Harry Potter, the savior of Night City

The current level does not support cross-world communication.

These words stirred up a storm in Harry's heart. What was a hierarchy? Did it mean that the things that allowed him to travel to were his own? Could he use things like interdimensional communication? And would he be able to teleport people around in the future?...

Various thoughts flashed through Harry's mind, but in the end, Harry decided:

"Since things have come to this, let's go to sleep."

The next day, Harry's brain-computer alarm woke him up. Looking at the empty dormitory, Harry shrugged indifferently, quickly washed up, carried Yinglong on his back, and covered him with his robe. It was almost eight o'clock. Harry went to the Great Hall, grabbed a piece of bread, and headed towards the Transfiguration classroom. He thought he was the latest, but...

"Hey, Harry." A familiar voice came from Ron, who quickly ran to Harry's side. "I heard you beat the prefect into the school hospital, is that true? That's really cool." He didn't give Harry a chance to reply at all.

"Hmm." Harry managed to squeeze out a single "hmm" after a long pause.

"Oh, you must be from Gryffindor. I wonder if that Sorting Hat has gone senile; how could it possibly sort you into Slytherin..."

Ron chattered on and on the way. Harry had a fairly good impression of this little brother. Although he was a bit naive, it was true that naive people were hard to dislike.

"Perhaps I should turn you into clocks or maps, gentlemen?"

As expected, they were late. Professor McGonagall looked at them with a stern face, but her tone didn't reveal much anger. Perhaps she was used to students like them every year.

Harry and Ron sat at the very front of the classroom. For the next half hour, Professor McGonagall talked about the theory of transfiguration. Everyone craned their necks to listen to their first magic lesson, but it was clear that even though Professor McGonagall had simplified the content based on her own experience, very few people understood it.

She gave everyone a match and asked them to turn it into a needle. Harry drew his wand, looked at the match, and said...

"Entrust Vera"

A unique black spell shot out, and the match first turned into a puddle of liquid, then slowly shaped itself. Harry's wand underwent the same transformation; the elderwood wand slowly melted, the liquid seeping into Harry's skin, flowing through every vein and every prosthetic organ... Then, the wand, like liquid, flowed from Harry's palm, reshaping itself back into its wand form.

"A very beautiful transformation, Mr. Potter, Slytherin, five points." Professor McGonagall hadn't seen any of this; she only saw that Harry had successfully transformed.

Harry looked at his wand. Just now, all the prosthetics in his body had malfunctioned, preventing him from moving. He could only watch helplessly as it all happened. But now, he felt a familiar connection between the wand and his body, just like the connection between the prosthetics. In other words, the wand had become his prosthetic, like a mantis knife, which could be retracted into his body or taken out.

Harry didn't notice any changes besides the wand after class, so he simply ignored it, assuming it was a normal magical change, until the Defense Against the Dark Arts session that afternoon...

"Oh shit, what are you doing?" Harry shouted during class, interrupting Professor Quirrell's lecture. Harry was seen pressing his forearm while cursing.

The story goes back to the beginning of class. Harry sat down in the classroom, and when he looked up, he saw something very strange: black smoke was billowing from the back of Quirrell's head. But none of the students seemed surprised. Just as he was about to ask Ron and Hermione, who were sitting next to him, he felt the Mantis Knife on his arm trembling, frantically transmitting the thought "Danger, Eliminate" into Harry's mind. Then it tried to pop out on its own, and that's how this scene happened.

"Mr. Porter, is there...is there anything...that you want to say?" Professor Quirrell stammered.

"It's nothing, I'm just... feeling a little unwell." Harry's face turned red as he struggled with his prosthetic body.

"Is that so? Well... after Mr. Potter finished class... later in my office, I happened to have some... some medicine."

"Okay... you ugly idiot, be quiet... okay, Professor." Harry pressed his arm down hard.

The struggle continued until the end of get out of class, ultimately ending in Harry's victory. He followed Professor Quirrell to his office, slumped in a chair, and looked exhausted.

"Mr. Potter, what would you like to drink, tea or... coffee?" Professor Quirrell, unlike his usual demeanor, spoke in a clear, uninterrupted voice, though he frowned slightly when he looked into Harry's eyes.

When Harry looked up at Quirrell, he clearly felt something touching his brain, making him involuntarily recall the shock and surprise he felt in the vault, which was then stopped by his prosthetic brain. Now, how could he not know that this professor had a problem, and probably a big one?

"Tea, sir."

Quirrell poured a cup of tea and placed it in front of Harry, then handed him a bottle of medicine before sitting down opposite him.

"Harry, drink it, it'll be good for your health."

Harry had no choice. He didn't know what was wrong with this "professor" in front of him, so he could only gamble that he wouldn't harm him in the school. He then picked up the medicine bottle and drank it all in one gulp.

"Cough cough cough cough..." It tasted awful. It was the first time Harry had ever tasted anything so awful. It was like water from a garbage dump mixed with chili and pepper. "That son of a bitch made this stuff..." he couldn't help but curse.

Professor Quirrell ignored him, took a sip of tea, and then asked, "Harry, do you like money?"

"What kind of stupid question is this?" Harry raised an eyebrow, then nodded. He wanted to see what this thing was up to.

Professor Quirrell nodded, first saying things like, "Money isn't the most important thing," and "You need to focus on learning magic now." Then he began to speak formally:

"Harry, do you know about the Philosopher's Stone?" He paused, then continued, "Legend has it that a legendary alchemist used some unknown material to create a Philosopher's Stone that could grant immortality and turn stones into gold..."

Quirrell, or rather "Quirk," was engrossed in telling his story, completely unaware that Ha was looking at him with the same disdainful gaze one might give someone mentally challenged.

"So this is the real intention?" Harry thought. "So, he means to use my love of money to help him find the Philosopher's Stone? Does he think of me as a child? No, I am indeed in a child's body right now."

"Alright, Harry, go back now." Quirrell finished his story, waved for Harry to go back, and Harry stood up, walked to the door, deliberately turned his head to take a deep look at Quirrell, and then turned to leave.

After making sure Harry was far away, Quirrell closed the door tightly. He knelt on the floor, untied his turban, revealing the ugly face on the back of his head, and then Quirrell spoke.

"Master,... will this really... will he really go... to investigate?"

"Are you questioning me?" the face spoke.

"Master...Master, I was wrong, I was wrong!!" Quirrell rolled on the ground in agony, but the face showed no sign of stopping, continuing to torment him.

........