeted, surprised to see Death still there but knowing better than to ask questions that didn't concern him.

"That gem—does it come with a cost? Or… do I need to pay some price to have my wish granted?"

Death smiled and shook her head. "Child, it requires no sacrifice from you. You can use the gem freely without worry."

Harry glanced at Veratia, then at Dumbledore.

Both nodded, so he pulled the gem from his pocket.

"So, what is it you desire most right now?" Mr. Flamel asked.

Harry thought for a moment, then shook his head.

"Perhaps we could use the gem to bring Poppy back," Veratia suggested. "Isn't it supposed to grant the heart's deepest desires? If it works, we wouldn't need to bother with those potions… What do you think?"

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