Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

The wand was sleek and black, its glossy surface gleaming faintly.

Made from blackthorn wood with a dragon heartstring core, it measured eleven and one-third inches.

The wand had been meticulously cared for by its previous owner, but new bite marks marred its otherwise pristine surface, lowering its value.

Peter trembled, his hand weakly letting go as the wand fell, sinking tip-first into the snow.

"Don't act like this. You were a Gryffindor, for heaven's sake," Harry said coldly, his expression void of emotion. His tone was utterly detached. "A black wizard with the blood of dozens on your hands."

Peter threw himself into the snow, sobbing uncontrollably as he begged Harry for mercy.

"Your pretense won't work," Harry said, frowning in irritation. His voice carried a faint edge of impatience. "Looking like this, who besides Sirius would still believe your act?"

Tears flowed freely from the rat-like man's eyes as he whimpered apologies, his voice drenched with feigned regret. But his demeanor betrayed no hint of genuine remorse.

The aura emanating from him was thick and revolting, like the muck of a fetid swamp, clinging and nauseating.

Harry pulled out his protective talisman.

It trembled violently, its hum loud enough to overshadow the howling wind and snow.

"Look at me," Harry demanded, his tone sharp.

Peter instinctively raised his head.

"You can't even hide your malice. So why bother pretending?" Harry said evenly. His voice carried a strange calm as he tilted his head slightly. "Many say I look a lot like my father, James Potter."

"Why don't you think of me as him?"

"You betrayed a friend, yet used someone else's hand to kill them. Doesn't that make you uncomfortable?"

"Wouldn't it have been more fitting to kill the friend you betrayed with your own hands?"

Harry paused before continuing, his words icy: "I assure you, only I will face you. Neither Uncle Lupin, my godfather, Hermione, nor Ron will interfere."

Peter hesitated but eventually picked up the wand and struggled to his feet. His eyes, brimming with resentment and hate, locked onto Harry.

"Potter, I know you're capable," Peter began, taking a deep breath. His hunched shoulders rose as he puffed himself up. "But you'll regret this. A real fight isn't the same as facing magical creatures or dueling professors."

"You're not a magical creature?" Harry quipped, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. "A rat that can turn into a man—an amazing little bald-headed beast."

Peter gritted his teeth in frustration.

Harry walked over to Hermione and handed her his own wand. "Hermione, can I borrow yours?"

Hermione blinked in surprise, momentarily confused, but then pulled her wand from her robes and handed it over.

"I won't bully you," Harry said, addressing Peter. His voice was steady, almost indifferent. "That wand isn't yours, and I won't use mine either."

Hermione's wand was well-kept, made of vinewood with a dragon heartstring core. Slightly shorter than Harry's own, it measured ten and three-quarter inches.

As soon as it was in Harry's hand, it thrummed with a lively energy, wrapping its aura warmly around him.

The bitter wind howled, razor-sharp gusts rattling the trees, sending skeletal branches swaying and creaking.

Lupin and the others stepped back.

Even Crookshanks and the other animals went still, their eyes fixed on the two figures standing alone in the vast, snowy expanse.

Crunch, crunch—

The sound of Harry's boots breaking through the snow echoed as he approached Peter. From the Sorting Hat, he drew the Sword of Gryffindor.

"Remember the etiquette of dueling?" Harry asked, his voice low and steady.

Peter bowed slightly, offering a shallow salute.

"Ard!"

Harry slashed his wand, releasing a shockwave of magic that sent snow flying. Peter stumbled backward, nearly falling. Harry stepped forward, layering himself in Quen before raising the sword in his other hand and driving it downward with force.

"Dueling etiquette is for humans."

"And you're no human."

Harry's voice was a low growl, seething as he spat the words.

The sword thirsted for blood.

Peter, ever the rat, contorted himself to shift into his Animagus form just in time to avoid the blow. In an instant, he reverted to his human shape and raised his wand, aiming it at Harry's chest.

Harry's boot connected with Peter's side, driving into his kidneys with a heavy thud.

Peter screamed, the pain cutting his incantation short.

Another strike of the sword came down!

"Bombarda!"

An explosive shockwave erupted. Harry's protective Quen glowed brilliantly, shielding him as the force pushed him back. Peter scrambled, attempting to burrow into the snow.

Thud, thud—

The snowy terrain came alive. Harry's robe morphed into metallic vines, sharp and unyielding, which speared through Peter's legs. Blood spattered, staining the white landscape red. Peter's agonized screech pierced the air.

The vines tightened, dragging him back, leaving a bloody trail in the snow.

From beneath the snowdrift, an army of rats emerged, their mouths grotesquely large, gnashing as they swarmed toward Harry.

"Ard!"

The magic sigil pulsed outward, sending the rats flying. Snow and dirt churned as Harry yanked the vines again, only to find their grip had loosened.

A wave of panicked rodents scurried in all directions.

Scanning the chaos, Harry quickly spotted Peter. With a flick of his wand, his robe transformed into a massive cage, slamming down.

The rat yelped, twisting back into human form as the cage crashed over him. He desperately waved his wand.

The first cage shattered, but a second swiftly replaced it, slamming down even harder.

Peter flailed wildly, stumbling and crawling as he tried to escape.

He attempted to retaliate, but Harry's unrelenting assault left him no room to recover.

This boy—no, this young man—was far more formidable than Ron or the Gryffindors had ever described.

Peter's strength, magic, and willpower were rapidly draining.

If this continued… he would die.

He would truly die.

Panic and despair filled Peter's eyes. The fear of death, which had haunted him for thirteen years, gripped his throat tighter than ever.

He raised his wand, summoning every ounce of his magic for the spell that had once saved him by faking his own death.

But—

Snap!

The vine lashed out, striking his hand and sending the wand flying.

The spell fizzled out, vanishing as quickly as it had formed.

Peter stared blankly at the wand, now embedded in the snow.

He didn't move. He didn't run.

With a heavy thud, he dropped to his knees.

"You're weak," Harry said coldly, his voice dripping with disappointment.

"My parents… my father and mother died because of someone like you."

"I thought you'd be stronger. I thought you'd be ambitious. I thought you'd be cruel…"

Harry took a step closer, his sword gleaming in the pale light. Peter flinched, his rat-like instincts betraying him.

"But what did you show me?"

Harry's voice wavered, a mixture of contempt and melancholy.

"Weakness. Cowardice. Evasion."

"It's absurd—my parents died because of you."

"It's laughable."

Peter didn't respond. His tear-filled eyes begged silently for mercy.

The talisman in Harry's hand ceased its trembling.

With deliberate slowness, Harry approached.

The Gryffindor sword rose high, its blade flashing.

With a single, forceful stroke, it came down.

The blade severed Peter's head cleanly.

Blood spurted skyward, painting the pristine snow red.

The wind howled as Harry stood amidst the carnage.

This wasn't his first time killing someone.

But it was the first time that killing left him feeling hollow.

Revenge?

Was it really that simple?

"Harry."

Sirius crawled over, his movements clumsy. He tripped over his own feet and fell before Harry, his face stained with blood.

"It's okay," Sirius said softly, his voice trembling. "Peter was a traitor… not a person."

"Now he's finally dead!"

Harry turned, shaking his head. "There's no need to comfort me, godfather. I'm fine."

"I just…"

"It doesn't feel like revenge. Peter's dead, just like that."

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Powerstones?

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