Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

Voldemort's curse only protected the house.

The yard was left unguarded.

The earth arched high, and with a combination of curses and Transfiguration, a massive clay figure took shape. It raised its fist and slammed it fiercely onto the roof—bricks and tiles shattered upon impact.

"What are you doing, Potter?" a terrified voice called from inside the house.

Harry didn't answer.

His idea was simple.

If he couldn't break the curse, he would take a more direct approach—destroy the vessel that carried the curse: the house itself. If the vessel was obliterated, perhaps the curse would vanish along with it.

Even if that didn't work, opening up the space would at least give him a clearer view of the situation.

The clay figure grasped the eaves and exerted its immense strength, tearing the roof off completely.

As its fingers inevitably brushed against the darkness inside the house, the parts that made contact were severed cleanly—smoothly sliced away, their magic instantly dissolved.

The roof, along with the statue's two hands, traced a beautiful arc through the air before crashing to the ground, sending a cascade of soil tumbling down.

Harry swung his wand, restoring the statue's hands.

Then, he transfigured several broken stones into smooth, iron spheres the size of a human head and sent them ricocheting violently against the house's walls.

The gaps in the house grew larger.

Sunlight penetrated deeper, gradually thinning the darkness within.

Tearing down the house was proving effective—he should've learned from Seamus sooner.

Harry summoned a second clay figure.

"Bombarda!"

A blasting curse shot out from inside the house, striking the statue and shattering one of its legs. But it was a futile effort—within the blink of an eye, the earth reformed, restoring the leg before the figure could even topple over.

"Hiding inside like a coward?" Harry taunted coldly. "Just like your master, skulking in the shadows, too afraid to face the light?"

A third clay figure emerged.

Six hands worked in unison, ripping away massive, thick wooden planks.

The darkness inside the house continued to fade bit by bit.

"Bombarda!"

The person inside the house kept chanting the same spell, targeting the three clay figures repeatedly, as if they were taunting him, forcing him to attack them first.

Transfiguration alone shouldn't have such a strong psychological effect.

Harry frowned as he maintained the spell.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

Even though he considered Death Eaters to be nothing more than bumbling fools, he couldn't deny that not just any Dark wizard could become one. At the very least, they needed either intelligence or skill.

The person inside had managed to capture Sirius Black, Lupin, and an unknown illegal Animagus. That alone suggested he was likely both smart and capable.

Yet he was only attacking the transfigured constructs and not the wizard casting them?

Was he trying to drag the fight out?

Even if he managed to stall for time, he wouldn't gain more than half an hour at best.

The word "stall" suddenly lit up in Harry's mind like a flare.

He recalled what the Death Eater had said at the start: "You actually came here? Instead of staying safe at Hogwarts?"

He was stalling.

Waiting.

Waiting for other Death Eaters—or for Voldemort himself?

Did he lack the confidence to hunt Harry alone and was instead waiting for backup, gathering more hunters to take down their prey?

Harry raised his hand.

Quen Sign!

A golden shield enveloped his body.

He swung his wand again.

Protego Totalum!

The clay figure moved its massive body, targeting the remaining structure.

"Bombarda!"

Again, the same spell struck, blasting apart the figure's hand.

Harry countered instantly.

Ventus Tempestas!

A fraction of a second later, another explosion erupted. Dust and debris swirled into a thick, rolling cloud of yellowish smog, obscuring the entrance.

Harry drew the Basilisk bone sword and lunged forward, stepping onto the doorframe and crossing into the house without hesitation.

Darkness swallowed his vision in an instant.

Only a faint sliver of light seeped in from the hole in the ceiling above.

No wonder Sirius and Lupin had been taken so easily.

"Umbra Vincula!"

Harry immediately swung his wand, casting a spell to lock the space.

The other person's breathing hitched.

A second later, it resumed—quickened, panicked.

He couldn't see, but it didn't matter.

Harry had already found his target.

"Potter, you walked right into my trap!" The voice, though laced with fear, carried an unsettling glee. "I've been waiting for this."

"In my master's domain, what makes you think—"

Harry cut him off, sword swinging toward the sound of his breathing.

"You know I understand your plan, so stop pretending."

The blade struck metal—he had blocked it with a Transfiguration spell or some other magical defense.

Bombarda!

This time, Harry was the one using the Blasting Curse.

He couldn't see what was in front of him, but it didn't matter. There wasn't much a well-placed explosion couldn't solve.

The enemy's breathing grew heavier.

He moved stealthily, trying to reposition himself.

Harry slashed again—precisely aimed.

"Protego!"

His opponent was quick, casting a Shield Charm just in time. The sword didn't pierce him, but the force of the impact sent him staggering backward.

Harry calculated the distance based on his breathing.

He raised his wand.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

A yellow curse shot out, but the man countered with another Shield Charm.

Harry pressed forward.

"You can see?" The man's voice quivered in disbelief. "Even under my master's spell, you can still see?"

Harry swung his sword, his voice cold.

"When has Tom's magic ever worked on me?"

The total darkness affected Harry, giving his opponent a chance to dodge.

But even so, every strike aimed for a lethal spot.

His enemy's breathing grew even more frantic.

"Harry, do you want to save Black?" he suddenly shouted.

Harry ignored him, relentless in his attack.

"They're in the basement!" the man cried. "If you don't want them to die, go save them now!"

He swung his wand.

A wave of blistering heat erupted from below, engulfing the house like a raging furnace.

Fiendfyre!

Harry frowned, looking toward the light above.

Suddenly, the darkness lifted.

The man had dispelled Voldemort's curse, exposing the house completely to sunlight.

Fiendfyre raged in every corner, a monstrous blaze consuming everything.

The man who had been giving him so much trouble was strikingly handsome, though his face was lined with wrinkles, marking him as at least sixty. His neatly slicked-back deep-gray hair was held in place by what must have been an entire pound of hair gel.

He wore a checkered suit—now tattered, bearing the marks of Harry's attacks.

A faint trace of purplish potion clung to his lips—an antidote to Basilisk venom.

He gave Harry a deep look, then tossed the empty potion bottle aside.

"Well then, Mr. Potter," he said politely, "go save Mr. Black. We shall meet again if fate allows—"

"I don't think I'm ready to say goodbye just yet."

Harry raised his wand.

Accio!

A blinding flash of light struck the man.

And for a split second, he hesitated.

That moment was all Harry needed.

With a flick of his wand, wooden furniture in the room softened and twisted into ropes, binding him tightly.

The man snapped out of his daze and struggled to cast a spell to escape—

But he was too late.

Harry stepped forward.

Aldor sent him tumbling down with a blast, and as he landed, Harry stomped down—crack! The man's wand snapped cleanly in two.

"You don't—" The man's voice trembled with fear; he clearly hadn't been prepared for a life-and-death struggle.

Harry remained expressionless as he forced a vial of Draught of Living Death down his throat, ensuring he would remain unconscious.

With his source of magic severed, the Fiendfyre roared out of control.

Harry left him behind without hesitation and rushed toward the basement.

The flames below were even fiercer, rampaging like a fire dragon.

Lupin lay on the ground, one corner of his robe already licked by the Fiendfyre.

Rita Skeeter was floating in a water tank—still alive but barely conscious, her breathing weak.

Sirius Black hung suspended with both hands bound, completely unconscious.

Harry remained calm as he raised his wand.

"Finite Incantatem!"

A surge of magic flooded through him, pressing down on the Fiendfyre like a tidal wave.

One second.

Two seconds.

With a final hiss, the cursed flames were completely extinguished.

It was an incredibly useful spell.

But Harry wasn't yet skilled enough to wield it as effortlessly as Dumbledore. He needed time to channel it—time that could be deadly in battle.

The three remained unconscious.

Harry went to each of them, checking their conditions. He unbound Sirius first. Aside from Rita, who had suffered the worst treatment, Sirius and Lupin didn't have many visible injuries.

Their unconsciousness wasn't due to Dark Magic, but rather because they had been given Draught of Living Death.

Harry retrieved the antidote and administered it to them.

Sirius was the first to awaken. He didn't even open his eyes before yelling:

"You bastards! Even if you kill me—"

Harry cut him off expressionlessly.

"Godfather, it's me."

"And Remus, stop looking for your wand—it's not on you, it's over there."

With a flick of his wand, a nearly charred box flew from the corner of the basement. Another tap of his wand, and three wands shot out from within, returning to their rightful owners.

"Harry? How did you get here?" Lupin asked warily as he sat up, gripping his wand tightly.

"You don't need to worry about Polyjuice Potion—no one could've obtained any part of my body to impersonate me," Harry stated, cutting straight to the suspicion in Lupin's mind. "Rest assured."

Rita struggled to climb out of the water tank.

"Mr. Potter! You finally came to save me!" she gasped weakly.

"I was about to be tortured to death."

"But you weren't," Harry replied indifferently.

He pulled a potion bottle from the Sorting Hat and tossed it to her. "Looks like you didn't spill anything about Tom's secrets."

Rita gulped the potion down greedily.

"Thank Merlin I know a bit of Occlumency," she shuddered. "Damn it, I really almost broke. If it weren't for Black, I would have!"

"They were too preoccupied with him to pay much attention to me."

Sirius, now obediently holding out his hands as Harry applied Dittany to his wounds, snapped his head up at her words.

"Harry! You need to be careful!"

"They have a plan!"

Harry struck his wrist lightly with his wand.

"Godfather, I've known for a long time that they have a plan against me."

"You shouldn't have come—they must have—" Sirius gritted his teeth in pain but remained firm.

"Relax. Umbra Vincula is sealing this place. They won't be getting in anytime soon," Harry reassured him. "Once I've patched you up, we'll leave."

"And the person who captured me was—" Sirius continued.

Harry cut him off again.

"Corban Yaxley. I know. And I caught him. He's upstairs."

Sirius looked surprised.

"Professor Snape showed me his picture," Harry added calmly.

At the mention of Snape, both Lupin and Sirius had complicated expressions.

"Mr. Potter, I—" Rita, feeling better after the potion, was about to speak.

Harry shook his head.

"Talk later. This place isn't safe."

With one hand, he dragged Corban Yaxley like a trophy. With the other, he supported Sirius.

Lupin transformed Rita into her Animagus form so she could ride on his shoulder.

Their steps were hurried as they rushed back to Potter Manor.

The moment they arrived, Rita transformed back into her human form and gasped excitedly:

"Mr. Potter! I found what you asked me to investigate!"

Harry waved a hand.

"Ms. Skeeter, that can wait—I need to talk to my godfather first."

Rita wisely shut her mouth, sat down, and rubbed her eyes, only now realizing she was missing something. She flicked her wand, conjuring a new pair of glasses for herself.

Lupin sat beside Harry, arms crossed.

"Godfather, do you remember what I told you before?" Harry's voice was gentle.

Sirius lowered his head.

"I've told you more than once—to be careful. Not to act recklessly."

Harry continued patiently, "I don't expect you to think of everything. But at the very least, use your head."

He tapped his temple.

"This thing isn't just for show. It's not here just to make you look handsome."

Sirius lifted his head defensively.

"I thought I had a plan—"

"And what was your plan based on?" Harry challenged.

"Instinct? A rush of adrenaline? Or did you actually have a real reason?"

Sirius opened his mouth, searching for an argument.

"Godfather, my dear godfather—my dear father," Harry said firmly.

"My father is dead. He's not coming back."

"You're the only father I have left."

"If anything happens to you—"

"I won't have a father anymore."

Sirius lowered his head in shame.

"Nothing else matters. I just don't want to lose you."

Harry sighed and turned to Lupin.

"And Remus, the same goes for you."

"Don't let Sirius drag you into reckless plans. At least wait for me first."

Lupin muttered under his breath, "I have more sense than he does. I was just worried about him."

"You should be grateful they kept you alive for a reason," Harry said.

With a flick of his wand, four glasses of water floated in from the kitchen and landed in front of them.

Sirius suddenly sat up straight, his expression serious.

"Harry, you just reminded me of something!"

"Before I lost consciousness, I overheard something."

"It was Corban Yaxley—he said, 'I didn't expect Potter's godfather to walk right into our hands. With him, our master doesn't have to worry about getting that thing.'"

That thing?

Harry frowned.

"What thing?"

Sirius shook his head.

"I don't know. That was the only time they mentioned it. They never brought it up again afterward."

"They might've planned to use me to trade for something from you."

Harry's voice turned cold with sarcasm.

"Godfather, I'm so proud. You finally figured out they wanted to use you as a bargaining chip."

Sirius clenched his teeth.

That wasn't the point.

The real question was—what did they want from Harry?

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Powerstones?

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