Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Krum was slightly better than Fleur.

His "traps" weren't as predictable—he knew how to conceal magical traces and even set up chained traps. A less experienced person would only spot the first one, and while attempting to disable it, the second, hidden trap would be triggered.

But it was still just theory.

He had read a few books, attempted little practical application, and then simply put them into use.

Harry flicked his wand.

One by one, the traps were dismantled. Magic dissipated, materials flew back and forth—those with value whooshed into the Sorting Hat, while the useless ones were discarded on the ground.

At the maze entrance, the two remaining champions frowned, both looking in the same direction.

"My traps were taken apart," Fleur sighed.

Krum clenched his wand. "Mine too."

Then, he paused. "But this is good news."

Fleur turned to him in surprise.

She had spent more than ten minutes setting those traps, and they were dismantled effortlessly, each one gone within three seconds.

They hadn't even slowed him down.

"Did you calculate how long he's been inside?" Krum asked.

Fleur hesitated, counting on her fingers. "Almost an hour?"

"Exactly an hour." Krum nodded firmly, his sharp eyes gleaming like a hawk spotting a Snitch in the World Cup finals.

"The maze is the size of a standard Quidditch pitch."

"If there were no obstacles, at his pace, it would take him five minutes to walk to the center."

"Even with distractions, if he got lost, the most it should've taken was twenty minutes. And his return trip should be even faster. At the latest, he should've been back half an hour ago."

This was the longest speech he had ever given.

For the sake of clarity—not just for Fleur but also for the audience—he stuck to English. His pronunciation was stiff and broken, but understandable.

"But now, he took twice as long," Krum continued, his eyes shining as if he had found his next strategy in a Quidditch match.

"The deeper parts of the maze must be harder," Fleur murmured, nodding in thought.

Krum clenched his fists. "Maybe he's even injured. Our strategy was correct."

"Whoever takes Potter down—gets the Cup."

Fleur tightened her grip on her wand, silent as she glanced behind Krum.

Krum turned sharply.

Harry had already emerged from the trap-laden path, unscathed. His wet clothes had long since dried.

"Potter," Krum murmured, scanning him up and down.

His robes were spotless, but—he could smell it.

That pungent scent of blood.

And on his shoes and the hem of his robes—dark red stains. A large amount of blood.

And—

It wasn't magical. It wasn't from a magical creature.

It smelled human.

"Yes, it's human blood," Harry said casually, as if reading his mind.

Krum froze.

Fleur was stunned as well.

"I don't read minds," Harry added lightly.

Fleur pursed her lips, her gaze locked onto his slit-pupiled eyes. He hadn't even let them speak before answering exactly what they were thinking—yet he insisted he wasn't reading minds?

A very special pair of eyes.

But—

Why had no one ever mentioned them before?

Krum's reaction mirrored Fleur's.

"It's your face," Harry explained. "You keep a blank expression, but your eyes are too obvious. And your expectations are too hopeful."

"You were hoping I got injured in the maze. That way, you'd have a better chance to take me down and steal the Cup."

Krum and Fleur's eyes flickered.

At the judges' table, Ludo Bagman stomped his foot.

"Why waste time talking?! Just knock them out and leave already!"

"Don't feel guilty," Harry shook his head, twirling the Triwizard Cup in his hand. "The gap between us is large. Having thoughts of taking advantage of that is normal."

Fleur and Krum lowered their heads, ashamed.

"But unfortunately," Harry continued, "it's human blood, but not mine."

"You're facing a completely uninjured me."

"Are we fighting now?"

"Or are you giving up after realizing I'm unharmed?"

Fleur didn't hesitate.

"Stupefy!"

Krum also raised his wand.

Transfiguration twisted deadwood and branches into five withered, skeletal hands that lunged for Harry's limbs.

Harry lazily lifted his wand.

"Finite Incantatem."

The Transfiguration collapsed.

The branches and deadwood crumbled to the ground, Fleur's Stunning Spell vanished into thin air—

Even the hedge walls groaned, creaking under the weight of the spell.

Harry's one counterspell had even affected the reinforced magic on the maze itself.

Krum and Fleur's eyes widened.

The gap—

Was this wide?!

Harry arched an eyebrow and flicked his wand again.

Krum and Fleur flew into the air.

He cast spell after spell on them.

Krum's face flushed, alternating between red and pale.

Fleur's body twisted, her form shifting toward that of a bird.

At the judges' table, Ludo Bagman checked his watch, gritting his teeth.

"One minute left!"

"Just one more minute—Potter, what are you doing?!"

Madame Maxime frowned in disapproval.

But—she understood.

After what had happened, it was best to double-check for safety. Not just for Harry, but for everyone.

Just as Fleur was about to complete her transformation, Harry flicked his wand, halting the spell.

She didn't fully become a bird-woman.

Many in the audience sighed in relief—they knew what Veela were.

But seeing a beautiful young woman mid-transformation into something fierce and predatory?

It was like watching a stunning woman use the restroom right in front of them—utterly ruining the illusion.

"Potter!" Fleur seethed, heart pounding. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"You'll get an explanation from Madame Maxime," Harry said expressionlessly, lowering them back down. "And you too, Krum. Karkaroff will explain to you."

They both stiffened.

Their headmasters?

They already knew?

Harry toyed with the Cup.

The spells he had cast were designed to remove Polyjuice Potion, Metamorphmagus transformations, and even attempts to break the Imperius Curse.

Neither Fleur nor Krum had been affected.

The three stood, facing each other.

"Are you still planning to fight me?"

After a long silence, Harry shook his head.

He couldn't quite piece together the full picture yet—but something wasn't adding up.

Fleur and Krum took deep breaths.

Harry had lifted them into the air, then gently put them back down.

He hadn't thrown them aside.

He had forced them to move.

They clenched their jaws.

And stepped aside.

Harry carried the Cup forward.

The moment he crossed the maze's exit—

A deafening cheer erupted.

Fireworks exploded in the sky.

His name.

Gryffindor's lion.

Hogwarts' crest.

Each burst of light in the sky was another gold Galleon lining the Weasley twins' pockets.

George and Fred grinned ear to ear, carrying a large box of their product and weaving through the stands, selling more fireworks.

Hermione grabbed a handful—without paying.

George and Fred didn't bother asking—Harry would cover it anyway.

"You should try these," Hermione handed some to Petunia. "It's simple, even if you don't know magic."

"Just pull this ring at the bottom, and it flies by itself."

Vernon took one, grumbling.

"This looks like a hand grenade."

He yanked the ring—

And before he could throw it, the firework launched itself, soaring into the air and exploding into an image of Harry's face.

"Tch."

Vernon scowled.

Then—

He grabbed another.

Ludo Bagman, kicked in the shin by Madame Maxime, finally begrudgingly announced:

"Ah-ha! Let us congratulate—Harry Potter, from Hogwarts!"

"He completed the maze in one hour and one minute—just one minute over!"

"Only one minute!"

"He successfully retrieved the Triwizard Cup and is officially the champion!"

His voice cracked at the end.

Just one minute.

If Harry had skipped the chit-chat—

If he hadn't played around—

Bagman wouldn't have lost his money.

Harry Potter, the Triwizard Champion, remained abnormally calm.

Instead of celebrating, he turned to the judges' table.

Dumbledore was missing.

So was Karkaroff.

And the approaching group of professors—Snape was gone too.

"Harry, are you alright?" Professor McGonagall asked, concern etched on her face.

Harry nodded. "I'm fine."

"What happened with the Portkey?" Professor Flitwick frowned. "Where did it take you?"

Harry lowered his voice. "I was sent to Little Hangleton. I met Tom."

"You-Know-Who?" Professor Sprout gasped, covering her mouth in horror.

Harry nodded. "It's... complicated. It'll take too long to explain. Where's Dumbledore?"

"He and Snape left to search for you," McGonagall said sternly. "Shall we go to his office?"

She flicked her wand, conjuring a silver Patronus cat, whispering a few instructions before sending it off in a streak of light.

"I also sent word to the Ministry," Harry added. "Fudge should be on his way."

McGonagall sighed.

Tonight should have been a victory celebration.

Instead, it had turned into a crisis.

Without hesitation, they turned toward the castle.

The audience was still celebrating, oblivious to the tension below.

Even those who noticed Harry leaving assumed it was some kind of post-tournament formality.

Hermione, however, was different.

Eyes full of worry, she handed the Dursleys over to Ron, then hurried after Harry.

Inside Dumbledore's office, when Harry and the others arrived—

Dumbledore was already there.

So was Snape.

And standing beside them, his face full of panic, was Cornelius Fudge.

The Minister of Magic—

Who had arrived in a hurry.

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Powerstones?

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