At Hogwarts.
When Harry and the others returned, they ran into Geralt, who was coming out in a short-sleeved shirt for his morning workout.
"You three didn't sleep at all last night?" he asked, imdiately noticing the exhaustion hidden on Dumbledore and Snape's faces.
"It's obvious," Harry nodded. "Geralt, et us in the Headmaster's office later."
Dumbledore kindly reminded, "The password is 'sour stick candy.'"
Harry and Snape both gave him a look.
Strictly speaking, sour stick candy was on par with Cockroach Clusters—among most young wizards, not a fun treat like Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, but more akin to a prank item.
This candy was so sour it could be physically harmful. Ron had once been pranked with it by Fred and George—his tongue got burned through. His screams could be heard in every corner of the Burrow. Though, to be fair, Fred and George's own screams were louder, and the nearby village of Ottery St. Catchpole buzzed with ghost rumors for weeks.
And unlike most spooky events, this one had nothing to do with Weasel Hill.
Even adults didn't fare well after eating this candy. It burned the throat and tongue.
"Don't look at like that," Dumbledore waved a hand. "I don't like that candy either. It's just that lately, everything's gone sour—like sucking on one of those."
Snape turned away and curled his lip.
Geralt continued on to exercise.
Snape, not needing to prep for classes, returned to his office to rest—he'd need to prepare, since Harry and the others would be going to speak with Crouch soon.
Harry and Dumbledore got to work sealing every secret passage they knew of.
They summoned the house-elves. To them, the castle was everything, and they knew its ins and outs better than any wizard.
Still...
Harry and Dumbledore both knew from experience that these creatures could be unreliable. Loyal, yes, but ntally vulnerable—far too easily manipulated. They had no defenses against wizarding magic.
Harry checked their mories, making sure the only ones tampered with were about the Room of Requirent, and no other passages.
By the ti they returned to the headmaster's office, Geralt had finished his workout.
Harry told him everything from the night before, emphasizing the two letters they'd received.
"So the Wild Hunt isn't prioritizing Ciri anymore?" Geralt sighed in relief. "That's good news."
Harry shook his head. "Not quite."
"If magic can't solve the White Frost, Ciri's still their last resort."
"But if it can be solved... then Ciri, as Elder Blood, becos even more valuable."
Harry wasn't sure how the Wild Hunt traveled between worlds—but their obsession with catching Ciri suggested it wasn't as easy or free as it looked.
If they could control the Frost—or even use its power—then the Aen Elle, a war-hungry, fanatical race, would only desire Elder Blood more.
Geralt understood right away and sighed.
"Any news from Yennefer?" Harry asked.
Geralt shook his head with a wry smile. "You know how Yen is."
A proud woman, elusive as smoke—unless she found sothing truly important, she wouldn't report back.
"I might know sothing," Dumbledore said.
They looked over.
"You could probably guess," he went on. "She asked to borrow two house-elves. She uses them every day, so I occasionally get news through them."
"She found Galahad's tomb—and dug it up. Seems she found sothing."
He paused.
"That's Galahad, after all."
The purest of knights. In British legend, only he could lift the Holy Grail.
Harry and Geralt exchanged glances.
"We're the sa," Harry said softly.
Dumbledore blinked and sighed. "If Yennefer uncovers anything significant, the elves will alert right away."
He'd forgotten—this group was lawless and fearless.
"We're heading to Godric's Hollow," he said, rising and extending his hand to Harry and Geralt.
Geralt hesitated. "Could we take a different thod?"
It wasn't so urgent that they needed to teleport instantly—and he really didn't want to start his morning with sothing that made witchers sick.
"Not a fan of Apparition?" Dumbledore lowered his hand. "How about the Knight Bus?"
Harry's face fell.
Geralt, not noticing, let out a long breath of relief. "That sounds great."
He'd taken buses in Germany. Convenient, fast, and cheap—and, like Harry once was, he hadn't yet adapted to a life of wealth.
Dumbledore snapped his fingers. "Then Knight Bus it is. Been a while since I traveled that way."
Harry sighed.
They walked out of Hogwarts and to Hogsade.
Dumbledore raised his wand.
With a rush of magical energy, the purple triple-decker bus screeched into view, bright headlights flashing, rumbling like a bounding rabbit as it squeezed through buildings before halting with a shriek, leaving a long, dark skid mark.
Clang! The door burst open.
"Knight Bus, at your service!" Stan Shunpike shouted cheerfully. "Anywhere, anyti, for stranded witches and wizards!"
"Oh!" he blinked. "Harry Potter?"
"Albus Dumbledore?"
"And this gentleman... perhaps a Potter ancestor? I didn't know the Potter line had—" he caught himself just in ti and grinned at Harry. "Mr. Potter! Long ti no see on the bus!"
Harry replied flatly, "Thanks. You guys haven't updated your service style in all these years?"
"We pride ourselves on our consistent passion!" Stan bead. "Where to today?"
"Godric's Hollow?" he added. "Though... it's not the weekend."
Dumbledore boarded first. "Dear Stan, I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Mr. Potter is on approved leave."
Stan nodded solemnly. "When I was at school, that was all I ever wanted."
From the driver's seat, Ernie Prang muttered, "And now, all I want is to chuck this wheel and go back to Hogwarts."
"Professor Dumbledore," he called, "does Hogwarts take back graduates?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "Ernie, Pomona would be thrilled, but Minerva might be less so. I recall you nearly flunked Transfiguration."
Ernie said no more—just the thought of Professor McGonagall still gave him chills.
Dumbledore handed over three Galleons and got a hot chocolate—no change required.
Harry pushed Geralt up the steps.
Today's bus was unusually quiet. No other passengers. Harry breathed a little easier.
"I think I regret this," Geralt muttered, staring at the window, unsure.
He'd seen flying cars—Sirius's and Mr. Weasley's. He'd seen Muggle vehicles.
He just hadn't imagined a vehicle with wheels would arrive hopping.
Ernie, thrilled by the rare company, drove like a maniac. Fortunately, with no other passengers, even his enthusiasm had only thirty minutes to burn.
After an excruciating 1,800 seconds...
The bus screeched to a halt outside Godric's Hollow.
"My dear passengers, we've arrived," Stan announced cheerfully.
The doors opened.
Geralt was the first out, gulping the cold, fresh air.
Compared to teleportation, the Knight Bus was far worse. At least teleportation was over in a blink. The bus felt endless.
Dumbledore handed him the untouched hot chocolate.
Geralt took it gratefully. "Thanks."
"I originally brought it for Harry," Dumbledore said, vanishing the empty cup. "But this works out too."
"You should've stopped ," Geralt muttered to Harry as they trudged into the village.
"You know what I'm going to say," Harry replied without turning.
Geralt sighed. "If I had magic, I'd turn you into a wolf cub."
Harry said nothing. He transford.
A handso white wolf landed lightly, glanced back, and trotted ahead.
Geralt packed a snowball and hurled it.
Dumbledore followed behind them, smiling kindly.
Just as Harry dodged a third snowball and flicked it back—headed straight for Dumbledore—they arrived at the first house.
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