Did My Eyes Deceive Me? (Third update, seeking readership)

"Dumbledore, why would he?" Harry asked, somewhat surprised. "Hogwarts has a much larger collection than this, doesn't it?"

Fleamont's face looked as if it had been smeared with charcoal ash. "Oh, yes."

"The Potter family cannot compare to Hogwarts."

"But my dear grandson, every family has its own secrets."

Harry nodded. "For example, the Invisibility Cloak?"

Fleamont looked a bit surprised. "Yes, for example, the Invisibility Cloak."

"Is it special?" Harry asked.

Fleamont said with pride, "Of course, it is one of a kind."

"I know you are curious, but I would rather you discover it bit by bit—the expression on James's face when he found out about it himself back then was quite amusing."

It's a pity he can't see my expression. Harry felt a tug in his heart and looked toward the corners of the room.

In the Witcher's perception.

It was too clean.

There was no trace of anyone living here; not even a single footprint was left for him to find.

Fleamont fell silent, and after a long while, he spoke slowly: "Alright, my good boy, go and see what the Potter family has left for you; it is something far more precious than the wealth in Gringotts."

As he spoke, he paused. "Will you come back to live here in the future? Or do you have a new home?"

"My mother left a spell for me; until I come of age, I must live at Aunt Petunia's house for one month every year," Harry nodded. "And it will only be for one month."

Fleamont grinned and laughed. "That is truly wonderful."

"Tonight I will go and call Euphemia over; her portrait is not here."

Grandmother?

Harry forced a smile and walked into the room. Flitwick did not follow him, staying behind to chat with Fleamont; they were old acquaintances, after all.

The Potter family's collection was richer than Harry had imagined.

An entire room, at least a thousand books—like Potent Potion, which Harry had been forced to steal from the Restricted Section, there was a copy sitting right here.

Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions were the most numerous categories.

He picked out two books.

One was Potent Potion, the other was White Magic: Guard Your Faith. Some books he had already seen at Hogwarts, and others he felt were too advanced, not yet time for him to read.

When Harry emerged from the library.

He met his grandmother, the woman named Euphemia. Unlike the youthful-looking Fleamont, Euphemia's portrait was painted in her later years, showing the face of a kind and gentle old woman.

They spoke a great deal with Potter.

They talked about the first time James brought Lily home, James's life at school, and things from his own infancy—even though by that time, they had already become portraits.

It was not until late at night that Harry left, reluctant to go.

"How do you feel?" Flitwick patted Harry's thigh and asked softly.

Harry said quietly, "I feel like they are hiding something."

"Hm?" Flitwick's footsteps faltered.

Harry continued, "They are hiding the existence of one or two people. Were they my father's friends?"

Flitwick's expression became unnatural.

"As I thought, you know too," Harry turned his head to look at Flitwick.

Flitwick scratched his head. "You shouldn't be so sharp, Harry, and you shouldn't know about this matter, at least not yet."

"Alright," Harry nodded.

"When you are a little older, or when there is a result, we will tell..." Flitwick stopped abruptly mid-sentence, stunned for a moment, before he realized what the word Harry had just said meant. "Ah? You're just agreeing to that?"

Harry shook his head. "I guessed it. One or two people, my father's former best friends, betrayed him?"

Flitwick looked at Harry, wanting to say something but holding back.

"He is still alive, isn't he?" Harry took two steps forward and looked up at the moon. "Is he very strong?"

Flitwick pursed his lips and nodded. "He is a very powerful wizard, the kind who can go toe-to-toe with Snape."

"But his condition is poor. You are waiting for him to die," Harry clenched his fists, though his tone remained gentle. "I truly hope he can live for a few more years."

Flitwick was taken aback.

"Long enough for me to be able to defeat Professor Snape," Harry said slowly. "I will heal his wounds, or rather, his illness."

"I will dress him in the finest robes."

"And give him the most decent death possible."

Flitwick walked over, jumped up, and patted Harry on the shoulder. "Harry, for the next month and a half, I will teach you how to duel."

"Dumbledore requested it of me, but he didn't realize that I had already intended to do so before he even asked."

"Thank you, Professor." Harry kept his head held high.

Many people say that a Witcher is nothing more than a monster devoid of emotion.

Yet, why did he suddenly recall those parents he had seen in Velen and Novigrad, slaughtered by monsters?

Clearly...

Though he had undergone mutations and possessed vision so sharp he could see everything in the dark, right now, he couldn't even see the moon clearly.

Clearly...

Though he could travel over mountains and rivers without feeling fatigue for days on end, he now felt the road back to Flitwick's home was agonizingly long, as if it were endless.

Harry eventually returned to Flitwick's house.

He took a shower, clutched a Potent Potion, and flipped through a few pages with a cluttered mind; he couldn't focus, nor did he have the heart to sleep, so he spent the rest of the night exchanging owls with Hermione.

The next day.

After Harry finished two laps around Godric's Hollow and returned home to prepare breakfast, Flitwick finally walked downstairs, still bleary-eyed from sleep.

"Harry, I'm so sorry. I assumed young wizards were all late risers." Having a twelve-year-old boy cook for him made the hundred-year-old professor's face flush with embarrassment. "Thank you for your hard work today."

"No, Professor, this is what I should do." Harry shook his head, his tone sincere.

After they finished eating.

Flitwick led Harry outside of Godric's Hollow: "What I am going to teach you is not a spell, but dueling."

"You may not know, but in my youth..."

"You were the dueling champion." Harry interrupted, "I know, Professor. You've mentioned it at least five times in class."

Flitwick cleared his throat to hide his awkwardness: "I have a great deal of experience in dueling, Harry. I know you are excellent; you managed to kill a Troll in your first year."

"But dueling a person is not such a simple matter."

"There is no point in talking more. Dueling has no theory, only practice. Let us have a match; let me see what your level truly is."

Harry looked at his right hand: "But Professor, as you know, I specialize in using a sword."

Flitwick waved his wand, transfiguring a stone into a sword roughly the length of the Sword of Gryffindor, which floated down into Harry's hand: "Rest assured, I will not dispel the magic on it during our duel."

Harry gripped the sword and nodded at Flitwick: "Professor, then I am coming."

He flicked his wand.

The gravel on the ground twisted, turning into a pile of bizarre, crawling insects that clicked and clacked as they scurried toward Flitwick.

"A Transfiguration Charm; you are indeed Minerva's favorite student." Flitwick waved his wand without chanting, and the small stones began to float. "This might be useful against an ordinary wizard, but against a powerful one, it doesn't even provide a distraction."

"In fact..."

"It becomes the opponent's weapon."

"Like this."

He flicked his wand, and the small stones whistled through the air, smashing toward Harry—

Harry lunged forward; he had anticipated this, so... he triggered a Sign.

Aard!

A telekinetic blast swept out, and the small stones rebounded toward Flitwick at an even greater speed.

"That group-repulsion spell?" Flitwick was slightly surprised. "You can manage that level of power? Truly stunning."

He waved his wand again.

Boom—

The stones exploded in mid-air, shattering into dust that drifted away.

"Professor, now it is my turn to enter my area of expertise." Harry had already closed the distance, swinging his sword toward Flitwick, striking heavily without a hint of hesitation.

"No, not yet." Flitwick didn't even move.

A massive force suddenly grabbed Harry's back, yanking him so hard that he was sent flying backward.

It was a giant hand.

The fine dust had coalesced into a massive hand, gripping Harry's collar tightly and restraining his movements.

Harry flicked his wand, and blue flames surged out—not toward Flitwick, but toward the giant hand.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Flitwick waved his wand, chanting the first verbal spell.

The magic shot toward Harry.

Quen!

Harry raised his hand, and a golden shield enveloped his entire body—though a second later, it shattered under the immense impact, it had successfully blocked the spell that would have ended the duel.

"A spell similar to the Shield Charm?" Flitwick was slightly surprised. "Another surprise, but if that is all you have, it is not enough."

Blue flames incinerated the giant hand, causing it to crumble back into dust.

"Very keen combat instincts," Flitwick continued his critique. "Using your magic to unravel mine?"

Harry let out a breath.

Wizards really were a troublesome bunch!

He flicked his hand once more.

Igni!

A serpent of fire hissed and surged forward, but the diminutive professor immediately summoned a torrent of water; the two collided, sending steam billowing upward.

Seizing the opportunity, Harry took another step and slashed with his sword.

Clang—

The blade struck something, but it certainly wasn't a person.

"Your intentions are too obvious," Flitwick's voice drifted from within the mist.

A gentle breeze swept through, dispersing the vapor.

The sword had struck a stone.

Flitwick flicked his wand again, causing the stone to rapidly shrink and drop to the ground. "The duel is over, Harry."

The ground was a patch of mud.

Harry was already half-submerged in it, with Flitwick's wand pointed directly at him.

"Professor, you're much stronger than I imagined." Harry shook his head and sighed.

Flitwick waved his wand to hoist Harry up, restored the ground, and then set him back down. "No, Harry, you are already very strong."

"The average fifth-year is no match for you; even some sixth-years would find you a headache to deal with, yet you are only twelve."

"If you were seventeen, even at your current level, I fear I would have a very difficult time handling you."

His physique was Harry's greatest weakness.

At twelve years old, no matter how good his swordsmanship was, without the physical foundation to support it, how much of it could he truly unleash?

"Now that the praise is over, let's talk about your shortcomings."

"Harry, you are a wizard."

"You need to learn to make more use of magic."