Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World
Chapter 467: The Castle Caretaker

Chapter 467: The Castle Caretaker

Nagini’s body wasn’t in great shape.

She was old.

So old that the care house-elves took when tending to her wasn’t out of fear, but concern that even the slightest misstep might hurt her.

But her soul—remained unaffected.

Half a month later.

In the quiet, near-abandoned Hogwarts, which now felt somewhat desolate, Filch and his dear Mrs. Norris found themselves enjoying their most peaceful—yet also loneliest—days.

In the headmaster’s office...

Dumbledore, unsure of his own judgment, had summoned another to examine her.

Grindelwald, unable to stop the trembling in his hands, gently laid Nagini down. "She looks healthy. Her soul has some scarring, but it’s very old—very deep-rooted."

"It’s her," Dumbledore corrected.

"That little girl who followed Credence?" There was a faint note of nostalgia in Grindelwald’s eyes.

"Aurelius," Dumbledore corrected again.

He paused, his tone complex. "We owe them both... a great deal."

"Maledictus," Grindelwald muttered with a troubled shake of his head.

It was an ancient curse—no less old than lycanthropy.

"If Aurelius and she could have had a child," he said softly, "perhaps we might’ve had hope of slowly studying a cure for the Maledictus condition. But Nagini... she’s not as healthy as Mr. Lupin. Her body and will might not be able to endure that path."

Dumbledore said nothing, his guilt deepening.

He’d once had a chance.

"What about you?" Harry changed the subject. "Planning to stick around Hogwarts shamelessly?"

Grindelwald chuckled bitterly. "Nurmengard is gone."

"Azkaban isn’t fit for a dark wizard who can cast a Patronus."

"And no Ministry is brave enough to imprison me. Only Hogwarts—the place where two of the greatest living wizards reside—could possibly keep me contained."

"And besides, I didn’t suffer through hours of the Cruciatus Curse for nothing."

He held up his hands, still shaking uncontrollably.

He could just barely cast spells.

But trembling to this degree—for Grindelwald, it was as good as being crippled.

And yet, he accepted it calmly.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" Harry asked, eyes gleaming with interest.

Grindelwald squinted at him, sensing something. "Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"You’re not in your prime, sure—but your knowledge is unrivaled." Harry nodded. "No one knows dark magic better than you."

"Of course, of course," Grindelwald said dryly. Even the flattery didn’t lift his spirits. "But I have a feeling you just want to punch me."

Harry looked serious. "Mr. Grindelwald, how could you think that?"

"I’ve heard the rumors," Grindelwald countered. "Every year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor gets beat up by you."

"Not this year," Harry said righteously.

Grindelwald scoffed. "But he’s still in St. Mungo’s. He’ll be out for another month."

"Exactly. You can cover his classes for a month." Harry pressed on.

Grindelwald shook his head. "No."

"Albus and I already agreed—I’ll stay at Hogwarts, but not as staff."

He paused.

Looking up at the Marauder’s Map on the wall, he fixated on a name. "Filch is seventy-five this year. That’s not old for a wizard, but he’s a Squib."

"Eight floors, plus the basement and two towers."

"That’s a lot for a seventy-five-year-old Squib."

"He needs someone smart and capable to help him."

Harry blinked. "You want to be... the castle caretaker?"

"Five Galleons a week," Grindelwald nodded. "Twenty a month. Merlin’s beard—if I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d never believe the second-best magical school in Europe after Durmstrang pays that little."

Dumbledore interjected, "Voldemort did too much damage."

"We must compensate the merpeople, repair the castle..."

"And since Neville was hurt on school grounds, we owe restitution there, too."

Professor McGonagall had drawn up the restoration budget—it would take at least 2,000 Galleons.

Add in the compensation, and the number approached 4,000.

"But Hogwarts won the Triwizard Cup two years in a row!" Harry objected. "We’re clearly the best school in Europe!"

"Five Galleons a week is too much for you. You don’t even spend money."

Grindelwald shook his head. "No. Valentine’s Day, Christmas, and birthdays—I’ll need gifts. 200 Galleons a year split three ways doesn’t buy much."

"Triwizard success came from you, Harry. Hogwarts won’t have a ’you’ every year."

Harry smirked. "All Albus needs is a jar of Cockroach Clusters. Three Sickles a bottle."

"Even without me, Cedric could’ve handled Durmstrang."

"You know nothing of romance," Grindelwald sighed. "Candy may work for kids. Not adults."

"Who’s Cedric?" Grindelwald asked.

Dumbledore cut in: "A fine Hufflepuff. Like Newt Scamander."

Grindelwald flinched.

Hufflepuff—that name triggered memories.

Decades ago, a Hufflepuff had been a thorn in his side.

Their bickering continued—Fox even chimed in occasionally.

But in the end, Grindelwald lost the debate.

He couldn’t outtalk Dumbledore and Harry.

And the headmaster’s office wasn’t just the two of them—it had the portraits of Godric and generations of past headmasters.

By the end, Grindelwald grumbled that they were shameless.

Dozens of generations of Hogwarts voices, from the oldest to the youngest, ganging up on one lone Durmstrang wizard.

Of course, he wasn’t truly upset. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it.

Observation of Nagini continued.

A month later, her soul remained stable—confirming the date of Harry’s "surgery."

It would be set for July 31st—Harry’s birthday.

Dumbledore would still perform the procedure.

And the location... would once again be the Gryffindor common room.