The world tilted and then dropped.
Harry hit the ground hard, stone scraping his forearm as he rolled. Dust puffed up in choking clouds, grit biting his teeth before he could swallow. He braced himself with one hand, pushed up, and scanned.
The rubble zone was exactly what it sounded like—shattered concrete slabs leaning at broken angles, rebar jutting like skeletal arms, dust hanging heavy in the air under the dome's artificial sun. A collapsed building loomed behind them, its roof caved in, the façade crumbling like wet chalk.
"Everyone intact?" Harry called, steady but sharp.
Jiro groaned as she shoved herself up, coughing into her sleeve, her earphone jacks swinging loose. "Yeah. Just dusty."
Iida was already halfway upright, brushing stone fragments off his uniform. His jaw was clenched, eyes sharp. "This is no exercise. These are actual villains. We must regroup immediately and—"
"And not stand here waiting to get jumped," Harry cut in, already tugging his robe back into place and checking his satchel by touch. The familiar weight was there. His scrolls, all neatly arranged in slots, ready to go. Each one a tool, a weapon, or a shield. Not a drain on him—just ammunition.
Footsteps scraped over stone. Heavy. More than one.
Harry stilled, hand already sliding into his sleeve.
"They're closing," Jiro whispered, crouching low. She pressed both jacks into the ground, her eyes fluttering shut. "Four… no, five. Fast. Two straight on, one right, two left."
Harry nodded once. Calm, clinical. He wasn't trembling; he wasn't scrambling. This was what the scrolls were for. "We're not brawlers. We cut lanes, keep moving, and bleed their time."
Iida adjusted his glasses with two fingers, then set his stance. "Understood."
The first villain vaulted a slab—scaly skin glistening like oil, teeth too sharp to be normal. He grinned as he landed. More shadows fanned out behind him: a brute in jagged armor, another with grotesquely long arms dragging across the ground.
"Well, look what the fog spat out," the scaled one sneered. "Little heroes, no teachers in sight."
Harry didn't answer. He slapped a scroll flat against the ground, murmured the trigger, and a wall of dense smoke erupted in front of them, swallowing the villains' view.
Curtain.
"Cover's up!" he snapped, already reaching for the next.
The villains laughed. "Smoke? You think that'll—"
They cut off when Iida surged forward, his engines roaring. He shot through the smoke like a spear, his kick slamming into the chest of the jagged-armored thug. The man flew back into a leaning slab of concrete with a crack.
"Left side moving!" Jiro barked, one jack pressed deeper into the rubble.
Harry's hand flicked. Another scroll snapped open, releasing Bind. A line of magic shot out like a whip, wrapping around the scaled villain's ankle. For two seconds he locked in place, snarling.
"Drop him!" Harry ordered.
Jiro swung her jack like a club, catching him across the temple. He toppled sideways with a grunt.
Movement in the smoke. Fast. Harry yanked another slip. "Cover your ears—Burst!" He flung it into the haze.
The explosion of white light seared shadows across stone, followed by a crack like lightning splitting the air. The villains howled, stumbling, hands over eyes.
Harry didn't wait. "Go!" He caught Jiro by the arm and pulled, Iida already falling back into formation to cover their retreat.
They ducked under a collapsed beam, scrambled up and over a mound of debris, dust coughing up around their boots. Harry's robe snagged once on a jag of rebar, but he tore it free without breaking pace.
Under the partial shelter of a broken bridge, they paused long enough for Harry to yank open his folio. Lines shimmered into place—walls, debris fields, faint pulses of movement. But their position flickered at the edge of the radius. No exits marked.
"Damn," Harry muttered, eyes narrowing. "We're too far. Need the dome wall in range before I can chart a way out."
"Then we push outward," Iida said, his voice iron. "We cannot remain penned in."
"Villains won't stop pressing us," Jiro warned.
Harry looked at them both—dust-streaked, tense, but steady. He could trust them. "Alright. Iida, you're the blade. Jiro, our ears. I'm cover. We keep moving, never stay still long enough to get surrounded."
They ran again.
The rubble zone wasn't quiet for long. Shadows moved among the slabs, shapes angling toward them. Harry spotted the glint of chain first—one villain swinging it lazily, like warming up for the kill. Another crackled faintly, makeshift gauntlets sparking with stolen tech.
"Left one faster," Jiro called, tight and precise.
Iida lunged, engines firing, his kick a cannon blast to the chain-wielder's chest. The man cartwheeled into broken stone.
The gauntleted thug dove for Harry—Harry snapped an Aegis scroll open, slamming it to the ground. A pale barrier flared to life. The gauntlets struck, sparks bouncing off harmlessly, leaving the villain cursing.
Before he could retreat, Jiro's jack lashed out, smacking the man across the knuckles. He hissed, staggering back.
Barrier dropped, scroll already spent. Harry's fingers brushed the next one in his robe. Smooth, controlled. One down. Many left.
It kept coming like that. Skirmish after skirmish, every corner another clash. Harry pulled scrolls with efficiency—Curtain to blind, Burst to scatter, Aegis to cover Iida's strikes, Bind to buy half-seconds. Gale when he wanted something to stay down.
The first time he unleashed it, the villain never even had time to cry out. The blast of wind hit him like a freight train, slamming him into a wall so hard the stone cracked. He didn't get up. Harry allowed himself the faintest exhale of satisfaction. Clinical. Done. Move on.
They pushed toward the dome's edge. Sweat slicked their faces, dust clung to every crease of their uniforms, but they didn't stop. Jiro's calls saved them from ambushes more than once—"Above! Left! Behind!"—her voice cutting through chaos like a compass. Iida struck down anything that got too close, his legs pistons of precision.
Finally, the dome wall loomed high above them, sheer and metallic. Harry slammed open his folio again, hands steady as the map shimmered. This time it lit, a faint exit marker pulsing on the far edge.
"There," Harry said, jabbing the page. "That's our way out."
Before relief could set in, shadows converged. More villains spilling from the gaps in stone, circling, tightening.
Harry's expression didn't change. He tucked the folio away and pulled a buff scroll. He pressed it against Iida's shoulder, the sigil glowing faintly as it discharged. Feather—light as air, swift as thought.
"You're the fastest. Run. Find the teachers. Bring them here."
Iida hesitated, fists tight. "And you—"
"We hold," Harry said. Not wavering.
Jiro's jaw flexed. She didn't argue, just drew her cables tight in her hands.
Iida's engines roared, and then he was gone, a streak of speed vanishing toward the exit.
Harry turned back toward the circling villains, robe heavy with dust, scrolls still snug in their slots. He drew one, held it ready. Calm.
"Alright," he said, almost to himself. "Let's make them work for it."
Author's Note
Harry's personality in this story is not meant to be that of a full-grown adult trapped in a child's body. Instead, it's a blend. The reincarnator brings experience, awareness, and the drive to experiment—but his soul merges with the original Harry Potter's.
That means his outlook, emotions, and impulses are still predominantly those of an eleven-year-old boy who grew up bullied and alone. He can be clever and tactical, but also rash, emotional, and sometimes reckless. This mixture is what makes his character unique: he's not just a reincarnated adult or the canon Harry Potter, but someone new born from both.