Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

The magic stopped?

Ciri looked at Harry in disbelief.

His magic had reached this level?

No time to dwell. She raised her sword and unleashed her power.

Tick—

Time slowed, thick and viscous like tar. Only she could move freely. Not even Harry or the Crones could move. Only Hermione sensed something wrong and managed to painfully twist her head to look Ciri's way.

Next breath.

Time resumed.

Ciri appeared behind Brewess and slashed.

Her sword didn't pierce the thick flesh fully—it only severed some ropes. Flesh splattered, and the stench grew worse.

Whispess slapped her palm.

The crows Harry had frozen didn't react.

Frustrated, she pulled a rotten hand from her chest pouch and threw it forward.

The corpse hit the ground, shrieking—undead, charging Harry.

Brewess tossed a potion and laughed hoarsely. It shattered at her feet.

Green mist spread—aimed at Ciri.

Not good. It was a potion-curse hybrid.

Harry's eyes lit up.

A strange, ingenious use of potion-making.

Ciri vanished, her Elder Blood sensing danger.

Hermione raised her wand.

She took a deep breath.

"Aguamenti!"

A torrent burst from her wand, flooding the ground.

"Such mercy, or is this all your childish magic can manage?" sneered Weavess.

"Begging us with party tricks?"

"You'll die here."

They taunted.

Hermione flicked her wand again.

"Glacies!"

The water froze, locking all three crones' feet to the ground.

Hermione didn't have the raw power Harry had. But she maximized what she had. If she poured everything into one massive transfiguration, she might do something large—but that wasn't smart during battle.

What she excelled at—

Was time.

Her greatest asset was how she used it.

She wasn't a master in any one discipline, but her breadth of knowledge rivaled Professors McGonagall and Flitwick.

She wasn't as strong as Harry.

But...

She knew more spells than he did.

The Crones sensed danger.

Shing— Shing—

The ground erupted—stones twisting into razor-sharp shards, flying in all directions.

Control, offense, execution.

Hermione fought like a true witch—efficient, strategic, deadly.

A barrage of stone.

Weavess responded quickly, conjuring crows and hiding within the swarm.

Brewess was too thick-skinned.

Whispess, the biggest, was too old. Her reaction was slow. Spikes impaled her—she looked like a porcupine.

Harry lifted his wand.

Fire roared, starting from the center of the crow swarm.

Feathers burned. The smell of scorched blood and meat spread.

He beckoned toward Whispess.

Whish—

She flew to him, unable to stop herself.

Harry stood, unmoving, sword ready.

Schlick—

Whispess impaled herself on the Serpent Bone Sword.

Her body flew past.

Her head thudded behind him.

Whispess was dead.

The remaining two, who had mocked moments before, now trembled with fear.

Weavess flew off as a murder of crows.

Brewess tossed another potion and transformed into one herself.

Running?

Harry watched calmly.

But he would allow only one to escape—not Brewess.

Wand flicked.

A tree morphed into a giant hand, seizing Brewess mid-flight, smashing her to the ground.

Weavess screamed, flapping harder, fleeing faster.

Harry let her go. He walked over to Brewess.

"Still hiding as a bird?"

"You want to humiliate me further?" Brewess transformed, face masked by a wicker basket, her body radiating hatred and disgust.

Harry raised his wand.

The basket dissolved.

Her face was bloated, skinned, flesh dangling in strips.

Her eyes, milky—but present.

Legilimens.

Harry looked into her eyes, ruthlessly tearing through her memories—from her birth to her death.

The memory shocked him.

She'd once been a kind village healer, living in solitude but coexisting with nearby villagers. She traded herbs and remedies.

But...

Goodness doesn't last here.

One day, the villagers attacked her—violated her, tied her up, burned her house.

The Ladies of the Wood resurrected her—gave her this form.

Harry didn't care about her history.

But he was interested in her potion-making knowledge.

He searched methodically.

Silver threads of memory were drawn out, bottled one by one.

"What's Harry doing?" Ciri asked Hermione, puzzled.

Hermione stepped slightly away. "Extracting her memories—likely her potions. He'll bring them back to teach Snape, our former Potions Master. Their relationship's... complicated. I'll explain later."

"Is that a dark spell?" Ciri asked, frowning.

Hermione looked surprised. "No, why would you think that?"

"In our world, it's restricted, but not dark magic."

Ciri relaxed. "I see... I noticed you sensed when I used my Elder Blood power earlier?"

Hermione nodded.

"How?"

"To stand here now, I used something called a Time Turner," Hermione said simply. "It gave me more time to study. I've worked closely with time, so I'm sensitive to its effects."

Ciri nodded.

The Baron arrived, children in tow.

"Ciri! Witcher!"

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Powerstones?

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