Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

This was one of Harry's happiest times.

Sirius was incredibly fun to be around. He led Harry and his friends on broom rides over the Black Lake, used spells to create a two-story-tall snowman that could move, and even tried to use it to prank Snape. But before they even reached the castle, Professor McGonagall hit Sirius with a spell, turning him into a snowman as well.

Sirius also took them into the Forbidden Forest to meet his centaur friend.

However, the centaurs weren't particularly welcoming—especially toward Harry and Sirius. Angered, they raised bows and spears, chasing the group until they were out of the forest. The four friends and three cats fled in disarray.

Ron, face-first in a snowdrift, exclaimed, "That was intense!"

Crookshanks perched on Ron's face, meowing in agreement.

"What did you do to them last time?" Harry and Sirius asked each other simultaneously, locking eyes.

They both burst into laughter.

Hermione, with two owls perched on her head, glared at them.

Harry used to be so composed. How has Sirius turned him into such a child?

"We tried to steal their bows back in the day," Sirius admitted with a sigh. "James and I made several attempts, but we never succeeded."

Harry grinned. "I once tried to learn their healing magic and archery skills. It didn't go well either."

"They're just a bunch of stubborn old fools!" Sirius complained.

Hermione let out a long sigh.

The poor centaurs—they've had to deal with two generations of troublemakers.

The group also ventured into the Black Lake in search of the giant squid. However, they were spotted by the merpeople. That night, one particularly unlucky merman became the first in their history to fly—courtesy of a panicked spell—and then chased Harry all the way back to shore.

Sirius looked at Harry in disbelief.

"How do you manage to have enemies everywhere?"

They also visited The Three Broomsticks for drinks. After a few too many, they danced wildly in the pub.

George and Fred were in their element, teaching everyone dance moves. Even Ron, with Percy's reluctant approval, got a cup of butterbeer.

Crookshanks was reluctantly dragged into the fun and let out a series of unpleasant meows while Sirius, oblivious, collected a few new scratches on his hands.

Despite all the joy, there were still some regrets.

Sirius regretted not getting the chance to give Snape a good wallop. The "slimy git" of his memories had changed significantly—particularly in skill.

Harry, on the other hand, regretted that Lupin couldn't join in. Christmas coincided with the full moon, making it impossible for him to participate.

The festive days flew by. It felt like Harry had barely finished the Christmas feast when students began returning to prepare for the new term.

Sirius couldn't stay any longer—he wasn't a staff member. Reluctantly, he bid Harry goodbye.

He planned to return to the Potter family home to start renovations, ensuring it could become their future home—a home that would also include Lupin. A family shouldn't live in ruins, after all.

The start of the new term brought more excitement.

That weekend, Harry received a package from Sirius. It contained rare materials unavailable in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, including African tree-snake skins and horns from a bicorn—most of which were contraband.

The package also included a vast array of alcoholic beverages. Harry had requested one of every type he had tasted or hadn't yet tried.

Hedwig and Baws made over twenty trips to deliver everything, collapsing onto Harry's desk in exhaustion, too tired to even peck him in protest.

Ordinarily, they didn't have much work. But when work came, it came all at once.

If Petunia doesn't whip up a few dozen pounds of owl treats, we're going on strike! they seemed to say.

Sirius never questioned why Harry wanted such items.

If James had asked for them, Sirius might have been concerned.

But Harry's personality reminded him of Lily.

The girl by Harry's side also reminded him of Lily.

And Ron, though less "humorous" than his older brothers, had a personality strikingly similar to Lupin's.

In Sirius's eyes, Harry's little group seemed almost too mature and composed.

Whatever Harry wanted, Sirius provided. What's mine is my godson's, he thought.

One evening in the Gryffindor common room, Harry sat alone in a corner, working.

Hermione and Ron were at a nearby table, studying.

In front of Harry, a cauldron simmered, emitting a faint steam. He was experimenting with potions—though not the traditional wizarding kind.

These were Witcher potions.

While wizard potions were effective, they weren't tailored to a Witcher's needs.

Potions like Blizzard, Owl, and Golden Oriole had no equivalent in wizarding magic. The same went for the Witcher decoctions.

Wizarding potions were the product of centuries of refinement within the wizarding world. But they didn't align with a Witcher's physiology.

The key to Witcher potions was the base alcohol, particularly a substance known as "White Gull." This specialized concoction combined multiple spirits and herbs.

Harry's main challenge was finding substitutes for certain ingredients. While cherry cordial was available, Mandrake cordial—a magical alcohol brewed from Mandrakes—was not.

As Harry worked, Fred and George approached.

"Hey, Harry," Fred greeted, only to sneeze immediately. The room reeked of alcohol. If not for the containment spell Harry had cast, the entire common room might have been intoxicated by the fumes.

"What are you doing? Sneaking drinks without us?" George asked, reaching for a greenish bottle. "What's this?"

Harry glanced at it. "That's not alcohol—it's Lobalug venom."

Lobalugs were magical sea creatures, and their venom was highly toxic—more so than Acromantula venom.

George quickly withdrew his hand.

Fred cautiously pointed at another bottle with Polish writing. "What about this one?"

Harry nodded. "That one's alcohol."

Fred sighed in relief and reached for it, only for Harry to add, "But it's 96% alcohol."

Fred froze mid-reach.

George shot Harry a betrayed look. "That's not alcohol—that's just ethanol."

"It's still a drink. Many Muggles use it to make cocktails," Harry explained.

George blinked in surprise.

Fred, meanwhile, nervously touched his throat. "Muggles are intense. Even wizards could die from that."

"What do you need?" Harry asked, waving his wand to dismiss the contents of his cauldron. Another failed recipe. He'd have to start over.

"We wanted to talk to you about something," George began, carefully navigating around the bottles to crouch next to Harry.

Fred whispered, "Thanks to you, we've earned nearly 20 Galleons from the Forbidden Forest."

"At this rate, we'll have 100 by next year!" George said, grinning. "The Weasley Brothers' Joke Workshop is going to take the wizarding world by storm—all thanks to you."

"It's your talent, not mine," Harry replied, adding a few herbs to a new cauldron.

Fred shook his head. "We wouldn't have managed it without the Marauder's Map. And that map was originally your father's—it rightfully belongs to you."

The twins sighed theatrically, pretending to lament their unfair advantage.

"So, how can we repay you?" George asked tentatively. "We're just two poor, lowly wizards, but how about a share of the shop—1%?"

Fred hesitated, looking guilty. "It feels like we're still shortchanging you…"

Harry waved his wand. The Sorting Hat spat out a heavy pouch of Galleons, which landed in George's arms.

"Harry?" George asked, confused.

"Two hundred Galleons," Harry said. "For an additional 0.5% stake."

George quickly placed the pouch down. "No, no, no, we can't possibly—"

"Let me finish," Harry interrupted. "You both know some Alchemy, right?"

The twins straightened proudly. "Of course!"

"There's no Alchemy class at Hogwarts," George bragged. "But we're confident we could outperform even Beauxbatons' seventh-year Alchemy students."

Fred added, pointing to his head, "When it comes to pranks, we're geniuses—just like you."

"As a shareholder in your workshop, I'd like to commission you to develop an alchemical bomb. I even have Dumbledore's Alchemy notes for you to use," Harry proposed.

"A bomb? Like the Muggle kind?" George asked, intrigued.

Harry nodded. "Yes, but with magical effects."

George grinned, clutching the money pouch. "No problem. I'll draft a contract right away—for a 2% stake in the Weasley Brothers' Joke Workshop."

Fred frowned thoughtfully. "Shouldn't we change the name? How about the Weasley & Potter Brothers' Joke Workshop?"

George nodded in agreement.

But Harry shook his head. "No need."

The twins began to protest, only for Harry to point at them.

"You're the Weasleys."

Then, pointing to himself, he said, "And I'm your brother."

The twins froze, then burst into laughter, nodding enthusiastically.

"Alright, little brother," George said, grinning. "We'll start with Dumbledore's Alchemy notes."

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Powerstones?

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