Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy-Chapter 134: Pride Ruins Lives {1}

Harry was still inclined to trust Gringotts—after all, sometimes, unless one pushes themselves, they never truly realize their full potential.

He put away the two-way mirror and waited for the effects of the Aging Potion to wear off.

Sitting in the Room of Requirement, Harry kept pondering where Cassandra might be.

Now that Veratia’s location was confirmed, Cassandra’s whereabouts remained a complete mystery.

Harry had always believed in repaying kindness a hundredfold. Even though Cassandra often wore a scowl and seemed to take pleasure in mocking him—which was genuinely annoying—he still hoped she was safe.

In truth, Harry had gradually come to understand that his ability to establish himself in Hogwarts a century ago was largely due to Cassandra’s efforts. One could even say she was the primary reason.

It took nearly half an hour for the Aging Potion’s effects to completely subside, and he returned to his twelve-year-old self.

As he passed the second floor, he suddenly recalled the voice he had heard earlier in Professor Lockhart’s office.

It was a voice he found eerily familiar, one he had heard more than once—most recently last term, when Filch’s cat had been petrified.

Harry descended the stairs, intending to head toward the Gryffindor Tower.

Just as he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Percy emerged from the entrance.

“Oh, Harry.” Percy greeted him in a very formal manner. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, Percy,” Harry replied.

“What were you up to?” Percy asked with curiosity.

As a Gryffindor prefect, Percy had both the authority and the duty to inquire about his fellow students' activities—even his twin brothers, the Weasley troublemakers, didn’t receive special treatment, let alone Harry.

Harry understood Percy’s responsibilities, so he answered truthfully, “Professor Lockhart asked me to help him write replies to his fan letters in his office, so I’m coming back late.”

“I see.” Percy nodded primly. “Understood. Hurry back and rest—it’s quite late.”

“What about you?” Harry asked curiously. “Do prefects still have to patrol at this hour?”

“Not exactly,” Percy explained. “One of Creevey’s dormmates reported that he’s missing—you know, Colin Creevey, the boy who’s always carrying that Muggle camera around.”

Harry nodded knowingly. Colin Creevey… It was impossible not to remember that kid.

Percy sighed. “If it were my two troublemaking brothers—you know which two—I doubt their dormmates would even think of reporting them missing. But Creevey isn’t the type to break school rules, so…”

The ‘two troublemakers’ Percy referred to could be none other than Fred and George.

“I understand,” Harry said. “But are you sure you can find him on your own?”

“There are four prefects patrolling tonight, so I believe we have enough people.” Percy offered Harry a small smile. “Alright, Harry, you should head back—”

Before he could finish, a voice called out from nearby.

“Percy? Percy!”

It was a clear, pleasant female voice.

Moments later, a young girl wearing Ravenclaw robes, a prefect badge pinned to her chest, came running toward them.

She looked anxious, but upon seeing Harry, her expression shifted slightly. She cleared her throat and corrected herself, “Weasley, Prefect.”

Percy straightened his posture and put on a serious expression. “Oh, good evening, Miss Clearwater. What’s the matter?”

Hearing the name, Harry immediately recognized the girl in front of him.

It was Ravenclaw’s prefect, Penelope Clearwater.

Clearwater—what a nice surname, Harry thought.

“We just found one of your Gryffindor first-years on the second floor,” Penelope said quickly. “The one always carrying a Muggle camera—”

She paused, taking a moment to steady her breathing.

“What happened to him?” Percy asked, an uneasy feeling creeping over him.

“He’s been petrified—just like Filch’s cat, Mrs. Norris, last year,” Penelope sighed.

“What?” Percy exclaimed. “Where is he? Take me there immediately—Harry, go back to your dormitory.”

“I’d better come along. Maybe I can help somehow,” Harry said. He was curious about what had happened.

Percy had intended to refuse, but considering Harry’s proficiency in spells, he ultimately agreed.

The two followed Penelope up to the second floor.

They passed a small puddle of water and turned left. There, Harry saw Colin lying on the ground, frozen mid-motion, as if capturing a photo.

Beside him stood Hufflepuff’s prefect, Cedric Diggory.

Seeing Percy approach, Cedric gave him a worried smile. “You’re here?”

Then, he noticed Harry trailing behind and greeted him. “Hello, Harry.”

“Hello,” Harry nodded, then looked down at Colin.

Colin was completely petrified—his skin had turned ashen gray. One eye was shut tightly while the other remained wide open, staring through the viewfinder of his camera. His finger was still pressing down on the shutter, as if he had been taking a picture of something.

“He’s petrified,” Harry concluded without hesitation. “Not by a simple Petrificus Totalus—it’s a far more advanced petrification curse. Look, Colin has turned to stone.”

Honestly, Harry felt a bit sad—but at the same time, it was a relief not to be pestered by Colin anymore.

He immediately scolded himself for such a thought. How could he think that way? Colin was already in such a state…

Percy knelt and cautiously touched Colin’s hand. Feeling the cold, marble-like texture, he frowned. “Where is Miss Farley? Has she not returned yet?”

“She went to inform the Headmaster and the professors,” Cedric sighed. “Miss Clearwater went to find you, and I stayed here to guard Creevey.”

“Harry, what do you think caused this?” Cedric asked.

Harry shook his head uncertainly. “I’ve never seen a curse like this before, and even Finite Incantatem wouldn’t work. At least, from what I’ve read, no spell like this exists.”

As they spoke, Professor Dumbledore arrived, leading a group of teachers, with an out-of-breath Miss Farley trailing behind.

“Harry,” she greeted him with a smile.

Harry nodded in response, then looked up at Dumbledore.

“Poor Colin,” Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head as he knelt to examine the boy.

“The mere thought sends chills down my spine,” Professor McGonagall muttered, clutching her robes. “If it weren’t for the prefects on patrol, who knows what might have happened…”

Dumbledore’s gaze fell on the camera in Colin’s hands. Gently, he adjusted it, making sure not to harm Colin, and pried it loose.

“Could he have taken a picture of the attacker?” McGonagall asked urgently.

Dumbledore didn’t answer. He frowned at the camera, then opened the back compartment.

A sharp hissing sound erupted as a wave of heat poured out, accompanied by the acrid smell of burning plastic—even Harry, standing at a distance, could smell it.

“Merlin’s beard…” McGonagall gasped. “What does this mean, Albus?”

“It means this was an exceptionally dark and sinister magic,” Dumbledore said gravely, setting the camera down. “I feel like I’ve heard of something like this before… Let me think…”

Everyone held their breath, unwilling to disturb Dumbledore’s thoughts.

“Apologies,” he sighed. “I can’t recall it at the moment. Perhaps I should consult some old friends…”

"What about Mr. Creevey, Professor?" Percy asked anxiously.

Dumbledore looked down at Colin and sighed regretfully. "For now, we have no choice but to let Mr. Creevey remain in the hospital wing. This is an extremely advanced Petrification curse, and the only cure is a potion brewed from mature Mandrake roots... But even brewing such a potion takes time."

"As long as we have mature Mandrakes," Snape's slow, drawling voice interjected, "I suppose I can complete the antidote as soon as possible, so that our overly energetic, squirrel-like Mr. Creevey can return to his studies sooner rather than later."

At that, Snape suddenly changed the subject.

"However… I have another question—apart from the four prefects required to patrol at night, why was an unrelated student like Mr. Potter present at the scene? If I recall correctly, Mr. Creevey has been rather fond of pestering him lately…"

Snape abruptly stopped speaking, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The message was clear—

Points will be deducted again, Potter!

At Snape's words, everyone turned to look at Harry.

"Oh," Lockhart suddenly spoke up, "I should be the one to explain this on Harry's behalf—We had agreed yesterday that he would come to my office tonight to help me write responses to my adoring fans. Not long ago, I dismissed him."

Snape twitched his lips, but Harry couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Was he pleased or displeased?

Harry generally assumed Snape was displeased—after all, unless he saw Harry suffer, when would Snape ever be happy?

Having learned about Snape's complicated history with his parents, Harry understood that Snape's attitude toward him was… complex.

In Harry's mind, it was simple—Snape would never let him die, but he had no problem watching him get into trouble. In fact, he rather enjoyed it.

"I think we should take Mr. Creevey to Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing," Professor McGonagall suddenly said. "Since it has been proven that Mr. Potter had nothing to do with this, you should return to your dormitory, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Harry nodded. After saying goodbye to the professors and prefects, he turned and left without delay.

When he returned to the dormitory, Ron and the others were still awake.

"Why aren't you guys asleep yet?" Harry asked curiously.

"Not tired." Ron sat on the edge of his bed, one leg propped up, as if he had been chatting moments ago. "But you, Harry—how many letters from Lockhart's fans did you have to deal with?"

"Don't even mention it. Nearly an entire room full," Harry sighed. "You can't imagine what it was like. Frankly, it was terrifying."

He walked to his bed, sat down, and pulled a soda can from his trunk, popping it open with a crisp snap.

"Guess what just happened?" he asked after taking a sip.

"What happened?" his three dormmates asked in unison, intrigued.

Harry set down his drink and said, "As I reached the door, I ran into Percy. Before I could even enter, a Ravenclaw prefect called for him, saying something had happened to Colin."

"Something happened to Colin?" The three of them gaped.

"Yeah, he's been Petrified," Harry sighed. "Just like Filch's cat last term. A nasty Dark spell completely turned him to stone. Undoing the curse won't be easy—it requires brewing an antidote from mature Mandrakes."

Seamus and Neville exchanged glances, looking slightly excited. "So does that mean we finally get some peace and quiet? No more Colin ambushing you at every class, tracking your every move?"

Honestly, that hadn't occurred to Harry at first—he actually felt sorry for Colin.

But Seamus' remark brought back memories of Colin's relentless, all-angle surveillance, and whatever sympathy Harry had immediately evaporated.

Pressing a hand against the bedsheet and gripping the bedpost with the other, he couldn't help but burst into laughter.

But halfway through, he realized that laughing about this wasn't exactly appropriate. He spent some time suppressing his amusement, mentally running through the saddest moments of his life to compose himself. Finally, he managed to assume a solemn expression.

"What a tragedy…" Harry sighed.

"A tragedy."

"A tragedy."

"A tragedy," Ron, Seamus, and Neville chorused.

"He was… a good classmate," Harry added.

"A good classmate," they echoed.

"We should make time to visit him in the hospital wing," Harry continued.

"Visit him," the three repeated.

"Even if we get the Mandrakes, the potion will take at least two months to brew," Harry pointed out.

"Meaning Colin—and his camera—will be gone for at least that long," Ron concluded.

"Alas…" Harry sighed dramatically.

"Alas," the three echoed solemnly.

"But honestly, if Creevey hadn’t been Petrified…" Ron mused. "I might’ve ended up Petrifying him myself—he was just that annoying."

Harry thought about it but didn’t comment.

Truthfully, he didn’t think it was such a bad thing either.

The next morning, their first class wasn’t until eleven, so they lazed around in bed for a while before finally getting up.

When they arrived at the Great Hall, the students were buzzing with discussions about Colin Creevey’s fate.

Most of the commentary was schadenfreude—after all, Colin had been thoroughly annoying, with zero sense of personal boundaries, constantly taking photos of people.

Even Draco Malfoy came over, speaking in hushed tones as he sat beside Harry.

"Hey, Harry," Draco whispered. "That little Muggle-born Creevey got Petrified… was it you?"

Harry shot him a puzzled look.

"I mean, you're the only one in this school capable of doing it," Draco said excitedly. "Teach me that spell, will you? Come on, you’re a legendary wizard—it should be easy for you, right?"

"What are you two whispering about?" Ron leaned over.

"He thinks I Petrified Colin," Harry told Ron.

"Want a fist to the face, Malfoy?" Ron instantly raised his fist threateningly. "Harry couldn’t possibly do it! Dumbledore said it was an extremely advanced Dark curse—"

To their surprise, Draco reacted differently. He rolled his eyes and sneered at Ron. "Idiot, don’t you know? Harry is a legendary wizard from a hundred years ago! The Harry Potter who was close friends with my great-great-aunt—"

Harry glanced at Draco. He had expected this secret to slip out sooner or later, and sure enough, Draco couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

But he didn’t bother stopping him either.

"Oh, please, Malfoy," Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes. "If you’re going to make things up, at least make them believable."

"Ask him yourself!" Draco huffed, pointing at Harry.

Harry nodded, making no effort to hide it. "He’s right."

To his surprise, Hermione and Ron just laughed.

"Nice try, Harry. You’re really milking this joke," Ron chuckled.

"I’m serious." Harry dabbed his lips with a napkin.

Hermione and Ron just laughed harder, thinking he was teasing them.

"See? We don’t believe you," Ron teased.

Harry shrugged. I already told the truth—if you find out later, don’t blame me for not warning you.

Draco, meanwhile, sat there sulking, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

Why doesn’t anyone believe me?

I was telling the truth!

"This kid never tells the truth!" Ron muttered, watching Draco sulk off.

But Harry thought to himself, He was telling the truth the whole time…

That evening, Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff prefect, approached Harry.

"Harry," Cedric greeted him with a warm smile. "When do we start? I can hardly wait."

"Tonight, after dinner," Harry replied in a low voice. "Besides you, is there anyone else from Hufflepuff joining?"

"Megan Jones," Cedric said with a smile. "She's a good friend of mine and very interested in the Duelling Room."

"Alright." Harry nodded. "Let's meet at six-thirty at the 7th-floor staircase—"

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Cedric flashed him an "OK" gesture before turning away.

After dinner, Harry lingered in the dormitory for a while before heading to the 7th floor with a few friends.

Sure enough, Cedric was already there, accompanied by a girl with brown hair and freckles.

"Shh." Harry gestured for silence, then whispered to Cedric, "Let's get inside first. We can introduce ourselves once we're in the room."

Cedric nodded in agreement—it wasn’t exactly a good time to be roaming the 7th floor.

Standing beneath the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls, Harry paced back and forth, silently thinking, I need a dueling room…

Moments later, a door appeared in the wall beneath the tapestry.

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