I decided to scrap the original version of 200 Years, A Long Wait for Friends, as I felt the character interaction was as flat as Imina's chest. I managed to start a version with a Harry/Albedo pairing, and you may see the revised chapters later on.

However, I have finally played enough of The Witcher 3 to begin a possible story idea. It's Harry/Ciri (who is the top contender for a pairing with Harry, though I have also considered Triss and Cerys), and my intention is to start it in the Potterverse initially, before diving into the events of the game. I also decided to start with Ciri having resided in the Potterverse for some time, and not having met Harry until this point, unlike so many other Harry/Ciri fics.

The title is also Polish for 'blizzard', apt given Harry's new powers, as well as the Polish origins of The Witcher.

In any case, I hope you guys enjoy...

ŚNIEŻYCA

CHAPTER 1:

A RESCUE CONCLUDED

Hermione Granger pinched the bridge of her nose. It had been a harrowing day, and they weren't sure whether this would have dire consequences. Then again, they had waited nearly five years for this day.

The day they had finally freed Harry Potter from his imprisonment.

It wasn't in Azkaban that he had been locked up in, though that would have been bad enough. Instead, Harry had been locked away like an animal in some secret facility run by the Unspeakables. Ever since what happened in the Department of Mysteries and the Ministry of Magic, events she hadn't been privy to, thanks to Dolohov's curse.

She remembered being told by an utterly broken Dumbledore when she had come to in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts. She had been shaken by how defeated the old man had looked at the time. It became much worse when he related to her what had happened.

During the battle in the Department of Mysteries, Rookwood had apparently opened a secure cabinet, hoping to try and bring Voldemort some dangerous substances he could use. However, during one particular clash, Rookwood had been hit by a curse that caused him to drop what he was carrying…or rather, fling them about. And one of the flasks had hit Harry, bursting open.

Whatever that was that hit him didn't kill him. But he was left in a room that had filled with ice and frost of an unnatural kind, even by magic's standards. And yet, Harry had left the room…and encountered Sirius. Unfortunately, Sirius was soon murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange, blasted through the mysterious Veil of Death. And Harry witnessed it.

What happened next, few people knew. The Order was forced to evacuate when frost and ice filled the halls of the Department of Mysteries. They soon encountered Voldemort in the foyer of the Ministry of Magic…but Harry emerged, changed, and coldly angry. Very literally coldly angry, for the foyer soon iced over, and Voldemort, in the middle of making some speech or other, was impaled by an icicle going where usually only proctologists dare to go.

Harry had fainted, and unfortunately, that was when Fudge, ever late to the party and witnessing the tail-end of the battle, promptly ordered Harry incarcerated. Voldemort may have been proved to have been alive, but Harry's abilities had to be dark magic in that idiot's mind. And then, Harry seemed to disappear. To where, nobody knew, at least until now.

Hermione would only recently learn, from a man claiming to be an Unspeakable with an attack of conscience, that the Unspeakables, aided and abetted by a wrathful Umbridge, had spirited Harry way to a secret facility, one of many the Department of Mysteries had around Britain. Now, thanks to the Department of Mysteries being filled with unnatural ice and the foyer of the Ministry iced over to this day, both had to be relocated. At the facility Harry was taken to, he had been confined, made a lab rat and subjected to things that were close to what Mengele and his ilk did in the Nazi death camps.

It had taken them five years to find out where he was and rescue him. The facility was shielded against Apparition, Portkeys, even Phoenixes and House-Elves. It was Unplottable and under the Fidelius. If it weren't for this informant, they may never have found him and retrieved him. And despite Dumbledore managing to persuade Rufus Scrimgeour to give Harry a pardon when he became Minister of Magic, he was never released. Then again, public sentiment was against Harry, and indeed many of his supporters. Many Purebloods had died during the incident, and the Ministry had to be abandoned, the strange coldness within it barely contained. Given that the Ministry existed in a sort of separate dimension to the rest of London, there was even debate as to just cut that pocket dimension off and let it die.

Even now, Harry was lying in bed, recovering. Thankfully, he seemed in no danger of unleashing his powers, though they had a guest who seemed to know about what he wielded. The White Frost, she called it, and when she realised what it was, she almost didn't help them.

Hermione was interrupted in her thoughts by the rogue Unspeakable sitting in front of her. They were all in 12 Grimmauld Place, still under the Fidelius, though with Dumbledore's death destroying the Horcruxes, Hermione was now the Secret Keeper. Hermione did not fail to notice that he held a few books in his hands from the Black Family Library.

"Oh, don't worry. These were actually borrowed from me long ago. With old Walburga dead, I've been meaning to get them back," the man said.

Hermione frowned. The man was wholly unremarkable. He could have been a thug on the street, a shopkeeper hawking his wares, a banker offering a loan, or even an executive of a company. His hair was close-cropped, while his face could be considered pleasantly ugly, ordinary at best, but meant for pleasant expressions. In truth, Hermione hadn't been sure the man was an Unspeakable for some time. In some regards, he seemed like a more pleasant version of Mundungus Fletcher.

Before she could comment, he continued. "Anyway, it seems like the operation was a success. Do you want a schnapps?"

"…No, I don't. I just…thinking about what those monsters did to him…"

"It's more common than you'd think, Hermione Granger," the man said solemnly. "You know about the Nazis and their experiments, of course, and there is what the Japanese did at Unit 731 during the same war. And those are just two examples. I haven't been surprised at man's inhumanity to man for a long, long time. Still, nothing wrong with a celebratory drink. True, keeping him out of trouble is about as hard as rescuing the bugger was, but that's up to you and your friends, along with that guest of yours."

"…And how do I know you won't betray us?"

The man gave her a smile. It was wholly pleasant and seemingly sincere, and yet, Hermione felt that something nasty wriggled behind it. "Well, I could say it's scout's honour or something like that, but honestly, you don't, aside from my word. Besides, I can see the gears turning in your head, girl. I know you think I'm no Unspeakable…and you are correct. What I am is a mangy vagrant, an itinerant peddler. As for why I did this…well, every now and then, I give people what they desire, with no strings attached. Not for any altruistic reasons, mind, but because life's boring without doing it. Anyway, I'll be going soon. Give my regards to your guest."

"Wait," Hermione said as the man stood. "Who are you, really? What are you?"

"…Good questions, to which you don't need to know the answers. All who have learned my true name have died…if they were lucky. And if they weren't…well, death would be a mercy in such a case. And I would rather that not happen to you, Hermione Granger. Here, your potential has been stifled, thanks to your heritage and your support of Harry. Your relationship with your parents has been sundered thanks to your well-intentioned actions, and your relationship with Ronald Weasley has been stillborn. But…there's another path for you, one where you may achieve great things, or fall into perdition's embrace. The choice is up to you. Now, I'll be off. Oh, and I've emptied most of the cellar here. Nice vintages there, wasted on the Black family. Goodbye."

Hermione stood, but the man, Gaunter O'Dimm, he called himself, seemed to have vanished with a clap of his hands. She could only hope that they didn't regret bringing him in to help. Then again, she got the feeling that if he wanted to screw them over, he could do so with contemptuous ease.

Still, he hadn't been the only newcomer to their circle to help them rescue Harry. A few months ago, Luna happened across a young woman about their age, who seemed to appear out of thin air. This young woman would tell them an extraordinary and unbelievable tale.

She had come from another world. Indeed, she had a unique ability to traverse worlds. The world she came from seemed to be ripped straight from the pages of a fantasy novel…if said novel was also dark and edgy. One where humans, Dwarves, Elves, Halflings and the like lived side by side…when they weren't at each other's throats. Where empires and kingdoms warred. Where monsters stalked the land…and were hunted by a dwindling order of monster-hunting mercenaries, the Witchers.

That young woman didn't often speak of her past at first, but by now, she had opened up to them. She had found some small respite here in this world from those who pursued her, thanks in part to Luna and Hermione's efforts in shielding her. Her tale was a sad one, and even now, the forces that pursued her did so because of a power she held within her blood.

And that guest, that new friend, was watching over Harry as he recovered…

Pain, by now, had become a too-familiar friend. He remembered their dispassionate faces as they experimented on him, using potions to suppress those powers he had now gained, powers he despised. He thought they couldn't inflict on him a hell worse than Azkaban…but Harry Potter was wrong.

But now, the pain had mostly receded, and so too had the haze he had been kept in. He could think clearly for the first time in what felt like an eternity. And then, he realised he was on a soft bed. And he allowed hope, seemingly dead inside him, to bloom once more.

He opened his eyes, and saw what seemed like a familiar room. Yes, this was the room he had stayed in in 12 Grimmauld Place, wasn't it? He sat up, only for his head to swim, and he collapsed back to the bed with a groan.

And then, he heard the woman's voice, unfamiliar, but seemingly speaking with a British accent. "Oh, you're awake! Just a moment." Footsteps moved away, and then, he heard a door open. "Hermione! He's awake!" the unknown woman called out the door.

Harry opened his eyes again, and watched as the woman came over. She appeared to be…in her late teens or early twenties. She had a lithe, slender figure, dressed in a shirt and jeans. Oddly enough, she had a number of pouches on her belt.

But he was struck by her beauty. Her hair was so pale as to be practically white, but her face held none of the pinched, aristocratic disdain of a Malfoy. Instead, it was a gentle beauty, albeit marred by a deep scar that ran over her cheek and her left eye. Her eyes were a forest green, not quite the emerald of his own eyes

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Like something the cat dragged in and pissed all over. Who are you? Why are you in 12 Grimmauld Place?"

"It's a long story. I helped your friends get you out of there." She scowled. "Those stupid bastards…no, monsters even, but stupid all the same…the White Frost is not to be trifled with, Avallac'h taught me that much. And even though I learned…what he did to me, well…I can't dismiss all of what he taught me. In any case, we were taking turns to watch over you. I took first watch, so to speak. We weren't sure when you'd wake. We treated you as best as we could, but it was touch and go. Even now, you're pretty weak thanks to the potions the Unspeakables gave to you. We flushed them out, I'm sure those flushing potions would make White Honey pale by comparison, but…"

The door suddenly opened, and a familiar bushy-haired form rushed through. Harry stared at one of his best friends, now an adult, before she rushed forward and hugged him. "…Harry…" she sobbed quietly.

"…Hey, Hermione. I…look, I have a lot of questions. I mean, a whole lot. Like, who is this woman? How long have I been locked away?" Harry asked.

Hermione and the other woman shared a look, before Hermione turned to Harry. "It's been nearly five years. It's May 21st, 2011," Hermione eventually said.

Harry stared at her blankly. "…Five years? But…I know they didn't make it easy, but…did Dumbledore try to…?"

"He tried, Harry. I honestly think he could have tried a little harder, but he tried," Hermione said. "However, he died a year or so after your imprisonment. He ensured Voldemort could never come back ever again. What you did to him in the Ministry of Magic bought us time, it killed off his physical body. We'll explain the details later. But it's about time I introduced her."

"Let me, please, Hermione." On Hermione's nod, the scarred woman turned to Harry, and smiled. "Hi. My name is Ciri. It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter."

"…The pleasure's all mine, I hope," Harry said uneasily, though he took her outstretched hand and shook it, not failing to notice callouses and scars on it. "But why did you help them rescue me? And where did you come from?"

"…I helped because it was the right thing to do," Ciri said. "I was a little leery when I learned the White Frost was involved, but even so, Hermione, Luna, and your other friends helped me in my time of need. I owed them a debt of gratitude which I have only partly repaid. As for where I came from…well, believe it or not, I come from another world entirely…"

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

So, Harry has somehow got a power related to the White Frost, and was turned into a guinea pig. But now, his friends, with help from Ciri and a certain Master Mirror, have rescued him.

No numbered annotations this time.