Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

"Mum!" Ron shouted indignantly. "I didn't take the wrong letter."

Molly froze. That simple statement made her mind go blank for a moment before she finally processed what he meant.

She stilled, her hands pausing mid-motion, then turned to look at her son in disbelief. "You mean... that badge is yours?"

Ron nodded.

"But Harry—" Molly's voice softened as she glanced at the other boy sitting at the table.

She had always assumed this badge would be Harry's.

Now that her own son had received it, an inexplicable feeling of guilt settled in—like he had taken something that rightfully belonged to someone else.

"Aunt Molly, Ron deserves this," Harry said, picking up on the emotions she hadn't voiced. "It's only natural."

Hearing it directly from Harry made her feel a little better—but only a little.

Ron, too, had noticed his mother's unease. He sighed and stated bluntly, "Mum, Harry is too busy. Professor Dumbledore asked him, but he turned it down—so the badge went to me."

The moment those words left his mouth—

Not only Molly, but even Arthur, who had been reading the newspaper, looked over in surprise.

When had their son... changed so much?

Ron was a good kid, but being the youngest boy in the family had been a disadvantage.

He had grown up wearing hand-me-downs.

And he had cared about it—a lot.

Before his third year, he had argued with them more than once about the unfairness of it all. They had understood his frustration but had been powerless to change much. In the past two years, as their financial situation improved, those arguments had faded.

But just because they weren't arguing about it anymore didn't mean the feelings had disappeared.

Arthur and Molly knew—going from hardship to comfort, only to return to hardship, would only make those feelings explode.

The word secondhand had become forbidden in their household.

And even though the prefect badge was new, Ron had just admitted that he had only gotten it because "someone else was too busy to take it."

Which wasn't much different from saying it was secondhand.

And yet... he didn't seem to mind at all.

"Harry doesn't need a prefect title," Ron continued, taking a bite of toast. "His influence in Gryffindor is far greater than any badge could give him."

"After all, he's our Gryffindor—"

Fred, who had been cradling his eternal flame bottle, nodded in agreement. He had just started a dramatic sentence when—

Harry shot him a razor-sharp look.

Fred gulped and immediately swallowed the rest of his words.

He decided not to finish that statement after all.

"So... little Ronnie really is Gryffindor's prefect this year?" Molly took out her wand, gave it a small wave, and summoned Ron's letter from his hands. She read each word carefully, scanning for any mistakes.

"Mum," Ron sighed, dragging out the word. "I am the third-ranked student in our year. Have a little faith in me."

Molly beamed, her face glowing with pride. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's just—Charlie and Bill both became prefects when they were top of their class, so I assumed..."

Ron grumbled, "If it weren't for Harry, I would be the top-ranked boy."

Hermione didn't comment—she merely chuckled softly.

She didn't doubt Ron's intelligence now.

But if she thought back to his study habits in first and second year... well, if Harry hadn't been there to push him, Ron probably wouldn't have such good grades.

Ron bristled. "Hermione! What are you laughing at?!"

Harry let out a small chuckle as well.

Ron's face turned even redder.

Fred and George, ever dramatic, burst into exaggerated laughter.

The infectious mood quickly spread around the table.

Molly, still holding the letter, cupped her face in delight. "This is wonderful! We're all prefects! Ginny, you'd better follow your brothers' example—"

Fred let out a dramatic sigh, one so heavy it could have carried from Grimmauld Place all the way to Hogwarts. "Oh, George, my dear brother, I never expected that this would be the year we finally learned the truth."

"We were never really Weasley children," George clutched his chest, his expression twisted with heartbreak. "Mother—no, Mrs. Weasley—thank you for raising us all these years! Though we are not your own, you have treated us as if we were."

The twins wiped imaginary tears from their eyes.

"If you two behaved half as well as Percy," Molly scolded, "maybe you could have been prefects, too."

"But our dear prefects—Percy, Charlie, and Bill—even if you combined all their salaries, they'd still be making about the same as us," George puffed up his chest, immensely proud.

Molly had no response to that.

Instead, she flicked her wand—

Swoosh! A pair of cleaning rags soared through the air, smacking the twins directly in the face.

"It's breakfast time. Eat." Molly sternly returned Ron's letter.

George and Fred peeled the rags off their faces, muttering cleaning spells at each other.

"Harry, when are you planning to get your school supplies?" Arthur set down his newspaper, looking slightly agitated.

The Daily Prophet had stopped slandering Harry and Dumbledore directly, but had started publishing "fables" on the front page instead.

Today's story? The Honest Woodcutter and Hermes.

More commonly known as The Story of the Golden Axe.

The implication was clear: they were calling Harry and Dumbledore greedy liars.

Disgusting.

Harry glanced at the newspaper, flicked his finger, and sent it fluttering into the distance. "Today. I need to stop by Godric's Hollow first."

"You're going back to the valley?" Arthur blinked, then quickly realized, "To retrieve your grandfather's portrait?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. And I also need to meet with Ragnok to upgrade some equipment."

The dragonhide and dragon bones in his pocket had been sitting there for far too long.

"I'll take Harry!" Sirius immediately volunteered, raising his hand.

"I'll come along, too," Lupin added.

Arthur looked at the three of them, feeling slightly uneasy.

Was it really a good idea to send three reckless Gryffindors off together?

"I'll have Emmeline go with you," Arthur decided. He flicked his wand, summoning a piece of parchment and a quill, and quickly wrote a letter. His owl, Baucis, skillfully secured the note to its leg. After grabbing two owl treats from Hedwig, the bird took off.

"Emmeline?" Harry repeated the name.

"You haven't met her yet," Arthur explained. "She's a trustworthy witch—she was a few years ahead of your parents in school. During the first war against You-Know-Who, she was a member of the Order. We all trust her."

"The Order is being reassembled now, but Dumbledore has only invited a select few to return. Emmeline was one of the first he called upon."

Harry continued eating, expression unreadable.

Arthur thought for a moment, then added, "She was in Hufflepuff."

Harry's expression relaxed slightly. "Uncle Arthur, that sentence was far more convincing than everything you said before."

Hufflepuffs weren't necessarily the best wizards. But they were, almost always, the most reliable.

Maybe, during school, the other houses didn't pay them much attention.

But once people graduated and entered the real world, they quickly became proud of every Hufflepuff they befriended.

In fact...

Some job interviews even included a question about how many Hufflepuff friends the applicant had.

If the answer was none, it was a major red flag.

"I didn't think you'd know that," Arthur chuckled. "Hufflepuffs—"

"Cedric was an excellent wizard," Harry said, thinking of one in particular.

Arthur nodded. "Diggory is outstanding, but his father..."

He hesitated, struggling to find the right words.

"Too Karkaroff," Ron supplied.

Arthur paused, then thought back to Karkaroff's behavior during the Triwizard Tournament. The Durmstrang headmaster had been even more blatant than Ludo Bagman—he had openly and shamelessly favored Krum, going out of his way to suppress any competitors, regardless of their actual skill.

When Arthur considered it that way, the resemblance was uncanny.

"Yes... Diggory is a bit too much like Karkaroff," Arthur admitted, nodding. "He never stops bragging about his son—especially after Harry was recognized as Gryffindor's heir. He kept insisting that his son would surely become Hufflepuff's heir."

"Cedric does have the qualifications and ability," Harry said matter-of-factly.

Arthur pouted slightly, his tone softening. "Well, he hasn't been chosen yet."

They continued chatting idly as they finished breakfast.

Just as they were finishing, the woman Arthur had written to—Emmeline Vance—arrived.

She was a tall, slender woman, likely in her fifties, though she had aged gracefully. Her skin was smooth, without wrinkles or scars, and she wore her hair in a neat ponytail, giving her the look of a fresh-faced graduate. Yet, despite her youthful appearance, her aura was one of a seasoned, experienced witch.

"Harry?" Emmeline greeted warmly, her voice carrying a sense of familiarity. "We finally meet."

"Hello," Harry said, nodding in greeting.

"You really do look like James," she said with a sigh. "But you're far more mature than he was."

"Thank you," Harry replied simply.

"Shall we head out?" Emmeline asked, getting straight to the point.

Harry had no objections.

Sirius gripped Harry's arm, preparing for transport. They had chosen the safest and most efficient method—Apparition.

The world twisted and spun around them—

A moment later, they landed just over a hundred meters from Godric's Hollow.

From there, they walked.

When they reached the gate, Harry suddenly raised his hand, signaling them to stop.

"What is it?" Sirius asked, instantly on alert.

Emmeline and Lupin both drew their wands.

Harry rubbed his temple, his senses sharpening as he scanned the surroundings. In his Witcher's Vision, all traces became clear.

There—footprints at the entrance.

"Someone's been here. The footprints are unfamiliar. From four or five days ago."

"Small footprints. A baby? No... a goblin."

A goblin?

The three adults froze.

Harry continued analyzing.

"There's only one set of goblin footprints. No companions."

"Their magical signature has mostly faded," he added, sniffing the air, then shaking his head. "It's hard to tell if it's someone I know."

He turned toward the house. "The wards haven't been broken. They didn't get inside."

"But they tried. And they left some damage."

----------

Powerstones?

For 20 advance Chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates