Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

Snape poured a potion into his mouth but didn't swallow it immediately, merely holding it there.

With his wand raised, he scanned the surroundings warily, refraining from casting any spells right away.

The Cloud Fog Charm wasn't ordinary mist; it was pure magic.

Neither the Whirlwind Charm nor the Hurricane Charm could disperse it.

A Finite Incantatem could do the job, but casting it required sustained magical energy. In the absence of visual clarity, such a move would be risky.

Snape waited patiently.

Waited for the poison to take effect.

Waited for Harry to expose himself.

Someone who couldn't conceal their intentions would often fall into greater passivity—a lesson Snape had learned the hard way many times.

"Professor!" Harry's voice suddenly came from behind him. A flash of light cut through the poisonous mist, aiming straight for Snape's head.

"This little trick doesn't work on me," Harry sneered.

At the last moment—

Boom!

An explosion erupted. The resulting shockwave forced Snape back, narrowly avoiding the attack—

Swish, swish— Harry's robes morphed, long strips of fabric twisting and driving into the ground to bind Snape's hands and waist. They yanked him violently toward Harry's outstretched sword.

Snape, teetering on the brink of collision, swallowed the potion. His body liquefied with a splash, sloshing to the side and reforming into his humanoid shape.

"I'm starting to think you're not a Potter at all but a pile of dung." Snape scowled, pulling out more vials and smashing them on the ground. A more putrid, suffocating stench filled the air.

In the teacher's seating area—

Dumbledore immediately rose, waved his wand, and lifted the spell on Lockhart, flinging him back into the crowd. With another gesture, he encased the poisonous gas within the duel's bounds.

Harry sniffed the air.

The poison's potency had increased, now strong enough to challenge even his enhanced constitution—but still manageable within seven or eight doses.

Harry's robe tendrils continued to extend.

Stepping through the toxic puddles, he splashed up droplets. The shards of potion vials beneath his feet crunched audibly, and from the shards, translucent ants emerged, marching en masse toward Snape.

Poison didn't work?

Snape's face darkened. He waved his wand, casting Finite Incantatem again.

The magic nullified everything.

Harry seized the moment to cast Cloud Fog Charm once more. Thick mist blanketed the arena once again.

Snape clicked his tongue in irritation.

This annoying brat—was this all he could do?

He drank another potion, his magical energy boiling faintly within, then raised his wand high.

"Sweeping Hurricane!"

Harry halted mid-step, his eyes narrowing in surprise.

Within his perception, Snape appeared to ignite.

He'd seen this spell before, but Snape's casting was entirely different from others'. It wasn't purely magic—it was as if he was manipulating raw elements, akin to the Witcher Signs.

Was this the effect of the potions?

Or Snape's own innate skill?

Magical energy intertwined with elemental power, the two forces amplifying one another.

The mist twisted and shimmered under the pressure, dissolving into specks of light before merging with the hurricane, which now loomed like an unstoppable force.

Caught in the storm's pull, Harry's figure grew blurry in Snape's eyes, and Potter truly looked like "just Potter" again. Snape silently fired another spell in Harry's direction.

Harry dodged with agility.

In the crowd, a student caught the stray spell and ended up dangling upside down. Dumbledore quickly countered the enchantment to free them.

Realizing that poison was ineffective against Harry, Snape relied solely on magical attacks.

In terms of pure dueling technique, Snape lagged slightly behind Flitwick. Deprived of his potions, he became somewhat restricted. After a dozen exchanges, Harry had yet to be cornered and even managed to close the distance twice.

Both times, Snape had narrowly escaped by downing potions.

The last encounter had been particularly close—Harry's Igni Sign clung to Snape's robes, while the Yrden Sign immobilized him. He'd barely avoided being skewered by Harry's sword.

"Potter!" Snape growled through clenched teeth, his focus solely on Harry. His hand darted into his robes, producing a pointy-bottomed vial filled with a golden, shimmering liquid.

He unscrewed the stopper, about to drink it.

Dumbledore's spell struck, binding Snape's hands. "Severus, you and Harry have demonstrated enough."

Snape froze.

Looking back, he saw the boy with the sword—it was Harry Potter.

Snape sneered, recapping the vial.

Harry sheathed his sword and glanced at Flitwick.

Standing on a desk, Flitwick grinned broadly and gave Harry a hearty thumbs-up.

In the crowd, Lockhart watched Harry intently, lost in thought.

Snape turned to Lockhart and spoke icily: "Professor Lockhart, my duel with Potter has concluded."

Lockhart snapped out of his daze, nodding mechanically as he emerged from the crowd. "Oh, yes!"

"Let us thank Professor Snape and Harry for presenting us with such a spectacular duel. A wizard's duel isn't just about spells!"

"Potions, swords—anything that can harm your opponent is a valid tool!"

Professor McGonagall lowered her head.

She was imagining a rather unfortunate future.

"Now, I'll pair you up into groups for dueling practice," Lockhart announced enthusiastically. "I'll personally provide the most appropriate guidance."

"It won't be long before you're all as skilled as Mr. Potter!"

Harry rejoined the crowd.

The other students eyed him strangely, with a mix of awe and excitement.

"I finally get why you're not scared of Professor Snape," Seamus remarked, his tone a mix of wonder and disbelief.

"Harry, you actually stood your ground against Professor Snape!" Ron exclaimed, clenching his fists in excitement.

Harry gave Ron an odd look. "What nonsense are you talking about?"

"Harry didn't lose," Hermione corrected Ron.

Harry shook his head, correcting them both. "I can't beat Professor Snape yet."

"He wasn't being serious. He was about to get serious when Dumbledore stopped him."

Ron looked confused.

"Professor Snape didn't use his more dangerous potions. Even Hermione could handle the first two batches." Harry explained simply.

Hermione blinked in surprise, pointing to herself. "I could?"

She wasn't aware she had that kind of ability.

"On parchment, Hermione could handle it," Harry clarified, remembering her theoretical expertise.

Hermione, now flustered, lightly punched Harry on the back. The tough leather armor beneath her hand stung her knuckles slightly.

"Professor Snape is a master of potions. The last potion he was going to use was Felix Felicis," Harry continued. "After drinking that, his magical abilities would've been enhanced even further."

"He only dueled me with spells. He didn't even use his specialty."

He turned to Dumbledore, sighing. "It's a pity you stopped him."

Snape approached. "You should be grateful he did. With your tiny frame, a few more of my spells would've finished you off."

"Tsk. I'll have to gift you a new set of robes, Professor," Harry said, eyeing Snape critically. "Black is too heavy. How about green? It's Slytherin's color."

Snape's face darkened. He pulled out a vial of green potion from his robes. "Perhaps I should poison you silent. A quiet Potter is far more tolerable."!

----------

Powerstones?

For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates