Chapter 1: A New Dawn Amidst Ashes

--

Harry Potter fell to his knees, the uneven ground of the graveyard jarring his already fragile body. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, every breath shallow and rasping. The pain was overwhelming—a culmination of every wound and every torment inflicted upon him that night. The acromantula's venom from the maze burned through his veins, leaving his limbs weak and unresponsive. The Crucio curses, delivered with glee by Lord Voldemort, had shattered his nerves. And then there was the cut on his arm, still raw and stinging, where Peter Pettigrew had drawn his blood for Voldemort's grotesque resurrection ritual.

His wand felt heavy in his hand, more like a weight dragging him down than the familiar tool of salvation it had always been. His vision swam, the flickering flames of the surrounding cauldrons blurring into indistinct pools of orange and red. He wanted to reach for the Portkey—the Triwizard Cup, just a few meters away—but his body refused to move.

Lord Voldemort loomed over him, his pale, serpentine features twisted into a mockery of concern. His crimson eyes gleamed with triumph, and his thin lips curled into a cruel smile.

"You've done well, Harry," Voldemort drawled, his voice carrying through the graveyard with a chilling theatricality. "You've shown today just how big of a threat you might have become had you lived."

The Dark Lord stepped closer, his black robes billowing unnaturally despite the stillness of the air. Harry's head lolled slightly, his eyes blazing with defiance even as his body betrayed him.

"I'm impressed by you, truly," Voldemort continued, his tone almost mocking. "Had you lived longer, Harry, you might have even been an equal to Lord Voldemort." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the gathered Death Eaters, who stood in a loose circle around them, their masks hiding expressions of confusion and unease.

"But only I can be allowed to live forever," Voldemort declared, his voice rising in grandeur.

The Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably. Their Lord—praising the Potter boy? It was inconceivable. The brat was talented, yes, but surely no more than any one of them at his age. Yet, as they watched Harry's trembling form on the ground, they couldn't deny the fierce light in his green eyes—a look of unrelenting hate and determination. It was unnerving.

Voldemort leaned closer, his face inches from Harry's. "I offered you a place at my side in your first year, Harry. Do you remember?" he hissed, his voice soft and deadly. "Of course you do. You foolishly turned down my offer. But I stood by what I said back then, and I do now too, Harry. You could've been great—greater than that fool Dumbledore," he spat, his tone filled with venom.

"Greater than any of your peers," Voldemort continued, his red eyes narrowing into slits. "Together, with my guidance, we could've surpassed even Merlin himself. But alas, Harry, Lord Voldemort only offers his hand once."

Harry's body shuddered with the effort to remain upright, but his gaze never wavered from Voldemort's. The Dark Lord's voice dropped to a whisper, though it echoed hauntingly in the still air. "Now you die a pointless death for nothing. All because of your foolish bravery and defiance—your idiotic belief in a man who has ruled you."

Harry's lip curled into a sneer. Summoning the last dregs of his strength, he spat, "If you think I'm going to fall to my knees and beg for my life, you're dead wrong."

Voldemort's expression darkened, but Harry pressed on, his voice trembling with rage. "I'm only sorry I couldn't avenge my mother for what you did, you rat."

The fury in Harry's eyes made even Voldemort pause, though only for a fraction of a second. The boy's defiance was maddening.

"But someone will rise up," Harry continued, his voice growing louder despite the agony wracking his body. "And I hope they show you the same lack of mercy you've shown to all those you've murdered. I would never join you. I'm just angry I can't kill you myself."

Voldemort's face twisted into an ugly snarl. His fury erupted in a scream of rage. "There are none who would dare defy me with you gone, Harry! AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The jet of green light hurtled toward Harry, a final death sentence delivered with unbridled hatred. Time seemed to slow as the curse struck him squarely in the chest.

The impact flung Harry backward, the force sending his limp body crashing into the Triwizard Cup. The Portkey activated instantly, the glowing blue light enveloping Harry even as Voldemort's triumphant scream of rage echoed through the graveyard.

The Dark Lord's celebration was short-lived. The Cup was gone, and with it, Harry Potter's body. Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed in fury. His plans to parade Potter's lifeless corpse through the streets had been thwarted, and for the first time that night, a shadow of uncertainty crept into his mind.

The Quidditch pitch was a scene of chaos.

The blue glow of the Portkey faded, depositing Harry's lifeless form onto the grass. Gasps and screams echoed through the stands as the crowd took in the horrifying sight.

Dumbledore's usually composed face was frozen in numb shock. Minerva McGonagall let out a strangled sob, her hands covering her mouth. Fleur Delacour screamed, her voice breaking with anguish. And Severus Snape, for once, stood utterly still, his dark eyes wide with horror and disbelief.

The Boy Who Lived had returned—but he was unmoving, pale, and broken.

Harry stirred to consciousness, the biting pain in his body replaced with an odd lightness. His first sensation was warmth—not the oppressive heat of the graveyard's burning cauldrons, but a gentle, soothing warmth, like sunlight on a summer afternoon. He blinked slowly, his emerald eyes adjusting to the brilliance around him.

He was lying in a lush green field, the grass soft and cool beneath his hands. Around him, doves fluttered gracefully, their coos mingling with the sound of a nearby brook. Wildflowers swayed in the breeze, filling the air with their delicate fragrance. The sky above was a perfect blue, unmarred by clouds.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Harry felt… at peace.

But then he saw them.

Two figures stood a short distance away, their presence unmistakable even after thirteen years. His breath caught in his throat as he recognised the man and woman he had longed to see his entire life. James and Lily Potter.

His parents.

"Mum?" Harry croaked, his voice hoarse. "Dad?"

The joy that swelled in his chest faltered as he saw their expressions. His father's face was etched with anguish, tears streaking his cheeks despite his effort to remain composed. His mother was sobbing uncontrollably, her face buried in her hands.

Harry's heart sank. "Mum? Dad? What's wrong?" he asked again, his voice trembling with confusion and fear.

Lily looked up at him, her tear-streaked face filled with unbearable sorrow. Her sobs only grew louder, and James reached out to steady her, though his own pain was visible in every line of his face.

Harry's gaze darted between them, a growing sense of dread clawing at his chest. "It's my fault, isn't it?" he said meekly, lowering his head. "I'm sorry…"

Before he could finish, his parents rushed toward him, enveloping him in a desperate embrace. Lily's tears soaked his shoulder as she held him tightly, her hands trembling.

"Oh, Harry," she wept, her voice breaking. "It's not your fault. It was never your fault. You weren't supposed to go yet. You're just a boy…"

James tightened his hold on Harry, his voice thick with emotion as he added, "She's right, son. You weren't supposed to be here. Not now. Not like this."

Harry clung to them, the overwhelming warmth of their embrace both comforting and heart-wrenching. For a moment, the field faded away, and all that existed was this reunion—the family he had always yearned for, but never had.

James opened his mouth to say more, but a new presence interrupted them.

A figure appeared, as if materialising from the very air. He was an older man, with a long white beard flowing down his chest and a robe of deep green that shimmered like leaves in sunlight. His eyes, startlingly bright and green, matched Harry's own.

"I am Merlin," the man said, his voice calm and wise.

Harry's parents froze, their grief momentarily overtaken by shock. Harry turned to the man, bewildered.

"Merlin?" he repeated, his mind struggling to process the name.

Merlin inclined his head. "Yes. And you, Harry Potter, have my deepest sympathies."

The ancient wizard stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over Harry with an unreadable expression. "Had you been allowed to grow unhindered, had you received the guidance you deserved, had this world been just, you would have become great—a mage of even greater power than I."

Merlin's words hung heavily in the air, and Harry felt a pang of something he couldn't quite name.

"But you were deceived," Merlin continued, his tone filled with regret. "The man you thought trustworthy—the one who held you in his confidence—was using you. He raised you like a lamb for slaughter."

Lily gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. James's expression darkened with fury.

"What are you saying?" James demanded, his voice trembling with barely contained anger.

Merlin's gaze shifted to the elder Potters. "Your son was a pawn in a game far larger than he ever understood. Albus Dumbledore, the man he trusted most, set him on a path not to victory, but to sacrifice."

Lily let out a strangled cry, her grief giving way to rage. "He was just a boy! How could—how could anyone—?"

Merlin raised a hand, his expression sorrowful. "It is the way of this broken world. The folly of mankind. Long ago, before sin entered the world, before humanity's fall, we were destined for peace. But the choices of those before us doomed us all."

Harry listened in stunned silence, his mind reeling. Every word Merlin spoke felt like a dagger, cutting through layers of trust and understanding he hadn't even realised he'd held.

"But I can help you," Merlin said, his tone softening. "There is a world much like your own, in need of a saviour. A knight in need of her mage. Together, the two of you can usher in peace—not just in her world, but in others."

Harry blinked, struggling to keep up. "A knight? A mage? What are you talking about?"

Merlin's gaze bore into his, piercing and unyielding. "The swallow," he said simply. "She will grow alongside you, and she will dance amidst your lightning. Together, you will be the harbingers of a new age."

Lily seized the moment, turning to Harry with a pleading expression. "Harry, my sweet, strong boy… you need to do this," she said, her voice trembling. "You deserve a chance at life, baby. You deserve to live."

James nodded, his voice steady and resolute. "She's right, son. You can make a difference—not just for yourself, but for everyone. You can change things for the better."

Harry's eyes filled with tears. "But what if I don't want to?" he whispered, his voice breaking. "What if I'm just too tired? I want to stop. I want to be with you."

Lily's tears fell freely as she cupped his face in her hands. "I know, baby. I know you're tired. But please… please live. For me."

James placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, his grip firm yet gentle. "We'll always be with you, son. But you have a chance to make things right. Don't let it slip away."

Harry turned back to Merlin, his heart heavy with the weight of the choice before him.

"Why me?" he asked, his voice raw.

"Because only you can," Merlin said simply. "You have the strength, the will, and the potential to do what no one else can. You don't have to, dear boy. But if you do, you will save countless lives. You will return the universe to the peace it was meant to have."

Harry closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face. He felt like a lost child, seeking comfort from the parents he'd only just been reunited with.

But when he opened his eyes, he saw the love and hope in Lily's gaze, the unwavering pride in James's. He took a deep, shuddering breath and turned to Merlin.

"What do I need to do?"

Merlin smiled, his expression one of quiet pride. "Just take my hand, dear boy. I'll handle the rest."

Harry gave his parents one last hug, their tears mingling with his own. "I'll miss you," he whispered.

"And we'll miss you," Lily said, her voice breaking.

"Always," James added.

As Harry reached for Merlin's hand, the world around him dissolved into darkness.

--

Harry woke with a start.

The acrid scent of smoke filled his nostrils, and his first breath sent him into a fit of coughing. His vision swam as he tried to orient himself, the world around him a blur of orange and red. The sounds reached him next—screams, cries for help, and the distant clash of steel against steel.

Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, his head spinning. The grass beneath him was warm, almost hot, and as he focused, he realised it was stained with blood. He scrambled to his knees, his stomach twisting as the sights came into focus.

The once lush field was now littered with bodies, some burned, others broken. Flames roared in the distance, consuming what remained of a small village. The air was thick with ash, and Harry could make out figures running amidst the chaos—some fleeing, others chasing.

He gagged, clutching his stomach. "What… what is this?" he whispered hoarsely, panic clawing at his chest.

Reaching for his wand out of instinct, Harry's heart sank when his hand found nothing but empty air. He patted his robes desperately, but his wand was gone. His panic deepened as he stumbled to his feet, his knees weak and trembling.

A piercing scream cut through the air.

Harry's head snapped toward the sound. A girl, no older than him, with ashen hair and a tattered cloak, was being dragged by a large man. She struggled, her arms flailing, but the man's grip was unrelenting.

Harry's body moved before his mind could catch up. His instincts screamed at him to act, to do something—anything. He sprinted forward, adrenaline dulling the ache in his limbs and the queasiness in his gut.

"Let her go!" Harry yelled, barreling into the man with all his strength.

The impact sent both of them tumbling to the ground. The man grunted in surprise, releasing the girl as he fell. Harry scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding, and grabbed the girl's hand.

"Run!" he shouted.

Without hesitation, they sprinted away, their footsteps pounding against the earth. Harry didn't know where they were going—he only knew they had to get away. The girl clung to his hand, her breaths ragged and panicked.

Behind them, the man's enraged roar echoed.

Harry chanced a glance over his shoulder and felt his blood run cold. The man was gaining on them, his large strides quickly closing the distance.

"We're not going to make it," the girl panted, her voice trembling with fear.

Harry's mind raced. Spotting a bloodied sword lying abandoned on the ground, he skidded to a halt and grabbed it. The weapon was far too big and heavy for him, but he hefted it anyway, his arms shaking under the weight.

The man was on them in seconds. He lunged at Harry, knocking him to the ground. The sword clattered from Harry's grip as the man pinned him, his grimy hand wrapping around Harry's throat.

Harry's vision blurred as he struggled, his hands clawing at the man's arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sword within reach. Summoning all his strength, he stretched out, his fingers brushing the hilt.

The man's grip tightened, and stars danced in Harry's vision. With a final desperate effort, Harry seized the sword and swung it wildly.

The blade met flesh, slicing across the man's neck.

The man's eyes widened in shock as he released Harry, blood spurting in a crimson arc. He staggered back, choking and gurgling, before collapsing onto Harry.

Harry screamed, pushing the lifeless body off him. He scrambled back, his hands slick with blood, his chest heaving as he stared at the man's still form. The ground beneath him was warm and wet, the metallic scent of blood filling his nostrils.

The girl crouched nearby, her wide green eyes fixed on Harry. "Wh-who are you?" she asked shakily.

Harry tore his gaze away from the body, his face pale and his hands trembling. "Harry," he stammered. "Harry Potter. What's yours?"

"Cirilla," the girl replied, her voice quivering. "Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon."

Despite the terror of the moment, Harry let out a weak laugh. "That's a long name."

To his surprise, Ciri laughed too, though it sounded more like a sob. "Just call me Ciri, Harry."

Their moment of levity was short-lived. A new group of figures emerged from the smoke—men and women with cruel sneers and predatory eyes. They were armed with swords and axes, their weapons glinting in the firelight.

"Off on your own, kids?" one of them sneered, stepping forward.

Harry's stomach twisted. He tightened his grip on the sword, though his arms ached from its weight.

"Ciri," he whispered, his voice low and urgent. "Run."

"What about you?" she asked, her voice tinged with fear.

"Just go!" Harry shouted.

Ciri hesitated for a moment before nodding. She turned and ran, her ashen hair catching the firelight as she disappeared into the forest. One of the pursuers lunged after her, but a scream erupted as she extended her hands, a pulse of energy throwing the group back.

Harry stared in shock as the men and women scrambled to their feet, snarling in frustration. "That wasn't wise, boy," one of them growled, their eyes fixed on Harry.

They charged.

Harry raised his hands instinctively, bracing for the worst. A surge of energy exploded from him, a wave of invisible force that sent his attackers flying. They landed in crumpled heaps, their necks twisted at unnatural angles, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and agony.

The world fell silent.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, his breath hitching at the sight before him. The attackers lay lifeless on the ground, their bodies broken.

Harry's stomach churned. He fell to his knees, retching violently. His mind screamed at him, replaying the scene over and over.

"This is a nightmare," he whispered, his voice trembling. "It can't be real. It can't be real…"

Staggering to his feet, Harry wiped his mouth with a shaking hand. He cast one last glance at the bodies, his stomach twisting in guilt and horror. Then, without a plan or direction, he turned and ran into the forest, the darkness swallowing him whole.

--

The forest was endless.

Harry ran, his feet pounding against the uneven earth, branches whipping against his face and arms. The darkness pressed in around him, broken only by the pale slivers of moonlight that filtered through the dense canopy above. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his heart pounded in his chest like a drumbeat of panic.

"How can I help in a place like this?" Harry thought frantically, his mind racing as fast as his legs. "This isn't a world—it's a nightmare!"

The screams, the blood, the burning village—every image replayed in his head, each one worse than the last. His stomach churned, and a lump rose in his throat. He had no idea where he was running, only that he had to keep moving.

"I can't do this," he whispered to himself, tears stinging his eyes. "I want to go home…"

The thought of home was a dagger to his heart. For a moment, he let himself imagine the warmth of the Gryffindor common room, the comforting chaos of the Burrow, even the cold, familiar walls of Privet Drive. But none of that mattered now. Those places might as well have been a world away.

Suddenly, his foot caught on something, and he pitched forward with a startled cry.

He hit the ground hard, dirt and leaves scraping against his skin. Groaning, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, spitting out a mouthful of soil. His palms stung where the rough earth had torn at them, but before he could inspect the damage, a low, guttural growl echoed through the trees.

Harry froze.

The sound was unlike anything he had ever heard. It wasn't the hiss of a basilisk or the howl of a werewolf—it was deeper, more primal, a noise that seemed to reverberate in his very bones. Slowly, he lifted his head, his heart pounding in his throat.

A creature stepped into the moonlight.

It was massive, towering over Harry, its body a grotesque fusion of animal and nightmare. Its limbs were gnarled and twisted like the branches of a tree, ending in long, razor-sharp claws. Its torso resembled a bear's, powerful and hulking, but its head was the most horrifying of all—a bleached goat's skull, its empty eye sockets oozing with something black and viscous. Blood dripped from its jagged teeth, and its breath came in ragged huffs that filled the air with the stench of decay.

Harry's eyes widened in terror, his body frozen. Even the basilisk hadn't been this terrifying. At least then, he'd had Fawkes, Dumbledore's guidance, and the Sword of Gryffindor. Here… he was alone.

The creature let out a guttural snarl and began to stalk toward him, each step deliberate and menacing.

"No," Harry whispered, crawling backward. "No, no, no…"

His back hit the trunk of a tree, and he realised there was nowhere left to go. Panic surged through him, but a voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to fight.

"I'm not going to die here," he thought, his terror giving way to a desperate determination.

Scrambling to his feet, Harry's eyes darted around wildly for something—anything—that he could use as a weapon. His gaze landed on a fallen branch lying nearby. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

Gritting his teeth, Harry picked up the branch, gripping it tightly with trembling hands. "Come on," he muttered, focusing all his energy, all his will, on the piece of wood.

He thought of a wolf, big, fast, and imposing, a snarling creature that would tear forward and defeat this monster, he thought of it's strength, it's ferocity, and it's unyielding spirit. "Please work," he whispered.

The branch began to glow faintly, its edges warping and twisting. Before Harry's eyes, it transformed into a large, snarling wolf made entirely of wood. The creature's eyes glowed an eerie green as it bared its teeth at the monstrosity.

"Go!" Harry shouted, his voice hoarse.

The wooden wolf lunged at the beast, sinking its jaws into its bark-like limb. The creature roared in fury, swiping at the wolf with its claws. The two clashed violently, the forest filled with the sound of snarls and splintering wood.

For a moment, hope flared in Harry's chest. But the beast was relentless. With a final, crushing blow, it shattered the wooden wolf into pieces, scattering debris across the forest floor.

Harry's heart sank as the beast turned its attention back to him. Its hollow eyes glinted with malice, and its jaws opened in a predatory grin.

The creature was playing with him, Harry realised. It enjoyed the hunt, the fear, the inevitable kill.

Harry stumbled back, his legs shaking. "This is it," he thought, his breath hitching.

But then, the creature stopped.

There was a strange sound, like the hum of distant energy, and the beast began to writhe. A second later, it exploded outward, shards of wood and ash scattering in all directions.

Harry shielded his face, coughing as the debris settled. When he dared to look up, his eyes widened in shock.

A woman stepped into the clearing.

She was striking, her beauty sharp and almost intimidating. Her black curly hair shimmered in the moonlight, and her almond-shaped eyes glowed with an unusual violet hue. She moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, her presence commanding yet strangely soothing.

The woman knelt beside Harry, her movements slow and deliberate, as if not to startle him. "It's okay, child," she said softly, her voice calm and melodic.

Harry blinked up at her, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"You did very well," she continued, her gaze gentle but piercing. "Against that leshen, young one."

Harry frowned slightly. "Leshen?" he repeated, the unfamiliar word feeling strange on his tongue.

The woman smiled faintly. "May I know your name?"

Harry hesitated, his voice trembling. "It's Harry, miss. Harry Potter."

Her smile widened, and she reached out to stroke his hair in a motherly gesture. "You're not from here, are you?" she asked, her tone laced with curiosity.

Harry's eyes widened, and he looked away nervously.

"Don't worry," she said reassuringly. "I'm just curious. Your magic… it's vastly different from ours."

Harry frowned, unsure of what she meant. "Different?"

She nodded, shifting to sit in front of him. "In our world, magic has its limits. It's finite, tied to the energy of the land itself. We often have to draw on places of power to restore it."

Her violet eyes searched his. "But you… your magic feels boundless. It comes from within you, from your very essence. It's baffling."

Harry blinked, unsure how to respond. Her words made little sense to him, but her tone was soothing, almost hypnotic.

She cleared her throat, seeming to catch herself. "We can discuss it more later. For now, I can get you out of here. Teach you how to survive in this cruel world, child."

Harry stared at her, doubt and fear warring in his mind. But somewhere beneath it all, there was a spark of hope.

"Are you willing to learn what I can teach you?" she asked, extending her hand.

Harry hesitated for a moment, then reached out, his grip firm despite the tremble in his fingers.

"Yes," he said softly.

--

Harry's eyes widened as Yennefer extended her hand, her fingers tracing an intricate pattern in the air. A shimmering oval of light appeared before them, swirling with hues of blue and silver. The energy radiating from it hummed in Harry's bones.

He stared, mouth slightly agape. He had seen magical travel before—portkeys, Floo Powder, and apparition—but a portal? This was something else entirely.

"That's… that's brilliant," Harry murmured, his awe breaking through the exhaustion and fear lingering in his chest.

Yennefer smiled warmly, clearly pleased by his reaction. "I'm taking you to Aretuza," she said. "It's primarily a girls' school, but I think we can make an exception for someone like you."

She held his gaze for a moment, her smile soft but unreadable. Then, with a graceful step, she walked through the portal.

Harry hesitated for a moment before following her, the portal's light enveloping him. He felt a strange pulling sensation, like being tugged gently through a tight space, and then his feet hit solid ground.

What lay before him stole his breath.

They stood just outside the walls of a massive fortress perched on an isolated island. Gothic towers and spires loomed against the night sky, their blackened silhouettes both imposing and beautiful. The architecture was intricate and foreboding, with pointed arches and stone gargoyles that seemed to watch from above. Beyond the main fortress, smaller buildings formed a sprawling cityscape, connected by winding paths and glimmering with scattered lights.

"Welcome to Aretuza," Yennefer said, her voice tinged with pride.

Harry couldn't stop staring, his head tilting back to take in the grandeur of the place. It wasn't Hogwarts, he thought, but it was incredible in its own right—a monument to magic and power.

"It's amazing," Harry admitted, glancing at Yennefer, who looked rather smug.

She led him along a cobbled path toward the fortress's main entrance. As they walked, Harry became acutely aware of the number of girls around them. Students of all ages and appearances crossed their path, many of them pausing to look at him.

Some looked confused, others outright hostile, but what unsettled Harry most were the lingering, curious stares. A few of the older girls eyed him in a way that made his cheeks burn, their gazes assessing and amused.

Shrinking slightly, Harry focused on following Yennefer, who seemed highly amused by his discomfort.

"You're handling this better than I thought you would," she teased, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

Harry shot her a half-hearted glare, his embarrassment only deepening when a group of girls giggled as he passed.

They reached the grand oak doors of the academy, which swung open with a low groan. The entrance hall was vast, its design both elegant and intimidating. The central chamber was shaped like a large "T," with narrow, towering stained-glass windows lining the walls. Flickering candles floated in midair, their flames sustained by invisible magic, casting a warm but eerie glow over the space.

Harry's gaze darted nervously toward the many statues lining the hall—several of which were nude, much to his embarrassment.

Yennefer smirked openly at his discomfort, but before she could comment, a soft voice broke through the low murmur of the hall.

"Follow me," it said.

Harry turned to see a striking woman with pearly white hair and sapphire-like eyes. Her demeanor was calm and composed, her voice gentle but firm.

Harry followed her alongside Yennefer, the three of them ascending a spiral staircase. The climb was long, reminding Harry of Hogwarts's many towers. He kept silent, his eyes taking in the intricate carvings on the walls and the occasional glimpses of the moonlit sea through narrow windows.

At last, they arrived at a large, throne-like chamber. It was richly decorated, with velvet drapes and golden accents, and the atmosphere was one of authority and power.

A regal woman sat on an intricately carved chair at the far end of the room. Her dark, finely combed hair framed her sharp, intelligent features. Her shining eyes and thin lips gave her a resemblance to Professor McGonagall, though her presence was far more imposing.

"Yennefer, my sweet girl," the woman said, her voice warm but commanding. She rose gracefully, embracing Yennefer with genuine affection.

"It's been some time," Yennefer replied, smiling softly.

The woman's gaze shifted to Harry, her expression growing stern. She glanced at Yennefer questioningly. "What is this boy doing here? You know the rules."

Yennefer met her gaze evenly, explaining Harry's situation with calm precision.

As Yennefer spoke, the woman's expression shifted. Her sternness gave way to surprise, and her eyes widened slightly as they rested on Harry.

"His magic…" she murmured, almost to herself. "It's unlike anything I've ever seen. So potent, so strong… and so bright." Her eyes narrowed in thought. "It almost reminds me of Elder Blood."

Yennefer gasped softly, her violet eyes snapping to Harry in shock.

Harry frowned, confused by their reactions. "Did I… say something wrong?"

The two women exchanged a glance before shaking their heads.

"It's nothing," Yennefer said, smiling to ease his worry. "Elder Blood is… a rare gift in our world. But that's a discussion for another time."

"Indeed," the woman said, her voice softening. "For now, Harry, I would like to know more about you—and your magic."

Yennefer nodded encouragingly, her expression almost motherly. "It would help with your training," she added.

Harry hesitated, his fingers twisting nervously. But as he looked at their kind, expectant faces, he felt a tentative sense of trust. Taking a deep breath, he began to speak.

He told them everything.

He spoke of the Dursleys, of Voldemort and his many battles, of Dumbledore's manipulations. He explained how he had died and what he understood of his own magic, though he apologised for not being as detailed as Hermione would have been.

When he mentioned Merlin, both women interrupted him, their eyes wide with shock.

"Merlin?" Yennefer repeated, her voice incredulous.

Harry frowned. "Is that… unusual?"

The regal woman—Tissaia, as Yennefer called her—shook her head slowly. "He is an old legend in our world. A man who brought peace to the Continent hundreds of years ago."

Harry stared at them, stunned.

Gathering himself, he continued, describing the burning city, the screams, and the man he had killed. His voice faltered as he spoke of the group he had killed in self-defense, his hands shaking.

Yennefer knelt beside him, cupping his face with both hands. Her touch was warm, her expression filled with pity. "You did what you had to," she said softly. "And you survived. That's what matters."

Tissaia's expression was equally sympathetic. "It sounds like the princess of Cintra," she murmured, glancing at Yennefer.

Harry jumped to his feet. "Ciri! I have to find her!"

Yennefer placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "We'll send people to look for her. Right now, you need to focus on yourself."

After a moment's hesitation, Harry nodded, his shoulders slumping.

Tissaia studied him thoughtfully before speaking. "You are… extraordinary, Harry Potter. I will make an exception for you to attend Aretuza. I want to see how you develop—and whether you truly can deliver humankind to its original state."

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Hey, this is my attempt at a witcher x harry potter fanfiction, and i hope you all like it, please feel free to give me feedback on what you think and may God bless all of you, take care! And thanks for the support!