Hogwarts: Harry Returns from Azeroth

Chapter 34: The Witch Doctor's Tricks and Ron's Death
"...Joratox...Ikambokem...Farastu...Ginnalka cens Whutless..."

Chanting the spell passed down by witch doctors in Troll language, Harry stopped stirring the potion and watched the dark green light spread outward from the potion dripping from his fingertips and settle downwards.

"Trust me, Hagrid, I'm Harry Potter." Harry was already familiar with using this sentence as a shield. As Harry soaked in the potion, he could clearly feel the heat released by the salamander's blood at this moment. "Don't forget, I can also tell fortunes."

This was a lie. It was just that preparing a potion of this level did not require Harry to use divination to see whether it would be good or bad.

To be honest, the barrel of potion he prepared couldn't even be considered a product of alchemy (Azeroth version), nor could it be considered a potion. Instead, it should be classified as a witchcraft potion from the trolls.

Compared with regular potions, the characteristics of troll witchcraft are that the materials and processes are strange, and the production process also requires the help of some strange magic rituals. Driven by curiosity, Harry once learned a few tricks from Vol'jin, the son of Sen'jin, in the Darkspear tribe.

Although there are great differences between the troll witch doctors and the tauren shamans, if they are to be categorized, they are indeed all under the broad category of shaman. Harry can only learn a little bit roughly, and he cannot bear to learn more than that.

The troll witch doctors focus more on the way of souls, all spirits, especially the Loa (animal demigods), and the ingredients of their witch medicines... this is where Harry can't help himself.

Trolls are really barbaric! The Darkspear trolls are even considered to be relatively civilized among the trolls. At least they don't eat people, but even so, some of their living habits and rituals still make Harry feel uncomfortable, especially their witchcraft!

Dead toads, dead bats, wild beast hearts, snake blood... In short, these are things that would make ordinary people's scalps tingle when they see them. In this world, they are the standard features of witches in Muggle fairy tales, and they are extremely evil.

Many witchcraft medicines and even finished products are poisonous in themselves, which will cause another kind of harm during the treatment process, which can be fatal.

But then again, witchcraft can sometimes produce an effect that no other potion can achieve - even the witch doctor himself can't explain how it does it.

For example, after the magic ceremony, Harry, the second-hand witch doctor, didn't know how this bucket of potion was made, but it was indeed made.

"Ah, yes, you can see the future. I never thought you had the talent of a prophet, Harry." Hagrid sniffed. To be honest, the strange smell in the room made him feel a little uncomfortable in his stomach. "Do you mind if I open the window, Harry?"

"Please."

Hagrid's hut was currently filled with a strong smell of rust, which was the smell of blood. Thanks to Hagrid's help, otherwise it would have been quite troublesome for Harry to collect all the materials.

In addition to this, there was an indescribable fishy and foul smell, which even covered up the fragrance of the herbs.

After taking a few deep breaths of fresh air by the window, Hagrid walked back, pulled over a chair and sat down next to the barrel to chat.

Well, even though he was sitting down, Hagrid was still much taller than Harry at this moment.

He frowned, looking at the slightly solidified liquid in the bucket which had even turned dark brown. He seemed to want to say something but hesitated, and his facial features were all squeezed together.

"If you have anything to say, just say it, Hagrid." Turning his head, Harry saw Hagrid's rather funny expression. He couldn't help laughing and said, "It's not suitable for you to hold it in like this."

"Okay, okay," Hagrid muttered, shaking his head. "Really perceptive, huh? Seriously, Harry, neither James nor Lily have any talent as a prophet. Lily is quite good at potions, but James, ha! His talent is definitely in mischief!"

"Maybe the ancestor of the Potter family married a prophet." Closing his eyes, Harry guessed casually.

He could clearly feel that the medicinal power of the bucket of medicine was being absorbed by his body, making up for the lack of nutrients in his body and strengthening his flesh.

"That's right... the Potters are a family with a long history after all." Hagrid was relieved. He stood up and said, "But no matter what, this bucket of potion of yours makes me feel uncomfortable - damn, I remembered what I added to it. I must have been crazy to agree to your request."

"Hahaha, don't be like that, Hagrid." Harry looked at this half-giant with a very cute personality and said with a smile: "In addition to being a wizard, I am also a shaman. Headmaster Dumbledore has approved my application for the Shaman Club. I can start as soon as I am ready."

"Shaman... this word... I do know that there are shamans among the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest. They are the chiefs of their tribe." Hagrid walked around and sat back with a bottle of wine. "You talk in a mysterious way. How did you become a shaman? Oh, Harry, do you mind if I have a drink? This smell is a bit unpleasant."

He shook the golden liquid in the cup in his hand.

"Of course, please feel free to do as you please. This is your home." Harry nodded, and then - "Mead fly over."

With a flick of his fingers, as Harry cast a spell, the mead in Hagrid's hand flew into Harry's hand. Then with another snap of his fingers, a cup on the cabinet flew over by itself. As the bottle of mead floated in the air at an angle, the golden liquid, emitting a sweet aroma, fell into the cup.

"...Nice wine, Hagrid." Taking a sip, Harry praised, "You do have good taste."

Harry was becoming more and more satisfied with Hagrid's hut.

This wine has a low alcohol content and can only be considered a beverage. It has a unique sweet and sour taste, with a slight bitterness and alcohol taste, and finally only a faint honey scent remains between the lips and teeth.

Now added to the list of Minotaur special drinks.

"Oh! Thank you, I'm so glad you like it, Harry," Hagrid said cheerfully, "By the way, was that a Scurrying Charm? That's a fourth-grade spell, Harry. I didn't expect you to learn it so quickly. And the pouring of the wine - no! You were casting the spell silently without a wand?!"

Hagrid's eyes widened, and he reacted belatedly.

"It still has sound," Harry said with regret, "Is the Summoning Charm a fourth-grade spell? I don't know. I saw it in the book 'The 100 Most Commonly Used Spells'. I have to say it is really useful."

No longer the person who had just entered the magical world and knew nothing about wizards, Harry now had to take back what he had said - 'Why do wizards in this world think that only by giving up wands, which can enhance their own weapons and cast spells, can they become powerful?'

In the battle of Azeroth, the enemy either has high armor, high magic resistance, or fast recovery. In short, under this series of factors, the spellcasting profession of Azeroth must increase the power of their spells as much as possible. In simple terms, they need to deal the highest damage in the shortest time, only in this way can they kill the enemy. In this case, a staff that can help sort out and increase its own magic power, and even guide the magic power in the surrounding environment to strengthen the power of spells is very necessary.

But it’s different in this world.

In this world, everyone is an ordinary human being. If the skin is scratched by a knife, they will bleed, and if a vital part is stabbed, they will die on the spot. Therefore, in this situation where no matter what spell you cast, you can cause effective damage to the enemy, so how to cast spells faster and more covertly than the enemy becomes more important.

For this reason, it is worth it even if the power of the spell is reduced a little. After all, as long as the enemy's spell does not hit you, and you can cast the spell faster and more covertly, then you have the initiative and the enemy cannot judge your attack intention and what spell you are going to release.

Harry has been reading the book "Wizards and Duels" these days. He found that wizards were actually obsessed with chanting spells and then casting more powerful spells in the beginning, but in the end they were defeated by those who could cast spells more quickly, accurately and ruthlessly, so that this type of spell was slowly eliminated over the long years.

Without demand, there will be no evolution.

In the end, it became the spells that Harry sees now - all you need to do is make quick gestures with the wand and then guide the magic power to release, which is very convenient.

Once your magic power increases or your understanding and proficiency in spells improves, you can simplify the wand gestures or even omit the spells.

It is indeed difficult and requires great willpower and control over magic to accomplish. Fortunately, Harry has both of these qualities.

"Well, is this genius? Huh?" In a joking tone, Hagrid slapped a newspaper on the edge of the barrel, "Here, this is what I promised to show you in Diagon Alley."

Glancing at the newspaper, the first thing Harry saw was the photo of himself standing in the ruins of the house and looking into Dumbledore's eyes, plus the big, bold headline at the top: Harry Potter - the next Dumbledore?
With a rustling sound, Harry crumpled the newspaper into a ball and threw it aside.

"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!" Seeing Harry's reaction, Hagrid burst into laughter. His loud laughter even shook the roof. "Oh, Harry, don't do that to it. I want to keep it. Maybe you can show it to your children later."

Hagrid moved over and carefully unfolded the crumpled newspaper, then happily put it back on the cupboard.

"How can such a thing be preserved? Besides, are all wizard journalists so exaggerated?" Recalling the few lines of text he had just accidentally seen, Harry really regretted reading too fast.

"Pompous?" Hagrid let out a heavy breath. "You should have read those articles that woman wrote before - that's what you call pompous! If there's one true word in them, I'll - I'll - I'll eat my slippers!!"

Hagrid suddenly got angry, not knowing what he remembered, and muttered a lot of bad things about the reporter named Rita. Harry could hardly hear what he said.

"Forget it! Forget it, let's not talk about them!" He was getting angrier and angrier. It was obvious that he was not satisfied with the mead. Hagrid took out brandy from the corner of the hut and took a few gulps. He said unhappily, "So where are your friends, Harry? I thought you would bring them to play with me."

"Are you awake, Hagrid?" Harry said speechlessly, "I came here to take a medicinal bath."

"Ahaha, look at my brain." He slapped his head with a slap, and Hagrid suddenly pointed at the window of the house and asked, "If that's the case, then, uh, they came here by themselves?"

Harry turned his head and saw three heads stuck in the window - who else could it be except Ron, Neville and Hermione?

The hospitable Hagrid naturally opened the door to welcome his three new friends - Harry's friends were his friends, that's what Hagrid said.

Sitting on the chair, Hermione still had an embarrassed and nervous smile on her face, not to mention Neville. Instead, Ron was the boldest one, and was curiously observing what was in Hagrid's hut.

"How did you know I was here?" Harry asked curiously.

"It was the Bloody Baron who told us you were heading this way," Ron said cheerfully. "You still remember him, right? He's the Slytherin ghost - to be honest, I thought the Slytherin ghost wouldn't help us, or would simply tell us false news!"

"Hey, the Hogwarts ghost wouldn't do such a thing," Hagrid quickly defended the ghost, "Although the little wizards will be sorted, the ghosts in the castle are obliged to help every little wizard. Well, if you get lost in class, you can always ask a ghost."

"Bloody Baron?" Harry frowned. He thought about it and remembered that it was Slytherin's resident ghost, with empty eyes, thin face, and even mottled silver bloodstains on his robes.

It is the kind of ghost that little wizards fear the most. It doesn’t look like a good ghost at first glance.

"Don't worry about the ghosts, Harry." Covering his nose, Ron approached the barrel with excitement and asked, "What are you doing? It stinks! Ugh! So disgusting!"

One thing must be pointed out, after Harry was soaked in the potion, his entire body was covered by the strange black-brown potion, with only his head exposed.

"Medicinal bath, just think of it as me treating the disease. It's not convenient to do this in the dormitory, so I asked Hagrid for help." Seeing Ron's excitement due to curiosity, Harry suddenly had a bad taste of teasing children, "Do you want to try it, Ron?"

As he said this, Harry casually scooped up the raw material for the potion from the wooden barrel - a swollen spider corpse that had been soaked in the potion, even bigger than Harry's entire palm, lying limply and bulging in his hand.

next second.

“Aaaaaaa——!!!!!!”

The indescribable screams of children.

Two almost overlapping screams, one from Ron and one from Hermione, pierced Harry's eardrums in the blink of an eye.

(End of this chapter)