Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

Rita stared at Arthur.

She wondered if she had offended the Weasleys recently. It seemed… not?

But why was he pushing her into a pit of fire? The Quibbler didn't exactly seem like a promising place.

"I think it's a great idea," Harry spoke, his tone calm.

Rita froze.

"I agree as well," Dumbledore nodded in approval.

Rita pondered for a moment. "Mr. Weasley, could you give me the editor-in-chief's contact information for The Quibbler? Or perhaps we could arrange a meal to discuss things in more detail?"

"I'll speak to Mr. Lovegood," Arthur nodded.

Dumbledore raised his hand, and several teapots appeared on the table, pouring cups of tea for everyone. He himself took a cup filled with syrup. "Alright, let's get to business."

"Everyone here should already know about the Horcruxes."

At the mention of this, Rita's face turned green again. She was the only person in the room who had no desire to know yet had been forced to learn about them.

"Unfortunately, we haven't found any more Horcruxes yet," Dumbledore continued. "Voldemort's main soul is completely destroyed, and now he could return at any moment through the remaining Horcruxes. We need to act before he does."

At the sound of that name, everyone except Harry instinctively shuddered.

Dumbledore paused for a moment. "Here, we must thank Miss Skeeter."

"With her help, we've confirmed that Voldemort has at least three more Horcruxes."

Rita's face flushed. She instinctively hunched over in embarrassment, then quickly realized this was a good thing, so she straightened up, lifting her head like a victorious beetle.

"Slytherin's Locket," Dumbledore waved his wand, and a translucent image appeared above the table—a hexagonal pendant with an amber-colored casing, set with a small emerald snake.

"Hufflepuff's Cup," he flicked his wand again, summoning the second image.

A gilded goblet appeared, with two pure gold handles attached. The cup's surface was engraved with intricate designs, featuring a small badger peeking out from the grass.

"And Ravenclaw's Diadem," the third image materialized.

A crown shaped like a soaring eagle, with a large emerald the size of a dove's egg embedded in the center. Along the base, an inscription read Ravenclaw's most famous words: 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.'

Arthur stared blankly at the three images. "He turned the Four Founders' relics into Horcruxes?"

His voice was unusually dark, gritted with fury.

Dumbledore nodded. "Regrettably, I wish that were not the case."

"What about Gryffindor's?" Sirius tilted his head.

"He couldn't get it," Harry shook his head. "Tom Riddle had ambition, so he inherited Slytherin's legacy. He had exceptional intelligence, so he deceived Ravenclaw's daughter into giving him the Diadem. He also had good looks and charm, enough to trick Hufflepuff's heir into stealing the Cup for him."

"But he lacked courage, and even more so, a heart willing to take responsibility. That's why he never gained Gryffindor's recognition."

"The Sorting Hat is at Hogwarts, and Gryffindor's Sword is in my hands."

Sirius grinned. "We Gryffindors are just that outstanding."

Snape narrowed his eyes. Rita clenched her fists. Tonks, dissatisfied, chewed her gum loudly, blowing a giant bubble—inside, an animated scene of Sirius fighting a dog for food played out. It was one of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' newest products.

"Severus, what about Karkaroff?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape's face remained cold as he shook his head. "No contact."

"He's disappeared completely, more thoroughly than a Demiguise."

He sneered. "The Aurors from both Sami and the Scandinavian Ministries have run themselves ragged. They've turned all of Northern and Western Europe upside down, but there's not a single trace of Karkaroff—or anything connected to him."

"Albus, they must have reached out to you?"

Dumbledore nodded. "They contacted me right after the term ended and conducted a thorough search of Hogwarts. They spent a week searching, even scouring the bottom of the Black Lake—and getting beaten up by the merfolk for their trouble—but found nothing."

A living person had vanished into thin air.

"Perhaps he fled," Snape's voice was icy. "The mere mention of the Dark Lord's name would be enough to scare him half to death."

"He never seemed that cowardly," Harry replied.

Snape's expression turned slightly odd. "He simply didn't know what you were really like. He still thought of you as just another little wizard. Ah, perhaps he only realized how terrifying 'Mr. Potter' actually was after the tournament ended and fled in terror."

"Such an honor, to be compared to Tom Riddle," Harry's tone was calm as he remarked coldly.

"Maybe you're even more infamous than he is," Snape retorted sarcastically.

"He might have run away," Dumbledore raised his hand slightly, signaling for them to stop bickering. "But we—"

Harry interrupted, "We should consider another possibility—what if he was murdered?"

"That wouldn't exactly be good news," Dumbledore shook his head. "If the Death Eaters really did that, it would mean they've become even more ruthless. Severus, you must be careful."

Snape remained silent.

"Miss Skeeter," Dumbledore turned to Rita.

Rita jolted. "Ah—what is it, Professor Dumbledore?"

"I'd like you to continue your investigation," Dumbledore said gently.

Rita shuddered, glanced at Harry, and sighed in resignation. "Of course, I will. Mr. Potter's troubles are my troubles."

"As for the rest of you, I hope you can find more leads on the Death Eaters," Dumbledore looked around. With a wave of his wand, the sound of flipping pages filled the air, and a thick stack of documents landed before each person. "These are intelligence reports provided by Miss Skeeter. They contain a list of known Death Eaters."

Arthur flipped through a few pages, feeling his stomach churn. He looked up at Dumbledore.

"My dear Arthur, I wish this were false," Dumbledore sighed. "But I believe you, of all people, understand the reality."

Arthur said nothing.

He lowered his head and continued reading. The names he had just skimmed belonged to Death Eaters still working in the Ministry—none were high-ranking, the most senior being a department head equivalent to himself.

But…

More than a decade had passed since the Dark Lord's fall, and yet the Ministry was still infested with such corruption.

"I'll keep an eye on them," Arthur nodded, but then paused. "Right—about Percy…"

He turned to Harry. "I invited Percy, but he refused. Harry, if you have time, would you meet with him?"

"He still talks about you a lot."

"I don't want to trouble you with this, but Percy has been deeply troubled since Mr. Crouch's death. After Miss Skeeter's article, he became even more withdrawn—he only focuses on work now. Not just his own department's work, but others' as well."

The Ministry was never a place for serious work.

And certainly not to the obsessive extent Percy had taken it.

"Will the Ministry still summon me for another 'trial'?" Harry asked Dumbledore.

Dumbledore nodded.

"Then I'll use that trip to see Percy," Harry said, turning to Arthur. "Uncle Arthur, please let him know."

Arthur let out a long breath.

"By the way, Miss Skeeter," Harry addressed her.

Rita sat up straight.

"I need you to find Fenrir Greyback for me."

"The infamous werewolf leader?" Rita was taken aback. "Why are you looking for him?"

"There's something I need to deal with," Harry said calmly.

Lupin sighed but said nothing. Sirius placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Rita nodded. "No problem. He's always been reckless. I recently heard he was spotted in Knockturn Alley, escaping the Ministry's pursuit."

"He's probably gone into hiding now, so it'll take some time to find him."

"Before the next full moon," Harry's tone was firm.

Rita hesitated, then finally nodded. "Alright, I'll do my best."

She glanced at Lupin.

A suspicion crept into her mind—an almost unbelievable one.

Could it be that Mr. Potter was already researching a way to break the werewolf curse?

Dumbledore opened his mouth, about to continue speaking—

When suddenly, the house trembled violently.

A deep, resounding explosion echoed from upstairs, shaking the entire building. Dust and wood chips rained down like a fine mist.

Everyone looked up at the ceiling.

"Death Eaters attacked?!" Sirius took a sharp breath, eyes wide with shock.

"Death Eaters can't find this place," Lupin shook his head. "The Fidelius Charm protects this house. Even if they pressed their faces against the windows, they wouldn't see Grimmauld Place."

Harry lifted his head, analyzing the situation, and spoke softly, "The explosion came from the fourth floor, the left-side room."

The left side.

Arthur's face instantly turned green. "Damn it—that's George and Fred's room!"

He shoved back his chair and bolted for the door.

Harry, Snape, and Dumbledore followed immediately, with Lupin, Sirius, and Tonks close behind.

Molly peeked out from the first floor, her expression severe. "What's going on?"

"George and Fred," Arthur took the stairs two steps at a time, explaining as he ran. "Merlin knows what those two are up to this time!"

Molly's face turned pale, and she hurried after them.

By the time they reached the fourth floor—

A blast of icy wind hit them.

The entire corridor had been frozen solid, coated in a thick layer of gleaming, sapphire-blue ice.

Dumbledore extended a hand and pressed downward.

The overwhelming magical aura dissipated instantly.

But to his surprise, the ice itself did not melt. His spell had only removed the lingering magical energy, leaving the frost stubbornly clinging to the walls.

Dumbledore took out his wand and tapped it lightly. Only then did the frost start to vanish.

The corridor was cleared of ice, but from inside the room, cold air continued to seep through the doorframe. Before long, frost once again crept over the edges.

Harry stepped forward, conjuring a protective Quen Shield around himself, and reached for the door handle.

Crack!

The old brass handle, brittle from the cold, snapped off in his hand.

A normal entrance was no longer an option.

He raised his hand.

Ard Sign!

A shockwave blasted forward, shattering the wooden door and creating an opening. Harry stepped inside first, with Dumbledore following closely behind.

Inside—

The room was an icy cavern, like a frozen grotto sculpted from sapphire.

George and Fred were huddled together for warmth. One was casting repeated Warming Charms, while the other conjured roaring flames. Their faces were deathly pale from the cold.

"Thank Merlin—Harry! Professor Dumbledore! You're finally here!" Fred shivered, his eyes glistening. The tears barely formed before they froze into tiny ice crystals.

Dumbledore waved his wand.

The ice dissipated, and the room gradually warmed up.

"From the moment we heard the explosion to now, it's been less than thirty seconds," Harry stated matter-of-factly as he approached, checking their skin, eyes, and complexion.

George, frozen stiff as Harry pried open his eyelids, didn't dare move. "Thirty seconds?! Merlin, it felt like at least half an hour!"

"You've suffered frostbite," Harry released him and reached into his pocket. "But it's not severe."

Arthur and Molly, their faces dark, glared at them.

Frostbite.

Their pranks had always caused a ruckus, but now they were actually injuring themselves. They were only in sixth year—what would happen in the future? Were they going to kill themselves, like those Muggle 'Nobel' lunatics?

"Drink this," Harry handed them two bottles of potion, pressing them to their lips. "One bottle a day for a week."

A fiery bitterness burned their throats, making their eyes water uncontrollably.

"What the hell were you two doing?!" Molly demanded, gritting her teeth. "I thought prank products weren't supposed to be this dangerous!"

"Even I couldn't dispel it entirely at first," Dumbledore nodded. "Very impressive. You took inspiration from Harry's sign magic, didn't you? The magic itself was a lure, but the actual effect wasn't magical in nature?"

Fred grinned through his chattering teeth, coughing as he explained, "That's right, Professor Dumbledore! You truly are the greatest Alchemist of this century!"

"That was exactly our idea," George added.

"Everyone guards against magic, but they won't expect this—they'll be caught completely off guard!"

"And the temperature drop is extreme—Merlin, we almost froze to death," George laughed at their own misfortune, completely unbothered.

Molly clenched her jaw tighter. "And you're proud of that?!"

"What exactly are you two making? Since when did prank products become this dangerous—?"

"No, Mum, this isn't a prank product," Fred shook his head. "It's a weapon."

"Harry needs powerful alchemical tools," George said seriously. "But honestly, while Muggle explosives are strong, they're far too easy for wizards to counter."

"Bombs alone aren't enough," Fred nodded in agreement. "So we kept researching, kept improving—and tonight, we finally perfected it!"

Harry froze for a moment, then turned to Molly with an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Aunt Molly. This is my fault—"

Molly quickly interrupted, shaking her head. "No, Harry, this isn't your fault."

"We all know the challenges you face, and it's only right that they want to help you. It's just… just—"

Arthur finished for her, "Dangerous alchemical experiments should be conducted with supervision—not in secret, with just the two of you."

"We just had a slight miscalculation," Fred sighed. "Math is so hard."

"If we adjust that parameter, it'll be perfect," George said confidently, hands on his hips. "It's very powerful. We've decided to call it—The Freeze-You-to-Death Grenade!"

Harry, expressionless, replied, "You should rename it the 'We-Almost-Froze-Ourselves-to-Death Grenade'."

"Hey, Harry, don't be like that," Fred protested. "We're on the same side!"

"Yeah, yeah!" George echoed.

Harry pulled out two glass bottles, conjured Eternal Flames, and stuffed them into their hands. "Keep these on you at all times—even when you sleep."

"But it's summer," Fred grimaced.

"If you don't want permanent frostbite, listen to me," Harry pressed a firm hand on their heads.

"Alright," George grumbled reluctantly. But then his face lit up with excitement again. "Now that you've seen its power, we can present our final product—"

Harry pressed down on their heads again. "No. Rest and recover first."

"Alchemy bombs can wait. Your health comes first."

"Once you're better, then you can continue."

He paused slightly. "And, in consideration of Professor Snape, the next time you conduct something this dangerous, bring me, Uncle Arthur, or Professor Dumbledore. We can be there to keep you safe."

"I already feel guilty that you got hurt because of me."

"I can't let my dear brothers get injured on my behalf. Promise me, alright?"

George and Fred squirmed uncomfortably. "Harry, you don't have to get all sentimental about it."

"Merlin, please just insult us instead," Fred groaned theatrically.

"You brainless idiots, with heads full of troll dung," Snape granted their wish with a sneer. "I distinctly recall teaching you in third-year Potions that dangerous experiments should always be conducted with experienced supervision."

"Potion-making and alchemical inventions are fundamentally the same—both are hazardous fields of study."

"It's absolutely ridiculous that you two managed to get into my Advanced Potions class."

George and Fred shrank, shivering under Snape's glare.

Snape snorted and swept out of the room.

Molly and Arthur understood their sons' intentions, but that didn't mean they would tolerate their reckless behavior. Once they had ushered Harry and Dumbledore out, they slammed the door shut—

And proceeded to thoroughly scold them.

For a full thirty minutes.

By dinnertime, George and Fred sat at the table, thoroughly subdued.

The next day—

Harry wasn't able to go pick up Hermione.

Manchester and London were simply too far apart.

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Powerstones?

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