Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Rita Skeeter stared at Harry in sheer terror, her mind racing. This wasn't the response she had anticipated.

Stiffly, she turned her gaze to Dumbledore, the greatest white wizard of the age, known for his near-complete acquiescence to the Ministry. Yet, at this moment, Dumbledore offered no objection to Harry's cutting remarks—only a helpless, wry smile.

"Harry, you always know how to strike right at this old man's heart," Dumbledore sighed.

Harry remained expressionless. "If you don't like hearing the truth, next time I can try flattering you like Lockhart."

"That would make me feel even worse," Dumbledore said with a small laugh, shaking his head.

Harry raised his wand, pointing it at Rita's face. "Didn't you pose a question in one of your articles about me?"

"Well, here I am, in the flesh, to give you an answer straight from Mr. Potter himself."

Rita flinched, her trembling head nodding uncontrollably.

"I've never considered myself some sort of 'Chosen One,' nor do I plan to emulate Professor Dumbledore. I am simply a revenant. Understand, Ms. Skeeter?"

Rita nodded so vigorously she seemed about to shake loose her glasses.

"I've said before," Harry continued, "that if I ever caught you, I'd cut off your hand and rip out your tongue so you could never spin your lies again." He pulled Godric Gryffindor's sword out of the Sorting Hat as he spoke.

Dumbledore took two steps back, looking as though he were more concerned about blood splattering on his robes than anything else.

Rita's terror deepened.

"But I think we can strike a deal." Harry rested the sword's edge against her throat. "Help me with a few tasks, and I won't report your status as an unregistered Animagus to the Ministry."

"What do you want?" Rita blurted out in panic. "I can write glowing articles about you and Professor Dumbledore for tomorrow's front page!"

"We've outgrown the need for that kind of juvenile flattery." Harry tapped the flat of the blade on her shoulder. "I need you to handle tasks that fit someone of your... unique Animagus form."

A bad feeling crept over Rita.

"Find me any records from 70 to 50 years ago about a wizard named Tom Riddle," Harry said softly.

"Tom Riddle?" Rita blinked, confused. "I've never heard of him."

"Would you like me to explain who he is?" Harry asked, his smile sinister and brimming with danger.

"No," Rita blurted, shaking her head furiously. "I don't think that's something I want to know."

"Good instincts," Harry replied, his smile vanishing. "Second, look into the Crouch family. Confirm if Barty Crouch Jr. is truly dead, and investigate who Mr. Crouch has been in contact with these past few months. Ideally, find out what they discussed."

"The Crouch family?" Rita's confusion deepened. "But isn't it common knowledge that Mr. Crouch died in an accident? I even checked with the Ministry—everyone said the same."

"If you bring me the information I'm asking for, I might tell you the truth," Harry said, withdrawing the sword but keeping it in hand.

Rita nodded rapidly. "Of course! No problem at all."

Harry continued, "Third, compile a list of former Death Eaters who once worked for the Ministry. Once you have it, deliver it to me."

Rita's face turned ghostly pale.

Her mind replayed Harry's earlier words: "I'm just a revenant."

"Relax. I'm not about to paint the Ministry red with blood—Professor Dumbledore wouldn't approve of that," Harry said, shaking his head as though reading her mind. "I just want to uncover the truth."

"So, what do you think? Does this arrangement sound fair?" Harry asked, his tone calm yet unyielding.

Rita took a deep breath and forced a smile onto her face. "Absolutely, Mr. Potter. These are small matters."

She added hastily, "I mean, I often handle tasks like these."

Harry sheathed the sword back into the Sorting Hat. "Well then, good evening, Ms. Skeeter."

With a wave of his wand, the wooden slats binding Rita transformed back into desks. Dumbledore dispersed his magic as well. The two wizards exited the room, leaving Rita sprawled on the floor, gasping for air, her terror still palpable.

A fourth-year boy?

Rita cursed every person at Hogwarts under her breath, wishing she could fling dirt in their faces.

A fourth-year boy?

The pressure Harry exuded was greater than that of any Ministry bureaucrat she'd ever dealt with.

As Harry and Dumbledore climbed the grand staircase, Harry glanced at the older wizard. "Weren't you worried I'd actually cut her hand off?"

"I trust you," Dumbledore said with a soft smile. "And besides, you're still young. You're allowed moments of impulsiveness. As long as you didn't kill her, I could clean up the mess—and you'd learn a valuable lesson."

"You don't like her much either," Harry observed, nodding as though suddenly understanding.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I can't deny that. She tends to fabricate nonsense. Half the wizarding world probably thinks I'm a madman, and that's thanks to her."

They entered the third-floor gargoyle entrance. Dumbledore's tone grew more serious. "You're still suspicious of Crouch?"

"Yes," Harry said. "It's hard to believe he'd go to such lengths to replace Professor Moody just to relive his school days in peace."

As he spoke, Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map.

Dumbledore leaned over to take a look.

Amidst the clusters of names dotting the map, they quickly located "Rita Skeeter" still in the classroom they'd just left. Elsewhere, "Dolores Umbridge" and "Ludo Bagman" were marked speeding away from the castle in a carriage. The kitchens were overcrowded with the names of house-elves, while the dormitories and common rooms were teeming with students.

Near the Forbidden Forest and Black Lake, students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang wandered about. Hagrid was loitering near the Beauxbatons carriage.

But there wasn't a single name on the map that seemed out of place.

"And aside from Bagman, it seems there were two others who wanted me in the Triwizard Tournament," Harry mused, frowning. "If Crouch hadn't been discovered, he might have added my name as well."

"We could make a bold assumption," Harry continued, "that Death Eaters want me in this tournament, too."

Dumbledore's expression grew more somber.

"But why?" Harry asked.

They entered the headmaster's office. Harry placed the Marauder's Map on the desk, swiftly snatching Fawkes into his arms before the phoenix could react.

Fawkes let out a soft squawk but eventually settled comfortably in Harry's embrace.

"Surely it's not because the Death Eaters are diehard alumni who want Hogwarts to win the cup," Harry said dryly, sitting down.

Dumbledore flicked his wand, summoning a glass of milk for Harry.

"Whiskey, please," Harry said, deadpan.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore turned the milk into butterbeer.

Harry sighed, drained the glass in one gulp, and asked, "Professor, do you have any thoughts?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I examined the Goblet of Fire earlier. It's been Confunded at least three times—possibly more. Unfortunately, the magical traces are faint. They seem to have been cast last night."

"I shouldn't have gone to sleep last night," Harry muttered, frustrated.

"You can't blame yourself," Dumbledore said. "No one could've foreseen this."

As they spoke, Dumbledore began working on a new map of Hogwarts, using the enchanted Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance—artifacts created by the founders of Hogwarts.

Their magic brought the castle's layout to life on parchment, a detailed and updated map that would rival the Marauder's Map.

"Why make this map now?" Harry asked, downing another butterbeer.

Dumbledore replied with a smile, "As headmaster, I ought to leave something useful for my successor—something Minerva might appreciate."

Harry smirked. "The students are going to hate you for it."

Dumbledore paused. "You're probably right. I should add some... leniency."

With a few deft wand movements, Dumbledore enchanted the map to exclude certain students' names after curfew—unless they were caught by staff.

Satisfied, he added a security feature: the map would issue a warning if non-staff or non-students appeared on the grounds. At his request, Fawkes let out a loud, clear cry to test it.

"Perfect," Dumbledore said, pleased.

As Harry stood to leave, he asked Fawkes, "Mind sharing a few feathers, tears, or even some blood for a potion I'm working on?"

Fawkes squawked indignantly until Harry offered to supply ten pounds of Hedwig's favorite owl treats. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

Fawkes let out a cheerful trill, and the deal was struck.

"One hand for the goods, one for the payment," the Sorting Hat quipped as a translator.

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Powerstones?

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