Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy-Chapter 161

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"I need you and your father to draft a letter explaining the current situation at Hogwarts and to rally the Board of Governors to move for Dumbledore's impeachment," Harry said, tapping the table.

Before he could say another word, Draco leapt to his feet, cutting him off with uncontained excitement. "Merlin's beard! You've got a sharp eye, Potter! I've been saying for ages he shouldn't be Headmaster! I'll write to Father right now!"

"Hold your hippogriffs," Harry said, grabbing Draco's arm. "This is just part of a plan Dumbledore and I have. It's not a real impeachment... so you'll need to explain that to your father beforehand to avoid any misunderstandings."

Harry had no intention of using the Malfoys. If there was something to be said, he'd say it straight.

When dealing with those under you, lay everything out clearly beforehand and don't cast blame after the fact—that was a principle Mr. Septimus had taught him.

"Fine," Draco said, looking a bit deflated. He perked up again and added, "I'll write to Father and make sure he understands..."

Once Draco was sorted, Harry made his way to the Map Chamber.

"Veratia," Harry called, pushing open the heavy doors of the Map Chamber with a grin, holding up a Basilisk fang. "Look at this!"

"A Basilisk fang?" Veratia's eyes widened, her face clouding with concern. "You... you're not hurt, are you? That was a Basilisk dormant for a thousand years—it must have been dangerous!"

Harry couldn't help it—he burst out laughing.

"He's laughing, so he's clearly fine," Professor Rookwood remarked dryly from the side.

Harry recounted everything that had happened in the Chamber of Secrets, sparing no detail as he spoke to Veratia.

The three professors and Veratia in the Map Chamber fell into a long, stunned silence, none of them speaking for what felt like ages.

How to put it?

Was the Basilisk just that foolish, or was Harry just that clever?

"Well done, Harry!" Veratia said at last, her face breaking into a warm smile. "Knowing you're safe puts my mind at ease—what's your next step?"

"Hmm," Harry mused, thinking for a moment before answering. "I plan to deal with Voldemort here at Hogwarts first, then head to Slytherin's study to get you out. You know, having a threat like that lurking in the school is never a good thing."

"You're right to be cautious," Veratia said with a light chuckle. "But be careful. Even if Voldemort's just a fragment of a soul, he's still the most powerful dark wizard of this century..."

"Why specify this century?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Because the last century belonged to her," Professor Rookwood said, shooting Harry a look of exasperation, as if he'd missed the obvious.

Harry blinked. "Oh..."

Veratia didn't deny Professor Rookwood's insinuation about being a dark wizard, instead accepting the title with grace. "I suppose that's me. Thank you for the compliment, Professor Rookwood."

"You're taking that as a compliment?" Professor Rookwood said, taking a deep breath.

"I only care about the 'most powerful' part," Veratia said with a serene confidence.

"So, are all the materials ready?" Headmaster Fitzgerald interjected from the side. "I must say, seeing things come to a satisfying resolution is truly gratifying."

"Indeed," Professor Rackham said, wiping a tear from his eye. "It's touching, really—the bond between a young wizard and witch, ever enduring and evergreen."

"Everything's ready," Harry confirmed with a nod. "By the way, Veratia, how many Basilisk fangs do we need? One or two?"

"One will do," Veratia said, her gaze softening. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, she added, "Oh, Harry, didn't Gringotts promise to cover the cost of the fang? Aren't you going to seize the chance to make a bit of gold?"

"Money's just money—enough to get by is fine," Harry said with a shrug. "Right now, the priority is getting you out as soon as possible... Merlin's sake, I wish I could grab Voldemort by the collar right now. That blasted git—if it weren't for him, I could've saved you today!"

Veratia covered her mouth, stifling a gentle laugh, and said, "Just remember, Harry, when you go to Slytherin's study, you must bring someone else with you."

"Bring someone else?" Harry asked, confused. "Why?"

"Have you forgotten what happened to Noctua Gaunt? Ominis Gaunt's aunt?" Veratia sighed. "She couldn't cast the Cruciatus Curse and ended up trapped at the entrance to Slytherin's study until she died. She was one of the few decent Gaunts, and yet she met such a tragic fate. I don't want the same to happen to you."

Harry had nearly forgotten about that, now that Veratia mentioned it.

But who should he bring?

Ron? Definitely not... Hermione? No way—Harry wasn't about to drag her into this mess.

"I'll have to think about who to bring," Harry said with a sigh, looking at Veratia. "It's not like I've got anyone around who—"

"Are you daft, Harry?" Professor Rookwood cut in, his tone dripping with exasperation. "Just grab any dark witch off the street, for Merlin's sake!"

"Oh, right!" Harry's eyes lit up as the realization hit him. Problem solved.

He looked up again and said, "I hope Lucius moves quickly. If all goes well, we could meet in person in just a couple of days—I mean, with your real self."

Harry wasn't that tactless—he avoided saying "portrait."

What he didn't know was that the Veratia in the Map Chamber wasn't a portrait at all, but her very soul.

"Alright," Veratia said, nodding gently, her eyes warm.

After Harry left, Veratia let out a soft sigh.

Idiot...

...

After returning from the Map Chamber, Harry slipped back into his usual leisurely routine.

The Basilisk fang was in hand, Voldemort was pinpointed, and the Basilisk itself was dealt with. The rest was up to Lucius and the Board of Governors.

When it came to impeaching a Headmaster, they were professionals.

Harry wasn't in a rush, nor was he worried about Pansy slipping away now that the lockdown was lifted. After all, if Dumbledore was "impeached," he'd be stationed right outside Hogwarts, keeping watch.

If Pansy—or any other student—tried to ditch that notebook, Dumbledore would notice immediately.

On Wednesday morning, an odd tension hung over Hogwarts.

To everyone's surprise, the Board of Governors had convened a meeting—that very morning!

The news wasn't kept from the students, largely because Draco had been crowing about it in the common room the night before, puffed up with pride.

"My father's a Hogwarts governor," he'd said, practically glowing with smugness.

It was understandable, really. Who wouldn't feel a bit full of themselves with a father on the Board? Especially someone like Draco, a young wizard still wet behind the ears.

Everyone was buzzing with curiosity, whispering about it in the dorms at night and murmuring over breakfast in the Great Hall.

What was the Board discussing? Were they cutting student privileges? Piling on more classes? Or—wishful thinking, as the Weasley twins put it—passing a law to let young wizards cast spells freely over the holidays?

Most scoffed at that last one. Pure fantasy.

But just as they were heading to their first classes, Lucius strode into the Great Hall, head high and expression dripping with arrogance.

He marched straight to the head table, stopping in front of the Headmaster's seat.

A chorus of gasps rippled through the hall.

"Quiet, everyone," Lucius said, casting a Sonorus Charm to amplify his voice.

"After deliberation, the Board of Governors has determined that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is no longer fit to serve as Headmaster. Effective immediately, Dumbledore is removed from his post, and I, Lucius Malfoy, will act as interim Headmaster!"

The hall fell deathly silent.

"Why?" someone called from the crowd.

"The Board unanimously agrees that the former Headmaster attempted to mask his incompetence with a lockdown," Lucius declared loudly. "We deeply regret the attack on Mr. Colin Creevey, but that does not mean Hogwarts is in peril. As of today, the lockdown is officially lifted!"

A cheer erupted from the Slytherin table.

Ravenclaw and Gryffindor followed, with Hufflepuff trailing half-heartedly, their applause lukewarm at best.

The Hufflepuffs didn't believe Dumbledore was incompetent. Quite the opposite—they were the ones who understood him best.

But it didn't matter. The Board had spoken, and with Dumbledore absent, it was a done deal.

Lucius swept the hall with a smug glance and strode out.

Harry's eyes flicked to the Slytherin table, catching Pansy's unsettling smirk.

"Cover for me, Ron," Harry whispered. "I'm skipping today's classes—all of them."

"Right," Ron said, nodding. "You okay?"

"Just some personal business to settle," Harry said, clapping Ron on the shoulder.

"Need help?" Ron asked, concern in his voice.

"Nah, it's a small grudge. I've got it," Harry said with a grin. "Go on to class—I've got things to do."

Today's schedule included a Gryffindor-only Charms lesson, a joint Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Herbology class, and a Gryffindor-only Transfiguration lesson.

No shared classes with Slytherin, so Harry wasn't worried about being spotted. He slipped away early, staking out the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

He crouched behind the wall with its coiled serpent carvings, right at the hall's entrance, waiting for Voldemort—or rather, Pansy—to show.

The hands of his watch ticked by, second by second, from nine o'clock to noon. Nothing.

The hands kept moving, and Harry was starting to grow restless when, finally, a faint rustling sound came from outside.

He glanced at his watch: 4:05.

Moments later, the wall before him parted, sliding silently into the surrounding stone.

There stood Pansy Parkinson, an unmistakably wicked grin on her face.

"Miss Parkinson," Harry said suddenly. freewebnoveℓ.com

"Who's there?!" Panic flashed across Pansy's face.

She hadn't expected anyone to be in Slytherin's Chamber!

Harry dropped his Disillusionment Charm, revealing himself.

"You!" Pansy's eyes widened as recognition hit. "Potter!"

"The very same, Miss Parkinson."

Harry gave her a faint, knowing smile, looking her up and down before letting a cryptic grin spread across his face.

"So, should I call you Pansy? Or Tom... Tom Riddle?"

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