Harry returns from Hogwarts Legacy

Chapter 261 I Will Not Keep This Glory to Myself! (6000 words)
Upon hearing Dumbledore's words, the Great Hall fell silent for a moment, then erupted into a buzz of whispers.

The students automatically ignored the dangers Dumbledore mentioned; their minds were filled with thoughts of participating in the Triwizard Tournament, becoming Hogwarts champions, and gaining priority in choosing a spouse within the school.

Students often dream of becoming heroes who save the world, but they often overlook the risks that come with it.

“I know you are all eager to win the Triwizard Tournament trophy for Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said loudly, “but the participating schools and the Ministry of Magic have agreed to set an age limit for this year’s competitors. Only students who are seventeen years of age or older—that is, seventeen years and older—are allowed to register for consideration.”

Dumbledore raised his voice slightly because some people protested angrily after hearing his words.

The Weasley twins, who already knew this would happen, didn't care at all; they had already come up with a plan.

"However, we believe this measure is necessary because the tournament events are still very challenging and dangerous, and no matter how many precautions we take, students below the sixth or seventh grade simply cannot handle them. I personally guarantee that no underage student will deceive our impartial referees and become a Hogwarts champion."

His gaze swept over Fred and George, a meaningful glint in his blue eyes. “Therefore, if you are under seventeen, I ask you not to waste your time applying.”

Although the two Weasley twins from Gryffindor were unusually calm, Dumbledore knew without a doubt what those two little rascals were up to when they turned their tails up.

“But at the same time,” Dumbledore said meaningfully again, “we will also make an exception and allow some exceptionally outstanding students who are not of the required age to participate in the Triwizard Tournament.”

After he finished speaking, the entire auditorium fell silent.

Apart from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang's students, everyone's eyes were fixed on Harry, who was slowly sipping pumpkin juice.

Not old enough, but exceptionally talented—isn't that Harry?

Last year's Quidditch match—the one where Dementors stormed the arena—is still fresh in everyone's memory.

The sky was filled with blue flames; even professors might not be able to achieve that level of skill, let alone sixth or seventh graders like them.

This is quite...

If they felt they had a chance competing with others, then competing with Harry...

Forget it.

Beauxbatons' classmates and Durmstrangers were whispering among themselves, asking who the person they were all looking at was.

But everyone kept quiet, determined not to discuss Harry's true abilities with these despicable outsiders.

Despite the jokes and banter, the Three Kingdoms Championship is ultimately an honor for the school.

It's one thing for the four colleges to compete for the college cup in normal times, but when it comes to the crucial moment, the cup of this three-way battle absolutely cannot fall outside the school.

Even the Slytherins thought so.

They had long been transformed by Vivi into a completely different person.

Just then, the door burst open.

Suddenly, a thunderclap resounded from the dark clouds above the auditorium, and as the clouds churned, there was a hint of an impending explosion.

Suddenly, a blue magical light emanated from the entrance and struck the churning dark cloud, halting its impending attack.

"It seems I'm a little late, Albus."

The man limped toward the faculty seating area, and in the flash of lightning, his face was illuminated vividly.

The students had never seen a face like this before. It looked as if it had been carved from a piece of rotten wood, and the sculptor only had a vague idea of ​​what a human face should look like, and was not very skilled at using the carving knife.

Every inch of skin on his face seemed to be scarred, his mouth looked like a crooked gaping mouth, and the part of his nose that should have been prominent was missing.

What's most terrifying about this man is his eyes.

One of his eyes was small, black, and sparkling; the other eye was large, round like a coin, and a bright, vivid blue. That blue eye moved incessantly, turning up, down, left, and right, completely unrelated to the normal eye—then, the blue eyeball rolled back and disappeared into the man's head, leaving everyone with only a large white eyeball.

“It’s not too late,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Come on, Alastor, I think you should sit in the faculty seat we’ve reserved for you.”

Harry turned to look at the faculty seating area and saw the expression on Durmstrang Headmaster Karkaroff's face as he looked at Professor Moody.

The expression was a mixture of fear, disgust, and, more than anything, wariness.

Could it be that the two of them have a grudge?
Harry's gossip-loving spirit is burning brightly.

He didn't know Moody or Karkaroff; he just wanted to gossip.

An eerie silence fell over the auditorium; no one dared to utter a sound, given the overwhelmingly stern aura of the new Professor Moody.

It was like an old cat watching them, a bunch of little mice.

“Please allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” Dumbledore said cheerfully, breaking the silence, “Professor Alastor Moody.”

Normally, when a new teacher meets everyone, everyone applauds to welcome him, but now, apart from Dumbledore, Hagrid, and Harry, not a single teacher or student applauded.

The three of them clapped a few times, but finding the applause echoing in the quiet auditorium sounded lonely, they wisely stopped.

Everyone else seemed stunned by Moody's strange appearance, staring at him intently.

Moody's seemed unmoved by the lukewarm response.

He ignored the large jar of pumpkin juice in front of him, instead reaching into his travel cloak, pulling out a curved bottle, and taking a large gulp.

As he raised his arm to drink, his cloak, which trailed on the floor, was pulled up a few inches, and Harry saw that under the table a few inches of a carved wooden leg, with a claw-like foot underneath.

"Looks like he's not very mobile," Hermione muttered to Moody, who had never liked Professor Cricket.

“He was an old Auror.” Ron looked at Moody with some reverence. “My father often told me about him. Although he had a bit of a temper, he was indeed a formidable Auror… You know, many Death Eaters hated him to the core, but they couldn’t kill him—look, the wounds on his body were left by those dark wizards, and the dark wizards who left those scars…”

"Are they all dead?" Hermione asked.

“Some are dead, some are in Azkaban, and some have spent their lives lying in St. Mungo’s,” Ron shrugged.

Harry looked at Karkaroff and Moody again.

These two... seem to have a story...

Harry felt a surge of curiosity: what kind of fate could this be?

Moody limped to the faculty seating area, and as he passed Karkarov, he gave him a profound look.

Instead of darting around, the fake eye, along with its owner, stared intently at Karkaroff without moving.

After a while, Moody snorted and turned to sit down in the seat reserved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

It seems he also dislikes Karkaroff.

“It seems Professor Moody doesn’t like Headmaster Karkaroff, and Headmaster Karkaroff doesn’t like him either,” Hermione whispered beside her, then suddenly realized, “Oh! Could it be that Headmaster Karkaroff used to be a dark wizard? Is that why Professor Moody, who was once an Auror, doesn’t like him?”

“Not necessarily,” Ron guessed. “You know Durmstrang doesn’t forbid students from learning dark magic. Perhaps Professor Moody’s prejudice against Headmaster Karkaroff is for that reason?”

“Your guess isn’t impossible,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “However… I still want to know, what is the reason—”

“Being curious is no good, Hermione,” Ron said in a low voice. “I don’t want you to be given to Durmstrang as a diplomatic gift by the Ministry of Magic.”

“How could that be?” Hermione scoffed. “I just wanted to find out the truth…”

"If you guess wrong, that's fine, but if you happen to discover something, things could get complicated."

When Ron got to this point, he exaggeratedly added, "We can't just investigate randomly, what if we find something?"

“That’s true,” Hermione nodded in agreement. “It would be impolite if they found out something.”

Finally, Dumbledore said a few more words, and then the final part of the welcome dinner for new students began.

Sing the school song.

It must be admitted that Hogwarts' unique school song chorus truly opened the eyes of students from the other two schools.

The way each of them has their own unique style is something they couldn't have imagined, even if they were asked to.

After everyone had finished singing, Dumbledore wiped away the tears from the corners of his eyes.

“Music is truly captivating.” After saying this, he turned to everyone again and said, “Alright, it’s getting late. It’s important that you all be refreshed and clear-headed when you enter class tomorrow morning… Go ​​to bed! Hurry up!”

"In addition," Dumbledore added, "the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang can go back to their dormitories with the prefects of their chosen houses, where they will assign them temporary rooms."

The students followed their respective college's class leaders toward their college's common room.

"Who do you think will be the Hogwarts champion in the end?" Fred asked George and the others. "I think it should be someone from Gryffindor, like—I think it should be someone from the seventh year." "Unlikely," George said seriously. "If Dumbledore hadn't said that, the champion might have been chosen from among the sixth and seventh year students; but since Dumbledore said he could make an exception and allow students under seventeen to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, it means... he actually prefers Harry to participate in the Triwizard Tournament—hey, Harry, what do you think?"

A question mark appeared above Harry's head when he was suddenly mentioned. Then he said very skillfully, "Although I am not in a position of power, I still consider it my duty to bring glory to the school. If it is the will of the people that only becoming a warrior can bring the best to the school, then I can only take on the responsibility and completely abandon my own selfishness."

Everyone:...

Good heavens, how can you be so slippery?

“It seems Harry doesn’t mind becoming a Hogwarts champion,” the twins chuckled. “Well, if you want to be a Hogwarts champion, then we two are withdrawing, and the glory of Gryffindor will be yours.”

“I will not keep this honor to myself.” Harry’s expression was as resolute as if he were standing on a dragon’s throne.

The twins immediately knelt down on one knee in a funny manner, pretending to hold up a crown.

"Then please ascend the throne, our Lion King."

Seeing the twins being so funny, everyone burst into laughter.

They continued forward to the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower, which was hidden behind a huge portrait of a plump lady in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" the Fat Lady asked as they approached.

“Nonsense,” George said. “A prefect downstairs told me.”

With a click, the plump lady stepped aside to make way for the common room.

However, no one had much desire to talk to each other. After all, they had been on the train all day and had been caught in the rain. So, they returned to their dorm rooms while saying goodnight to each other.

……

The next morning, the fourth-grade students began their new year's herbal medicine class.

In herbal medicine class, students collect baboon tubers, and their main learning task is to study how to collect the juice from this plant.

Harry was astonished to find that the liquid in this thing smelled like gasoline; if you didn't know better, you would think it was something flammable and explosive.

Clearly, the boys really liked the smell—but the girls didn't; they found it disgusting.

The process of squeezing the tubers, in particular, is extremely disgusting.

But Professor Sprout's next sentence dispelled the girls' aversion to the Bapau tuber and even made them like it.

"The pus from the tuber of the 'Babob' is the best medicine for treating stubborn acne—thus preventing students from using drastic methods to remove their pimples."

After the herbalism class, the first class of the new semester was on magical creature protection.

Newt returned to school this morning, along with Pappy.

After seeing Harry, Papiyas suffocated Harry for a full two minutes.

“You’re suffocating me!” Harry said, panting.

But Papiyas was clearly very excited, and she dragged Harry to a secluded grove and gave him a good cuddling session.

“I really miss you, Harry,” she said sweetly.

“Okay, I got it,” Harry said, panting again, but now excited. “Can we talk about this later? I have to go to class now—you know, even though Newt is your nephew, I can’t go too far, right?”

“Okay.” Papiyas was a little disappointed, but she perked up and said to Harry, “Hagrid got some new stuff, and Newt thinks it’s really interesting. This Magical Creatures Protection class is about it…”

Something new?
"What's new?" Harry asked with interest. "Did he catch some new magical creature?"

“Oh, no,” Pappy said. “But you could put it another way: he didn’t catch it, he bred it—though it might not look very appealing, but Newt thought it was valuable—if I remember correctly, it was called something like Blasttail.”

As they spoke, they returned to the area where the Magical Creatures Protection class was held.

Newt was leading his classmates around the fence, and they seemed to be observing something.

Hagrid stood at the back of the crowd, looking proudly at the fenced area in the center of the arena.

"Ugh, how disgusting!" Hermione exclaimed instinctively.

Harry walked over and peered into the center.

To be honest, the word "disgusting" perfectly encapsulates Harry's impression of these burrowing snails.

They looked like deformed, shelled lobsters, grayish-white and slimy, with a terrifying appearance. Many legs were sticking out haphazardly, and you couldn't see their heads.

Each box contained about a hundred of them, each about six inches long, which crawled around on top of each other, dazedly bumping into the sides of the boxes.

They also emit a very strong smell of rotten fish and shrimp. Every now and then, a fritter-tailed snail will shoot out some sparks from its tail, and then with a soft pop, the snail will move forward a few inches.

“They just hatched,” Hagrid said proudly. “You can raise them yourselves! We can do a big project!”

“I suspect they produce some kind of gas, like methane,” Hermione said, looking up at Harry. “Like some creatures in nature, like the stink bugs that shoot out hot, foul-smelling shells from their asses.”

The stink bug, scientifically known as the ground beetle, emits a loud bang from its tail when encountering enemies, spraying out a foul-smelling, high-temperature projectile while simultaneously producing yellow poisonous gas and smoke to confuse, irritate, and frighten predators.

“Then perhaps we can use these things to collect fuel,” Harry said, looking at the Blasttails. “But if that’s all they’re good for, wouldn’t that seem a bit useless? You know, the wizarding world isn’t short of fuel…”

“I really can’t imagine what they’d be used for.” Hermione sighed. “At least they’re not suitable for eating. I simply can’t imagine how anyone could eat such a thing… Won’t they poison someone?”

But Newt clearly didn't think so; he was completely immersed in the world of researching new things and had even forgotten to teach his classmates.

The students were naturally delighted with all of this; they sat there, not wanting to remind Professor Scamander of the lesson.

It's best if you forget about it.

Thursday arrived quickly.

Everyone was eagerly anticipating what kind of unique Defense Against the Dark Arts class Professor Auror would bring, especially since Ms. Rosier and Professor Lupin had left a deep impression on everyone in their second and third years.

Professor Moody, who used to be an Auror, must have a deep understanding of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

With this in mind, they arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom full of anticipation and sat down to wait for the professor to arrive.

They took out their copies of "Dark Powers: A Guide to Self-Defense" and waited, but when Professor Moody entered the classroom, his first words were to tell them to put the books away.

Moody pulled out the roster, shook his head to clear his long, graying hair from his contorted, scarred face, and began calling out names. His normal eye moved down the list, while his magical eye darted back and forth, fixing its gaze on each student who answered.

"Well," he said when the last student had finished answering, "I've got a letter from Professor Lupin about the course. It seems you've got quite a few basics for dealing with Dark Creatures—you've learned how to deal with Boggarts, Red Caps, Hinckley Punks, Grindylows, Cabba, and Werewolves, right?"

The students unanimously agreed.

"But you haven't learned enough about how to deal with spells—very little," said Moody. "So I'm going to give you a taste of the magic that wizards use among themselves. I'm going to give you a year to teach you how to deal with the Dark Arts—"

How to combat dark magic?
Apart from Ron, Seamus, Neville, and Hermione, who were participating in the Duel Hut, everyone else was very excited.

The reason is simple: no one has taught them how to deal with dark magic.

"Alright—let's get back to the point. Spells come in many forms, each with its own magic. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic's regulations, I should teach you the various breaking spells, nothing more. In principle, since you're not yet in sixth grade, I shouldn't tell you what illegal dark magic spells look like, because you're still too young to deal with that stuff."

Moody raised his head and surveyed the classroom with an air of authority.

"But Professor Dumbledore has praised your courage greatly, believing you are capable of handling it, and in my opinion, the sooner you learn what you are dealing with, the better. How can you protect yourself in the face of something you have never seen before? A wizard who wants to cast an illegal spell on you will not tell you his intentions. He will not cast the spell on you frankly, fairly, or politely. You must be prepared and vigilant—you'd better not move around while I'm talking—Mr. Finnigan!"

He pulled out a piece of chalk from somewhere and threw it at Simon Finigan, who was sticking bubble gum under the table.

Simo rubbed his head, which was throbbing from being hit by chalk, and muttered in admiration at the new professor's precision in throwing chalk.

"So... do any of you know which spells carry the harshest penalties under wizarding law?"

Professor Moody looked at everyone expectantly as he spoke.

He had made up his mind to show these arrogant classmates the terror of dark magic.

To his surprise, several ignorant little animals raised their hands.

Among the people who raised their hands, Professor Moody saw Neville, who looked timid.

He certainly recognized Neville, and seeing his expression, Professor Moody gave a meaningful smile.

(End of this chapter)