Chapter Thirteen – Operation Merlin, something have changed.

The playground was quiet that morning, covered in a thin mist that curled around the fence like fingers. Jonathan and Harry walked side by side through it, breath puffing in the chill. Their boots crunched on damp leaves as they slipped behind the gymnasium to their usual training spot.

Jonathan glanced at the small cloth pouch he carried. Inside were several pebbles—smooth, flat, perfect for practice.

"Ready?" he asked.

Harry nodded, already rolling his sleeves up.

They crouched on the ground, set a pair of stones between them, and took a breath.

"Let's start with levitation," Jonathan said, "keep it small. No pressure."

Harry laughed. "That's what you said last time."

"Yeah, but this time I mean it."

Jonathan shut his eyes, reaching inward, pulling on the now-familiar energy that lived in his chest, his arms, his fingertips. He imagined the stone lifting—not flying, not leaping, just rising, like a balloon caught in an updraft.

The rock shivered. Wobbled. Then rose, wobbling mid-air before tipping sideways and falling again.

Harry's eyes lit up. "You did it!"

"Try yours."

Harry furrowed his brow. His stone quivered, then gave a dramatic hop—like a frog startled into jumping. Both boys blinked.

"Not bad," Jonathan said, grinning. "Let's try it again."

After twenty minutes of work, they sat back on the wet grass, exhausted but thrilled.

Jonathan flicked his fingers, letting the energy pool into his palm. A faint glow formed—a small, flickering orb of light.

Harry tried next. His hand sparked, fizzled, then flared. This time, the glow stayed for a full two seconds before vanishing.

"That's the longest yet," Harry said, eyes wide. "I think I'm getting better."

Jonathan nodded. "It's definitely tied to emotion. When I'm focused, frustrated, or excited, I feel the magic respond more."

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "The first time I did something—like the teleporting—I was scared. Really scared. But when I lit my hand last night, I was happy."

Jonathan tilted his head. "So it's not just strong emotion—it's any emotion, if you channel it right."

Harry's eyes sparkled. "We're gonna get so good at this."

Jonathan smiled, but his mind was already jumping ahead. We need control. Precision. Power without drawing attention. Especially now…

That evening, Jonathan lay in bed, legs tangled in his blanket, mind racing. His internal world—the mind palace—buzzed with activity.

He summoned the mental interface he'd been refining over months. Floating panes of data hovered in the black void. His memory archives, emotional logs, defense layers. A large firewall shimmered like a glowing wall of runes.

He reached toward it, imagining an intrusion—a shadowy figure with a long nose and oily hair slinking past the door.

Snape.

Jonathan didn't know if Snape would ever try to read his mind, but if he did, he'd hit a wall of scrambled memories coded in binary logic and emotional misdirection. He grinned and imagined the firewall flashing red.

ACCESS DENIED.

Perfect.

Two days later, as he walked through a second-hand bookstore in town with his mum, he felt something strange. As they passed a narrow aisle, Jonathan's chest tingled—like the magic inside him had brushed against something familiar.

He paused.

On the far shelf, a dusty old book sat open, its title faded. His mother tugged at his sleeve.

"Come along, love."

He gave one last glance at the book before leaving. That was definitely magical… or something like it. Either the book… or something behind the shelf.

He made a note to check it out later—alone.

That weekend, in the garage, Michael Grace was under the hood of their clunky sedan, swearing softly as oil dripped onto his knuckles.

"Jonathan, pass me the socket wrench. The one with the black handle."

Jonathan did, smiling. His dad glanced up and gave him a grin.

"You're a good lad, y'know that?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I try."

As his dad worked, Jonathan watched him in silence. He looked at the tools, the way they connected—the way Muggles had found their own kind of magic in levers and circuits and combustion.

'I'm living two lives,' he thought. 'One with wrenches and schoolbooks. One with energy, light, and floating stones. I wonder how long I can keep both balanced.'

Monday morning, as Jonathan walked up to school, Harry was already waiting at the gate.

"John!" he called, jogging over. "You won't believe what happened!"

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Try me."

Harry leaned in, excitement all over his face. "That old man came to my house. The one with the long beard and the cloak."

Jonathan blinked. "You mean…"

"I think he's a wizard," Harry said. "He talked to my aunt and uncle, and now they're giving me food. A bed. No more cupboard."

Jonathan kept his expression neutral, but his heart was thudding. 'Dumbledore… already intervening? That's early.'

"Did he say who he was?" Jonathan asked.

"No. But he was weird—friendly, but powerful. I think he's the real deal."

Jonathan nodded slowly. This changes things. The timeline's bending.

Harry's voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you think he knows about us?"

Jonathan thought for a moment. "Maybe. But even if he does, we're not doing anything wrong. We're just… learning."

Harry grinned. "Yeah. Operation Merlin's going great."

Jonathan chuckled and gave a soft high-five.

As they walked into school, Jonathan glanced at his friend.

You've already changed so much from the Harry I knew in the books. And that means the world might change too.

But one thing was certain: they were in it together.

And they were just getting started.