Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Harry dove into the lake.

The Killer Whale potion made him swim at incredible speed.

The lakebed was far cleaner than the Black Lake—no boots tossed in by students, no dust-covered necklaces, sculptures, or paintings. Not even tangled branches or scattered rocks. Its natural curvature and swaying water plants resembled one of Professor Sprout's carefully arranged botanical displays.

Even sunlight streamed effortlessly down, evenly bathing every corner of the lakebed.

The Sword of the Lake rested in the southwest corner.

Harry found it without difficulty.

Avalon cherished all things within it—except this sword, which it had forgotten.

Beneath the water, the sword was rusted and ancient, its reflection warped by the waves, cloaked in old magical energy.

Harry raised his wand.

He checked for enchantments—no Portkey spell, no Dark Magic, not even a concealment charm.

He flipped the Sorting Hat open, took out a small white mouse, cast a Bubble-Head Charm on it, and used a Levitation Charm to guide it to the sword. It touched the rusted blade and the loosely wrapped hilt—nothing happened.

Safe.

Harry grasped the hilt.

Magic surged. A brilliant beam of light shot from the sword's handle, pointing toward a spot beneath the island at the center of the lake. Harry swam that way, following the roots beneath the central island. The light led to a plain stone slab—at its center, a small opening.

Harry inserted the sword.

Water surged inward, rushing alongside him.

With a deep rumble, the stone slab opened—then quickly closed again behind him.

Sunlight still streamed in clearly. Harry climbed to his feet, dried himself with a flick of his wand, and cautiously looked around.

It was an empty chamber.

A few mannequins stood in the corners. Nothing else.

"One who enters Avalon, treading the line between life and death," a woman's voice spoke softly. "Are you here to follow in King Arthur's footsteps?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I just want the tree of Avalon to bear apples."

"For the golden apples?" the voice asked with a hint of amusement. "I would have thought a swordsman like you would desire the holy sword more."

Harry sniffed, activating his Witcher senses. "There are two people on the island. I want to bring them back to life."

"And besides that... yes, I'm more interested in the Sword of the Lake."

"Them?" the voice turned somber. "So, it's friendship—not ambition—that brings you."

With her words, magic stirred in the room, like when Harry had first stood before the Mirror of Erised in his first year.

"Oh, you're honest. You didn't lie."

"People with your integrity are rare these days."

Harry's eyes fixed on one spot. Abruptly, he cut her off: "Not going to show yourself?"

A pause.

The wall warped, and a woman in a white robe embroidered with spiral patterns stepped out, holding a jar in her arms. She was pale. "You found me?"

"All magic leaves traces," Harry answered.

She looked him over, surprised. "You're a wizard?"

A wizard carrying two swords, clad in leather armor? She'd never seen such a thing.

"What do I need to do to save them? Grow the golden apples, then feed them?" Harry asked.

The woman looked up at the ceiling and shook her head. "Golden apples can grant longevity to the living—but they can't resurrect the dead."

A cold shiver ran through Harry.

"But don't worry. They're not entirely dead," she smiled gently. "They don't belong to this world. Death's domain can't fully claim them. And the girl who sent them here—she's clever, and powerful. She manipulates time and space. She froze them in this moment, permanently, until they can be revived."

Harry's face darkened.

"As for revival—when Avalon's apples bloom, all beings that belong to Avalon will experience renewal, growth, and rebirth."

Harry took a deep breath. "Belong to Avalon?"

"Geralt and Yennefer don't seem to—"

"They do," the woman interrupted.

"The girl made a vow with Avalon. Until they awaken, those two belong to Avalon."

Harry's expression grew heavier.

An Oath. One of the oldest forms of magic—perhaps the oldest.

The Patronus Charm was one form of it—a vow tied to virtue. Break it, and one would be devoured by worms.

The Unbreakable Vow, the Fidelius Charm, even the Animagus transformation—they were all ancient Oaths.

Modern wizards rarely used such spells—not because they were weak, but because the cost was too great. To make an Oath meant to pay a price.

"What did Ciri give up?" Harry asked.

"She can never return to Avalon," the woman said softly.

Harry froze.

"She's incredibly powerful," the woman explained. "Her blood lets her manipulate time and space. She can travel anywhere—even other worlds. But the Oath binds only her actions in this world."

"Avalon must remain untouched by the outside world."

The woman sighed. "She came and went too freely. We needed to protect Avalon."

"What must I do to make the apples bloom?" Harry asked.

The woman raised the jar. "Traveler who came so far to save your friends... are you prepared?"

Harry nodded.

"Deep within Avalon, where it borders the Underworld, there is a tree guarded by a Tindwyl Dragon. It bears golden apples. Bring one back. Its infinite vitality will restore Avalon's growth," she said quietly. "But I must warn you—"

"You may choose to stay. The golden apple will grant you youth and immortality."

"Or you can awaken the Holy Sword and become its scabbard. The sword will make you invincible; the scabbard will keep you from ever being harmed."

"The apples from Avalon's tree are just ordinary apples—maybe tastier than most?"

Harry shook his head without hesitation. "Then I'll just bring back three golden apples."

The woman blinked.

After a pause, she smiled. "If you can, that would be best. But young wizard—things rarely go as perfectly as you imagine."

"Make your choice."

Harry said nothing, just looked at her.

"To open the path to the orchard, Oath magic is required," she explained.

Harry nodded. "Of course. I choose to offer one golden apple to restore Avalon, and to save Geralt and Yennefer."

One.

The woman covered her mouth, chuckling.

Ah, the thoughts of the young—still hoping to walk away with multiple golden apples. But reality... would teach him otherwise.

She raised the jar, and water flowed from it, forming glowing words—Harry's vow—etched letter by letter into his hand.

"Go now," she said with a wave. "The Oath will guide your path."

The letters on Harry's arm glowed with a misty white light, pointing deeper into the chamber.

He took a deep breath and moved forward.

The room grew deeper. The woman and its decorations faded from view, leaving only a winding, dark path.

Harry stepped across several small bridges. At the end was a narrow river, and a small boat without a sail.

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped in. Without a wand flick, the boat lifted and drifted along the river, carrying him onward.

Avalon, beneath the central island.

The woman watched Harry's departing figure with a complicated expression, about to turn away—

BOOM!

The stone slab at the entrance exploded. Water flooded in—along with a handsome young man in its current.

Her face went pale. "You!"

"Vivian, my dear friend, long time no see." Voldemort grinned, flicked his wand, and resealed the stone. "Looks like Potter's already gone in?"

"You despicable wretch!" she growled. "You've invaded Avalon again!"

Voldemort glanced around, tone cheerful. "I've been in Avalon for a while now. Looks like it hasn't recovered since last time?"

"The Green Knights—where are they?"

"After I killed them, they were never replaced?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You forget the Oath, Riddle! You swore never to return."

"You broke your vow! The Oath will punish you!"

"You'll die in frost!"

"Oath?" Voldemort raised his right hand proudly. "Look, Vivian. I've died and come back. Oaths don't work on me."

"And—"

"I've even evaded death itself."

"What Oath could possibly punish me?" 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"Leave, Riddle. Avalon does not welcome you. I won't fall for your lies again," she said firmly.

Her expression grew grave.

Voldemort sneered. "I already got the truth from you, Vivian. Maybe you can fool Potter—but me?"

"No Green Knights, no fairies. Avalon has no defenders left."

"And you, my dear Vivian—you're just a memory. What power do you still have?"

"You're not even worth lying to." He raised his wand. "Now let me read your memories—don't suffer needlessly, alright?"

Her expression twisted. She raised her jar. "Never!"

Just as Voldemort said—what remained of her was not the fairy herself, but a remnant of magic, tied more to Avalon's Oath than to her own being.

She flared with fury.

Five minutes later

The jar lay shattered on the floor. Vivian writhed in pain on the ground. Voldemort withdrew the Cruciatus Curse and shook his head. "I told you, don't suffer."

His power wasn't fully recovered yet—

But reading residual memories, those skills he had honed again over the past months.

She was just a memory. No true fairy status. No stronger than an ordinary witch.

Voldemort wasn't Dumbledore's or Harry's equal. Only theirs.

"Even if the Green Knights and fairies revived now, they wouldn't stand a chance."

"Let's see what you and Harry discussed."

Silver light surged from his wand, illuminating his face—greedy, warped.

"Geralt, Yennefer?" Voldemort murmured excitedly. "So Potter knows them after all."

"Ciri?"

"A time-space manipulator?"

"Never heard of her. Let's see—foreigners to this world?"

"Oh?"

He raised a brow, astonished at what he'd learned.

So that's the source of Potter's unique, powerful magic—

Those vertical pupils, unlike anything in any magical tome.

This wait... hadn't been in vain.

He whispered darkly, "Potter... I know your little secret now."

Meanwhile, Harry, aboard the boat, floated through the long river, through fog and swamp, finally reaching a smaller island—tinier than Avalon itself.

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Powerstones?

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