I reuploaded about 5 chapters as I forgot to put them under volume 2.
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"Dumbledore? Why would he want access to this library?" Harry asked, surprised. "Surely Hogwarts has far more books than this."
Fleamont's expression darkened as though smudged with soot. "Oh, it does. The Potter family library cannot compare to Hogwarts in size."
"But, my dear grandson, every family has its secrets."
Harry nodded. "Like the Invisibility Cloak?"
Fleamont raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. "Yes, like the Invisibility Cloak."
"Is it special?" Harry pressed.
Fleamont's chest swelled with pride. "Of course! It's one of a kind."
"I can tell you're curious, but I'd rather you discover its secrets bit by bit. When James uncovered the truth about it, his reaction was priceless."
Harry's heart clenched. Too bad he can't see my reaction. He looked around the house.
As a Witcher, his senses were sharp.
Too clean.
There were no signs of life, no lingering traces of anyone who had lived here—not even something as small as a footprint.
Fleamont fell silent for a long moment before speaking softly. "Alright, my boy, go on and see what the Potters have left you. It's worth more than all the gold in Gringotts."
He paused before asking, "Will you return to live here one day? Or do you have a new home?"
Harry nodded slowly. "My mother cast a protective charm for me. Until I come of age, I have to stay with Aunt Petunia for at least a month every year."
"But only a month," he added.
Fleamont broke into a wide grin. "That's excellent news."
"Later, I'll summon Euphemia. Her portrait isn't here right now."
Grandmother? Harry forced a faint smile and headed further into the house.
Flitwick didn't follow, instead staying back to chat with Fleamont—they seemed to know each other well.
The Potter family's library was more extensive than Harry had imagined.
An entire room, lined with over a thousand books. Some of them, like Powerful Potions, which Harry had once risked sneaking out of the Restricted Section at Hogwarts, were casually shelved here.
Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions dominated the collection.
Harry selected two books to take with him: Powerful Potions and White Magic: Holding Onto Your Faith. Some of the books were too advanced for him, while others he had already seen at Hogwarts.
When he exited the library, he was greeted by his grandmother, Euphemia Potter.
Unlike the youthful Fleamont, Euphemia's portrait captured her as an elderly woman, with a warm and kind expression.
They talked at length about James—his first time bringing Lily home, his school days, and even Harry's infancy. Though by then, they had already become mere portraits.
It wasn't until late at night that Harry reluctantly left.
"How do you feel?" Flitwick asked softly, patting Harry's leg.
Harry replied quietly, "I feel like they're hiding something."
Flitwick froze mid-step. "What do you mean?"
Harry continued, "They're hiding the existence of one or two people. Were they friends of my father?"
Flitwick's expression grew uneasy.
"So you know about it, too," Harry said, turning to look at him.
Flitwick scratched his head. "Harry, you're too perceptive for your own good. You shouldn't know about this—at least, not yet."
"Understood," Harry said with a nod.
Flitwick blinked, startled. "Wait, that's it? You're agreeing to drop it just like that?"
Harry shook his head. "I've already guessed. One or two of my father's close friends betrayed him?"
Flitwick hesitated, clearly torn.
"They're still alive, aren't they?" Harry continued, lifting his gaze to the moon. "Are they powerful?"
Flitwick pressed his lips together before nodding. "He's a very powerful wizard, someone who could duel Snape evenly."
"But he's not in good shape. You're waiting for him to die." Harry clenched his fists, though his tone remained soft. "I hope he holds on for a few more years."
Flitwick stiffened.
"Until I'm strong enough to defeat Professor Snape," Harry said slowly. "Then I'll heal his wounds—or illness—and dress him in the finest robes."
"I'll give him a dignified death."
Flitwick was momentarily stunned before stepping forward to pat Harry's shoulder. "Harry, for the next month and a half, I'll teach you how to duel."
"Dumbledore requested it, but truthfully, I'd already planned to do so."
"Thank you, Professor." Harry kept his gaze on the sky.
People often said Witchers were emotionless monsters.
But how could he suddenly remember all those grieving parents he had encountered in Velen and Novigrad, their lives shattered by monsters?
How could he see everything clearly in the darkness, yet now the moon seemed blurred?
How could he trek across mountains and rivers without tiring, yet the walk back to Flitwick's house felt endless and exhausting?
Harry eventually returned to Flitwick's home.
After a shower, he sat with Powerful Potions, flipping through its pages distractedly. Sleep eluded him, so he spent another night exchanging letters with Hermione via owl.
The next morning, Harry ran two laps around Godric's Hollow before preparing breakfast. Flitwick eventually appeared, bleary-eyed, looking sheepish.
"Harry, I didn't expect you to be up so early. I thought all young wizards loved to sleep in," the old professor said, his face reddening at the thought of a twelve-year-old making breakfast for him. "Thank you for this."
"No trouble at all, Professor," Harry replied earnestly.
After breakfast, Flitwick led him outside the village. "I won't be teaching you spells today—I'll be teaching you how to duel."
"You might not know this, but in my youth—"
"You were a dueling champion," Harry interrupted with a grin. "I know, Professor. You've mentioned it at least five times in class."
Flitwick cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Yes, well. I've got a lot of experience in dueling. Harry, you're very talented—you killed a troll in your first year, after all."
"But dueling another wizard is far more complex."
"Enough talk. Dueling isn't theoretical—it's practical. Let's spar so I can gauge your abilities."
Harry glanced at his right hand. "But Professor, you know I'm better with a sword."
With a wave of his wand, Flitwick Transfigured a rock into a sword resembling the Sword of Gryffindor. It floated into Harry's hand. "Don't worry—I won't dispel it during our duel."
Harry gripped the sword tightly and nodded. "Professor, I'm coming."
He flicked his wand.
The stones on the ground twisted and reshaped themselves into bizarre, crawling creatures that scuttled toward Flitwick.
"Transfiguration—a favorite of Minerva's best student." Flitwick waved his wand wordlessly, causing the stone creatures to levitate. "Effective against average wizards, but useless against powerful ones.
"In fact…"
"They become weapons for your opponent."
"Like this."
With a flick of his wand, the stones hurtled toward Harry.
Harry dashed forward, anticipating this move. Ard!
The telekinetic blast sent the stones flying back toward Flitwick at an even greater speed.
"Group Repelling Charm? Impressive," Flitwick remarked, surprised. "To this degree? Truly remarkable."
He waved his wand again.
Boom!
The stones shattered mid-air into dust.
"Now we're in my element!" Harry closed the distance swiftly, slashing his sword with full force.
"No, not yet." Flitwick didn't move.
A massive hand formed from the dust, seizing Harry by the collar and yanking him backward.
Harry cast a spell, summoning blue flames—not toward Flitwick, but at the hand restraining him.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Flitwick incanted aloud for the first time.
A jet of magic shot toward Harry.
Quen!
Harry raised his hand, summoning a golden shield. Though it shattered under the spell's force, it blocked what would have ended the duel.
"A shield spell like Protego?" Flitwick mused, intrigued. "Another surprise. But it's not enough."
The blue flames reduced the giant hand to ash.
"Good instincts," Flitwick praised. "Using your magic to disrupt mine."
Harry exhaled sharply.
Wizards are such troublesome opponents!
He raised his hand again.
Igni!
A fiery serpent surged forth, but Flitwick countered with a stream of water. The two collided, filling the air with steam.
Harry seized the opportunity to strike again.
Thunk.
His sword hit something—but not a person.
"Your intentions are too predictable," Flitwick's voice echoed through
the mist.
A breeze cleared the steam.
The sword had struck a rock.
Another flick of Flitwick's wand shrank the rock, dropping it to the ground. "The duel is over, Harry."
Harry was partially submerged in a muddy pit, with Flitwick's wand trained on him.
"Professor, you're much stronger than I expected," Harry admitted with a sigh.
Flitwick levitated Harry out of the mud and restored the ground beneath them. "No, Harry—you're already very strong.
"Most fifth-years wouldn't stand a chance against you. Even some sixth-years would struggle. And you're only twelve.
"If you maintain this level at seventeen, I'd have a hard time against you myself."
Harry's greatest weakness was his body.
At twelve, no matter how skilled he was with a sword, his young frame could only do so much.
"Now that I've praised you, let's talk about your shortcomings."
"Harry, you're a wizard."
"You need to rely more on magic."
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Powerstones?
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