That was Hermione's Patronus.
Harry smiled, raised his wand, and his own Patronus—a bright silver griffin—emerged, pacing in front of the hut, stamping its feet.
Inside the hut, Hermione had just led Ciri outside.
It was very quiet outside.
No battle had occurred.
Two vaguely humanoid figures struggled feebly amidst a writhing mass of vines—slowing down as they continued.
Ciri, however, wasn't focused on the creatures.
"What are these?" she asked, staring at the two magnificent spectral beasts, especially the griffin. She cautiously approached, reaching out to touch its wing.
There was a sensation—solid, warm.
Like a real, living creature.
But it lacked the spark of true life.
"Patronuses," Hermione answered.
Ciri tilted her head. "The spell you used on Anna?"
Hermione nodded.
"It can look like this?" Ciri marveled, stroking the feathers. "So, Harry, have you officially joined the Griffin School now?"
She teased with a smirk.
"The griffin is the symbol of Gryffindor," Harry replied, shaking his head. "And I've already proven to Geralt that I'm a loyal member of the Wolf School."
"But more importantly," he continued, "we have bigger concerns."
He raised his wand and sent a wave of blue fire toward the Devil's Snare.
The vines recoiled in fear, revealing the heads they had tightly ensnared.
The two figures wore armor—still alive under the intense restraints, though their breathing was labored and their faces pale from lack of air.
"Only two?" Ciri stepped forward, cautiously reaching out to the plant.
With a sharp hiss, the vine whipped up, latching onto her finger, crawling up her arm to her shoulder in seconds.
Ciri gasped in alarm.
Blue flames followed, burning the vine away. Ciri yanked herself free and backed off several steps. "Harry, your magic just attacked me!"
"It's a plant—Devil's Snare," Hermione explained as she stepped closer. "It thrives in dark, damp environments and seizes any living thing it touches. The more you struggle, the tighter it grips."
"But once it stops sensing resistance, it lets go."
Ciri leaned in. "Doesn't sound all that dangerous."
"We learned this in our first year," Hermione added with a note of pride.
Harry nodded, addressing Ciri's earlier question: "Yes, only two. No others."
"I destroyed the portal. No one else came through."
Ciri frowned slightly.
That didn't feel right.
They had just defeated the Crones—surely two common Wild Hunt soldiers wouldn't be enough to take them on. During her flight from the Hunt, she had been chased by commanders like Imlerith and Caranthir.
Harry flicked his wand.
One of the Hunt soldiers' helmets flew off, exposing his face. The vines turned his head toward Harry.
Legilimens.
The memories flooded in easily.
Unlike when he had to sift through the Crones' complex and lengthy memories to extract herbal knowledge, this time Harry only wanted one thing: why only two were sent.
He pulled out of the spell moments later.
"Well?" Ciri asked.
"They were scouts," Harry said calmly.
"Scouts?" Ciri was surprised.
Harry nodded. "Imlerith doesn't fully trust the Crones. He sent these two to verify our numbers."
"That doesn't sound like Imlerith," Ciri shook her head.
She had visited the Aen Elle world—nearly entangled with Eredin himself. If he hadn't been impotent, today's events might have turned out very differently.
She knew Imlerith fairly well.
Unlike Caranthir, who had been pampered from birth, hailed as a golden child—
Imlerith clawed his way up from the bottom ranks, earning his position through brutal campaigns against other worlds.
He trusted his own power.
A textbook megalomaniac.
Scouting? Being this cautious wasn't his style.
"In his memories," Harry explained, "the Wild Hunt is focused on something more important. Eredin didn't approve of his operation and even reprimanded him."
"They apparently still don't know I've captured Caranthir."
"Imlerith had to plead repeatedly. Eredin reluctantly agreed but warned him to be cautious."
"Seems he overestimated his scouts and underestimated me."
Ciri frowned but nodded. That did sound like Imlerith—arrogant and blind to reality.
But she latched on to Harry's earlier words: "Something more important?"
Harry lowered his voice. "Our world. Magic that can control the White Frost."
"Elder Blood might be vital for fleeing it—but if they can learn our magic, they might actually be able to control it."
In the Aen Elle legends, Elder Blood was said to wield control over the White Frost—but that wasn't true. It only granted the power to flee through time and space.
But to Eredin, opening gates to other worlds, conquering and invading, was more valuable than escaping.
Ciri's frown deepened.
Harry continued: "That's the good news."
"We can go back anytime."
"Even if Eredin tries to attack while we're gone—Dumbledore is still there. He's always reliable when it counts."
"And since Imlerith is acting alone, his forces are limited. A great chance to weaken them."
Ciri's brows relaxed slightly.
"If the scouts are caught, would Imlerith still come?" she asked.
"Caught?" Harry smiled. "Who caught them?"
He raised his wand and pointed at one of the Hunt soldiers.
Obliviate.
Hermione followed with the same spell.
The men's eyes glazed over.
Harry and his companions returned to their hut and quietly went back to sleep.
Half an hour later—
The two Wild Hunt scouts awoke at the edge of the swamp.
In their memories—
They had been caught in a hunter's trap the moment they landed. The portal was destroyed. But before it collapsed, they glimpsed proof of the Crones' report: Elder Blood, a dark-haired witcher, and a young, beautiful sorceress.
They activated their communication device to reach their world's navigator.
Moments later—
A new portal shimmered open beside them.
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Powerstones?
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