The next morning, Harry tested something dangerous.
Before Petunia could call for him, he sat upright in his cupboard, closed his eyes, and whispered, "Inventory."
The air shimmered. A translucent panel blinked into view before him, unseen by the physical world. Ten rows of empty slots, neatly organized like a player's grid.
His breath caught.
With a thought, he imagined the item again: four oak planks, two sticks.
Crafting... Wooden Sword.
A faint pulse of light appeared in the bottom slot. A crude, ghostly wooden sword floated in midair. Not real—yet. But real enough. He reached forward.
His fingers wrapped around the handle. It was warm, buzzing faintly with digital life. He held it to the light and watched it flicker. It wasn't physical, not in the wizarding sense. But it was. A spiritual tool. His.
He dismissed it with a flick. It returned to the inventory panel.
A rush of excitement surged through him.
He wasn't just remembering Minecraft. He was in it—or something that obeyed similar laws, layered atop the real world like a mod overlaying vanilla.
Later that day, as he weeded the garden under the scorching sun, he did more tests.
"Inventory," he whispered.
He placed a rock from the yard into a slot. It disappeared from his hand and appeared in the GUI. He took it back out—it reappeared, warm and smooth. Perfect duplication.
He froze.
Was it duplication? No. It was more like a pocket dimension. An ender chest made personal.
He tested limits. He added a worm. A twig. A bit of plastic. The inventory accepted everything. Some items shimmered with strange outlines—modded items, perhaps? Others remained dull and ordinary.
What fascinated him most was the durability bar. When he deliberately snapped the twig and placed both halves in separate slots, a red outline blinked on-screen.
Warning: Item Integrity Compromised.
He grinned. There were rules here. Systems. And he loved systems.
That evening, when Dudley tried to trip him in the hallway, Harry sidestepped gracefully—and summoned the wooden sword. It flickered into existence in a flash of pale light.
Dudley blinked.
"What the hell is that?"
Harry didn't answer. He dismissed the blade, walked away, and smiled. Power. But he wouldn't waste it yet.
That night, his dreams were filled with glowing glyphs, pulsing mana rings, and a tree of knowledge vast as the sky. Unlike any Minecraft tree he'd ever seen. He touched its trunk and saw a name written in runes:
Ars Nouveau
He woke with a gasp, the scent of ancient books still clinging to his senses.
A new menu appeared.
[New Mod Detected: Ars Nouveau]
Status: Novice Scribe
Spell book: Locked
Mana Pool: Dormant
He felt it. A pulse of magical essence, like redstone wiring flowing under his skin, hidden but alive.
Magic. Not the wild, wand-based kind Hogwarts would teach. But structured, modular spell craft. Runes. Imbuing. Automation. Power born from intellect and code.
He reached inward, searching for the interface—and this time, a new icon appeared: a grimoire symbol, faint and grey.
He selected it.
Quest: Craft a Scribe's Table.
Reward: Unlock Basic Spell book.
Harry spent the entire next day covertly planning. While scrubbing windows, he scanned the neighborhood gardens for resources. Wood, sticks, bits of glass and paper. Magic might be powerful, but the mod respected real-world physics—or at least the illusion of it.
He hid materials beneath the loose floorboard of his cupboard. Every scrap mattered: a broken ruler, a strip of parchment from an old school notice, even ink from a dried-out pen.
That night, he began construction.
He summoned the crafting grid again, dragged the items together in his mind, and shaped them into a familiar configuration.
Crafting: Scribe's Table
The construct hovered before him, spectral and unfinished.
Missing Components: Arcane Essence, Source Gem
He frowned.
He reached inward again. The Ars Nouveau panel flickered.
Hint: Arcane Essence can be simulated with ambient mana. Source Gems require crystallized intent.
Harry closed his eyes. Intent? He had that in abundance.
He focused. Visualized magic pooling in his chest. Remembered the excitement of solving puzzles, automating farms, enchanting bows. His breath slowed. His mind sharpened.
Something cracked in the air—like static discharging.
In his inventory, a faintly glowing blue crystal shimmered into existence.
Source Gem Created.
Then a pulse. From his chest outward.
Ambient Mana Absorbed. Arcane Essence: 10%
His Scribe's Table completed itself with a soft chime.
It was... beautiful. Made of dark wood, runed stone, and flickering glyphs. It didn't take up space in the real world, not yet. But it existed. A pocket dimension workstation.
He placed it into a new slot: Workshop.
A miniature workshop interface opened. There were slots for a spell book, a scribing quill, mana foci, and spell glyphs. He tapped on the grimoire icon again.
Basic Spell book Unlocked
Spell Slots: 1
Mana Pool: 15/15
His heart thudded with excitement.
He wasn't just a boy with power anymore. He was a mage-engineer. A redstone-ritualist. A Player in a world built for wizards.
The spell crafting interface appeared.
Select Spell Type: [Projectile] [Self] [Touch] [Summon]
He chose [Self].
Select Effect: [Light] [Speed] [Bounce] [Leap]
He chose [Leap].
Name Your Spell:
He typed: Feather Step
Confirm?
[Yes]
The spell glyph blazed into existence and floated down into his spell book.
He stood in the cramped cupboard, feet braced against the floor. He focused on the spell, mentally selecting it.
"Feather Step."
A pulse of energy ran through his legs, and he jumped. Not far—but far higher than any normal boy should. His head cracked the top of the cupboard, but he was too giddy to care.
He had just cast his first spell.
No wand.
No Latin.
Just code and will.
The next few days passed in a blur of experimentation.
Harry learned to manipulate mana channels, to trace minor glyphs in the air, and to store excess energy during moments of stillness. He wove a second spell—Mana Lens—which allowed him to see ambient magic. The Dursley home was barren, but beyond their fence, ley lines glimmered faintly.
He practiced stealthily. Jumping higher. Seeing farther. Enhancing his strength and reflexes in minor ways. Each time he did, he felt his control sharpening.
Then came the letter.
It arrived via owl, just as it always had in this timeline. But as Harry touched it, a new notification popped into view:
[Quest Update: Enter the Magical World]
Reward: Mod Expansion - Thaumcraft Framework Detected (LOCKED)
He grinned. More magic. More systems.
And deeper mysteries to unravel.
He would go to Hogwarts. He would learn the rules of their world.
But he would rewrite them.
Because Herobrine hadn't just sent him back to live.
He had sent him back to build.