This ancient promised land seemed untouched by the passage of time.
The forest was pristine.
No fallen leaves, no withered branches—every apple tree brimming with life, stretching its limbs wide. There were no signs of insect damage, nor any bird nests.
Yet it was July, and not a single apple could be seen among the foliage—not even a green, unripe one.
Harry activated his Witcher senses.
The Death Eaters' stench of rot and filth became almost tangible to his eyes. He followed the trail, climbed a tree, and observed them—two patrolling Death Eaters, the Carrow siblings. Compared to the last time Harry had seen them, perhaps prison had been kinder than whatever price they'd paid to enter this place.
Their faces were gaunt, almost undead.
They carried the same scent of death as Harry himself.
He didn't attack them right away.
Still cloaked under his Invisibility Cloak, he continued forward.
The Death Eaters moved in pairs, patrolling the island with lifeless, mechanical movements—like Dementors from Azkaban.
It seemed the Carrows were the highest-ranking and closest to Voldemort among them.
No Bellatrix. No Barty Crouch Jr.
Was Voldemort really relying on just these?
But even so, they couldn't see Harry beneath the cloak.
From the outside, Avalon seemed large, but it was easy to traverse. Harry quickly explored the entire apple-covered land—except for one final place: the center of Avalon, a small island in the middle of a lake, home to one enormous apple tree.
The lake's water was a clear, brilliant blue.
Harry put on his dragonhide gloves, dipped a hand into the water, and raised it to his nose.
There was a faint scent of apples.
He removed his gloves and tried again.
Neither hot nor cold, it felt perfect on his skin—no harm done. In fact, it was rather soothing.
He took a lick—no different than ordinary lake water. No discomfort followed.
Safe.
Harry dove in, confirmed the lake water concealed him well, then removed his cloak to swim across to the central island. Once ashore, he donned the cloak again and dried his clothes and footprints.
Through his senses—
He found only three presences on the island. None were Death Eater-stenched, nor did they carry Tom's unique, complex scent. One came from within the tree itself—a vigorous, overwhelming life force. The other two lay beneath it—familiar, triggering memories Harry had buried deep in his mind.
He crept forward.
Just a few steps, and he saw them.
Lying beneath the tree were two people.
Time had stopped on their bodies, utterly silent.
Harry stared in shock.
Geralt—silver-haired, young, and handsome—and Yennefer in her dark robes. They were here, just as he'd hoped.
Asleep?
Or—
A wave of unease hit him. He rushed closer.
Neither breathed. No heartbeat.
They seemed dead.
Harry reached out.
Suddenly, a beam of white light shot from the tree, aiming at the invisible Harry.
He rolled just in time to dodge it.
The light hit the ground silently, seemingly harmless.
A second beam followed immediately.
Harry didn't dare to take the hit—his senses screamed danger.
He kept dodging.
The beams came fast and relentless, like a downpour.
Harry flicked his wand—his cloak whooshed off, morphing into a sharp sword, plunging deep into the apple tree.
From the tree, a radiant, agile creature leapt out.
Horse-shaped, with a single horn.
A unicorn—but unlike any in this world. Its aura was immensely powerful.
It neighed softly, pawing the ground, standing protectively before the two fallen figures.
Harry stared at it, remembering something. He murmured, "Ihuarraquax… little horse?"
Ciri had told him long ago.
She once had a unicorn friend she met in the Korath Desert. They'd gone through hard times together and formed a deep bond.
Tied to Geralt and Yennefer—it had to be this one.
The unicorn paused, tilting its head.
"Ciri?" Harry tried another name.
The unicorn studied him skeptically.
"I'm her brother, Harry. She must've mentioned me?" Harry spoke slowly and softly. "I'm a Witcher too—of the School of the Wolf."
The unicorn glanced at the griffin pendant Hermione had given him.
"Oh, that's not a sigil," Harry said, looking down. He sighed. "Alright, even if I'm from the School of the Griffin, shouldn't that reassure you more?"
The unicorn nodded.
"I'm a friend of those two you're guarding," Harry said, stepping closer. "Geralt is like a father to me. Yennefer… like a sister."
The unicorn's eyes shifted.
"I know their real relationship," Harry quickly corrected himself. "But you know, if I called Yennefer 'Mom' or 'Auntie,' you know how that'd go."
The unicorn stepped aside slightly.
Harry walked over and looked down at the pair. "What's their condition? Are they dead or alive?"
The unicorn nodded.
"Still alive?" Harry rummaged through the Sorting Hat, saying, "Let me try something."
He pulled out a potion, uncorked it, and knelt by Geralt, about to pour it in.
The unicorn sniffed the bottle, nudged Harry's hand aside, verified the potion was harmless, then stepped back, seemingly surprised that Witchers now used potions with no side effects.
The deep red potion went in.
But nothing changed.
Geralt remained asleep.
"Did Ciri say when they'd wake up?" Harry asked.
The unicorn looked toward the apple tree.
"They'll wake… when it bears fruit?" Harry guessed.
The unicorn nodded.
"How do we make that happen?" Harry pressed.
The unicorn pawed the ground, clearly uneasy. After a long pause, it finally said, "I don't know."
Harry blinked. "You can talk?"
"Of course I can," the unicorn shook its head. "I just don't want to. For the tree to bear fruit, the fairies must give their blessing—but they're stingy. I've spoken with them. They refused."
"And…"
"About fifty years ago, a very handsome but wicked man broke in here. He clashed with the fairies—they fought. After that, they all vanished. He even tried to harm the two Ciri was trying to protect—but I chased him off!"
It sounded quite proud of that part.
"Voldemort," Harry said flatly.
He looked up—no signs of magic in the sky.
Since arriving—
Aside from the Death Eaters, he hadn't seen Voldemort.
Where was he?
Surely he didn't just send in his followers. Voldemort knew full well that, even weakened, Harry couldn't be handled by a few Death Eaters.
"But the fairies told me," the unicorn said, stomping its hooves, "if they ever disappeared, and someone righteous came, he could dive to the bottom of the lake. Just… say this phrase, and he'd understand."
"Do you understand?" it asked.
Harry nodded, expressionless. "If someone from outside Britain came, they'd probably be totally lost."
"Want me to find the Sword in the Lake?"
Legend had it—after Excalibur shattered, Merlin guided King Arthur to the Holy Lake. There, in repentance, Arthur was granted the Sword of the Lake. When Arthur returned to Avalon at life's end, he had it returned—thrown back into the Holy Lake.
Was this that lake?
Harry stood and looked out over the blue water. "Has anyone else come before me?"
The unicorn nodded.
"What did he do?"
The unicorn shook its head.
Harry was confused. "He… did nothing?"
The unicorn trotted to the lakeshore, tapped its hooves.
Harry understood. "You mean he stood there for a long time… and just left?"
The unicorn returned happily, snorting.
Harry fell silent, staring at the lake. Breathing deeply, he scanned the air. On the central island, the three presences remained unchanged. But farther away—there was something faint, elusive.
He moved closer.
The aura stayed murky, unclear.
At the lake's edge, Harry reached out—and pulled gently.
Magic revealed itself, and with it, a floating eyeball the size of a fist, hovering far from the central island—watching.
Voldemort was being cautious.
He knew Harry's senses were sharp. So instead of placing spells on the island, he observed from afar.
Harry clenched his fist.
Snap. The eye shattered.
"Can Geralt and Yennefer leave this place?" Harry asked, frowning.
The unicorn said nothing, only looked at him.
Harry exhaled. He'd asked a pointless question. Time here was nearly frozen—that's what preserved their lives.
It was obvious.
And Voldemort surely knew it too.
Harry was simply curious—
How had they ended up so gravely injured?
Was it from the battle with the Wild Hunt after his departure?
"I get it," Harry said, patting the unicorn's neck. "Keep them safe. I'll find a way to make the apple tree bear fruit."
He walked toward the lake, gripping his wand, pulling out the "Killer Whale" potion.
Voldemort was a master of using the larger picture.
Whether in the past, or back in second year—or now.
He must be very pleased with himself.
The trap was dug, waiting at the edge—open, grand, righteous.
Waiting for Harry to walk in.
To struggle…
And still have no choice but to jump.
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Powerstones?
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