The Death Eaters weren't particularly perceptive.
But they were especially nervous facing Dumbledore and Harry.
The former—renowned, the greatest white wizard alive.
The latter—rising swiftly in fame. Compared to Dumbledore, it was this young, not-yet-graduated wizard they feared more. Countless Death Eaters had already died at his hands.
Harry looked up toward the stairs.
Rodolphus slowly descended.
"Tom," he said clearly, naming him precisely.
Voldemort dragged his tone, "Potter, you still recognize me?"
"Of course. That stench of rotting in a pile of old women is unmistakable," Harry said mockingly.
Yennefer's eyes turned dangerous.
"Mrs. Malfoy," Voldemort turned to the most vulnerable person in the room, his tone regretful. "I truly didn't expect it to be you who betrayed me."
"Where did you find the courage?"
Narcissa clenched her fists but said nothing.
"Master! Master!" Lucius scrambled forward, groveling at Voldemort's feet. "That damnable woman—leave her to me! She dared betray you, sully the honor of the Malfoy name—I swear I will—"
Voldemort waved a hand, cutting him off. "Lucius."
"My once dear friend."
"I gave you chance after chance, yet you always disappointed me."
"Your precious little Malfoy—a fifth-year student—surviving again and again against Death Eaters. What is he, Potter? When did the Malfoy family start producing such remarkable children?"
He flicked his wand.
Avada Kedavra!
Green light flashed—sudden, merciless—striking Lucius directly.
Death gave no warning.
Still half-speaking, Lucius stiffened, then fell flat on his back, arms stretched wide, collapsing at Voldemort's feet—right in front of Narcissa.
There was no fear on his face—just a hint of relief.
Narcissa clamped her hands over her mouth, stifling a sob.
"Still got strength left, I see." Harry raised his wand—Transfiguration surged forth.
Dumbledore lifted his wand too, magic pouring out to cover the entire manor.
Geralt drew the Sword of the Lake and charged forward, fighting side-by-side with Harry.
Yennefer and Dumbledore moved together to deal with the remaining Death Eaters.
Suddenly—
A flash of green light from the second floor.
Harry and Geralt dove, rolling across the floor. The spell hit a sofa, detonating it into flaming shreds.
"I'll handle that woman," Geralt muttered, glancing toward the upstairs corridor—where Bellatrix, hair wild, had appeared. He shouted and, under Yennefer's magical cover, rushed through the Death Eaters and up the stairs.
"Bring her in alive," Harry called after him.
Voldemort's face remained calm as he parried Harry's attacks.
The fight didn't last long.
Thwack!
Harry's sword pierced Voldemort's new body through the heart. Blood sprayed across his face, but Harry remained expressionless.
"Potter, you've won again," Voldemort said, unnervingly calm.
Harry cast Expelliarmus, sending Voldemort's wand flying. Dumbledore caught it with a gesture.
"Thanks," Harry nodded at him. "But defeating you doesn't bring me pride."
Voldemort grinned. "Really?"
"Then I hope you keep winning forever."
He raised a hand.
The bound Death Eaters around them suddenly radiated an overwhelming, evil aura—including Bellatrix upstairs, who was still battling Geralt.
Geralt, cautious and methodical in his first fight against a wizard, focused more on steady pressure than lethal strikes.
Bellatrix smiled at him, dropped her wand, closed her eyes, and turned toward her master with arms outstretched.
"Albus!" Harry turned to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore raised his wand toward Voldemort.
"No—Bellatrix!" Harry corrected, then shouted upward, "Geralt, get that madwoman out of here!"
Yennefer teleported upstairs, grabbed Geralt, bound the unresisting Bellatrix with magic, and then flashed the three of them outside.
"She's quick to act," Dumbledore muttered—his wand hadn't even reached where Bellatrix had stood.
Harry was even quicker. He kicked Voldemort's body, pulled out his sword, spun around, grabbed Narcissa by the hair, and dragged her toward the exit.
Dumbledore was the last one out.
"Hurry!" Yennefer barked. "The magic on this body is strange—I can't hold it!"
Dumbledore cast a spell—like a Patronus in nature—its white light enveloped Bellatrix, gradually suppressing the sinister magic inside her.
Inside the manor, the dark aura intensified—like fire, it surged into an inferno.
Narcissa collapsed to her knees.
Her heart, like Malfoy Manor itself, burned beneath the cursed flames.
Dumbledore turned and raised his wand, took a deep breath, and incanted:
"Finite Incantatem!"
His magic surged, and the fire's fury waned.
Yennefer, watching him chant, seemed lost in thought.
Harry pointed his wand at Bellatrix's head. "Let's see..."
The wand tip touched her temple—he carefully drew out a long, silver thread of memory, placing it gently into a vial.
The fire was finally extinguished.
Dumbledore turned. "Harry, should we return to Hogwarts now?"
"Wait," Harry replied, tucking the bottle away. "I need to check something."
He stepped into the scorched ruins of Malfoy Manor, sword in hand.
He passed charred corpses, examining each carefully—ensuring they were truly dead. Finally, he checked Voldemort's stolen body. No trace of a soul remained.
Satisfied, Harry levitated one corpse carefully and walked out—stopping in front of Narcissa.
With a flick of his wrist, the body dropped.
"This is Lucius Malfoy," Harry said softly.
Narcissa sobbed silently.
"I'm sure. There's no mistake," Harry said again.
Narcissa still said nothing.
Harry sighed and walked over to Dumbledore.
The old wizard reached out to grab his wrist.
Harry dodged. "Spare me, Albus—I've Apparated way too many times today."
Dumbledore chuckled helplessly.
"Horseback?" Geralt asked.
Harry shook his head and tapped the Sorting Hat. "No. Something much more exciting. You'll love it."
The Hat grumbled to life: "Harry, you called me?"
"I was worried sick—I couldn't reach my main body today. Thought something happened. Glad you're okay."
Geralt and Yennefer stared at the talking hat in disbelief.
A sentient magical artifact?
"Bring your body over, and grab a motorcycle while you're at it," Harry instructed. "We're heading to Hogwarts."
"You want a motorcycle to drive a motorcycle?" the Hat scoffed.
Harry gave it a smack. "Hurry up."
The magical aura vanished. The hat went back to being plain and silent.
"Harry, aren't you going to introduce your friends?" Dumbledore asked as they moved away from the ruins—and from Narcissa's grief.
"Yennefer of Vengerberg, an old woman," Yennefer said calmly, emphasizing the word.
Harry flinched.
"Geralt of Rivia, a Witcher," Geralt said, resigned.
Dumbledore nodded. "Vengerberg and Rivia—those are places?"
"So I must be Albus from Hogwarts, then?"
Harry smiled. "Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts—a school for magic, sort of like Ban Ard or Aretuza, but much more peaceful."
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes.
Ban Ard and Aretuza were names he'd never heard before. His suspicions were being confirmed.
"Things are a bit complicated," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "Thank you, Albus, for always trusting me, never questioning where my knowledge or powers came from."
Dumbledore nodded.
Harry continued, "It happened before my eleventh birthday. Something like a Conjunction of the Spheres occurred. That's when two worlds overlap—species, environments invade each other. Only I passed into Geralt's world."
"I chose to become a Witcher there. Met many trustworthy mentors."
Yennefer nodded. "Like me, the old woman."
Harry winced. "Yennefer, I didn't mean it like that."
"Didn't you?" Yennefer deadpanned.
Harry sighed. "I'll explain more about Tom later."
He paused. "Just before the Wild Hunt showdown, maybe it was another Conjunction—or maybe it was Ciri—but I returned to my world. My age reset to eleven. It all felt like a dream. But all the changes, all the knowledge... came back with me."
"Wait—what did you say? Showdown with the Wild Hunt?" Geralt's expression barely changed, but the shock was clear.
Harry blinked. "Yeah, showdown with the Wild Hunt. You suggested it."
Geralt frowned. "Ciri's fought them before, sure... but we had a showdown?"
"What's your timeline?" Harry asked.
They both paused.
Geralt continued, "I never fought the Wild Hunt. Last I remember, I was with Dandelion, Zoltan, and Yarpen at the Virsen Tavern. A riot broke out in Rivia. I got unlucky—stabbed with a pitchfork. I thought I was dead. Then Ciri sent me and Yennefer to Avalon. Then... you woke us up."
"Rivia massacre?" Harry blinked in surprise.
That was four years before he'd returned to this world.
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates