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Harry Potter In The Witcher [61]
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 16:00:22 +0000 UTCAfter several more long, mentally exhausting hours, the intricate, multi-layered etchings were finally done, and the sphere's brilliant, teal glow slowly faded.
Harry stood back and looked at the now-finished product, a faint, proud smile on his face. It was something else he had not yet bothered to name, but its primary function was the complete, and total, manipulation of entire biomes, right down to a microscopic, cellular level.
If he wanted to, with this single, powerful device, he could probably turn half of the frozen, barren Far North into a lush, tropical desert.
It affected not only the ground, the very soil itself, but also the air, and even the atmosphere, within a certain, considerable distance.
It was something that could end up being truly, apocalyptically dangerous in enemy hands. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he should leave a few nasty, hidden traps on it, just in case, for anyone who might be foolish enough to attempt to use it without his permission.
Yes, it was always better to be safe than sorry.
A few more moments of silent, focused work, and the sphere was finally, completely complete, its hidden traps and magical booby-traps now in place. Now, all he needed was to give it a proper name.
"Hmm," he mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Gaia's Sphere? No, that's a bit too long, too on-the-nose. The Ball of Creation? Ugh, that just sounds incredibly lame… Ra's Eye? Hmmm. Not bad, actually. It's certainly better than anything else I've thought of so far. Alright, it's settled then. I will officially call you Ra's Eye, at least until I can think of something better."
The sphere, in response to his words, gave off what looked like a single, soft, silent pulse of teal light. Harry smiled at the seemingly sentient action.
"Good," he said, patting the smooth, warm surface of the sphere. "With that little matter settled, I now need to start on the… exoskeleton of the settlement…" Harry looked down at the sun, which had just dipped below the snow-dusted tips of the tall, ancient trees.
"Perhaps tomorrow," Harry thought to himself, a wave of sudden, bone-deep exhaustion washing over him.
He moved closer to his five dragons, who seemed to already be on their way to sleep for the night, their massive, white forms coiled up in the snow.
He pulled his shrunken trunk from its chain around his neck and, with a whisper of magic, restored it to its full size, retrieving his comfortable, magically-expanded traveling tent from within.
He entered the tent and breathed a deep, weary sigh of relief. The truth was, creating Ra's Eye, from scratch, had been both incredibly magically and mentally taxing, more so than almost anything else he had ever created before.
Harry moved to his comfortable, magically-softened bed and immediately laid down on it, a groan of pure relief escaping his lips at feeling its welcoming softness.
Almost as soon as his eyes closed, he was gone, pulled down into the deep, welcoming land of dreams.
Harry didn't dream very often anymore. Most of his past experiences with dreams, especially from his tumultuous childhood, had been, almost without exception, terrifying nightmares.
This was why he was so pleasantly, wonderfully surprised by the current dream he was having. He was back in Potter Manor, in the familiar, comfortable living room.
He hardly even recognized it at first, as he hadn't truly, properly thought of the place in many, many years.
There was a warm, cheerful fire lit in the grand fireplace, casting the entire room in a soft, welcoming, orange light. However, the thing that most immediately, and completely, gained his attention was the welcome presence of another person, curled up, warm and content, on his side.
Harry could immediately, instantly, tell who it was. He had, after all, painstakingly memorized every single, perfect feature of hers from their precious time together, all those years ago.
It was Ciri. His Ciri. Not the small, frightened little girl who he had been protecting from the shadows for the past few years, but the fierce, vibrant, beautiful young woman who he had saved, and who, in turn, had saved him, all those many, many years ago.
She seemed to sense his gaze on her, and she looked up at him, her beautiful, emerald-green eyes meeting his own.
And then, she smiled, a soft, gentle, loving smile that made his heart ache with a familiar, bittersweet longing.
Harry returned the smile as he looked deep into her eyes. He felt a familiar, pleasant tingle go up his spine while looking at her, a feeling of pure, unadulterated rightness.
Eventually, she stopped staring and returned to nuzzling her head into the crook of his chest. Harry, in the dream, wrapped his arm around her shoulder and brought her even closer to him.
He sighed in pure, blissful content. This. This was the reason he had done so much, for so very, very long. This feeling.
The peace, the contentment, the pure, unadulterated happiness… it felt like it penetrated his very soul, like the most powerful, most addictive drug imaginable.
It was a feeling he had never, not once, been able to replicate for more than a century now, yet even just her simple, imagined presence in his dreams could accomplish it, so easily.
He stayed like that in his dream, for what felt like a wonderful, blissful eternity, wrapped around her, and her him.
He blinked, as he stared down at her short, beautiful ashen hair, and then, suddenly, it was over. He was no longer staring down at her, but at a faded, tan-colored cloth.
The rough, canvas top of his tent, to be precise.
The wonderful, overwhelming feelings of peace and contentment were gone, as if they had never been, like a fleeting whisper in the wind.
Harry growled, a low, guttural sound of pure, raw frustration, and shot up out of his bed.
He threw a furious, grief-stricken punch at the nearest wall of his tent, and watched, with a detached, angry surprise, as a wave of uncontrolled, fiery magic shot out from his fist and burned an entire wall of his magically-reinforced tent to a blackened crisp.
He growled again, this time a sound of pure, unadulterated annoyance, rather than frustration.
"Goddamnit," he whispered to himself, his voice rough.
Out of the new, gaping hole in his tent, he could see his five draconic companions looking at him, their intelligent eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and curiosity, before they went back to tearing apart whatever unfortunate prey they had managed to catch for their breakfast that particular morning.
Comments
Neal Prins
Thanks for the chapter, please post more if you have.
