Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

Godric gazed intently at Harry's eyes.

What a striking pair they were.

Amber-colored, with slit pupils that gleamed with a sharp, predatory light. The mastery of Occlumency and Legilimency made them even more profound, reflecting a background as vast as a starry sky over an endless void.

Even as a mere portrait, Godric felt a strange sensation — as though he were being scrutinized.

"Are you asking me if I've ever seen eyes like yours?" Godric asked.

Harry narrowed his eyes slightly. "Have you?"

"No," Godric replied, shaking his head.

Harry relaxed a little. "But you've heard of them?"

Godric nodded. "Of course. As a wizard of considerable power, I've seen and heard many things. Would you like to know?"

"Yes, please," Harry said, offering a polite nod of thanks.

"Then consider it a reward." Godric smiled mischievously. "I'll add an extra challenge to your trial. If you pass, I'll tell you what I know. If you fail, it means you're not ready to learn the truth."

"Of course, you can refuse and proceed with the original trial," he added.

Harry nodded decisively. "What's the challenge?"

"Defeat me," Godric said, his grin widening.

Without a second thought, Harry raised his wand and aimed it directly at the portrait.

"Not my portrait!" Godric exclaimed, eyes wide. "I thought you'd be surprised! Clearly, I meant me — not just a picture of me."

"Are you not afraid to face Godric Gryffindor himself?"

The Sorting Hat chimed in proudly. "Harry fears nothing! He killed a troll during his first year!"

Godric blinked in astonishment.

The hat continued, gleefully recounting a story. "Remember the time you got drunk and challenged a troll to a duel? You barely managed to kill it. Harry did it much faster!"

"I was drunk!" Godric protested, clearly offended.

"So, a drunken Godric Gryffindor is weaker than an eleven-year-old?" Harry remarked calmly.

Godric glanced at the Sorting Hat in disbelief. "Does he always talk like this?"

The hat bobbed its point enthusiastically.

"Good thing I'm just a thought now," Godric muttered, waving his hand.

The walls shook violently.

With loud clanking noises, a suit of armor stepped out from a hidden compartment, holding the Sword of Gryffindor in its hand.

"Allow me to introduce my masterpiece," Godric said proudly. "This is an alchemical creation I crafted with Rowena's help. It can serve as a temporary vessel for my consciousness."

"Of course, it's far from perfect. It's nowhere near my full strength," he admitted.

"But as part of the trial, it'll do just fine."

Magic surged from the portrait, flowing into the armor.

The image of Godric Gryffindor faded into a dull, lifeless painting as the armor came to life, moving its limbs with a newfound vitality.

"Godric?" Harry tested.

The armor nodded. "It's me."

"Like the Sorting Hat — another enchanted object?" Harry glanced between the armor and the faded portrait.

"Indeed," the armor replied. "Harry, you're an impressive young wizard. I would love nothing more than for you to defeat me and take my portrait back to Hogwarts. This place is dreadfully boring. The hat, at least, gets to be a scratching post for cats. I don't even have that!"

"Godric!" the Sorting Hat huffed indignantly.

Harry smirked slightly. "Do you need a wand?"

The armor shook its head. "I can cast spells without one."

He lifted the sword. "Besides, don't forget — I'm a Gryffindor. I also excel at swordsmanship."

Harry reached into the Sorting Hat and drew the Serpent-Bone Sword, its length and weight exceeding that of the Sword of Gryffindor.

Expressionless, he took a ready stance. "Fortunately, so do I."

The armor tilted its head in surprise. "You've been trained? I'm impressed. Wizards rarely bother learning swordplay."

Harry swung the sword experimentally. "You remind me of Gilderoy Lockhart."

The armor chuckled, stepping forward with its sword. "A knightly duel between wizards? How exciting!"

As they closed the distance, Harry flicked his wand.

With a snap, his robe extended and wrapped around the armor's arms, pulling them behind its back in a perfect bow.

"Lockhart was last year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," the Sorting Hat explained. "A brainless, pompous wizard who thought Harry was his fan."

"And he was quite handsome," it added with a teasing tone.

From within the armor came Godric's astonished voice. "You used magic in a swordfight!"

"Confringo!"

Without hesitation, Harry cast a Blasting Curse.

The explosion hit the armor, denting its chest and head. The pieces wobbled but held together.

"You remind me of Salazar," Godric said thoughtfully.

The armor suddenly radiated heat, burning away the binding cloth. It swung its sword in a quick, precise thrust aimed at Harry's stomach.

Harry intercepted with the Serpent-Bone Sword, sparks flying as the blades clashed.

Both were adept at combining spells with swordplay.

The Sorting Hat sang an upbeat medieval tune, keeping time with the clanging swords and magical bursts.

"You're truly impressive," the armor said, losing an arm and part of its chest plate. "From a combat perspective, you're an excellent heir."

Harry, panting, nodded. "Your swordsmanship is outstanding as well."

Their techniques were strikingly similar.

Harry recognized elements from his mentors: Vesemir, the Wolf School's swordmaster; Coën, the Griffin School witcher who had taught both him and Ciri; and Geralt, whose graceful fighting style they both admired.

But the armor's movements were undeniably reminiscent of Ciri's.

"Now, it's my turn to surprise you," the armor declared.

It conjured a giant stone figure, sending it crashing down toward Harry.

Aard!

A shockwave rippled through the air, shattering the giant and knocking the armor back.

Harry seized the moment, bringing his sword down on the helmet.

With a resounding clang, the head rolled to the ground.

The stone giant crumbled into dust.

"Enough," Harry said firmly. "A living opponent missing an arm and with a hole in their chest would've long since collapsed. I've humored you. But now your head's gone. Are you done yet?"

The armor stilled.

Then it walked over, retrieved its helmet, and reattached it before returning to stand beside the portrait. Pressing a hand to the canvas, it reactivated the image of Godric Gryffindor.

"Such a pity," Godric sighed. "If only I could fight you with my real body."

Harry sheathed his sword. "Now, tell me what you know."

"All right, all right." Godric sighed again. "I've never seen eyes like yours, but I've heard of them in a legend."

Harry waited, listening intently.

"Do you know of King Arthur?" Godric asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'd wager every Brit does."

"And Galahad?"

Harry frowned, shaking his head. "Sorry. Hogwarts only teaches magical history, not Muggle legends."

"Galahad was one of Arthur's Knights of the Round Table," Godric explained. "The purest, most chaste knight — the only one worthy of finding the Holy Grail. Helga's cup was modeled after it."

"During his quest for the Grail, Galahad traveled through the magical valley of Cwm Pwca and met a Lady of the Lake."

Harry stiffened.

The Lady of the Lake?

"In legend, she bestows swords upon those she deems worthy," Godric continued.

"But Galahad did not receive a sword. Instead, the Lady favored him in another way. He brought her back to Camelot to meet King Arthur, where she recounted a tale of a legendary figure."

"A White Wolf," Godric said softly. "A man with eyes just like yours."

Harry was silent for a long time.

"This story isn't found in the records of the Peverell or Black families," he finally said. "How do you know it?"

Godric beamed proudly. "Because I'm a descendant of Sir Gawain — the noblest, most virtuous, and most perfect knight of the Round Table."

"Many wizards dismiss Muggle history," he added. "But that Lady of the Lake left behind not just a story, but also her swordsmanship."

"And my swordsmanship," Godric said, smiling, "comes from her."

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Powerstones?

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