In Pursuit

Geralt looked at Harry's expression. "So our timelines really don't match."

"That was four years ago," Harry nodded. "You were attacked in Rivia, and Ciri got you out. There were rumors that you died, but shortly after, you were mentioned again. The gap between the two rumors was at most six months."

"I met Letho—you probably don't know him yet. He's a Witcher from the Viper school. You two went through some things together."

"During that time, I don't know exactly what happened to you. We eventually found you unconscious, naked, and amnesiac at Kaer Morhen. That was only about a year ago."

Yennefer raised a brow.

Geralt frowned. "That sounds terrible."

Harry shook his head. "It gets worse. Ciri brought you into this world at least a thousand years ago."

"Hogwarts hadn't even been founded back then."

Yennefer gave a cold chuckle. "So I really am an old woman now, huh?"

"And Ciri?" Geralt asked.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. I've only found traces of her—no actual sightings."

"But I'm sure she's not in this world."

Dumbledore stood quietly to the side, listening.

Geralt and Yennefer glanced at him occasionally.

"You can trust Albus," Harry noticed their hesitation. "He wouldn't do anything to Ciri. In fact, he's not very interested in power at all, and he's remarkably free of curiosity."

Dumbledore gave a gentle smile. "I'm quite old enough already."

"Geralt and Yennefer are probably no younger than you," Harry cut in. "They just look younger."

"Even without counting that extra thousand years."

Geralt nodded. "My hair's the same color as yours, Mr. Albus."

Yennefer said nothing, but she stared at Harry with an intense look.

Harry sighed. "Yennefer, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm not Dandelion. I just meant to say that you're experienced and wise."

Yennefer scoffed.

"They're not younger than me?" Dumbledore was surprised.

Harry nodded. "In their world, Witchers and sorceresses both enjoy long life spans and youthful appearances. I think Geralt is around a hundred."

"Maybe," Geralt agreed.

Age tends to blur after a while. Once you're old enough, keeping track year by year becomes pointless.

"I'm not a hundred yet," Yennefer interjected, clearly making a point.

"Ms. Yennefer does look very young," Dumbledore complimented her.

Yennefer's expression softened slightly.

Harry continued, "Coming to this world might actually be good for you."

"At least, it could solve the problems Witchers and sorceresses face."

Both of them were taken aback.

"Magic here is different," Harry smiled. "I have a friend who managed to make it possible for two entirely different races to have children."

Fertility—always a sore spot for both Witchers and sorceresses.

Witchers were fundamentally altered by mutation. Other than physical structure, they were essentially a different species—reproductively incompatible.

Sorceresses, in exchange for power, gave up their ability to bear children. Magic caused their wombs to wither.

"Are you serious?" Yennefer asked, her voice quivering slightly with emotion.

Harry nodded. "Absolutely."

He raised his wand. "Here, at least with white magic, there's no such cost."

"As long as you stay true to your ideals, your magic won't abandon you."

"Yennefer, once we reach Hogwarts, you can ask for help. Madam Pomfrey too—I'm sure both would be glad to assist."

Yennefer raised a hand, instinctively covering her stomach.

Fertility was the most painful subject for her.

Of course, she had children—a son and a daughter. She poured all her motherly affection into Harry and Ciri—even though both Harry and Ciri insisted that Eskel was the better candidate for the "mom" role.

"I promise you, it won't be hard to fix," Dumbledore said softly, then suddenly paused.

All four of them looked up.

In the sky, a thin flurry of frost drifted down, and the air abruptly chilled.

"Snow?" Dumbledore asked in surprise, raising a hand. A snowflake landed on his fingertip, biting cold—frostbite almost instantly.

It was July—mid-summer, the hottest time of year.

This frost wasn't normal.

"It's the White Frost," Harry and Geralt said simultaneously.

"The Wild Hunt is here."

They drew their swords and summoned Quen, a golden shimmer coating their skin in subtle runes.

A pale white portal opened before them.

Three skeletal riders emerged, astride bony steeds. They wore full-body, metallic armor of regal design.

"The scent of Elder Blood," one rider hissed, eyes locked on Geralt and Yennefer.

"Take them!" another barked, raising a hand.

Snow and ice intensified.

Monstrous beasts with hunched backs and ridged, grey-white scales lunged from the snow, howling and snarling toward them.

Yennefer spread her arms.

A white barrier flared from beneath her feet, holding back the encroaching frost.

Geralt kicked aside a charging hound, then cast Aard, sending another pack flying.

"I'll deal with the portal," Harry said, conjuring two more protective layers over himself.

"Albus, try suppressing the White Frost!"

Dumbledore raised his wand toward the sky. Meteorological Magic surged—he tried to summon clear skies, parting clouds and revealing a blazing sun—but the snow didn't melt. With the portal still active, the unnatural cold only grew stronger.

Finite Incantatem! he tried to cancel the magic.

But the White Frost wasn't magic—it was a magical phenomenon, part of nature. Still, the spell had some effect, halting its spread.

Harry stepped out of the shield.

The Wild Hunt knights drew swords.

He flicked his wand.

Nearby withered trees transformed—snap snap snap—into ropes that whipped around the riders, yanking them backward. Harry strode forward quickly, stepping right to the portal.

He didn't have a dimeritium bomb, but he had Yrden. He slammed his palm down, and a violet magic circle blossomed on the ground.

The magic flared—disrupting the portal—and in moments, it collapsed.

As it vanished, the White Frost's assault began to subside.

The Wild Hunt didn't control the Frost—they merely brought it with them as they fled its pursuit.

They had adapted to it.

One by one, the monstrous hounds were cut down. The three knights tried to open another portal, but failed. They were swiftly overwhelmed—reduced to piles of ash.

Harry frowned. "This is very bad. I didn't expect them to show up so soon."

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Powerstones?

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