The air beneath Godric's Hollow was cool and humming with magic. My elves had carved this place from solid earth, shaping the tunnels and chambers with a precision that no Muggle could ever see. Light came from silver orbs that floated along the ceiling like captured stars.
At the heart of it all sat my throne.
I leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, absent-mindedly tapping the edge of Voldemort's wand against the armrest. The yew and phoenix-feather core sang to me in a way my parents' wands never had. Perhaps it recognized what lived inside me now—what I had absorbed.
This was no childish playroom. Maps covered one wall, glowing lines tracing the wizarding and Muggle networks of Britain. Piles of books—transfiguration, curse-craft, ancient law—rose beside a table cluttered with parchment. House-elf reports waited for my review; every day our influence grew wider.
"Status report," I said quietly.
Minzy appeared with a soft pop, bowing low. "The lower chambers are complete, Mistress. The wards now reach the old boundary of the Potter estate. None will find us unless you wish it."
"Good." I twirled the wand between my fingers. The motion calmed me, a steady rhythm against the swirl of thoughts. "This place will be the first stone in the foundation of a new world."
The elf's ears trembled. "A new world, Mistress?"
I smiled. "One where power is used with purpose. Where chaos has order. Where I decide how the story ends."
For a moment the silence stretched, filled only by the faint hum of magic in the walls. Then I stood, the wand catching the light like a living ember.
"I'm still small now," I murmured, "but the world will learn my name soon enough."
The wand thrummed in answer, a pulse of recognition. Beneath Godric's Hollow, the girl once called Harry Potter began to plan her future as the architect of a different age.