Harry returns from Hogwarts Legacy

Chapter 268 The First Project! (8000 words)
Whether Dumbledore instructed this or not is no longer important, since they have no way of finding Dumbledore to verify whether their guesses are correct.

Harry accepted Professor Moody's offer, but he didn't intend to use his flying talent in his first project.

Before going to bed that night, Harry spoke with Vivi again.

“The first project is on Wednesday.” Harry held up the crystal ball. “How have you been lately? Are you busy?”

Vivi, of course, understood Harry's implication. She said regretfully, "I'm sorry, Harry, I've been quite busy lately... You know, there's a lot to do after the merger of the two Ministries of Magic, and I really can't get away."

"Oh."

Harry was a little disappointed, but he understood Vivi's feelings, since the Ministry of Magic couldn't do without her.

He roused himself and asked again, "Have you decided on the name of the Ministry of Magic after the merger?"

“The German Ministry of Magic,” Vivi said with a slight smile. “After all, we are all Germans and speak German, so of course it should be called the German Ministry of Magic.”

"Since the two countries have merged, why isn't it called Greater Germany?" Harry asked curiously.

Sure enough, Vivi highly affirmed this suggestion.

“That’s a good suggestion,” she said. “Gross Germany… well, I’ll submit this suggestion to Ms. Rozier and have her hold a meeting to discuss and make a decision.”

The next day during the divination class, Ron even prepared questions to ask Professor Trelawney.

"Beyond your horizons..." Professor Trelawney muttered incoherently, her eyes tightly shut, "Don't let distractions interfere with your thinking..."

“Professor,” Ron raised his hand.

Professor Trelawney suddenly opened her eyes, abruptly interrupted, and she didn't look very happy.

“Mr. Weasley,” Trelawney said, “is there anything I can help you with?”

“Well, Professor,” Ron glanced at Harry, then at Neville and Seamus, who were looking on expectantly, “I know you are very knowledgeable in divination, so I wanted to ask you about the Triwizard Tournament. Do you think Harry will become the ultimate champion?”

What an excellent question! It immediately captured the attention of the entire classroom.

Professor Trelawney was taken aback for a moment when she heard the question, and then she smiled.

“Oh, my dear,” she mumbled, “you mean, let me predict the Three Kingdoms…”

She raised her head, and under the gaze of all the students in the classroom, her eyes gradually deepened.

Lavender Brown, sitting behind Hermione, suddenly laughed. She had actually believed in Professor Trelawney all last year, but with each unreliable prediction, she had long since stopped taking Professor Trelawney's predictions as a joke.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry, my dear,” Professor Trelawney suddenly lowered her head and said to Ron, “I’m sorry, but the Triwizard Tournament doesn’t seem to be in a good position for Mr. Potter—well, according to the relative positions of Mars and Saturn, people born in July are in great danger of sudden and tragic death.”

"So you mean Harry's going to die?" Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

“I’m just saying that people born in July have a chance,” Professor Trelawney said, seemingly unwilling to dwell on the matter. “Trust my prediction, Miss Granger—well? Have you taken my course?”

She then belatedly realized that Hermione had joined the class. Ever since their big argument in class last year, Hermione had dropped the Divination class and hadn't enrolled in it in her fourth year either.

“I’m only concerned about Harry, Professor,” Hermione forced a smile. “Could you take a look and see if there’s anything else ominous? Like anything ominous about Harry?”

Professor Trelawney became particularly agitated at the mention of misfortune.

She still considered herself quite authoritative on matters of ominousness.

“Of course, of course!” Professor Trelawney gave Harry a deep look. “Of course there’s something ominous—I see it, I see it… There’s a traitor among us…”

"Who is that?" Hermione asked eagerly.

“Anyone could be a traitor; his double-dealing never surprises anyone,” Professor Trelawney said in a chanting tone. “You must keep your eyes open; this traitor might be the very person you thought was incapable of betrayal…”

"So what you said is essentially meaningless," Harry suddenly said. "Can I understand it as someone who ate a sandwich for breakfast having eaten one more sandwich than someone who didn't?"

After being rebuked by Harry, Professor Trelawney fell silent.

She suddenly sat down in the chair, her eyes, like those of a black beetle, dull and lifeless, as if she had lost her dreams; she looked utterly dejected.

A silence fell over the classroom; even the students' even breathing could be heard clearly.

No one wanted to break the rare silence, after all, if the silence was broken, who knew if Professor Trelawney would start spreading "ominous" rumors again.

Although her fortune-telling was inaccurate, no one wants to be told, "You're going to die."

After a while, she sighed and announced the end of get out of class.

“You may have hurt her,” Simo said from the top of the ladder as he climbed down from the classroom.

“Oh, I don’t think she’s injured,” Ron laughed sarcastically. “I think she’s more likely just embarrassed after being exposed.”

“You can’t say that. Isn’t that how divination works?” Hermione said nonchalantly, “Using ambiguous language to make you try to fit yourself into certain categories…”

“That’s not quite right,” Harry said, spreading his hands. “After all, Trelawney’s great-great-grandmother was quite remarkable; she was the prophet Cassandra Trelawney, and she was very famous back then.”

“Perhaps.” Hermione suddenly became materialistic. “Compared to the vague and ethereal science of divination, I believe more in speculation based on facts. That is the real science.”

On Wednesday morning, Harry had his last class before the match.

It is Professor Binns' History of Magic.

The History of Magic course was as boring as ever. Professor Binns' voice seemed to have some kind of magic, and even a top student like Hermione couldn't help but doze off in class.

Of course, Professor Binns was also quite open-minded, and he was exceptionally tolerant of students sleeping in class.

Perhaps he simply didn't want to care.

Anyway, the history of magic is just about learning some history of the magical world. It's not an important spells course. You can learn it if you want, or not if you don't.

Besides, Dumbledore doesn't pay him a salary, so why should he care so much?

At noon, the school announced a suspension of classes, and the first event of the three-way competition began in the afternoon.

Everyone was excited. They chatted happily, and some kept coming up to Harry to say good luck or other encouraging words.

Harry would eat a couple of bites and then thank them, his gaze constantly shifting, trying to find Cassandra.

He was actually hoping that Cassandra would come over and tell him to be careful, or say something else, even if she just held her head high and said, "I've prepared a whole bunch of tissues for you to cry with, Pat," it wouldn't be unacceptable.

Although Cassandra was imagined to be arrogant and haughty, in reality...

"Oh, Poot."

Cassandra's voice suddenly rang out beside him.

Harry looked up and met Cassandra's beautiful eyes.

Today she wore a fitted green jacket over a white shirt—unlike Papi and Vivi, she didn't have a prominent chest, only a flat, cat-scratching chest...

But her legs were beautiful, long, white, and straight—Harry touched them.

Harry looked down and saw Cassandra's knee-length skirt. To keep warm, she was wearing long black cotton stockings on her long legs, but the skirt was so long that Harry couldn't tell whether they were knee-length stockings or pantyhose.

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

Cassandra's voice carried a hint of mockery.

She wasn't angry at Harry's audacious gaze; in fact, she was quite pleased.

It's always a good thing when a simpleton starts to understand.

“Look at the legs,” Harry thought, and he said it.

Lower head scar.

“Oh, so you still have the leisure to do this,” Cassandra said dismissively. “I thought you’d be nervous, but it seems you don’t take the first project seriously at all—”

“Not really,” Harry said, looking up. “Actually, I was quite nervous at first, but after seeing you, I wasn’t nervous anymore.”

The other children nearby, Ron, Seamus, and the two Weasley twins, gasped.

Learn from him! Mr. Savior is not only good at using spells, but his eloquence is also truly admirable.

Upon hearing Harry's words, a look of satisfaction flashed in Cassandra's eyes.

“Ha, all you say is nice things.” Cassandra sat down next to Harry. “I’ve already heard from Pappy about it—you know, I believe those little lizards are no match for you, Harry… If you get burned, I won’t cry for you, I’ll laugh out loud.”

“Well, it seems you have a lot of faith in me.” Harry shrugged. “It seems our friendship has stood the test of time.”

Cassandra asked with a sneer, "Merely tested by time?"

“There’s a lot more.” Harry smiled politely at Colin, who was taking his picture, and then said to Cassandra, “You should have received that news, right? It’s the most explosive news lately… I really can’t understand why the German Ministry of Magic and the Austrian Ministry of Magic would suddenly announce a merger…”

“This is none of our business,” Cassandra said indifferently. “It’s Grindelwald’s own business. She wants to rebuild Greater Germany, but that’s a pipe dream—I don’t think the Muggles or the Magical Congress of America will stand idly by and let her do whatever she wants.”

“You don’t need to worry too much,” Cassandra continued. “For someone as remarkable as her, stirring things up is her natural talent…”

"..."

"What's wrong?" Cassandra asked.

“I don’t know what to say.” Harry sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Worrying about Vivi isn’t what I should be doing right now. I should focus my energy on the Triwizard Tournament.”

“That’s more like it, Pott,” Cassandra said with satisfaction. “I hope you win. I’ve already prepared a reward for you—”

"What is it?" Harry asked, his anticipation growing.

Cassandra's reward... is it going to be a reward for me...?
However, Cassandra did not answer him, but instead extended a finger and placed it on Harry's lips.

“Don’t ask,” Cassandra said with a light smile. “If we knew beforehand, there wouldn’t be enough of a surprise, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Pott?”

"Okay." Harry shrugged. He wouldn't ask if he didn't want to. The results of the match would be out soon anyway, and he couldn't escape them.

Just then, Professor McGonagall hurriedly walked in from outside the auditorium.

"Porter, the warriors are now going down to the field... You must be ready to complete the first task."

Professor McGonagall looked very anxious; her glasses had fallen down onto her nose.

“Okay.” Harry said, standing up. He suddenly remembered that he hadn’t eaten enough, so he looked down at Cassandra and said, “Could you make me a sandwich? I didn’t eat lunch properly. You know, so many people have come to wish me a happy lunch.”

"Ah."

Cassandra picked up a piece of bread from the table and added a few things to it, all of which were high in calories and very filling.

“Well done.” Harry didn’t thank her, but took the bread and praised Cassandra.

Cassandra gave a soft hum.

“Good luck, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “You’ll succeed!”

"Thank you." Harry took a bite of the sandwich; it tasted quite good.

"Three, two, one... Go for it!" the Gryffindor students shouted, led by Ron.

Harry, like a hero going into battle, waved to the students inside the Great Hall as he followed Professor McGonagall out of the hall.

A burst of enthusiastic applause erupted in the Great Hall as people cheered and applauded for Harry.

"Well done, Harry!" "Get your act together!" "Don't embarrass yourself!"

Professor McGonagall looked somewhat flustered. She led Harry down the stone steps and outside into the cold November afternoon, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Alright, don’t be nervous,” she said. “Keep a cool head… We have some wizards here, they’ll step in and take control if things get bad… The most important thing is to make the most of yourself, nobody thinks you’re any less capable than anyone else… Are you alright?” Harry thought to himself, “Don’t try to make me feel less nervous, I feel like I’m not even a tenth as nervous as you.”

“It’s alright,” Harry reassured Professor McGonagall. “I’m fine.”

Professor McGonagall led him around the edge of the Forbidden Forest toward the place where the fire dragon was.

As they approached the thicket from which they could see the area, Harry discovered a tent erected there, blocking the fire dragons from view, with the tent's entrance facing them.

“You must go in with a few other warriors,” Professor McGonagall said, her voice trembling slightly. “When it’s your turn, Mr. Bagman will be inside too… He will tell you the steps… Good luck.”

"Thank you," Harry said with a polite smile.

Professor McGonagall led him to the tent entrance. Harry went inside.

Fleur Delacour sat on a low wooden stool in the corner. She was not at all as composed as usual; her face was very pale, and she looked sickly.

Viktor Krum looked more somber than usual, which Harry guessed was probably his way of showing his inner tension.

When Harry came in, Fleur looked up and gave him a forced smile, and Harry smiled back at her.

“Harry! That’s great!” Bagman turned to look at him and said cheerfully, “Come in, come in, relax, make yourself at home!”

Bagman stood among the pale-faced warriors, looking like a large cartoon character.

He put on his old Hornets uniform again, looking much better than Dumbledore the Old Bee.

“Alright, everyone’s here now—it’s time to give you a brief introduction!” Bagman said excitedly. “Once everyone is gathered, I’ll be passing this bag around to each of you in turn,”—he held up a purple silk bag and shook it at them—“you’ll pick out the miniature model of the thing you’re going to face! They come in different—um— kinds. And I have something else to tell you… oh, right… your task is to collect the golden eggs!”

Harry looked around.

Viktor Krum nodded to indicate that he understood Bagman’s words, and then began pacing back and forth in the tent, his face slightly green; Fleur Delacour did not react at all, perhaps she felt that if she spoke, she would panic and vomit.

“Don’t be nervous,” Harry said to them. “Just like Mr. Bagman just said, don’t be nervous, make yourself at home.”

Upon hearing Harry's words, Viktor and Fleur both looked up at him.

No, do you not know what the competition is about?!

Doesn't he know what we're about to face?!

“You can still withdraw from the competition now.” Furong pressed her hand down slightly on her collarbone, trying to force herself to steady her breathing. “What you’re about to face is something a fourth-grader like you can’t handle. If you withdraw now, you’ll lose face, but at least you won’t lose an arm or a leg—or your life.”

“Sorry, but I’m Gryffindor,” Harry replied.

Furong twitched the corners of her mouth but didn't say anything.

In the blink of an eye, the sound of hundreds upon hundreds of feet passing over the tents could be heard, their owners chatting and laughing excitedly...

A moment later, we saw Mr. Bagman untie the small purple silk bag.

“Ladies first,” he said, handing the bag to Fleur Delacour.

She reached a trembling hand into her bag and pulled out a small, lifelike model of a dragon—a Welsh green dragon with a number around its neck: number two. Harry saw that Fleur showed no surprise, but rather a resigned expression, and he knew their guess was correct: Mrs. Maxime had told Fleur what the challenge ahead was.

That makes perfect sense, since Madam Maxim had already seen the fire dragons, so she had no reason not to tell the warriors of her academy so they could prepare in advance.

Viktor confirmed the same thing, pulling out the bright red Chinese fireball with the number 1 around his neck.

He didn't even blink before plopping down, staring at the ground, no one knew what he was thinking.

“Well, it’s your turn, Harry,” Mr. Bagman said with a smile. “You have a 50/50 chance, or rather… of the other two, one is very easy and the other is extremely difficult. Now it’s up to your luck.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, reached into the silk pocket, and pulled out the Hungarian wood bee, numbered 3.

As he looked down, the little dragon spread its wings, revealing its tiny fangs.

Wow, it looks pretty fierce.

“Alright, you’ve all got yours!” Bagman said. “You’ve all drawn the dragons you’ll be facing. The numbers around their necks indicate the order in which you’ll confront them, understand? Okay, I need to leave you for a moment now because I need to give a commentary to the audience. Mr. Krum, you’re first. You go into that area as soon as you hear the whistle, understand? So… Harry… can I say a few words to you? Come outside?”

“Okay,” Harry said, standing up and going outside the tent with Bagman.

Bagman led him a little further away, into the bushes, then turned to look at him with a fatherly expression.

"How are you feeling, Harry? Is there anything I can help you with?"

“What?” Harry said. “Oh, thank you, but I’m sorry, I don’t need it.”

“Looks like you already have a plan, huh? Oh, I guess so. You're on good terms with the Weasleys, so you probably already know what the match is about…” Bagman lowered his voice furtively and asked, “I don’t know what your plan is, but if you’d like, I can offer you a few ideas—I mean,” Bagman continued, lowering his voice even further, “you’re at a disadvantage here, Harry… if I can help…”

"You bet on me to win, didn't you?" Harry looked at Mr. Bagman with a half-smile.

“Haha.” Mr. Bagman laughed heartily, patting Harry’s arm as he said, “Yes, during the Quidditch World Cup, I was with your girlfriend, oh… the Austrian Ministry of Magic… no, Miss Grindelwald, the Director of International Magical Exchange and Cooperation at the Greater German Ministry of Magic, when she placed a bet… She wrote to me a couple of days ago, asking me to place a thousand Galleons on you for her, and I think it’s necessary for me to do the same this time…”

"Don't worry," Harry said with a smile, "Professor Dumbledore secretly taught me some methods for dealing with dragons, so I think dealing with the Hungarian Hornet shouldn't be a problem—"

“Since Professor Dumbledore has already taught you, I’m relieved,” Mr. Bagman said happily. “Then I…”

The whistle blew suddenly, and Mr. Bagman took off running, saying as he ran, "Oh, Merlin's bitter tea, I must run now, good luck, Mr. Potter—"

Harry walked toward the tent and saw Viktor coming out of it.

"Good luck," Harry said with a smile.

Viktor nodded solemnly to Harry, and as they passed each other, Viktor whispered, "Thank you."

His tone was heavy, with a strong Eastern European flavor.

Back in the tent, Harry saw Fleur squatting on the ground, looking emo.

Her long silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, even reaching the ground.

“I still suggest you relax a bit, at least don’t be nervous,” Harry told her. “You’ll have to face those dragons eventually. Even if you’re feeling anxious right now, it won’t change anything. You might as well face it with a smile…”

Fleur looked up at Harry, but didn't say anything.

Not everyone has Harry's strong heart. Fleur is just a delicate and beautiful girl; she has never fought a dragon before.

Oh, that's not quite accurate, since the competition isn't about fighting or defeating a fire dragon, but about retrieving a golden egg right under its nose.

Just then, Mr. Bagman’s loud shouts pierced through the tent and reached their ears.

"Beautiful! Eye Curse!" Mr. Bagman shouted. "Very daring!"

The Chinese Fireball Dragon let out a terrifying, earth-shattering scream, and the audience gasped in unison. "He showed extraordinary courage—ah—that's right, he got the golden egg!"

The overwhelming applause shattered the winter air like broken glass.

“Looks like he succeeded,” Harry said to Fleur. “Now it’s your turn.”

Fleur looked up again and gave Harry a very unhappy look.

That's too much to say.

Harry shrugged.

I just meant well, afraid you'd be too nervous.

When the whistle blew again, Bagman shouted, "Miss Delacour, please come on stage!"

Furong stood up. Her legs seemed to be numb from squatting. After she stood up, she was trembling from head to toe.

Especially the wand in her hand, which she shook so much it almost left afterimages.

You could tell she was really nervous, extremely nervous.

"Oh, I'm not sure if this is a wise move!" they heard Bagman shout excitedly. "Oh... so close! Watch out... my God, I thought she had it in the bag!"

Ten minutes later, Harry heard the audience erupt in cheers and applause once again... It seemed Fleur had succeeded.

Then there was a moment of silence as everyone waited for the judges to score Furong... and then, thunderous applause erupted again... and then, the whistle blew for the third time.

Harry knew that when the whistle blew, it was his turn to go on stage.

There was no one else in the tent. He took out his wand from his pocket and leisurely walked out of the tent.

There's nothing to be nervous about. After all, he's fought the Fire Dragon before, and more than once.

He walked through the tent entrance, went outside, crossed the woods, and through a gap in the fence to reach the competition area.

It looks similar to a Quidditch arena, but the space is significantly larger.

The entire school's faculty and students sat around the stands, along with officials from the Ministry of Magic, reporters from various newspapers, and many wizards from all over the world who had come to Hogwarts to watch the games.

Conservative estimates suggest there are at least 30,000 to 40,000 spectators here.

It seems that the Triwizard Tournament is indeed a very influential event. Harry thinks that if it weren't for the sudden big news of the merger of Germany and Austria, there would probably be even more people coming to watch the game.

He looked up again and saw the Hungarian wood wasp standing prominently at the other end of the field.

It crouched low, guarding its nest of eggs, its wings half-folded, its fierce yellow eyes fixed on Harry.

This was an enormous, lizard-like reptile covered in scales. It violently writhed its spiky tail, leaving a crater several meters long in the hard ground.

A deafening roar erupted from the stands, which Harry assumed was cheering for him.

He looked up and searched his surroundings.

He saw Cassandra in the direction of Slytherin.

She was also clapping for Harry, looking completely unlike her usual aloof self.

In Hufflepuff's direction, Papiyas was even standing on a stool, cheering for Harry.

Harry searched again, but did not find the other figure he wanted to see.

Just as he was feeling somewhat disappointed, he was surprised to find a pretty figure clapping for him in the VIP seat.

It was Vivi; Harry recognized her at a glance.

He was initially disappointed that Vivi couldn't attend, but suddenly he was full of energy.

He looked again at the Hungarian hornet-bee dragon that was staring intently at him, as if it wanted to swallow him whole.

"Are you ready?" Mr. Bagman's voice rang out, loud enough to drown out the clamor of the audience.

Harry raised an arm to signal to Mr. Bagman that he was ready.

“Very well,” Mr. Bagman called out amidst the commotion, “Then… our last hero, the youngest hero, Mr. Potter—we know he is only fourteen years old, a fourth-year student in Gryffindor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…”

"Of course, age is not a problem. We know him very well—the infamous dark wizard Mysterious Man was once defeated by him..."

At this point, a burst of enthusiastic cheers erupted from the audience.

The savior, who doesn't know him?
To defeat the world-renowned dark wizard Voldemort with the body of a mere infant is a fact that can be verified, right?
"Of course, that's all history. His grades in school were quite good, which is why Headmaster Dumbledore made an exception and allowed him to participate in the Triwizard Tournament before he was seventeen. So let's cheer again and give a shout of approval to this youngest warrior."

Another uproar erupted from the stands, a mix of cheers and shouts—supporters of the Durmstrang Warriors and the Beauxbatons Warriors, some dissatisfied with Mr. Bagman's personal agenda, were demanding a refund from Geneva.

"Alright, enough chit-chat." Mr. Bagman realized he'd gone a bit too far with the boasting, and announced loudly, "Now—the competition officially begins!"

As Mr. Bagman's voice faded, the Hungarian wood bee let out a deafening roar.

(End of this chapter)