Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

"Ragnok... That name sounds familiar," Harry said, gazing down at the goblin.

"Maybe one of your classmates has the same name?" the old goblin sneered.

Harry shook his head. "No, your ancestor, Ragnok I, also bore that name—the Goblin King."

The goblin's face stiffened. "Ah, remarkable! A young wizard actually bothering to study such dry magical history?"

"Even many goblins have forgotten it. Isn't that right, Flitwick?"

Flitwick raised his wand, a warning gleam in his eye. "See this wand in my hand? Remember it."

"Let me make this simple," Harry said. "The magical furnace spell will last until my school term begins—about six weeks."

"Impossible!" the goblin snapped. "I require a real forge, not some conjured—"

"To outfit your followers with weapons and armor and launch an uprising against wizards?" Harry interrupted, a cold smirk on his face.

The goblin's expression turned fearful.

Harry jabbed the goblin's forehead with his wand, making its wrinkled skin ripple. "We can make this a business transaction, but don't think you can make outrageous demands."

"Maybe I should report you to the Ministry of Magic as a self-proclaimed Goblin King. I'm sure I can find another blacksmith willing to cooperate. Do you understand me?"

The goblin muttered curses under his breath. "You deceitful, filthy little wizard! I'm not self-proclaimed—"

"My blood is royal!" it spat.

"Six weeks is enough for you to craft a few pitchforks," Harry pressed, his wand jabbing harder. "That's my bottom line."

The goblin gritted its teeth but eventually nodded. "Fine. Six weeks."

"It will be at Professor Flitwick's house," Harry added.

The goblin's eyes widened in fury.

"I already know what you're planning, so there's no need for subterfuge," Harry said, rapping the goblin on the head. "I trust you more under close watch."

The goblin sneered, "You sly little devil. You belong in Slytherin, not Gryffindor."

"Should I kidnap you and use the Imperius Curse instead?" Harry retorted, withdrawing his wand. "You've been underground too long. Has your brain gone soft?"

The goblin spat on the ground, scooping up the troll hide to examine it. "This leather is well-skinned and properly treated."

"It must've cost you a fortune."

Harry crossed his arms. "I'm beginning to doubt your eyesight. If you'd noticed the sword marks, you'd realize I hunted this myself."

"You're insulting me! A first-year wizard—" the goblin exploded with rage.

Flitwick cut in cheerfully. "Oh, it's true. He defeated a troll all on his own—excellent Transfiguration and swordsmanship. Minerva couldn't stop bragging about it. She said Harry is Gryffindor reborn."

"Professor McGonagall put me in detention for a month. She didn't exactly praise me," Harry replied flatly.

Flitwick chuckled. "That's Minerva for you. Stern with students but a proud Gryffindor through and through."

"What other materials will you need?" Harry asked.

The goblin gently stroked the leather. "What kind of armor do you want?"

"Just something that retains the troll's resistance to magic," Harry replied simply.

The goblin muttered, "Then you should've gone to an apprentice, not me."

"As you wish." Harry snatched back the troll hide.

The goblin froze, flustered. "No, you can't do that! An apprentice's work can't compare to mine. Even a simple leather armor from them is leagues apart from a master's craftsmanship."

"Then speak more plainly," Harry said, tossing the leather back. "I dislike roundabout nonsense—whether from wizards or goblins."

The goblin clutched the leather tightly. "I'll need some magic dust, ten pounds of silver and iron, and maybe some unicorn hair."

Harry raised his wand to the goblin's forehead again. "Do you think I'm a troll? Did you mistake this leather for my shed skin?"

"Ten pounds? Are you making me a suit of plate armor? Be honest."

The goblin flinched. "Five pounds..."

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Fine! Two pounds, just two pounds," the goblin relented hurriedly.

"Half a pound," Harry said, lowering his wand. "I'll grind the iron and silver myself into powder."

The goblin clenched its fists. "Curse you! How do you even know how it's used?"

"Sorry to disappoint you," Harry said with a smirk, "but I'm no fool."

"Then I'll demand 100 Galleons for labor," the goblin snarled.

"I'm already providing the furnace," Harry replied without hesitation.

"That's only for six weeks!" the goblin argued.

"And that's more than enough, isn't it?" Harry countered, adding coolly, "I recall the last goblin rebellion was just a century ago. It's been at least a hundred years since you last worked a forge, hasn't it?"

"Greedy, stingy, cunning!" the goblin fumed. "You're no Gryffindor!"

"Filthy little wizard! Giving me a measly six-week furnace and nothing else!"

Ignoring the ranting goblin, Harry turned to Flitwick. "Professor, I'll have to trouble you for the rest."

"It's no trouble," Flitwick assured him. "My home is well-suited for goblins."

The goblin halted at the cave's entrance, shielding its eyes from the sunlight. It stumbled briefly before steadying itself.

"The air here is so much better than underground," Harry remarked, taking a deep breath. "And the tunnels are too cramped. If I were any taller, I'd have to hunch."

The goblin snorted disdainfully.

Flitwick's home, on the southeastern edge of Godric's Hollow, was slightly larger than its neighbors.

"I suppose my yard will have to make do for now," Flitwick said, casting concealment charms and clearing the trees and shrubs. "Ragnok, what kind of furnace do you want?"

Despite its grumbling, the goblin's expertise shone through. Under its direction, Flitwick quickly constructed a functional furnace.

"This will suffice," Ragnok said after a critical inspection. "It's far inferior to my old setup, but adequate for a simple apprentice's—"

It paused. "—I mean, a simple leather armor."

Flitwick muttered to Harry, "I'd love to hit it with a Silencing Charm. I had no idea it could be this annoying."

"Well, it hasn't seen sunlight in decades," Harry replied. "Thank you for handling this."

"It's no trouble at all," Flitwick said, waving him off.

"I've known Ragnok for decades. It's the most stubborn goblin I've ever met. According to it, the goblins at Gringotts are all traitors who've sold out to wizards."

"Letting it see how much the world has changed will do it good."

"Now, what's next?" Flitwick asked. "Explore Godric's Hollow or visit your home?"

Harry took a deep breath, gripping his wand tightly. "Let's go home."

The road to the outskirts of the village led to a dilapidated house, overgrown with weeds and desolate in its decay.

Half the structure remained intact.

"This is your home," Flitwick said softly. "It may look abandoned, but Dumbledore has house-elves clean it every year."

Harry nodded, stepping toward the door.

As he reached for the handle, a faint surge of magic rose.

Harry instinctively stepped back, drawing both his wand and knife.

But it wasn't a trap.

A wooden plaque emerged from the overgrown grass, rising to display golden letters that formed a memorial inscription:

James, Lily, and Harry...

"Dumbledore set this up," Flitwick explained quietly. "Lily and James deserve to be remembered."

Harry scoffed. "His brain's getting more troll-like by the day. Being remembered doesn't require this kind of display."

He left the plaque untouched and opened the door.

Flitwick followed him inside.

The furniture was spotless, the house pristine, yet it lacked any trace of life. Even the smallest sensations of living things were absent.

Everything was preserved perfectly.

As Harry took a few steps inside, a voice suddenly called out.

"James? Is that you, James?"

Harry turned toward the sound.

It came from a painting. The man in the portrait bore a striking resemblance to what Harry imagined he might look like in his thirties. His features were rougher, and he wore wizarding robes. A glowing potion sat on the table beside him.

"No... you're not James. You're... Harry?" The voice trembled slightly.

"It's me," Harry confirmed.

The portrait's expression softened. "Come closer, let me see you. You look so much like James, but your eyes... they're amber..."

"Oh, why do your eyes look like a lion's?"

"Didn't Dumbledore tell you?" Harry replied. "He believes my eyes changed because of the

Potter lineage."

"And you are...?"

"I'm your grandfather, Fleamont Potter," the portrait introduced itself.

"Hello." Harry hesitated, unsure how to respond.

Fleamont frowned in the painting. "Dumbledore didn't tell me about your eyes. That's peculiar. I've never heard of a Potter with such eyes."

"You should check the family library. It's still intact—thankfully, the accident spared it."

"It's a place only Potters can enter. Dumbledore asked to see it many times, but I always refused."

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Powerstones?

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