Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

The arena fell into complete silence.

Hermione was the first to break it with a loud cheer. Ron quickly followed, lighting several fireworks, which exploded with resounding booms in the sky. The cheering and celebration built up steadily, soon surging like a tidal wave.

Harry, his expression blank, waved his wand. Bottles emerged from the Sorting Hat, and streams of dragon blood flowed into them, siphoned in an instant until every last drop was collected.

He then reached under his breastplate and pulled out the bag containing his motorcycle. Under the watchful gaze of thousands, he stored the dragon's body and severed head inside the bag.

Finally, he made his way to the dragon's nest, where he picked up the golden egg.

"Excellent! We see Mr. Potter has successfully retrieved his golden egg!" Ludo Bagman stammered, his voice lacking its earlier fervor. "What a brave performance! A true Gryffindor!"

That last remark was laden with complicated undertones.

"Now, Mr. Potter, please proceed to the medical tent to receive..." Ludo hesitated mid-sentence, realizing Harry had sustained no injuries at all. In fact, the dragon was the one in need of treatment—if a decapitated dragon could be treated, that is.

"Please rest for a moment, Mr. Potter, while we deliberate and score your performance. Each judge can award a maximum of ten points, with the combined total determining your score."

Harry returned to the tent.

Madam Pomfrey yawned as he entered, pulling out a calming draught. "Care for a sip? You've just fought a dragon. Well, if we can even call that a fight."

"No, thank you," Harry declined.

Pomfrey observed the restless magic emanating from him. "How about a vial of sedative? Your magic seems..."

"No, thank you," Harry repeated, shaking his head. "It's the effect of the Thunderbrew. It'll settle down soon."

Pomfrey sighed and put the potion away. "If only the next two champions could handle themselves as well as you."

Hermione rushed in, followed closely by Ron, who was carrying Crookshanks, along with Hedwig and two other owls.

"Harry, you were amazing!" Ron exclaimed excitedly. "You actually killed that dragon! 'The Dragon Slayer'—now that's a cool title!"

"Even Professor McGonagall was stunned," Hermione added, clenching her fists in excitement. "She kept marveling at your Transfiguration skills and telling the seventh years to learn from you. She said even reaching half your level would guarantee an 'O' in their exams."

"That's setting the bar way too high," Ron muttered, shaking his head. "Turning a boulder into something like that..."

As they chatted, Ludo's amplified voice rang out:

"We've reached a decision. Let's begin scoring, starting with Madame Maxime."

Sitting at the far right of the judges' table, Madame Maxime raised her wand. A silver ribbon shot out, twisting in the air to form the number "9."

"What rubbish!" Hermione's face darkened. "She didn't even give you full marks after that performance?"

Ron, equally indignant, tightened his grip on Crookshanks. The cat swiped at his face in retaliation, making him yelp and let go.

Next was Dolores Umbridge. She raised her wand, and a pink ribbon emerged, forming a large "10."

"Finally, someone sensible," Hermione muttered under her breath.

Dumbledore followed, his wand emitting a gold-and-red ribbon, displaying an unquestionable "10."

Ludo was the fourth to score, and his wand produced the same gold-and-red ribbon: another "10."

Lastly, it was Karkaroff's turn. His expression darkened as he raised his wand. A black ribbon snaked out, twisting until it formed a "4."

Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief. "How dare he? Only four points for a performance like that?"

"Rubbish!" Fred yelled, his face flushed with anger. He leaped onto George's shoulders from the stands. "This is rigged! Absolute bias!"

"How could Harry only get four points?"

Other students echoed Fred's outrage, shouting curses at Karkaroff.

Fred's temper flared even further. He pulled a dungbomb from his pocket, calculating the distance to the judges' table. Realizing he couldn't throw it far enough, he drew his wand and sent the bomb hurtling toward Karkaroff like an arrow.

Before it could hit its mark, Dumbledore intervened. Without drawing his wand or even raising his hand, he simply glanced at the projectile, and it vanished mid-air.

"Silence!" Ludo bellowed, amplifying his voice with his wand. "Quiet down! I assure you, we're committed to fair scoring."

The students, however, were unconvinced.

"Mr. Karkaroff, the audience demands an explanation," Ludo said sharply, his tone laced with irritation.

Karkaroff cast a spell to amplify his voice, speaking languidly. "Mr. Potter's performance was indeed exceptional. However, this competition is meant to test courage. I saw no trace of bravery in his actions—only impressive mastery of magic and Transfiguration. Hence, I awarded four points."

"I believe my assessment is fair. While Potter may be highly skilled, we mustn't lose sight of the competition's true purpose."

His words further enraged the students, especially the Gryffindors.

To claim their house champion lacked courage was akin to accusing a Ravenclaw of being unable to solve riddles or a Hufflepuff of not knowing where the kitchen was.

"Rubbish!"

More dungbombs were hurled at Karkaroff. George even began selling them on the spot.

Professor McGonagall closed her eyes, muttering to herself, "I'm asleep. I see nothing."

Despite the outcry, the scores stood. Karkaroff showed no intention of revising his decision.

Ludo gritted his teeth and spat, "Very well. Since Mr. Karkaroff insists, we must respect his judgment as a judge. Let's congratulate Mr. Potter on earning a total of 43 points in the first round!"

"Though we all know he deserved a better score."

Hermione snatched Crookshanks back, holding him up toward Karkaroff and whispering, "See that man? Stick with Hedwig and your other friends. Make sure to give him some trouble!"

"That despicable man! How could he be so unfair?"

Ron cradled Pigwidgeon, muttering instructions to the small owl.

Meanwhile, the arena was being prepared for the next round. The Welsh Green was escorted into the field, and Ludo announced Fleur's turn to compete.

As Fleur entered the arena, Charlie Weasley stepped into the medical tent, accompanied by a Ministry official.

"Harry, long time no see." Charlie ruffled Ron's hair affectionately before turning to Harry. "You've caused us quite the headache this time."

"It was a dragon," the Ministry official said, balling his fists in frustration. He lowered his voice, almost whining. "Mr. Potter, how could you kill it?"

Harry looked at him, his expression indifferent. "Mr. Bagman never mentioned any rule against killing the dragon in the Triwizard Tournament."

"That was a dragon, for Merlin's sake!" Charlie sighed, pulling up his robes to reveal a burn scar on his abdomen. "Do you see this? It's from that very Short-Snout. Without a dozen wizards, it's almost impossible to subdue a creature like that. We never expected a student to actually take one down."

He paused, adding, "And certainly not so swiftly that we didn't have time to react."

"Well, now you have time to think," Harry replied earnestly.

Charlie rubbed his forehead. "It's a bit late for that."

The Ministry official interjected impatiently, "We're not here for idle chatter. Let's cut to the chase—we're here to ask you to return the dragon's body to us."

"It's my trophy," Harry replied flatly, refusing outright.

"That dragon belongs to the Romanian Dragon Reserve!" the official protested.

"Then you should've clarified that rule before the competition," Harry said, rising to his full height, nearly matching the official. "Springing this on me afterward is unfair. Do you have any idea how much I prepared for this?"

The official blinked, stunned.

Harry continued, "That potion I drank costs 100 Galleons per bottle. The Dragon Oil I applied to my sword required extensive research and over 400 Galleons. A single batch is practically priceless—do you know how rare thousand-year-old Basilisk venom is? And this armor?" He gestured to his serpentine armor. "Made from the skin of that very Basilisk."

He paused thoughtfully before adding, "And let's not forget the other potions I didn't even use."

"In total, I've spent at least 2,000 Galleons preparing for this dragon fight."

Charlie winced visibly.

The Ministry official looked utterly flabbergasted, his lips moving silently as if trying to calculate how long it would take him to earn that kind of money. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"Even if this was an unforeseen incident, it's your oversight," Harry said, patting the official's shoulder. "Take responsibility instead of shifting the blame onto a fourteen-year-old student."

The official opened his mouth but found himself speechless.

Charlie chuckled softly. For him, the loss of the dragon was less concerning—it was just another transaction.

Outside, cheers erupted.

Ludo's voice boomed again:

"Let's congratulate Miss Delacour! After a hard-fought struggle, she's secured her golden egg!"

Soon, Fleur entered the tent, looking far worse for wear. Her elegant dress was scorched to her knees, and her hair was singed. She had a few scratches on her face and immediately demanded Madam Pomfrey treat her facial wounds first.

During this interlude, the Ministry official finally recovered his composure. "You're right; this oversight is on us. But Mr. Potter, that dragon's body should still be turned over to the Ministry—"

"It's my trophy," Harry interrupted coldly.

The official nodded hastily. "Of course, it can be your trophy. The Ministry can even recognize it as such officially."

"Then contact my godfather or Uncle Remus," Harry said. "I'm just a fourteen-year-old wizard. These matters should go through my guardians."

The official turned pale at the mention of Sirius Black—a name that struck fear even in the Ministry.

"Mr. Potter, perhaps we can negotiate..."

Harry remained silent, staring him down with an icy gaze.

The man sighed deeply, shoulders slumping as he exited the tent. Negotiating with Black and Lupin would surely bleed the Ministry dry.

As Charlie clapped Harry on the shoulder in congratulations and left to deal with the dragon's remains, applause thundered once more from outside.

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Powerstones?

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