Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World-Chapter 419: Deal

Harry's eyes sharpened as he stared at Ciri. "The Wild Hunt's eyes and ears?"

Ciri nodded.

"You mean the kind that communicates directly with the Hunt?" he pressed.

"Of course. Eredin's commander—do you know Imlerith?"

"The commander?" Harry's tone lowered.

Ciri nodded again.

Imlerith—a deadly warrior, Eredin's right-hand man, a nightmare to Geralt, descending aboard the demonic ship Naglfar.

"Is he still in Velen?" Harry asked quietly. "Would he still be there?"

"I don't know," Ciri said. "But Avallac'h once told me—Imlerith is easily consumed by lust and pleasure. Wine and women are his vices. The Crones pamper him and provide everything he desires."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

So that's why Anna was taken by the Crones?

"There's one event he never misses," Ciri said firmly.

"What event?"

She took a deep breath. "The Witch's Sabbath."

Harry blinked—he'd never heard of that before.

"In Velen, the Crones are known as the Ladies of the Wood," Ciri explained patiently. "Every year, they throw a grand feast on Bald Mountain. Local residents all receive an invitation—one that cannot be refused."

"Not just humans. Many beings attend. Night wraiths, especially, are honored guests."

"The Crones then select three of the most beautiful guests—men or women—and take them to the summit. After the night ends, they remember nothing, only vague, joyful memories—as if reborn."

And those "chosen" ones?

Imlerith's playthings.

With memories erased.

"He doesn't care if they're men or women?" Harry asked, expression flat.

"Apparently not," Ciri shrugged. "Even if Eredin called him back, he wouldn't miss this. He'd never be so indulged back in Aen Elle."

"It's a good opportunity," Harry nodded. "But Ciri, do you know what time it is outside now?"

She paused. "When I was sent to the Isle of Mists... it was already autumn."

"Then we've got two months until year's end," Harry said. "Waiting for the Sabbath, hoping Imlerith shows up? It's too long—and too risky."

Ciri sighed, rubbing her face.

She no longer had the luxury to hide.

Now they had real power—a powerful dark wizard, the White Frost, and the Wild Hunt to contend with. Waiting wasn't an option.

"Fine," she muttered. "Then we go back first—"

"No," Harry said, stuffing Caranthir back into the Sorting Hat. "Why go back? The Sabbath may be far off—but that doesn't mean we're out of options."

If he caught Imlerith too—after Caranthir—then the Hunt would be left leaderless.

That was key.

Hermione tapped Harry's waist.

Harry squeezed her hand. "Don't worry. No Soul Extraction Curse."

She squeezed back. frёewebnoѵēl.com

Ciri groaned. "Harry, this is not the time for flirting!"

"We're heading to Temeria," she said. "Want me to open the portal?"

Harry stood. "Let me. We'll drop right onto the Baron's table."

Ciri grimaced. "Probably not a pleasant surprise for him."

"He'd likely agree with you," Harry chuckled.

Hermione packed everything neatly. Ciri quickly snagged one last pastry.

"Hand on my shoulder," Harry instructed. "Hold tight."

Hermione took his other hand.

Ciri grabbed his shoulder.

Nearby, the dwarves wriggled desperately.

Don't leave us!

"Almost forgot you lot." Harry flicked his wand.

The dwarves screamed in terror as they were freed.

POP.

They vanished.

Crow's Perch.

The Baron sat alone, glaring at an empty bottle, hands on sagging cheeks. He was proud—no, thrilled—he hadn't had a drink in one day and sixteen hours.

POP.

The Baron flinched. "Witcher, show some manners."

"Sorry, I don't know any," Harry said bluntly. "Just finished drinking?"

Ciri groaned, crouching. "You could've warned me, Harry. That portal spell of yours is awful!"

"No, I'm sober," the Baron barked. "Been dry for over a day!" Then he spotted Ciri. "Is that—Ciri? You found her?"

"Yes, Philip," Ciri smiled. "I've been found."

The Baron looked at Harry, hopeful.

But he didn't dare ask. Too many rejections had taught him not to hope.

"Baron, it's time we talked," Harry said. "Let's discuss how much you'll pay me to rescue your wife."

The Baron lit up. "You finally have time?"

"Witcher, whatever you want—I'll pay it!"

Harry held up one hand—pinky extended.

"You just sold me a bottle for that price. How about 700 crowns?" the Baron tried.

"If it's crowns, 850," Harry replied.

"Deal." The Baron didn't hesitate. "Whatever it takes to save Anna. So—where is she?"

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Powerstones?

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