Harry picked up the pouch and slipped it into his robes. "Thank you."
Snape sneered, saying nothing more.
He showed remarkable restraint.
At a moment like this, he didn't even bother docking points from Gryffindor.
"Yen didn't come back, but she asked me to tell you—be careful," Geralt said. "And if you see Vesemir, give him my regards."
Harry grinned. "Maybe I can bring you his regards myself."
He still didn't know exactly where he would end up on the timeline, but judging by the fact that the Wild Hunt was still searching for Ciri, it was likely after she escaped Tir ná Lia, the capital of the Aen Elle, and before the Battle of Kaer Morhen.
There was even a chance he might meet another version of Geralt.
"Should I escort you out of Hogwarts?" Dumbledore offered, gesturing to Fawkes.
Harry shook his head.
Dumbledore watched as Fawkes settled on his shoulder. "You're going to walk out on your own?"
"No, just one last test," Harry replied softly, opening another pouch and releasing Caranthir.
Snape, with practiced efficiency, recast the Imperius Curse.
"Open the portal to Ciri's world," Harry commanded.
Caranthir raised his hand blankly and chanted a spell.
With a hum, a shimmering white portal opened without resistance.
Dumbledore's eyes widened with surprise.
"There's some bad news," Harry said, turning to him.
Dumbledore nodded. "I didn't expect that… It is surprising."
Hogwarts was supposed to block all forms of magical teleportation. Of course, individuals like Dumbledore or Gryffindor, who held special permissions, or house-elves who were granted allowances, could still Apparate.
Until now—
Everyone had assumed that the Wild Hunt wouldn't be able to teleport into Hogwarts.
But the reality was…
"Different magic systems produce different results," Harry said, shaking his head. "Albus, be careful."
Dumbledore nodded solemnly.
Harry took Hermione's hand, and they stepped through the portal.
Space distorted.
It felt like plummeting through an endless galaxy—up became down, left became right.
The moment their feet touched solid ground—
Harry raised his hand and cast Quen for a protective shield. With another flick of his wand, he and Hermione were both wrapped in Protego.
Once steady, they looked up and scanned their surroundings.
Sparse woods stretched out in patches, leading to rolling hills, winding streams, and endless swampland.
Everything looked as though it had been washed in a dull, lifeless yellow.
"Where are we?" Harry asked Caranthir, though he already had an idea.
"This place is called Velen by the people of this world," Caranthir replied, confirming Harry's suspicion.
Of course, it was Velen.
"Velen?" Hermione echoed the unfamiliar word.
Harry pulled out his wand, cast a spell, and sent Caranthir back into the pouch. He nodded and explained, "Velen. The most impoverished province of Temeria. Practically a wasteland that nobody wants to tread."
"That sounds… dreadful," Hermione frowned.
Harry shook his head. "It's much worse than you think."
"Come on. First, we need to find a village, get some currency, a map, and gather some information."
"No broomstick?" Hermione asked, following him as he started walking.
Harry kept his gaze forward. "Not the best idea here."
"This place isn't like our world, with its bright lights and big cities. Many of the villages are hidden away—you wouldn't spot them even from the sky."
Hermione said nothing, casting a spell for warmth as she followed.
The terrain was wild and untamed.
But human resilience was surprising. Even in this so-called "No Man's Land," people clung stubbornly to life, surviving despite the odds.
Where there were signs of human activity, they would not escape the sharp senses of a Witcher.
Harry quickly found a dirt road.
He conjured a horse, and the two of them mounted up, following the path.
Hermione looked around curiously. This world was so different from their own. Aside from the path they followed, there were hardly any signs of human life. Occasionally, she glimpsed corpses on the roadside, rotting and half-consumed by scavengers. She tried not to look too closely, not wanting to confirm whether they were human.
The brief journey gave her a sense of bleakness and decay.
Wizards didn't fear long distances.
It wasn't until dusk began to settle that Hermione finally spotted the outline of a village.
"Be careful," Harry said, slowing the horse to a trot and glancing back at her.
Hermione blinked, a little taken aback.
Careful?
He hadn't warned her to be careful out in the wilds… and now he was saying it for the village?
Could it be that the village was more dangerous than the wilderness?
Harry rode the horse forward into the village.
Hermione's ears perked up as hushed whispers crept from the corners of the settlement.
"Oh god, look at his eyes…"
"A freak!"
"A Witcher? We haven't had any monster trouble here."
"Well, we have one now…"
The murmurs made her heart skip a beat, pounding in her chest with an erratic rhythm.
If she could hear them so clearly, then Harry—whose senses were far sharper—must be hearing them even more.
"Aren't Witchers supposed to take on jobs and kill monsters?" Hermione leaned forward and whispered.
She had heard Yennefer talk about Witchers.
Harry nodded. "You're wondering why they're like this? Why they treat Witchers this way?"
Hermione nodded. "You protect them, don't you?"
Harry smiled faintly. "It's not so different from how wizards are treated back in the Middle Ages of Britain."
"Hermione."
"Forget the laws, the rules… all those notions you have. In this era, those things don't really exist."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
Harry sniffed the air and followed the scent of ale to the village tavern.
He tied up the horse outside and led Hermione in.
The disdain for Witchers exceeded anything Hermione had imagined.
The moment they entered, the lively atmosphere dropped dead silent. One by one, people lowered their voices, muttering darkly, whispering things she had never even heard in the darkest corners of Slytherin's common room. Words filled with hate and disgust were flung at Harry, a man they had never even seen before.
Harry paid no attention to it.
He walked confidently to the bar.
"Two pints of beer," he said, pulling out a tiny gold nugget the size of a pea.
The bartender's eyes lit up, and he hastily took the gold, biting into it to check its authenticity. "A generous guest! Anything else I can get you?"
"A map," Harry said flatly. "And tell me, who rules this land now?"
"The Baron," the bartender replied, swallowing hard. "Why are you asking?"
Harry spoke quietly, "Witcher business. I'm here to make some coin."
"The Bloody Baron?"
The bartender nodded and turned back to the bar to fetch the drinks. "But I don't think the Baron has any work for the likes of you."
Hermione stood beside Harry, eyes wide as she took in the setting.
This was nothing like any tavern she had ever imagined.
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Powerstones?
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