Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

Ron and Hermione were at a loss over how to dissuade Harry.

Blindness, disfigurement, gender-swapping…these were definitely not good things.

Even Hagrid seemed unsure, glancing at Harry as though thinking Snape might actually be capable of doing such things.

"Hagrid, would you mind if I asked a small favor?" Harry looked around, his eyes brightening with a glimmer of excitement as he finished examining all the magical items in Hagrid's hut. Rubbing his hands together, he took a seat.

Hagrid nodded heartily. "Of course! As long as you don't ask about your parents again, ask away."

"I'd like to borrow a few ingredients to brew a…well…a potion." Harry waved his hand, keeping it vague. "Nothing dangerous, I promise."

"I'll even pay you for the materials."

Hagrid waved his hands dismissively. "No need for that—those things were just scraps I picked up in the Forbidden Forest. You're welcome to use anything you like."

Ron looked on in envy. "You just found these lying around in the Forbidden Forest? That's amazing! I mean, if I could do that one day, I'd love to be a groundskeeper."

Harry took him at his word and immediately got up, moving through the hut to gather what he needed.

Oil—most important ingredient.

He made his way to Hagrid's kitchen, scanning the shelves and eventually returning with two large jars—one of dog fat and the other of bear grease.

"Harry, that's what I use for cooking!" Hagrid's eyes widened.

Harry quickly put them down. "Don't worry, I'll only use a little."

"Alright then, but what kind of potion are you brewing?" Hagrid asked, intrigued. Although he'd only studied up to his third year at Hogwarts, he didn't recall potions that required grease. "Professor Snape's never asked me for anything like that."

"It's a special potion." Harry began setting up a cauldron. "Apply it to a sword, and it increases its power."

The Sorting Hat quivered, calling out, "What are you planning to put on Gryffindor's sword, you little devil?"

"It's called sword oil, not 'some weird potion,'" Harry replied matter-of-factly.

The Sorting Hat paused and muttered, "Sword oil?"

"I know about that—Gryffindor used to oil his sword before he had this enchanted one."

"Fine, it's clear you're attached to that sword," the hat conceded. "But it doesn't need oil; it's magically crafted by goblins and never dulls."

"I know, but sword oil isn't just for upkeep." Harry shook his head.

The Sorting Hat sighed but gave in. "Fine, but you'd better promise me one thing."

"Once you've coated the Gryffindor sword, wash it clean before putting it back in me. Don't go mucking up my insides."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the hat. "You're already dirtier than the oil."

"No, I'm not dirty!" the hat protested. "What you see is the dignity of age. I am an ancient but pristine hat."

Harry sighed, giving an indulgent nod. "Sure, sure."

The magical herbs between the two worlds weren't always the same—but for the basics, the similarities were enough.

Hogwarts' Forbidden Forest was an untapped treasure trove of ingredients. No witcher would turn down such a gold mine; Harry recalled how he used to check every path he walked, plucking any herb he found along the way.

For making beast oil? Dog fat and wolf liver.

Unfortunately, Hagrid didn't have wolf liver on hand…but could dog liver work? Harry glanced down at Fang, who gave a whimper and darted behind Hagrid, instinctively sensing his thoughts.

"What's gotten into him?" Hagrid wondered aloud, patting the dog's head.

Harry gave a slight sigh of disappointment.

Then there was the poison required for humanoid oils—the Hangman's Venom. Might as well have some on hand, just in case.

One part dog fat, four parts beggartick…

And for the necrophage oil, Harry glanced at Hagrid—who he often suspected might be a magical hybrid, with maybe giant or troll blood.

Hagrid shivered. "What's the matter, Harry?"

"Could you do me a favor, Hagrid? Next time you're in the forest, could you bring me a few wolf livers?"

"Wolf liver?" Hagrid scratched his head. "Tastes pretty bad, but sure."

Harry nodded, lighting a fire and starting to heat the cauldron. "It's not for eating; it's for potion-making."

"Well then, next time I trade with the centaurs, I'll ask if they have any to spare."

The Forbidden Forest was full of magical creatures, but there were also mundane animals like bears, wolves, rabbits, and forest sheep.

While Harry focused on brewing his oil, Ron and Hermione grappled with Hagrid's tough rock cakes, sharing tales about life at Hogwarts…and their dislike of Draco Malfoy.

They also discussed some recent wizarding news—how someone had managed to break into Gringotts and get away unscathed.

Hagrid shook his head, relieved he'd been at the bank just before the incident, running an errand for Dumbledore. Lucky for him, he hadn't encountered the intruder.

Harry, though, was unconcerned. He was young and practically unknown—Gringotts wouldn't exactly go handing him a stack of Galleons to investigate a robbery.

By dinner, Ron and Hermione finally dragged Harry away from Hagrid's hut, though he left with no small satisfaction.

Ron brought back a few of Hagrid's rock cakes, Hermione left with a collection of bruises from the hard treats, and Harry walked away with seven bottles of sword oil. He made a mental note that Hagrid's hut was a treasure trove worth visiting frequently.

But he didn't get many opportunities.

First-year classes weren't too heavy, but the new magic system and potions were a big enough pull to keep Harry absorbed, often trailing professors with questions—even Snape, when he could catch him without risking a blowup.

Ron was always on edge watching him.

Even Gryffindor's hourglass of rubies seemed to tremble whenever Harry approached Snape.

While Gryffindor gained points Monday through Thursday, they lost a steady flow of them every Friday during Potions. At first, his housemates were a bit unsettled by this, but eventually, they almost started rooting for it.

If the points were dropping, it meant Harry had once again stirred up the snake's den, and Gryffindor wasn't the only one suffering from Snape's wrath.

During the first few weeks, Gryffindor diligently focused on their studies under Harry's influence. But eventually, true to form, they drifted back into more mischievous pursuits.

Harry and Hermione alone kept to their schedules, faithfully studying in the library daily. As Ron had predicted on the train, he ended up relying on Harry's notes for his assignments.

Harry didn't mind. After completing his work, he'd leave his parchment out in the common room for others to use as a reference.

Hermione, however, was less impressed. "Harry, you can't keep spoiling them like this! They should be doing the work themselves."

The other Gryffindors stayed silent, burying their heads and feigning deafness. Even Ron mumbled something inaudible, knowing he couldn't argue with Hermione.

Soon, though, something more exciting took over the common room.

Flying lessons were about to begin. After copying Harry's homework, everyone eagerly discussed their upcoming flight class.

Harry was just as interested.

Flying might finally give him an advantage against creatures like griffins, wyverns, and sea harpies. His crossbow skills had always been mediocre, and nothing would thrill him more than learning to fly—even on a broomstick.

The only drawback? The class would be shared with Slytherin.

On Thursday afternoon, the long-anticipated flying lesson arrived, with Ron dragging Harry to the Quidditch pitch well ahead of time.

Madam Hooch, a striking figure, was a seasoned flier but took a cautious approach to teaching. Perhaps due to prior accidents—or maybe just because this class was a mix of Gryffindors and Slytherins.

But trouble was unavoidable.

There were two major troublemakers in Gryffindor.

One was Seamus, prone to magical mishaps. What would be harmless spells for others had a tendency to explode in his hands.

The other was Neville, who often bungled Potions class. Thankfully, Harry was usually nearby to help, so his worst outcome was a ruined potion.

Today, however…

Neville managed to lift off briefly—only to crash hard. Madam Hooch had to leave the students alone to rush him to the hospital wing.

"Did you see that giant oaf fall?" Malfoy jeered the moment Madam Hooch was out of earshot. "Just like a troll."

"I mean, honestly, who falls off a broom?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Parvati snapped.

"Oh, look at the little defender," Pansy sneered. "Are you sweet on the blubbering baby?"

Malfoy's eyes lit up. He darted to where Neville had fallen and held something aloft, waving it in Harry's direction. "Hey, Potter! Look what I've got!"

"Your dim-witted little pet's trinket."

"A Remembrall," he taunted. "Figures someone with his empty head would need one of these."

He shot Harry a challenging look, raising his eyebrows.

"First of all, Neville isn't my pet," Harry replied with a cool expression. "And second, I suggest you put that down, Malfoy."