Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Young Master Malfoy's school life was not going well.

"Ten people?" Ron asked in surprise.

Fred whistled. "I heard Malfoy nearly won. He took down six of them. The rest are probably still in the hospital wing."

Harry recalled his visit to the hospital wing with Neville.

Among the many patients, there had indeed been a few Slytherins.

"That's only because Malfoy is a prefect," George shook his head, disagreeing with his brother's assessment. "If they weren't afraid of angering Snape, Malfoy would've ended up in the hospital wing too."

"He's a prefect?" Ron was even more surprised. "But he doesn't—"

He gestured at his own chest, where his shiny prefect badge gleamed. Malfoy hadn't been wearing one.

"How should I know?" George grumbled, swatting Ron on the head.

"Because it's useless," Harry murmured, watching Malfoy's retreating figure. "Slytherin doesn't acknowledge him as a prefect. No one respects him. If he wore that badge, it'd just humiliate him."

Ron looked down at his own badge, suddenly recalling the night Percy had pulled him aside to give him some advice.

"Why would Malfoy be made a Slytherin prefect?" Ron muttered, watching as Malfoy disappeared into the dark tunnels leading to the dungeons. "I mean, he—"

"Dumbledore always has his reasons," Harry said, turning away.

Ron kept staring at the staircase leading to the dungeons.

Fred tugged him away, guiding him up the grand staircase toward the second floor. Once their view of the dungeons was completely obscured, Ron finally looked forward again.

No one mentioned Malfoy anymore.

No one cared about him.

George and Fred, on the other hand, were enthusiastically discussing their joke shop's profits with Ron. They had learned a lot from Vernon Dursley—marketing tactics that might be outdated in the Muggle world were wildly successful among wizards. They were even considering pursuing an MBA, convinced that Muggle knowledge was incredibly useful.

They wanted Ron to work in their shop after graduation.

But first, he'd need to get top marks—"O"s in Transfiguration, Potions, and Ancient Runes.

Ron scoffed. "That's harder than getting into Gringotts!"

For most wizarding graduates, the top three career goals were:

Working at their country's Ministry of Magic. Getting a job at Gringotts. Staying at Hogwarts to teach.

Becoming a Hogwarts professor required the highest qualifications.

Gringotts was next.

And yet, somehow, Fred and George's joke shop had an application process just as rigorous.

Hearing Ron's complaints, the twins merely put their hands on their hips and declared, "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is a prestigious establishment!"

Their brother was Harry Potter—one of the top students at Hogwarts, practically on the level of a Head Boy.

Their only employee was Remus Lupin—his resume squeaky clean, his most notable experience being his tenure as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

The only thing lacking was the "Weasley Brothers" themselves. They were just average Hogwarts graduates. But their minds—oh, their minds—were priceless.

At least, according to them.

Every brilliant prank idea had come from their heads.

And as the "most talented alchemists currently at Hogwarts"—Dumbledore's own words—they were certain they would become masters of alchemy within the next two or three decades.

Ron refused to work for them.

He had been bullied by these two his entire life. There was no way he'd voluntarily step into their shop after graduation.

He wanted to be like Charlie or Bill—either a dragon tamer or a curse-breaker.

He definitely didn't want to work at the boring Ministry, not even as an Auror.

And he absolutely wouldn't work at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes—even as the store manager.

Ron had big dreams.

But George and Fred weren't listening.

From the first floor to the eighth, they planned out his entire life—eight years post-graduation, all accounted for.

First, he'd work in their shop as an apprentice, learning alchemy. During this time, he'd get free meals and a five-to-six Galleon weekly allowance.

After completing his apprenticeship, he'd become a full-time employee with a fifteen-Galleon weekly salary—because they were family, and money was a mere formality.

Once he got older, he'd be promoted to store manager, earning twenty-five Galleons a week.

"You two are worse than Dad," Hermione remarked. "You have no shame exploiting your own brother."

Ron, fuming, muttered the Fat Lady's password and stormed into the common room.

With his grades, he could easily secure a thirty-Galleon weekly salary after graduation. Meanwhile, Fred and George wanted to enslave him for eight years before even offering twenty-five.

"How is anyone supposed to date at those wages?!"

No—how is anyone supposed to live?!

Just as he was about to continue his rant inside the common room, a loud, heartbreaking sob drowned out everything else, drawing all their attention.

By the fireplace, Lavender was clutching Crookshanks, crying hysterically.

"What happened?" Ron asked, frowning as he walked over.

Fred lowered his voice. "George, you made her cry."

"Impossible!" George shook his head. "It was just an explosion!"

"Then why is she crying? It must be your fault, George," Fred insisted.

Amidst their bickering, Parvati looked up, gently rubbing Lavender's back while explaining softly, "Her pet died again."

"Again?" Ron blinked.

Parvati nodded. "Back in third year, Professor Trelawney gave her a prophecy. Not long after, her pet rabbit was killed by a fox. Then, in fourth year, she got a British Shorthair, but it disappeared yesterday."

"Maybe it just ran off to play somewhere," Ron offered, trying to be reassuring. "Cats do that. They're weird."

"Baus disappears for days sometimes too—"

"It's not the same!" Lavender wailed. "Baus is an owl! Corny was a cat!"

Ron rolled his eyes. Same thing, really.

Crookshanks and Hedwig got along just fine—practically inseparable. Especially now that Neville's thunderous snoring had driven Hedwig to seek refuge in Hermione's room.

Lavender sniffled. "I did a Divination reading! My poor little Corny is dead!"

"Divination told me—he's already gone!"

Hermione scoffed.

She acknowledged that real Divination existed—after all, she had witnessed an actual prophecy before.

But she also knew that Divination required innate talent. It was beyond normal human comprehension.

If Trelawney had made that prediction, Hermione might begrudgingly believe it.

But Lavender?

Please.

Trelawney favored her simply because she was gullible—not because she had talent.

"I did a tea-leaf reading!" Lavender hiccupped. "A venomous snake—spitting poison! My precious Corny must have been captured by Slytherins and tortured! Maybe they even used him for Vanishing Spell practice!"

"Why wouldn't it just mean he was bitten by a snake?" Ron asked blankly.

Crookshanks yowled loudly.

Lavender wailed even louder. "Corny was a strong tomcat! There's no way he'd lose to a snake!"

"Besides, Hagrid's here—he's huge! He gets along with all the magical creatures! There couldn't be any dangerous snakes near the lake or Forbidden Forest!"

Crookshanks yowled again.

Without Neville to translate, Ron could only guess. "You're saying Corny trained with you and could easily handle a snake?"

Crookshanks nodded and meowed again.

"Lavender, Crookshanks says to let him go," Ron translated.

Lavender suddenly froze. Then—she broke down even harder.

"Crookshanks is trying to help you find your cat," Ron had to raise his voice over her sobs. "He has a lot of animal friends—every pet at Hogwarts is basically his ally."

Lavender hiccupped, finally realizing what Ron was saying. She hurriedly let go of Crookshanks. "Please, please, you have to find Corny!"

Crookshanks stretched, shook out his fur, then let out a loud meow before leaping off the couch. He trotted toward the exit, calling for Hedwig and Baus. Moments later, Hedwig swooped down, while Baus let out a pitiful screech as Crookshanks grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him toward the portrait hole.

Lavender continued sniffling, and Ron was shoved next to her, forced to provide awkward comfort.

Most of the Gryffindors didn't pay much attention to the missing cat. Hermione stayed for about half an hour, offering words of support, but soon returned to her seat beside Harry, pulling out a book.

By the time Neville returned, it was already late in the afternoon.

He had changed into a brand-new set of robes, much better fitted than his old ones. In his hand, he held a new wand—thirteen inches, cherry wood, with a unicorn hair core.

Neville loved his new wand.

Spells that had once been impossible for him now flowed effortlessly. Even the Vanishing Spell they had just started learning this year—he had already managed to make a quill disappear completely.

But Hermione was puzzled by the combination.

Unicorn hair was the gentlest of all wand cores. It provided the most stable magic output, and it was associated with purity and loyalty—often favored by healers and those inclined toward light magic. It suited Neville's personality perfectly. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

But cherry wood?

That was an unusual choice, especially in Western wizardry. It was an exceptionally powerful wand wood—one that, regardless of its core, gave its wielder destructive potential.

It was completely at odds with the gentle, healing nature of unicorn hair.

And then there was the length—thirteen inches.

Thirteen was not a lucky number. It symbolized misfortune. Hermione had assumed wands of that length would only appear in woods like elder or yew, both associated with dark magic and death.

Neville, however, saw it as obvious.

"I'm learning magic for the same reason Harry is," he said simply. "For revenge."

That night, he was filled with motivation.

But by the end of their dueling lesson, every ounce of enthusiasm had been crushed out of him.

Exhausted beyond belief, he lay sprawled on the floor like a dead dog, forcing Ron to levitate him back to their dormitory.

As they made their way upstairs, they ran into Crookshanks, Hedwig, and Baus—still searching for Lavender's missing cat.

They had been searching all day.

And they had found nothing.

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Powerstones?

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