As they stepped out into the cool night air and approached the edge of the forest, Hagrid gestured toward his familiar wooden hut.
"C'mon then," he said gruffly. "Didn't think I'd be entertainin' half the staff tonight, but there's room now."
Minerva gave a short, amused snort. "Hagrid, your hut barely fits you and Fang. We'll be standing elbow to elbow."
"Er… not anymore," he mumbled, scratching his beard.
They reached the threshold, and Hagrid pushed the door open.
Silence.
The professors froze in place. The warm lamplight spilling from inside the doorway revealed not the cramped, one-room hut they'd all known for decades — but a sprawling, two-story interior with high ceilings, polished wooden floors, a wide circular staircase leading to an upper level, and what appeared to be an open kitchen gleaming with brass fittings and countertops.
"What—" Filius Flitwick squeaked, his eyes bulging. "Is that a balcony?"
"It can't be…" Pomona Sprout whispered, craning her neck upward.
"I—" Remus blinked rapidly. "I'm certain I passed this building hundreds of times. From the outside, it's still a single-storey hut!"
"Oh, it is," Hagrid said proudly, stepping inside and stomping off his boots. "Outside ain't changed a bit."
Dumbledore slowly walked in, eyes narrowed, scanning the space. He touched the smooth banister of the staircase and looked around, almost... cautiously.
"This... is extremely advanced spacial distortion," he murmured. "But seamless. No stretching, no sense of magical resistance. This feels like... home."
"Who did this?" Minerva asked sharply. "This isn't enchantment. This is reconstruction."
"That'd be Harry," Hagrid said, pulling out a few tankards from a cupboard.
Thorne stumbled forward and turned around, his gaze landing instantly on the glass doored cupboard. "Wait. Is that a refrigerated cupboard?"
"Yes," Hagrid said with a grin. "Keeps things cool. Drinks too. That's what Harry said."
There was a long, stunned silence.
"He was angry," Hagrid explained, shrugging helplessly. "Was just me house when he got here. Followed by his little sister. Then Ron, Hermione, Ginny, the twins, Daphne and Pansy showed up too. Next thing I know, he's grumblin' that there's no space—throws us all outside. Told me to wait. Five minutes later—this."
Remus let out a low whistle. "This is architectural transmutation, spatial refolding, and micro-climate control all rolled into one. And functional."
"This was five minutes' work?" Minerva asked, voice rising slightly.
"Aye. He didn't even mention it," Hagrid said, shaking his head. Didn't brag, didn't show off. Just said everyone deserved a comfortable house and fixed it."
Flitwick walked over to the balcony door and opened it. The cool breeze of the forest came in, and beyond the railing was an unobstructed view of the moonlit lake.
"I feel like I'm dreaming," he said.
Dumbledore didn't speak. He looked toward the staircase again, eyes thoughtful—but this time, not as a headmaster... but as a man wondering just how much more there was to this boy than anyone dared to ask.
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The castle doors creaked open with a deep groan that echoed faintly through the silent entrance hall. They stepped inside, the warm torchlight spilling over polished stone and casting long shadows that danced up the walls. It was empty — eerily so. Not even Filch's muttering could be heard.
As they crossed the main corridor, the soft clicking of shoes and muffled chatter was suddenly interrupted by a low, unmistakable sound.
Grrrrrrrowl.
Harry froze.
It came from his own stomach.
He glanced down sheepishly just as another growl sounded — this time from Ron. Then Hermione. Then Ginny. Then George, who didn't even try to hide it.
In less than ten seconds, the hallway became a chorus of very loud, very empty stomachs.
Fred groaned. "Oh, come on. You mean we skipped dinner entirely?"
"We were at Hagrid's for hours," Hermione said with dawning realization. "No wonder we're all starving."
Ron looked around like food might spontaneously appear. "Kitchen raid?"
Harry rubbed his temple. "I could call one of the house-elves—"
"No need," Daphne cut in smoothly, eyes glinting. "I've been to your place more times than I can count. And even twice to the Burrow."
Harry's head turned, "Oh already been at my place for that many times?"
Daphne cleared her throat. "My point is—none of you have been to my home."
That gave everyone pause.
Fred and George immediately exchanged a twin-glance that meant this sounds like an adventure. Ginny perked up, eyes already gleaming. Ron blinked and asked, "Wait, why haven't we?"
Daphne smirked. "Because I never invited you."
George clutched his chest. "My heart…"
Daphne waved him off and turned to Harry. "Want to come now?"
Harry tilted his head, "We could do that yes, but I don't think it would be the best option considering that it's already way past dinner time."
Hermione suddenly snapped her fingers. "Wait! I have an idea."
Everyone turned to her.
"There's a place near my house in London. A Muggle place. Makes the best pizza I've ever had. It's open late too. We could go there!"
Everyone else instantly lit up, even Pansy, which was weird. "Pizza? Proper Muggle pizza?"
Hermione smiled. "Domino's"
"Dominoes?" George repeated, confused.
Harry grinned. "It's a chain. Quick, cheap, greasy, magical in its own way. I'm in."
"Sounds delicious," Fred declared. "Tasty, greasy and definitely adventurous. Let's do it!"
"Hold on," Daphne said, raising a brow. "We're ten people. If we just barge into a Muggle restaurant at this hour—"
"Then we'll stun them with our charm," Abigail said brightly.
"Don't worry." Harry chuckled. "It's not a restaurant. It's a place to have pizza that's all. They don't care how many people there are."
"Okay, let's go," Everyone replied in unison.
"I need to take care of something first," Pansy said, already turning away.
Daphne immediately followed. "I'll go with her. Can't have her starting any blood feuds unsupervised."
"Half an hour," Harry said, glancing at he time on his watch. "We meet in the usual classroom. Be ready to go."
The rest of the group — Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Abigail, Fred, George — nodded and began making their way up the stairs. Harry brought up the rear, half-listening to Fred and George arguing about how many pizzas they'd need.
As they rounded the corner near the third-floor corridor, Ginny paused. "Wait — is that Luna?"
They all stopped.
A few steps ahead, standing in front of a suit of armor that was muttering sleepily to itself, was Luna Lovegood.
She was barefoot, again, her pyjama bottoms peeking out under a slightly oversized Ravenclaw robe. In her hands was a small blue notebook and a quill shaped like a daisy. Her hair shimmered in the torchlight, and she was muttering softly to the wall.
"Lost again?" Ron asked, bemused.
Luna looked up slowly, eyes locking onto Harry — and for the first time, really seeing him. She blinked once, then her cheeks flushed a soft pink.
The moment was brief. A flicker. But Abigail saw it. And her expression soured.
Another one? she thought silently, folding her arms.
"Hey Luna," Harry said, stopping just a few feet away. "You alright?"
"Oh, yes," she said dreamily. "The walls were telling me about the time Peeves tried to start a revolution with the suits of armor. They've been a bit tense ever since."
"Sounds about right," George muttered.
"Want to come with us?" Ginny asked brightly. "We're going out for pizza."
Luna blinked again. "Pizza sounds... warm."
"She means yes," Harry interpreted.
"Grab her," Fred told Ginny. "She wanders like a niffler in a jewellery shop."
Luna gave Fred a look like she could, in fact, hex him into Tuesday, but quietly followed along.
Twenty minutes later, exactly at 9:36 PM, the group had gathered inside the dim classroom they used for private apparitions. Desks had been pushed aside long ago to create a clear circle etched in chalk and carved faintly into the stones beneath.
Daphne and Pansy arrived on the dot, brushing back wind-chilled hair as they entered.
"Everyone ready?" Harry asked.
When no one objected, he gestured for them to form the circle. They all did without hesitation, linking hands like seasoned performers in a magical ballet.
Harry took his place at the edge, clasping Ron's and Fred's hands. "Hold tight."
A faint shimmer pulsed through the circle. There was no sound, no whoosh, no flash — just a sensation of folding space, and then unfolding it again.
They landed — cleanly, silently — in a warmly lit living room.
It was modest and cozy. Wood flooring, a plush blue sofa set, and bookshelves crammed with everything from medical journals to crossword anthologies. A fireplace crackled gently. Soft jazz played from an old radio in the corner.
And in the middle of it all… were two very startled adults.
Dan and Emma Granger looked up from their armchairs, frozen mid-turn of the page in their respective books. Emma's mug trembled slightly in her hand. Dan's mouth opened and closed twice.
"Hi Mum, hi Dad," Hermione said quickly, cheeks flushing as she stepped forward.
Her father blinked. "Hermione. You're—there's—" He looked around, counting. "Eleven of you?"
Harry cleared his throat, stepping forward politely. "Sorry for the sudden entry. We were trying to avoid drawing attention in the street."
Emma blinked again. "We're... used to you popping in, dear. But this feels a little like finale of a magician's show."
"It's temporary," Hermione promised. "We're heading out to grab some food — pizza, at Domino's."
Dan raised an eyebrow. "At this hour?"
"We missed dinner," Ron offered helpfully.
Emma smiled, regaining her composure. "Well, you certainly came to the right place. Domino's is three blocks down. You can take the alley behind the pharmacy to avoid foot traffic."
"Thanks, Mum," Hermione said quickly, already steering them toward the back door.
"Try not to apparate in the restaurant," Dan called after them.
The chilly November breeze brushed against their skins as the group made their way down the quiet alley behind the pharmacy. Muggle streetlights buzzed softly above them, casting long shadows on the pavement.
Abigail and Ginny led the way, hand in hand, skipping slightly as they whispered conspiratorially. Behind them, Daphne, Luna, and Pansy walked in a loose triangle, their silhouettes oddly elegant against the flickering lights — like a trio of witches from an old storybook, but with better fashion sense.
Ron and the twins were locked in a ridiculous argument about whether pepperoni qualified as a "true meat." Fred was loudly defending its honor while George made exaggerated gagging sounds.
Hermione walked beside Harry, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, her hair curling slightly from the moisture in the air.
Hermione?" Harry asked, his tone casual but thoughtful.
"Mm?" she turned to look at him, eyebrows raised slightly.
"What do your parents like?" he asked. "I mean, things they enjoy. Doing, having, that sort of stuff. You get what I mean, right?"
Hermione blinked at him, then narrowed her eyes with a knowing smile. "Is this about them getting you the fizzy drinks?"
Harry grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. I just realized I never paid them back. Figured I'd cover it now and maybe get them something extra. You know, for the trouble."
"That's sweet of you," Hermione said. "But you don't have to. Just pay them back what you owe them and they even said that they don't want it, but I'd rather not take chances of you owing something to them."
"Imagine I come home one day, and my house is changed into a castle from the inside." She continued. "No thanks. Just pay them the price for the drinks and forget about it."
Harry chuckled. "Honestly, that doesn't sound like the worst thing. A castle interior? Bit of flair never hurt."
Hermione gave him a look. "Yes, well, I'd rather not wake up to a talking suit of armor announcing breakfast."
He laughed again, the sound light in the cool air. "Fine, I'll just pay them back. No magical home renovations."
"You're learning," Hermione teased.
Up ahead, the yellow-and-blue glow of the Domino's sign came into view, tucked neatly between a laundromat and a flower shop. The warm scent of cheese and herbs wafted toward them, making everyone's stomach growl in unison.
Harry strode confidently up to the Domino's counter, scanning the menu like a general plotting battlefield strategy.
"One of everything," he declared to the stunned cashier. "And eleven of that one—" he pointed grandly at the Meat-Lover's Overload, "—extra crispy crust, stuffed with cheese, no vegetables. Just meat. All kinds of meat."
The cashier blinked. "Eleven... of those?"
Harry nodded solemnly. "Eleven."
He pulled out a thick wad of crisp Muggle cash from his pouch—courtesy of his adventuring habits, he know always carried pounds—and was about to hand it over when—
"NOOOPE!"
Two arms came from nowhere. One clamped over his mouth, the other snaked around his stomach like a boa constrictor.
"Mmpf—!"
Fred—maybe George—yanked him back like a misbehaving puppy, dragging him away from the counter while the other twin swooped in, handed over the exact amount in Muggle notes, and gave a cheeky salute.
Harry flailed like a stunned ragdoll as the twins hurled him backwards—straight into the waiting arms of Ginny, Daphne, and Pansy. The girls caught him with experienced coordination, clearly having expected this exact scenario.
"What just—?" Harry blinked at all of them, utterly lost.
Fred wagged a finger at him. "Nice try, moneybags."
George grinned as he adjusted his sleeves. "We've told you before, Potter. You don't pay."
"But—"
"Nope."
Harry deflated like a lost balloon on a cold day.
The cashier pushed the mountain of boxes across the counter with a bewildered look. "Are… are you guys throwing a party or something?"
"No," said Abigail sweetly. "We're just hungry."
Half an hour later, the door to Domino's swung open again, releasing a wave of warm air, cheesy scent, and laughter into the chilly night.
The group spilled out in semi-chaotic formation, every single person holding one or more pizza boxes like sacred treasure. George had two balanced on his head. Ginny was trying to steal a breadstick from Abigail without being noticed. Ron was carrying his as if it were a newborn child. Luna had tucked hers under one arm like a library book.
"I can't feel my fingers," Daphne muttered, carefully balancing two steaming-hot boxes. "But I can smell pepperoni, so I'll survive."
"Barely," Pansy said, pulling her scarf higher over her nose. "Remind me again why we're not just devouring this on the pavement?"
"Because," Hermione answered from the middle of the group, "we are not animals."
"Speak for yourself," Ron muttered, already sniffing the corner of his box like a bloodhound.
"We'll eat at my place," Hermione added, steering them down the alley again. "Mum and Dad will be glad we didn't blow up a Muggle restaurant with accidental magic."
Behind them, Harry trailed a bit slower than the rest, a mysterious box in hand and a very guilty expression on his face.
Daphne glanced back, narrowed her eyes, and arched a brow. "Harry…?"
He froze mid-step. "It's not what it looks like."
"You bought another pizza, didn't you?" she said flatly.
"I—technically yes. But—listen—this one's for Hermione's parents," he said quickly, lifting the box like an offering. "A gift. You know, since I couldn't turn their house into a castle."
"Oh, that makes it totally fine," Pansy said sarcastically from behind her stack.
Hermione, however, stopped and turned. Her expression softened.
"You got a pizza just for them?"
Harry shrugged. "Felt like the least I could do. They didn't even blink when nine teenagers invaded their living room."
Hermione smiled. "Okay. That's… really nice."
"Ha!" Harry grinned triumphantly. "See? Permission granted."
"Only because it's for my parents," she warned, narrowing her eyes again. "Next time you try sneaking a dozen dessert pizzas into your cloak, we're hexing your wallet shut."
"Oh you will have to catch me first..."
"What was that, brother?"
"Nothing Abby... I was just saying that we better get moving or else Ron will devour everything right where he stands"
From behind, Fred whispered to George, "We are hexing his wallet next time, though, right?"
"Oh absolutely," George grinned. "Probably while he's asleep."
As they crept through the yard and up to the Granger house, Harry held the "parent pizza" aloft like it was a sacred relic. Behind him, the rest of the group followed, arms full, stomachs growling, and eyes glinting with the shared joy of a late-night adventure and ridiculous amounts of food.
Inside, the lights were still on.
Dan Granger peeked through the curtains and turned to his wife.
"They're back."
Emma sighed. "Do we even ask?"
Dan squinted. "Harry's holding a pizza like it's the Holy Grail."
Emma joined him at the window, eyebrows rising. "Is that… Ginny Weasley fencing with a breadstick?"
"Yes. Yes it is."
A moment later, the front door creaked open and the cold air rushed in—followed by a conga line of teenagers wielding an ungodly number of pizza boxes.
Dan blinked. "That's… that's a lot of pizza."
"I count six boxes," Emma said softly.
"Eight," Dan corrected, eyes narrowing.
"Ten."
"Fifteen."
By the time Hermione came through the door, balancing three boxes and looking oddly apologetic, the living room resembled a delivery hub in a zombie apocalypse.
"Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad," Hermione said sweetly, kissing Emma on the cheek.
"Hi, dear," Emma said slowly. "Would you care to explain why our home is currently being converted into an outpost of Domino's?"
Harry stepped forward with an awkward cough. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger," he said solemnly, holding out a single, medium-sized box with both hands. "For you. A peace offering."
Dan took it gingerly, as if it might explode.
Emma opened it.
"Oh. That's… That's pineapple and feta."
Harry nodded reverently. "I remembered you mentioned that once over tea."
Emma blinked. "We've only met three times."
"I have a good memory," Harry said modestly.
Dan opened his mouth, then promptly closed it when Fred and George walked in carrying six boxes each, stacked dangerously high. One of them was wearing a slice as a hat.
By the time Luna floated in behind them, humming and holding a half-empty garlic bread bag like a bouquet, the Granger living room had fully transformed.
Boxes were everywhere. On the coffee table. On the armrests. On the floor. Someone had conjured a pizza throne out of boxes in the corner. Ron was already sitting on it, chewing blissfully, a breadstick in each hand like scepters.
"Thirty-three," Emma whispered. "I counted. There are thirty-three boxes."
Dan looked down at the medium one in his hand.
"Plus this."
"So thirty-four."
Harry looked back casually. "Thirty-three large. Plus yours. Oh, and—one second."
The living room was getting a bit tight with so many bodies and boxes. Harry didn't even think about it—he just flicked his hand behind him. The room silently stretched. The walls shifted outward just a bit, furniture slid out of the way, and no one seemed surprised.
Except Dan, who blinked furiously and muttered, "That's not how living rooms work."
Before either of them could question it, Harry pulled a small pouch from his belt and reached in. His arm sunk deeper than physics allowed, and he yanked out a full crate—twelve cans of ice-cold Coke.
He set it on the table with a satisfying thud, waved his wand, and a soft shimmer wrapped the crate as a quick cooling charm activated. A second later, condensation began to form on the cans. He pulled out another crate of Sprite.
Dan stared at the handbag. He had seen his daughter with something similar but you couldn't say that seeing this was boring in any way. He could never get enough of magic, being a man of science himself... It fascinated him more than anything.
By the time the pizzas were opened and distributed, the room had descended into chaos. Laughter, talking, food flying from box to plate to mouth.
Dan and Emma just stood to the side, clutching their modest box, watching the carnage unfold.
Emma whispered, "Is that your third, Hermione?"
"Fourth," Hermione corrected proudly, reaching for another slice. "Fifth if you count that garlic bread incident."
Dan gaped. "She's… she's eating like Ron now."
"Ron's on his sixth," Emma said faintly, eyes darting. "I think he unhinged his jaw."
At the center of it all, Harry was calmly demolishing his fourth and a half large pizza, stacked with every kind of meat known to man—beef, pork, chicken, sausage, bacon.
He wiped his hands, stretched, and casually mentioned, "Might pop home in a bit. Mum usually cooks something extra delicious on Fridays."
Dan just turned to Emma with the look of a man whose reality was shifting rapidly. "Did our daughter just join a magical army of bottomless pit stomachs?"
Emma simply nodded. "Apparently, with honors."
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A few days later, as twilight settled over the castle, a quiet knock interrupted Harry's peaceful reading in the Gryffindor common room. A prefect handed him a message in Dumbledore's handwriting. It simply read:
"My dear boy, if you're not too busy, I'd appreciate a word in my office. Bring your usual brilliance along."
Curious, Harry arrived at the Headmaster's office only to find not just Dumbledore — but every Hogwarts professor already seated. Dumbledore gestured for him to take the empty chair in the center.
They were all looking at him with expressions that hovered somewhere between awe and apprehension.
Dumbledore smiled gently. "Harry, we've been reading your diary."
Harry blinked. "Er… the spell one, right?"
A few chuckles rippled through the room, dispelling some of the tension. Then Snape — uncharacteristically civil — asked, "How long did it take you to develop these spells?"
Harry tilted his head, thinking. "Well, the small ones took about half an hour… an hour tops. The complex ones — like those related to time manipulation or the greenhouse one — two days to a week?"
Silence.
Absolute, pin-drop silence.
Blood drained from more than one face. Professors who had spent decades mastering their respective fields now stared at a teenager who spoke of rewriting magical laws as if it were casual weekend homework.
McGonagall was the first to regain composure. She stepped forward, her voice steady but reverent. "Harry, we've come to a unanimous decision. We're filing for your Mastery examinations — in Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Arithmancy."
Harry nodded without surprise. "Of course, Professor. Let me know when. I'll be ready."
It was Professor Thorne who stepped forward next, his voice thoughtful. "Harry… what is magic to you?"
Harry blinked. "Magic is… magic. Boundless. It's limited only by how far someone's imagination can stretch. Why should it be boxed in by tradition?"
There it was — the unspoken truth they had all realized. His spells didn't just defy structure — they defied the very mindset the magical world had been shackled by for centuries. He wasn't breaking rules on purpose. He simply didn't believe those rules were real.
McGonagall asked, almost carefully, "Is there anything you believe magic cannot do?"
Harry considered the question seriously. "No. I think it just depends on whether someone dares to try. We're using sticks of wood to tear holes in the known laws of physics. Magic already breaks what Muggles call 'reality.' So who's to say what the actual limits are? Truth is… no one really knows. Because no one really tries."
Dumbledore then leaned in, his blue eyes searching. "Do you believe anyone can do what you do? Even us?"
Harry looked genuinely confused. "Why wouldn't you be able to? You're all professors. And any first-year could do what I do — if they truly thought. That's the issue with the magical world. Everyone follows what someone else said centuries ago. No one questions. No one thinks. That's why I started the 'Basics of Magic' class — to make students think. Because when they understand what magic is… they start questioning what it could be."
He paused, then smiled.
"Almost all of the fourth years and above now barely need to do any wand movements at all to do magic. Most of the seventh-years are now capable of casting multiple spells simultaneously. The gifted ones—they've already begun wandless casting."
"So you see, the issue had always been that people directly jumped into coursework without understanding magic itself."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, his laughter echoing through the room like a chime of wind in old towers. "You continue to give me the best surprises, Harry."
Harry gave a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm just trying to help everyone see that magic is limitless. We've been drawing on the same well for centuries — I just dug a little deeper."
Professor Flitwick, ever the scholar, leaned forward on the staff table. "Harry, what do you think we should change in our teaching?"
Harry considered for a moment. "Honestly, what we have now is good. But introducing the basics — the true fundamentals — has made a massive difference. Once they understand the 'why' behind a spell, they absorb the 'how' far easier. The intent. The theory. That's what's making them better."
He suddenly paused, then brightened. "Oh! That reminds me."
He suddenly reached into his subspace pouch and pulled out a gleaming, swirling vial filled with a silvery-blue liquid.
"Professor Snape," he said, walking over and handing it to the potions master. "This is something experimental I tried. A Wiggenweld Potion brewed under a time acceleration field. Took me a minute. I haven't tested it yet, but it's the only potion I tried like this since the ingredients are cheap."
Snape blinked at the vial, eyes narrowing as he held it up to the light. "Under… time acceleration?" he repeated, voice oddly soft.
The room had gone completely silent. Even Professor McGonagall's stern expression cracked into astonishment.
Harry nodded. "If this works, it means… any potion, no matter how long the brew time — we can do it in minutes. That could change everything. Medical potions, restorative brews, even complex elixirs during emergencies."
Snape's fingers tightened slightly around the glass. "Do you realise what this means?" he said, almost to himself.
Harry just smiled faintly. "I do. And that's why I need you to test it. You'll know if it's truly stable."
Dumbledore's gaze didn't waver. "And what do you want from all this, Harry?"
Harry's answer was simple, sincere, and without hesitation.
"I just hope I'm able to improve everyone's lives. That's what genuinely drives me forward."
And in that moment, all the professors understood: Harry wasn't just powerful. He wasn't just brilliant.He was… good. And that made him far more dangerous — and far more necessary — than anyone had realised.