Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

The steed galloped swiftly, kicking up a trail of dust.

Birds took flight in alarm, and a few small animals scurried into the underbrush.

The Sorting Hat hummed a cheerful tune, sounding relaxed. "It's been so long since I've ridden like this. A thousand years ago, before Hogwarts became famous, Godric often took me along when he traveled to find students."

A faint smile tugged at Harry's lips.

Indeed, it had been a long time since he'd felt this way.

As they traveled, Harry asked the Sorting Hat about the customs of this era. Along the way, he casually plucked a handful of leaves and transfigured them into silver coins, tucking them into the hat.

The transfigured horse beneath him lacked the bond of mutual understanding he'd had with his old mount, but it had one distinct advantage — it never grew tired.

The portrait world was remarkably lifelike.

Time flowed as it did in the real world. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows as dusk settled.

It wasn't until nightfall that they reached the village rumored to hold Galahad's relics.

This village was larger than the last one, with a small square at its center, where a charred bonfire remained. Beside it hung the sign of a tavern, adorned with malt and grape symbols swaying gently in the breeze.

Harry felt a wave of relief.

A tavern was always the best place to gather information.

People gathered there, and after a few drinks, loose tongues tended to wag freely. It reminded him of George and Fred, who, after drinking too much, would confess all their pranks on Percy with embarrassing detail.

Harry pushed open the tavern door and stepped inside.

The tavern was bustling.

Knights sat at the best seats, their swords resting on the table. Rangers occupied the clean, sturdy long tables, while farmers and peasants huddled in the corners, whispering quietly among themselves.

Harry's entrance drew many curious gazes.

"A cup of mead," Harry said, placing a silver coin on the bar.

The innkeeper's eyes gleamed as she carefully poured him a drink.

Harry took a sip and couldn't help but frown.

The mead wasn't terrible, but after growing accustomed to Oliver Wood's fine whiskey and vodka, his palate had become far more discerning.

"You're not from around here, are you?" The innkeeper asked, standing on tiptoe to get a better look at him.

But Harry remained cloaked in shadows, making it hard for her to discern his features.

"You're wondering if I'm here for Galahad's relics?" Harry asked, cutting straight to the point.

He placed another silver coin on the bar. "I'll make it worth your while."

The innkeeper hesitated, her hand hovering over the coin.

Harry raised an eyebrow and pulled out a third coin. "This is all the patience I have."

The innkeeper quickly scooped up the coins.

She lowered her voice. "They say Galahad's relics are linked to the Lady of the Lake."

The Lady of the Lake?

Harry's eyes sharpened, and he straightened in his chair.

"It's said they're hidden in a nearby lake," the innkeeper continued. "Many have gone searching for them, but none have earned the Lady's favor. Only one person did — Godric Gryffindor, a famous wizard."

Before she could say more, a knight carrying a tankard of ale strode over, his tone mocking as he joined the conversation.

"Isn't it laughable? The sword of humanity's greatest king, Arthur, bestowed upon some wizard freak by the Lady of the Lake."

"Perhaps the Lady was a witch herself," Harry responded, his voice cold and measured.

The knight paused, then burst out laughing. "You'd sooner convince me she was a faerie! Wizards, forging weapons? That's a joke!"

"Have you ever seen a faerie?" Harry asked.

The knight shook his head. "No, but I've seen their craftsmanship."

His gaze lingered on Harry's armor.

"Only knights of great skill earn the favor of the faeries, who craft their armor and swords." His tone carried a hint of envy.

"Where's this lake?" Harry asked the innkeeper.

"Just west of here, at the entrance to the valley of Cum Puca," the knight interjected before she could answer.

The innkeeper frowned. "I'm not sharing the reward with you."

"Of course not," the knight said with a grin, though his eyes remained locked on Harry.

Harry set down his drink. "You want to accompany me to find Galahad's relics?"

The knight didn't hesitate. "That's right."

"I can tell you're strong. You've clearly earned the favor of the faeries. Your armor and sword — they're no ordinary gear, are they? They must be enchanted."

"If you'll allow it, I'd like to accompany you on your quest."

Harry remained silent, considering his options.

He reminded himself that this entire trial was a fragment of Gryffindor's memory.

Which meant this knight likely mirrored someone Godric had encountered — someone who had once made the same request of Gryffindor.

"Thank you, but no," Harry said firmly.

The knight's face darkened.

Harry rose and headed for the door.

The knight quickly blocked his path. "Please reconsider!"

For a brief moment, the knight caught a glimpse of Harry's eyes — those sharp, amber cat-like pupils.

The knight recoiled in fear, stumbling backward into the bar. His arm knocked over a row of tankards, spilling ale across the counter.

Harry strode out of the tavern, mounted his horse, and left the village.

"Aren't you going to rest tonight?" the Sorting Hat grumbled. "That village would've been a fine place. I haven't slept in a proper bed for ages!"

"Didn't Godric tell you?" Harry asked, shaking his head.

The Hat tilted its tip. "Tell me what?"

"That he was betrayed during this journey," Harry said simply.

The Hat paused, then muttered, "Now that you mention it... maybe? Wait, how do you know that? I almost forgot!"

"This is a trial," Harry explained softly. "Nothing here is random."

He glanced at the road ahead.

"I may have joked that Godric Gryffindor is like Lockhart."

"But Godric was far from a fraud. He was deliberate, methodical."

Harry voiced his theory.

"The first village — that was either Godric or Helga giving me a warning. Without caution, any wizard wandering into that village might've been captured or killed."

"And this second village? It's to teach me about the trial's true purpose — to find Galahad's relics, as Godric once did."

"It's all part of the ritual."

Harry glanced back toward the tavern.

"The knight we met — he hated wizards, hated Godric. Yet he still chose to follow him. And how did that end? I bet even Sirius could guess."

The Hat sighed. "So you avoided resting in the village because he saw your eyes?"

Harry nodded. "Their hostility toward wizards runs deep."

The horse galloped swiftly toward the valley.

At dawn, they reached their destination.

Mist shrouded the valley, and a magical aura radiated from its entrance.

But Harry's focus wasn't on the valley itself.

The lake before it shimmered with a magic called beauty.

The deep blue water lay perfectly still, reflecting the towering peaks of the Ewyas Mountains like a polished sapphire mirror.

Harry dismounted and led his horse to the lakeshore.

A small boat waited at the water's edge, as if anticipating his arrival.

Suddenly—

Whoosh!

An arrow shot from the woods.

Harry ducked behind his horse as the arrow struck the transfigured creature. The horse remained unaffected, no blood spilling from its stony form.

With a wave of his wand, Harry transformed it back into a boulder.

"See? I told you he was a wizard!"

The knight from the tavern emerged from the forest, leading a group of armored knights.

"Abomination!" a bald knight sneered. "You don't deserve Galahad's relics!"

Harry sighed.

"You know what I want to say right now?" he muttered to the Hat.

The Hat blinked. "What?"

"Mr. Gryffindor seems a bit too deliberate," Harry said coldly.

The Hat remained puzzled.

The knights charged.

Harry raised his wand.

"Last night," he began, "I left the tavern and came straight here. No delays. No wrong turns."

Vines sprouted from the dark stone, lashing out to entangle the charging knights.

"And yet they got here first."

Harry's voice grew colder.

"And in my senses, these men weren't even there until just now."

He shook his head.

"Seems Godric Gryffindor really wanted me to experience betrayal."

As the vines ensnared the knights, Harry drew his snakebone sword and approached the trembling knight from the tavern.

"You," Harry said softly.

The knight's face turned pale with terror.

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Powerstones?

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