Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World
Chapter 474: The Final Year

Chapter 474: The Final Year

It wasn’t the Sorting Hat—it was a motorcycle.

Utterly untraditional.

At first, upperclassmen watched in amusement. But soon, the laughter faded, replaced by wide-eyed envy.

Dumbledore held a long list and called the first name.

The child walked up, utterly at a loss.

Dumbledore motioned for him to climb onto the motorcycle.

It was a grown-up’s machine—far too large for a small first-year. After much effort, he finally clambered aboard.

The Sorting Hat, speaking through the bike, communicated silently with him. After a few moments, it shouted, "Hufflepuff!"

It soared into the air, did a circle around the Great Hall’s ceiling, and landed beside the Hufflepuff table.

Its headlights flashed, illuminating the Hufflepuff prefect.

Understanding immediately, the prefect raised his wand and conjured a small staircase that met the child’s feet.

The Hufflepuff table erupted in joyous cheers.

Blushing with excitement, the little boy stepped onto the stairs—and promptly tripped, tumbling headfirst onto the table.

"Welcome to Hufflepuff," the prefect said gently, helping him up.

Upperclassmen were composed. Second-years looked like they might cry from jealousy.

Last year, they’d only worn a smelly, old hat—with lingering traces of potions, herbs, and dragon dung.

This year’s ceremony was just so... cool.

And the Sorting Hat even personally escorted students to their tables.

The idea had been impulsive—but the students loved it.

Only downside? It took longer. This year’s Sorting ceremony stretched far longer than usual.

By the final student—

The motorcycle landed by the Slytherin table.

Malfoy rose, conjuring a luxurious green staircase trimmed with silver serpents.

In the Sorting Ceremony, prefects were working the hardest.

Hufflepuffs kept things simple—wooden steps.

Gryffindors made theirs with bear fur.

Slytherin, of course, couldn’t fall behind Gryffindor.

The other two houses didn’t care to compete, but no one wanted their house to look shabby.

Dumbledore returned to the staff table.

The Sorting Hat blinked its headlights. "Albus, can I leave now? Buckbeak’s waiting."

McGonagall sighed.

Dumbledore nodded.

Before he could finish, the Sorting Hat revved and zipped off through the side hall, tires squealing in every ear.

"Looks like our Sorting Hat is enjoying life," Dumbledore chuckled.

The hall burst into laughter.

Raising a hand for silence, he addressed the school: "Before we begin the feast, two announcements."

"First: Mr. Filch is getting on in years. So, we’ve brought someone to share his responsibilities."

"Please welcome... Mr. Gellert."

At the end of the staff table, beside Filch, an elderly man stood—his hands trembled, his face gentle, but most striking were his gemstone-blue eyes.

Scattered applause followed.

Dumbledore didn’t rush, letting it fade before continuing: "Second, Defense Against the Dark Arts..."

Cheers broke out from the Gryffindor table.

Snape was nowhere to be seen.

Had he finally left?

"...will still be taught by Professor Snape," Dumbledore finished.

Gryffindors slumped with groans. Even some Hufflepuffs sighed.

"However, at the end of last year, to deal with a major threat, Professor Snape acted heroically and was severely injured. He’s recovering at St. Mungo’s and won’t return until November."

"Until then, Defense will be taught by Professor Remus Lupin."

A Gryffindor shouted, "Professor Lupin, why can’t you stay? Isn’t your illness cured?"

"At the end of this year, my child will be born," Lupin answered with a bright smile. "I need to be with my family."

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers.

Dumbledore raised a hand again. "And lastly..."

"I assure you all—this year will be perfectly safe, perfectly peaceful. Nothing unusual will happen."

A student shouted back, "You said that last year!"

Last year...

Hogwarts had nearly been flattened.

"There are always surprises," Dumbledore smiled. "But not this year."

"And besides—our dear Mr. Potter only has one year left at Hogwarts."

Everyone—Malfoy included—turned to look at the Gryffindor table.

But Harry wasn’t there.

"Now then," Dumbledore clapped his hands. "It’s quite late—by last year’s standards, you’d already be snuggled in bed."

"Let’s eat!"

The feast began with lively energy.

Ron was the busiest of all, constantly answering questions about Harry’s absence.

He never tired of explaining that Harry was attending the wedding of someone very important to him.

Harry and Hermione didn’t return until the third day of term.

Back at Hogwarts, they threw themselves into heavy coursework—seventh year meant NEWTs.

While most magical jobs only cared about OWLs, better results still opened more doors.

In late October, the Quidditch season began.

The upgraded pitch gave students better viewing—though Harry caught the Snitch within three minutes of the opening game.

In November, Snape returned from St. Mungo’s.

His health remained frail. The hospital had healed his body—but not his heart. His temper, aged like wine, had only grown sharper.

Over Christmas, Hermione visited home—bringing Harry.

Mr. Granger had a hard time liking him. But when Harry explained he’d pursue a Muggle university degree with Hermione after Hogwarts, the mood changed.

After a few drinks, Mr. Granger nearly called him "big brother."

The NEWTs didn’t trouble Harry or Hermione much.

And just as Dumbledore had said at the feast—this year was peaceful.

By the time the end-of-year banquet rolled around...

They realized—

Nothing had happened.

And that, strangely, left an odd emptiness inside.

Tomorrow—the final two Chapters.

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