Lilith sat with her back against a smooth slab of stone near the Great Lake, knees drawn up, robes tucked neatly beneath her. Three books lay open in front of her, their pages weighed down with carefully placed pebbles to keep the breeze from turning them. Ink notes crowded the margins in her precise handwriting, diagrams overlapping diagrams, theories stacked atop older, rejected ones.
She had been there for hours.
The lake was calm today, a sheet of dark glass reflecting the sky and the distant towers of Hogwarts. Every so often, something moved beneath the surface. A ripple. A shadow. It made her fingers tighten around her quill each time.
Forty days.
That was what the other dimension offered. Forty uninterrupted days. Forty days of research, experimentation, cross-referencing ancient wards, testing theories without worrying about classes, meals or her image. But the con being surrounded by hyperenergetic students and possibly really really loud voices.
Forty days was enough to crack her research and find a solid lead into Chamber of Secrets.
Lilith exhaled slowly and tapped the page she was reading. The Chamber of Secrets. Theories were plentiful. Facts were not. Entrance location unknown. Activation method contested. Control mechanisms whispered about but never confirmed.
And yet she knew.
She did not know how she knew, only that the certainty lived somewhere beneath thought, like a second spine.
If she could control the basilisk, Hogwarts would be hers.
The realization settled in her mind as naturally as breathing.
She froze.
Hers.
Lilith frowned faintly and leaned back against the stone, eyes drifting to the lake. The word felt heavy. Ownership. Control. Dominion.
Why?
The question slipped in quietly, almost by accident.
Why did she want Hogwarts?
Not protect it. Not study it. Control it.
Her quill hovered midair.
What would she even do if she succeeded?
The thought should have expanded. Should have led somewhere. Plans. Visions. Purpose.
Instead, it slid off her mind like water off glass.
Her brow smoothed.
It did not matter.
This was not about desire. It was about obligation.
Her grip on the quill tightened, resolve settling back into place with familiar weight. It was her duty. Her family had carried this burden for generations, passed down in fragments, in warnings, in half-burned journals and locked rooms no one spoke of aloud.
Power recognized power.
Lilith looked back down at her books, the moment of doubt already fading into irrelevance. The lake rippled again, closer this time, and she did not look away.
Two days outside meant focus. No distractions. No chaos from a student-run fair turning that dimension inside out.
Forty days inside meant certainty. Time to be thorough. Time to be perfect.
She closed one book and opened another, eyes scanning for a passage she already half-remembered.
Either way, the Chamber would be found.
And when it was, Hogwarts would listen.
No. Not just Hogwarts.
The entire magical society of Britain would have to listen to her.
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The long table was crowded.
Not with parchment or teacups this time, but with a city.
A miniature one.
The replica sat at the center, hovering a few inches above the polished wood, no larger than a dining table yet impossibly detailed. Streets curved naturally. Districts were clearly defined. Floating structures drifted lazily above lower terraces. Soft lights pulsed where infrastructure nodes ran beneath the surface. Even the central plaza was rendered, its scale obvious even at this size.
Harry leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching the professors argue.
"No," McGonagall said sharply, tapping the air above a cluster of buildings with her wand. "Textiles and enchantment wear go here. Near the residential ring. Foot traffic will be constant."
"And choke the flow from the workshops?" Flitwick countered cheerfully. "Terrible idea. Enchantment stalls should be adjacent to raw material vendors. Students will iterate faster."
Snape made a soft, disdainful sound. "Potions require distance. Ventilation. Containment wards." His finger hovered over a quieter district near a canal. "Here. Away from food commerce."
Burbage tilted her head. "But that isolates them socially. You want people browsing, not feeling like they are entering a hazard zone."
"It is a hazard zone," Snape replied calmly.
Remus watched the back-and-forth with mild amusement, tea cradled between his hands. "If this were medieval Europe, you would all be arguing over guild placement and fire risk. Which, to be fair, you still are."
Thorne snorted. "I just want the dueling exhibitions nowhere near experimental transfiguration. I am not filling out incident reports for forty days straight."
Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled, eyes bright. He was enjoying this far too much.
Behind them, at the far end of the hall, the dimensional gate stood open and stable. A vertical plane of softly shifting light, leading into the city itself. Occasionally, a professor who had opted out of the meeting wandered through, muttering something about naps and extended lunches.
Harry glanced toward the gate briefly, then back to the table.
"Food stalls along the inner ring," Flitwick said. "High visibility, high morale."
"Not too close to potions," Snape added flatly.
"Or dueling," Thorne said.
"Or historical reenactments," Remus said mildly.
McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is exactly why students were not allowed to choose their own locations."
Harry smirked. "And yet you are all doing exactly what you said they would."
No one argued that.
Dumbledore finally lifted a hand, and the miniature city stilled, arguments pausing with it.
"Very good," he said pleasantly. "I think we are close enough to final placement to proceed." His gaze shifted, landing on Harry. "Which reminds me."
Harry looked up. "Yes?"
"What will your stall be?"
The question drew immediate attention.
Snape glanced over, curious. McGonagall's expression sharpened. Flitwick smiled expectantly.
Harry blinked once.
"I am not opening one."
Silence.
Burbage frowned. "You are joking."
"No," Harry said easily. "I plan to go inside, sleep, eat, and recover several months of poor life decisions."
Remus smiled in clear sympathy. "Relatable."
McGonagall stared at him. "You helped create the city."
"Yes."
"You designed half the infrastructure."
Correct."
"You are responsible for the time dilation parameters."
"Also yes."
"And you will not participate?"
Harry shrugged. "I am participating. Just not commercially."
Snape huffed. "Sensibly selfish."
Dumbledore, however, looked almost disappointed. "I had hoped you might open something culinary. I have heard… consistent praise."
Harry chuckled softly. "I enjoy cooking. I do not enjoy running a restaurant."
Flitwick nodded sagely. "A crucial distinction."
"I could cook for the staff one day," Harry added. "Inside the dimension. Something relaxed. No customers. No schedules."
McGonagall's lips twitched despite herself. "You mean without students setting things on fire."
"Precisely."
Dumbledore smiled, clearly appeased. "A private dinner, then. I shall hold you to that."
Harry inclined his head. "Fair enough."
The miniature city rotated slowly as final adjustments were made. Shops slid into place. District boundaries glowed, then settled. Everything aligned.
Harry tapped the edge of the table, drawing their attention back before the conversation could dissolve into another round of stall-placement bickering.
"There's one more thing," he said. "We should assign living quarters as well."
McGonagall looked up sharply. "Assign them?"
"Yes," Harry replied calmly. "Not randomly. Intentionally."
Flitwick tilted his head, intrigued. "You mean proximity-based housing?"
"Exactly. No shared dormitories. One residence per student, but placement still matters." Harry gestured to the miniature city. "Close to their stalls if they're running one. Quieter districts for those who aren't. Easy access routes, not choke points."
Remus smiled faintly. "You're thinking like an urban planner."
Harry shrugged. "Someone has to."
Snape's gaze flicked over the model, already recalculating. "And if two students attempt to sabotage each other's living spaces?"
"They won't be able to," Harry said simply. "Each residence is warded independently. Structural isolation. No shared systems. You can't poison your neighbor's water if you don't share water."
That earned a low, approving hum from Snape.
McGonagall sighed. "Merlin help me, you thought of everything."
"Not everything," Harry corrected. "Just the obvious problems."
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed. "Which, I must say, is often more impressive."
He leaned back in his chair, hands folding together. "Speaking of… larger considerations."
The professors stilled.
"When Harry and I were working on the city," Dumbledore continued lightly, "we discussed a more… ambitious application of the dimension."
Harry glanced at him, already knowing where this was going.
"We realized," Dumbledore said, "that there is nothing, in principle, preventing Hogwarts itself from existing inside the dimension."
Silence fell like a dropped curtain.
Remus blinked. "You mean temporarily?"
"Or permanently," Dumbledore said gently.
McGonagall's hand tightened on her wand. "Albus."
"Consider it," he went on smoothly. "A time dilation of one to twenty. One academic year outside becomes twenty inside. Think of what that means for mastery. For research. For emotional maturity."
Flitwick looked faintly dizzy. "That's… that's an entire career's worth of practice."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "And an entire lifetime of mistakes."
"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "Safely contained."
Harry spoke before the weight of it could overwhelm them. "Not all seven years. That would be excessive. One hundred and forty subjective years would break people."
McGonagall exhaled sharply. "Thank you."
"But," Harry continued, "we could do a few months of real time. Either at the very beginning or the very end."
Remus frowned slightly. "Six months outside would be…"
"Ten years inside," Harry finished.
No one spoke.
Thorne was the first to break the silence. "That would change everything."
"It would," Dumbledore agreed. "But it would also require more than a city."
McGonagall nodded slowly. "You would need environments. Variation. Spaces beyond stone and street."
"Forests," Remus said quietly. "Real ones."
"Mountains," Flitwick added.
"Oceans," Burbage murmured. "With living ecosystems."
Harry nodded. "All possible."
Snape shot him a look. "And catastrophically complex."
"Yes, definitely," Harry said with a chuckle. "But we have time."
Dumbledore nodded, "Just an year outside meant twenty years inside, and we certainly won't need that long to plan."
"But specimens," McGonagall said. "You can't fabricate an ecosystem."
"No," Harry agreed. "You have to import one."
That earned them all a look.
Remus rubbed his face. "Only the two of you would consider relocating entire biomes as a reasonable future project."
Dumbledore smiled serenely. "We do have infinite space."
"And," Harry added, "a worrying lack of self-preservation."
Snape scoffed. "Speak for yourself."
The tension eased, replaced by something dangerous and electric. Possibility.
McGonagall straightened. "This is not a decision we make lightly."
"Of course not," Dumbledore said. "For now, it remains a thought experiment."
Harry leaned back in his chair, half to himself, half to the room."Now that the idea's out there… I'll probably build at least one mountain range during the forty days. Maybe with a lake. A big one. Sea-sized, but technically still a lake. With actual living things in it."
McGonagall's eye twitched.
That particular look—tight-lipped, sharp-eyed, already resigned—was one the staff had learned to associate with inevitability.
"No," she said flatly.
Harry glanced at her, innocent. "No?"
"That tone," she snapped. "That planning-out-loud tone. It means you've already started."
Dumbledore's smile widened just a fraction.
"And," McGonagall continued, glaring now at both of them, "Albus will absolutely encourage you."
"Well," Dumbledore said mildly, "a freshwater inland sea would be educational."
Harry sighed, "Just because I want to doesn't mean I can. I don't even know how to go about creating something like that. I'll need time. Definitely more time."
He exhaled and pushed his chair back. "Anyway," he said lightly, far too lightly for the subject at hand, "I'm heading out. I'll relax for a bit. Then get back to my current project."
That stopped him.
Every professor at the table looked up at once.
"Project," Flitwick repeated, small voice sharp with interest.
McGonagall folded her arms. "What project, exactly?"
Harry paused, fingers resting on the back of the chair. For a heartbeat he considered deflecting. Then he shrugged.
"I'm not making it yet," he said. "Still theorizing."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Theorizing what."
Harry glanced between them, gauging reactions. Then he said it plainly.
"A way to help the patients in St. Mungo's suffering from permanent mental collapse after prolonged Cruciatus exposure."
The room went very, very quiet.
Not shocked silence.Not confusion.
The heavy silence of something everyone had already buried.
Burbage swallowed. Remus's expression went tight with old grief. McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line.
Flitwick spoke first, gently. "Harry… that problem has been closed for decades."
"Not closed," Harry said. "Abandoned."
Snape let out a sharp breath. "Because it is functionally impossible. We do not understand how the mind fractures under sustained Cruciatus. And those who experienced it long enough to matter are incapable of articulating anything useful."
Harry nodded. "I know."
Snape's eyes flicked to him. "Then you also know every theoretical model ends in the same place."
"Yes," Harry said quietly. "I've hit that wall too."
That earned him a look. A sharp one.
"You?" McGonagall asked. "You have been working on this already."
Harry did not deny it. "Every approach circles back to the same requirement. Real data."
"And that," Snape said coldly, "is where it ends."
Harry hesitated, just a fraction too long.
"Because," he continued carefully, "to get meaningful data, you would need testimony from someone who endured prolonged exposure while retaining coherence. And as you said, Professor, such people cannot speak about it."
The room seemed to tighten.
"Although," Harry added softly, "there is one other way."
"Harry," Dumbledore said sharply.
Every head snapped toward him.
"That," Dumbledore continued, eyes fixed on Harry, "is a dangerous line of thought."
Harry met his gaze without flinching. "How did you know?"
Dumbledore did not answer immediately. His expression was grave, almost sorrowful."Because it is the most obvious solution you would consider. And the one you would be most tempted to try."
Snape froze.
Then his eyes widened.
"No," Snape said, standing so abruptly his chair scraped back. "Absolutely not."
The others looked between them, confused.
"Severus?" McGonagall demanded.
Snape turned on them, voice sharp and clipped. "The remaining option is for him to acquire the data himself."
Understanding slammed into the room like a curse.
Remus went pale. Flitwick sucked in a sharp breath. Burbage's hand flew to her mouth. Thorne's face became expressionless.
McGonagall stood. "You would not."
"Harry," Remus said urgently. "You cannot even think about that."
"You will not," Flitwick added, almost pleading.
Harry raised both hands. "Fine, Fine... I won't."
Not like I have to cause I'm already done. The cure is done as well, I'm just waiting for the perfect moment.
The room did not relax.
"I'm serious," Harry said. "I know where that road ends. I am not walking it."
Snape stared at him, eyes searching, suspicious, angry. "Swear it."
Harry met his gaze evenly. "I swear I won't subject myself to the Cruciatus curse."
The tension did not vanish, but it loosened enough for breath to return.
Dumbledore studied him for a long moment. "Then this research remains theoretical."
"For now," Harry agreed.
McGonagall stepped closer, voice firm but quiet. "You are twelve years old. Some burdens are not yours to carry."
"It's not about burden, it's about duty. I'm powerful and resourceful." Harry smiled faintly. "It's my duty to use that power to improve lives, otherwise all that power is meaningless."
"Power without ideals is meaningless and ideals without power are whims."
The words settled into the room like a spell that did not fade.
Power without ideals is meaningless and ideals without power are whims.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Flitwick let out a soft, almost reverent hum. "That," he said, eyes bright, "is a remarkably balanced philosophy for someone your age."
Remus smiled, slow and genuine. "For someone of any age."
Even Snape did not scoff. He merely inclined his head a fraction, as if acknowledging an equation that finally balanced.
Dumbledore regarded Harry with a look that held no calculation in it at all. Only quiet pride.
"You know," he said gently, "many who gain power spend their lives convincing themselves they deserve it. Fewer still ask what obligation it places upon them."
Harry shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention. "What's the point of having the ability to change things if you don't?" he asked. "Hoarding power doesn't make the world better. Using it does."
McGonagall's expression softened, though her voice remained firm. "And you believe it is your role to do so."
"I believe it's someone's role," Harry corrected. "And I happen to be in a position to act."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, though something deeper warmed beneath it. "That is initiative, Harry. Not ambition. There is a difference, and it matters."
Harry nodded, then hesitated, as if deciding whether to say the rest aloud.
"I want to see a world," he said quietly, "where no one dies because they were poor, or sick, or forgotten. Where hunger isn't a sentence and illness isn't a verdict."
The room listened.
"But a perfect utopia?" he continued, shaking his head. "That would take someone who could command creation itself. Someone who could rewrite reality without consequence. That isn't me."
"So I want the next best thing," Harry finished. "A world where people can actually enjoy their lives. Where suffering isn't the default setting."
Silence followed. Not the heavy kind this time, but something thoughtful. Hopeful.
Dumbledore's heart ached, in the best possible way.
So many had feared this child would fall. That power at such a scale would twist him, hollow him, turn him into something cold and unreachable.
Instead, he had grown toward the light. Not blindly, not naively. But deliberately.
"Well," Dumbledore said at last, voice warm, "the world would be fortunate indeed if more powerful individuals thought as you do."
Harry smiled, small and almost shy. "Good night, Professors."
The door closed behind him.
For several seconds, no one moved.
Then McGonagall exhaled. "Merlin help us all."
"Yes," Dumbledore agreed softly, eyes lingering on the door."And Merlin help the world… if it ever gives him reason to stop believing in it."
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26th February 1993,
The chatter had reached a fever pitch by the time breakfast concluded. First years pressed closer to the tables, craning to see over shoulders. Seventh years, normally so blasé and assured, fidgeted with palpable excitement. Even the older students who had seen their fair share of extraordinary moments could not hide the thrill that surged through the hall.
Dumbledore stood at the front, his robes unusually bright in the morning light, and a hush fell almost instantly. Behind him, where the podium usually commanded attention, shimmered a portal—slightly wavering at its edges like sunlight through water. The magical gate, freshly brought from behind his office, waited expectantly.
"Today," Dumbledore began, voice carrying easily across the hall, "we venture not only into a different dimension but into current pinnacle of magic itself. I hope this experience let's you all know that, magic, as you have learned, is not merely a tool for convenience or protection—it's a lens, a key, a bridge of possibilities that is limited only by your imagination."
He paused, letting the weight of the words settle. "What awaits you through this portal is not a lesson in the ordinary sense. It is a an experience. We hope that the ones that want to research, want to try out business and other areas of livelihood, would do so in these 40 days that follow us."
Eyes flicked nervously around the hall, whispers running like a current.
"It is my hope," Dumbledore continued, "that within this space, you will explore the interplay of magic, community, and invention. That you will discover not only what magic can do, but you will find your strength with it. That in forty days, you will return not only wiser, but more confident in the power of your choices."
He gestured toward the portal. "Follow your professors as guides. Observe. Learn. Contribute. And above all, enjoy this rare gift: forty days unbounded by the constraints of normal time, where you will experience life as it awaits you after graduation."
With that they all entered through the gateway. McGonagall led the way, along with the head boy and head girl, followed by the other professors and prefects. Dumbledore lingered at the rear, a quiet smile tugging at his lips eyes alight with anticipation.
The moment they stepped through, the city unfolded in full splendor before them.
Gasps, audible and nearly universal, echoed from the students.
"What—what is this?" whispered a first-year Ravenclaw, eyes wide as floating districts, connected by impossibly thin bridges of shimmering magic, hovered above terraces lined with cherry blossoms that rearranged themselves automatically to ease foot traffic.
A Hufflepuff seventh-year muttered, "It's… it's insane. It's—like Hogwarts exploded into a fantasy city and then got futuristic."
Harry had been watching quietly from the side, barely resisting a small smirk. The students did not even notice the subtle way the ground beneath them pulsed slightly, recalibrating for optimal foot traffic and magical resonance.
"This is like nothing I've ever seen," said a Gryffindor girl, craning her neck to see a translucent tower threaded with conduits carrying water, power, and light simultaneously. "And those penthouses! Each of them is huge—look!" She gestured toward the student living quarters. "They're like… like actual apartments! I don't even share a room with anyone!"
A Slytherin boy leaned against a railing and squinted. "And those floating buildings! How… how does that even stay up?"
George whispered to Fred, "I think Harry actually broke physics in here."
Fred smirked. "Nope. Just broke the laws of mundane reality."
The shared space in the city's heart drew another wave of awe. Tiered and adaptable, it stretched wide, larger than any Quidditch pitch the students had ever seen. Magic intertwined with architecture, forming retractable seating, floors that could convert to stage or market, platforms that rose and sank according to need.
A Ravenclaw sixth-year muttered to her friend, "It's not just a city… it's everything you could imagine."
"Or more than you could imagine," whispered a Gryffindor boy. "I don't think even the Weasleys could've dreamed this up."
A Hufflepuff girl stared at the commercial districts sprawling along the lower terraces. "Workshops, shops… potion labs… it's insane! We can run our own businesses?"
"Yes," McGonagall confirmed, voice carrying over the crowd. "Each of you will have full autonomy within your allotted space. Failure will not be punished. Success will be learned from, not hoarded."
The students moved slowly, hesitant yet thrilled, letting their eyes roam over streets that pulsed with living light, adaptive walkways, and towers with impossible geometries. In one area, cherry trees bloomed mid-winter, petals drifting lazily over stalls of experimental enchantments and culinary curiosities. In another, canals threaded through the city, moving in subtle, self-correcting patterns, complete with luminescent fish.
"This… is real?" muttered a young Gryffindor girl.
"It's… unbelievable," a Ravenclaw boy whispered, voice full of awe. "I thought Hogwarts was the limit, but… this… it's—" He trailed off, unable to find words.
Even the older students were struck silent, their practiced skepticism useless against the impossible beauty surrounding them.
Dumbledore's voice floated over them, calm and guiding: "Enjoy, learn, create. For forty days, this space is yours. Time is stretched. Decisions matter. But magic… magic is only limited by the courage to wield it."
Harry didn't lead them into the city's heart. He angled off instead, down a quieter terrace where the walkways were wider and the foot traffic thinner. The buildings here were clean-lined, practical, almost understated compared to the spectacle behind them.
That alone made Hermione suspicious.
She slowed, eyes scanning everything. "This isn't decorative," she said finally. "This is… functional."
"Very," Harry replied.
Ron squinted at a nearby structure whose walls subtly shifted texture as people passed. "It's still ridiculous," he said. "Just… in a sneaky way."
Fred leaned over to George. "Sneaky ridiculous is worse. It means planning."
George nodded gravely. "And spreadsheets."
Draco hadn't spoken yet. He was studying the city the way one might study a rival's duel stance, not impressed, not intimidated, but intent on understanding it.
"This isn't Hogwarts-inspired," he said eventually. "The layout's wrong. Too efficient. Too modular."
Daphne hummed in agreement. "The magic distribution is layered. See the conduits? They're not just power. There's information flow too."
Astoria tilted her head, watching a set of lights pulse softly along a building's edge. "It reacts to people. Not just presence. Mood."
Luna wandered closer to one of the transparent channels threading through a tower and peered at it dreamily. "It feels like the city is listening," she said. "Not in a creepy way. In a polite way."
Ginny glanced between Harry and the skyline. "Okay," she said. "I'm not doing the wide-eyed thing. I just want to know how long this took."
"Four hours," Harry answered.
There was a beat.
Then everyone spoke at once.
"Four hours inside?" Hermione demanded.
"That's impossible," Daphne said flatly.
Draco stopped walking. "Four hours doesn't build a city. Even with magic."
"Harry," Abigail said carefully, narrowing her eyes, "what did you and Dumbledore actually do?"
Harry shrugged. "We argued."
"That explains nothing," Ron said.
"No, it explains everything," Pansy corrected, lips curling. "This has competition written all over it."
Harry grinned despite himself. "He wanted fantasy. Towers, arches, living stone. I wanted systems. Infrastructure. Things that work even when no one's watching."
"And instead of choosing," Daphne said slowly, "you merged."
"Badly," Harry admitted. "At first."
Fred laughed. "Oh, this definitely looks like something that started as a friendly rivalry and escalated into mutual one-upmanship."
George nodded. "With no adult supervision."
Draco's mouth twitched despite himself. "You built this in four hours because neither of you would back down."
"Yes," Harry said easily.
They resumed walking.
The building Harry led them toward was tall but unassuming, glass and stone blended with subtle enchantments. Eleven floors, clean lines, wide balconies, soft light glowing from within.
"This is us?" Ginny asked.
"All of it," Harry confirmed.
Ron stopped again. "All of it as in… all of it?"
Hermione stared up. "That's eleven floors."
"The twins asked for just one room," Harry added helpfully.
Fred brightened. "We did!"
George sighed happily. "The dream."
Inside, the doors parted soundlessly. A wide lobby opened up, airy but simple. Stairs spiraled up one side, elegant and broad. On the other, two elevator shafts shimmered faintly.
Hermione's eyes snapped to them. "Are those lifts?"
"Magic-powered," Harry said. "Works like Muggle ones."
Ron eyed them suspiciously. "And the catch?"
"You have to channel magic into it. Also only this building has it."
Ron groaned. "Of course you do. But to the other part, why?"
"That's cause this is a trial product."
Draco was already inspecting the control panel. "That's clever," he said. "It filters output. No brute forcing."
"Trial run," Harry said. "If it explodes, let me know."
Ginny stared at him. "That is not comforting."
They moved through the floors one by one. Each level mirrored the last in layout but not in detail. Personal kitchens. Bathrooms. Living spaces that adjusted lighting and temperature automatically. Storage that folded inward instead of taking space. Everything scaled for one person.
"No shared anything," Daphne murmured. "Not even walls thin enough to hear through."
Pansy leaned against a railing, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "You planned this so people wouldn't get tired of each other."
"Or kill each other," Ron said.
"Same thing," Harry replied.
Astoria peeked into one of the rooms, then another. "They're similar," she said, "but not identical."
"They will adapt over the next day," Harry said. "Magic resonance, habits, preferences, design, colors everything. It will become closer to your ideal penthouse."
Hermione was quiet for a long moment, then looked at him. "You didn't build this to impress."
"No," Harry said.
"You built it to last."
Harry smiled faintly. "Dumbledore kept trying to add gargoyles."
Draco snorted. "Of course he did."
Luna wandered to a window and looked out at the city below. "It's not grand," she said softly. "It's intentional."
Harry glanced at her.
"That's worse," Fred said cheerfully. "Grand you get used to. Intentional means it keeps surprising you."
George clapped his hands once. "So. Eleven floors. Forty days. No curfew."
Ginny grinned. "This is either going to be amazing or catastrophic."
Harry headed for the stairs. "Probably both."
Behind them, the building hummed quietly, already adjusting, already learning who they were.