"As he reached for his choice, with the golden light falling down upon his hand, he knew his choice."
A soft click sounded as a new window appeared before him:[Create Mod Declined]
Harry remembered the System's warning:
Warning: Not all Mods are helpful.
He had only just begun to understand this strange new world — its rules, its systems, and what it meant for him. Jumping ahead without understanding would only end in disaster.
The Dursleys had thought he would never have the power to fight back, ordering him around — and he had obeyed because he had no power to do otherwise. But that had been their mistake.
They believed that because he was a child because he followed their orders, he would never gain the strength to rebel. And they suffered the price.
After making his choice, the rest of the day passed quietly. Harry worked without thinking, clearing away broken tables, dragging aside rusted pipes, and stacking anything that might still be useful. He moved slowly but with purpose, the steady rhythm of his work easing the storm in his mind.
When the light began to fade, he sat on a catwalk overlooking the main floor. The shadows stretched long across the ground, the air thick with dust and faint warmth.
He looked down at what he had managed to clear — a space that was rough, uneven, but his. A corner of the world no one could take away.
He hadn't thought, in his panic, to grab supplies from the house before his escape. Tomorrow, he would have to get something — or he wouldn't last long. But then a thought crossed his mind.
He brought the sword from the block world here, if there is food and water in that world he could also bring them out from the block world. He would have to explore the surface area more, it was time to get some resources now that he was free.
As these thoughts crossed his mind, he lay back on his makeshift bed and reentered the world that had changed his life — the block world.
-Two Nights Later — Hogwarts-
The fire in the Headmaster's office burned low, shadows dancing across shelves of ancient books and whirring silver instruments. Rain traced faint lines across the windows, the sound steady and rhythmic against the silence.
Minerva McGonagall stood near the hearth, her jaw set tight.
"You mean to tell me the blood wards failed completely — and it took two hours for anyone to alert you?"
Dumbledore's gaze was fixed on the flickering firelight.
"They did not fail gradually, Minerva. They shattered. Whatever caused it, it was swift — final."
Alastor Moody gave a grunt from where he stood near the door, his magical eye spinning restlessly.
"Final's one word for it. Two Muggles dead, Potter missing, and no trace of Dark magic. You're sure you didn't sense anything else?"
Dumbledore hesitated.
"There was residue. Faint, but . . . different. It wasn't wand-magic, nor anything I've seen before."
"Different how?" Kingsley asked from beside the window, his voice calm but edged.
Dumbledore exhaled slowly.
"Structured. Contained. It was as though the magic followed its own rules — precise ones. Yet not human ones."
"That's not possible," McGonagall whispered.
"Perhaps not," Dumbledore said quietly. "And yet, it is there all the same."
Moody's lips pressed into a grim line.
"So the boy's learned a new kind of magic."
Remus, standing near the wall, finally spoke. His tone was tired but steady.
"He didn't learn it, Alastor. He survived it. Whatever happened that night — it wasn't done out of hate."
"Survival still leaves bodies," Moody snapped.
"Enough," Kingsley interrupted, his calm voice cutting through the tension. "Arguing won't find the boy. We need facts. Tracks. Anything."
Dumbledore turned toward the swirling Pensieve on his desk. Within it, faint echoes of energy rippled — unstable, alien.
"It is as though the world itself bent to his will for a moment . . . and then recoiled."
McGonagall frowned deeply.
"And you believe this was accidental?"
"I believe," Dumbledore said, "that Harry Potter has touched something beyond our understanding. Whether by accident or fate remains to be seen."
A heavy silence followed. The fire popped softly in the hearth.
"Then we must find him," McGonagall said firmly. "Before someone else does."
Kingsley nodded.
"I'll assign Aurors to sweep any nearby industrial areas — abandoned sites, unused facilities. If he's hiding, that's where he'll be."
Remus's eyes softened.
"And when we find him?"
Dumbledore looked up, and for the briefest moment, the weight of years and mistakes showed plainly in his gaze.
"When we find him," he said, "we speak with kindness first. The boy has lived through enough fear."
No one argued. Outside, thunder rolled over the castle — low, distant, and uncertain.
Far from the castle, Harry was thriving, exploring the block world and acquiring new resources that would make him stronger.