A shape-shifting troublemaker.
That reminded Harry of a Doppelganger, a humanoid race that could take the form of anyone and even mimic the thoughts, voice, and expertise of the person it had transformed into.
Gryffindor really was interesting.
Harry didn't dwell on it. He asked, "Then, Mr. Hagrid, do you know any blacksmiths?"
"I'm sorry, little Harry, I don't." Hagrid shook his head awkwardly. He felt ashamed that he couldn't help, then hurriedly added, "But Professor Flitwick, your future Charms professor, has some Goblin blood. Maybe he knows a master blacksmith."
Harry nodded.
"You... why would you want to have a sword made?" They had walked halfway there before Hagrid finally worked up the nerve to ask.
Harry remained expressionless. "When we were buying clothes just now, Madam Malkin said Gryffindor was a wizard who had a longsword. I think I could become a wizard like that, too."
Hagrid grew excited. "Oh, yes!"
"Harry, you really were born to be a Gryffindor."
"Your parents were both in Gryffindor House. I'm a Gryffindor, too, and so is Headmaster Dumbledore."
He prattled on, telling Harry about Hogwarts.
Harry felt he was being a little too "subjective" about it.
Slytherins were a bunch of devious schemers, Hufflepuffs were forgettable fools, and Ravenclaws were wooden bookworms who did nothing but study.
Harry silently added that to the list.
Perhaps, in the eyes of the other Houses, Gryffindors were a bunch of mindless, boastful troublemakers?
He couldn't help thinking...
Hogwarts might not be a very peaceful place.
For the next month or so, Harry stayed with the Dursleys. He actually wanted to leave and find somewhere else to live; the Dursleys didn't like him.
But being eleven made things inconvenient, so he had no choice but to stay, much against his will.
Apart from meals and exercise, Harry hardly ever left his new room. Petunia had cleared it out before he returned from Diagon Alley.
Harry named the owl Hedwig, after a name he found in History of Magic. She had been a great witch who protected young wizards during the dark witch-hunting era and taught them, keeping them from becoming Obscuruses.
Magic was everywhere in this world.
The moment he named her, an aura spread from Hedwig and wrapped around Harry, forging a bond between them.
It wasn't a contract made of words and legal clauses.
It was a passive magical contract, rooted in their blood.
How interesting...
Harry's interest in the magic of this world grew, and he eagerly began leafing through books.
Wizards' magic had a lot in common with Witcher Signs: incantations, gestures, and unwavering conviction.
After reading An Inquiry into the Development of Modern Witchcraft and Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century, Harry finally had a general impression of the wizarding world.
Wizards had short lives. Most lived only a little over a century. The longest-lived wizard, Nicolas Flamel, had taken a Potion called the Elixir of Life and lived for more than six hundred years.
In the Witcher world, sorcerers and Witchers both lived long lives.
His mentor, Vesemir, was over two hundred and nearly three hundred years old, yet still looked middle-aged. At least, he seemed younger than Uncle Vernon.
But magic was powerful.
The first Dark Lord, Grindelwald, had burned half of Paris with Fiendfyre. In the Witcher world, it would have taken several sorcerers working together to cast such a powerful spell.
There was also the "Animagus."
A master of Transfiguration could take on the form of an animal. The only drawback, perhaps, was that the kind of animal they turned into was random.
But that wasn't an unacceptable flaw.
What drew Harry's attention most was "Potions." A skilled Witcher drew his abilities from swordsmanship, Signs, and potions.
Every Witcher was a skilled herbalist and potion-maker, and Harry was no exception.
But the potions of the magical world were more like "medicine."
They could increase one's age, make someone tell the truth, or enhance brainpower...
Most importantly, they were almost entirely nontoxic.
Ordinary people couldn't take Witcher potions. The potent toxins they contained would destroy the body in an instant. Even Witchers, who had become immune to poison after their mutations, couldn't take multiple potions in a short period.
But potions in the wizarding world had no such restrictions.
The field of Potions was new and useful. Harry was almost instantly engrossed in it.
If there was one drawback...
Just as Harry had expected, the herbs of the two worlds had little in common. Even "Mandrakes" with the same name were entirely different.
The Dursleys spent this time in a constant state of alarm.
They would often see...
Harry waving a little stick and making tables and chairs fly around, or trying to cut a magazine apart and then mend it again.
Or huddled in the attic, where water bubbled and hissed as he brewed who knew what potion.
Then came the day before school started.
At the dinner table.
"My dear uncle, I may need to trouble you to take me to King's Cross Station tomorrow," Harry said after finishing a large piece of steak.
Thank goodness!
The little menace was finally leaving!
That was the only thought in Vernon's mind, but he still couldn't resist complaining. "Taking a train to a wizarding school is ridiculous. Are all their carpets worn out?"
"If there are better ways to travel, why not use them?" Harry asked matter-of-factly.
If there had been cars, trains, and planes in the Witcher world,
sorcerers and Witchers alike would have cheered. Honestly... portals were awful to travel through. Unless it was an emergency, Harry and the other Witchers would rather ride a horse.
"Which platform?" Vernon asked.
"Platform Nine and Three-Quarters," Harry replied.
Vernon gave a derisive snort. The pudgy flesh on his face and belly jiggled. "There's no such platform. I knew those lunatics—"
Harry waved a hand.
Vernon ducked like a startled bird.
Nothing happened. Harry merely picked up his glass of milk. "Wizards have their own spells. If they can keep ordinary people from knowing they exist, then naturally... they can hide a wizarding train station inside an ordinary one, too."
He gulped down the milk.
He went back to his room and got everything ready, along with the three potions he had brewed over the past month: two vials of Forgetfulness Potion and one Pepperup Potion.
The next day.
They left at half past seven and endured three hours of jolting travel before reaching King's Cross Station.
The station was thronged with people, travelers coming and going without end.
"All right, kid, you're here." Vernon helped Harry unload his luggage, as though shooing away a pest. "Platforms Nine and Ten. This is where you need to be."
"Use your wizard tricks to find your train!"
"Goodbye!" Vernon called as the door slammed shut. He set the cage holding Hedwig on the luggage trolley, hurriedly shut the car door, and drove off, vanishing from Harry's sight in an instant.
Harry took a deep breath and opened his senses.
The complex scents of humanity... those didn't matter.
A foul, nauseating stench—like the body odor of ghouls, though it was old. There must once have been a large number of ghouls here.
And most importantly, the scent of magic.
Harry pushed the trolley, following the trail of magical energy. Before long, he came to a wall—the one between Platforms Nine and Ten.
This was the entrance.
Harry reached out and felt the wall. It was solid, not an illusion.
So there was a special way to get in.
There were no marks from wands tapping the wall. Instead, he lowered his head and saw clear footprints and trolley tracks on the ground, leading straight into the other side of the wall.
The strides were long, forceful, and hurried.
Harry followed the tracks with his gaze. They began about three meters away.
So...
The way through was to run up and crash into the wall?
Harry considered this, pushed his trolley to where the tracks began, and jogged forward—through the wall, as cool magic flowed into his body.
On the other side of the wall was another platform, with a sign reading "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters."
Many people were dressed like him, in ordinary clothes, while quite a few wore wizarding robes.
He checked in and boarded the train.
Harry waved his wand, levitating his luggage through the crowd. At last, he found an empty compartment near the back of the train. He didn't like forcing his way into other people's social circles.
He had barely sat down when someone knocked on the compartment door. With a hiss, it slid open, and a red-haired head poked inside. "Sorry to bother you. All the other compartments are full. Can I sit here?"
Harry nodded. "Of course."
The redhead sighed with relief. "That's great."
He opened the compartment door and struggled to haul his luggage inside.
Harry took out his wand and gave it a light wave. The luggage flew to a corner on its own.
"Oh... are you an older student?" The redhead grew even more reserved. He sat opposite Harry with his head lowered. "I thought... you were a first-year like me."
Harry smiled and shook his head. "No, I'm a first-year, too."
"But how can you do magic?" The redhead leaned back in surprise. "I asked my brothers to teach me, but I couldn't learn."
"I taught myself from books," Harry replied simply.
The redhead rubbed his messy hair. "Then you must be a Ravenclaw."
"Let me introduce myself. I'm Ron, Ron Weasley."
"We're bound to become great friends. Compared with my brothers back home, I'm not clever at all. You'll have to help me with my homework."
Harry introduced himself. "Hello, I'm Harry Potter."
Ron sprang to his feet, eyes wide. "You're Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?"
As he spoke, his gaze fell on Harry's forehead.
Harry raised a hand and brushed his hair aside. "Yes, I'm that Harry Potter."
In the Witcher world, he hadn't even earned a title like the White Wolf's "Butcher of Blaviken."
He hadn't expected his name to be so famous in this world.
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