Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World-Chapter 450: Get Out!

Harry sat with Hermione and Dumbledore, chatting as if nothing had just happened at the door.

Dumbledore couldn’t help but glance toward it every so often, only to look away in discomfort. He clutched his glass, torn inside, saying little, but several rounds of whiskey vanished into his stomach before long. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

Grindelwald was tough.

Even under the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, he didn’t utter a single cry. He bore it, and when he couldn’t, he locked his own tongue with a spell to silence himself.

He writhed, twisted—those were unavoidable physiological reactions under such pain.

But even then, he restrained himself as much as he could.

Magic is the power of the soul.

Aberforth, filled with hatred, fed more magic into the curse, eyes glaring, power intensifying.

Bow your head.

Just bow your head!

Cry out in pain, beg for mercy, and he would stop. That’s all it would take.

But Grindelwald, no matter how tormented, never had the intention to plead.

He lay like steel on the floor.

He would either die under the Cruciatus, or wait for Aberforth to tire and stop.

Dumbledore sighed, eyes brimming with tears as he looked pleadingly at Harry. "Harry..."

Harry shook his head. "Albus, that’s between the two of them."

Hermione sipped her drink, her gaze far away. "Why?"

She was bewildered.

After the first Killing Curse was clearly fired to miss, she realized Aberforth no longer intended to actually kill Grindelwald.

Harry lowered his voice, explaining, "Because Aberforth has lost too much. He understands what that pain feels like. And he knows his brother has lost just as much. Grindelwald might be the last hope Albus has of... something."

In the end.

This man who loved his family still loved his brother.

But Hermione shook her head, cutting Harry off. "No, I don’t mean why Aberforth didn’t kill Grindelwald—I mean why Grindelwald acted this way."

"One apology, and all of this would’ve been over."

Dumbledore murmured, "Gellert isn’t that kind of person."

He downed his half-glass of whiskey, held his glass out to Harry for a refill, and continued, "He’s proud."

"He’s never believed he did anything wrong."

He paused again and took another drink.

"His fight was never just against the magical world. It was against fate. And he lost."

"He didn’t lose to me. He lost to destiny."

"We’re the same. Complete failures under fate."

"He feels no guilt toward Aberforth. Just coming here using Voldemort as an excuse—that’s already him bowing his head more than he ever has."

Dumbledore turned to look at the two men once more.

"He’s already bowed his head. He will never bend his back as well."

Harry didn’t speak. He simply poured him another drink.

An hour later.

Dumbledore was passed out, drunk, on the table.

Grindelwald lay pale and breathless on the ground, thick clouds of white mist puffing from his nose and mouth.

Aberforth finally ended the curse, panting heavily.

With a flick of his wrist, he cast a Levitation Charm, flinging Grindelwald out the door. "This place will never welcome you again, you... scum!"

Grindelwald, trembling, raised his hand and snapped his fingers, lifting the curse on his mouth.

He gasped heavily, wheezing audibly.

Aberforth turned, pointed his wand.

Dumbledore’s cup vanished.

"Let me see how much you drank," he muttered as he stepped in, counting bottles. "Ha! Five bottles of whiskey, half a butterbeer?"

"Harry, pay up."

"I’m closing up."

He paused, glaring at Dumbledore. "Take this damn drunk with you."

"I’ve only got a few crowns," Harry lifted his hand. A handful of unfamiliar coins floated out of the Sorting Hat. "Didn’t bring any Galleons."

"And I only had two glasses. The rest—Albus drank them."

"You can visit him tomorrow and collect the debt."

Aberforth scoffed.

Harry stood, drew his wand, and lifted Dumbledore with a spell. "If Albus refuses to pay, I’ll contact the Weasley twins. They’ll turn his debt into a fireworks display in Hogsmeade for a month. Since we’re friends, I’ll only charge you cost."

"Get out!" Aberforth snapped, teeth clenched.

Harry grinned and walked to the door.

Just as he reached it—

"Harry," Aberforth called.

Harry turned back.

Aberforth mumbled quickly, awkwardly, almost under his breath: "Thanks."

Before Harry could reply, a wand flick—bang—the door slammed shut.

Inside the dim bar.

Aberforth stood dazed.

After a moment, he stumbled forward, bumped into a table, and fell to the floor. Cursing in pain, he finally remembered he was a wizard, lifted his wand, and muttered, "Lumos."

A dim light lit the path ahead.

He walked to the only clean part of the entire bar—the painting.

He reached out a trembling hand and touched the frame. "Ariana."

A lifetime of memories flickered through his mind.

His wife. His son...

He didn’t even have photos of them—only imagined faces built from memories stolen from his brother’s mind.

He bowed his head, sorrow swelling in his chest, turning to bitter tears that rolled down silently.

And then, he began to sob.

Outside.

Hermione levitated Grindelwald, floating him beside Dumbledore.

She and Harry walked slowly through the snow, their footprints forming a soft trail. The motorcycle followed, its headlamp glowing.

At the side gate from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts—

Snape stood, expressionless, waiting.

He had flown slower, unable to match the motorcycle’s speed. By the time he got to Hogsmeade, everyone was gone. So he waited.

Seeing them now—even he couldn’t help but falter.

The greatest white wizard. The greatest dark wizard. Both floating in the air, half-dead.

It was a pitiful sight.

"Harry?" Snape asked.

Harry answered simply, "One got drunk. The other got beat up."

"Cruciatus," Snape murmured, assessing their condition at a glance. "Brutal."

"Albus drinks now, huh?"

"Professor, looks like you’ve got your hands full tonight," Harry said as they headed back. "Also, I brought you a few more gifts from the other world."

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Powerstones?

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