Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Harry cast Quen upon himself and reinforced it with Protego.

The dim light of the graveyard was barely illuminated by a sliver of pale moonlight.

He flicked his wand.

Stepping out from behind the tombstone, he stood tall and unshaken.

The Death Eaters stirred. Their grips tightened around their wands, as if waiting for something.

"Yes, that's it, Harry," Voldemort's voice was smooth, persuasive. "Let's talk properly."

"Why not come a little closer?"

"I am quite weak right now. I can't keep speaking so loudly. Step forward."

"Let's have a calm, reasonable conversation."

The Death Eaters watched as the figure hesitated, then took a step forward, walking toward them. His robes swayed slightly, the Sorting Hat bouncing at his waist.

Their eyes burned with anticipation.

Voldemort's voice was full of delight. "Mr. Potter, you are wise to make this choice. I believe we can—"

The closer the figure came, the softer Voldemort's voice grew.

Suddenly.

Several Death Eaters raised their wands in unison.

Nearby tombstones twisted and deformed, and with combined magic, they conjured a massive cage, trapping the approaching figure before he had a chance to react.

Several others raised their wands.

Those skilled in nonverbal magic cast their spells silently.

The others shouted their incantations aloud.

Red and orange flashes shot forward, precisely hitting the figure inside the cage.

With a thud, he collapsed, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Did they succeed? Just like that?

The Death Eaters were elated. One of them hurried forward to drag Potter's body out of the cage.

"Idiots! Fools!" Voldemort screeched, his voice sharp with fury. "That is a Transfiguration construct!"

"Transfiguration!"

"He was in Gryffindor, and you didn't even consider that?"

"A pack of fools!"

The Death Eaters trembled, standing in fearful silence.

"It seems, Tom, you never intended to have a proper conversation with me," Harry's voice rang out coldly from behind another tombstone. "Seventy years old, and still lying to a child?"

Voldemort shrieked, "Damn it! Catch him!"

The Death Eaters raised their wands again.

Spells poured relentlessly toward the tombstone.

A small white figure suddenly darted out from behind it.

The Death Eaters instinctively aimed their wands.

But at the last moment, they hesitated.

Not again. Another decoy.

Potter no longer resisted. There were no more transfigured objects blocking their spells. No counterattacks. Only the relentless barrage of curses reducing his hiding spot to rubble.

Dust and smoke filled the air.

One Death Eater flicked his wand, summoning a gust of wind to clear the area—

Only to reveal emptiness.

Nothing but shattered tombstones and a crater the size of a human head.

No Potter.

Where was he?

Apparition?

Impossible. Anti-Apparition wards had been in place from the start. And Potter was only fifteen—he wasn't old enough to have learned it yet.

One Death Eater turned sharply, tracking the white blur that had escaped earlier.

"Potter is there!" he shouted, and the others spun toward the direction he pointed.

The white figure—a white wolf—opened its mouth, dropping a wand to the ground.

Before it could hit the dirt, a hand shot out and caught it.

The white wolf transformed—into Harry.

No one had expected it.

They had prepared their defenses for a frontal assault.

But their flank was unguarded.

Harry swung his wand.

The tombstones around them trembled, morphing into iron serpents as thick as a human arm. They launched themselves into the air, fangs bared, striking at the Death Eaters.

"Engorgio!"

The second spell was aimed at the serpents themselves.

Midair, they swelled exponentially, growing dozens of times their original size.

Now as thick as three men embracing, they slammed down.

A deafening crash shook the graveyard.

One Death Eater, unable to dodge in time, was crushed instantly—his body reduced to a mangled mess of blood and flesh.

Four were dead from a single Transfiguration spell.

Eight remained, their fear growing.

"Idiots!" Voldemort shrieked, still making no move to intervene. "Use the spell I taught you!"

The remaining Death Eaters gritted their teeth and obeyed.

They raised their wands and began chanting—deep, sinister incantations.

"Aard!"

Harry thrust his palm forward, releasing a shockwave.

A blast of force surged out—

But the Death Eaters didn't budge.

An invisible shield surrounded them. Harry's Aard struck it, creating fractured ripples in the air, distorting their silhouettes.

"Bombarda!"

Harry cast a second spell, launching it at the barrier.

Immediately following, another Aard burst forth.

One after another.

With a crack, the invisible shield shattered.

But in that short delay, the eight Death Eaters had completed their spell.

They screamed in agony, their left sleeves bulging as something crawled beneath the fabric.

From their collars, the black serpents of the Dark Mark slithered out—animated, hissing.

The snakes moved with unnatural precision, slithering up their faces, sliding into their nostrils and ears, burrowing into their skulls.

A sick, twisted transformation.

Their auras flared—brimming with fury and raw power.

One Death Eater raised his wand.

Moments ago, he had struggled to lift heavy objects with magic.

Now—he could effortlessly levitate the massive iron serpent that had crushed his comrades.

Another Death Eater waved his wand.

The four mangled corpses contorted, limbs twisting, flesh writhing—

They stood up.

Reanimated.

Turned into Inferi.

The Death Eaters were stronger than ever, pressing Harry into battle.

Eight transformed Death Eaters. Four undead minions.

The dark magic seemed to synchronize them, making them eerily coordinated.

But the real danger—the one Harry kept his eyes on—

Was Voldemort, who still had not moved.

For the first time in a long while, Harry found himself at a disadvantage.

A fierce exchange of spells followed.

Harry swung his sword, decapitating an Inferius—

Only for the remaining eight to hammer him with spells, again shattering his Quen barrier.

Voldemort chuckled, a sound thick with amusement and arrogance.

"It's no use."

"Tonight, their power is limitless."

"I know your capabilities, Potter. Killing a dragon—impressive. Even in my fourth year, I may not have had such magical prowess."

"But my loyal followers... their strength now is enough to—"

Harry interrupted him.

"Is that so?"

"You've been watching the Triwizard Tournament?"

"And you actually thought I was using my full strength in that children's game?"

Voldemort's laughter stopped abruptly.

Harry raised his wand.

Magic surged.

He cast a Weather Charm.

A gust of wind howled.

Thunderclouds thickened, heavy and low.

Lightning crackled through the sky.

Thunder rumbled.

Large, heavy raindrops began to fall.

With a single thought, he had changed the weather itself.

The Inferi bared their rotting teeth, surging forward. They thrived in damp conditions, moving with renewed vigor.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silver griffin burst forth, tearing into the Inferi.

The eight remaining Death Eaters faltered.

The rain doused the last torches, plunging them into near-total darkness.

Their vision was crippled.

They fired blindly.

Harry pulled out a potion.

He downed it in a single gulp.

His temple veins bulged.

The potion roared through his bloodstream.

"Quen!"

A golden barrier flared to life, crackling with energy and lightning.

Two Stunning Spells struck.

They sparked against the shield—utterly ineffective.

Harry inhaled deeply.

"Time to end this."

Harry inhaled deeply.

The rain made it harder for the Death Eaters to react. Their remaining torches were extinguished, leaving them in near-total darkness.

Harry flicked his wand.

Transfiguration was harder to defend against in the rain.

Just as one of the Death Eaters raised his wand and whispered, "Lumos!", a strip of cloth shot through the air, wrapping tightly around his arm and yanking him forward—straight toward Harry.

The serpentbone sword swung.

With a sickening slice, the Death Eater was cleaved in two at the waist.

He collapsed onto the ground, screaming and writhing.

The dark spell had given him unnatural vitality—but even that couldn't keep him alive after losing half his body.

The rain washed his blood away. His screams faded into silence.

The first one.

Harry spun, his wand flashing.

Transfiguration and combat spells intertwined, weaving a deadly dance.

His movements were swift, precise—his strikes lethal.

He darted through the mud, his feet light as he executed the very same dance steps he had learned for the Yule Ball.

Blades of light arced through the storm.

A second head tumbled to the ground.

The remaining six Death Eaters hesitated.

Four of them turned, trying to retreat toward the massive stone throne behind them.

Two sprinted toward its base—toward a cradle.

One of them raised his wand, beginning to dispel the Anti-Apparition Jinx on the area.

But before he could finish—

Harry lifted his wand.

A surge of magic erupted outward.

Stronger magic.

Stronger than his.

Stronger than theirs.

"Anti-Apparition Lock!"

Power rippled through the air, reinforcing the barrier.

He advanced.

Mud splashed beneath his feet.

A third.

A fourth.

A fifth.

Each stroke of his blade ended a life.

The sixth Death Eater stumbled.

Harry glanced at him.

Recognition flickered.

"Walden Macnair."

A Ministry official.

Macnair gaped at him in terror.

Harry stepped forward.

The sword gleamed in the lightning.

The sixth Death Eater barely had time to scream before his head rolled into a puddle.

Harry exhaled, turning toward the throne.

"Tom, I thought you were lying when you said you were weak," he said as he approached.

"For so long, I even left openings for you—yet you never attacked me."

He let out a breath, chuckling.

"Thank Merlin, after all these years, you've finally told me the truth."

The seventh Death Eater was still alive.

Desperation filled his eyes.

He raised his wand, attempting a final, feeble defense.

Harry's blade silenced him.

Blood splattered across the mud. It sprayed onto Voldemort's body—covering him completely—before being washed away by the downpour.

The eighth Death Eater.

Harry reached out, gripping him by the head.

The baby-like creature in the cradle shrieked in pain, his tiny body writhing.

No curses activated. No protections triggered.

He was just a baby.

Or at least, he looked like one.

Harry stared.

The small, shriveled body.

The twisted, hateful expression.

"We went to the Riddle House. We went to the Gaunt shack," Harry murmured, watching him. "We suspected there might be a child."

"Dumbledore said that child might be you."

"I thought... maybe it was you and Barty Crouch's lovechild."

Harry smirked.

"Turns out, Dumbledore was right."

The baby-Voldemort stared up at him, eyes filled with disbelief.

How could someone say something so cold?

Harry lifted his sword.

The final Death Eater's head hit the ground.

Blood sprayed.

It splattered across Harry's face. Across Voldemort's body.

But the rain washed it all away.

"Tom, where is Crouch?" Harry asked, watching him. He raised his hand.

Voldemort said nothing.

He only glared at him with burning hatred.

"Did your servant abandon you?" Harry continued softly.

"Did he discover the truth?"

"That you used to sneak into the girls' dormitory?"

"That you seduced elderly widows for their fortunes?"

"Yrden."

Purple light flickered.

The air grew thick with dark energy.

"Potter!" Voldemort screamed.

Black mist surged from his tiny form.

It writhed, struggling to remain bound to its flesh—

But it couldn't.

A spirit could not resist Yrden.

Piece by piece, his soul was expelled.

What remained was a pathetic wisp.

A half-formed face, twisted in rage.

No stronger than the weakest of ghosts.

No different from the remnant Harry had seen his first year, clinging to the back of Quirrell's head.

Harry smiled.

"Hello again, Voldemort."

Dumbledore had let him escape once.

But Harry was not Dumbledore.

He flicked his wand.

Magic surged.

The spell solidified Voldemort's soul, trapping it.

Harry didn't know many soul-based spells.

But he did have a Horcrux inside his head.

And Dumbledore had taught him some techniques to restrain a spirit.

He wasn't ready to kill Voldemort.

Not yet.

But—

"No, you won't!" Voldemort shrieked.

He poured every last ounce of magic into his final act.

"Potter! This attempt may have failed, but we will meet again!"

"I will return—stronger than ever!"

His spirit flared.

And then—

With a hollow boom—

It burst.

Dark energy slammed against Harry, trying to overpower him.

It howled, surging forward—

Only to fail.

The Quen barrier held.

Harry stood still, his wand raised, staring at the small, lifeless body that remained.

Voldemort was gone.

His soul had completely vanished.

Harry frowned.

"Meet again?"

He shook his head.

He would have to discuss this with Dumbledore.

He waved his wand.

The Triwizard Cup soared into his grip.

Regardless of whatever Voldemort had been planning, regardless of whatever remained—

Right now, the best course of action was to return to Hogwarts.

To regroup. To plan.

To finish this, properly.

Suddenly—

Footsteps echoed.

Frantic. Rushed.

Accompanied by angry voices.

Harry paused. He lowered the Cup, turning toward the noise.

"Weather Charm—"

"Damn it, I swear, it's that bloody circus again. They did this last time too!"

"This time they went too far—locking down the entire area? Are they insane?"

"How did they learn that spell?"

"I just hope they're still here—"

Two Ministry officials trudged up the path, stepping into the graveyard entrance.

And then—

Lightning flashed.

The world lit up for a single, blinding moment.

And in that moment, they saw everything.

The bodies.

The blood.

The scent of death, thick even through the rain.

And at the center of it all—

A lone wizard, standing tall, sword in one hand, wand in the other.

Behind him—

A dead baby.

The rain poured down, cold and relentless.

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Powerstones?

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