Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Professor Sprout was far more than she appeared.

Round and cheerful, with an innocent and harmless demeanor, few would guess that her pockets contained the essence of an entire Forbidden Forest.

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall's extra lessons delved deeper into human transfiguration. Unlike the classroom lessons on minor transformations such as changing hair length, under McGonagall's careful supervision, Harry practiced transforming individual toes and fingers.

These were foundational skills for becoming an Animagus.

But compared to his progress in other "detentions," Harry's advancement with the Patronus Charm was nearly nonexistent.

Dumbledore kept emphasizing concepts like "belief," "emotion," and "love," speaking with such heartfelt conviction that his face seemed to glow with bubbles of blissful sentiment.

It left Harry feeling troubled. He didn't lack emotions or love—otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to summon a Patronus at all.

But he found it challenging to fully grasp such abstract and "idealistic" notions, especially since emotions couldn't be physically sensed or measured.

By October

Harry's schedule became even more packed, as did Hermione's. Her classes and assignments far outstripped those of any other student.

Even after Ron's newfound diligence, he still couldn't compete with the other two, leaving him often appearing idle and carefree—despite the fact that Gryffindor's shared reference homework had grown from two sources to three.

Quidditch practice also resumed this month.

Last year's season had been cut short due to the basilisk attacks, much to Oliver Wood's fury. That had been Gryffindor's best chance in years!

This year, however, the team faced new challenges, with two Chasers graduating at the end of the year.

Fortunately, they still had Harry, a huge advantage.

Wood threw himself into planning, determined to win the Quidditch Cup this year. But his meticulous training schedule was repeatedly disrupted by Harry's detentions and the Gryffindor trials.

It drove him mad.

Why was this young lion so busy?

While the third-year students struggled under the weight of their additional classes, a glimmer of hope arrived to brighten their spirits:

The first Hogsmeade weekend was announced, scheduled for the weekend before Halloween.

Unlike Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade was an entirely magical village, a novel experience for many students.

Even Ron, a pure-blood wizard, had never visited before.

In the past, Ron would have been both excited and anxious about spending money.

But times had changed.

Now, he was flush with cash.

Excitedly, he rushed over to Fred and George, shaking his coin pouch to create a cheerful jingle of gold coins clinking together.

"George, Fred, need a loan?" he asked, spreading his palm wide in a gesture of generosity. His tone was earnest, though he couldn't resist naming his price. "I'll lend you five Galleons—just pay me back six."

Fred and George exchanged a pitying look, their faces filled with mock sympathy.

Ron paused, confused.

"What's with those expressions?"

"Dear little Ronnikins, you've been so focused on studying lately," George said, patting Ron on the shoulder, "that you've clearly missed some things happening around you."

Fred opened his robes, revealing a heavy coin pouch that clinked with every movement. It was clearly fuller than Ron's. He lowered his voice conspiratorially as he said, "We've actually been making quite a lot of money."

He shook the pouch, letting its weight speak for itself. "Three Galleons, sixteen Sickles, and twenty-two Knuts."

George chimed in, "Basically four Galleons."

Fred grinned. "Our grand plan has officially begun."

"And this Christmas, we're getting Ginny a new hair clip," George added.

Fred nodded. "We're even planning to replace Scabbers with a new pet for you."

Ron averted his gaze, visibly uncomfortable.

"But the pet will have to wait until next year," George sighed. "There aren't many hard-working kids like you at Hogwarts."

Ron's discomfort deepened.

Why did that sound like an insult?

"Well, we've got a meeting with Hufflepuff. See you later, dear little Ron," Fred said, ruffling his hair.

"And if you'd like to lend us five Galleons but only ask for four back," George teased, "we'd be happy to borrow from you."

"Dream on!" Ron huffed, stomping his foot as the twins laughed and walked off.

They were busy. Aside from Slytherin, students from the other three houses made up a large portion of their customers.

Ron returned to the table, muttering, "What's gotten into Fred and George?"

"Why are they suddenly so rich?"

He even suspected that his family had won some sort of prize and sent everyone extra pocket money—except for him, of course.

"It's the Forbidden Forest," Harry reminded him. "They bought my map of it."

Ron's thoughts turned to the bottle of Acromantula venom they'd collected, and he felt a pang of jealousy.

"They're getting rich for free! Harry, you should've asked for a cut!"

"It was a fair trade," Harry replied, shaking his head. "And honestly, I came out slightly ahead."

Ron gaped. "But they're making endless Galleons!"

"It's not endless," Hermione corrected, shaking her head. "They're mostly selling basic potion ingredients and magical creature materials. And they're in their fifth year—they'll graduate in two years at most."

Ron looked puzzled. "Hermione, how do you know all this?"

"I've bought from them," Hermione admitted. "Some potion ingredients aren't available in the student supply cabinets, and ordering from outside takes time. Lately, Hedwig's been off gallivanting with Crookshanks, so it's more convenient to buy from them."

Ron stared, stunned.

How had he not known this?

Neville chimed in, "It's really convenient. The quality's great too. Just last week, I bought a huge pile of Mooncalf dung from them—so fresh!"

"Oh, no!" Ron interrupted, horrified. "Why would you buy that stuff?"

Neville blushed.

"For fertilizer," Hermione explained. "Mooncalf dung is excellent fertilizer."

Harry sighed. "I wanted to buy some too, but the Sorting Hat refused."

"Don't even think about it!" the Sorting Hat protested loudly, practically leaping with indignation. "I know you too well, Harry. Don't you dare stuff that filth inside me!"

"Never! I'd rather jump off the tower and shatter into a million pieces—"

"You're a hat. You can't die from a fall," Harry pointed out.

"I'm just expressing my determination!" the Sorting Hat snapped, furious.

Neville earnestly tried to educate the hat about the merits of Mooncalf dung, while Harry handed it over to Neville, letting them argue among themselves.

Ron gulped, unable to comprehend how Neville could be so nonchalant about such things.

Finally, the day arrived.

After Professor McGonagall carefully checked their signed permission forms, the third-years were allowed to leave Hogwarts for Hogsmeade.

Late October had yet to bring snow, but the air carried the crisp chill of winter.

Unlike his first visit, Harry now had both the time and mood to leisurely explore the village—mostly to accompany Ron.

Thirteen Galleons had felt like a fortune to Ron, but by the end of the day, he realized just how much it truly was.

They wandered through Hogsmeade, buying gifts for every family member—including Fred and George—and still hadn't spent more than five Galleons.

At the Three Broomsticks, Ron even treated Harry and Hermione to drinks.

Sitting by the window, Ron eyed the glass of Irish whiskey in Harry's hand, then looked at his own butterbeer.

He hesitated.

Should he order something more "mature" to look like an adult?

"You're not old enough to drink," Harry said, seeing through him. "Percy would lecture me all night if he found out."

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Powerstones?

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