Neville couldn't attend the birthday banquet that night.
His injuries were serious.
But the Order of the Phoenix was made up of people well-versed in self-healing, and Mrs. Longbottom had ample experience tending to her grandson's wounds. They settled Neville in a guest room, and the celebration carried on.
It had been a long time since Harry drank with Geralt.
Now, with Sirius joining in…
Things quickly spiraled out of control.
Hermione hugged her knees, sitting off to the side, anxiously watching them.
Sirius was drinking steadily, one sip at a time. But Harry and Geralt? They were downing full bottles.
In less than half an hour, over ten bottles of vodka had been emptied.
The last time Hermione saw that many empty bottles was during a Gryffindor celebration—and that was the entire house. Now, it was just three people. Or rather, just two—Harry and Geralt. Sirius was still on his first bottle, just beginning to open the second.
"Don't worry so much about them," said Yennefer, sitting beside Hermione. "Witchers won't go down from a bit of alcohol. Though the smell is truly awful."
"Geralt won't be sleeping with me tonight."
Hermione blushed. "He really won't be hurt?"
"Really," Yennefer flicked her hair back. "Watching men drink is boring. Come—I'll keep teaching you how to enhance your womanly charm."
"And you can show me some of your cosmetic spells. They're delightful."
She dragged Hermione away.
With the women gone, the men got even more unfiltered.
Geralt was regaling stories he didn't even remember clearly.
Once, after drinking with Lambert, the four of them were coaxed into stealing Yennefer's clothes—and caught red-handed.
"That sounds exactly like something Lambert would do," Geralt said with a burp. "If only he were here."
"At least then we wouldn't have to make Yennefer angry stealing her clothes," Harry said, pouring himself another drink.
Sirius stared, cup in hand, completely dazed.
Lupin looked just as stunned.
He hadn't drunk much and was still sober. It wasn't the alcohol making him look dumbfounded—it was the stories. Harry and Geralt, who seemed so composed, had done such Sirius-esque things?
Geralt blinked, a little slow. "Right. We're in a village. We can buy clothes. You're rich, Harry."
"No need," Harry shook his head. "I have magic. Beautiful magic."
He pulled out his wand and gave it a flick.
Geralt's loose tracksuit warped into an extravagant black dress, decorated with violet lace and sheer floral patterns.
He looked down. "Harry, it's a bit tight… around the chest."
Harry flicked his wand again.
Geralt's pecs puffed up, gaining extra definition.
"Oh, magic can go this far?" Geralt marveled. "No wonder Yennefer hates these things. They're exhausting."
"They are," Sirius agreed sagely. "I'm glad I'm not a woman."
Geralt tilted his head. "Is there magic to become an entirely different person?"
"I mean everything. Full transformation."
Harry nodded. "Of course. Polyjuice Potion. Just a strand of hair, a bit of skin, even a toenail—you throw it in the brew and drink it. You'll become that person."
"Even a man into a woman?" Geralt's expression turned odd.
"Definitely," Harry replied.
"Geralt, don't think about that. It's disgusting," Sirius muttered, confused by his own disgust.
"I'm asking for Lambert," Geralt said seriously. "He'd need that."
"Why not ask for Eskel's mom?" Harry teased. "She'd definitely need a piece of your hair."
Geralt groaned. "Damn it. I've already attracted enough women."
"You wouldn't mind attracting a few more." Harry downed another drink.
Then Geralt started sharing his many tales.
Harry listened, wide-eyed—he had no idea Geralt had been entangled with so many sorceresses: Fringilla, Astrid, even a princess, and one of Dandelion's classmates.
Sirius muttered jealously, "So many relationships. What's so great about that?"
"Women make men grow," Geralt said wistfully.
Lupin stared at the table, dazed.
They drank until sunrise.
When the rest of the Weasleys woke—George and Fred had tried to stay the night but were dragged home by Molly—the house was a wreck.
Geralt was on the couch in an extravagant robe, chest still magically enhanced.
Sirius was in troll armor, clutching a broomstick.
Harry was riding the stair banister.
Only Lupin looked halfway decent—except he was shirtless, face-down on the table.
It took ages to clean the mess.
But Geralt and Harry? Not even a hint of a hangover. They freshened up and went on like nothing had happened.
Sirius couldn't get up.
His alcohol tolerance was decent—but not compared to a Witcher. He lay in bed, groaning.
Lupin hadn't drunk much at first.
But after Harry and Geralt passed out, he drank alone in silence—eventually collapsing into bed next to Sirius.
Geralt had to wait until Lupin recovered before they set out.
Rita had tried, and Mundungus had put in effort, but it was like Regnack had vanished from the world—or rather, all the goblins hostile to wizardkind had. Despite their efforts, no solid leads had turned up.
No Regnack, no master smith.
Geralt had no choice but to don snake-scale armor forged by common humans. Decent craftsmanship, but no magic. It couldn't compare to trollhide, or the enchanted armor Harry wore.
They departed from London by plane, heading to the Germanic region.
Yennefer kept busy.
Hermione was an excellent assistant—sharp, insightful, and clever enough to follow Yennefer's thought process. Most importantly, she could take Yennefer into any major library. Of course, she also got to truly see what Yennefer's temper was like.
In just two weeks, Yennefer had hit more people than in the past ten years combined.
OWLs results arrived during that time.
The change in Ministry power, combined with the Auror Office's purge of Death Eaters, had caused delays.
Harry earned 10 O's across all the subjects he took. He hadn't taken Arithmancy, Divination, or Muggle Studies.
Hermione scored 12 O's—perfect across all subjects—becoming only the third student in Hogwarts history to do so.
Before her, only two others had achieved this: Tom Riddle and Barty Crouch Jr.
Not even Dumbledore had—like Harry, he hadn't taken every subject.
Bill, Charlie, and Percy had all earned 12 OWL certificates—but those required only A grades to pass, not all O's.
That detail annoyed Hermione.
She thought—I'm being ranked the same as them?
Ron took ten subjects, scored eight O's, and passed all. He got an A in History of Magic and an E in Divination.
His results were the weakest of the trio.
But it was more than enough to make Molly proud. Another star child of the Weasley clan—each exam passed. Only Bill, Charlie, and Percy had done that before. Fred and George hadn't earned full certificates.
Only regret—Ron hadn't taken all twelve subjects. A fourth twelve-cert Weasley would've been a family brag for years.
They stayed busy—preparing for the school year, tracking Voldemort, or seeking Ciri.
Malfoy Manor.
Once burned to cinders by Fiendfyre, now fully restored by magic in just weeks.
Narcissa sat at the door, blankly staring ahead.
She ate here. Slept here.
Footsteps echoed from afar. Her face remained numb.
"Mother, I'm home," came a familiar voice.
Narcissa's head snapped up.
It was her only remaining tether—her son, Draco Malfoy.
Tears spilled from her hollow eyes, down her sunken cheeks, onto the parched ground.
He looked so different.
Taller by half a head, gaunt—his once-tailored robe now loose. Scars marred his neck, five across his face, and his bare arms were riddled with them.
One of his pale grey eyes was milky, turned upward.
"Draco, your eye?" she trembled.
Draco touched it. "Cursed by Bella."
"Sorry, Mother. I only just made it back."
He explained, "I've been on the run. No Prophet subscription. I only saw the news recently—Voldemort's dead."
"Seems it's true."
Narcissa nodded, more tears falling. "Potter killed him."
"And Father? Potter too?" Draco's voice dropped.
Narcissa shook her head. "No. The Dark Lord. He tried to protect me, but…"
Draco said nothing.
He sat beside her, his Prefect badge glinting green.
After a while, he finally said:
"Don't worry, Mother."
"I'll make them pay."
He raised his wand and began casting protections—rebuilding every ward that once guarded Malfoy Manor. One by one.
Though, some… he hadn't yet learned.
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Powerstones?
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