Harry Potter In The Witcher

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1264,

Harry's POV:

Harry stood back, a silent observer on a nearby rooftop, and watched as Geralt of Rivia, a whirlwind of deadly grace, slaughtered three armed men and then gave chase to the cowardly, fire-slinging mage named Rience.

When Harry had first talked with Ciri, all those years ago in another world, she had not liked to talk about herself much. She had always preferred to talk about the people around her instead, especially about the people she cared for so deeply.

Of course, over the many months they had spent together, she had finally, gradually, given up more and more of her life story to him.

Despite that, there were still things, important, crucial things, that Ciri had simply not known about in the complex, politically charged world around her.

For example, she had told him that the empire of Nilfgaard wanted her, but she hadn't, or perhaps couldn't, tell him exactly why.

He had no doubt that she probably knew the reason by now, but he always got the feeling that the topic was not one she liked to dwell on, so he hadn't pressed her for details.

He had no doubt, however, that she didn't know about the existence of Rience, or the shadowy figures who pulled his strings.

She simply did not have the extensive, and often morally grey, spying skills that Harry had developed over the many decades, skills he had specifically honed to find out exactly what Nilfgaard was up to, to keep tabs on their movements and their plans.

At this point, after more than a century of living, learning, and observing in this world, Harry probably knew more about it, about its history, its politics, and its magic, than Ciri herself had. He had, after all, been in this world for far longer now than he had even been in his own original world.

Harry shook his head, forcefully stopping that particular train of thought. He seemed to be going off on a lot of tangents these days, his mind wandering down long, winding paths of memory and reflection.

He wondered, with a flicker of wry amusement, if it was simply a natural product of his now considerable old age.

He looked down from the rooftop he was casually sitting on and watched to see if Geralt would finally manage to kill the man. It certainly looked like the Witcher was giving it his all.

Sadly for him, just as Geralt was closing in, a swirling, shimmering portal opened up in the air directly behind Rience, and the man, with a triumphant, sneering look on his face, was making his way towards it.

Harry watched as Geralt was suddenly thrown off his feet as a powerful, concussive blast of magic exploded outwards from the portal.

Harry was actually, genuinely impressed at the sheer amount of raw power behind that blast. Whoever was on the other side of that portal, Rience's mysterious master, was probably one of the most powerful mages he had ever witnessed on this world.

He wondered, for a fleeting, academic moment, how that man or woman would stack up against him in a real fight.

He didn't think about it for long, though, as it would seem that he now needed to intervene. He stood up and, with a casual flick of his wrist, launched a powerful, silent banishing charm at Rience.

The spell caught the man mid-air as he tried to leap through the portal and back to his master.

Rience went flying sideways, slamming hard into a nearby wall, while Harry, with another quick, almost contemptuous flick, cast a dispelling charm at the portal, causing it to collapse in on itself and disappear completely.

At this point, Geralt had gotten back up onto his feet and was now looking at the downed, dazed Rience. He didn't even stop to think for a moment. With a guttural roar of pure fury, he charged the man, his silver sword held high.

Harry's eyes widened in alarm. "No, Geralt! Wait!" Harry yelled from his rooftop perch, but it was too late. The Witcher was simply too fast, too focused on his target, to be stopped by a simple shouted warning.

Geralt brought his sword down with all his might on the now terrified, helpless man's head, and cut it clean off, freezing the horrified, wide-eyed expression on the man's face for all eternity.

Harry just threw his hands up in the air in sheer, utter exasperation. "Welp," he said to the empty air, "I guess we no longer have a lead on the mystery mage that was this man's benefactor, do we? No worries, I'm sure! I can just pop over to Nilfgaard and politely ask Emperor Emhyr var Emreis who his secretive, powerful mystery mage is! Oh, wait a minute… no, I can't bloody do that!" Harry yelled out loud, his voice filled with frustration.

Geralt sheathed his sword, the metallic rasp loud in the sudden silence, and looked up at him, his yellow eyes narrowed. "Harry? What in the hells are you doing up there?" he asked, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"Well," Harry said, hopping down from the rooftop with a grace that defied gravity, "I was trying to capture that man alive, so I could, you know, find out who his powerful mentor was, so I could then hunt them down and kill them. But it seems that particular, rather sensible plan has now gone completely tits up, hasn't it?" Harry said, as he gave a light, irritated kick at the now beheaded, and decidedly unhelpful, Rience.

"Sorry, then," Geralt grumbled, looking down darkly at the corpse. "But it was personal."

Harry sighed, the frustration draining out of him, replaced by a weary resignation. "It's… it's fine, I suppose," he said, rubbing his temples.

"I'll just have to find out another way to identify the mage. And besides," he added, a small, knowing smile touching his lips, "how can I possibly blame a father for protecting his little girl?"

Geralt looked sharply at him at that, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. "Calm yourself, man," Harry said, raising his hands in a placating gesture before Geralt could fully draw his weapon.

"I mean your daughter no harm. Quite the opposite, in fact. Now, let's go get a drink. It's been a while, and I think we should probably catch up." Harry said, as he gestured towards the main part of the town.

Geralt looked at him for a long, searching second. "Fine," he finally said, his voice laced with an air of finality. "But you owe me some answers, Harry. A lot of them."

Harry nodded in agreement. As they walked, they met up with the bard, Dandelion, and a young, red-headed medic by the name of Shani, who both looked rather shaken.

"Dandelion, this is Harry," Geralt said, by way of introduction. "Harry, Dandelion. And this is Shani." He gestured to them both.

"Hello," Dandelion said, looking nervously at the fresh blood still spattered on Geralt's armor. "Errr… is it… is it done, Geralt?" Geralt nodded grimly.

Harry looked at Geralt's blood-soaked armor. "Here, let me get that for you," he said, and with a casual wave of his hand, all the blood and grime simply vanished from the man's armor and clothes, leaving them clean and pristine.

"Thanks," Geralt said, a note of genuine appreciation in his voice. Harry just nodded. Geralt then looked back at Dandelion and Shani. "We're going to find an inn, get some drinks, and some rest. You two coming?"

"I… I unfortunately must return to the academy," Shani said, still looking a little pale and unwell. Harry had a feeling it had to do with the bloody aftermath of Geralt's fight she had just witnessed.

"Well, I will certainly join you for a drink!" Dandelion said, his usual cheerfulness returning slightly.

They said their farewells to Shani and then headed to the nearest inn to find some much-needed drink. It didn't take them long to find a suitably disreputable-looking place and get a table in a dark corner. They quickly ordered some ale.

"So, tell me…" Geralt started, but Harry immediately shushed him. He looked around the noisy, crowded bar, pointedly signaling to Geralt that people might be listening.

He then, with a few subtle, almost invisible gestures, cast a series of powerful privacy and alarm charms around their table, ensuring that no one could listen in on their conversation, and that he would know instantly if another mage tried to dispel them.

"Okay," Harry said, satisfied. "Now we can talk. Had to make sure no one could overhear our rather sensitive conversation." He took a long sip of his drink.

"Fine," Geralt said, getting straight to the point, as was his way. "How do you know about Ciri?"

Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I was under the impression that you had read my journal, the one Yennefer had for a while. Did you not?" Harry asked the man.

"I did," Geralt confirmed. "We even tried to track you down afterwards, with no luck at all. We even went back to that cave where we first met, to try and find you, but there was no scent, no trail, nothing to follow."

Harry nodded at that, then his expression turned extremely serious. "I can't tell you everything, Geralt, not yet. But I can tell you some things. But you must swear to me that you will never repeat them to a single living soul, not unless I give you my express permission. Is that clear? And you as well, Dandelion," Harry said, turning his intense, green-eyed gaze on the suddenly nervous-looking bard. "Not a single word of this in any of your tales or ballads. Is that understood?"

Both men nodded, though Dandelion looked distinctly put out at the reprimand he had just received.

"Hmm," Harry said, satisfied. "The girl I talked about in my journal… the one I have plans for… that girl is Ciri. I have been waiting for her, watching over her from a distance, for nearly a century now. Ever since I first came to this world."

Geralt's eyes squinted in suspicion, while Dandelion just looked completely, utterly shocked. "Other… other world?" Dandelion stammered. "You're from another world?"

Harry nodded.

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