Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

The moment Professor McGonagall finished her announcement, Hermione sharply noticed a few eager gazes darting toward Harry.

Turning around, she saw a mix of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw girls, all looking determined.

And among them, a Ravenclaw boy also appeared to be contemplating his chances.

Hermione could understand the girls, but a boy? What was he thinking?

McGonagall clapped her hands together. "That's all. I hope you all prepare well and enjoy a pleasant Christmas Eve."

The students began packing up their things, chattering excitedly as they left for their next class.

The center of their discussion, of course, was Harry, the Hogwarts champion. Alongside him, they spoke of Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion, who had been called a "once-in-a-century beauty" by the Daily Prophet.

Even though the Triwizard Tournament had been on hiatus for over a century, this year's contestants had reignited the school's excitement.

Hermione, lost in thought, nearly forgot about her next class until Harry reminded her. She pulled out her Time-Turner and, blushing slightly, disappeared into another classroom.

When she returned, she overheard Ron grumbling to Harry, "You don't even have to think about it. But who am I supposed to ask?"

The red-haired boy was counting on his fingers, trying to figure out who he could ask.

Hermione didn't need to think hard—she already knew she wasn't on his list of candidates. But as Ron went over his options, it hit him.

The girls he interacted with most were... Hedwig, the female house-elves in the kitchen, and the female Blast-Ended Skrewts from Hagrid's class.

The realization left him stunned, frozen in place.

What had he been doing with his life for the past three and a half years?

Meanwhile, his two best friends, Harry and Hermione, had both achieved so much in both academics and extracurriculars.

And what about him? His academic performance was barely passable, he had gained a bit too much weight, and he couldn't think of any real accomplishments to his name.

"I can't ask Hedwig," Ron groaned, throwing his hands up. "She's just an owl!"

"You could invite Ginny," Hermione suggested.

"Ginny?" Ron blinked, as though he'd forgotten he even had a sister. Yes, his younger sister was one of the few girls he frequently talked to—though she was barely on par with the Blast-Ended Skrewts.

"But she's my sister," Ron frowned. "Mum would kill me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What are you even talking about? Just invite her as your dance partner. Ginny's only a third year—she can't attend unless someone invites her."

Ron's eyes lit up. "Hermione, you're a genius!"

"I won't even have to look for a date now, and Ginny will get to join in. Perfect!"

He seemed relieved and quickly returned to his carefree self.

For Harry, it was the most socially taxing day of his Hogwarts life. From the end of Transfiguration to the time he returned to the Great Hall from the greenhouses, at least 20 people—boys and girls alike—had approached him to ask him to be their date to the ball.

Some of them were boys, which gave Harry a sharp reminder of just how inclusive British wizarding society could be.

None of them received a yes.

Hermione employed a simple but effective tactic—letting Ron, now somewhat capable of standing his ground, act as a buffer.

By the time dinner rolled around, Harry's repeated cold rejections and the increasingly chilly aura surrounding both him and Hermione finally discouraged any further interruptions.

Ginny, chatting and laughing with her friends, approached their table.

Between bites of lamb chops, Ron turned to his sister and casually asked, "Hey, Ginny, how about being my date to the Yule Ball? I'll bring you along so you can—"

"Sorry, I've already accepted someone else's invitation," Ginny said politely, cutting him off.

Ron froze, a piece of lamb halfway to his mouth, his jaw hanging open.

He stared at her in shock, setting down his fork for once. His face turned serious. "Someone already asked you?"

It dawned on him: some boy out there had decided to make a move on his little sister.

"Come on, Ron," Ginny said with a playful sigh, rubbing her face. "I might not be as smart as Hermione, but I think I'm at least decent-looking, right? A lot of people have asked me. More than you'd think."

As she spoke, she glanced at Hermione, a faint hint of resignation in her eyes.

Last year, Ginny might have said she was prettier than Hermione—at least by a little.

But after Hermione had fixed her teeth and started taking better care of her hair, those small changes made her undeniably more attractive.

Her last bit of hope had vanished.

The prince on the white horse had been swept away by another princess.

"Who is it?" Ron demanded, his face darkening. "Who's the guy?"

Beside him, Neville flinched slightly, his hand tightening around his fork.

"It's Neville," Ginny answered calmly. "Didn't he tell you?"

Neville?!

Ron wasn't the only one shocked—Seamus, Dean, and even George and Fred, who were craning their necks from farther down the table, all turned to stare at Neville in disbelief.

"Why would you agree to go with him?" one of the older Gryffindors blurted out. "When I asked you, you didn't have a date yet."

George's head whipped around, his eyes narrowing. "Kenneth, are you saying you also tried to ask out my sister?"

"She's only a third year!" Fred growled, pulling a small firework from his pocket.

Kenneth went pale. "No, Fred, my dear friend—you've got it all wrong. I was just—"

His words were cut short as the twins tackled him, pinning him to the table. George transfigured a cup into a set of sturdy shackles, binding Kenneth's hands. Fred slid the firework under him, pointed upward. With a flick of his wand, he lit the fuse.

With a sharp whoosh, the firework launched, the force jolting Kenneth upward as he let out a startled howl.

The firework exploded in mid-air, leaving behind a sparkling image of Kenneth's shocked face.

Meanwhile, Neville sat trembling, sneaking nervous glances at Ron.

"You idiot! She's only a third year!" Ron hissed through clenched teeth.

Neville, in a small voice, replied, "I'm only a fourth year."

They were practically the same age.

Ron froze, realizing he couldn't exactly criticize Neville on that front.

After a moment of internal conflict, he leaned in closer, his tone deadly serious. "Alright, then. When did you start liking Ginny? You know what I mean."

Neville squirmed. "Well, when Professor McGonagall said we'd need dates, I thought of Ginny—"

"No, not that," Ron interrupted, gripping Neville's shoulder tightly. "I mean before that. When did you start liking her? You know what I'm asking."

Ginny sighed, exasperated. "Ron, stop intimidating him."

"You're already defending him, and he's not even your boyfriend yet?" Ron snapped, turning to scold his sister like a proper older brother.

But as soon as the words left his mouth, he froze, his gaze darting between Ginny and Neville. His eyes widened in shock.

George and Fred stopped mid-firework, their focus now fully on their little sister.

Ginny's cheeks flushed, and she shook her head fiercely. "Of course not! What are you even thinking?"

Ron finally relaxed, relieved.

Neville silently pushed his untouched plate of lamb chops toward Ron.

"Mr. Longbottom, we're going to have a little talk tonight," Ron said, his tone grave as he accepted the plate.

George and Fred stepped forward. "We'll join you, Mr. Longbottom," they added in unison.

The way they kept calling him "Mr. Longbottom" made Neville go pale.

After dinner, as the Weasley boys discussed what punishment would be fitting for "Mr. Longbottom"—whether it be tossing him into the Black Lake or hanging him from Gryffindor Tower—Harry and Hermione quietly slipped away to return to the common room.

At the base of the grand staircase, they ran into Fleur.

She stood there with a serene smile, graciously turning down the endless stream of invitations from boys, girls, and even a ghost.

But her gaze wasn't on any of them.

It was fixed on the entrance to the Great Hall.

As soon as she spotted Harry, she strode toward him.

"Good evening, Monsieur Potter," Fleur greeted warmly.

Harry nodded in return.

"Don't you have something to say to me?" Fleur asked, her expression expectant, her eyes sparkling.

Harry looked at her, deep in thought.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

After a moment, Harry said, "The wound near your ear hasn't healed yet. You should visit Madam Pomfrey to avoid scarring."

Fleur's face turned pale with alarm as she raised her hand to cover her right ear.

"The other side," Harry helpfully added.

Fleur quickly switched hands, her expression fraught with concern.

As Harry moved to step around her, Fleur stopped him again.

"Monsieur Potter, that's not what I meant."

Harry tilted his head, puzzled.

"I'm talking about the Yule Ball," Fleur explained with a gentle smile, still holding her ear. "Traditionally, the boy invites the girl—but why can't a girl take the initiative? Would you like to be my date for the ball?"

She deliberately used the word "companion," a more intimate term than "dance partner."

Hermione clenched her fists, her teeth grinding.

"No, I refuse," Harry replied firmly, without hesitation.

"Why?" Fleur asked, tilting her chin up proudly. "Is there a girl at Hogwarts more exceptional than me? Whether in beauty or ability?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Fleur interrupted, pressing on.

"And I heard you don't have a date yet. I sincerely suggest you reconsider."

"You were never an option," Harry said flatly.

"So that means Granger is?" Fleur said, turning her gaze to Hermione, her expression thoughtful.

Before Harry could respond, Hermione stepped forward, her tone less harsh but still resolute. "Miss Delacour, you're being overly aggressive."

"I'm simply helping Mr. Potter make the best choice," Fleur replied with a small smile.

Hermione's fists clenched tighter, her cheeks tinged red.

Fleur's earlier words—"But why can't girls take the initiative?"—echoed in Hermione's mind, growing louder and louder until they filled every corner of her thoughts.

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Powerstones?

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