Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

Ron stretched his neck over, startling Crookshanks, who swatted him with a paw.

"Why would you tell Dumbledore not to give us more points?" Ron looked shocked. "We still have a chance to compete for the House Cup! We're in third place!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Third place, with more than a hundred-point gap from second?"

Ron waved his hand dismissively. "And we're only a hundred or so points behind first."

"It's actually over two hundred," Hermione said, her tone flat. "And that's only because we won the Quidditch Cup. Without that, it would be worse."

"Three hundred points were deducted just from fights."

"Three hundred!"

Hermione clenched her teeth. "George and Fred are just… unbelievable. They know how to sneak around when pulling pranks, but when it comes to fighting, they forget everything. And they didn't even run after the fight — they stuck around to dance in circles around the Slytherins until Snape showed up!"

"But Malfoy was there," Ron defended, his tone indignant. "I just didn't get there in time."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Next time, trap him in the bathroom. Use a Silencing Charm. Beat him up, blow off steam, and then show off as much as you want."

"We've already done that a few times," Ron sighed. "But now Malfoy's gotten smarter. He only goes to the bathroom with a group of older students and locks himself in a stall with a spell."

Harry chuckled, his tone playful. "Is the Malfoy family so broke they've resorted to earning money this way?"

Ron blinked in confusion.

Hermione flushed red and gave Harry a hard shove. "Don't say such awful things!"

"Harry has a point." Ron's eyes gleamed with mischief as he pulled out parchment and a quill. "Why couldn't it be true? Poor little Malfoy, making sacrifices for his family."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

As Ron scribbled down his imaginary letter, he looked up suddenly. "Even if we're behind by two hundred points, Dumbledore could still award them back to you."

He began counting on his fingers. "Bringing back Gryffindor's portrait? That's worth at least a hundred points. Capturing a dark wizard threatening the castle? Another hundred. Driving off the Dementors at the Quidditch pitch? Fifty points."

The more he calculated, the more excited he became.

"Have you ever wondered," Harry asked calmly, "why Dumbledore always waits until the end of the term to award me points?"

Ron didn't hesitate. "Because you've earned them! The things you've done aren't something any ordinary student — or even adult wizards — could do."

Hermione shook her head firmly. "That's not it!"

Harry glanced at her.

"I think Dumbledore's a bit too eager," Hermione explained. Realizing her tone had been too harsh, she rubbed her face to calm herself. "He's trying too hard to make Harry into someone special, someone who has to solve every problem personally."

Ron muttered, "But isn't that exactly what Harry is?"

"Harry is who he is because of his own abilities," Hermione shot back, glaring at Ron. "Not because Dumbledore propped him up."

Harry nodded in agreement. "If he wanted to give points, he should do it earlier. Waiting until the last minute makes people resentful."

He looked at Ron. "Think about this: suppose your mum promised you a Galleon if you made it into the top three in your class."

Ron's eyes widened in shock. "A whole Galleon? That's too much! A Sickle would be enough."

Harry gave Ron a pitying look before continuing. "Alright, let's say a Sickle. You've nearly secured third place. But at the last moment, Snape announces that Malfoy did something months ago that was really impressive, and he gives him a few extra points, pushing you down to fourth. How would you feel?"

"I'd beat him up again!" Ron growled.

"Exactly. That's how the Hufflepuffs feel." Harry nodded.

Ron shook his head, looking very much like Crookshanks batting at something in Harry's lap. "But it's not the same. You're not nearly as annoying as Malfoy."

"Would it be better if it were Neville who got the points?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ron froze, the words stuck in his throat.

Neville.

He was a good friend. But still — a whole Sickle?

"Snape would never give points to Neville," Ron muttered, his voice barely audible. It was his last shred of defiance.

Hedwig and Bows flew in from the lake, their feathers drenched from playing with the merpeople. They chirped and nudged Harry and Hermione, prompting them to cast cleaning spells before the two owls took off again, delivering their letters.

The trio continued discussing the House Cup.

Harry and Hermione gave Ron tips on handling bullies. "Beating someone up isn't just about brute force," Harry explained. "There's an art to ambushing someone. It's not about doing it once and leaving them with bruises."

"George and Fred only cornered Malfoy once," Hermione added.

"The real skill," Harry continued, "is doing it repeatedly, making them dread walking into a trap. You want them to get so scared they'd willingly walk into your ambush just to get it over with."

Ron took notes diligently, more focused than he'd ever been in class.

After a while, Hermione poked Harry's cheek. "Harry, Snape's here." She glanced around awkwardly — most of Harry's body was covered in armor, and his cheek was the only exposed spot she could reach. She still couldn't figure out how he wore that armor every day.

Harry looked up.

Snape had already approached, his expression unreadable. He'd clearly heard Hermione call him by name.

Without a change in his expression, Snape fixed his gaze on Harry. "Potter, we need to talk."

"Is it about what I think it is?" Harry didn't even look up, using his wand to correct a few spelling errors in Ron's notes.

Snape ground his teeth. "Yes."

Harry finally lifted his head. "I thought you'd wait until I lost my patience."

"Has Dumbledore spoken to you already?"

Harry tilted his head toward the castle's eighth floor, where a window gleamed faintly. He could feel a magical presence observing them.

Snape remained silent. He gestured toward a quieter spot by the lake. "Let's talk there."

Harry stood.

Ron made to follow, but Hermione wordlessly cast a spell, dropping a heavy book on his head with a thud.

As Harry walked away with Snape, Hermione shook her head, her voice soft but worried. "That's between them."

The summer sun shone down on the Black Lake. The air was warm, but not stifling.

Harry and Snape faced each other by the water, both standing tall and still, like ancient trees rooted by the shore.

"Has Albus told you about the prophecy?" Snape's voice was rough, dry.

Harry nodded.

"And… did he tell you about my past?" Snape averted his gaze, staring out at the rippling lake.

Harry shook his head. "He didn't. But I did my own research."

Snape fell silent.

Harry continued, his tone steady. "Born in Spinner's End. A drunk father. A mother obsessed with love."

Snap!

Snape's head whipped around, his eyes wide with shock, shame, and rage.

"You— you asked Petunia about me?" His voice cracked as he struggled to suppress his emotions.

Harry nodded. "Obviously, I'm not exactly a model student who always follows orders."

Snape gripped his wand tightly. "What else?"

"You were close to my mum. Then, around fifth year, you had a falling out."

Harry's voice remained calm. "Sirius said it was because you called her a Mudblood."

Snape's face turned pale. His hands trembled.

He activated his Occlumency defenses to keep his emotions in check, but it only made things worse.

Each word Harry spoke was like a dull knife, slicing into Snape's heart — slow, painful, and relentless.

"And later… you became a Death Eater." Harry's gaze bore into him. "I don't know what happened in between."

"Maybe you just couldn't stop your master from killing my mother."

"I hope that's the case, Professor."

Snape opened his mouth but found he had no words. His voice was lost.

He pulled out a vial of Calming Draught and drank deeply, his trembling hands steadying.

"I failed to save Lily. In fact… I caused her death," he whispered, his voice hollow.

Harry took a deep breath. The weight of Snape's words pressed down on him, like the air itself was trying to suffocate him.

Snape continued, his voice broken. "It was I who told Voldemort about the prophecy. He chose you because of it. And that night… he killed Lily."

Harry exhaled slowly, struggling to steady himself. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke.

"Sirius and Lupin told me about my father. About the awful things he did to you."

Snape said nothing.

"As his son, I should apologize on his behalf."

Harry's expression hardened.

"But I can't."

"I can't apologize to the man who caused my parents' deaths."

He reached into the Sorting Hat and pulled out the Bone Sword.

"Draw your wand, Professor."

Harry's voice was cold, resolute.

"Let's end this. All of it."

"Here. Now."

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Powerstones?

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