Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

"Mr. Crouch is already dead," Ron said in a strangely sorrowful tone. "Percy always looked up to him."

"He saw Mr. Crouch as a role model," he added, shaking his head.

Hermione leaned closer to Harry, squinting as she examined the Marauder's Map. She lacked Harry's sharp vision, so she had to carefully check. "Harry? Do you think Crouch isn't actually dead?"

"Just confirming," Harry said as he put the map away. "The Ministry isn't as thorough as they'd like us to believe."

"But I haven't even finished looking," Hermione protested, grabbing Harry's arm.

Sighing, Harry retrieved the map and handed it to her.

By sunrise, news about Professor Moody's incident had already spread across the school, thanks to the gossiping Gryffindors.

The so-called "curse of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor" seemed to have struck again.

And this time, it came swiftly—Moody had barely begun his term and already faced accusations, confrontations with Potter, and a Ministry investigation that very night.

When Moody reappeared in class to teach third years, the rumors were dispelled.

Moody explained it all as a misunderstanding, a simple difference in teaching philosophies and a brief discussion with old colleagues at the Ministry.

Despite the explanations, Moody significantly altered his teaching style. He swapped lengthy black magic lectures for practical Auror training. The lessons were undeniably useful but left the students in agony.

"Not everyone is Potter!"

The students grumbled. They had no plans to wield swords in combat, so why were they being pushed to train their bodies?

For most, the incident seemed to pass, but Harry remained cautious. He frequently checked the Marauder's Map, ensuring no suspicious names appeared before relaxing his guard.

Interestingly, The Daily Prophet did not report on the event.

Mr. Crouch's death—and rumors of his collusion with Death Eaters—left no traceable evidence, and the Ministry swept the matter aside.

Early Saturday, Harry got up, grabbed the Sorting Hat, and went for his usual jog. After two laps around the castle, he stopped by the Black Lake to catch his breath.

"You've been training like this all along?" the Sorting Hat asked, perched on a rock beside Harry. It was the first time the hat had been brought along on Harry's runs, and it seemed astonished.

"Mm." Harry opened his arms, facing the sunrise. "How's the view?"

"It's been ages since I last saw a morning," the Sorting Hat mused, twisting its pointed tip. "Put me on—I want to feel the moment."

Harry obliged, placing the hat on his head.

The hat took a deep, exaggerated breath despite not needing to breathe. "Ah, what a glorious feeling! So, Harry, what's on your mind? Why bring me out here?"

Harry removed the hat and set it on a nearby stone. "I wanted to ask for your advice."

"Advice?" the hat echoed, surprised. "Shouldn't you be asking Dumbledore for that?"

Before it could finish, Harry pulled a small pouch from his pocket. With a wave of his wand, a large motorcycle shot out of the pouch and landed steadily on the ground.

"You've got an Undetectable Extension Charm!" the Sorting Hat exclaimed. "Quick, transfer everything inside me—other than Gryffindor's sword—into your pouch. I don't want to hold onto all your junk anymore."

Harry ignored the complaint, sitting beside the motorcycle.

"I've been considering," he began, "giving this thing a mind of its own."

The hat tilted, its tip moving like a quizzical eyebrow. "And what exactly is this thing?"

"A motorcycle," Harry explained. "It's a Muggle vehicle—faster than a horse and easier to modify. I've already added flight, underwater travel, and dust-repelling charms."

The Sorting Hat swayed its tip thoughtfully. "A magical vehicle. But why give it a mind?"

Harry smirked. "Because the best steeds are those you share a bond with. Besides, wouldn't a talking motorcycle be cool?"

The hat hesitated, then said, "You shouldn't be asking me. I'm just a hat—I don't know magic."

Harry gave it a playful jab. "Actually, I was thinking of copying your consciousness and embedding it in the motorcycle."

"My consciousness?" the hat asked, shocked.

Harry nodded. "You're an interesting companion, but I'll graduate in three years. I thought it'd be nice to keep a piece of you with me."

The Sorting Hat paused, then said excitedly, "I wouldn't mind at all! But if my consciousness is copied, would I still be me?"

"We'll see. Maybe there's a spell for linking minds. I'll check the Restricted Section—or just ask Gryffindor himself."

At the mention of Gryffindor, the hat's tone brightened. "You mean I'd still be able to show off to Godric while adventuring with you?"

Harry gave a small smile, saying nothing.

"That's brilliant!" the hat declared, spinning in place. "Godric loves bragging about all the places he's been—Saint Mungo's, the Ministry, even Godric's Hollow! But now, I'll be able to outshine him! A talking motorcycle—ha! Imagine the look on his face!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You're saying Gryffindor argues with his own hat?"

"It's called camaraderie," the Sorting Hat sniffed. "Just like you teasing Dumbledore or your godfather—it's all love."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You don't have to use such sappy words."

That evening, Harry discussed his idea with Gryffindor's portrait in the Gryffindor common room.

Godric was enthusiastic, offering several suggestions and methods for copying the hat's consciousness into the motorcycle. While the process required rare materials, Harry wasn't concerned. It was just a matter of spending a few Galleons.

By the second week of term, Harry's schedule became even busier.

His detention sessions with the professors continued. Though Dumbledore had already taught him the two advanced spells he'd requested, Harry still visited him on Monday nights, where Dumbledore seemed prepared with new lesson plans.

With McGonagall, Harry tread carefully. Advanced Transfiguration lessons demanded his full attention, and he couldn't risk her noticing the Mandrake leaf tucked in his mouth.

Sprout, of course, had announced in the first week that both Harry and Neville would serve detention with her for the entire year.

Hermione had sulked for days, upset that she hadn't been included.

It was now well-known that year-long detentions weren't punishments but privileges reserved for top-performing students.

As the lesson ended, the students gathered their belongings, preparing to head to Charms.

"Mr. Potter, stay behind," Snape called out from the podium.

The class froze.

They remembered the rumors from last year: Snape had once called Harry to stay after class, and by year's end, the two had gotten into a full-blown fight.

One by one, the students hurriedly fled the room.

"Professor?" Harry asked cautiously.

Snape approached him, his wand drawn but held low. "I'm not going to curse you. I'm going to check your physical condition."

Harry nodded.

Snape cast a diagnostic spell. As magic flowed through Harry, Snape's scowl softened—barely. "You're lucky. That potion didn't harm you, despite its toxicity."

Hermione stiffened.

"That potion," Snape continued, "is practically poison. Only a lunatic would brew such a thing. It grants immense power but kills most within minutes. Only someone as... unique as Potter could survive it."

Hermione glanced at the Sorting Hat, dumbfounded.

It's that dangerous?

"I only cut off your hand, not your eyes," Harry deadpanned. "You should see it had no adverse effects on me. No need to scare Hermione with exaggerated warnings."

Hermione bristled.

Her Potions grade was an O! How dare he imply she lacked knowledge!

"Don't talk back to your professor, Potter," Snape sneered. "Since you're free from Quidditch this year, you'll serve detention with me. Twice a week."

He paused. "Did you read my letter over the summer?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Thank you for the birthday gift."

"That wasn't a gift!" Snape snapped. "It was an attempt to prevent you from creating more toxic waste! Potions are an art, Potter—not a dumping ground for rare ingredients!"

Harry silently produced a new vial of Thunder Potion, darker and more potent than before.

Snape's face darkened. "Potter, you're insane!"

"Relax, Professor," Harry said. "I've accounted for the toxicity."

"You reckless fool!" Snape snarled, snatching the potion. "Consider this confiscated!"

"Don't forget to prepare detention content," Harry said casually as he left.

Snape scowled but didn't reply.

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Powerstones?

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