Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Harry said nothing, simply watching him.

Voldemort raised his wand. "Geralt and Yennefer—such lovely names. They're important to you, aren't they?"

A red gleam flickered in his eyes, his voice seductive.

"Are you really going to place your hope for their resurrection in her hands?"

He waved his wand, pointing to the fallen woman. "Someone as weak as this? You trust her?" 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

"I used to be as naïve as you," he said smoothly. "I believed in fairies, heroes, the Tuatha Dé Danann..."

"They are ancient, yes. Perhaps even legendary. But also naïve. Foolish. From Vivian's mouth, I learned—they were just stronger wizards."

"Wizards, and mortals. And mortals die."

Voldemort paused, looked meaningfully at Harry. "Potter, that fairy before you—she's long dead. What's left in Avalon is only a memory, a moving portrait."

"Avalon—"

"It's not the promised land you imagine."

He swept his hand. "It's no different from Hogwarts. A place where wizards once gathered. Ghosts, magical creatures, wizards seeking to live apart from Mudbloods."

"Can Hogwarts save the two people you care about?"

"Then think again about Avalon, which is just like it."

"But me, Potter—I'm different. You and I have clashed many times. You've even killed me—twice. And yet I still live."

"I, the great Voldemort, have transcended death. I stand above it. By the standards of the old wizards, I am death. So why not trust me?"

"I can resurrect them."

"We could be friends."

"Dumbledore only seeks to restrain you."

"I'm not like him. You're more talented than I am. You could walk the same path."

His tone was sincere, almost earnest.

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "So, you're seducing another old woman again?"

Voldemort's expression froze.

"You have a thing for them, don't you?" Harry chuckled. "Another one? How many does that make?"

"Potter! I came to you with sincerity—" Voldemort growled through clenched teeth.

Harry flicked his wand. "You always try this."

"You try to tempt me with empty offers. Back when you were stupid—and now, even with a slightly better brain, you're still the same."

The mannequins in the corners clattered to life, drawing swords and charging at Voldemort.

Harry drew the Basilisk Fang sword and dashed forward.

"Potter, you're asking for pain." Voldemort's face went cold—but his body responded first. He raised his wand.

BOOM!

The stone door exploded open. He turned into black smoke and flew through the gap.

Fighting in tight spaces was a disadvantage he wouldn't repeat.

Harry gave chase, grabbing something from the Sorting Hat. A golden light hit the woman on the floor.

She clutched her head, looked around—saw the golden apple lying beside her.

She grabbed it, holding it tight.

"Avalon will be reborn," she whispered, painfully rising. The Cruciatus Curse still lingered.

On the central island

"Potter," Voldemort floated in the air, arrogant. "Your greatest mistake was refusing to be my friend."

He raised his wand high and fired the massive Dark Mark into the sky.

Across Avalon, the Death Eaters, sensing the call, turned to black smoke and flew toward him. Though they couldn't fly long like their master, they landed on the water's surface. One conjured a giant stone platform—they stood steadily upon it.

They were paler, more gaunt than when Harry last saw them. As if their life had been drained. The stench of decay clung to them.

Their magical auras had thickened.

Like the night of the Triwizard Tournament—only now, far more dangerous.

Voldemort flicked his wand—Fiendfyre roared forth.

A white light burst from the apple tree on the central island, falling beside Harry. Before it could settle, Harry said, "Go back. Protect Geralt and Yennefer. They'll wake up soon."

The light zipped back.

The unicorn landed beside them. Its spiraled horn glowed with pale light, sealing time and space in a protective dome.

Voldemort was cautious.

Hovering, he cast spells and Transfigurations to harass them. The Death Eaters threw themselves at Harry without hesitation.

They burned their lifeforce, strengthened by Voldemort's gifts.

Stronger than some professors, weaker than others—but they had numbers. And no fear of injury. They dove into Harry's spells and sword, using limbs, claws, even teeth to restrain him.

And they couldn't be killed.

Since arriving in Avalon, their flesh had been remade. Like Dementors, even severed limbs regrew in clouds of black smoke.

Enemies that couldn't die, with near-infinite stamina—true nightmares.

The battle was fierce.

Voldemort hovered above, memorizing Harry's every move. Watching, analyzing, and casting memory-enhancing spells on himself.

On the central island

A soft breeze stirred the water into ripples—like spring's arrival.

The apple trees rustled. Pink buds appeared.

Another breeze. The buds unfurled—five-petaled white blossoms with golden centers.

A third breeze came—this time warm, carrying the scent of summer.

The petals fell, drifting to the ground and water.

Fruits formed.

In a blink, green turned to crimson.

On the central island

Two statue-like figures began to breathe.

Geralt slowly opened his eyes. Above, leaves danced in the sun's dappled rays. Light shimmered like gold foil through the canopy. Apples hung from every branch.

He reached out and gently closed his hand, inhaling deeply.

Pain still echoed in his body. He looked down—his torso wrapped in bandages. He could hardly believe he was alive after such wounds.

"Lie still, dear," came a familiar voice. "Don't move. You're still hurt."

"Where are we, Yen?" Geralt turned his head. Beside him—familiar, fierce.

"Does it matter? We're together. You and me," Yennefer whispered, turning to face him.

Their eyes locked.

"I remember... we were with Ciri, on a small boat," Geralt tried to recall. "A lake, a river, fog."

"Where's Ciri?"

Yennefer shook her head. "She's gone."

Geralt exhaled. "I want to know where we are." He had a bad feeling.

Yennefer felt the same. But she gripped his hand. "It doesn't matter, love. I'm here. What happened doesn't matter. Where we are doesn't matter. I'm with you. I won't ever..."

She whispered—solemn, sacred.

"Sorry to interrupt your romance," came a bright male voice, "but I think you need to know what's going on—and where you are."

They looked up.

A familiar face.

"Harry? You're here too?" Geralt blinked, stunned.

Yennefer was equally shocked.

Harry reached into the Sorting Hat, tossing out potions, a set of leather armor, and a longsword. "We'll talk later."

"Geralt, I hope your combat instincts are still sharp—even if your senses are dull."

He waved his wand.

A Transfiguration spell struck—an apple fell and became a stone wall, only to be shattered by a curse.

"See?" Harry said, deadpan. "A second ago, I was prepping your funeral. Keep this up, and you'll be planning mine."

He grabbed his sword and leapt back into the fray.

"When did Harry learn magic?" Yennefer asked in disbelief. "And such advanced Transfiguration?"

Geralt shook his head, uncorking a potion. "How should I know?"

"Healing potion?"

"Smells like a human's herbal brew."

Still, he drank it without hesitation. A warm current rushed down his throat, spreading through his body, tingling.

Geralt unwrapped a bandage—what had been a gaping wound was now a faint scar.

He opened another vial. "Thunder potion?"

"But... different."

He drank.

The intense magic surged violently through him.

"Now that's potent," Geralt gasped, rubbing his temples as veins bulged. He grabbed the armor.

"Smells awful." He wrinkled his nose. "Did Harry never wash this thing? Smells like a pigsty."

He complained—but quickly suited up, gripped the sword, cast Quen, and ran toward Harry.

The sight of the twisted, withered enemies startled him.

"Harry! I've never seen monsters like these!" Geralt drew his sword, ducking a streak of green light from the flying man above.

"We'll deal with that later!" Harry shouted, slashing through attackers. As they reformed, he waved his wand—stone platforms extended across the lake. "Yennefer, see if any spells work on these things!"

Without a word, Yennefer hurled a fire spell—it passed just inches from Harry's ear and struck the Death Eaters.

"No good, Aunt Yennefer," Harry muttered, shaking his head.

----------

Powerstones?

For 20 advance Chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates