They lay flat on their backs on a stretch of warm stone that had not existed an hour ago, chests rising and falling in uneven rhythm.
Harry's hair was a disaster. Dumbledore's beard was worse.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Magic still hummed in the air, not wild or unstable, but deep and satisfied, like a creature that had just been fed far more than it ever expected. The sky above the city shifted lazily between shades of gold and blue, responding to nothing in particular, simply because it could.
Harry broke the silence first.
"…I think," he said between breaths, "you touched my district."
Dumbledore laughed weakly. "You inverted one of my bridges."
"In self-defense."
"It was a pedestrian bridge."
"It was inefficient."
Dumbledore turned his head slightly to look at him, eyes bright despite the exhaustion. "And yet," he said softly, "it worked."
Harry followed his gaze.
What stood before them was no longer two competing halves stitched together by stubborn pride. Somewhere along the way, boundaries had blurred. Artistic arches laced with living light flowed seamlessly into floating districts held aloft by impossible geometry. Cherry blossom trees grew along walkways that subtly rearranged themselves to ease foot traffic. Ancient stone towers were threaded with transparent conduits of magic, humming softly as they carried power, water, light, and information all at once.
It was fantasy.
It was technology.
It was something that should not exist.
The city stretched wide, its diameter easily large enough to house every Hogwarts student with room to spare. Not dormitories. Not towers with shared beds. Each student would have their own space, vast apartments closer to luxury penthouses than student housing, woven with privacy wards, adaptive layouts, and environmental charms that responded to mood, health, and magical resonance.
Commercial districts sprawled naturally along the lower terraces, streets broad and alive, designed for stalls, permanent shops, workshops, potion labs, and experimental spaces that would make the Ministry faint. Storage spaces folded in on themselves. Supply routes existed half in reality, half in rune-space. Nothing clogged. Nothing wasted.
At the heart of it all lay the shared space.
A colossal open expanse, larger than any Quidditch stadium ever built, tiered and adaptable. One day it could host a fair. The next, a festival. The next, a dueling tournament, a symposium, a concert, or something no one had thought of yet. The seating could rise, sink, reconfigure. The ground itself could become stage, arena, or market at will.
It was not a kingdom.
But it was close.
Harry swallowed. "We overdid it."
Dumbledore chuckled, then winced as the motion reminded him he was very much mortal. "I believe," he said, "that we undershot our restraint."
Harry turned his head, studying the skyline again. "This could run independently."
"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "Self-sustaining enchantment loops. Redundant power matrices. The city could exist even if neither of us ever touched it again."
Harry frowned slightly. "That wasn't intentional."
Dumbledore smiled. "The best things rarely are."
They lay there in companionable silence, the enormity of it finally settling in. Not triumph. Not pride. Just awe.
"I don't think," Harry said slowly, "anyone is going to call this a 'makeshift settlement' anymore."
Dumbledore laughed outright at that. "Minerva will be furious."
Harry smirked faintly. "Worth it."
Dumbledore closed his eyes, still smiling. "You know," he murmured, "most headmasters content themselves with policies and paperwork."
Harry yawned, exhaustion finally winning. "Most students don't build cities before breakfast."
A pause.
Then Dumbledore said, quietly, "I am very glad you exist, Harry."
Harry didn't answer right away.
When he did, his voice was softer. "Yeah. Me too."
Above them, the city continued to breathe, alive in a way no spell diagram could ever fully explain, waiting patiently for the chaos of students, ideas, and futures it had been built to hold.
They stepped back through the threshold together.
The world snapped into place.
Harry blinked as the familiar stone corridor of Hogwarts reasserted itself, the air cooler, thinner, quieter. His senses recalibrated almost instantly, time snapping back into alignment with a faint, uncomfortable click in the back of his skull.
Dumbledore checked his pocket watch.
Then checked it again.
"…Twelve minutes," he said.
Harry frowned, then stilled as the implication landed. "Inside we spent—"
"Just over four hours," Dumbledore finished mildly.
Harry glanced down the corridor, then back toward the office door. "It's still early."
Dumbledore smiled, pleased. "It is eight-oh-four."
They shared a look.
"…Breakfast?" Harry suggested.
Dumbledore tucked his watch away. "I see no reason to deprive ourselves."
They walked.
As they made their way toward the Great Hall, their conversation drifted into territory that would have caused at least three departments of the Ministry to collectively faint.
"What if," Harry said casually, hands in his pockets, "we didn't just use it as an auxiliary space?"
Dumbledore hummed. "You are suggesting something radical. I can hear it forming."
"What if Hogwarts," Harry continued, "was shifted inside the dimension."
Dumbledore stopped walking.
Harry halted beside him, already knowing he had succeeded in getting his attention.
"Go on," Dumbledore said.
Harry gestured vaguely, as if describing the weather. "Time dilation at one to twenty. A single academic year outside becomes twenty inside. That's not just more lessons. That's experimentation. Research. Failure. Recovery. Actual mastery."
Dumbledore's eyes shone now. "Entire lifetimes of learning without stealing a single year from the world."
"And boredom won't be an issue," Harry added. "Not if we keep building. New districts. New disciplines. New challenges. Infinite space, infinite variation."
Dumbledore let out a soft, incredulous laugh. "Merlin help us."
"Merlin doesn't live there," Harry said. "We'd be fine."
They resumed walking.
By the time they reached the Great Hall doors, they had already sketched out problems, countermeasures, ethical concerns, and at least four entirely new branches of magical theory that would require new textbooks.
They entered together.
The effect was immediate.
Conversations died mid-sentence. Cutlery paused halfway to mouths. Heads turned in perfect unison.
Potter and Dumbledore.
Together.
That combination meant one of two things.
Chaos.
Or utter chaos.
Harry peeled off toward the Gryffindor table, ignoring the looks, sliding into a seat as if he hadn't just helped create a city before breakfast. Dumbledore ascended the steps to the staff table, but did not sit.
Instead, he turned.
The Great Hall braced.
"I have an announcement," Dumbledore said pleasantly.
A collective, anticipatory silence fell.
"This morning," he continued, "Harry Potter brought to my attention an excellent idea."
People's knives and forks stopped mid-reach. They all stared at Dumbledore, just hoping that the next words out of the headmaster's mouth weren't destructive.
"Though," Dumbledore added, eyes twinkling, "the true credit belongs to Fred and George Weasley."
The twins, halfway through pouring pumpkin juice, grinned like men who had just won a war they hadn't officially declared.
Dumbledore began to explain.
A fair. A grand one. Student-run stalls. Commerce, creativity, experimentation. A place to build, sell, fail, succeed. Real stakes. Real experience.
Then came the part that made the hall erupt.
"To accommodate this," Dumbledore said calmly, "we have created appropriate living and working arrangements."
Whispers rippled.
"Where?" someone called.
Dumbledore smiled. "You will see when the time arrives."
"And," Dumbledore added, as if remembering it only just now, "each student will be provided their own private living space."
The hall went dead quiet again.
"No shared dormitories," he said calmly. "No shared common rooms. An entire residence to yourselves."
You could practically hear minds breaking.
Younger students stared as if he had just announced free dragon ownership. Fifth years looked torn between disbelief and religious awe. Sixth and seventh years exchanged knowing looks, watching the realization hit the rest of the school all at once. First years looked ready to cry as if really wanting to get started with the fair faster.
For a heartbeat, the hall didn't react.
Not because they weren't listening—but because their brains were desperately trying to keep up.
Dumbledore let that moment breathe. He was very good at moments.
"You may form groups," he continued smoothly, "of three or five—or you may work alone, should you prefer. Choose wisely. Discuss thoroughly. This is not a whim-based exercise."
A Ravenclaw somewhere whispered, "It absolutely is."
Dumbledore smiled, clearly hearing it anyway.
"You will be responsible for sourcing your own ingredients and materials," he went on. "Potions components, raw enchantment substrates, artistic supplies, foodstuffs—whatever your endeavor requires." He lifted a finger. "Machinery and basic infrastructure will be provided."
A murmur of approval.
"Funding," he said gently, "will come from your own pockets. You will sell your wares for currency inside the fair. Whatever you earn will be yours to keep. Hogwarts will take no percentage."
That did it.
A wave of noise rolled through the hall—calculations already forming, students mentally tallying Gringotts vaults, allowances, owl-order catalogs.
"There is no entry fee," Dumbledore added, voice cutting cleanly through the din. "Participation is not compulsory. You may simply enjoy your time, pursue independent projects, or… relax."
He paused, eyes dancing.
"I suspect," he said, "very few of you will choose the last option."
Laughter rippled through the room.
"The fair will begin on the twenty-sixth of February," Dumbledore announced. "You have time. Use it well."
A few students groaned at the wait. Others looked relieved. Most looked feral.
"And finally," Dumbledore said, as if this were a footnote, "the fair will not consist solely of commerce. You are encouraged to host events. Performances. Games. Exhibitions. Demonstrations." His gaze flicked briefly toward the twins. "Controlled chaos, if you will."
Fred put a hand to his chest. "He understands us."
George sniffed. "At last."
Dumbledore spread his hands. "That is all, for now."
He began to turn back to his seat and sat down.
For about three full seconds after Dumbledore sat down, the Great Hall existed in a state of stunned suspension.
Then it detonated.
Chairs scraped back. Students surged toward Harry's end of the Gryffindor table like iron filings toward a lodestone. Questions flew from every direction, overlapping, half-formed, frantic.
"—private rooms?"
"—forty days, did he actually—"
"—is this even legal—"
"—can we sell enchanted food?"
Harry didn't move. He calmly took a sip of pumpkin juice.
The first to reach him were, predictably, his people.
Ginny slid into the seat beside him, eyes blazing. "You built a city."
Harry hummed noncommittally.
Ron dropped heavily onto the bench opposite, staring at him like Harry had just admitted to being three dragons in a trench coat. "You built a what."
Hermione was already halfway to vibrating. "Harry. The logistics alone—how did you manage zoning? Did you predefine magical flow corridors or—"
Fred and George arrived together, expressions caught somewhere between awe and betrayal.
"Mate," Fred said slowly, "we talked about this at one in the morning."
George nodded. "One. In. The morning."
Percy hovered just behind them, arms crossed, expression torn between brotherly pride and the creeping realization that he was once again out of his depth. Abigail arrived last, leaning casually against the table, eyes sharp and amused.
Harry glanced around at the semicircle of faces, then sighed.
"Okay," he said. "One at a time. Hermione, stop vibrating."
She snapped her mouth shut with visible effort.
Ginny jabbed a finger at him. "How is this already done?"
Fred added, "Yeah. We were thinking… maybe sketches."
George followed up, "Possibly a nap."
Harry shrugged. "I woke up at six-thirty."
Every head snapped toward him.
"…You what?" Ron said.
"I took a long shower," Harry continued calmly. "Then I went to Dumbledore's office."
Percy blinked. "You just—walked in?"
"He was brushing his teeth," Harry said. "It was traumatic for both of us."
Abigail snorted.
"And," Harry went on, "I told him about the idea."
Fred stared. "That's it?"
Harry tilted his head. "Did you want more steps?"
George squinted. "So at what point did 'talking' become 'infrastructure'?"
Harry gestured vaguely with his cup. "Right after we realized the fair would last two outside days."
Ron frowned. "Wait. Two days? That's it?"
A ripple of disappointment moved through the group.
Harry nodded. "Roughly."
Ginny opened her mouth to complain—then paused. "Roughly?"
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Harry. What does 'roughly' mean in this context?"
Harry took another sip, buying time. "It means… two days outside."
"And inside?" Percy asked carefully.
Harry looked at him. Smiled faintly.
"About forty."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Abigail was the first to break it. "…I'm sorry, what?"
Ginny slowly turned to face him. "Say that again. Slower."
"Two days outside," Harry repeated evenly. "Forty days inside."
Ron made a strangled noise. "That's not—no. That's not the ratio."
Hermione snapped upright. "The old gate was one to one hundred. Everyone knows that."
Harry nodded. "Yes. That one closed itself."
Fred frowned. "Closed itself? Ah right, I remember you telling us."
George's eyes widened. "Hold on. There's a new gate?"
Harry shook his head. "I didn't open this one."
That stopped them cold.
Percy stared. "Then who did?"
"The professors," Harry said simply. "They created the dimension at one-to-two. I just… adjusted it."
Hermione's voice came out very quiet. "To what."
"One to twenty."
Ginny sank back against the bench. "You adjusted time."
Harry shrugged. "A bit. I mean it was easier than doing the entire thing myself."
Fred rubbed his face. "We were thinking, like… four days. Max."
George nodded weakly. "Four felt ambitious."
Harry winced sympathetically. "Sorry."
Abigail folded her arms, studying him. "And you didn't think to mention this earlier?"
"It was six-thirty in the morning," Harry said reasonably. "I hadn't had breakfast yet."
Ron stared at him. "You made a city before breakfast."
Harry considered that. "Technically during."
Hermione looked like she might either scream or hug him. Possibly both.
"And the lodging?" Percy pressed. "All of it is already—"
"Done," Harry confirmed. "Had to be. Forty days means people need actual space. Privacy. Recovery time."
Ginny's eyes lit up. "Recovery time."
Fred perked up. "Did you say private private?"
"Yeah. Think like huge penthouses," Harry said. "Bedrooms. Workspaces. Wards. Adaptive layouts."
George exhaled reverently. "I could cry."
Hermione blinked. "You built all of this in—how long, exactly?"
Harry glanced at the Great Hall clock. "Twelve minutes outside. About four hours inside. Although mind you, I didn't build it alone."
Percy made a sound like a man reassessing every career decision he'd ever made. "You mean, Dumbledore built it with you?"
Harry nodded, "Yeah, we have a bit of a competition of whose section would look better."
Ron leaned back, arms crossed. "So what are you doing for forty days, then?"
Harry's shoulders relaxed for the first time all morning.
"Nothing," he said.
Everyone stared.
"I am going to drink," Harry continued serenely, "smoke cigars, sleep sixteen hours a day, and exist horizontally for most of the fair."
Ginny squinted. "You? You do realize that you are 12 and shouldn't even think about smoking or drinking?"
"Yes."
Hermione opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "You won't… oversee anything?"
"Nope."
"Coordinate?"
"No."
"Intervene?"
"Only if something's on fire and it's interesting."
Fred burst out laughing. "He's serious."
George nodded. "That's the scary part."
Ron shook his head. "You're impossible."
Harry smiled faintly. "I'm tired."
Abigail studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Fair."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By evening, the castle had settled into that familiar, warm lull that only came after dinner—fires crackling, corridors humming softly, the day's madness temporarily contained.
Hearth & Hollow glowed.
The space had rearranged itself the moment the group arrived: low golden light, cushions pulled close to the hearth, long tables crowded with food that no one remembered ordering. The fire burned bright but gentle, filling the room with warmth that felt personal, like it knew why they were here.
Pansy sat near the center, legs tucked beneath her, cheeks already flushed with excitement and a little disbelief.
"This is just the pre-celebration," she said for perhaps the fifth time. "The real one's at Moonstone."
Ginny grinned. "Doesn't mean you don't get cake twice."
On cue, the cake appeared.
It was massive—three tiers, dark chocolate and blackberry, layered with silver filigree frosting that shimmered faintly when the firelight hit it. Tiny enchanted sparks drifted lazily above it, rearranging themselves into Happy Birthday, Pansy in elegant script.
Luna tilted her head. "It's smiling."
"It's cake," Ron said cautiously.
"The good ones do," Luna replied serenely.
Percy cleared his throat and produced a knife, which the cake obligingly leaned toward.
"Traitor," Fred muttered.
They sang—loudly, badly, enthusiastically. Fred and George harmonized wrong on purpose. Draco refused to clap on rhythm out of spite. Pansy laughed so hard she nearly cried.
When the candles went out, applause filled the room, followed immediately by people talking over each other again.
Then came the gifts.
Astoria went first, handing over a velvet-lined box containing a bracelet woven with subtle defensive charms and mood-stabilizing enchantments. Daphne followed with a tailored spellbook—custom-bound, empty pages waiting to be filled, already keyed to Pansy's magic.
Ginny's gift was a broom accessory kit, sleek and customized. "For fun flying," she said pointedly. "And competitive."
Hermione's was practical and thoughtful: a compact reference cube enchanted with cross-linked spell theory, legal precedent, and academic notes. Pansy hugged her fiercely.
Ron looked mildly panicked as he handed over his gift—an enchanted jewelry case that expanded internally and reorganized itself automatically.
"I asked for help," he admitted.
"It shows," Pansy said warmly.
Draco's gift was understated but expensive: a silver hairpin that doubled as a wand stabilizer. "It automatically maintains your wand and also gives you quickdraw," he said lightly. "Don't lose it."
Fred and George's present came with a warning label and a waiver. Pansy accepted it without question.
Harry watched the pile of gifts settle on the table, the noise ebbing just enough for him to lean back against the arm of the couch, studying Pansy with a thoughtful tilt of his head.
"So," he said casually, "what do you actually want?"
The table went quiet again, not because anyone was told to be quiet, but because Harry asking a question like that usually meant something ridiculous was about to happen.
Pansy blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Harry said, shrugging, "it's your birthday. I could possibly gift you something from my side but that wouldn't be as good as having one of your wishes come true."
She hesitated, eyes flicking briefly toward the others, then back to him. A slow, slightly mischievous smile crept onto her face.
"…I want to take your Lamborghini for a day."
There it was.
Fred let out a bark of laughter. Ginny snorted. Hermione closed her eyes like she was bracing for impact.
Harry chuckled, "You sure you can handle that car? It's nothing like a broom I'll tell you that."
Pansy straightened immediately. "Absolutely."
He raised an eyebrow. "It bites if you're sloppy."
"I won't be," she shot back, then added quickly, "You can come with me. To, you know. Supervise and teach."
Harry laughed outright at that. "Okay. Very reassuring."
He thought about it for all of two seconds.
"Fine," he said. "One day. We'll take it out. Slowly."
Pansy beamed like she'd just won a war.
The rest of the small party slipped by easily after that. Laughter. Snacks. Fred and George testing the limits of what counted as "indoors appropriate". Luna staring thoughtfully into the enchanted ceiling, announcing at one point, that the stars were "in a generous mood tonight."
Eventually, Draco checked his watch and stood, stretching.
"I'm heading back," he said. "Castle. Sleep. My bed misses me."
Ginny smirked. "Skipping the real party?"
Draco nodded, "I know my limits. Also I'd really like to sleep more than just 8 hours a day."
Harry snorted. "Coward. You're just running away cause there will be too many people."
Draco nodded, "Well, there will be." He turned to Pansy. "Happy Birthday. Try not to wreck the car."
"I won't," she said primly. "Much."
With a final nod, Draco slipped out into the Hogsmeade night, already angling toward one of the less legal routes back to the castle.
The rest stepped out of Hearth & Hollow and then disapparated soundlessly themselves. As all of them now were capable of apparating and disapparating silently. Even Astoria.
Moonstone Dunvegan welcomed them with warmth.
They appeared in the living room, and for half a second Pansy froze.
The place had been transformed.
Soft lights hovered near the ceiling like captured starlight. Banners in Slytherin green and silver flowed gently along the walls, woven with subtle enchantments that shifted patterns as you looked at them. The furniture had been rearranged to open the space, long tables laid out with food, drinks, and decorations that felt elegant rather than overwhelming.
And everyone was there.
"Happy birthday!" came the chorus, overlapping voices filling the room.
Pansy gasped, hand flying to her mouth.
Andromeda smiled warmly. Ted waved. Sirius grinned like he'd had a hand in at least half the decorations. Petunia smiled as she stood with Bellatrix. Vernon nodded approvingly as well.
Adorabella and Emma stood slightly apart, composed and calm, both with big smiles on their faces and hands that looked like they had just finished some decorations of their own. Edmund, Amelia, Tonks and Victor stood on another side clapping softly and grinning.
Pandora and Xenophilius looked like they had just finished preparing something big and stood with the Weasley family near the fireplace. They too were cheering and clapping softly.
Two of the house elves popped into existence with a quiet crack, as they levitated an enormous five-layer cake, each tier decorated differently. Gold sugarwork. Emerald frosting. Delicate patterns worked into the icing that seemed to pulse with harmless magic.
The celebration truly began then.
Gifts followed, one family at a time.
The Greengrasses gave a set of heirloom rings, each warded for protection and clarity of mind. Pansy's parents gave her not one but 4 gifts themselves which she kept aside to open later.
The Grangers offered a carefully chosen set of dresses and enchanted accessories with it, which would match her regardless of how she wore it.
The Weasley's gift was enormous, almost the height of a cupboard, which Arthur told Pansy to check later.
Sirius and Amelia stepped forward together. Amelia's presence drew more than a few quiet looks, but she handled them with practiced ease, smiling as she handed Pansy a small velvet box.
"For independence," Amelia said simply.
Victor's gift was discreet but extravagant, something that made Pansy's eyebrows shoot up before she quickly closed the box and hugged him.
Then Bellatrix stepped forward.
The room stilled, just a little.
Her gift was modest. A slim case containing a beautifully crafted necklace, magic woven into it so subtly it barely registered.
"For courage," Bellatrix said quietly. "And… a fresh beginning."
Pansy hugged her without hesitation.
Bellatrix froze for half a heartbeat, then returned it carefully, as if afraid of doing it wrong.
When it was finally over, Pansy sat surrounded by people, gifts, laughter, and warmth, eyes bright and overwhelmed in the best way.
Harry watched from where he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed loosely, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. He knew exactly what to get her and what better time to slip away to do it then now?
No one noticed when Harry slipped away.
That, in itself, was impressive.
The party rolled on, laughter rising and falling, gifts being compared, cake being demolished with enthusiasm that bordered on tactical. Fifteen minutes passed before Hermione frowned and glanced around.
"…Where's Harry?"
A pause.
Heads turned. Conversations stalled mid-sentence.
Ginny scanned the room. "He was here."
Fred squinted. "He was definitely here."
George nodded. "Brooding. Quiet. Menacingly festive."
Percy frowned. "He didn't say anything."
But Harry was nowhere to be found. They figured he was doing something for the birthday, which meant that he was either making something delicious or arranging something scenic. So they decided to wait for Harry to show up.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then an hour but Harry didn't show up.
Petunia huffed in irritation as she and the rest of the ladies brought out all the food, which in itself was quiet the scene. There wouldn't have been less than 15 different kinds of dishes in total. The very long table was set and everyone was waiting on Harry to appear.
At exactly nine o'clock, the night shattered.
A roar tore through the grounds.
Not thunder. Not magic.
An engine.
Low. Violent. Expensive.
Every head snapped toward the front of Moonstone Dunvegan as the sound grew closer, echoing along the long, regal approach road that curved toward the arched porch. Gravel shifted. Air vibrated. The entire group made their way out of the dinning hall, towards the porch. And as they watched from the porch, the car burst into view.
A Lamborghini Diablo.
Royal purple.
So deep and rich it looked almost black in the shadows, until the lights caught it and the color bloomed like a bruise made of amethyst and midnight wine. The body was flawless, polished to a mirror sheen. The engine snarled once more before the car slid smoothly beneath the massive archway and came to a perfect stop directly in front of the main doors.
Silence felt like a dropped curtain.
The door opened.
Harry stepped out.
Casual. Unbothered. Smirking faintly.
Pansy froze.
Her breath left her lungs in one sharp, stunned exhale.
The color. The shape. The sheer presence of the car made it feel less like a vehicle and more like a declaration. It looked like it had been designed specifically to offend common sense and appeal directly to her soul.
Harry shut the door with a soft click and turned, keys already spinning once around his finger.
He looked at her.
Really looked.
Then he smiled.
Not gentle. Not sweet.
Dangerous.
"Well," he said lightly, "happy birthday, Slytherin princess."
He flicked his wrist. The keys arched through the air and Pansy caught them on reflex.
The world exploded.
"WHAT?!!!!"