Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World-Chapter 422: The Crones

Everyone turned their gaze.

Only the Baron kept staring at the hat. "Anna... there's someone else in there with her."

"Don't worry, there's plenty of space," Harry said softly, flicking his wand at the children. "This hat may look scruffy, but it's perfectly safe for Anna."

The Sorting Hat was a legendary artifact.

It had functioned for over a thousand years. Enchanted by the four greatest wizards of their time, maintained by every headmaster since. Some, like Phineas Black, weren't well-liked—but none could deny their power.

The Baron eyed the hat suspiciously.

But...

This witcher, though blunt, had been right about everything so far.

"Really?" the Baron asked again.

Harry didn't answer. He continued casting protective spells on the children.

They were innocent, but not dumb.

Harry's demeanor—and Anna's—spoke volumes.

They knew. Deep down, they understood the fate of the other children who had vanished into the woods or swamp.

They clutched their heads and sobbed.

"Get the kids somewhere safe," Harry told the Baron, after casting the last spell.

The Baron blinked, one hand on his sword, the other pointing at himself. "Me? Why me?"

He was a warrior!

Surely looking after children was a woman's job?

His eyes flicked to Ciri.

Oh... no.

He'd seen what she could do. Even with her powers barely developed, she'd saved him once from a cockatrice.

Then his gaze shifted to Hermione.

She looked soft, gentle—surely—

"Hermione's stronger than you," Harry said calmly. "She's a powerful witch."

"Remember what I showed you before?"

"She can do it too."

The Baron opened his mouth, then sighed and lowered his hand from his sword. "Alright. Come on, kids. We'll find a safe place."

"There's gonna be a fight soon."

The children, still crying, followed the Baron.

From inside the hut, the disturbance faded.

A gray fog rolled out.

Before Hermione could raise her wand again to dispel it, three figures emerged silently.

One was small and hunched, wearing a pointed hat.

Another was enormous and grotesque, with a basket over her face and ropes sunken into her flesh.

The third was tall, with a pouch hanging from her belly—inside, something like bones.

Whatever form they took, one detail was the same:

They had no skin. Raw muscle and flesh glistened beneath swarms of flies.

"Anna has vanished," croaked the tallest, Whispess, the eldest of the Crones. "We thought she fled."

"You took her, didn't you?"

"Welcome back, Child of the Elder Blood," rasped Brewess, the fattest. "I've missed your taste."

"I knew you'd return," intoned Weavess, the one with the pointed hat. "Our fates are intertwined."

Harry glanced at Ciri. "You still want to hurt them?"

"Harry!" Ciri snapped at him, voice dripping venom.

Hermione blinked, confused.

Why wouldn't she?

They were grotesque—disgusting, revolting. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

People hesitated to hurt things that were cute or beautiful—but these? These were easy.

Wait...

"Want to hurt" them?

Maybe that wasn't the right meaning...

She looked at Ciri, then at Harry.

Harry nodded. "Exactly what you're thinking."

Hermione subtly stepped closer to Harry.

She'd been worried that Ciri's return might shake Harry's feelings...

But no. She'd been wrong. If anything, she should worry for herself.

Ciri seemed about to speak—

"One handsome lad, one pretty girl, and the Elder Blood. This is all you've brought to face us?" Whispess sneered.

"He's talented," said Weavess, glancing around. "Anna is gone."

"I can't sense her fate."

"She cannot escape us," Whispess hissed. "Just like the Elder Blood cannot."

She raised a hand and slashed her palm.

Nothing happened.

The Sorting Hat remained quiet.

"Won't work," Harry said. "Call out Imlerith."

Whispess tilted her head. "You came here... for Imlerith?"

"Fools!"

"Wasn't the Elder Blood running from the Wild Hunt?"

They chattered on.

Then Whispess snapped, "We can't let Imlerith know about this!"

"He won't let us keep the Elder Blood," Brewess said greedily.

"Then stop wasting time," Harry said.

He reached into the Sorting Hat—and drew the serpentine bone sword.

Whispess raised her hand. "You'll regret this."

"Witcher, we'll enjoy you. Then we'll—"

Hermione reacted instantly, her wand snapping up.

"Stupefy!"

A red beam shot toward the speaker.

Caw!

A crow appeared out of nowhere, intercepting the spell. It plummeted.

"Interesting magic," said Whispess, smiling. "But only a stunning spell?"

"So soft, so weak."

Weavess vanished.

Suddenly, she was behind Hermione.

"Protego!"

Harry cast a shield, then lunged with his sword.

He skewered her hand.

But she didn't flinch. With a hiss, she tore herself free and reached for Hermione's hair.

Hermione flicked her wand.

Her robe flared.

A massive lion leapt from her back, maw wide, snapping at Weavess's head.

Crunch—

Missed.

She vanished again.

Whispess raised her hand.

A cloud of crows formed in the sky, swirling like a storm. Blood-red glimmers flashed among them, reeking of rot and death.

They surged like a tidal wave.

Harry raised his wand and pointed.

The crows froze in place.

Only a few stray red glows lingered—utterly powerless.

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Powerstones?

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