McGonagall seed unsure.
Should she inform Neville’s family now?
As a professor and Head of House, she certainly should. But...
"Let him do it himself," Harry said gently. "Sothing worth boasting about shouldn’t be told by anyone else."
McGonagall nodded, glancing at Neville, tilting her head in thought.
Yennefer scooted her chair closer. "Harry, Ciri and I just talked. We might’ve found a way to deal with the ss on your forehead."
Ciri leaned in, staring at the lightning-shaped scar beneath his dark hair. "It’s a terrible thing."
"Didn’t you want it once?" Harry teased. "I could give it to you now."
"If it didn’t co with the soul of that noseless bald freak," Ciri shrugged.
When she was little—right after Harry arrived in her world, picked up by Vesemir and trained at Kaer Morhen—Ciri had been envious of Harry’s scar. In her world, scars were no sha. A lightning-bolt scar? That was seriously cool.
She’d even picked out nicknas for herself in case she had one—sothing like "Lightning."
McGonagall turned. "What thod?"
Yennefer nodded at Geralt.
The White Wolf pulled a book from his pocket and handed it over.
Flipping through it, Yennefer explained: "The soul fragnt on Harry’s head is hard to remove because it’s deeply embedded. If you try to force it out, it could damage his own soul."
"But what if we heal the wound the mont it’s removed?"
McGonagall frowned, shaking her head. "Ms. Yennefer, we all know that’s possible in theory."
"But not practical."
"Even Albus couldn’t manage it."
Separating a soul wasn’t like cutting at off a bone. It was an excruciating process—far more painful than the Cruciatus Curse.
There had been many dark wizards in history who created Horcruxes. But aside from Voldemort, nearly all of them made only one. Not because they lacked the will to kill, but because splitting the soul was unbearably agonizing.
And more importantly—
It wasn’t as simple as slicing it off and healing with a charm. The goal wasn’t just to remove the fragnt—it had to be done without harming Harry. Which made it delicate, precise, and extrely risky.
"No one can do that," McGonagall emphasized. "Ms. Yennefer—"
Yennefer raised her hand, cutting her off: "I know. But what if ti itself could be stopped?"
McGonagall froze.
Stopped ti? That was well beyond her magical knowledge.
But if so...
Harry’s soul might be saved. If ti froze, there’d be no deterioration, no damage to the exposed soul. No true wound—only a chance for healing.
Her expression turned troubled. "If that’s possible... perhaps. But no such magic exists. Not even Albus can do that."
"I can!" Ciri piped up—then quickly ducked her head. "Well... not yet."
She had Elder Blood, the ancient magic capable of manipulating ti and space. She could pause ti, choose who could move within it, who couldn’t—if she mastered it.
But she hadn’t. Most of her control was spatial, not temporal.
"How long would it take?" McGonagall straightened up, taking on her Deputy Headmistress tone.
Ciri instinctively answered like a student: "Avallac’h is here. He can teach ."
"I should be able to learn quickly."
McGonagall nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Yennefer smiled. "Professor, you’re Hogwarts’ Deputy Headmistress—you know education. That makes you perfect."
She clapped Ciri on the back. "She’s yours now."
McGonagall looked serious. "Of course."
Ciri’s eyes widened—disbelief all over her face. She’d been out in the wild for so long, and now she had to go back to being a student? That’s not what Yennefer had said earlier.
But she didn’t argue. She accepted it.
If it helped solve the problem on Harry’s head, she’d do it. It was just school.
They kept discussing the details. Yennefer offered many theories, trying her best to adapt her magical knowledge into sothing that could deal with a Horcrux. But Horcruxes were native to this world. In the end, it would require its own magic.
That part was beyond her capabilities.
Madam Pomfrey soon joined in. As a gifted Healer, she’d been invited to join St. Mungo’s many tis but always refused. She preferred Hogwarts.
While they stayed up all night planning how to extract the Horcrux—
Elsewhere, the Ministry of Magic was far from quiet.
Scrimgeour was awoken and rushed in.
An Auror sat trembling, hands wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate, with Kingsley Shacklebolt at his side.
"What now?" Scrimgeour growled, exhausted.
Today had been the longest day of his life.
He’d spoken to Dumbledore. Voldemort had returned and attacked Hogwarts—though only a few knew that. The public assud Death Eaters were responsible.
Gringotts had been assaulted—by over three hundred goblins.
Thankfully, Dumbledore had intervened. Otherwise, the Ministry wouldn’t have been able to handle it.
He’d barely made it ho and slept a few hours before being called again. Kingsley’s Patronus had ntioned sothing urgent but not clearly.
"Nurngard is gone," the Auror said, voice trembling.
Scrimgeour stared. "What?"
"Nurngard is gone," the Auror repeated. "A ghost ship appeared. A wizard summoned a massive snowstorm. Nurngard vanished almost instantly."
Scrimgeour’s brow furrowed.
A massive snowstorm... That sounded like Voldemort. Dumbledore had said sothing about his resurrection involving a thing called White Frost.
He opened his mouth to say sothing—
Another Auror burst in, panicked: "Minister Scrimgeour!"
"Diagon Alley is under attack!"
"A ghost ship!"
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance Chapters: /michaeltranslates
Reviews
All reviews (0)