Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

"We were at least on the stands," Ron shivered. "You were the closest to those things."

Harry glanced at his teammates, who leaned against the wall clutching their brooms, looking like they'd lost half their souls. "Then we should worry more about them."

Wood looked up dazedly, vaguely aware Harry might be talking about him, but his head and ears were ringing too much to process.

"Come with me. I have something to discuss," Harry said, pulling Hermione by the hand and leading her toward a corner of the corridor.

Hermione's face flushed red.

Ron instinctively started to follow but stopped after two steps.

Wouldn't it be inappropriate for him to tag along?

Hesitating, he turned back and joined George, casting warming and drying spells for them.

"What's going on?" Hermione whispered, lowering her voice and looking slightly flustered.

Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map, tapping it with his wand. "I suspect Sirius might be heading to Hogwarts."

Hermione froze.

The map unfolded, and Sirius Black's name darted across it with remarkable speed, moving even faster than Dumbledore as it slipped out the front gates amid the commotion.

"He's got nerve," Hermione remarked, her face flushing as she tried to suppress her amazement. After a moment, she added, "A lot of nerve."

"You can just say it: he's reckless," Harry said, glancing at the map. Crookshanks and Hedwig were patrolling Gryffindor Tower. He rolled the map back up and tucked it into the Sorting Hat. "Doesn't look like he's headed for the castle."

Hermione blinked. "He's not after Peter?"

"Not today, at least," Harry said, his tone complicated. "He might just..."

"Want to watch his godson play Quidditch, as any godfather would," Harry continued. "You know, my dad was an excellent team player, too."

Hermione nodded, suddenly understanding Sirius Black's motivations.

"Taking such a huge risk," Harry muttered, shaking his head.

Hermione corrected him earnestly, "No, I think, to him, it was entirely worth it."

Harry paused.

"He endured Azkaban for thirteen years," Hermione said softly. "All for your dad. And for you. Seeing you must give him the strength to keep going."

Harry nodded. "I know. He's my dear godfather."

Hermione smiled warmly.

"But that doesn't change the fact he's reckless and impulsive," Harry added, his tone sharp.

Hermione's smile froze.

Raising his hand, Harry placed it lightly on her forehead. "Don't let him rub off on you."

"Thanks," Hermione replied through gritted teeth, her smile strained.

Professor McGonagall entered hurriedly, her expression tense. Seeing Hermione and Ron, she exhaled in relief. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, there you are. I thought you were here, but I didn't see you earlier, and I feared..."

Ron quickly apologized, "Sorry, Professor. It's because of Harry."

McGonagall nodded. "I understand. You're worried about your friend."

Turning, she addressed the team, "Mr. Wood, how are you all feeling?"

"Alright," Wood said, shivering. "Professor, why was the game called off? Was it because of the Dementors? Does that mean we'll have a rematch...?"

McGonagall shook her head, a trace of exasperation in her voice. "Mr. Wood, Harry caught the Golden Snitch. The score was 200 to 40. We won."

"Oh, right. Harry..." Wood turned dazedly toward the young wizard who had been unaffected by the Dementors. "That lion Patronus was Harry's."

"Go rest and celebrate," McGonagall instructed firmly. "Today was far too dangerous for all of you. Go and relax properly."

Under McGonagall's watchful escort, they returned to Gryffindor Tower.

The common room buzzed with chatter about the events at the Quidditch pitch.

Once George and Fred downed several mugs of hot chocolate and recovered their spirits, they began shouting and laughing boisterously, shifting the conversation away from the unsettling Dementors and back to their victory over Slytherin.

Wood reluctantly surrendered several bottles of whiskey, and the Gryffindor students drank heartily into the night.

Percy disapproved, muttering that while celebrations were fine, such rowdiness was inappropriate, especially with Sirius Black still on the loose. What if he took the opportunity to raid their den of lions?

Despite his complaints, Percy only had two drinks before planting himself at the common room entrance, standing guard with tense vigilance.

Harry, meanwhile, limited himself to half a bottle before stepping away.

As the others grew increasingly tipsy, Percy began carrying them back to their dormitories one by one. Taking advantage of the momentary chaos, Harry, Hermione, and Ron slipped out of the common room and headed toward the abandoned classroom on the fourth floor.

The night's dueling lesson began as usual.

Before Professor Potter could start, Hermione raised her hand with an urgent question. "Can we learn the Patronus Charm?"

"Of course," Harry replied, moving to the window and gazing into the stormy night. "The Dementors are just outside the school, and they're restless."

The rain and wind were so heavy that he could barely see anything, but Harry didn't need a clear view to understand Dumbledore's predicament. The headmaster's restraint, bound by old agreements, made it impossible for him to drive the Dementors away.

Ron, recalling the icy terror he'd felt at the pitch, paled once more, his heart clenching.

"The Patronus Charm is straightforward," Harry began, patiently repeating the lessons he'd received from Snape and Dumbledore, breaking them down further and adding his own insights.

"It's essentially similar to the Riddikulus charm," he explained. "Emotion is key. Now, close your eyes and recall your happiest memory."

They both closed their eyes, concentrating.

Ron soon broke into a silly grin, while Hermione's cheeks turned a faint shade of pink.

"Now think about what you cherish most, the thing you would protect at all costs," Harry said gently, guiding them.

Ron's brow furrowed deeply, while Hermione's expression briefly flickered with panic.

"Alright. Now, say the incantation: Expecto Patronum," Harry instructed softly.

Both spoke the spell simultaneously.

Ron's focus wavered, and his wand produced a faint wisp of silvery mist. Hermione managed a slightly denser vapor, though still far from a full Patronus.

"Not bad at all," Harry encouraged, clapping for them. "But there's a bit of an issue. Ron, you seemed scared."

Ron paused, nodding heavily. "I... Every time I think of something happy, something I want to protect, I can't help but think of him."

He didn't need to specify. The memory of Voldemort possessing Ginny loomed over him like a shadow, cutting into him with snake-like ferocity.

"Why fear him?" Harry said, his tone soothing. "Tom Riddle, a self-proclaimed heir of Slytherin... who's actually a half-blood."

Ron's jaw dropped. "He's a half-blood?"

Even Hermione was startled. "But... he's such a staunch pure-blood supremacist!"

Harry nodded. "He's a half-blood. The name Riddle isn't a wizarding surname. His mother likely had some twisted notion of love. He loses control whenever this topic comes up."

Ron's expression twisted as the image of Voldemort in his mind began to crumble.

"He's also someone who used his looks to get ahead," Harry added casually. "Both Dumbledore and I confirmed it. He seduced an elderly woman at least fifty or sixty years his senior."

"And even courted a lady nearly eight or nine centuries older."

Ron fell back, disbelief written all over his face. "That's impossible..."

Hermione stammered, rubbing her cheeks. "I've never heard of any witch living for eight or nine centuries. The oldest I know of is Madam LeMay."

Harry corrected her with a shake of his head. "Not Madam LeMay. It was a ghost."

Ron swallowed hard. Somehow, that didn't make it any better.

"And during his school years, one of his favorite hobbies was sneaking into girls' bathrooms," Harry continued breezily.

Ron's jaw clenched as the terrifying image in his mind distorted further.

"He only bullies those weaker than him," Harry said firmly. "Look at the targets of his Dark artifacts: a first-year girl, then Lockhart, who couldn't even match you in a duel."

"And even his name's magic only frightens those weaker than him. It has no effect on stronger wizards."

Looking directly into Ron's eyes, Harry asked, "Would you be afraid of a pervert who hides in girls' bathrooms?"

Ron's mental image of Voldemort cracked further. Shaking his head, he replied hesitantly, "I... don't think I would."

"Good," Harry said. "Then let's try again."

This time, Ron's wand emitted a denser, more substantial silver mist.

"See? He's just a pervert," Ron muttered, his voice steadier. "A pervert who sneaks into girls' bathrooms."

As he spoke, something inside him seemed to snap, the chains of fear breaking at last.

Harry turned to Hermione.

"I just need more conviction," she said resolutely. Closing her eyes, she tried again, her wand releasing an even thicker silvery mist.

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Powerstones?

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