Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Ron was dumbstruck.

Harry had given him an entire pep talk before he'd seen any progress.

But Hermione...

All it took for her was a moment of self-reflection to improve so significantly.

Is this the power of the second-ranked student in our year?

Hermione couldn't suppress her satisfaction, her lips curling into a grin.

"Hermione, how did you do it?" Ron couldn't help but ask, his tone filled with envy.

"It's all about the power of emotion," Hermione replied, waving off his question with rare modesty. "Just like Harry said, infuse it with emotion and conviction."

Ron gripped his wand, his gaze lowering in deep thought.

I did the same thing, didn't I? I even summoned the resolve to say that twisted maniac's name and broke through the fear that bound me.

So why...

...am I still not as good as Hermione?

The group continued their training.

Harry studied Hermione thoughtfully, comparing her progress to the powerful emotions he had sensed from Dumbledore during the Quidditch match. Her expression mirrored Dumbledore's—except for the absence of anger.

Still, Harry refrained from testing his own hypothesis for now. He planned to ask Dumbledore for guidance on Monday.

By 1 a.m., neither Ron nor Hermione had managed to conjure a corporeal Patronus.

Still, their progress was remarkable for third-year students.

Yet the two weren't satisfied. Without Harry's prompting, they eagerly poured over his notes, each beginning to draft an essay about the Patronus Charm. Ron even managed to write a respectable nine inches.

Monday

Monday's schedule was grueling.

Ron and Hermione used Divination as an opportunity to catch up on sleep. Harry, quick on his feet, concocted an excuse about their "dedication to studying astrological divination" the previous night, easily appeasing Professor Trelawney. He even earned Gryffindor an extra point for their effort.

Following the exhausting Transfiguration class, the Gryffindor students trudged toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, their spirits lifted by chatter about their favorite subject.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only thing keeping them going through the dreary morning.

Last week, Professor Lupin had hinted that their next lesson would involve encountering an intriguing magical creature.

The students had spent the entire weekend speculating about what it might be.

But as they entered the classroom, their excitement evaporated.

It was indeed a type of "Dark creature" they hadn't encountered before—

But standing in front of them wasn't Lupin.

Instead, it was Professor Snape, clad in his usual black robes, his greasy hair looking like it hadn't been washed in weeks.

The bell rang, signaling the start of class.

Snape scanned the room, his tone cold and impassive. "Excellent. Not a single one of you is late, not even the reckless, brainless Gryffindors."

The Gryffindor students gritted their teeth in collective annoyance.

"Where's Professor Lupin?" one brave student ventured, raising their hand.

Snape let out a low, humorless chuckle. "He's unwell and needs rest. Do remember this—he's a sickly man, prone to falling ill at least once a month."

"And one more thing..."

"I would have thought, Mr. Thomas, that you knew I do not appreciate interruptions during my lessons."

"Five points from Gryffindor."

Ignoring Thomas's resentful glare, Snape continued, "I've reviewed Lupin's syllabus. What a waste of time."

"Red Caps, Grindylows..."

"Spending class time on creatures a first-year could handle? Laughable."

With a flick of his wand, the textbook in front of him flipped to the final Chapters. "Turn to the last Chapter, all of you."

"Today, we'll cover how to identify and kill a particularly dangerous and foolish Dark creature—werewolves."

The students froze.

Hermione turned her head toward Harry, alarmed.

Harry met her gaze and gave a subtle nod.

Hermione exhaled in relief and settled into her seat to listen.

Snape, despite his scathing remarks and bias, was undeniably a competent teacher. If one ignored the spite laced into his every word, his lesson was nearly as engaging as Lupin's.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Snape stopped mid-sentence, rapping the desk sharply. "For your homework, each of you will write an essay."

"Your topic: how to identify a werewolf in its human form and methods for killing it. Minimum of 20 inches."

"Due next Monday."

He paused, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone.

"And let me remind you, Gryffindors especially—"

"This essay must be your own work. Professors can tell when your papers are plagiarized."

With a dramatic swish of his robes, Snape swept out of the room.

The classroom erupted into groans and complaints.

"Twenty inches!"

"That's nearly half a meter!"

"How does he expect us to write that much?"

Normally, they might plead with their professors for leniency, but with Snape, none of them dared muster the courage.

Ron, too, was distraught. Though he'd recently gained a reputation as one of Gryffindor's more diligent students, he was overwhelmed. "Twenty inches!"

"Snape's obviously taking revenge because he's bitter about not getting the Defense Against the Dark Arts job! His mind's already twisted!"

Harry waved dismissively. "When did you get the impression that his mind wasn't twisted?"

Ron opened his mouth to respond but sighed instead.

"Fair point. It is Snape, after all."

"Forget twenty inches—he'd probably dissect a live werewolf in front of the class if he could," Harry added dryly.

Ron groaned again. "And it's due in a week! Just one week!"

"You don't need to stress so much," Harry said casually.

Ron blinked.

"Next Monday is Lupin's class," Hermione interjected, "and by then, he'll be back."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Absolutely. Harry and I both think so," Hermione replied, pulling Harry into agreement.

Ron's mood brightened, his thoughts racing. "If Lupin's back next week, does that mean I don't have to write this essay?"

"But next month, Snape will sub again," Harry reminded him.

Ron froze.

"Lupin always falls ill around this time every month," Hermione explained confidently.

Ron's steps faltered. Memories of the lesson replayed in his mind.

He turned toward Harry, his expression one of dawning horror.

Before he could speak, Harry and Hermione both nodded.

Ron's jaw dropped, words failing him.

"I've known for a while," Harry said simply. "Hermione figured it out during class."

Hermione added, "Given how blatantly Snape hinted at it, I imagine quite a few students have realized."

"But..." Ron stammered, glancing toward the Hufflepuff table as they entered the Great Hall.

The fifth-year Hufflepuffs were laughing and chatting, seemingly oblivious to the revelation.

"They really know?" Ron asked doubtfully. "He's a werewolf..."

"He's a person first," Hermione interrupted sharply.

"And think about the professors we've had before him," she added.

Quirrell, possessed by Voldemort. Lockhart, a fraud manipulated by a Dark artifact.

"Lupin's a werewolf," Harry said calmly as they sat down. "But he's also safe. When he's at his most dangerous, he knows to stay away."

"And he's a great teacher," Hermione emphasized. "Who knows if the next one will be as good?"

Ron hesitated before nodding. "Probably not."

By Friday, Lupin was back, to the Gryffindors' delight.

Seamus immediately set his half-written essay alight, and others followed suit, tearing their parchment into celebratory confetti.

Ron, however, carefully preserved his work.

"You never know," he murmured.

Meanwhile, Harry's progress with the Patronus Charm remained frustratingly stagnant.

He could feel his Patronus evolving, on the verge of transformation, but the final breakthrough eluded him.

By December, as the first snow fell, he found himself no closer.

That Saturday morning, as they ate breakfast in the Great Hall, a group of exhausted owls arrived, dropping a long, thin package in front of Harry.

The owls hooted wearily, looking expectantly at Harry.

"Looking for Hedwig?" Harry guessed.

The owls bobbed their heads eagerly.

"She's still sleeping in the dormitory," Harry replied.

One owl tentatively pecked his hand.

"I'm out of treats. Go find her," Harry said apologetically.

With a flurry of feathers, the owls departed, leaving behind the mysterious package on the table.

----------

Powerstones?

For 20 advance Chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates