Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy-Chapter 180

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Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

The noise here was deafening, with Gellert taking a beating, so why hadn’t his loyal followers shown up? Only when he called for them did they finally appear in the room...

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Suppressing his curiosity, Harry followed Veratia to two adjacent guest rooms.

"See you tomorrow, Harry," Veratia said softly. She looked down at him, his head level with her chest, and with a faint smile, she leaned forward and gently kissed his forehead.

Caught off guard, Harry’s cheeks flushed red, the warm, soft sensation of her kiss lingering on his skin.

"W-what was that?" he stammered.

"Just a goodnight kiss," Veratia replied, reaching out to ruffle his messy hair. "Come on, we should rest. See you tomorrow."

"Okay, Veratia," Harry said, still a bit dazed. "Goodnight."

The night passed quietly.

When Harry woke the next morning, he stretched lazily. It was the best night’s sleep he’d had in years.

The morning view from Nurmengard Castle was breathtaking. Nestled among the mountains, the castle offered a stunning panorama of distant peaks from the window. Harry found himself thinking how nice it would be to own a house like this someday, where he could sit by the window and soak in the scenery.

"What are you looking at?" a gentle voice asked from behind him. Before he could turn, Harry felt himself enveloped in a soft embrace.

It was Veratia, siphoning his energy again, as she often did.

"Just the view," Harry said, still not entirely used to being held like this, though he didn’t mind. "I was thinking how great it would be to have a house like this someday. You could sit by the window and just... look out. That’s the Alps over there, right?"

"Yes, the Alps," Veratia said softly. "If you like it, Nurmengard could be yours."

Harry chuckled. "No thanks. I’d rather not have Gellert murder me."

Veratia guided him to a chair, her arm still around him. "Don’t worry, Gellert wouldn’t dare. Besides, he’s getting on in years and has no heirs. What’s he going to do with a castle this big? It’s better off with someone younger."

Harry sensed there was more to her words. It was clear Veratia was more than a little frustrated about the Grindelwald family’s lack of heirs.

"Speaking of which," Harry said, curiosity piqued, "why do you trust Dumbledore so easily now? You didn’t used to be like that."

"Ah... that’s thanks to you, Harry," Veratia said with a smile. "When I’m with you—when we’re in physical contact—I can somehow see a person’s soul. It might be an extra effect of the Philosopher’s Stone."

"Soul?" Harry mulled over the word, unsure of its meaning.

"I can see what a person’s soul looks like," Veratia explained, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. "Yours, for instance, is transparent and pure—the most delicious soul I’ve ever seen. I could just take a bite."

"Er...?" Harry faltered, caught off guard.

"Just teasing," Veratia said with a light laugh. "Dumbledore’s soul is pure white, with only a tiny smudge—so small it’s barely worth mentioning."

But she was only telling Harry half the truth. She couldn’t exactly admit she’d etched an ancient magical rune into the handle of the Elder Wand, could she? That would make her seem a bit too clever.

Humming a cheerful tune from her hometown—something called The Emperor Quartet—Veratia changed the subject.

Harry suddenly understood why Veratia had come to trust Dumbledore’s assurances so readily. Professor Howin had once said that a gentleman could be persuaded with reason, and perhaps Dumbledore could be described as such.

"What about Gellert?" Harry asked, curious about the color of Gellert’s soul.

"Him?" Veratia scoffed. "Black. A garish, kaleidoscopic black. Utterly irredeemable."

Harry let out a small "oh," surprised by how low an opinion Veratia had of her brother.

Unbeknownst to Gellert, still lazing in bed next door, his castle’s ownership had been casually gifted to the "Scarhead" in a morning conversation—and he’d been branded with a soul of "kaleidoscopic black" to boot.

Gellert used to be a disciplined man, but after being imprisoned in Nurmengard, he’d lost his drive and picked up the bad habit of sleeping in. Unless the sun was high enough to warm his backside, he wouldn’t stir before noon.

Veratia had no intention of rousing him. As far as she was concerned, out of sight was out of mind. Every time she saw her brother, she couldn’t help but think of the Grindelwald family’s extinction—and how he’d pilfered her entire vault like a Niffler.

Let him be punished by working with Newt’s Nifflers, she thought. If she recalled correctly, Newt, the renowned magizoologist, kept plenty of magical creatures, including Nifflers. The image of Gellert with a Niffler perched on his head, two stuffed in his pockets, and another clutched in his hands was endlessly amusing to her.

It wasn’t until noon that Gellert finally yawned and dragged himself out of bed.

"Morning, sister," he said, still yawning, a starry-and-moonlit nightcap perched on his head.

Veratia’s eyes crinkled with amusement. She could tell it was the same style as Dumbledore’s.

"And... Scar—Potter," Gellert corrected himself, swallowing the "Scarhead" just in time.

He’d planned ahead, arranging for someone to take his place in Nurmengard’s dungeons the previous night, disguised as him.

"Oh, sister," Gellert said suddenly, remembering the three prisoners in the dungeon. "The three who escaped back then, including Wilhelmina—they’re all in the dungeon. Want to take a look?"

"Wilhelmina?" Veratia frowned, racking her brain. "Who’s that?"

"One of the ones who bullied us when we were kids," Gellert said with a shrug.

"Oh, her," Veratia said, a disdainful smile curling her lips. "The coward who always egged others on to pick on me but never dared face me alone—not even when I was a Squib."

"And you let someone like that live for over a century?" Veratia asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course not easily," Gellert said with a wicked grin. "Don’t worry, sister. I’ve made sure those three are practically immune to the Cruciatus Curse by now."

Veratia paused, her expression darkening.

"That’s on me, Gell," she said with a sigh. "I didn’t instill enough respect for the Unforgivable Curses in you, and now you treat life so callously..."

Gellert rolled his eyes. Disregard for life? he thought. You’re accusing me of that, sister?

But he kept those thoughts to himself, not daring to voice them.

"So, what should we do with those three?" he asked instead.

Veratia’s gaze grew cold. "If you can’t handle something this trivial, what good are you as a brother?"

Gellert said nothing. He turned to his companion, gave a few quiet instructions, and they left the room. Moments later, he returned.

"It’s done, sister," Gellert said pointedly, glancing at Harry. "As per your orders, I’ve killed all three."

His look was unmistakable: See, Scarhead? My sister’s a cold-blooded killer. You’d better steer clear of her.

To his surprise, Harry nodded approvingly. "At least when it comes to protecting your sister, you’re a decent brother."

Gellert wasn’t sure whether to feel pleased or insulted, but Harry’s next words clarified that anger was the appropriate response.

"But that’s about it, Nifflert," Harry said, smirking as he bestowed a new nickname on Gellert, much like the one he’d given Draco.

The nickname hit like a Bludger, and Gellert’s hair practically stood on end. "Scarhead!" he snarled, lunging across Veratia to swat at Harry.

But Veratia, ever the biased referee, pulled them apart. "Enough," she said firmly. "Stop bickering. We need to head to the Flamel residence soon."

Gellert smirked, imagining Newt Scamander’s reaction to seeing him. He could already hear the freckled boy’s shrill yelp of shock.

"And we’re bringing Lockhart," Gellert added, patting the suitcase at his feet. "I’ve got him stashed in here, dosed with Draught of Living Death."

With everything prepared, Veratia called for Fiona, took Harry’s hand in her left and Gellert’s wrist in her right, and Disapparated from Nurmengard.

At the Flamel residence, lunch was in progress when a knock at the door made Newt’s neck prickle. He turned instinctively—and froze. There, grinning with unmistakable menace, was Gellert Grindelwald.

Newt shot up from his chair, wand already drawn, and fired a spell at Grindelwald without a word.

"Easy, Scamander," Gellert said, dodging the curse with ease. "I come bearing love and peace."

Love and peace? Harry’s expression turned incredulous, and he wasn’t alone. Everyone in the room stared at Gellert as if he’d sprouted a second head.

Theseus’s reaction was more direct—he unleashed three spells in quick succession, all of which Gellert deflected.

"Enough," Veratia’s voice cut through, calm but firm, from behind Gellert. "This is with Professor Dumbledore’s approval. Sit down, all of you, and let me explain."

Recognizing Veratia, Theseus and Newt reluctantly suppressed the urge to blast Gellert into orbit. She was a Hogwarts alumna, after all, and deserved some respect—especially since Dumbledore was involved. They knew if Grindelwald left Nurmengard without permission, Dumbledore would know instantly and intervene.

The group gathered in a circle as Veratia recounted the situation. When she revealed that Gellert had emptied her vault to fund the rise of the Wizarding Purists, jaws dropped. No wonder he’d built such a formidable organization in just a few years—he’d stolen over two million Galleons from his sister.

Even more shocking was the revelation that Gellert had pilfered a dressing gown Veratia had intended for Harry and gifted it to Dumbledore. This had led to Dumbledore being hoist by his own petard—literally suspended from the ceiling—during a duel with Veratia.

Only a Hogwarts terror like Veratia could pull that off, they thought.

Veratia, however, was modest. "Truthfully, Professor Dumbledore’s spellwork far surpasses mine. I only won because of ancient magic—and a bit of luck."

Luck, indeed. Who could’ve predicted a trap set a century ago?

"So, let me get this straight," Newt said, giving Gellert a look of exasperation. "Dumbledore’s allowing Grindelwald to work as my assistant to repay your debts?"

"Exactly," Veratia said with a nod. "He owes me millions of Galleons. It’s only fair he works it off."

"But I already have Hagrid as an assistant," Newt protested, not just because of his history with Gellert but because their ideologies clashed—Newt, a Hufflepuff loyalist, and Gellert, a Durmstrang purist.

"You can have more than one assistant, Newt," Tina chimed in, grinning mischievously. "Think about it—put him in charge of feeding the Nifflers."

Newt’s eyes lit up at the suggestion.

"He can swear an Unbreakable Vow to ensure compliance," Veratia added.

To everyone’s surprise, Gellert sidled up to Poppy Sweeting. "This must be Miss Sweeting of Hufflepuff, the unicorn whisperer," he said with a disarming smile. "I hear unicorns only approach those with pure souls. If the International Confederation of Wizards had used you instead of a Qilin for their election, I might’ve won."

"You’re incorrigible, Grindelwald," Newt muttered.

"Perhaps," Gellert said with a shrug. "But as my sister said, I’ll work under you to atone—per Dumbledore’s orders. As his favorite student, shouldn’t you follow your professor’s wishes?"

His face was a masterclass in provocation, practically begging for a hex. He’d even dressed as he had in 1926, all youthful swagger—wrinkles aside.

Then Gellert’s gaze flicked back to Poppy. Another Potter admirer, he noted. Scarhead, you Veela, you’re racking up quite the tally.

But what did it matter to him? Working under Scamander might not be so bad. Maybe he could even team up with Newt to outwit his sister. He already had a codename in mind: For the Greater Good.

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