Harry returns from Hogwarts Legacy

Chapter 265 Why is your wand so dark green? (8000)

Upon hearing what Furong said, Mrs. Maxim smiled kindly.

“Child,” she said, “you must understand that the Triwizard Tournament is not just a competition jointly organized by three schools, but also an ancient and traditional event. The British wizarding community has made numerous preparations for this Triwizard Tournament. Do you think the media will pass up this opportunity?”

“A chance to make a big splash,” Harry muttered to himself.

"What did you say? Child?" Mrs. Maxim didn't hear what Harry was muttering.

“It’s nothing, I was just thinking we need to be careful of these reporters,” Harry said quickly. “You know, reporters always like to create a big story to grab attention.”

“That’s something I didn’t expect,” Mrs. Maxim nodded. “I’ve heard that your country’s Daily Prophet likes to embellish its reports, and will not hesitate to fabricate facts in order to attract attention…”

“However, their comments about the Ministry of Magic are indeed classic.” Harry glanced at Mr. Crouch almost casually, and said easily amidst the man’s gloomy expression, “The British Ministry of Magic is undoubtedly superior because they have overcome difficulties that other countries do not have…”

Viktor lowered his head, his lips pressed tightly together, trying not to laugh out loud.

Furong lay on her back, trying her best to recall the most painful thing she had ever experienced in her life.

Mr. Bagman, on the other hand, was much more relaxed. He and Dumbledore exchanged a glance and burst into laughter.

“This is a smear campaign, Mr. Potter, a complete and utter smear campaign,” Mr. Crouch said unhappily.

“It’s really funny, isn’t it?” Harry shrugged.

"Alright," Dumbledore cleared his throat and said to them, "You can go back now. Get a good night's sleep and relax tonight, okay? We have some things to do tomorrow morning—and especially you, Harry, I think the Gryffindor students are eager to share in your joy of becoming a Hogwarts champion."

As he said this, Dumbledore winked at Harry.

Harry almost threw up.

Come on, Principal, you should use that wit on Gellert instead.

After bidding farewell to the three headmasters, the two champions, and Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch, Harry left the cottage and returned to his beloved Gryffindor common room.

"I heard that Gryffindor has produced a champion?" The fat lady wasn't in a hurry to ask for the password. "I just heard this big news. Well done, Mr. Potter—so, the password."

"I'm a champion representing Gryffindor, and you still need my password?" Harry was a little bewildered. "You know perfectly well who I am!"

“Yes, of course I know you are, but rules are rules.” The plump lady cleared her throat, looked around, and seeing that the portraits hadn’t noticed her, said to herself, “Oh, the password is ‘warrior,’ so come in, Mr. Potter.”

As she spoke, she stepped aside to let Harry pass.

"Thank you," Harry said with a smile, and slipped into the Gryffindor common room.

As soon as he went in, he heard a loud bang and his head was sprayed with a bunch of colored streamers.

It was the Weasley twins welcoming him in this special way.

“Looks like you’ve missed me a lot,” Harry said with a grin. “What a unique welcome!”

"Let us welcome the Lion King of Gryffindor back to his faithful common room!"

The Weasley twins cheered loudly, and their classmates jumped up and down, raising their hands as if to welcome Harry.

That posture looks pretty standard!
"Even though the Goblet of Fire didn't choose me, at least I'm a Gryffindor," Angelina said loudly. "As long as I'm not snatched away by other houses, especially Slytherin—ha, I feel like I can hold my head high whenever I encounter Slytherin from now on, don't you think?"

"Kill Slytherin!" everyone shouted.

"To get the beautiful women of Slytherin pregnant with a Gryffindor child—"

I don't know who started this, but everyone agreed on it.

After all, there's a difference between the two houses. Look at the Gryffindor girls, they only need a robe to cover their entire bodies—and look at the Slytherin girls? They have a bunch of inexplicable elements on their bodies, and they're even showing their thighs.

She really knows how to rock fashion.

"We've prepared some food, Harry, come and have some—"

Ron sat on the stool, holding a chicken leg in his hand.

"I'm not hungry, I actually ate enough just now—"

But nobody wanted to listen to him say he wasn't hungry. They just dragged him into celebrating in the common room. Harry felt like Tom, forced into a job by his friends... Lee Jordan somehow produced a Gryffindor flag and insisted on wrapping it around Harry like a cloak.

Harry had no way to escape. Whenever he tried to sneak up the stairs to the dormitory, the crowd would gather around him, forcing him to drink another butterbeer or shoving cookies and peanuts into his hands.

They partied until midnight before reluctantly ending their celebration.

“We’ll continue to celebrate after you win your first project,” Lee Jordan said loudly. “I’ve already spoken to Diggory, Cedric Diggory, that pretty boy. He’ll help us get in touch with the Hogwarts kitchens, on the condition that the Hufflepuffs join us.”

We should celebrate?

Harry felt completely overwhelmed.

Back in his dorm, Harry was about to go to sleep when the crystal ball started bouncing again.

It was Vivi; she got through to Harry on the phone.

“Congratulations,” Vivi said with a charming smile. “I heard you became a champion of Hogwarts, that’s wonderful news!”

"You know that now?"

Harry glanced at his watch in astonishment. "If I remember correctly, it's been less than five hours since I became a champion. How did you know?"

“I knew it,” Vivi said with a smile. “Of course, I hope you can win the final championship and represent Hogwarts as the ultimate winner.”

“Hmm.” Harry nodded.

After a moment of silence, Harry spoke first.

"I miss you, Vivi."

"How much do you want to?" Vivi asked with a smile.

“There’s a kind of, well…” Harry glanced around, coughed twice, and said, “Anyway, the kind of longing that can’t be heard by anyone. I’m still in my dorm.”

The implication is that you should be careful not to say anything offensive that others might overhear.

Vivi understood Harry's meaning, gave him a charming smile, and said, "I know, don't worry—then, I might have time around Christmas, and we can meet up...or, I remember your teleportation is pretty good, why don't we use that spell to meet up during the holidays, have some beer, and have a good chat about life?"

That's a great suggestion, Harry was really tempted.

"How about today?"

“Not today, I’m sorry, honey,” Vivi said, shaking her head. “We can book a day in advance, and I’ll arrange the time.”

"Have you been very busy lately?" Harry asked with concern.

"Hmm... a little." Vivi nodded. "I've been working on some things lately that are... well, things that are more likely to attract media attention."

"What is it?" Harry asked curiously.

“This is a secret of the Austrian Ministry of Magic, Harry,” Vivi said helplessly. “In principle, you shouldn’t be able to know this.”

“But I know you wouldn’t keep it from me,” Harry said with a smile.

Vivi rubbed her eyelids and said after a while, "Okay—it's nothing important, it's just that, well… I've been representing the Austrian and Hungarian Ministries of Magic in negotiations for a merger. I think Europe doesn't need so many Ministries of Magic; they're far too bloated. What do you think?"

"Why specifically Hungary?" Harry asked curiously. "Are you trying to restore the glory of the Austro-Hungarian Empire?"

“Hmm,” Vivi tapped her lips with her index finger, “So you mean…you want me to choose another country? Let me think…hmm…right, Austria was historically the Holy Roman Empire, so if we’re talking about merging, Germany would be a good choice, hmm…A merger of Germany and Austria? What do you think of a merger of Germany and Austria?”

When they said this, they both felt a slight itch under their noses, though they weren't sure if it was just their imagination.

It looks like I'm about to grow a beard.

“This shouldn’t be a problem in the wizarding world,” Harry said, scratching his chin. “But if you mentioned that word in the Muggle world… I think they’d think you’re crazy, or they’d just have the police throw you in jail.”

Vivi laughed twice, whether amused by Harry or because she thought it was a pipe dream for a Muggle to capture her.

The two lingered for a while longer before Harry reluctantly hung up the phone.

On the one hand, he had important things to do tomorrow, and on the other hand, Vivi had been very busy lately.

He didn't know that Vivi had taken his suggestion seriously; he had just thought she was joking.

After all, no one could have imagined that someone would actually push for the reunification of Germany and Austria decades later. Wouldn't that be like stabbing the US and Germany in the heart?

France: My Maginot Line has been breached, I'm done playing!

Poland: Why do I feel like I'm going to die again? -- Huh? Why did I say "again"?

When Harry woke up the next morning, he found the floor under his bed covered with flower petals.

The petals guided him toward the door.

As he left his dorm room, he found the Weasley twins saluting him in a very comical manner, using the Muggle army's salute.

"Attention, everyone!" The twins stood ramrod straight and commanded loudly, "Salute to the Warrior!"

"Loyalty! Honesty!" the students shouted.

That shout was reminiscent of the old Lobster Soldier, startling Harry. You can't shout like that; it feels a bit ominous.

Colin Crevey struck an extremely contorted pose and snapped several photos of Harry.

“I think we should have Professor Trelawney do a divination for Harry,” Neville said in a low voice, “to see if Harry can really become the ultimate champion.”

"Come on," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Given Professor Trelawney's usual style, she'll definitely say Harry is cursed, that his life is in danger, 'Oh my dear, you're cursed!' Believe it or not?"

"You imitated it perfectly," Ron praised, giving a thumbs up.

“If she dares to say that, we’ll have to use some harmless little curse to teach her what to say—” Hermione slammed her fist on the table, clearly not having forgotten her grudge against Professor Trelawney. “Why don’t you have your clone brothers do it? Just throw a big dung ball in Professor Trelawney’s face and yell at her, ‘Damn it, how dare you say he can’t be a champion.’”

Hermione's facial expression twisted slightly as she said this.

It's clear she's still holding a grudge...

“It’s what we should do.” The twins were eager to try, after all, they had received plenty of ominous predictions from Professor Trelawney.

During breakfast, the Gryffindor students sat in the Great Hall with their chests out and heads held high, looking quite proud.

Harry's Hufflepuff classmates were much more outgoing; they all crowded around him asking for autographs.

And then there were the Ravenclaw girls, who came over in small groups, surrounding Harry completely.

Cassandra sat in her Slytherin seat, coldly staring at the group of girls. If looks could kill, they would probably be riddled with holes by Cassandra's gaze.

After dinner, Harry planned to go for a walk to clear his head, but he was unexpectedly told to go to the hut for a check-up.

Just as they reached the door, Papiyas brought a fragrant breeze with her.

Harry... poor Harry, he got to suffocate for almost a minute.

“You’ve really become a champion!” Papiyas exclaimed joyfully, not forgetting to pull Harry out of her bosom. “You’ve really become a champion—congratulations, congratulations…”

“There’s nothing to congratulate me on.” Harry rolled his eyes and said in a low voice, “After all, it’s a bit unfair to win this competition with them—but I’ll still do my best to compete.”

Pappy raised an eyebrow, then suddenly sniffed at Harry.

After sniffing twice, Papiyas's expression changed slightly.

“Oh,” she said. “I have something to do, you go in first… um, I’ll call you later when you’re done, okay?” “Okay.” Harry reached out and pinched Pappy’s cheek. To be honest, it didn’t feel bad.

He waved to Papbi and pushed open the door to walk into the classroom.

This is a small classroom, with most of the desks pushed to the back, leaving a large open space in the middle.

However, there were three desks placed side by side in front of the blackboard, covered with a long piece of velvet.

Behind the velvet-covered desks were five chairs, one of which sat Ludo Bagman, who was talking to Ms. Rita Skeeter, the reporter from the Daily Prophet.

Viktor Krum stood in a corner with his usual gloomy face, not speaking to anyone.

Furong sat in the chair, looking very quiet, and seemed to have no interest in talking to anyone.

A pot-bellied man was holding a large black camera that was emitting a little smoke, and was looking at Furong out of the corner of his eye.

Bagman suddenly saw Harry, quickly stood up, and jumped forward.

"Ah, he's here! The champion of Hogwarts! Come in, Harry, come in... There's nothing to worry about, it's just the wand testing ceremony, the other referees will be here soon—"

"Detection wand?" Harry asked, puzzled. He felt like he had forgotten something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

“We need to check that your wands are fully functional and in good working order, because they will be your most important equipment in the upcoming competitions,” Bagman said. “The experts are upstairs with Dumbledore. Then we’ll take some photos. This is Rita Skeeter.” He said, pointing to Ms. Rita Skeeter in her magenta robe, “She’s writing a short article for the Daily Prophet about the Championship…”

“It may not be a small matter, Ludo,” Rita Skeeter said, giving Harry a somewhat stiff, polite smile after noticing his gaze.

Of course she knew who Harry was.

As she sized up Harry, Harry was also sizing her up.

Ms. Skeeter's hair was styled into elaborate, stiff, and oddly shaped curls, which looked particularly awkward against her large chin.

She wore a pair of jeweled glasses. Her thick, fleshy fingers gripped a crocodile-skin handbag, her nails about two inches long and painted bright red.

But this outfit does indeed fit her persona very well.

However, Rita, contrary to her usual behavior, showed no interest in chatting with Harry. She glanced at him briefly before immediately looking away, preparing to resume her conversation with Mr. Bagman.

Harry sat down next to Fleur. Noticing Harry approaching, Fleur spoke to him gently.

Good morning, young master of Hogwarts.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Harry tried to prove himself. Although the silver-haired Veela was beautiful, she was still a bit short of Vivi.

"Hmm, you're not young." Furong looked at him with a smile. "Alright, I'll go easy on you in the next match."

Harry glanced at her but didn't say anything.

Arguing with a woman is a waste of energy.

After exchanging a few words, Dumbledore led the two headmasters in.

Following at the very back of them was an old man whom Harry recognized.

It was none other than Mr. Ollivander, who began making staffs around 300 BC.

They took their seats in the referee's box, while Rita Skeeter, who had originally taken Mr. Crouch's seat, had to stand up and give up her place, finding a corner to sit in instead.

When Mr. Crouch saw her, he clearly didn't have a good look on his face; his expression was as if he were looking at a pile of shit.

Harry held back his laughter.

Rita secretly took a roll of parchment from her handbag, laid it on her lap, smacked the tip of her stenographer's quill, and placed it vertically on the parchment.

"Please allow me to introduce Mr. Ollivander," Dumbledore said as he sat down in the referee's box. "He will be checking your wands to make sure they are in good condition before the match."

Just then, Mr. Ollivander stood up.

“Miss Delacour, would you like to go first?” Mr. Ollivander said, walking to the open space in the center of the room.

Fleur Delacour gracefully approached Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Hmm..." he murmured.

Mr. Ollivander twirled the wand between his long fingers like a conductor's baton, and the wand sparked with pink and gold flecks—then he brought the wand close to his eyes and examined it closely.

“Not bad,” he said softly, “nine and a half inches…very strong…made of maple…contains…oh my god…”

“It contains a Veela’s hair,” Fleur said. “It’s my grandmother’s hair.”

Oh, it really is a Veela.

Harry felt that his guess was correct; this girl, whose beauty was second only to Vivi, really did have Veela blood.

However, this has little to do with him.

“That’s right,” said Mr. Ollivander. “Yes, of course, I myself have never used Veela hair—I find wands made from Veela hair too sensitive and capricious… However, everyone has their own preferences, and since it suits you…”

Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers over the wand, clearly checking for scratches and dents. Then, he whispered, "Orchids in bloom!" A bouquet of flowers bloomed on the wand's tip.

“Very good, very good, you’re in good shape,” said Mr. Ollivander, gathering the flowers and handing them, along with his wand, to Fleur. “Mr. Krum, it’s your turn.”

Viktor Krum stood up, his round shoulders drooping, and walked listlessly toward Mr. Ollivander with his toes pointing outwards.

He shoved the wand into his hand, stood there frowning, his hands in the pockets of his robe.

“Well,” said Mr. Ollivander, “if I’m not mistaken, this is a product of Gregorovich—he’s a fine wandmaker, though I’m not entirely fond of his style…but…”

He raised his wand and examined it carefully, turning it over and over in front of him.

“That’s right… hornbeam, containing the tendons of a dragon’s heart, isn’t it?” He glanced at Krum—Krum nodded—“Much thicker than people usually see…very stiff…ten and a quarter inches…flocks of birds!”

The hornbeam wand made a loud bang, like a pistol firing, and a flock of small birds flapped their wings and flew out of the wand's head, into the soft sunlight through the open window.

“Very well,” said Mr. Ollivander, handing the wand back to Krum. “And one last one… Mr. Potter.”

Harry stood up, brushed past Krum, and walked toward Mr. Ollivander.

He handed his wand to Mr. Ollivander.

“Ah, yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, taking the wand, his light-colored eyes suddenly sparkling with excitement. “Yes, yes, yes… I remember it perfectly well.”

“Beechwood, Dragonheartstring, eleven inches—” he repeated what he had said years ago, “I told you this a long time ago, that a beechwood wand should be truly suited to someone who, if a teenager, possesses wisdom beyond their years; and if an adult, is reasonable and experienced…”

"And I forgave you back then," Harry said, chuckling as he recalled what happened at Ollivanders wand shop.

“Your magnanimity can light up the entire Hogwarts Great Hall,” Mr. Ollivander said with a smile.

Clearly, Mr. Ollivander was delighted when he saw the wand. After all, two of the three champions in the Triwizard Tournament didn't have wands made by him, so seeing a wand made by himself was naturally a joy for him.

“Well then.” Mr. Ollivander raised his wand and flicked it upwards.

A stream of wine suddenly sprayed out of the wand—but here's the problem: it was green wine…

Ollivander: ?
No, why is the wine sprayed from your wand green?

Is it because of environmental protection?
Mr. Ollivander examined the wand again, this time secretly using a detection spell...

Harry finally remembered what he had forgotten—he had used this wand to cast the Avada Kedavra curse during Professor Moody's class.

He wasn't nervous at all. Even if people found out he had used the Killing Curse, it didn't matter. After all, it was Professor Moody who told him to use it. He was just doing what a student should do—obeying orders.

"What's wrong?" Mr. Crouch, who had been silent all along, asked, but his eyes were glancing at Harry.

Mr. Ollivander glanced at Harry, took a deep breath, and said, "It's nothing, Mr. Crouch—I should say the wand is in good condition; it was just a mistake on my part."

Mr. Crouch frowned. His intuition told him that something was wrong, nine out of ten things were wrong, but he couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

How could the wine be green? Even if Ollivander made a mistake, this shouldn't be happening—

However, he still chose to believe the judgment of a rod maker, and after giving Harry a deep look, he said nothing more.

Mr. Ollivander returned the wand to Harry, smiled, and said, "Very well, here you go. I hope you will continue to take good care of it."

“I will, Mr. Ollivander,” Harry replied with a smile.

Mr. Ollivander nodded, intending to find some time to mention his recent discovery to Dumbledore, explaining what he had seen and felt on the wand.

“Thank you, everyone,” Dumbledore said after Harry sat back down, rising from the judges’ table. “Now you may all go back and rest—perhaps it would be more convenient to go straight to lunch, since it’s almost lunchtime anyway, and we’ve examined things long enough—”

Harry stood up to leave, but the man with the black camera suddenly jumped up and cleared his throat.

"Take a picture, Dumbledore, take a picture!" Bagman shouted excitedly. "How about the referee and the warriors take a picture together, Rita?"

It's clear that Bagman enjoys having his picture taken, because his smile is genuine.

Mr. Crouch, however, seemed reluctant. He sat there with a frown, even covering his face with his top hat.

But Mr. Bagman, being so enthusiastic, pulled Mr. Crouch up and made him pose for a photo together.

“Hmm—okay, let’s take a group photo first,” Rita Skeeter said, her gaze falling on Harry again. “Maybe we’ll take a few individual photos later.”

Rita felt a little guilty as she said this, because her weakness lay with Harry—or rather, with his godfather Sirius.

If she offends Harry, she'll be in deep trouble...

The photo shoot took a long time, not because it was slow, but because the combination was so difficult to arrange perfectly.

No matter where Mrs. Maxim stood, she blocked everyone else's view, and the room was too small for the photographer to stand far enough to get her in the shot; in the end, she had to sit down, and everyone else stood around her.

Karkarov kept twirling his goatee with his fingers, trying to curl it into a ball.

As for Krum, Harry thought he was used to this kind of thing, but he didn't expect him to hide behind everyone.

Who would have thought that such a burly man would be a socially awkward person? This made Harry quite amused.

The photographer seemed particularly keen to have Fleur stand in front, but Ludo Bagman and Rita Skeeter both agreed that the fourth-grade student wasn't particularly tall and should be placed at the very front.

Then she insisted on taking individual photos of each of the warriors. It took them a long time to finally get free.

"I'm exhausted," Furong said, rubbing her sore shoulders. "I thought taking photos would be quick, but it turned out to be such a tiring thing—I swear, there's nothing more tiring in the world."

“This is much better than Potions class,” Harry said with a chuckle. “I don’t know if you’ve ever taken Professor Snape’s Potions class. If you had, you wouldn’t have said that.”

“Oh, I missed the last Potions class,” Fleur said.

“That’s such a shame,” Harry said sincerely. “Coming to Hogwarts as a short-term exchange student and not experiencing Potions, a class with the highest prestige among the entire school, would be a complete waste of the exchange opportunity.”

"Really?" Fleur was intrigued. "I know you're being sarcastic, but I'm curious why you all hate Potions class so much. Is it because the Potions teacher doesn't wash his hair?"

“It’s true he doesn’t wash his hair, but that’s only a small part of the reason,” Harry shrugged. “I admit his hair smells oily, but the smell of potions being brewed in Potions class is enough to mask it—what really bothers us is his teaching style… Of course, gossiping about Professor Cricket behind his back isn’t a good thing, so if you want to know what Potions class is really like, you’ll have to experience it for yourself.”

As Harry finished speaking, he remembered Snape's olfactory sense, which was practically a weapon of causality.

He glanced back and saw that there was no one there, so he breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank goodness, I'm not Ron.

Otherwise, Snape would definitely have arrested him on the spot.

(End of this chapter)