Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

The past few days had not been kind to Uma.

It wasn't exactly painful, but there was always some strange magic or peculiar experiment being tested on him.

The smiling, plump woman—who always looked gentle and kind—turned out to be the most ruthless. She would always bring out bizarre plants and perform incomprehensible experiments on him.

There was also that short man, barely taller than Uma himself, who always seemed to pull out spells that surprised even the other professors.

And the white-bearded old man who always wore a kind smile? He wasn't much better.

On the contrary...

The stern-looking man and woman turned out to be the gentlest of the bunch.

Now, whenever Uma was brought into the headmaster's office, he would first hide behind Professor McGonagall. If McGonagall wasn't there, he would find Snape. And if neither of them were around, he would reluctantly go to Sprout.

Yennefer showed little interest in Uma.

She cared for Ciri, Geralt, and Harry. Outside of those few, her attention was sparse.

After repeatedly confirming with Harry that this ugly little creature was definitely not Ciri, she lost interest entirely.

Normally, she would have been impatient, eager to break the curse and free Avallac'h.

But this was a matter of great importance for several master wizards, an exploration of the magical nature of two different worlds.

And, it also had a connection to curing Harry.

Both required safeguarding the soul and dismantling a "curse."

Her daughter Ciri was important, but her son Harry was just as significant.

So, she always observed quietly, rarely voicing her opinions.

Three days passed.

Hogwarts remained unusually peaceful.

Crouch spent his days eating and sleeping, occasionally being awakened by Snape but never revealing any valuable information.

Harry and Dumbledore both kept the Marauder's Map with them.

Even when they slept, the portraits were organized in shifts to keep watch over the map. But nothing out of the ordinary happened—no intrusions, no suspicious activities.

Finally, after three days...

In the headmaster's office.

Uma was placed in a crib.

"Shall we begin?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Flitwick and Sprout drew their wands and pointed them at Uma, casting their spells.

They were mostly control-based spells:

Weakening Jinx,

Shrinking Charm, and others.

Uma groaned in discomfort.

The curse, like coarse sand, was being pushed outward from his body. But as it shifted, the soul trapped within could not help but feel pain.

Their spells were effective.

The curse grew weaker, reflected in Uma's physical state—he became limp and sluggish, almost like a puddle of mud spread out in the crib.

"Severus," Dumbledore spoke up, raising his wand.

Snape also raised his wand.

In unison, they incanted, "Expecto Patronum."

Happiness is often brightest when contrasted with pain.

Snape's Patronus might not be as powerful as Harry's, but in a way, it was purer.

To this day, those who knew of Snape's ability to cast a Patronus still regarded it as nothing short of a miracle.

He had none of the traditional qualities associated with conjuring a Patronus.

He was a Dark Arts master.

He had never known happiness—not in his childhood, not in his school days.

He had no genuine friendships, no selfless companionship.

He certainly didn't have a grand, epic love story.

Even Dumbledore could look back with pride on his colorful memories—those carefree days with Grindelwald, that deep, passionate love.

But Snape...

Snape never had Lily.

From the beginning, his world had never been colored. Even when he came close, the color never truly filled his life.

Yet somehow, he had managed to conjure a Patronus.

From the murk and filth, he scraped out a flicker of ambiguous light—a Patronus, pulled from the depths of despair.

A diamond in the mud shines the brightest.

Silvery mist erupted from their wands.

Though not corporeal Patronuses, the mist moved with purpose, swirling toward Uma, enveloping him. It seeped through his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, the soft light penetrating his body, illuminating him from within.

Uma's groans of pain gradually subsided.

After a while...

Dumbledore turned to McGonagall and Harry. "Severus and I are ready."

They both raised their wands.

When it came to Transfiguration, there was no one in the room better than Harry and McGonagall, both Animagi.

Their magic extended outward.

Harry used the Vanishing Spell to methodically clear away the sluggish, weakened remnants of the curse.

McGonagall worked gently, carefully restoring his physical form.

It required patience and time.

But everyone in the room had an abundance of both.

After half an hour...

McGonagall restored the last muscle to its original form. The curse flared for a moment, colliding with the protective white light of the Patronus Charm, sending ripples through the air.

Before the curse could surge again, Harry finished it off with a final Vanishing Spell—and it was gone.

The curse was completely dispelled.

A tall, thin elf-like man, naked and frail, lay awkwardly crammed in the tiny crib. His body was marked with intricate tattoos.

Flitwick reacted quickly, waving his wand to copy the markings.

Knowledge from another world.

"This crib isn't really appropriate," Dumbledore mused, flicking his wand. "I hadn't expected him to be so tall."

The crib transformed into a single bed.

Yennefer leaned forward, breathing a sigh of relief.

It wasn't Ciri.

A stranger—a scrawny, long-eared man. His body wasn't muscular or particularly appealing.

She smacked her lips in distaste and turned her head away.

Boring.

Avallac'h was conscious, but extremely weak. Even though Dumbledore's method had minimized the damage from breaking the curse, he had still suffered for a long time before this—being cursed, humiliated, and played with by merchants and the Baron's men.

"Ciri... Ciri is in danger. You must save her," he struggled to speak.

Sprout raised her wand and cast "Revitalizing Charm."

His breathing stabilized a bit.

"I know, you hid her on the Isle of Mists," Harry nodded. "But it's clearly not a completely safe place."

Avallac'h looked at Harry in shock.

"Ciri is of Elder Blood," Harry said calmly. "To save herself, she clearly put some thought into it."

Many things that were otherwise unexplainable suddenly made sense when Elder Blood was brought into the conversation.

At least for Avallac'h, it did.

He nodded, lifting his hand with great effort, chanting a complex incantation.

A bright, white orb of light floated from his palm, hovering in the air, and Harry reached out to catch it.

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Powerstones?

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