Harry from the Potter Family

A troublemaker who can shapeshift.

This reminded Harry of a Doppelganger, a humanoid race capable of transforming into anyone, even simulating the target's thoughts, voice, and professional expertise.

Gryffindor is truly interesting.

Harry didn't dwell on this too deeply; he spoke up and asked, "Then, Mr. Hagrid, do you know any blacksmiths?"

"I'm very sorry, little Harry, I don't," Hagrid shook his head in embarrassment. Feeling ashamed that he couldn't help, he quickly tried to make amends, "But Professor Flitwick, your future Charms professor, has some goblin blood in him; perhaps he might know a master blacksmith."

Harry nodded.

"You... why would you want to forge a sword?" Halfway through their walk, Hagrid hesitated, then gritted his teeth and asked.

Harry was expressionless: "When we were buying clothes earlier, Madam Malkin said that Gryffindor was a wizard who possessed a longsword, and I feel I could become that kind of wizard as well."

Hagrid became excited: "Oh, yes!"

"Harry, you really are a natural Gryffindor."

"Your parents were both in Gryffindor House, I am a Gryffindor, and Headmaster Dumbledore is one too."

He rambled on, introducing Hogwarts.

Harry only felt that he was bringing far too much "subjectivity" into it.

Slytherins are a bunch of sinister and cunning villains, Hufflepuffs are all forgettable, dim-witted fools, and Ravenclaws are just wooden stakes who only know how to read.

Harry silently added in his heart.

Perhaps in the eyes of other houses, Gryffindors are just a bunch of brainless, boastful troublemakers?

I have a feeling...

Hogwarts might not be a peaceful place.

For the next month or so, Harry remained with the Dursleys—he actually wanted to leave and find another place to live, as the Dursleys didn't like him.

But an eleven-year-old body was very inconvenient, so he could only stay, albeit unwillingly.

Aside from eating and exercising, Harry almost never left his new room; Petunia had cleared it out before he returned from Diagon Alley.

Harry named the owl Hedwig, a name he found in A History of Magic—she was a great witch who protected young wizards during the dark witch-hunting era, teaching them to prevent them from becoming an Obscurus.

Magic in this world is everywhere.

The moment he finished naming her, an aura emanating from Hedwig entwined with Harry, forging a connection between the two of them.

It was not a contract of words or legal clauses.

But a passive, bloodline-based magical contract.

Truly interesting...

Harry's interest in the magic of this world grew even greater, and he couldn't wait to flip through his books.

The magic of wizards bears a great similarity to the Signs of a Witcher—incantations, gestures, and firm belief.

And after finishing Modern Magical History and Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century, Harry finally had a general impression of the wizarding world.

Lifespans are very short; normal wizards only live for about a hundred years or so. The longest-lived wizard, Nicolas Flamel, used a potion called the "Elixir of Life" to extend his years to over six hundred.

In the Witcher world, sorcerers and Witchers have very long lives.

Mentor Vesemir lived to be nearly three hundred, yet his appearance was no more than that of a middle-aged man; at the very least, he looked younger than Uncle Vernon.

But the power of magic is immense.

The first Dark Lord, Grindelwald, burned half of Paris with Fiendfyre; in the Witcher world, that would be a powerful spell requiring multiple sorcerers to cast in unison.

And then there is the "Animagus."

A master proficient in transfiguration can master one animal form; the only drawback is that the animal form one transforms into is random.

But this is not an unacceptable flaw.

What interested Harry most was "Potions"—a skilled Witcher's abilities stem from swordsmanship, Signs, and potions.

Every Witcher is an excellent herbalist and potion-maker, and Harry is no exception.

Yet the potions of the magical world are more like "medicine."

Aging, speaking the truth, enhancing brainpower...

Most importantly, there is almost no toxicity.

Witcher potions cannot be consumed by ordinary people; the powerful toxins contained within would destroy their bodies in an instant. Even after mutation, Witchers, who are immune to all poisons, cannot consume multiple potions in a short period of time.

But the potions of the wizarding world have no such restrictions.

A novel, useful field of potions—Harry was instantly captivated.

If there was one drawback...

Just as Harry had expected, the herbs of the two worlds have nothing in common; even the "Mandrake," which shares the same name, is worlds apart.

The Dursleys spent this period of time in constant fear.

They would always see...

Harry waved a small stick, manipulating chairs and tables to fly back and forth, or else attempting to slice through a magazine only to mend it back together again.

Or, huddled in the attic, the water bubbling and gurgling as he brewed some unknown potion.

Until the day before school started.

At the dinner table.

"My dear Uncle, I might have to trouble you to drive me to King's Cross Station tomorrow," Harry said after finishing a large steak.

Thank heavens!

This jinx was finally leaving!

That was the only thought in Vernon's mind, but he kept his tone sharp: "Taking a train to a wizarding school is ridiculous. Have they run out of blankets or something?"

"If there is a superior mode of transport, why not use it?" Harry asked back as a matter of course.

If the Witcher world had cars, trains, and planes.

Then sorcerers and Witchers alike would be cheering. Honestly... the sensation of portals was truly unpleasant. Unless the situation was dire, Harry, like other Witchers, preferred to travel by horse.

"Which platform?" Vernon asked again.

"Nine and three-quarters," Harry replied.

Vernon sneered, the fat on his face and belly jiggling: "There's no such platform. I knew those lunatics—"

Harry waved a hand.

Vernon shrank back like a startled bird.

Nothing happened; Harry simply picked up his glass of milk: "Wizards have their own spells. If they can keep their existence hidden from ordinary people, then naturally... they can hide a wizarding station within an ordinary one."

He finished the milk in one gulp.

He returned to his room to pack his belongings, including the three potions he had brewed over the past month—two Draughts of Forgetfulness and one Invigoration Draught.

The next day.

They set off at seven-thirty, and after three hours of bumping along, they arrived at King's Cross Station.

The crowd surged, with travelers coming and going in an endless stream.

"Alright, boy, you're here." Vernon helped Harry unload his luggage from the car, acting as if he were shooing away a plague. "Platform nine, platform ten, this is where you need to be."

"Go on, use your wizard tricks to find your train!"

"Goodbye!" This final word was punctuated by the heavy slam of a door. Vernon placed the cage containing Hedwig onto the luggage trolley, hurriedly shut the car door, slammed his foot on the gas, and vanished from Harry's sight in an instant.

Harry took a deep breath and opened his senses.

The complex scent of humans... that was unimportant.

A foul, nauseating odor—it smelled like the body odor of ghouls, though it was faint; a large number of ghouls must have been here at some point.

And most importantly, the scent of magic.

Harry pushed his trolley, tracking the trail of magical energy, and soon arrived before a wall—the one between platform nine and platform ten.

This was the entrance.

Harry reached out and touched the wall; it felt solid, not a false illusion.

It seemed there was a specific method of entry.

There were no marks on the wall from a wand, but on the ground, he lowered his head and could see clear footprints and trolley tracks leading straight into the other side of the wall.

The stride length was large, forceful, and hurried.

Harry followed the marks, starting from three meters away.

So...

The way to pass was to run and hit the wall?

Harry mused, pushed his trolley to where the marks began, and trotted forward—passing through the wall, cold magic washing over his body.

On the other side of the wall was another platform, with a sign hanging that read "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters."

Many people were dressed like ordinary folks, just like him, while others wore wizarding robes.

He checked his ticket and boarded the train.

Harry flicked his wand, levitating his luggage through the dense crowd, and finally found an empty compartment at the back of the train; he didn't like forcing himself into other people's social circles.

He had barely sat down for a moment.

The compartment door was knocked upon, slid open with a screech, and a red-haired head poked in: "Sorry to bother you, the other compartments are all full. Can I sit here?"

Harry nodded: "Of course."

The red-haired boy let out a sigh of relief: "That's great."

He opened the door wider and struggled to move his luggage inside.

Harry pulled out his wand and gave it a light flick, causing the luggage to fly automatically into the corner.

"Oh... are you an upperclassman?" The red-haired boy became more reserved, sitting opposite him with his head bowed, "I thought... you were a first-year like me."

Harry shook his head with a smile, "No, I'm a first-year student too."

"But how do you know magic!" The redhead leaned his head back, exclaiming in surprise, "I asked my brothers to teach me, but I couldn't learn it."

"I learned it by reading books myself," Harry said concisely.

The redhead rubbed his messy hair, "Then you must be a Ravenclaw."

"Let me introduce myself, my name is Ron, Ron Weasley."

"We'll definitely be great friends. Compared to my brothers at home, I'm not smart at all, so you'll have to help me with my homework."

Harry introduced himself, "Hello, my name is Harry Potter."

Ron sprang up, his eyes widening, "Your name is Harry Potter? Are you the Harry Potter?"

As he spoke, his gaze fell upon Harry's forehead.

Harry raised his hand and pushed back his hair, "Yes, I am that Harry Potter."

In the world of the Witcher, he hadn't even earned a title like the White Wolf's "Butcher of Blaviken" yet.

He hadn't expected his reputation in this world to be so resounding.

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