Harry Potter In The Witcher

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As it turned out, Harry couldn't get himself out of his current situation. Not easily, at least. Vilgefortz, the arrogant bastard, was much more careful and meticulous than he had initially predicted.

The sorcerer constantly made sure to have Harry checked in on, day and night, and he seemed to be completely immune to any and all bait Harry threw at him in order to get him to slip up, to make a mistake.

Harry had no idea how long he had been chained up in this damp, dark prison, but he knew, with a growing sense of dread, that it must have been a very, very long time.

It had taken a while, but enough verbal slips and careless comments from Vilgefortz had given him the distinct impression that he was being held deep underground, in some sort of catacombs beneath a large castle.

One day, he had also found out, much to his dismay, that he was not the only prisoner in said castle, though he was clearly the most hidden and most important one.

He had heard a woman, distantly, screaming in agony, her voice muffled by thick stone and earth. The screams were most likely the result of torture.

Vilgefortz had even mentioned her once, a passing, contemptuous comment about how he had "caught a little raven" and was currently trying to get it to "speak on certain important matters."

Harry had said nothing in response, and the man hadn't seemed to be waiting for one either. Vilgefortz had just pulled out his wicked-looking tools before continuing on with his sick, twisted little experiments on Harry's immortal body.

That's what Harry's life was like now, for longer than he could possibly keep count. He couldn't even accurately say how much time had passed, and it was starting to genuinely concern him.

Sorcerers, he knew, lived for a very long time compared to normal humans, and he only had a couple of precious years left until the timeline dictated that he would finally, properly, meet Ciri.

He didn't know how long he had already been down here, but he knew he needed to really, really start thinking of a way to get out of here. And soon.

The heavy Dimeritium chains made it incredibly difficult, for sure. If only there wasn't so damn many of them.

His first thought, his first desperate attempt, had been to try and continuously, relentlessly, rip the chains directly out of the stone wall, to free his hands and arms through sheer, brute force.

Sadly, that had not worked. He had tried for what he assumed had been weeks, pulling and straining until his muscles burned and his regenerating flesh tore, with not even a single, satisfying loosening of the bolts.

His next desperate idea had been to somehow, through sheer willpower, overpower his magical restraints, to force his magic through the dampening effect of the Dimeritium. That hadn't worked either.

Harry was just starting to think of what his next, increasingly desperate attempt could possibly be, before Vilgefortz suddenly, unexpectedly, entered the room.

And for once, the powerful sorcerer didn't look to be smiling his usual smug, arrogant smile.

Instead, he seemed to be scowling deeply as he rushed around the lab, but he had yet to approach, or even look directly at, Harry.

He watched as Vilgefortz started frantically burning papers and research notes, notes that Harry knew had, at least partially, been about him, about his own unique biology and immortality.

He then rushed back towards the heavy wooden door, where he finally looked back at Harry, his scowl deepening into a hateful glare.

Harry just raised a single, questioning eyebrow in response, before Vilgegortz slammed the door completely shut and, Harry assumed, locked it.

After he did so, the door glowed with a sickly, translucent green light for a moment before disappearing from view, replaced by a solid, seamless stone wall.

Harry assumed it was some sort of powerful, permanent protection charm placed on the door, a final "fuck you" from the sorcerer.

That, combined with the fact that the man had just burned many, many precious hours of his own meticulous research, led Harry to the logical conclusion that someone, or something, was here in the castle, something that Vilgefortz wanted to make absolutely sure wouldn't find his notes, no matter what.

It didn't take long for his suspicions to be confirmed, as he soon heard the faint, distant sounds of very intense fighting going on, far above him.

They must have been here for one of the other prisoners… or perhaps just to kill the sick fuck, Vilgefortz. He almost felt conflicted.

On the one hand, if they killed Vilgefortz, then there was a much greater chance of him eventually getting out of here.

But if they killed him, then Harry wouldn't be able to do it himself, slowly and painfully. What a weird, frustrating position for him to be in.

The sounds of fighting lasted for a good, long while before finally, eventually, stopping. He waited, straining his ears, trying to hear if anyone would come down near his hidden cell.

He knew Vilgefortz had probably made sure that no one outside this room would be able to hear him, so he didn't even bother yelling to try and get their attention. He just waited, and hoped, that they would somehow come and investigate.

After waiting for what felt like hours, he was forced to conclude that either Vilgefortz had been triumphant, or the intruders had simply gotten what they came for and had not bothered to investigate the deeper, hidden parts of the dungeons where he was being held.

It was also entirely possible, and highly likely, that Vilgefortz had magically hidden any entrance that could possibly lead to this room. That's certainly what Harry would have done, if he were being honest.

After what felt like several more long, silent days, Harry finally concluded that Vilgefortz must have been killed.

He only had one arm, after all, thanks to Harry, which was an extremely bad handicap for a sorcerer of his caliber, no matter how powerful he was.

Concluding this, he once again, with renewed determination, tried to escape his confines.

He tried for what he assumed was days and days, pulling and straining, before finally, with a roar of pure frustration, giving up. He bowed his head, defeated, his messy black hair falling over his face.

He could not afford to just wait for someone to come and rescue him. He needed to escape, and he needed to escape NOW!

Harry was so deep in his frustrated, desperate thoughts that he almost didn't notice the strange, new sensation – the feeling of magic, immense and powerful, slowly gathering near him.

Almost. He turned his head up towards the stone roof of his cell and vaguely felt a massive concentration of magical energy gathering high, high above his head.

He wondered, for a brief, hopeful moment, if a particularly powerful mage had finally come to investigate, only for the raw, palpable power to just keep on increasing, and increasing, and increasing.

His eyes started to widen as he felt the sheer, overwhelming scale of the magical build-up.

Even with his own magic almost completely suppressed by the Dimeritium, there was no way he would not be able to notice this.

He kept feeling it, this immense, growing power. Whoever was doing this, whoever was gathering this much energy, would have to be, at the very least, his equal in raw magical power.

Just as he felt the power hit a critical, almost unbearable boiling point, he felt it suddenly stop, and then come crashing down, all at once.

First, there was a deafening, unnatural silence. Then, the noise came, like a thousand simultaneous roars, a sound so loud it felt like it was tearing the very air apart.

Finally, the shaking started. Harry had been alive for a long, long time, but he had never, ever felt the very earth move and shake as much as it was doing right now.

The room itself, his prison, was collapsing all around him, and for the first time in a very, very long time, he felt a genuine flicker of fear, a terrifying premonition that he was about to spend the rest of his immortal, unending life buried deep, deep in the cold, dark ground.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the violent shaking stopped, though it wasn't much of a help at this point. Harry was now buried completely, crushed under tons and tons of rock and earth.

He could barely move, as most of his body had been completely, brutally crushed by the collapsing ceiling, and he knew he would now need to wait, patiently, for it all to heal.

While his immortal body began its slow, painstaking work of regeneration, Harry just laid his head down to rest. It was so quiet now, yet also… peaceful, in a strange, surreal way.

He could feel, with his now-returning magical senses, the many life forms still moving around the ruined castle far above him, could feel them moving about in a state of sheer panic from the massive, catastrophic magical blast that had just been set off.

He could even feel three powerful sorceresses, far in the distance, as they opened their portals to leave. At least that answered the question of what had caused the magical blast. It had to have been Yennefer, and her companions.

He could feel… wait. How could he feel all of that? His magical senses were supposed to be completely, utterly dampened by the…

Harry looked down at his own, crushed and broken body.

The heavy, oppressive Dimeritium chains that had been holding him captive for so long… they were mostly broken, shattered and scattered around his body by the force of the collapse.

Most of the remaining links only laid loosely on him now, their magical-suppressing properties severely diminished… He was free. He was finally, finally free.

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