Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy

Thanks for power stone, more up chapter today.~enjoy

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Two days ago, in the Slytherin common room.

"Tell me about the magical world," a lazy yet compelling script appeared in the notebook. "I've already shared with you the secret of the Chamber of Secrets; it's only fair you tell me how the magical world has changed. After all, I've been gone for many years."

"Besides, knowing what has happened will help me guide you better."

"Where should I start?" Draco stretched his slightly aching hand, pausing briefly before responding in the notebook. "Apologies, ancestor. If I were to recount everything since your time, it would take three days and nights without pause."

"Then tell me about your headmaster. Is it still Phineas Nigellus Black?"

"Oh, no. The current headmaster is Dumbledore," Draco wrote, his handwriting becoming visibly impatient at the mention of the name. "That sanctimonious old fool! He even allows Muggle-borns to attend Hogwarts. My father says someone like him could never manage the school properly."

"I trust your father's judgment," the notebook responded with a hint of amusement. "Does this Dumbledore have any remarkable tales?"

"He defeated a Dark wizard named Grindelwald," Draco wrote, adding, "The world calls him the greatest white wizard."

"The greatest white wizard?" The words on the page turned eager. "Tell me, my descendant, aside from this Grindelwald, does this so-called great white wizard have any other enemies?"

Draco pondered for a moment before answering truthfully: "Yes, there's You-Know-Who—"

"I know who?" The handwriting turned elegant again. "Don't joke, Draco. How could I possibly know this person?"

"Voldemort," Draco wrote, shuddering slightly even as he spelled out the name. "We usually don't say his name directly."

"Why not?" the notebook inquired.

"Fear," Draco replied, hesitating before adding, "and respect, because he promises to restore pure-blood wizards to their rightful place."

The notebook's handwriting turned gleeful: "Exactly! Pure-blood wizards like us were born to be superior. This Voldemort's ideals are commendable... So, where is he now?"

Draco hesitated for a long while before writing: "Harry Potter. He's said to be the Chosen One, prophesied to defeat Voldemort. When Potter was just a year old, Voldemort tried to kill him but disappeared after failing. People say Harry Potter defeated Voldemort... He hasn't appeared for the past ten years."

The notebook fell silent.

Draco waited for a long time but received no reply.

"Ancestor? Ancestor?" he wrote again.

Unexpectedly, the notebook's handwriting turned erratic.

"Impossible! Absolutely impossible! How could a one-year-old child defeat him?"

"Ancestor? Why are you so upset about Voldemort's defeat?" Draco asked, confused by his ancestor's reaction.

The notebook remained quiet for a moment before writing slowly: "I just think this so-called Dark Lord... isn't much of a threat if he couldn't even kill a one-year-old child."

Draco hesitated but chose not to agree outright with his ancestor's harsh judgment, deciding to temper emotion with reason.

"Don't say that, ancestor. Perhaps Dumbledore ambushed him."

"Enough, Draco," the handwriting returned to its refined elegance. "You mentioned your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is a disgrace? Take me to his class tomorrow so I can observe his teaching. Then, I'll give you focused training to improve your dueling and spellcasting—so you can defeat that irritating Potter."

"Yes, ancestor," Draco replied excitedly, a glint of anticipation in his eyes.

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The next day, Tuesday, Draco dutifully brought the notebook to Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

As he opened it to write, the notebook had already given its opinion.

"Put me away."

Obediently, Draco closed the notebook and tucked it into his pocket.

Professor Quirrell, who was holding a lizard while lecturing at the front of the class, froze momentarily before continuing to explain the uses of lizard blood.

What Draco didn't realize was that within the notebook, a tempest of emotions was raging.

Pathetic. Useless.

Stuck to the back of someone's head like a parasite!

Living like this... do you even deserve to be the main soul?

After class, Draco hurriedly grabbed a quick bite before rushing back to the Slytherin common room.

"Ancestor, why did you ask me to put you away?" he asked.

"I could hear everything even from your pocket," the notebook replied. "Stammering, trembling... How could someone like that be a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

The handwriting paused, as though gathering its thoughts.

Then another sentence appeared below.

"So, my descendant, I need some power."

"What kind of power?" Draco asked eagerly.

"The kind that will allow me to manifest before you and guide you directly," the notebook explained.

"Really?" Draco's excitement grew. After all their conversations, his ancestor might finally appear before him!

He quickly wrote: "What should I do to give you this power? Can I provide it?"

"No, my child," the notebook's tone turned gentle. "You are my most cherished descendant. How could I bear to take your strength?"

Draco's eyes grew misty with emotion.

He was deeply moved.

"Listen to me," the notebook continued. "You have two followers—Crabbe and Goyle, correct? Their bodies seem sturdy enough. Let them hold the notebook, and I'll borrow a bit of their strength."

Crabbe and Goyle?

Draco felt a slight twinge of jealousy but resolved to follow his ancestor's instructions.

"Crabbe, Goyle, come here," he called.

Soon enough, the two entered, standing together like a bottle of butterbeer and a can of corned beef.

"You two, hold this notebook," Draco instructed, handing it over.

Without hesitation, Crabbe and Goyle each grabbed one side of the notebook.

As they did, faint golden letters spelling T.M. Riddle shimmered on the cover before fading away, replaced by C.C. Malfoy.

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