Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Unlike Avalon's pure and azure island, this land—bordering the underworld, as the Lady described—was lifeless. It resembled the barren wastes beyond the Veil, with only a few scattered, withered plants standing awkwardly in the soil.

The island held two massive auras.

One, vibrant and out of place here. The other—chaotic, shifting, its footsteps heavy and thunderous. As Harry stepped onto the land, he could feel the earth tremble beneath him.

Donning his Invisibility Cloak, he crept forward.

An apple tree appeared—modest in size, with lush foliage, its canopy round and full despite no pruning.

Only one fruit hung from its branches—a single golden apple, glowing and irresistible.

The creature with the heavy steps stood guard over it.

It was a magical beast Harry had never seen before.

Larger than any dragon, wings folded tight, its tail long and whip-like—almost as big as a Basilisk.

But the key feature was its heads.

One hundred of them.

Some coiled around the tree. Some nodded in sleep. Others floated like balloons, bobbing in the air.

An upside-down octopus.

Harry dug through his memory, recalling a fragment from deep within.

Ladon—the hundred-headed dragon from myth that guarded the golden apples.

A dragon, then.

Harry pulled out dragon oil and carefully coated both his Basilisk Fang sword and Gryffindor's Sword. Then he uncorked a vial of Thunder potion and drank it down.

He raised his wand.

Magic surged. The weather shifted—gales howled, clouds churned, and thunder rolled. With a crash, rain poured down.

Ladon raised one head, flew upward, and peered into the clouds.

It was puzzled.

Why would it rain here—on a border between the underworld and the realm of myth?

Harry approached cautiously. Once near enough, he cast Quen for protection, then flicked his wand.

BOOM!

The dead trees twisted and transformed into long iron chains, wrapping around Ladon's body and yanking it down with tremendous force.

But mythical beasts were not so easily subdued.

Several heads screamed at once, each in a unique tone.

Sharp. Piercing. Not just noise—an attack.

Harry's heartbeat raced, eardrums pulsing, eyes bloodshot from the pressure.

He struck again with his wand.

The Levitation Charm lifted him. He leapt toward Ladon, threw off his cloak, and swung the Basilisk Fang sword down upon its heads.

The blade was sharp, and the dragon oil worked.

One clean swing—

Several massive heads fell, blood gushing in violent red.

Ladon howled in pain.

Its remaining necks weaved and lunged to bite and crush him.

It was monstrously strong. In speed, power, and reflex, Harry had never fought a more troublesome beast.

Its vitality was terrifying.

Only when the last head fell did the aura of life finally vanish, its massive body collapsing with a thunderous crash.

Harry panted, exhausted.

Glancing at the Basilisk Fang sword, he saw the dragon oil had long since worn off—only about two-thirds of the way through the fight. The rest of the heads had been taken by the sword's raw sharpness.

The beast had been cunning.

It shattered Quen shields two or three times, forced him to renew his magical armor again and again.

But it was dead.

Harry sheathed his sword, took out a potion, applied Dittany to his wounds, and approached the tree—not to dissect the body, but to claim the fruit.

He stood on tiptoe, reached up, and picked the golden apple.

It was perfect in every way.

Plump. Round. Fragrant.

It tempted Harry like nothing else.

Without hesitation, he stowed it away and searched the tree for another.

Nothing.

Just the one.

He paused, remembering the Lady's words.

She hadn't expected, nor believed he could get more than one—not because he lacked the skill, but because there was only ever one.

Harry frowned.

He drew a dagger and dug at the earth beneath the tree, slicing at the roots.

Snap! The blade broke.

Even the bark hadn't been scratched.

He switched to the Basilisk Fang dagger—crack—it broke as well.

Unyielding. Indestructible.

He pointed his wand, cast a Severing Charm—milky sap flowed from the cut, sweet-smelling, but the root only took a small nick.

After several more Severing Charms, Harry managed to cut off a small sliver.

As he reached to retrieve it, the fragment shriveled, dried, and withered before his eyes.

The golden apple tree's life didn't come from the roots?

Harry plucked a leaf.

It too shriveled instantly.

So did bark. And twigs.

Only the golden apple retained vitality once separated from the tree.

Was it the magical nature of the plant?

Or was it the proximity to the underworld—was death so near that anything removed from the tree withered instantly?

Harry sighed, collected some of the tree sap into a vial, pocketed the dried remains, and turned to Ladon's body.

Its blood, scales, and hide could be valuable magical materials.

He stepped closer.

Then froze.

An ominous aura hung over Ladon's corpse—connected to death. The severed heads dissolved into dust, slowly absorbing into the island.

Wounds pulsed. Muscles writhed. Blood vessels regrew.

Blood flowed again. The heart beat anew.

Resurrection?

Harry threw on his cloak and hid behind the golden apple tree, watching.

Ten minutes passed.

Ladon revived. Its hundred heads wavered—but it showed no signs of memory. No rage. It simply stomped around the island, resuming its patrol.

It really revived.

Harry was stunned.

But soon his attention shifted—the scent in the air changed.

He looked up. On the tree, a second apple bloomed.

Green at first. But within moments, it began glowing gold.

Another golden apple.

Harry waited silently.

Of course, nothing was ever that simple.

Ladon floated over, wrapped two heads around the apple, guarding it tightly.

Though its memory was gone, its instincts remained.

It couldn't see through the Invisibility Cloak, but it knew someone could hide—and steal the fruit. So it guarded it carefully.

Harry sighed quietly.

To get another apple... he'd have to kill Ladon again.

He raised his wand.

This time was harder. Though the Thunder potion still lingered, Ladon was stronger after revival.

Like a phoenix—reborn stronger with each death.

Harry glanced at the apple—it wasn't yet ripe.

He kept fighting, slicing Ladon down.

If it kept coming back... was this a source of infinite magical material?

But no.

Just like the tree, Ladon's flesh, blood, and scales decayed rapidly once severed—melting into foul, black muck that seeped into the island.

No harvest possible.

Harry took the second apple, hid once more, and waited for a third.

As a new blossom bloomed, Ladon's corpse stirred again.

Another revival.

And this time—it was far stronger than before.

The battle was brutal. The Thunder potion had worn off.

This time, Harry was hurt badly—a long, deep gash torn down his arm.

But he got the third apple.

Harry looked at it longingly—then turned and left without hesitation.

Not because he feared the next battle.

He could take another Thunder potion and kill Ladon two or three more times—harvest two or three more golden apples.

But Harry remembered his goal: save Geralt and Yennefer.

That goal was already achieved.

Anything more would be greed.

And outside, in Avalon—

One more opponent waited.

Voldemort. A dangerous enemy.

Witcher potions couldn't be consumed in excess in a short time.

Harry stepped into the boat.

It sank slightly under the weight, then rose, drifting against the current.

Soon, it returned him to the original dock.

Harry walked back through the long winding path, past the stone walls, and into the chamber.

"Tom Riddle," he said, stopping cold at the sight of the man before him—and the pale, trembling woman at his feet. "And the Lady. I'm honestly surprised."

"Since when were you so powerful... that even Avalon's fairy kneels before you?"

Voldemort shook his head. "Mr. Potter, I dislike that name. Could you call me something else?"

"Perhaps Dark Lord? Or Master?"

"Of course, Voldemort is acceptable."

"Mysterious Stranger is the worst of all."

"Fine, Tom. No problem, Tom," Harry said, face blank.

Voldemort's eyes gleamed, then he burst into laughter. "Potter, you're not as clever as you think. You've been played like a fool."

"Before our little game begins, how about I share a little secret?"

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Powerstones?

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