Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

Every Slytherin had seen it.

Yet not a single one could recognize it.

"The Animagus registry doesn't list Salazar Slytherin," Ron grumbled, flipping through the book in his hands. "Or Godric Gryffindor, for that matter."

"The Ministry of Magic wasn't established until the 17th century," Hermione corrected, rolling her eyes. "The Founders lived over a thousand years ago."

Ron's face flushed. He nodded, closing the book with a sheepish thud.

In the days that followed, Harry made no further attempts to sneak into the Slytherin common room. The snake house was on high alert, scrutinizing every student who ventured into the underground corridors—even the Hufflepuffs were not spared.

The constant barrage of Whirlwind Charms was disrupting student life.

After several skirmishes between the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, an uneasy truce was established.

The kitchen became the agreed boundary. The Slytherins were allowed to interrogate anyone crossing into their territory, but the Hufflepuffs insisted: the kitchen was off-limits.

Harry, however, found another way.

He set his sights on Tracey Davis, a Slytherin girl in his year.

Tracey was a half-blood who had grown up entirely in the Muggle world, making her the lowest rung on Slytherin's social ladder.

Bullied and ostracized, she had no friends—unless a few Hufflepuffs counted. She was so reclusive that she even went to the bathroom alone. Hermione, by contrast, always went with Lavender and the other girls.

Harry tracked Tracey, following her into the bathroom.

When she emerged from a stall, he acted.

"Axii!"

The charm hit her. Her eyes glazed over as she stood, dazed.

Harry wasted no time. He extracted the new password—"Fang."

Then, casting a Stunning Spell, he plucked a strand of her hair and added it to a fresh batch of Polyjuice Potion.

The potion tasted vile, like swallowing raw gunpowder.

Heat radiated from his stomach, spreading through his limbs as his body underwent a rapid transformation.

Harry now stood in Tracey's form.

With a flick of his wand, he altered his Gryffindor robes into Slytherin green. He also removed Tracey's glasses and placed them on his own face.

Then, clutching a pile of books, he walked purposefully toward the Slytherin common room.

No one paid attention to Tracey, the girl with no presence.

Harry muttered the password at the door. "Fang."

As the door swung open, a sudden whirlwind erupted, blowing his robes upward. Harry hastily pushed them back down.

Nobody laughed or jeered.

This wasn't bullying—it was precaution. They were clearly warding against the use of Invisibility Cloaks.

Harry silently praised his foresight in not attempting a cloaked infiltration.

Carrying his books, he chose a corner seat, trying to blend into the background as he observed the underground common room, which looked like a grand aquarium.

Paintings of snakes adorned the walls—four or five in total.

Which one was it?

Would he need to steal them all?

Feigning work, Harry waited until the room grew quieter. Then, he approached the first painting.

The artwork depicted a group of seven or eight snakes coiling menacingly around a proud lion. As they hissed, Harry, fluent in Parseltongue, understood them perfectly:

"Mrs. Morris really needs to get her act together."

He paused, bemused. Clearly, the artist had injected their personal thoughts into the painting, filling in the blanks where they lacked knowledge of Parseltongue.

Moving on to the next painting, he found a massive black cobra with glossy scales. Its expression was regal, but its dialogue was less so:

"They promised me a Veela! What I got was a goblin. Might as well have been a troll!"

Harry nearly laughed. Life in the wizarding art world was apparently full of drama.

It wasn't until he reached the fourth painting that something clicked.

The canvas was dominated by shimmering lake water, with Hogwarts faintly visible in the distance. A small, slender green snake slithered away from the castle along the shoreline.

Harry's instincts told him this was it.

Legend had it that in his later years, Slytherin had grown disillusioned with the other Founders and left the castle alone.

Leaning closer, Harry heard the snake in the painting speak:

"I am the great Salazar Slytherin. Any Parselmouth who finds this portrait can claim my inheritance within Hogwarts. Seek out the immobile serpent and speak the word, 'Open.' You shall enter my chamber."

So, the snake claimed to be Slytherin.

This had to be the painting he was looking for.

To be thorough, Harry checked the remaining paintings.

One simply hissed, "Ten thousand Galleons! Ten thousand Galleons!"

Another boasted, "I'm the greatest artist among wizards! Monet thinks he's better? Hah, let's see him paint blind!"

None were the least bit serious.

Harry returned to his seat, diligently working on his assignments. Both Snape and McGonagall had given him plenty of extra essays to complete during his detentions, and he wasn't about to fall behind.

The hours crept by, and as curfew set in, students gradually left the common room.

But three older Slytherins remained, huddled near the fireplace. It seemed they intended to stand guard, just in case their mysterious intruder returned.

Harry waited.

By three in the morning, the three guards had succumbed to exhaustion, nodding off in their chairs.

Harry rose, careful not to make a sound. He removed the painting from the wall, tucking it into his robes.

Then, slipping on his Invisibility Cloak, he crept out of the common room.

He stopped by the bathroom to revive Tracey, leaving her to return on her own.

When Harry finally reached the Gryffindor common room, Hermione was waiting. Strictly speaking, only Hermione was waiting—Ron was fast asleep, mumbling something about spells.

The portrait shifted slightly as Harry placed it on the table.

"Harry?" Hermione called softly, her tone uncertain.

"It's me," came the response.

But the voice wasn't Harry's—it was a girl's.

"You…" Hermione turned toward the sound, confusion spreading across her face.

"The Polyjuice Potion hasn't worn off yet," Harry explained, still invisible.

"You're a girl?" Hermione gasped.

Harry shrugged under the cloak. "It was the easiest way."

"Did you find the painting?" Hermione pressed.

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "For a Parselmouth, it was almost too easy."

Without Parseltongue, it would've been a far more challenging task. But the ability, which didn't truly belong to him, had proven invaluable.

He laid the painting on the table and unrolled it.

It was a beautiful landscape.

"Where's Slytherin?" Hermione asked, squinting in confusion.

"Bottom-right corner. The tiny green snake," Harry pointed out.

Hermione stared at the minuscule figure in disbelief.

"That's Slytherin?" she exclaimed. "One of the greatest wizards in history, and his portrait is this… small?"

"I'll get the hat," Harry said, leaving the room.

When he returned, he wasted no time prodding the Sorting Hat.

"I've got the painting. What's the next trial?"

"Can't this wait until morning?" the Sorting Hat grumbled.

"If you had a brain to sleep with, maybe," Harry retorted. "What's the second trial?"

"Fine," the hat sighed. "Flip the painting over."

Hermione turned it over, revealing a blank canvas.

Harry tapped it with his wand. "Aparecium."

Ink began to spread, forming an intricate map.

"It's…" Hermione hesitated. "It's not the castle."

"It's the Forbidden Forest," Harry recognized immediately. The layout had changed over time, but it was unmistakable.

"The second trial," the Sorting Hat intoned, "is to traverse the forest and retrieve the treasure marked on the map."

The location was far beyond the areas Harry had previously explored, requiring him to venture past the Acromantula territory and even deeper into the woods.

"Classic Gryffindor," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.

He revealed himself as the potion's effects wore off, much to Hermione's disappointment—she'd been curious to see a female version of Harry.

As for the Chamber of Secrets…

Harry decided to put it off. Slytherin's inheritance could wait until after he'd claimed Gryffindor's. If the Chamber tested for a true Slytherin, he didn't

want to take any chances.

The next morning, Harry's rare indulgence in sleeping in was interrupted by McGonagall, who roused all the Gryffindors with an announcement.

"Last night, the Slytherin common room was robbed," she informed them sternly. "A painting has gone missing. Does anyone here know anything about it?"

"I wish I'd done it!" Fred called out. "But, Professor, you know I don't have the skills."

"If we could've done it," George added, "it wouldn't have been just one painting."

McGonagall shot them a sharp look. "This is no laughing matter, Mr. Weasley."

She added, "I hope none of you were involved. And be cautious—Professor Snape is livid."

"Thanks for the warning!" Fred quipped, clapping enthusiastically.

McGonagall glared. "Gryffindor loses one point, Mr. Weasley. And don't think you can flatter me like you do Professor Lockhart."

After all… some things were better left unsaid.