Author's note before the chapter:
Some readers pointed out that the Prince of Death's Staff should technically be upgraded using normal Smithing Stones. That's my mistake—sorry about that!
Since the chapter has already been published and it's inconvenient to revise, let's treat it as being upgraded with Somber Smithing Stones in-story. After all, it's a weapon made from a demigod's body, so it qualifies as a special weapon.
Thanks to the reader who caught that!
...
Arthur: "How much do you know about the other three founders?"
Statue: "Invalid question."
You really had to hand it to this thing.
Call it intelligent, and its replies were wooden. Call it stupid, and it somehow found new ways to brush you off.
Arthur tried again. "Then do you know where Hufflepuff's legacy is?"
Statue: "I have no memory related to that."
Alright. Arthur gave up.
This was a full-blown artificial idiot. There was no point expecting useful information from it.
He got straight to the point. "What is Slytherin's legacy?"
"I left behind a legacy memory within this statue," the statue replied. "If the inheritor belongs to Slytherin House, they may access the memory three times. Members of other Houses are limited to a single access."
That was very Slytherin.
Anyone not from his own House was trash, apparently.
"How do I obtain this legacy?" Arthur asked.
"Detected: Gryffindor student. One opportunity only. Do you accept the legacy?" the statue countered.
Arthur glanced at the Gryffindor crest on his robes and couldn't help thinking that he really should've borrowed a Slytherin badge from Draco before coming here.
"Yes," Arthur said, nodding.
The moment the word left his mouth, two beams of white light shot out from the statue's eyes, streaking straight toward Arthur's own.
Sensing no threat, Arthur let the light sink into his eyes.
In the next instant, an immense flood of memories flashed through his mind at breakneck speed—Slytherin's lifelong knowledge. Lost spells from a thousand years ago, as well as dark magic created by Slytherin himself.
Unlike Arthur's Dragonblood Clan Legacy Seal, which engraved inherited magic permanently into his mind, these memories merely rushed past in a blur.
It was like watching an online lecture at ten-times speed—without a replay function afterward. How much you retained depended entirely on your own ability.
Arthur finally understood why Slytherin, who had always looked down on the other three Houses, had been willing to let their students access his legacy at all.
On one hand, it was a courtesy to the other founders.
On the other, he simply wasn't worried about his legacy being taken by outsiders.
To be precise, this legacy had always been meant for his descendants.
After all, the prerequisite to entering the Chamber was Parseltongue. Otherwise, you'd have to break in by force—and without knowing where the entrance was, no one would randomly decide to blow up a girls' bathroom.
Even if someone did forcibly break into the Chamber, opening the legacy required Slytherin's locket.
And even after fulfilling all of that, the statue still checked whether you belonged to Slytherin House.
Someone might try to cheat by wearing a Slytherin crest, like Arthur had considered—but at most, that only granted two extra chances to view the memory.
In truth, the statue was enchanted with a bloodline-detection spell.
If the inheritor was truly a descendant of Slytherin, the legacy would be permanently engraved into their mind.
If not, it would play once at high speed—just like Arthur's experience. Whatever you remembered was entirely up to you.
Fortunately, Arthur's mental power was strong enough to forcibly imprint the memories. That allowed him to slowly review the legacy at his leisure.
"Memory transmission complete."
After finishing its task, the statue returned to the platform. The light in its eyes faded, the locket was ejected from its chest, and it went still once more.
Arthur picked up the locket and tried inserting it again.
The statue's eyes lit up briefly, glanced at him, and said, "You have already received the legacy. Please leave this place immediately."
Then it spat the locket back out again.
This was exactly what Arthur had expected.
Slytherin would never allow such an obvious loophole. At the very least, he hadn't made this statue a one-time device—he clearly cared about ensuring his legacy would eventually be inherited.
Poor Senior Tom.
He'd discovered the Chamber of Secrets, but before he could explore it properly, he'd gotten excited and taken the Basilisk out for a stroll—only to run into Myrtle the moment he stepped outside.
Cold and ruthless as he was, he'd decided to kill her on the spot and use her death to create his first Horcrux.
Unfortunately, Myrtle's death drew Dumbledore's suspicion.
From that point on, the cautious Tom never entered the Chamber again—missing his chance at Slytherin's true legacy.
Had he obtained it, he wouldn't have died from his own rebounding Killing Curse.
After all, Arthur had seen a spell within Slytherin's legacy that could resist instant-death magic.
But it was far too late now.
Senior Tom was long gone, replaced by Voldemort—currently on the run in the forests of Albania.
Speaking of which, Arthur had to admire Voldemort's survival skills. Dumbledore had been tracking him for nearly half a year and still hadn't managed to catch him.
Arthur pocketed the locket and turned to leave. Before going, he restored the entrance to its original state.
He likely wouldn't be coming back here again.
...
For the next stretch of time, Arthur focused on absorbing Slytherin's legacy. During this period, Hogwarts was relatively peaceful.
Relatively—because Harry and Malfoy were still at it.
On Malfoy's side, Snape was giving him full, hands-on instruction. His progress could only be described as rapid.
On Harry's side, he had his mother's guidance, and Lupin occasionally gave him private lessons as well. His strength was steadily increasing too.
As a result, the two of them fell back into their old pattern—clashing every few days.
Most of the time, it was Harry reluctantly responding to Draco's challenges.
While the occasional duel was useful for testing his progress, Harry was genuinely tired of dealing with Draco.
Unlike Draco, Harry wasn't excused from Potions homework, nor was he exempt from Quidditch training.
On top of all that, he had to make time to practice Transfiguration—he still had his sights set on becoming an Animagus.
Not long ago, Harry had gone to Professor McGonagall to ask about Animagus training.
Seeing how determined he was, and realizing he wasn't just fooling around, McGonagall drew up a full training plan for him and even set aside time each day to personally guide him.
As for why she was teaching Harry instead of her own direct disciple, Hermione?
The reason was simple.
There was nothing left for her to teach Hermione.
The story went like this.
On the day Hermione successfully became an Animagus, Arthur gave her the three-piece artifact set he'd received as a system reward.
That set alone raised Hermione's strength to professor-level.
As for knowledge, everyone knew Hermione was both brilliant and diligent. And with Arthur answering her questions, she never hit any real learning bottlenecks.
On top of that, Hermione frequently used the time-acceleration feature of the Zen Garden to save real-world time—making her rate of improvement look downright absurd in McGonagall's eyes.
At one point, McGonagall even suspected Hermione was abusing the Time-Turner she'd been given.
But if someone truly misused a Time-Turner, the time differential would cause mental exhaustion and a lack of focus.
Yet every time Hermione came to see her, she was energetic and sharp—none of those symptoms present.
What McGonagall didn't know was that Hermione wasn't using a Time-Turner at all—she was using the Zen Garden.
Compared to a Time-Turner, the Zen Garden provided more time without the risk of paradoxes.
Hermione's explosive growth quickly rendered McGonagall's teaching plans useless.
To be precise, aside from Animagus theory, McGonagall hadn't actually taught Hermione much at all.
As Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor, she was constantly busy. Her usual method had been to assign learning tasks and then answer questions afterward.
But whenever Hermione ran into something she didn't understand, she'd simply go ask Arthur.
In the young witch's mind, since her cousin was right there, why bother interrupting Professor McGonagall at work?
With Arthur's level, teaching Hermione was effortless.
So every time McGonagall checked Hermione's progress, she found that the girl had already mastered everything she'd assigned—there was nothing left for her to explain.
Only then did she learn that Arthur had been teaching her all along.
That left McGonagall deeply frustrated.
Other professors passed on knowledge and guidance to their disciples—but somehow, she'd become nothing more than a heartless task-assigning machine.
If Snape ever learned how she felt, he'd sympathize deeply. After all, he'd never even given Arthur a private lesson.
In some sense, he had it even worse.
In short, Hermione's rapid advancement made McGonagall's plans obsolete.
So when Harry came knocking, she simply dusted off that unused training plan—and put it to good use on him instead.
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