Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Fleur's predicament only added to her mystique.

Even Hagrid couldn't hold back his curiosity, flipping through books and occasionally consulting Fleur about her supposed "love blessing." He was even considering a Christmas visit to Newt Scamander—the legendary Magizoologist.

As Christmas approached, Viktor Krum found a dance partner—a senior Slytherin girl.

Only Fleur remained without one, struggling to find a suitable match. She was so close to giving up that she even considered pairing up with Hagrid.

—

Thursday, December 22nd.

The moment Harry woke up, the magical presence wrapped around his wrist stirred, itching with urgency, reminding him that the date was near.

Every half hour, the sensation returned, restless and insistent.

He ignored it, following his usual routine—training, classes, and later, serving detention with Snape. Only when night fell did he don the Sorting Hat and set off for Dumbledore's office.

On the Marauder's Map, Dumbledore's footsteps were erratic, moving about restlessly.

Harry spoke the password, pushed the door open, and entered.

"Harry? It's not Monday, and it's quite late," Dumbledore said, surprised. "If you're worried about dancing for the ball, you should ask Professor McGonagall for lessons instead."

The moment Harry stepped inside, the magic on his wrist dissipated.

"Hmm?" Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes locked onto Harry's wrist, eagle-like in their intensity.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, expression calm.

Dumbledore hesitated, shook his head, and examined Harry's wrist again, as if to confirm something.

"...Must have been my imagination. I thought I sensed something."

Harry nodded and casually took a seat. "I came to talk to you about something."

"What is it?" Dumbledore asked, settling down across from him. With a wave of his wand, a glass of milk appeared in front of Harry.

Harry picked up the glass, took a sip, and said, "Recently, I had Rita Skeeter gather some information. I think she may have found the location of a Horcrux."

Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted slightly, his voice tinged with skepticism.

"Rita Skeeter?"

Harry nodded.

"How did you get her to cooperate?"

Dumbledore looked genuinely astonished. "She's not exactly a beacon of righteousness."

"I just told her that Tom Riddle used to sneak into the girls' bathroom when he was in school," Harry replied impassively. "I thought it was just a minor detail she'd find interesting, but she seemed absolutely terrified."

Dumbledore opened his mouth, then sighed deeply. "Poor Skeeter."

"...So, what did she find?"

"Tom Riddle's mother was from the Gaunt family," Harry explained.

"I suspect there might be a clue in the old Gaunt shack in Little Hangleton."

He paused. "I also asked her to look into the Gaunt family's mysterious demise. I strongly suspect it's connected to Riddle."

Dumbledore nodded. "You and I had the same thought. I've been meaning to investigate, but today's been particularly busy—so I planned to go later. And now here you are."

Harry's gaze darkened.

He thought back to that cryptic letter:

"Go to Albus on Thursday night and tell him you're going with him."

The prediction had been eerily precise.

Could Divination really be this accurate?

"I'm going with you," Harry said firmly.

If the first part of the prophecy had been correct, then the rest needed to be taken just as seriously.

Dumbledore hesitated. "You have classes tomorrow. And if Tom left protections—"

Harry interrupted, "Do you think I'd slow you down?"

Dumbledore blinked, then shook his head. "Of course not. But we may not return tonight. It could take a while, and I wouldn't want you to miss the Yule Ball—that's an important night for you and Miss Granger."

Harry stared at him. "Then why not wait a few days?"

"It's only a short delay," he added.

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "You're not usually one to 'invite trouble' so eagerly."

Harry's expression remained neutral. He lifted his hand and brushed back his hair.

"I wouldn't call this 'inviting trouble,'" he said flatly.

"I've been feeling a faint burning in my scar lately—not strong, but persistent. Occlumency helps keep it at bay, but the problem hasn't been eliminated. That still concerns me."

"Do you have a solution for the Horcrux issue?"

Dumbledore sighed. He didn't respond, but his silence spoke volumes.

Horcruxes were an immensely advanced form of Dark Magic—even for him.

And the fragment inside Harry had fused with his soul for over a decade.

For now, Occlumency was the only safeguard he could offer.

"If I had realized this fourteen years ago," Dumbledore murmured, "perhaps it could have been resolved."

Harry shook his head. "Dwelling on the past won't help us. We need to focus on solutions."

"If there is a Horcrux at the Gaunt shack, this could be a valuable opportunity to study it."

Dumbledore considered this for a moment, then slowly nodded. "Very well. After the ball, then—December 27th. You should at least have a day to enjoy your date with Miss Granger."

Harry hesitated. "Professor, could you do me a favor?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I'm just an old man, Harry. What kind of help could I possibly offer?"

Harry's eyes gleamed. "Tell me about your... old flame."

"Maybe I could learn a thing or two from your experience?"

Dumbledore's smile froze.

His usual lighthearted demeanor dimmed, and after a long pause, he said quietly, "Perhaps... someday. But not now. I'm not ready yet."

Harry finished his milk. "Was he a Seer? Was he better than Professor Trelawney?"

Dumbledore didn't notice Harry's choice of pronouns. Instead, he nodded, his expression wistful.

"He was extraordinary.

Sybill Trelawney has the ability to channel prophecies, but only under specific conditions—when fate chooses to speak through her."

"But he..."

"He was different. It was as if fate itself spoke to him directly."

Harry's eyes flickered.

"It really is him."

Dumbledore tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"Professor," Harry said, standing up. "Your youth was far more eventful than I imagined."

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Oh, it was quite eventful, indeed."

"Then I'll see you on the 27th?"

Dumbledore waved a hand. "Harry, you must leave this old man some mysteries to cherish."

Harry said nothing.

At that moment, Fawkes fluttered over and landed on his head.

The Sorting Hat translated, "Fawkes wants to know when you'll be making another deal. He's nearly out of his favorite food."

"That was ten pounds of it," Harry deadpanned.

Fawkes tilted his head, letting out a guilty chirp.

"It was too delicious. I couldn't help myself."

Harry sighed and plucked the phoenix off his head, setting him back into his perch.

Then he turned to Dumbledore, his voice cool.

"Professor, you really shouldn't be so indulgent—especially not with your own phoenix. Ten pounds. That was ten pounds of premium ingredients."

"And it's only been a month."

Back in October, they had made a trade before the first task. Harry had been planning to use the remaining materials to develop new potions with Snape after Christmas.

Clearly, that plan was now useless.

Dumbledore mumbled to himself, while Fawkes cooed pitifully.

"After Christmas, you should at least let Aunt Petunia rest," Harry muttered, scratching the bird's head.

"Food doesn't appear out of thin air, you know."

Fawkes sighed dramatically.

—

December 25th.

Christmas arrived in a heavy snowfall, blanketing Hogwarts in white.

By nightfall, the long-awaited Yule Ball was about to begin.

Dressed in a deep red tailcoat with gold trim, Harry fastened a stag-shaped brooch onto his chest.

The Gryffindor common room was bustling with excitement—tonight was a night to remember.

And when Hermione finally descended the stairs, looking breathtaking in her gown of shimmering lilac—

Even George and Fred, ever the pranksters, were momentarily stunned into silence.

For a moment, no one said a word.

Then, George blurted, "Blimey, Hermione."

Fred pinched his own cheek.

"Damn," he whispered. "If I didn't know better, I'd think we had a new Gryffindor princess tonight."

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Powerstones?

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