Reaction

Hogwarts.

Upon returning to the school, the first sight that greeted Harry and the others was the Black Lake, still frozen over, untouched by thaw.

The merpeople were grumbling loudly.

Armed with tridents or spells, they were doing their best to break the ice.

Even the giant squid was helping, smashing great chunks of the ice with its thick tentacles.

When they saw Harry, they let out sharp cries.

Harry responded with a similarly sharp call. The merpeople sighed—some continued to scream.

With a wave of his wand, Harry conjured a batch of ice-breaking tools for them.

"What are those?" Ciri asked, peering curiously at the strange-looking creatures.

"Merpeople," Harry replied simply. "A subhuman magical species. Generally friendly to humans."

"They were just asking me to help with the ice."

He paused. "Out of respect for the fact that I once gave their tribe a good beating—but I don't have time, so I gave them some tools instead."

Ciri watched as the merfolk, now better equipped, worked even harder. "Life here seems exciting."

"Hogwarts is a lot like Kaer Morhen," Harry said softly.

They entered the castle.

Ciri gasped in awe. The exterior of Hogwarts looked modest enough, but inside, its grandeur far surpassed Kaer Morhen. Most of all, unlike typical fortresses, Hogwarts didn't feel gloomy. Even at night, the soft, scattered lights gave the place a warm and cozy atmosphere.

"Who's there?" Their footsteps echoed, prompting a sharp feline cry and a rasping voice.

An old man holding an oil lamp emerged from the shadows.

His steps were catlike, silent.

Ciri instinctively stepped back.

The warmth she'd just felt was immediately replaced with a sense of eerie dread. This man matched her imagination of what a thousand-year-old castle should contain.

"It's me, Filch," Harry called.

Mrs. Norris scampered over and affectionately rubbed against Harry's feet.

Ciri was stunned. "Harry! A cat just greeted you?"

Witchers being liked by cats—that was unheard of.

Harry waved his wand, conjured a few owl treats from the Sorting Hat, and gently laid them in front of Mrs. Norris.

Filch, seeing his cat's behavior, relaxed a little and approached quietly. "Mr. Potter, thank goodness you're back."

"Hogwarts was attacked today. Not even Professor Dumbledore managed to catch the culprit."

"And…" he hesitated, then added cautiously, "your classmate, Mr. Longbottom of Gryffindor, was gravely injured. He's still unconscious in the infirmary."

Harry nodded. "Understood."

"Is Professor Dumbledore in his office?"

"He returned this afternoon," Filch replied.

Returned?

Harry raised an eyebrow.

So Dumbledore left after the attack?

He drew his wand and cast a Patronus Charm. A silvery griffin burst forth and galloped off—it was a message for Geralt and Yennefer.

Then he led Hermione and Ciri to the headmaster's office.

He spoke the password, pushed open the door, and entered.

Dumbledore wasn't alone—Snape sat there too, visibly exhausted.

"Harry," Dumbledore greeted, lifting a hand. When he saw the white-haired girl beside Hermione, he paused. "This must be Miss Ciri?"

Harry nodded. "What's wrong with Professor Snape?"

"Too much dung in your brain—it's beyond even a Potions Master's ability to flush it out," Harry quipped.

Snape merely lifted his eyes, sneered faintly, and said nothing.

"Some things happened today," Dumbledore gestured, conjuring chairs and inviting them to sit. "Severus had a rough time."

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Tea will be fine," Ciri said.

With another flick of his wand, Dumbledore poured tea and began explaining the day's events.

He recounted the goblin rebellion at Gringotts.

The Ministry had gravely misjudged—there weren't just over a hundred goblins as reported, but nearly three times that number.

Dumbledore had to go himself and employ a variety of strategies to drive them back.

Snape, masquerading as a Death Eater, was targeted by Aurors. He couldn't reveal his identity, nor could he use potions or spells he was best at. He nearly got captured before Dumbledore intervened.

And most crucially—

After Voldemort's resurrection, Snape lost all contact with the Dark Lord. Even the Dark Mark remained completely dormant.

Where had he gone?

What was he doing?

Neither Dumbledore nor Snape could track him.

Harry rubbed his forehead. "That's pretty much what I suspected, Albus. From Imlerith's memories—"

BANG! The door burst open.

Yennefer charged in, wearing her nightrobe backwards. Her eyes scanned the room and locked onto Ciri with laser precision.

"Ciri!" she cried, rushing to her.

Ciri jumped up, eyes shining. "Yennefer!"

They embraced tightly.

"My beautiful troublemaker," Yennefer said, pulling back to study her. "You've grown into such a stunning young woman."

Geralt followed silently, smiling.

"Geralt!" Ciri called joyfully, letting go of Yennefer to hug him.

Snape turned his head, quietly watching Fawkes nap in the corner, cuddled up with two jars of cockroaches.

Dumbledore removed his glasses, dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief. "Such a touching reunion."

Harry conjured two more chairs. "Geralt, Yennefer, sorry to interrupt your... evening."

Yennefer didn't even notice her inside-out robe. She had clearly just thrown it on.

Geralt, at least, wore his pajamas properly—though barefoot.

"Nothing's more important than Ciri," Yennefer said, shaking her head. "Harry, well done. You're now a better Witcher than Geralt."

Geralt just shook his head and let Ciri go.

He didn't mind. Ciri's safety was all that mattered.

Harry waved his hand. "Let's catch up later. In another world, Ciri and I met Imlerith."

"From his memories, Eredin abandoned him—used him as a pawn to confirm that I stayed in that world."

"Caranthir, Imlerith... they paid a steep price, just to confirm I'd remain there for one day."

"For yesterday," Harry added after checking his watch.

"All that, just to help the Dark Lord revive?" Snape sneered. "Eredin must be truly in love with him."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Tom has always been a master manipulator."

Ciri explained, "The Aen Elle and the Aen Seidhe were once the same people—powerful, graceful. They used to travel freely between worlds. But one day, the White Frost targeted them, destroying their homeworld."

"They fled from world to world, always chased by the Frost."

"Goldens, commanders—so many leaders were lost in that endless flight."

"Compared to the White Frost, those two were nothing."

To Eredin, anything that might help control the White Frost—anything short of annihilation—was worth sacrificing.

Snape remained silent.

Dumbledore didn't offer an opinion either. Neither had experienced species-level extinction—Ciri's words carried a weight they could only guess at.

"Professor Snape," Harry turned to him, "any way to contact Voldemort?"

Snape snapped, "Don't ask such foolish questions, Potter."

"There's no way to contact him—no spell works."

He paused, gazing meaningfully at Ciri. "It's like he vanished from this world."

Harry said nothing.

Dumbledore summoned a box to the table. "There is some good news: the last Horcrux, Nagini, is still in our hands."

During the earlier battle, the Patronus he cast wasn't meant for Harry or reinforcements—it had been to alert Rita and the others to capture Nagini.

"But even with the Horcrux," Dumbledore sighed, "I still can't track Tom."

Harry looked at him. "Albus, what do you think Tom will do to Eredin, now that he's resurrected?"

Ciri tilted her head. "Wait—I thought you said they were allies?"

They didn't sound like allies now.

"Miss Ciri," Dumbledore said softly, "you've never met Tom. You don't know what he's like."

"I believe what Harry suspects."

Harry said, "If Tom hasn't appeared, hasn't contacted Professor Snape, that means he's working on something more important."

"What's more important than this?" Hermione asked.

"Gaining full control over a power that still resists him," Harry replied.

"To Tom, the Wild Hunt isn't a force he can fully control yet."

Ciri gasped. "You're saying... that man—Tom, or Voldemort—will attack Eredin?"

Dumbledore nodded.

Suddenly, Snape sucked in a sharp breath. He pulled up his sleeve.

The Dark Mark on his left arm—given by Voldemort—was glowing faintly with red heat and magical energy.

After a day of silence, it had finally stirred.

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Powerstones?

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