Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

On June 7th, the sky roared with thunder, and the rain poured heavily.

Professor McGonagall wasn't feeling her best. She transformed into a cat, curling up comfortably on a warm cushion near the fireplace in her office. Animagi often did this—shifting into their animal forms at the most relaxed moments.

After finishing their last Herbology class, trudging through the final muddy lesson of the year, Harry, Hermione, and Ron vanished into the heavy, torrential rain.

They made their way toward the Whomping Willow.

This tunnel had remained untouched for a long time.

The Whomping Willow was an extremely dangerous magical plant.

Even Professor Sprout only ever used its saplings in her lessons.

Entering the passage, Harry flicked his wand—

A small vial hidden in the corner flew into his palm.

Its contents had changed over time—what was once a mix of saliva and potion ingredients had transformed, under the influence of time and magic, into a single mouthful of thick, crimson liquid.

Its scent was dangerous.

Chaotic and wild, much like the thunderstorm outside.

Harry stepped toward the tunnel entrance.

"You two wait here," he instructed. "If anything goes wrong, get Professor McGonagall."

Hermione nodded, gripping her wand, prepared to cast Expecto Patronum at any moment.

Ron also had his wand out, standing tense and serious.

Becoming an Animagus required an open space.

No one could predict what animal they would transform into.

There were cases where a wizard had attempted the transformation inside a room, only to turn into a blue whale—without the ability to change back immediately.

The reinforced walls had prevented escape.

The result? Crushed to death.

That thick, weapon-like Animagus guidebook was filled with countless mistakes from the past.

Every seemingly redundant or ridiculous rule had been written in blood—each one representing at least one, if not several, lost lives.

Stepping into the rain.

Harry raised his wand, pressing it against his chest.

He chanted the incantation:

"Amato, Animo, Animado, Animagus!"

A sharp pain pierced through his heart.

He swallowed the potion.

That single small mouthful felt like an entire Cambrian waterfall, flooding into his body with terrifying force.

Even with his mutated Witcher physiology, his body creaked under the strain.

His bones felt like they were shattering, his organs compressing.

It was as if the potion was crushing him down, forcing his 5'¾" frame into the size of a fist-sized tin can.

Then—

A second heartbeat echoed within his chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Strong. Powerful.

A creature surfaced in his mind.

That's it?

Harry was surprised.

He had expected his Animagus form to match his Patronus—like most wizards.

But this?

This was... good.

The transformation continued.

The pain intensified.

Tearing through his body and mind.

For the first time, Harry understood why Animagi were so rare.

It wasn't just because of the Ministry's regulations.

It wasn't just because of the spell's difficulty.

After all, even Rita Skeeter had mastered it—how difficult could it really be?

The real barrier was pain.

He could feel every inch of his body changing—

From the tiniest pores and capillaries, to muscles and bones.

This wasn't like disassembling and reassembling a puzzle.

No.

This was like taking a hammer, smashing every single piece of that puzzle to dust, then forcing the broken fragments into a mold to be reshaped into something new.

Compared to Witcher mutations, however—

This was nothing.

Pain stretches time.

Ten minutes later—

His wand slipped from his grasp.

The transformation was complete.

At the tunnel entrance, Hermione and Ron watched in silence.

A bolt of lightning split the sky, momentarily illuminating the clearing before the Whomping Willow.

Under the silver light of the storm—

A wolf stood there.

A white wolf.

"It looks like Lupin's Patronus," Ron murmured.

"Is that a dog or a wolf?"

"So, you didn't read the book I gave you?" Hermione countered.

Ron blinked, then stubbornly defended himself.

"I only looked at lions and cats! Who would've thought Harry would turn into this? I figured it'd be a lion!"

"It's a wolf," Hermione stated with certainty.

"Look at the ears—they're sharp. Wolf ears are pointed. Dog ears are usually more rounded."

She pointed to its paws.

"And there's no dewclaw. That's the biggest difference between wolves and dogs."

"Dewclaw?" Ron struggled with the unfamiliar term.

"What's that?"

"Wolves don't have rear-facing dewclaws. Dogs do," Hermione explained.

"Read your book. Or better yet, when Sirius visits, check his paws."

Ron nodded, giving up on the details.

"So Harry's Animagus is a white wolf?"

Hermione nodded.

Harry—now a wolf—dug at a puddle, trying to see his reflection.

But the relentless rain distorted the surface.

Frustrated, he grabbed his wand and trotted back inside.

Ron watched enviously, itching to reach out and touch.

Hermione, however, locked eyes with those amber, slit-pupiled eyes.

Witcher remnants.

Even Animagus transformation hadn't changed them.

She immediately understood.

Taking Harry's wand, she cast a spell—

A full-length mirror appeared.

Harry stood in front of it.

A strong, white wolf.

His eyes—still slit-pupiled.

Wolves don't have slit pupils.

Just like other Animagi, some personal traits carried over into the transformation.

A faint lightning-shaped patch of gray fur marked his forehead.

A small, shallow scar traced his left cheek—left by Snape's attack last year.

He turned, inspecting himself.

Pure white fur, unblemished.

Hermione couldn't resist.

She wanted to touch.

Who wouldn't?

A fluffy, majestic wolf—who wouldn't want to pet it?

Harry shook off the rain.

Compared to the pain and rituals, the result felt... disappointing.

Animagi were just ordinary animals.

No special abilities.

He was just a wolf.

A normal wolf.

The weaker form felt unnatural to him.

Still, he focused on remembering his human shape, not rushing to transform back.

Slowly—gradually—he adjusted to the magic inside.

The first time was always clumsy.

Suddenly, a hand touched his fur.

Like petting a cat.

Harry tensed.

His fur bristled.

He whipped his head around.

Hermione's face was slightly flushed.

She withdrew her hand.

"I—uh—couldn't resist," she admitted.

Harry sighed.

Before she could do it again, he shifted back into human form.

"Harry, congratulations!" Hermione smiled.

Ron clapped.

"Mate, your Animagus is insanely cool. But—wolf or dog?"

"Wolf," Harry confirmed.

He glanced at the mirror.

Three dim shadows were reflected—

And for a brief moment, in that ordinary mirror—

It felt like the Mirror of Erised.

Because he saw one more figure.

"I never expected to be a white wolf," Harry murmured.

But even without expression, the joy in his voice was unmistakable.

Hermione tilted her head, observing him closely.

There was something off about the way Harry said white wolf.

Her instincts told her—

He wasn't just talking about his Animagus form.

He was thinking of someone.

A man.

...

Well.

That wasn't her business.

Harry smiled.

"A very handsome white wolf, don't you think?"

If he ever had the chance to meet Geralt again, at least he could finally explain—no, prove—that he had always been a true Wolf School Witcher.

Even if people mistook him for a Viper because of his Parseltongue.

Even if everyone who had seen him fight assumed he was from the Griffin School.

Even if he was constantly reminded that he was wearing the wrong badge.

The truth was—

Harry Potter had always been a Wolf School Witcher.

And now, he had the perfect proof.

A Wolf School Witcher's Animagus form could only be a wolf.

Wasn't that obvious?

As they walked back toward the castle, Harry spoke thoughtfully:

"What do you two think of the name White Wolf Harry?"

"Sounds cool!" Ron's eyes sparkled.

Hermione, however, shook her head.

She lowered her voice.

"Harry... You're an illegal Animagus."

Harry nodded, sighing with regret.

"Too bad."

As they entered the castle, Harry suddenly turned to them. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

"If you ever want to, you could give it a try too."

Ron shook his head immediately.

"Too much work. Besides, there's no guarantee I'd turn into something as cool as you."

To Ron, the only point of Animagus transformation was looking cool.

A white wolf was great.

McGonagall's cat was nice.

Sirius's big black dog was acceptable.

But what if he turned into a beetle like Rita Skeeter?

That would be humiliating.

Totally useless.

And he had no plans to work at The Daily Prophet after graduation.

Hermione nodded as well.

To her, Animagus transformation was symbolic, nothing more.

She'd rather spend time reading or attending Harry's dueling classes.

—

"Animagus magic isn't just for show," Harry shook his head.

"Otherwise, only people who mastered Animagus would be called Masters of Transfiguration."

"It helps you truly understand the essence of Transfiguration."

During that painful transformation—

He had felt every part of his body change.

Every muscle, blood vessel, hair follicle, and bone.

That kind of understanding was more valuable than any textbook or training exercise.

Harry flicked his wand.

A piece of pudding flew from Ron's pocket—

And transfigured mid-air into a small rabbit.

It landed lightly in Harry's palm.

It had bright eyes and warm breath, rubbing its little paws against its face.

Alive.

"MY PUDDING!" Ron yelped.

Hermione, however, was stunned.

"Your... Transfiguration?"

Harry's Transfiguration had always been strong among the students.

Stronger than even some seventh years.

But he wasn't McGonagall-level—not yet.

Now?

His spellcasting had become smooth, effortless—

And the end result was nearly flawless.

In battles, Harry had rarely used Transfiguration beyond basic shape manipulation.

For example, he often changed objects' forms, but never their composition.

Wood remained wood.

Stone remained stone.

Steel remained steel.

It wasn't that he couldn't do it—

But in battle, it took too much concentration.

Now?

Now, he had no trouble doing it instantly.

That was the true effect of Animagus transformation.

The value wasn't in the animal form itself—

It was in what you learned from the process.

"Animagus changes you," Harry explained.

He waved his wand—

The rabbit turned back into pudding.

Ron carefully snatched it back.

It was cherry-raspberry flavor—rare.

"Maybe I'll try it over the summer?" Hermione mused.

"Can I come to Godric's Hollow to practice?"

Harry smiled.

"Of course."

Ron stared at her.

That was a good excuse.

A really good excuse.

He hesitated—then sighed.

He wouldn't be their third wheel.

"Ron, you should come too," Hermione said, expressionless.

"Me?" Ron pointed at himself.

"Wouldn't that be... weird? I could just wait until next term—"

"Sirius and Remus will both be there," Harry added, equally expressionless.

"We'll all learn together. It's more efficient."

Ron reluctantly nodded.

"Alright, but I'm going home that night."

"We're not short on Floo Powder anymore."

Molly had never approved of Fred and George's business.

She believed that Weasley children should have proper careers—in the Ministry or at Hogwarts.

But the truth was—

The Weasley family's life had improved tremendously thanks to Fred and George.

New robes every year.

Molly's vanity table now had beauty potions she once could only dream of affording.

Arthur's hair was thicker than ever.

They chatted all the way back to the common room.

On the way, Hermione made a request—

She wanted to pet the White Wolf at least once.

She had never gotten the chance to pet a wolf before.

Harry agreed.

Ron also asked—

Harry refused.

Being touched by another guy felt... weird.

The thunderstorm Harry had long awaited lasted two full days.

The Black Lake swelled, growing larger.

When the storm finally cleared, it left behind a brilliant, sunny sky.

The younger students—panicked over final exams—

Had only one other thing on their minds:

The final task of the Triwizard Tournament.

The hottest topic in Hogwarts:

Betting.

Would "Mr. Potter win the Cup in under ten minutes"?

Would "Mr. Potter take twenty minutes to claim victory"?

Or—

Would the risk-takers bet on the higher odds—

That "Delacour or Krum would win instead"?

Ludo Bagman's gambling business had spread to every corner of Hogwarts.

Even first-years were placing bets.

At this point, he had officially become McGonagall's most hated person.

No competition.

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Powerstones?

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