Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World-Chapter 414: He Resembles

The topic shift was so sudden that the Baron's mind couldn't catch up.

He stared at Harry with a blank expression for a long moment before finally shaking his head. "Right now, hair isn't exactly my biggest concern."

Aside from the upper-class nobles, men in this world rarely cared about their appearance.

Compared to flamboyant looks, the power of command and the wealth one possessed were what truly mattered to a man.

"You need to change, start anew," Harry said calmly.

The Baron froze, turning to look at the bottle of liquor.

It was only then that he realized what Harry meant.

"Witcher, you make a good point," he muttered.

Harry wasn't talking about growing hair for real.

He was talking about adopting a new way of living.

"How much for that shampoo of yours?" The Baron clenched his fists, determination flashing in his eyes as he resolved to give away his hidden stash of alcohol.

The witcher was right.

Drowning in past mistakes would only ensure that he would never escape them.

A few minutes later, Harry shoved a pouch of crowns into the Sorting Hat, took Hermione by the hand, and Disapparated straight to Novigrad.

The Baron stared at the three small vials on the table, deep in thought.

Ten crowns each.

Would it really work?

Novigrad was just as chaotic as ever.

"Aren't we going to find Priscilla and the others?" Hermione asked as she pulled out her wand, clearing the memories of a few innocent bystanders who had witnessed their sudden arrival.

They hadn't landed in Dandelion's tavern.

Instead, they were in a secluded alleyway in the middle of the city.

"Ciri's in Skellige," Harry shook his head. "Priscilla and the others wouldn't be able to help much."

Harry led the way, with Hermione following close behind, until they reached the port.

Skellige was a cluster of islands out on the open sea, far from Novigrad.

"Do we need to take a ship?" Hermione asked, wrinkling her nose as she looked at the wooden vessels bobbing in the water.

"We're wizards," Harry replied with a grin, shaking his head.

He pulled out his wand, giving it a light flick.

Two brooms flew out from the hat—both Firebolts.

This wasn't Harry's original plan. Despite having money, he was always quite frugal. Sirius, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He had been wealthy all his life, and aside from his years in Azkaban, he never experienced real hardship. He was generous to a fault, especially with Harry.

"Buy the best," Sirius had declared.

In the wizarding world, where commercial influence was still limited, "the best" often meant "the most expensive."

Knowing that Harry would need brooms for travel in the other world, Sirius had splurged on five brand-new Firebolts for him. Combined with Harry's original one, that made six in total.

Harry wasn't alone—Hermione needed one too.

Two were for everyday use, two were backups, and the last two were backups for the backups.

"Aren't we going to use the Disillusionment Charm?" Hermione asked, a bit surprised.

Harry smirked. "This time, we're not going to Temple Isle."

"Let's just leave like this. The Eternal Fire soldiers won't catch us. Consider it a little farewell message to Dandelion and the others."

Hermione nodded and mounted the broom.

The two of them were dressed oddly, holding beautifully crafted brooms that clearly weren't meant for sweeping.

The peculiar sight caught the attention of the guards nearby.

"Hey! Who are you people?" one of the guards shouted as more began to gather.

Harry didn't bother answering. He just kicked off the ground, launching forward like an arrow.

Hermione followed right after.

She wasn't very good at flying yet, so she didn't accelerate too quickly.

"Witches! They're witches!" one of the guards screamed.

Some of them raised crossbows, aiming at the sky and firing.

But...

The Firebolt was currently the finest broom in existence, capable of accelerating to 150 miles per hour in just ten seconds.

Even with Hermione flying at a slightly slower pace, within just a second or two, they had already shot forward a hundred feet.

The crossbows didn't even have that kind of range.

Their bolts arced through the air, splashing uselessly into the water far below.

"Quick! Go to Temple Isle," one of the guards barked through clenched teeth. "Tell the witch hunters what happened!"

Two witches—one man and one woman—had appeared at the docks of Novigrad, blatantly using their wicked magic to fly out over the sea.

Temple Isle tried to contain the news, but too many people had seen it.

By the afternoon, the whole city was buzzing with the story.

At the Vanilla Lily Tavern, which still hadn't officially reopened, Dandelion was busy planning its transformation into a music hall. He envisioned it as the finest in all of Novigrad, filled with the best minstrels and bards, male and female alike.

"Those two wizards had to be Harry and Hermione," Zoltan said, pulling Dandelion aside after overhearing some workers talking.

Dandelion nodded. "Flying on brooms... it sounds ridiculous, but didn't we see it with our own eyes?"

"Only they could pull off something like that."

"That damn Harry... coming back to Novigrad and not even stopping by to say hello," Zoltan grumbled.

Dandelion shook his head. "They're busy. They're looking for Ciri."

"You shouldn't worry about them."

"Harry is powerful. I'd wager even Geralt wouldn't be able to take him down now."

"A witcher who can do magic... who does that remind you of?"

Zoltan froze, a certain name popping into his head.

Vilgefortz.

A genius sorcerer, immensely talented.

He wasn't a witcher, but his combat skills rivaled theirs—perhaps even surpassed them.

Geralt had suffered badly at his hands before. In a direct confrontation, Vilgefortz had beaten Geralt with just two strikes, shattering his leg.

Since that encounter, Geralt had been much more cautious with his movements, even avoiding jumping from high places.

"Harry..." Zoltan muttered the name under his breath.

Dandelion shook his head. "Harry's matured now."

"He's nothing like the impulsive kid he used to be. He's strong—strong enough to capture members of the Wild Hunt. Trust me, he doesn't need us watching his back anymore."

"Zoltan, stop worrying about it and give me a hand here."

"If we can finish today, we can celebrate with some fine wine!"

"Come on!"

Zoltan put his worries aside, nodding as he followed Dandelion to help the workers.

Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione were still flying.

Pushing the Firebolts to their top speed of 150 miles per hour, they streaked across the open sea.

Every now and then, sirens or monsters from the islands would take notice of them, but they were moving so fast that the creatures barely had time to comprehend what had passed by.

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Powerstones?

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