Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Since Umbridge's disappearance, the Ministry of Magic had been much quieter.

Sinkniss didn't pursue the matter.

Other officials didn't care either.

No one asked where she had gone.

Only Mr. Umbridge, the janitor and the most invisible person in the entire Ministry, occasionally peeked into the office where his daughter once worked. His face always held a sighing sorrow. Only he still remembered that the Ministry once had a "Dolores Umbridge" as Senior Undersecretary.

Voldemort remained quiet.

The Death Eaters targeted only former Death Eaters in their revenge.

Every day, the Daily Prophet printed news of another pure-blood wizard or former Death Eater being tortured or killed, but that was the extent of it. Most ordinary witches and wizards only heard of the Death Eaters through the paper.

Late April, at 12 Grimmauld Place—

The Order of the Phoenix gathered again.

Molly entered, surprised by how clean the place looked. "So tidy?"

"I thought after six months it would be a mess again."

The entrance hall was spotless. As they stepped in, two pairs of slippers floated gently to their feet.

Arthur lifted his foot.

An invisible hand removed his shoe.

Molly was even more astonished. "Grimmauld Place has this kind of magic?"

"It always has. It just wasn't working before," Arthur whispered back. "Sirius says Kreacher's been very obedient lately. The house is finally showing its old functions."

Molly nodded as she slipped into the slippers and watched her shoes get neatly stored in a cabinet, which she noticed contained several active cleaning charms.

Perhaps... she could install some of these at home?

They entered the sitting room on the second floor. The other members of the Order were already there—Dumbledore, Harry, Tonks, and even the recently joined Scrimgeour.

"Sorry, I was picking up Molly—came in a bit late," Arthur greeted.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, no. Kreacher is still finishing up the desserts. You're just in time."

Molly stared at the cup floating to her hand in disbelief—Kreacher was not only cleaning, he was now cooking as well, fulfilling his duties as a proper house-elf. This was not the Kreacher she remembered.

As they chatted, plates floated over and settled before them, each filled with an assortment of sweets.

Molly received a mousse cake—one of her favorites.

Harry got a few scones with a light drizzle of strawberry syrup.

Dumbledore's scones, unlike Harry's, were soaked in honey—amber and gleaming.

"With dessert served, let's get to the real business," Dumbledore said, sipping the same honey water he drank in his office.

"I'll summarize: Harry and I believe Voldemort created seven Horcruxes. We've identified five, and destroyed four. Only one remains—the diadem of Ravenclaw."

"I recently went to Albania. You may not know, but Voldemort hid there before returning to Britain. Ravenclaw's diadem was stolen a thousand years ago by Helena and hidden in Albania."

"But I searched the whole country and couldn't find it. If I know something exists, not even Voldemort can hide it from me."

He cut a piece of scone, chewed, and continued, "There's only one possibility left—he never hid the diadem in Albania."

"Ms. Skeeter, any findings?"

Rita quickly set down her coffee and swallowed. "I've been watching Malfoy Manor."

She paused and glanced at Harry. "Goblins don't leave much trace, but I believe Ragnok may have contacted the Dark Lord. I was careful—kept my distance, used no magic. Muggle tools are surprisingly useful."

She pulled out a telescope and a few listening devices.

"These days, more and more people are secretly visiting the Dark Lord—especially as the Death Eaters increase their retaliations."

With a flick of her wand, a list appeared in the air.

Dumbledore waved his hand. The list split into two—one copy floated to Harry.

"Many familiar names," Dumbledore murmured.

Harry glanced at it. "Carrow, Avery, Nott..."

"We should verify our theory," Harry said, sending the list back to Rita. "Ms. Skeeter, we'll need you to do something risky."

"Find out which of these families might be keeping something Voldemort gave them."

Rita flinched. "You want me to break into their homes?"

Harry nodded.

Rita muttered, "But I'm just an ordinary Animagus."

Scrimgeour offered, "The Auror Office can perform routine checks. It'd be safer than—"

"What about Sinkniss?" Harry interrupted.

Scrimgeour shrugged. "Thanks to you, Harry, there's widespread discontent with him. Many now see Sinkniss as no better than Fudge—maybe worse. Even the Department of Magical Law Enforcement rarely follows his orders."

"The director dislikes him."

"He bypasses us often."

"We can bypass him too."

Rita breathed easier. She once loved sneaking into homes. Now? It scared her—Animagi could still be caught.

Dumbledore decided, "Then we go together."

"That way, Rita will have protection."

Rita sighed. "Do I really have to go? Can't Mr. Scrimgeour—"

"Mr. Scrimgeour can't see through their disguises," Harry cut in.

She sighed again.

Dumbledore waved his hand and looked toward the corner of the table—at a scruffy, beady-eyed man with a patchy beard.

Everyone turned.

Molly frowned.

Scrimgeour's gaze sharpened.

It was Mundungus Fletcher—long disdained by the Order, often scolded by Molly as a "thief."

"Mr. Dumbledore," Mundungus said, "Ms. Skeeter's too classy for this job. This isn't about gossip—it's not something you can hear through a window."

He struck a match for his pipe.

Molly extinguished the flame with her wand.

He struck another.

Molly extinguished it again.

"Mrs. Weasley," he grumbled, annoyed.

"There are underage wizards present," she snapped, glancing at Harry.

Mundungus mumbled, "He's a big lad now—he can drink a whole bottle of dragon-blood whiskey. What's a little pipe smoke?"

"Sorry, I'm still under sixteen," Harry said expressionlessly.

In British law, no one under sixteen was allowed such things.

Mundungus sheepishly put the pipe away. "Some of my clients shared rumors—on the surface, all looks normal. But the Death Eaters have turned the underground upside down."

"The goblins are openly buying ores—especially silver-iron. I don't know where they're getting all those Galleons."

Scrimgeour tensed. "They are?"

"How dare they?"

Mundungus shrugged. "The Ministry's too busy keeping up appearances."

A perfect excuse. Scrimgeour frowned, mentally reviewing Sinkniss's recent orders—had any of them quietly enabled such things?

Mundungus took a sip of his drink. "The goblins may be preparing to rebel again."

"And the giants."

"I heard Death Eaters visited giant tribes, though I don't know the outcome. Giants aren't exactly sociable."

He paused.

"And the werewolves—they're preparing too. All those dark magical creatures will likely side with the Dark Lord."

Harry waited for him to finish. "Have you found Ragnok?"

Mundungus hesitated, shook his head. "Goblins are cautious, Harry. You're an O in History of Magic—you should know. They've rebelled plenty. They're experienced."

"No one knows where they are."

Harry didn't reply—just stared.

"Alright, alright," Mundungus sighed. "I'll find Ragnok for you, Harry, but..."

He raised his hand, thumb and fingers forming a money-sign.

A gesture for payment.

"If you succeed," Harry said, "I'll get you a good discount at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

Mundungus's eyes lit up. "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes? George and Fred aren't as easygoing as their dad!"

Arthur shifted awkwardly.

Harry remained calm. "George and Fred are Weasleys. I'm their brother."

Mundungus slapped the table. "Deal!"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Speaking of werewolves and giants—I've heard Voldemort may seek help outside Britain."

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Powerstones?

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