Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World-Chapter 417: Awakening

The dwarves struggled, shouting and yelling.

"Witcher, what do you think you're doing?"

"Damn it, let us go!"

It was deafening.

Hermione flicked her wand. Their mouths kept moving, but not a single sound came out.

She frowned, unease in her eyes as she looked at Harry. Her peripheral vision remained fixed on the woman lying on the bed.

Dead.

Even without witcher senses or further checking, it was plain to see—the woman was lifeless.

"Is that Ciri?" Hermione asked, a little hesitant. "It... probably isn't, right?"

She stared into Harry's eyes but saw nothing. No emotion. Not even she could read anything in his gaze.

Her words held a trace of hope.

Hair, appearance, scars... all perfectly matched the description of "a young woman with silver hair and a scar on her face."

Hermione had no special feelings toward Ciri herself. But she knew what Ciri meant to Yennefer and Geralt—and that, to Harry, she was like a sister.

She feared what this moment might do to him.

After crossing two worlds, searching relentlessly without rest—only to find a corpse?

"It's Ciri." Harry's voice was soft, hoarse.

Hermione didn't know what to say. Her hand clutched her sleeve tightly.

"She looks dead. But maybe it's a way to avoid the Wild Hunt." Harry's tone grew firmer, tinged with self-consolation. "Let's bring her back to Avallac'h. He should know something."

Panic had been his first instinct.

Death was hard to fake.

But why?

In his previous timeline, Geralt had brought Ciri back.

Was this the butterfly effect?

Or something else—some twisted ripple in time that couldn't be undone?

Harry took a deep breath and reached out, grabbing Hermione's hand.

She was startled—not by the gesture, but by the chill of his hand. She had never felt Harry this cold.

Without hesitation, she grasped it tightly, fingers interlacing.

"Besides, I don't sense death on her," Harry said, the warmth of Hermione's hand giving him strength. "You know I've been to the underworld. I've felt the presence of death. She doesn't have it."

Hermione didn't speak, just held his hand tighter and moved a little closer.

"In any case, we're taking her back." Harry lifted his wand and spoke clearly.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

Ciri's body floated up, moving toward the Sorting Hat.

The white orb of light shot toward her, merging into her forehead.

Her breathing resumed.

A heartbeat stirred.

Harry's eyes widened. He exhaled in relief, strength returning to his limbs. He squeezed Hermione's hand.

"Looks like elven magic," he said. "Her vitality was sealed away."

Even a witcher had been fooled.

He waved his wand, gently setting Ciri back on the bed.

She stirred and woke, blinking up at the two at the door.

"Harry... and this is...?"

"My girlfriend," Harry raised their joined hands. "First time meeting—you can call her Hermione. Hermione Granger."

Ciri's eyes lit up. "Girlfriend! Looks like you've had quite the journey."

Harry nodded. "That's one way to put it."

He lit the fireplace with his wand and conjured two chairs. He and Hermione took one each, while Ciri remained sitting on the bed.

"That's the magic from your world?" Ciri asked curiously.

"Didn't you see it when you met Merlin?" Harry replied.

Ciri shook her head. "Back then, magic in your world wasn't as developed. Spells required long, elaborate chants."

"It was nowhere near this convenient."

Hermione pulled red tea and pastries from the Sorting Hat, conjured a small table, and closed the door to block the chill.

"You were preparing even then, when you went back to ancient Britain?" Harry asked.

Ciri nodded, accepting the tea with a nod of thanks.

"Yes. You can't imagine what it's like to see someone you only heard about in bedtime stories suddenly appear before you."

Ciri was more than ten years younger than Harry. After Geralt brought her to Kaer Morhen, Harry—being closest in age—often ended up watching her.

He had told her stories from his own world—King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, Merlin, even The Three Little Pigs.

She sipped the tea and gasped in delight. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

"Oh wow, not just magic—the food's evolved too!"

"No, not really," Harry said flatly. "The tea is from Sri Lanka, the pastries from France. Aside from Hermione and me, there's nothing British here."

"What a terrible realization," Ciri sighed.

She continued.

"When I met Merlin and Pendragon, I was even more certain this was your world. It explained everything—why you have such strange powers, why your Signs are so strong, why you learned them so fast."

"At the time, my main concern was Geralt and Yennefer."

"Merlin told me the Isle of Apples could resurrect them. But I'd already made a pact with Lilian and couldn't return there."

"As for Merlin, he had been banished—some... special reasons—and couldn't go back either. No one else had the ability."

She took another sip of tea, popped a macaron into her mouth, then continued.

"So I tried using my Elder Blood to glimpse futures involving you, and had Merlin build a grove in the woods to leave behind clues."

"I knew you'd find them—and that you'd resurrect Geralt and Yennefer."

"And...?"

Harry nodded, smiling. "They're alive and well. As spirited as ever."

"Wonderful." Ciri beamed at the teapot.

Hermione refilled her cup with a flick of her wand.

"Thanks," Ciri said, tilting her head. "But how did you get here? Did wizards finally figure out interdimensional magic?"

Harry shook his head. "Actually, we caught someone."

He tapped the Sorting Hat.

A man floated out.

The dwarves panicked.

Ciri gasped. "Caranthir? You caught him?"

Of course, she recognized him.

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Powerstones?

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