Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Draco held two wands in his hands.

The snow blurred the distant road—and his vision.

He slid his own wand back into his belt, then raised his father's. The wand's magic lingered on his palm, as if reluctant to part from him. With a flick, it responded almost as smoothly as his own—adapting to him as best it could.

But the materials were different.

This wand couldn't fully channel his magic.

The snowfall trembled lightly, swirling in layers before silently falling again, merging into the endless white expanse.

Draco turned and walked the opposite direction from his father—

But not toward Hogwarts.

He felt like stopping by the Three Broomsticks for a drink.

Malfoy Manor

The snow lay thick and undisturbed—no one had cleared it.

The house-elves had long been sold off by Narcissa Malfoy to cover the costs of maintaining their public image. If she wanted to keep up appearances, she had no choice but to cut down on household expenses.

Narcissa had never been so humiliated.

Back at the House of Black, she had been the precious darling of the family. After marrying into the Malfoys, Lucius had been an impeccable husband—never letting her want for anything.

But fate had a habit of playing cruel jokes—bringing both unexpected surprises and shocking misfortunes.

She had thought her life had hit rock bottom when her husband was sent to Azkaban.

But...

There was no such thing as rock bottom.

Just when you thought you'd fallen as low as possible, there was always further to go.

Lucius had returned from Azkaban—

And life only grew more miserable.

A horde of Death Eaters had moved into their home, treating Malfoy Manor as their base.

And Lucius had become their punching bag—the most ridiculed, the most bullied of them all.

And Narcissa?

She had fallen just as low.

She had become their servant.

Washing their robes, cooking their meals—even scrubbing the floors, tending the rooms with her own hands.

Narcissa stood on the balcony, gazing at the messy courtyard, sighing softly.

The white mist of her breath hadn't even faded when—

Crack! Crack! Crack!

A series of sharp apparitions rang out.

Dark-robed figures landed one after another.

"Quick! Seal the area!"

Bellatrix raised her wand, launching a streak of inky black magic high above the center of the courtyard.

"Don't let Potter track us here!"

The other Death Eaters immediately followed suit, drawing their wands and casting the same spell toward the sky.

A dark, oppressive barrier spread outward—

Enclosing Malfoy Manor in complete darkness.

Narcissa watched in surprise.

She had never seen the Death Eaters this panicked.

And among the frantic crowd, there was someone new—

A pale-skinned, strikingly handsome man, surrounded and protected as if he were precious cargo.

Narcissa had never seen him before.

Among the Death Eaters, only Snape and her husband could even be considered remotely handsome—

No one else had ever been worth a second glance.

If someone this good-looking had been among them before—

She would have remembered.

A new Death Eater?

What a waste.

And...

Injured, too.

Damn these Death Eaters.

How could they let someone that attractive get so badly hurt?

How irresponsible.

She continued watching silently, saying nothing.

The dark canopy fully enclosed Malfoy Manor, plunging it into pitch-black silence.

A few wizards lit lanterns, hanging them on the nearby branches.

The dim light flickered, casting ghostly shadows across the courtyard.

"Master! Are you alright, Master?"

Bellatrix lowered her wand, hurriedly rushing forward—her brow furrowed, dropping to her knees beside him.

Master?!

Narcissa stiffened.

There was only one person her sister would grovel before.

The Dark Lord.

But...

The Dark Lord wasn't this good-looking.

Was this really the same person?

"Don't look at me with that pathetic concern."

Voldemort flicked his wand.

A sharp gust of wind swept Bellatrix aside, knocking her to the ground—

And in the same motion, he cast the Cruciatus Curse.

"I don't need your pity."

"This was a mere setback."

"Don't treat it like anything more."

Bellatrix convulsed on the ground, gasping for breath, whispering between her ragged cries:

"Master... I was wrong. I shouldn't have..."

"Oh?"

Voldemort's eyes glinted coldly.

He stared at her intently.

No matter how much she screamed, he did not lift the curse.

"Your eyes tell me you don't really mean that."

Bellatrix fought against the pain, trying to kneel once more—trying to prove her loyalty.

"Is this Malfoy Manor?"

Voldemort lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable.

"Has Lucius returned?"

"Not yet," one of the Death Eaters answered cautiously, trembling.

"Not yet?"

Voldemort's brow arched, his tone laced with displeasure.

"I ordered him to handle a task before my resurrection."

"And he still hasn't completed it?"

His wrist flicked.

The Cruciatus Curse surged with even greater power.

Bellatrix's body twisted violently, her face contorted—

Yet there was no trace of suffering in her expression.

Regret—for how she had acted.

Pleasure—her cheeks flushed red, her robes dampened with sweat.

The more vicious the pain, the more exhilarated she became.

"Master... Master..." Bellatrix moaned his name.

Voldemort coughed twice.

A streak of blood dripped from his lips—tinged with a sickly green hue.

He pulled back his wand and turned it on himself.

A spell flared—temporarily halting the flow of his blood.

Basilisk venom was corroding his newly resurrected body.

A lethal poison.

Even for him, he could only delay its effects—

Not cure it.

"I recall having a follower skilled in Potions."

Voldemort extended his hand, allowing the Death Eaters to help him stand.

"Where is he now?"

Bellatrix forced herself upright, her voice trembling as she replied:

"My beloved Master..."

"Your godson does not trust him."

"We have not contacted him."

"Not trusted?"

Voldemort's eyebrow twitched.

"Why?"

"Your godson's orders."

Bellatrix bowed her head, kissing the hem of his robes.

"He said that Severus has been out of contact for too long."

"He is not to be relied upon."

"But Lucius claims that Severus dueled Potter in your name—"

"And lost an arm to him."

The words pricked at Voldemort's emotions.

The same fate as his own.

"Potter had plenty of chances to kill Severus," Voldemort muttered, his tone eerily calm as he walked forward.

"But he didn't."

"Potter is not like Dumbledore—he does not hesitate."

Bellatrix answered:

"Master, your godson believes that Severus was merely using his past grudges with James Potter as an excuse."

"In their third year, he and Harry fought."

"But Severus was no match for him."

"He lost—and lost his arm."

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Powerstones?

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