Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

At first, Hermione was extremely nervous.

She had seen plenty of car accidents in her life—gruesome, blood-soaked scenes that had haunted her since childhood. The idea of speeding on a motorcycle filled her with dread.

But once the motorcycle took to the skies, everything changed.

Flying through the air was nothing like driving on the ground. There were no roads to confine them, no traffic to worry about, and no fear of losing control and crashing into someone. Sirius, who was flying nearly two hundred meters ahead of them, was yelling at the top of his lungs, determined to beat Harry in this race.

Without landmarks to gauge their speed, Hermione sat on the backseat, unable to see the dashboard. All she saw were clouds rolling past and the occasional startled owl flapping away.

The protective wind charm on the motorcycle blocked out the harsh wind, leaving her with just a gentle breeze to enjoy.

In the air, Harry and Sirius were evenly matched.

As they neared the campsite, they descended and hit the ground running, speeding along the road. The campsite hosting the Quidditch World Cup was on Muggle property, so they had to be on their best behavior.

Despite not having ridden a motorcycle properly in over a decade, Sirius handled his bike like a pro. Harry, by comparison, was still a novice with barely a month's experience.

Even with Lupin riding on the back, Sirius made it look like he was riding solo. He leaned into turns, took shortcuts through wooded paths, and pulled ahead of Harry by at least five lengths.

By the time he parked his motorcycle and dramatically pulled off his helmet, Sirius had already struck a victorious pose when Harry rolled up beside him.

"Hey, Harry, I told you—you've got a lot to learn!" Sirius grinned, tapping his fingers excitedly.

"I've been waiting for a race like this forever. Once you're back at school, I'm going to ride across the Pacific!"

"Please don't bring me along," Lupin groaned from where he lay slumped over the motorcycle.

Harry remained stoic.

"You might want to think about the Ministry first, Godfather. They won't be thrilled with that idea."

Sirius nodded seriously, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought.

Hermione sighed in relief as she climbed off the bike. She looked pale but was in much better shape than Lupin. Unlike Sirius, Harry had driven carefully and responsibly. Hermione hadn't enjoyed it, but she wasn't on the verge of collapse like Lupin.

They approached the campsite office, where a man named Roberts—a Muggle—was in charge of check-ins. They collected their reservation details, received a campsite number, and got a map.

The Quidditch World Cup was a festive event for wizards, but for Muggles, it was a disaster waiting to happen.

Roberts looked pale and dazed—symptoms of having had his memory wiped too many times.

There were few wizards like Sirius or Arthur, who understood Muggle society. Most witches and wizards had little to no knowledge of the Muggle world, leading to many ridiculous misunderstandings that made Harry question their sanity.

Some couldn't figure out how to use Muggle money, despite the denominations being clearly printed on each bill and coin.

Others struggled with clothing.

While wizard robes and Muggle attire were different, Harry thought it shouldn't be so hard for a normal person to distinguish between pants and skirts—or to understand that pajamas weren't suitable daytime wear.

Some wizards, who had spent their entire lives in Britain, somehow managed to dress in bizarre South American styles, insisting, "I swear, Muggles dress like this! I saw it on one of their television things!"

Their tent stood at the edge of the campsite, gold and red in color, with a large griffin crest on top. It stood out sharply from the other tents, which were adorned with Quidditch team logos and bright, mismatched colors.

"It's a shame Muggles are watching. Wouldn't it be amazing if the griffin crest could move?" Sirius sighed wistfully.

"I think it's perfect the way it is," Harry said as he entered the tent.

Inside, the tent was far more spacious than it appeared from the outside. It was practically a small house, with four separate bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a kitchen.

Harry and Hermione got to work preparing a meal.

They had flown for nearly the entire night and were famished.

Outside, Sirius and Lupin busied themselves with cleaning the campsite. The tent was already spotless, but the two men needed to find something to do—otherwise, they would feel like helpless adults being looked after by two children.

After dinner, they stepped out of the tent and began greeting familiar faces.

The Weasleys had arrived, though they had traveled via Portkey—a journey that was clearly unpleasant, judging by the two footprints on Ron's face.

Arthur introduced Harry to several people.

First was Cuthbert Mockridge, head of the Goblin Liaison Office, who greeted Harry warmly. Then came Gilbert Wimple, a wizard with horns sprouting from his head, who worked for the Committee on Experimental Charms. Despite Harry still being a fourth-year student, Wimple extended an invitation for him to join the committee after graduation.

There were also several memory erasers—wizards tasked with wiping Muggles' memories. They were the busiest people on-site and barely had time to greet Harry before rushing off.

Then came Ludo Bagman, head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

Bagman's enthusiasm was hard to miss.

"Mr. Potter! The famous Harry Potter! I've been dying to meet you," Ludo said, throwing his arms wide for a hug.

"I've heard you're a brilliant Seeker—better than some professionals!"

Harry took a step back, raising a hand.

"Sorry, I don't make it a habit to hug men."

Ludo awkwardly lowered his arms.

"Ah… Well, have you ever considered going professional? I used to play for the Wimbourne Wasps as a Beater. If you're interested, I could—"

"I love Quidditch," Harry interrupted politely.

"But I've never considered it as a career."

Ludo sighed.

"What a loss for Quidditch."

Then, with a sudden gleam in his eye, he leaned in closer.

"Well then, how about a little bet?"

Harry blinked, confused.

"A bet?"

Ludo rubbed his fingers together in the universal gesture for money.

"A wager on the match. What do you say?"

"I've convinced plenty of people already—Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, even Arthur. Fancy a flutter?"

Arthur hesitated for a long time before placing his bet.

"One Galleon on Ireland to win."

"One Galleon?" Ludo repeated in disappointment.

"Alright, Arthur. One Galleon on Ireland."

He turned to Harry and Sirius.

"What about you two, gentlemen? Care to place a bet?"

Sirius grinned mischievously after whispering with Fred and George for a while.

"I'll bet two hundred Galleons!" he declared, pulling a bag of coins from his robes.

Ludo's eyes lit up.

Sirius wasn't done.

"I'm betting that Ireland will win—but Viktor Krum will catch the Snitch."

Ludo stared at him, stunned.

"Mr. Black, I must warn you—that's highly unlikely. But I can offer you six-to-one odds."

Sirius grinned.

"Deal. We're confident."

He patted Fred and George on the shoulders.

Arthur looked uneasy.

"Sirius, you shouldn't listen to those boys—"

"They're not boys anymore!" Sirius shook his head.

"They're smart. And they're excellent Quidditch players. I trust them."

Fred puffed out his chest.

"Dad, we're capable of making our own decisions. And it's not just Sirius putting up the money."

George added quickly, "We chipped in half. And don't worry, it's not from the joke shop funds—it's from the fireworks we sold."

Harry nodded in approval.

Arthur lowered his voice.

"Money doesn't come easy for you boys…"

"Arthur, don't be a spoilsport," Ludo interrupted, laughing.

"It's all just a game."

He turned back to Harry.

"So, Mr. Potter, how about it? Fancy a little fun?"

Harry shook his head firmly.

"No, thanks."

Ludo tried again.

"Not even a small bet? Maybe on Bulgaria? Krum's a Seeker on par with you!"

Harry declined again.

After Ludo left, they spent time exploring the campsite.

The Weasley family was doing much better financially now. Charlie and Bill earned impressive salaries and sent money home regularly. Percy, too, had started working at the Ministry, earning his own wages.

Fred and George, however, were the wealthiest. Their joke shop was thriving. In just one month, they had made a net profit of three hundred Galleons—even after giving Harry his share.

Ron and Ginny each received twenty Galleons as spending money from their brothers, which they used to buy Quidditch souvenirs, enchanted binoculars, and collectible figurines.

Ron cradled a miniature Viktor Krum model like a precious treasure, his eyes glowing with admiration.

The sight made Harry and Hermione exchange knowing glances.

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Powerstones?

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