The next morning.
Geralt awoke feeling refreshed. On the silent coat rack, two new sets of clothes had appeared.
One was a loose sports outfit—everyday attire for a regular person.
The other was a black, tight-fitting witch's robe—prepared for Yennefer.
The clothes were easy to wear.
After putting on his undergarments and the sportswear, Geralt stretched his limbs. The fabric hugged his body without irritating the skin—so comfortable, it surpassed even the finest lamb wool.
He stepped out quietly, gently closing the door behind him and glanced around.
The castle was vast.
But where should he go? Harry had said he lived in a tower, so...
Before he could finish the thought, the floor lit up, revealing a small arrow pointing the way.
Geralt followed it, descending grand staircases, navigating sudden, shifting hallways and floating platforms that carried people midair. At last, he reached the ground-floor Great Hall.
He pushed open the doors.
Inside were four long tables. Harry was seated at one and waved him over.
"Harry, you're up early," Geralt said as he approached. Instantly, a plate and an empty cup appeared before him.
"It's already nearly eight," Harry said, showing his watch. The hour hand was near "VIII," and the minute hand just short of "XII." "Looks like you had a good night?"
Geralt eyed the plate, then glanced at Harry's food. In a low voice, he said, "A serving of red wine braised beef."
His plate instantly filled with tender, juicy beef.
The aroma was mouthwatering.
He picked up his knife and fork expertly. "That thing on your wrist tells precise time?"
"Hermione gave it to me," Harry nodded. "Accurate to the second."
Geralt took a bite of the beef. "I need one of these too. How do I get one?"
"I'll get you one later," Harry replied simply.
Geralt was about to speak again.
Harry continued, "Geralt, I'm rich now. Rich enough that Vesemir would never need to take another contract. I could fully restore Kaer Morhen the way he always wanted—make it livable, comfortable."
"Even potions, weapons, armor—all regularly upgraded."
Geralt was shocked. "You're that rich now?"
Restoring Kaer Morhen wouldn't cost that much—just effort.
Living a comfortable life without contracts wouldn't cost much either.
But regularly updating potions, weapons, and armor? That meant serious wealth. Even minor nobles wouldn't dare claim they could support Vesemir for life—and that man was older than many countries.
"Richer than you imagine," Harry nodded. "The Potters live inside every wizard's head—that's a never-ending income stream."
Geralt swallowed another bite of beef. "No wonder that armor you gave me was like that. Works well, sure, but how long's it been since it was last maintained?"
"That's how it smells," Harry finished his last bite. "Made from troll skin. If you've ever seen one, you'd understand."
Geralt shook his head. "Doesn't sound pleasant."
Harry looked up. "Oh, he's here."
Geralt followed his gaze. "Dangerous man," he murmured.
They heard rapid footsteps from beyond the door—accompanied by a hissing, serpentine presence.
Bang—the door burst open.
Snape entered. "Potter, you—"
He noticed the man sitting opposite Harry—one who shared his exact green eyes.
"Let me introduce—this is Geralt," Harry stood, moved to the Hufflepuff table, and with a flick of his wand, levitated Geralt's plate over. "Someone I trust completely. Just like you, someone I'd entrust my life to."
"This is Severus Snape, a great potions master," Harry added. "I trust him deeply."
"Hello," Geralt greeted him.
At first glance, he wasn't impressed by Snape—loose robes, greasy hair, lifeless eyes, and an aura of danger and malevolence.
Snape felt the same, if not worse—he flatly disliked Geralt.
Especially those amber, slit-pupil eyes.
"Another Potter?" Snape muttered.
Harry shook his head. "Geralt is Geralt. No connection to the Potters. The eyes—it's complicated. I can explain later."
Snape sat. A plate appeared before him.
His appetite wasn't like the two Witchers'. He only requested some peas and potatoes. "Meet me in Dumbledore's office later. We have matters to discuss."
"Barty Crouch Jr. wrote to you?" Harry asked.
Snape paused, glanced at Geralt. "Potter, sometimes people with the same eyes aren't to be trusted."
"Geralt and I have fought and died together many times," Harry said. "He's like a father to me."
Geralt smiled and nodded.
Ah, so that's why.
Snape suddenly understood.
No wonder he instantly disliked this man.
"You've never shown that kind of respect to Black," Snape scoffed.
"My love for my godfather and for Geralt is the same," Harry retorted. "If Sirius heard that, he'd be heartbroken."
He added, "Of course, dear Severus, I love you just the same."
Snape tapped his plate. "I'm eating. Don't say nauseating things."
"Last night, Barty Crouch Jr. sent a letter. Asked for help brewing potions, and for info on the Wild Hunt."
"Address?" Harry asked.
Snape shook his head. "Crouch is as sly as the Dark Lord. No location. I tried to trace him magically—unsuccessfully."
"You failed?" Harry was surprised.
Snape clarified, "It was unsuccessful, not a failure. Too far—magic doesn't reach."
"We'll discuss this with Dumbledore," Harry said, refilling his water. "Did you read the letter I sent you yesterday?"
"You're only in sixth year," Snape shot him a look. "Thinking about having kids is a bit early. At least wait until graduation."
"It's not me," Harry replied.
Snape looked at Geralt, hesitated, then pulled a vial from his pocket. "Deer blood tonic. Good for emergencies. But it's better to go to St. Mungo's—some magic solves these problems easily."
"My dear sir, I'm quite happy in that department. Don't need aids," Geralt took the potion.
Harry added, "It's another issue entirely."
"Madam Pomfrey's coming soon. We'll explain everything then."
Snape quietly resumed eating.
Harry reached into the Sorting Hat and placed an object on the table. "From Avalon—this was part of our haul."
A golden apple gleamed faintly on the table.
"Golden Apple?" Snape sniffed it. The rich aroma sharpened his senses. "The legendary kind?"
Harry nodded.
"Planning to turn it into a potion?" Snape didn't touch it. "Give it to Sprout. Maybe she can grow more."
Harry shook his head. "Its power is fading. Slowly—but nearly one percent's gone since yesterday."
"Any way to preserve it?"
He pulled out another vial—a milky-white liquid glowing faintly.
"This is sap from the golden apple tree."
"It's worse off—nearly a third of its magic gone."
"If we can't preserve it, let's turn it into a potion soon."
Snape sneered, "Is Professor Potter giving me homework now?"
"I'll keep one for myself," Harry said. "If I mess up, Master Snape can be my backup."
Snape grunted, said nothing, and waved his wand, storing the apple and sap.
"We used Thunder potion in Avalon—made by Snape," Harry explained to Geralt. "Many ingredients weren't available, so he modified the recipe bit by bit."
Geralt's gaze grew respectful.
Brewing potions wasn't hard. Modifying formulas? That was.
Snape squinted at Harry's use of the word here.
Yennefer soon awoke. Like Geralt, guided by house-elves, she arrived at the Great Hall.
"Where's Dumbledore?" she asked after swallowing her last bite of pancake.
"Here," Harry replied softly.
Flames burst forth—and Dumbledore appeared, holding someone's hand.
"I went to fetch Poppy," he said.
"Does this woman know about Harry's condition?" Yennefer asked bluntly.
Dumbledore shook his head.
Yennefer gestured. "Then maybe she should step out so we can talk?"
"Madam Pomfrey is trustworthy," Harry said gently. "Dumbledore kept quiet only to avoid worrying them."
"But before we deal with my forehead, let Madam Pomfrey check you first."
Yennefer frowned. "Harry, I've been like this for decades."
"So have I," Harry cut her off.
"Yen, trust Harry," Geralt said. "He's dependable."
Yennefer smirked. "At least more than you."
Geralt shook his head, helpless.
At least...
That meant she agreed.
Madam Pomfrey took a deep breath, waved her wand, and conjured a bed. "Please lie down, miss."
Yennefer complied.
She waved her wand gently. A diagnostic spell landed on her.
Pomfrey's brows soon furrowed.
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Powerstones?
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