Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Ariana.

A name he had never heard before.

Was she Dumbledore's old Seer lover? It sounded more like a woman's name. Besides, that man had sent him a letter just recently, very much alive, lively enough to curse him with a spell and set him up without even blinking.

Who was she?

It was important.

But right now, it didn't matter at all.

He had to stop Dumbledore.

"Professor, snap out of it!" Harry grabbed his hand. "Maybe it's real, but we need to verify—"

Dumbledore didn't seem to hear him. His ears were filled only with the voice of "Ariana." His strength surged unnaturally, stubborn as an ox. Step by step, he pushed against Harry's resistance, moving closer and closer to that ring.

His fingers nearly touched it.

Harry frowned.

This old man wasn't listening to a word.

He swung his hand.

Aard!

A shockwave of magic burst forth—weak, but forceful. He wasn't trying to fight Dumbledore, just push him back. The cabinet rattled violently.

But Dumbledore didn't budge.

He was the greatest white wizard of the century.

That title wasn't just flattery; he had earned it through sheer power. Even though he had leashed himself like a dog and handed over the reins, magic was still ingrained into every fiber of his being—

As natural as breathing.

He didn't even raise his hand. His body's magic reacted instinctively, forming a soft barrier that effortlessly dissipated Aard's force.

But it did nothing more.

The magic blocked the spell but made no move to retaliate, just like its owner.

Axii!

Harry wasn't done yet. He cast another sign.

It was useless.

Dumbledore was also a master of Occlumency. Even though his mind was currently a mess, his magic naturally dispelled Axii's influence.

Magic wasn't working.

"Sorry, Professor."

Harry took a deep breath, stepped in close—

And punched Dumbledore hard in the stomach.

He didn't hold back.

The hundred-year-old wizard was knocked straight to the ground.

But he still wasn't awake.

His eyes remained locked on "Ariana." Even as he retched and stumbled, he crawled forward, still trying to reach for the ring.

A second punch.

Again to the stomach.

Dumbledore gagged, bile spilling from his lips. His vision cleared a little, but even while retching, he kept whispering her name.

A third punch.

Again.

The pain exceeded what any normal body could endure.

Finally, Dumbledore snapped out of it.

Just as Harry was about to deliver a fourth punch, the old man weakly raised his hands.

"Alright, Harry," he gasped. "That's enough. I'm awake."

Harry stared at him, voice steady.

"Looks like this method works well. If you ever get confused again, I'll treat you the same way."

Dumbledore coughed, spitting out the last traces of bile.

"Thanks," he groaned. "But I think I'd rather take one of Severus's poisons."

Harry waved his wand.

His robes stretched, wrapping around the cabinet doors and sealing them shut.

With another flick, Dumbledore floated onto the bed.

Harry pulled two potion bottles from the Sorting Hat.

"Drink these. A healing potion, and this—Skele-Gro. I broke three of your ribs."

Dumbledore accepted them, obediently downing the potions while muttering complaints.

"Harry, you hit far too hard."

Harry didn't respond.

He walked to the window.

Outside, the Hat was leaping around excitedly, enjoying the freedom of movement.

Only after Dumbledore finished drinking did Harry speak again.

"That was a pathetic enchantment."

He was talking about the magic on the ring.

It really was pathetic.

Barely even Dark Magic—just something a top-tier seventh-year student could pull off.

Give Hermione a month of practice, and she could probably do the same.

"We're different, Harry."

Dumbledore fell silent.

He only spoke again when the wind and snow lashed against the windowpanes, rattling them violently.

"Harry, you still have so many people—so many things—to cherish."

He hesitated.

Then, quietly—so quietly it was almost a whisper—he added,

"This may sound cruel, but James and Lily... they were gone when you were very young."

"You have family now. Sirius, Lupin... even Severus, in his own way. And you have love. Hermione is a remarkable young woman."

Another pause.

Dumbledore's blue eyes lost focus, staring blankly at the ceiling.

A poor little jumping spider had built a thick, cocoon-like web there.

"And I have nothing."

His voice cracked.

The great white wizard?

The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot?

The Headmaster of Hogwarts?

He didn't care about those titles.

If he could, he would trade them all—he would have traded them all—for Ariana's life.

He wouldn't even hesitate to add more to the bargain.

His magic.

His wealth.

Even his own life.

From the moment she died, he had no right to be alive.

"Hogwarts, then?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore shook his head.

"Minerva runs the school beautifully."

Harry sighed.

"What a shame. I really wanted you at my wedding."

Dumbledore froze.

"You were one of the people I most wanted to invite," Harry continued, turning back to the window.

"But the ones I most want there... probably won't be able to come."

Dumbledore watched him.

He assumed Harry meant James and Lily.

But in truth, Harry was thinking of Kaer Morhen.

Most people—Dumbledore included—saw Harry as someone with a tragic fate.

Harry used to think so, too.

But now?

Now, he realized he was the luckiest person in the world.

Geralt, like a father.

Vesemir, like a grandfather.

Eskel, like a mother.

And Lambert—who always insisted on being called "Uncle," even though, to outsiders, Harry seemed more like the older brother.

Kaer Morhen was his first home.

If he could, he would have invited them to his wedding.

Witchers rarely married.

But even if they never did, at least they could witness it once—see what a wedding was like.

Even if they were separated by worlds, Ciri had left clues.

Maybe—just maybe—he still had a chance to see them again.

And even now, he was still happy.

Sirius, reckless and affectionate, trying his best to love him like a father.

Remus, always there for him.

And, of course, Hermione—the brave girl who had chosen to stand beside him.

Witchers were supposed to be solitary creatures.

But when Harry looked down at his hands—

He realized he was holding a handful of gems.

He had so much worth cherishing.

"Sirius might do well as a father, but Snape would be furious," Harry continued, his voice lighter. "I wouldn't want them brawling at my wedding. Only you could keep them in check."

Dumbledore chuckled softly.

"And here I thought you wouldn't want to invite a senile old man like me."

"You being an idiot doesn't change the fact that you're one of the people I respect most," Harry said, conjuring a chair and sitting by the bed.

"And besides... while you may feel empty, there are still people who treasure you."

"You?"

Dumbledore chuckled dryly.

Harry shook his head.

"Your old Seer lover."

Dumbledore blinked.

Harry repeated, "Your old Seer lover."

"Him?"

Dumbledore hesitated.

"Maybe," he admitted. "But you've never even met him—"

"He sent me a letter for my birthday," Harry said calmly.

"A precise prophecy.

"He told me—whatever happened—I must stop you from putting on that ring."

The magic on his wrist faded.

Harry took that as permission to reveal this much.

Dumbledore didn't react right away.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, utterly silent.

"Not going to tell me?"

Harry asked, genuinely curious.

Dumbledore still said nothing.

"It's about Ariana, isn't it?"

Harry rubbed his knee, thinking aloud.

"She seems to be the person you cherished most."

Dumbledore flinched.

He stared at Harry in shock.

"How do you know that name?"

"You said it yourself."

Harry gestured.

"When I was punching you, you kept calling for her."

Dumbledore's brows furrowed.

He sighed.

"Ariana was my sister," he admitted.

"She was an Obscurial."

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Powerstones?

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