Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Compared to the professor's mysterious ex-lover's gender, the content of the letter captured Harry's attention far more.

Unlike Trelawney's vague prophecies, the words from this unknown person—who was allegedly an old flame of Dumbledore—were written with such certainty that it made Harry uneasy. It was unlike anything he had seen before.

Harry folded the letter carefully and tucked it into his pocket.

At that moment, a faint trace of magic seeped from the letter, as though some ritual had just been completed.

The magical energy coiled around his wrist, mingling with the faint aura of his watch. It didn't bring any sense of danger to Harry.

Whoever this person was...

Their magical prowess was impressive—far beyond that of Snape or Professor Flitwick. Unfortunately, the magical trace dissipated too quickly for Harry to analyze it further, making it impossible to gauge how this person's power compared to Dumbledore's.

But one thing was clear—it left Harry feeling extremely annoyed.

The letter claimed to have no harmful intent, yet the sender had quietly cast a spell that even Harry hadn't detected.

Few wizards could slip past Harry's heightened senses.

Judging by the nature of the spell, it seemed to involve secrecy.

Hermione, sitting nearby, suddenly frowned as though snapping out of a trance.

"I think something's off... I just completely ignored you for a moment."

Ron, oblivious to any strangeness, was grinning from ear to ear as he and his father, along with his two older brothers, tinkered with the lion-painted motorcycle in the living room.

It seemed that the aesthetic of the bike struck a chord with wizards.

The Weasleys couldn't take their hands off it.

Meanwhile, Lupin was conversing with Mrs. Weasley about cooking spells. Though Harry's cooking skills were impressive, it wasn't right for the younger generation to take on the responsibility of feeding their elders. Sirius, carefree as ever, seemed fine with it, but Lupin felt guilty.

No one else noticed the peculiar magical shift—only Hermione did.

"I received a gift," Harry began carefully, his words slow and deliberate as he tested the boundaries of the spell. "It was enchanted so that only I could see it, and it even blocks others' perception."

"It's a prophecy."

"A prophecy about the location of Avalon—and about Dumbledore's fate, along with this seer's own destiny."

"He wants me to help. He specifically asked me to stop Professor Dumbledore from putting on a certain ring around Christmastime. He also warned me to be cautious of the Resurrection Stone."

Hermione furrowed her brows.

"He?"

"Yes, he," Harry confirmed, lowering his gaze to the faint magical trace around his wrist, lost in thought.

So, the spell wasn't meant to prevent him from sharing the letter's contents...

It seemed more like a gentleman's agreement—a reminder not to mention the letter to Dumbledore.

"What's this ring?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head.

"I've never heard of it. Maybe it's... his and Dumbledore's wedding ring?"

"I've never heard of Dumbledore being married," Hermione said, shaking her head. "And he also warned you to beware of the Resurrection Stone."

"Does that thing really exist?"

Harry hesitated before shaking his head again.

He rarely read mythology or wizarding folklore, but he had some knowledge of the Resurrection Stone—one of the three legendary Deathly Hallows, rumored to have the power to bring back the dead.

"Maybe there's a heavy price to pay for using it?" Hermione suggested cautiously. "But since he warned you, it's better to stay on guard."

"The biggest question remains—who is this person?" Harry said, snapping his fingers. He took out the letter and handed it to Hermione.

To his surprise, the letter passed into her hands without any resistance.

After Hermione read it, an identical magical trace appeared on her wrist.

Harry waved his wand, easily dispelling the magic on her wrist.

As expected, it was merely a well-intentioned reminder.

Seers were extremely rare in the wizarding world. Every known seer was famous, yet none of those recorded in books matched the profile of Dumbledore's mysterious ex-lover—not in age, gender, or background.

Harry even discreetly asked Arthur and Molly about Dumbledore's past, but they knew little. Arthur's knowledge of seers was far less extensive than his knowledge of cars and motorcycles.

Unable to figure it out, Harry decided not to rush and instead enjoyed his birthday party.

The celebration lasted until late at night. When it was time for the Weasleys to leave, Arthur pulled Harry aside.

He handed him a notebook.

"I heard from Sirius that you're planning to modify a motorcycle into your personal ride?"

Harry nodded.

"That's a brilliant idea! It's a shame I only found out today. I've compiled some basic notes for you, and I'll send more once I get home and finish organizing my research."

Harry accepted the notebook, glancing at Arthur with appreciation.

"Mr. Weasley, you..."

"Shh." Arthur raised a finger to his lips, lowering his voice. "Between us, I've been studying this stuff on the side for years—legally, of course, under the Ministry's rules. I daresay I know more about magical vehicle modifications than Sirius does."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Harry said sincerely, tucking the notebook into his pocket.

Arthur patted Harry's shoulder.

"If I didn't already have so many kids, and if you didn't already have a godfather..."

He really liked Harry.

More so than Fred and George.

"But that doesn't change the fact that you're my Uncle Arthur," Harry quickly amended with a smile.

Arthur's face lit up like Hedwig's, and with a hint of drunkenness, he stepped into the fireplace with his family and vanished into the Floo network.

Hermione stayed overnight.

She came from a Muggle family and hadn't made prior arrangements to return. After already enduring a ride on the Knight Bus to get there, she was adamant about not taking it back.

The next day, Harry went through his usual morning routine—training, cooking breakfast, and using spells to drag Lupin and Sirius out of bed. He even sent his Patronus to wake Hermione.

After lunch, he escorted her home by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and then took her the rest of the way by motorcycle.

When Mr. Granger saw Harry pull up on a motorcycle wearing a helmet, his face paled.

This wasn't a good first impression.

At least not for a middle-class man like Mr. Granger.

But when Harry removed his helmet, revealing his familiar face, Mr. Granger's expression softened immediately.

Hermione had talked about Harry often—how he was a top student at Hogwarts, came from a wealthy family, and was a genuinely good kid despite having lost his parents.

Seeing him on a motorcycle instead of some bizarre creature like a unicorn or a hippogriff was a relief.

At least it was something normal.

Mr. Granger invited Harry to stay for lunch, which Harry accepted before heading back home.

Harry had a busy summer ahead.

He needed to study potions, research spells, and continue working on his motorcycle.

Arthur's skills, Harry realized, were far more impressive than they appeared. It also explained Fred and George's extraordinary alchemy talents.

Arthur Weasley's expertise in magical engineering was almost at the level of a master.

He specialized in modifying Muggle vehicles, though the wizarding world didn't fully appreciate such a niche field.

Arthur's advice helped Harry figure out how to transform a mechanical motorcycle into something almost alive.

Harry even wondered if the Weasleys secretly owned a sentient motorcycle or other enchanted vehicle. Though the idea of a magical ship or plane seemed unlikely given the family's financial state, Harry didn't entirely rule it out.

Arthur's magical creativity was endless.

Over the next few weeks, Harry spent more time working on his bike than he did brewing potions.

Finally, August 21 arrived.

It was a full moon.

Lupin left early to transform in safety. Though not at Hogwarts, Harry continued to provide him with Wolfsbane Potion. Sirius insisted Lupin could stay with them, but Lupin remained stubborn, leaving Sirius to follow him in his Animagus form.

That night, Harry began a ritual under the full moon.

He placed a fresh mandrake leaf in his mouth, holding it carefully under his tongue. Though it didn't hinder his speech much, it slowed him down as he carefully protected the leaf.

A strange magical energy enveloped him.

It connected him to the lunar cycle, anchoring him to the moon's power.

Lupin looked pale for days after his transformation.

When the Quidditch World Cup finally approached, Sirius presented four tickets—prime seats.

Despite not officially inheriting the Black family fortune, Sirius still lived off an uncle's inheritance, and his status as the last Black heir granted him certain privileges.

Two days before the match, Harry picked up Hermione.

The Weasleys wouldn't miss the event either. Arthur had secured prime seats for his family through his position at the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Games and Sports.

"How are we getting there?" Harry asked, flipping through a map of Britain.

"It's quite a distance."

"Normally, we'd use Portkeys," Sirius explained.

"Godric's Hollow has three allocated Portkey slots."

Harry frowned.

He hated magical transport spells like Portkeys.

"There's also the Knight Bus," Lupin added.

Harry grimaced.

That was even worse.

Sirius grinned mischievously.

"Or... we could take our bikes."

Harry smirked.

"Let's race."

Hermione turned pale.

"Can't we just take the train?"

Harry shook his head.

"It'll be fine—we're wizards."

Hermione sighed deeply.

"Fine."

That night, under the cover of darkness, Harry and Sirius set off—on enchanted motorcycles—racing toward the Scottish Highlands.

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