The Great Hall of Hogwarts shimmered under the enchanted ceiling, where dawn clouds drifted slow and golden, streaked with the first pink of true sunrise. April 3rd had broken clear and crisp, the long tables groaning under platters of bacon, eggs, toast, porridge, and pitchers of pumpkin juice that caught the light like liquid amber. The usual morning hum filled the air—silver clinking against porcelain, laughter rising in bursts from the Gryffindor benches, the low murmur of Ravenclaw debate, the occasional sharp bark from Slytherin where Pansy was already holding court.
Then the hall quieted.
Albus Dumbledore rose at the head table, robes of deep midnight blue rippling like water over stone. The simple motion was enough; conversation guttered out like candles pinched between fingers. Every head turned. Even the house-elves paused mid-step along the serving aisles, ears twitching.
"Good morning," Dumbledore began, voice carrying without effort, warm yet threaded with that unmistakable undercurrent of gravity that always made the youngest students sit a fraction straighter. "Before the owls arrive and breakfast claims our full attention, I have an announcement."
A ripple of curiosity moved through the hall. Forks hovered. Heads tilted.
"For some time now, many of you have been quietly, or not so quietly measuring your magical cores using the remarkable classification system developed by two of our own students." He inclined his head toward the Gryffindor table. "Miss Hermione Granger and Mr. Ronald Weasley."
Ron and Hermione smiled towards Dumbledore who smiled back.
"Yet I have heard, from more than one people," Dumbledore continued, eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles, "that the public nature of this reading, has left some of you hesitant. Reluctant to stand before your peers and see a numerical classification of your strength for all to judge."
A few murmurs of agreement drifted up, mostly from Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Though several heads from Gryffindor stiffened as well, expressions carefully blank.
"To that end," Dumbledore said, "Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley have spent the past weeks refining their work. And I'm glad to announce that they have exceeded our expectations again."
"They have created something new. Something personal. Something yours alone." He gestured towards the two of them.
Ron and Hermione rose together. No dramatic flourish, just them getting up and making their way towards the podium. Devoid of any nervousness they had during their first time before.
Ron felt every eye in the hall settle on him like warm weight. Not fear. Not anymore. Just the low, steady thrill of knowing exactly what came next.
Hermione spoke first, voice clear and classroom-sharp.
"The original system was always meant to empower, not expose," she said. "But we realized very quickly that a public reading could discourage far more people than it could help. So we thought about to make it more personal."
Ron lifted his left wrist. The matte black bracelet caught the morning light, silver veins glinting like captured starlight.
"This," he said, turning so the nearest tables could see, "is the result."
A soft collective breath moved through the hall.
Hermione continued. "Every student will receive one such bracelet, free of charge." A small, smile touched her lips. "The bracelets serve first as your Hogwarts identity. Tap the rune here—" she demonstrated, a faint cyan glow blooming briefly along the band "—and it verifies you for the wards, the library, the grounds, everything that requires student status."
Ron picked up seamlessly. "Of course it can detect if you are a student or not by itself, and one ring can only serve a single person. Once coded to a person, it cannot and will not serve anyone else."
"And after graduation, the identity function deactivates. But the rest stays with you. Forever."
He double-tapped the side of the band.
A translucent hologram unfurled above his wrist—cyan and gold, crisp as cut crystal, hovering half an inch above the black alloy. Heartbeat pulsed in steady green. Blood pressure numbers flickered beside it. Core temperature. Oxygen saturation. A small, elegant graph tracing recent neural activity.
Then the magical readouts.
MPU: 98,412
Classification: Sorcerer (near peak)
Control Level: Early Archwizard
A low ripple of astonishment rolled through the hall. Several heads whipped toward the Gryffindor table; others stared openly at Ron as though seeing him for the first time.
Hermione's voice cut through without raising. "These are your private metrics. No one else can see them unless you choose to share the projection. Heart rate, blood pressure, general health overview. Everything updated in real time."
Ron let the hologram rotate slowly. "We're still improving it. Next version, is in idea will add intra-Hogwarts messaging. Secure and no owls required. Think parchment, but faster."
A few excited whispers broke out. Ravenclaw table practically vibrated.
Dumbledore raised one hand, gentle.
"Distribution begins today," he said. "House-elves will deliver one bracelet to every student by lunchtime. Wear it, or don't—your choice. But know this: knowledge of self is power. And power, freely given without judgment, is a gift we intend to keep giving."
He smiled, "Please note that these are personal objects and it will be encoded to your magical signature and as such you cannot share it with anyone else. It wouldn't function if you do."
A Hufflepuff fourth-year was first; small, earnest, bracelet already fastened, finger hovering uncertainly over the side rune.
"Um… how does it actually connect? Like… does it read my magic somehow?"
Hermione stepped forward without hesitation, voice carrying the calm authority of someone who had rehearsed every possible query in the mirror at three in the morning.
"It bonds to you through your unique magical signature," she explained. "The moment you put it on, it takes a single microscopic drop of blood through the skin, painless, you won't even feel it, and uses that combined with your core's resonance to calibrate. After that, it's yours. Completely personalised."
A Ravenclaw girl near the front raised her hand sharply. "What if it gets lost? Or stolen?"
Ron answered this one, arms crossed, a faint grin tugging at his mouth because he knew exactly how paranoid some people got about their possessions.
"Can't get lost," he said simply. "It's encoded to your magical signature and blood. If you take it off deliberately or if someone tries to nick it, it'll vanish from wherever it is and reappear on your wrist in a few minutes. Same if it falls off in the lake or gets buried under a collapsed tunnel. It always comes back."
Murmurs of impressed disbelief rolled through the nearest benches.
A Slytherin boy, tall, dark-haired, one of the older years, leaned forward, eyes narrowed in professional skepticism.
"How accurate are the readings, really? I mean… no offence, but this is new. Could it be off by a few thousand MPUs?"
Hermione's chin lifted a fraction. Ron felt the shift in her posture, the same one she got right before dismantling someone in Arithmancy debate.
"Accurate to the unit," she said. "Every single one. If your MPU increases by one digit—literally one—it shows. Immediately. No rounding. No estimation."
The boy blinked, clearly not expecting that level of certainty.
A Gryffindor girl piped up next, bracelet already glowing faintly on her wrist as she tested the health readouts. "Can anyone tamper with it? Change the numbers?"
Ron laughed outright, a short, genuine bark.
"Try," he said. "Go on. The thing's been… well, let's just say it's been Harryfied. No one's getting inside it. Not with spells, not with potions, not with brute force. It's locked tighter than Gringotts' deepest vault."
Hermione shot him a quick side-glance. "What he means is that Harry was the one that made the security layer and he made it so that even he can't break into it. So we can say that it is pretty tamper proof."
Another voice, Gryffindor this time. "Is it... waterproof? I mean, I swim a lot in the lake..."
"Yes," Hermione answered immediately. "Waterproof. Fireproof. Crush-proof. Everything-proof. Nothing short of complete obliteration of the bracelet, molecular obliteration, could damage it."
For a moment after the laughter faded, the hall settled into a thoughtful hush. The bracelets glimmered on dozens of wrists now, faint runic veins catching the enchanted dawn light. Curiosity had replaced skepticism; students leaned toward one another, comparing faint cyan projections and whispering in low voices.
Hermione waited until the murmur softened. She had anticipated this moment with the same meticulous preparation she brought to every piece of research. Her fingers rested lightly on the podium, not gripping it, simply anchoring herself to the polished oak while her eyes moved across the hall. She saw the fascination there. She also saw something else beginning to bloom beneath it, something sharper and more dangerous.
Competition.
She cleared her throat gently.
"There is something else we need to address before everyone begins exploring the system too enthusiastically," she said.
Ron glanced at her, then at the sea of students before them. He could feel it too. The atmosphere had shifted in a way that was subtle but unmistakable, like the pressure in the air before a storm. A few Slytherins were already whispering intensely while flicking their eyes toward his projected number. Some Ravenclaws had started scribbling figures onto parchment as if trying to reverse engineer the classification ranges.
Hermione continued, her tone calm but deliberate.
"The numbers you see on the bracelet are information. Nothing more than that. They are not a judgment. They are not a ranking of your worth."
The murmurs quieted again, this time more slowly.
"Magical cores differ," she said. "That is a fundamental truth of magical biology. Some witches and wizards are born with larger cores. Some with smaller ones. Some develop control far more rapidly than others. Some find that their magic expresses itself in ways that no measurement system can properly capture."
She let that settle.
"Your peak will not necessarily be the same as someone else's peak. Some of you will reach it earlier. Some later. Some may discover that your natural limit arrives sooner than you hoped."
A few students shifted in their seats.
"That is nothing to be ashamed of," Hermione said firmly. "It is simply the way magic works."
Ron leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the podium. His voice carried a quieter weight than Hermione's precise cadence, but it had a grounding steadiness to it.
"And even if two people have identical MPUs, that still doesn't mean they're equal in practice," he added. "Someone might have enormous raw power but poor control. Someone else might have perfect control but less power to work with. And then there's creativity."
He gestured toward the bracelet hovering over his wrist.
"Magic isn't just numbers. It's how you use what you have."
Several professors nodded almost unconsciously at that.
Hermione allowed herself a small breath before continuing. This was the part Harry had insisted they include, the part he had predicted with eerie the very day they had asked him to modify the bracelets.
People will obsess over the numbers, he had said quietly.
Ron remembered the way Harry had leaned back in his chair then, eyes half-lidded in that thoughtful way he had developed over the last year.
Some of them will try to chase higher scores the way Muggles chase exam ranks.
So you need to stop that before it begins.
Hermione now relayed that foresight without naming the exact conversation.
"Our friend Harry raised this concern while we were designing the bracelets," she said. "He pointed out that if we simply handed out a numerical measure of magical strength, many people might begin treating it like a competition."
Several heads dipped slightly, caught.
"We do not want that," she said plainly.
The bracelets shimmered faintly along the tables as students listened more carefully now.
"This system exists for self-knowledge and academic study. That is the only reason we created it. In fact, when we formalized the magical patent for the classification method, we included strict enchantment clauses that prevent it from being used for ranking systems, employment discrimination, or any form of coercion."
A faint stir passed through the professors' table at the mention of magical patents. Professor Flitwick looked particularly impressed.
Ron picked up the thread again.
"And if anyone tries to build something like that anyway," he added dryly, "the bracelet simply refuses to share the data."
A few surprised laughs followed.
Hermione allowed the moment to soften before moving into the final point.
"Now," she said, "that does not mean growth is impossible. Quite the opposite."
This time even the Ravenclaws leaned forward.
"Magical cores are not static structures. They can adapt and expand over time."
Ron nodded.
"We tested this ourselves," he said.
Hermione continued, slipping into the crisp tone she used when explaining experimental methodology.
"The most consistent method we observed involves controlled exhaustion of the magical core. When a witch or wizard pushes their magic to the point of full depletion and then allows the core to recharge naturally, the structure of the core undergoes gradual adaptation."
She lifted a finger slightly, emphasizing the scientific nature of the claim.
"It becomes marginally larger. More resilient. Better able to circulate magical energy."
Several older students looked suddenly thoughtful.
Ron added, "It's a bit like muscle training, if you think about it that way."
"However," Hermione said immediately, "this must be done responsibly. Overexertion without proper recovery can cause magical fatigue or temporary instability. Hogwarts professors are far more qualified than we are to guide you in safe practice."
Professor McGonagall inclined her head approvingly.
Hermione then looked across the hall one more time, making certain every student understood the heart of what she was saying.
"The bracelet is a mirror," she said quietly. "It shows you a part of yourself that was previously invisible. But a mirror is not the person standing before it."
Ron folded his arms lightly.
"So don't turn it into your identity," he said.
The words were simple, but the weight behind them carried through the hall.
Hermione finished the thought with calm finality.
"To quote our friend and anomaly, Harry. 'Magic is limited only to your imaginations'. And by that he means that no matter what level of raw power you might have, your magic is only limited by how you think of using it."
For a few seconds after Hermione finished speaking, the hall remained suspended in a thoughtful quiet. The weight of her words lingered like the last vibration of a struck bell. Then, gradually, the ordinary life of Hogwarts returned.
Cutlery resumed its gentle clatter. Conversations bloomed again along the house tables. Students leaned together over their wrists, comparing faint projections and experimenting with the bracelet's runes, though now the curiosity carried a steadier tone. Less feverish. More thoughtful.
At the Gryffindor table, however, the atmosphere shifted into something far more familiar.
Ron dropped back onto the bench with a long exhale and immediately reached for a piece of toast as though the speech had drained half his energy.
"Right," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Next time we invent something that half the school wants to interrogate, remind me to fake my own death first."
Hermione snorted softly as she sat beside him, though the tension in her shoulders had begun to ease.
Across the table, Harry had only just fastened his own bracelet.
The matte black band settled around his wrist with a faint pulse of cyan light before fading into stillness. For a moment he simply turned his hand slowly, studying the runic lattice embedded in the metal. The bracelet responded instantly to his touch, tiny sigils brightening beneath his fingertips as he began making quiet adjustments.
Not activating it.
Modifying it.
The movements were small, precise. A twist of a rune. A subtle redirection of an energy line. Anyone unfamiliar with runic architecture would have thought he was merely fiddling.
Beside him, Abigail had discovered a much more immediate priority.
The bacon tray sat just slightly beyond her reach, positioned inconveniently closer to Harry. Rather than ask, she leaned subtly across the table and began quietly transferring slices from his plate to hers with the kind of delicate stealth usually reserved for professional thieves.
Harry did not even glance at her.
Whether he noticed or not remained a matter of debate.
Across from him, Ginny had a parchment spread beside her plate. She was halfway through a page, brow furrowed as she read with the intensity of someone dissecting a strategy manual. Every now and then she paused to take a bite of toast without looking up.
To her right, Fred and George appeared only marginally conscious.
The twins slumped against the table like two scarecrows that had been hastily propped upright. Their hair stuck out in uneven directions and their eyes had the dull glaze of people who had not slept nearly enough.
Fred poked vaguely at a fried egg.
George blinked slowly at a glass of pumpkin juice as though trying to remember what it was for.
"Remind me," George mumbled hoarsely, "why we decided that three nights without sleep was an acceptable development schedule."
Fred gave a tired nod.
"Because genius," he replied faintly.
On the other side of the table, Ron yawned so widely it looked almost painful.
He leaned back and rubbed his face with both hands before glancing toward Harry.
Then he glanced again. His expression shifted into something more thoughtful.
There was a question hovering there, visible in the way his eyes narrowed slightly. He opened his mouth once, hesitated, then closed it again. He was pondering whether he should ask him about that dream he had which was exactly the same as the vision he had when he got his current wand for the first time at Ollivander's.
Hermione noticed immediately.
"What?" she said.
Ron shook his head, though he kept looking at Harry.
"Nothing," he muttered. "Just thinking."
Another quiet moment passed. Then something clicked.
It happened almost simultaneously across the group. Ginny looked up from her parchment. Hermione froze halfway through mixing the egg yolk into her bacon. Ron's head tilted slowly. Fred blinked. George straightened a fraction.
Even Abigail paused mid-theft, a slice of bacon suspended halfway to her plate.
Every single one of them turned toward Harry. Each of them thinking just one thing. What was his reading.... What was Harry freaking Potter's MPU reading.
"Harry," Hermione started, her voice dropping into that dangerous, low octave territory. "You've had that on for six minutes. Stop modifying it. And tell us your reading."
"Just making the gold a bit more... matte black," Harry murmured, his thumb tracing a specific sigil.
"Harry!" Ron barked, leaning over his toast. "The numbers. We spend a fucking year on making this system to classify you. We deserve to know where you stand right now."
"Woah.... language mate," Harry turned sharply at Ron. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
Ginny just looked done. "Tell us your reading. NOW!"
Abigail too chimed in, "Yes, Harry. Show us your reading. I wanna know how strong my brother is too."
Harry exhaled once through his nose. The smallest sound. Almost amused.
"No."
The word landed soft. Final. A door closing.
Hermione's brows rose half an inch. "Excuse me?"
"I said no." He finally looked up. Met every pair of eyes around the table without flinching. "I'm not showing it."
Ron blinked. "You're joking."
"I'm not."
A beat of stunned silence.
Then Ginny laughed—short, incredulous. "You're actually refusing?"
Harry shrugged one shoulder. "Apparently."
"And before you start citing academic curiosity, shared responsibility, friendship obligations, or the moral imperative of transparency in magical research—" he ticked each point off on his fingers without looking away from her "—the answer is still no."'
He then stood up quickly and ran out of the Great Hall, before any of them could even stop him.
"Did he just—"
"He did."
"Bloody hell—"
"I'm going to hex that bracelet right off his wrist—"
"No you're not, Ron, it'll just reappear—"
Harry disappeared through the great double doors before the first hex could even be seriously considered.
The corridor beyond was cool and quiet, morning light falling in long pale shafts through the high arched windows. His footsteps echoed once, twice—then nothing.
He was already gone.
By evening he was back in Moonstone Dunvegan and was sitting in the garden with Vernon.
"How's the Magitech shaping up Dad? I've been buried in... other projects and completely forgot about that."
Vernon's eyes lit with genuine anticipation. He had been waiting for this exact conversation all week. He leaned forward, tapping one thick finger on the topmost crystal schematic on the table in front of them. A faint blue hologram flickered to life above the table—an elegant, rune-etched box no larger than a standard Muggle air-conditioning unit, its surfaces traced with delicate silver filigree that pulsed like living veins.
"Better than we dared hope," Vernon rumbled, "The first prototypes are not only stable—they're elegant. We've cracked the conversion matrix. Pure magical energy to controlled thermal and kinetic output with less than point-zero-three percent waste. No explosions. No need for those ridiculous electricity contraptions the Muggles are so fond of."
Harry's eyebrows rose a fraction. He reached out and rotated the hologram with a flick of two fingers, studying the internal rune lattice. "AC units?"
"Precisely." Vernon's grin widened, the kind of grin he rarely allowed outside these walls. "Fully self-contained climate regulators. They pull ambient magic from the atmosphere—replenishing faster than they consume in any reasonably warded space—and output perfectly regulated temperature and humidity. We've tested them in that other dimension. They work flawlessly. Silent. Efficient. And best of all—completely independent of any Muggle infrastructure and these double as heaters as well in the winters."
Harry leaned back, a slow, satisfied smile curving his lips. "That's brilliant. Truly. How soon can we go to market?"
Vernon didn't hesitate. "Monday."
The single word hung in the air like a challenge and a promise at once.
Harry let out a low laugh, the sound rich with approval. "Monday it is, then. You handle the press conference and the initial rollout. I'll make sure the legal wards and patent enchantments are ironclad before the weekend ends. We price them low for the first six months—call them field prototypes. Let the early adopters spread the word. Once the reviews come in and we refine the second generation, we can adjust margins."
Vernon nodded once, sharp and decisive, the old businessman in him rising to the surface. "That was exactly my thinking. Start cheap, flood the market with quality, let word of mouth do the heavy lifting. We've already got three major wizarding manufacturers begging for licensing agreements, but I told them to wait until after the Hogwarts demonstration."
Harry's head tilted, curiosity sparking. "Hogwarts demonstration?"
"You know what will make this product explode across Britain faster than any advertising campaign?" Vernon leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. "Fitting the entire bloody castle with them. Imagine it—Hogwarts, the most famous magical institution in the world, suddenly comfortable year-round. No more freezing dungeons in winter. No more sweltering towers in summer. Students actually able to concentrate instead of shivering or sweating through lessons. The Board of Governors will trip over themselves to approve it once they see the difference. And when parents hear that their children are studying in perfect climate-controlled comfort… well, every wealthy family in wizarding Britain will be demanding units for their own manors before the first snow falls."
Harry stared at the rotating hologram for a long moment, the golden light of the dying sun catching in his eyes and turning them almost predatory. He could already see it—the subtle revolution it would spark. Not just comfort. Control over environment at a scale no one had ever achieved without house-elves or endless heating charms. A quiet, elegant dominance of daily life.
He exhaled slowly, the sound carrying equal parts amusement and calculation.
"You're right," he said at last, voice soft but decisive. "That changes everything. We install a full demonstration set in the Great Hall, the common rooms, the infirmary, even the staff quarters if McGonagall will allow it. Make it impossible to ignore. Once the students experience it for a week, the demand will be… volcanic."
Vernon nodded. "I'm about to head to Hogwarts to talk with Dumbledore about this."