Chapter 90 - Chapter 90: Return

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Chapter 90: Return

"Power, a formidable power!" the Witch replied in a hoarse, trembling voice, her eyes flickering with a strange mixture of anger and longing.

George regarded her quietly for a moment, arms folded across his chest, before responding with a firm tone.

"Just give it to me directly. If it satisfies me, I will give you this," he said, raising the stone statue slightly, letting the shimmer of faint magic flicker around it under the room's dim light.

The Witch's gaze locked onto the statue, and something unguarded passed across her expression. A flicker of hope that almost made her look human again. She cast a sidelong glance at George, her lips curling into a slight, practiced smile—almost like it used to work on men who didn't know better.

"It's all stored here," she whispered, and pulled out a deep red crystal from a fold of her cloak. It pulsed faintly with inner light, almost like it had a heartbeat of its own.

"Please return the stone statue to me."

George didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the crystal, but his hands stayed where they were.

"That's pretty," he said casually. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves."

He didn't trust the object, not even a little. Too neat. Too easy. There was always something hiding in gifts like these.

Letting the crystal drop gently to the ground with a soft clink, George flicked his fingers. A small humanoid figure formed from pure magic, about the size of a rat. It walked upright, no more than a clever animation conjured through advanced Transfiguration.

The little figure hopped over to the crystal, sniffed it like a cautious animal, and then picked it up delicately. As it carried the crystal back, George summoned a small ornate box with a flick of his wand and opened it. The figure dropped the crystal inside without a sound, and George snapped it shut.

"Accio," he said quietly. The box flew into his hand and disappeared into the pocket of his magic bag.

The Witch's face tightened, not in anger, just the cold irritation of someone who'd hoped you'd be stupid enough to touch a trap.

"Can I have the stone statue now?" she asked, voice flat.

"Don't rush," George replied, flashing a faint smile.

"Tell me, why were you sealed in the first place?"

The words made her freeze.

Her face didn't change at first, but the stillness in her eyes said enough. Her smile vanished.

"You want to go back on your word?" she hissed. Her voice sharpened, not loud, but cutting.

"Not at all," George said calmly. "I'm just curious. If it's too much to ask, we'll forget it."

The Witch held his gaze. For a moment, she just stared—no tricks, no magic, just cold, uncomfortable silence.

Then she blinked once, turned away slightly, and vanished in a flicker of dark mist that left the faintest scent of something burnt in the air.

Back in her quarters, she slipped back into the body of Dr. June Moone—still twitching, still fighting. The Witch could use her, but not freely. Not without a fight.

Across the room, Rick Flag saw her appear. His shoulders slumped in relief as he crossed the space quickly.

"It's okay. It's okay," he whispered, arms wrapping around her as she shook.

The shaking wasn't fear—it was effort. She was fighting her way back up from somewhere deep.

That was when two thin streaks of green light shot into the room—one hitting Rick, the other striking June. They dropped, limp, onto the bed.

George stepped in quietly. His wand still faintly glowed as he lowered it.

He didn't enjoy this part. But it was necessary.

With the statue secure in his bag, George moved fast. He whispered a quick incantation, casting a more powerful Sleeping Charm on them both. Then a follow-up Petrifying Charm on June's body, ensuring the Witch couldn't wake or escape, even if she tried.

George glanced around the room, then found an open patch of floor.

He knelt and began drawing, fingertip glowing faintly blue as he traced out symbols into the tile—glyphs and runes pulled from the memory he'd taken using Mind Reading. The Witch's reaction to his question had given him just enough emotional drop to slip into her mind—one flicker of her memory, one second of weakness, and that was all he needed.

He'd seen it clearly—the original sealing. Not the story she told. The truth.

With the array complete, a soft blue light bloomed from the runes. Not fire, not heat—just glowing arcs of energy, slow as lightning underwater.

George floated June's unconscious body into the center.

He braced himself.

A quiet word, a sharp motion, and a concentrated blast of magic struck her torso.

A breathless moment passed.

Then two glowing wisps rose from her chest—two souls. One was June's, lighter, steadier, floating calmly aside. The other—darker, flickering like flame in a storm—was the Witch's.

The circle came alive.

The blue arcs reached up and wrapped around the Witch's soul. It shrieked in a high, rasping wail, curling in on itself as it was pulled downward. The circle pulsed once—twice—and then it snapped shut.

What remained was a single, perfect statue. Small. Impossibly detailed. And utterly lifeless.

George didn't say anything. He just stepped forward, picked it up, and carefully placed it beside the other in his magic bag.

With a flick of his wand, the floor cleaned itself—no cracks, no burn marks, nothing out of place.

He laid June back on the bed gently, checking her pulse once, and left the room.

Back at his apartment, he collapsed into the soft couch, rubbing his forehead.

That had gone better than expected. Honestly, it could've been worse.

In the following days, George moved quietly across the country. He visited tech labs—not for more downloads, but to collect the actual tools now. High-end prototypes, experimental cores, storage drives, fabrication devices—anything that fit in his bag.

He told himself he deserved it. A souvenir or two. Maybe a dozen.

And he told Monday, "Scan the planet for any sign of alien tech. Any spacecraft, crashed or hidden. Use all networks."

Monday's reply was flat:

"Scan initialized. No anomalies found. Search ongoing."

After a week, nothing came up.

George closed the window, sat down, and stared at the two sealed statues now sitting on a shelf in his magically expanded storage room. There was something ancient in them—something older than magic as most people knew it.

He'd used knowledge from three worlds to do it—Harry Potter's mind magic, Kamar-Taj's soul work, and the Witch's sealing methods.

That, he thought, is how it's supposed to be done.

Not power for just power's sake, but for preparation, knowledge, control, and growth.

He breathed out once, deep and slow.

Then he turned and walked back toward the room, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

There was still work to do.

But tonight, he'd earned some rest.

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