Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

The headline dripped like thick, oozing blood across the newspaper, giving the entire page a grotesque, sinister atmosphere. The way the words seemed to bleed only made the photograph's subject look even more like a treacherous and evil figure.

Just like the supposedly "objective" yet clearly biased headline, the article itself pretended to be neutral while heavily leaning in one direction.

"We hope Mr. Potter will actively cooperate with the Ministry of Magic to uncover the truth rather than relying on his status and Professor Dumbledore's influence to brush the matter aside."

"The wizarding world needs order, not a few powerful wizards indulging themselves and manipulating others at will."

The implication was clear: this might not have been a "Dark wizard kidnapping" after all. And Potter was being uncooperative with the Ministry.

Which, admittedly, was true.

"How did they get this photograph?" Hermione frowned, gripping The Daily Prophet tightly in frustration.

That was what worried her the most.

There was a world of difference between having photographic evidence and not having any.

"It's fake," Harry said calmly.

Hermione blinked.

The other students, who had been whispering among themselves, quickly gathered around.

Harry explained, "Last night, I cast a Weather Charm. The ground was muddy. But in this picture, it just looks like they splashed some water on the dirt."

"And the height."

"I'm five and five-sixths feet tall right now. The person in this photo is only five and seven-tenths feet tall—shorter than me."

The students stared at him with strange expressions.

Wait a second—

This was a photo!

How could he tell someone's height from a photo?!

Hermione nodded in agreement. "That's true. The Hogwarts crest on our robes is the same size regardless of the student's year. If we use it as a reference for scale—"

She flicked her wand, and a quill started scribbling numbers on a parchment. After a long string of calculations, she produced a number precise to four decimal places.

"173 centimeters," she declared.

Nearly an inch and a half shorter than Harry.

The younger students' heads hurt just looking at it.

Were they really proper wizards?

What kind of wizard solved problems like this?

"The blood on the ground looks wrong too," Harry continued. "From my experience, human blood isn't that thick. This looks more like syrup mixed with dye."

The students exchanged uneasy glances.

"Experience."

Somehow, that word felt… significant.

"But the most important thing is the bodies." Harry pointed at the dismembered limbs in the photo. "I didn't cut them up this much. Most of my kills were with a single decisive strike. Even if I had to use two, I aimed for fatal spots."

"There's no way I would've chopped them up like a house-elf preparing a meal."

He paused. "They just recreated a similar scene based on what they saw last night—to use as a front-page story."

"So… the article is true?" Seamus asked hesitantly, his voice trembling.

Harry didn't answer directly. Instead, he asked, "Do you believe the Ministry of Magic, or do you believe me?"

On one side was the faraway, unreliable Ministry.

On the other side was Harry Potter—Gryffindor's heir, the Lion House's chosen leader.

"Of course I believe you," Seamus blurted out before he could even think. His body and subconscious had already decided for him.

"We believe you too, Harry!" a group of third-years shouted.

The older students were just as firm.

"Good thing we convinced Mum not to take a Ministry job," George said, relieved. "If we had to work with a bunch of idiots, we'd turn into Sirius Black."

Fred chuckled.

"Who wrote this article?" Neville flipped through the paper. "It wasn't Skeeter, was it?"

He still remembered what Harry had told him last night—Skeeter was following his orders.

Hermione scanned the article again. But in the copy she held, there was no editor's signature.

Some insisted that of course Rita Skeeter had written it—after all, she had even dared to insult Professor Dumbledore. They even cited her Quidditch World Cup reports as evidence.

Others argued that Skeeter wouldn't do this. Since the Quidditch World Cup, she had avoided badmouthing Harry and, in fact, had only ever mentioned him positively.

The skeptics countered that she was just playing nice for Hogwarts' sake.

The argument escalated.

Then, an owl swooped in—one of The Daily Prophet's delivery owls.

Instead of dropping off a newspaper, it delivered a letter—addressed to "Mr. Harry Potter, from your most devoted Rita Skeeter."

The handwriting reeked of flattery.

Harry opened it.

It was a short letter—a written guarantee from Skeeter herself. She swore she hadn't written The Daily Prophet's headline story.

She had even tried to stop it.

But the order had come directly from Fudge. Even she couldn't overrule it.

"Barnabas Cuffe?" Harry read the name aloud.

The students hesitated.

"What about him?" George pulled his hand away from Lee Jordan's back pocket, along with a handful of fireworks.

"He wrote this article," Harry said, shaking the letter.

Fred raised his hand high. "I know him! Cuffe is The Daily Prophet's editor-in-chief. He trained Rita Skeeter and discovered Lockhart."

Harry nodded. "Definitely fits his troublemaking style."

He tossed the letter aside.

Hermione picked it up, carefully reading through the short message, searching for anything useful.

The Final Days of the School Year

The entire school was engulfed in an unusual atmosphere.

Gryffindor stood firmly behind Harry, mocking The Daily Prophet's claims.

At first, Hufflepuff was unsure.

But after a private conversation with Cedric, he chose to trust Harry.

And the Hufflepuffs trusted Cedric.

Ravenclaw remained uncertain.

They leaned toward believing Harry—after all, they'd known him for four years, and he had never pretended to be a gentle, well-mannered "gentleman."

His sharp tongue was practically on par with Professor Snape's.

But they also supported The Daily Prophet's position—after all, the Ministry wasn't outright calling him a criminal. They only wanted his cooperation in an investigation.

Fudge might not have much magical or intellectual prowess, but he certainly knew how to play office politics.

He had just enough finesse to provoke Harry without fully antagonizing him.

Rita Skeeter, to her credit, wrote several rebuttal articles defending Harry.

Unfortunately, they were buried in the most obscure corners of The Daily Prophet.

The Slytherins, of course, seized this opportunity to spread rumors about "Potter's darkness."

Ironically, they actually admired the version of Potter that Fudge described.

But Gryffindor was Gryffindor.

The Last Three Days

The professors had spent an entire year maintaining order.

But in the final days—

It collapsed.

The students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons finally saw Hogwarts' true nature—

Gryffindor and Slytherin brawling in broad daylight.

Fights broke out everywhere.

On the Quidditch pitch.

By the Black Lake.

In the courtyards.

Even next to Beauxbatons' carriage. Even on Durmstrang's ship.

Professor McGonagall was utterly baffled.

How were these students this dedicated to chaos?

Hagrid, meanwhile, was in high spirits.

Not just because the school year was ending—

But because he had just published his first-ever academic paper in Fantastic Beasts Quarterly:

"On the Crossbreeding of Magical Creatures."

And, most importantly—

His byline proudly declared:

"Rubeus Hagrid, the New Generation's Master of Magical Beasts, Care of Magical Creatures Professor, and Guardian of Hogwarts!"

Hagrid was now officially recognized as a Magical Beast Master.

At the final feast—

The Great Hall became a battlefield between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students didn't leave.

They joined in.

It was practically a Triwizard Tournament closing ceremony.

Madame Maxime and Umbridge were both present.

But two people were missing—

Ludo Bagman and Durmstrang's Headmaster, Karkaroff.

They had disappeared completely.

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Powerstones?

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