Harry woke to quiet.
Not the comfortable, lived-in quiet of the city—distant footsteps, muted laughter, the hum of layered enchantments—but something deeper. The kind of silence that came from having nothing urgent pressing against his awareness.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, magical senses spread thin across the city out of habit.
Ten days.
Ten days inside the dimension.
Which meant—he did the conversion lazily in his head—roughly twelve hours outside.
He exhaled through his nose and pushed himself upright.
"I'm bored," he said to the empty room.
It wasn't dissatisfaction. He'd enjoyed the rest. Truly. Sleeping without guilt. Cooking without pressure. Watching the city thrive without needing him to intervene every five minutes. The fair was running itself now. Students had found their rhythm. The professors had stopped hovering and started living.
Even in his so-called time off, things had… happened.
The mountains were done.
Not ornamental peaks or dramatic spires, but a proper range—snow-capped, wind-carved, geologically sensible. Stone layered over stone, pressure lines that made sense, slopes that would one day channel meltwater exactly where it was needed. He'd finished those almost absent-mindedly, the way one might finish a puzzle while half-asleep.
The lake was coming along too. The basin was complete. The shelves were right. The depths were right. He hadn't introduced water yet—not really. That part needed patience. Layers. Life introduced in sequence, not dumped all at once like an afterthought.
Strictly speaking, he hadn't done nothing.
But he hadn't done anything new.
Harry rolled his shoulders, slid out of bed, and stretched. His magic felt… settled. Full. Quietly humming, like an engine idling perfectly.
That was when the idea surfaced properly.
Not with fanfare. Just a nudge.
Moonstone Dunvegan.
He paused mid-stretch.
"…Huh."
The castle had always been a compromise. Old wards patched over older ones. Architecture that had grown by necessity rather than design. Defensive magic layered so thick in some places that it choked itself, while other sections were held together by tradition and stubbornness.
What would it look like, he wondered, if it wasn't a compromise?
What would happen if he gave it the same treatment as the city—not fantasy or futurism, but coherence? Systems that talked to each other. Magic that flowed instead of clashed. Spaces that adapted rather than resisted.
And then there was the other thought.
Time dilation.
Harry sat on the edge of the bed, eyes unfocusing slightly as calculations sparked and faded.
Encapsulating a structure in localized dilation wasn't new in theory. People had talked about it for decades. Everyone agreed it was possible in principle.
No one had actually done it.
Mostly because the math was a nightmare. Mostly because the margin for error was catastrophic. And mostly because no one sane wanted to test it on something they lived in. Moreover, it wasn't just the math that was a nightmare, it was the entire process of encapsulating the castle with a time dilation that was stable. Nothing short of an impossible thought.
He himself only thought about the idea, but he had absolutely no clue as to how to get it done. But well he could figure it out.
Harry smiled faintly.
"I don't even know if it'll work," he muttered. "Which is reason enough to try."
He stood up, dressed quickly, and paused at the window. He could obviously get food and stuff back home, since he was already going there.
The city outside glowed softly, wrapped in artificial dawn. Streets rearranged themselves gently for foot traffic. Somewhere, a shop opened. Somewhere else, someone was still awake, laughing.
It was good.
It would be fine without him for a while.
Harry turned away and went down his building, heading straight for the portal. He had left a note in his room for anyone that might stumble into it, expecting him, but he was done with the peace.
The transition was smooth, as always. One step through the gateway landed him in the Great Hall and Harry slowly made his way towards the Owlery.
Just as he was sure no one was watching him, he disapparated straight to Moonstone Dunvegan.
Moonstone Dunvegan answered his arrival with a soft hum of recognition.
Harry appeared in the living hall and stopped.
Bellatrix was seated on one of the long sofas, legs crossed elegantly, a teacup balanced in her hand. Across from her sat Emma, leaning forward slightly, elbows on her knees, listening with the kind of relaxed interest that suggested this was not a first conversation.
They were laughing.
Not loudly. Not theatrically. Just… comfortably.
Both looked up at the same time.
"Well," Bellatrix drawled, eyes brightening, "if it isn't my favorite menace to reality."
Emma smiled. "You're back early."
Harry blinked once. Then twice.
"…Since when are you two this close?"
Bellatrix lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. "Since she decided I was a person instead of a poorly disguised bomb."
Emma snorted. "You say that like it's unreasonable."
Bellatrix smirked, then sobered just a fraction. "Most people aren't cruel. But they are careful. Always waiting. Watching. As if I might… relapse to something I don't even remember."
She tapped a finger against her cup. "Emma doesn't do that."
Harry studied them for a moment longer, then nodded.
"That tracks," he said simply.
Bellatrix raised a brow. "That's it? No interrogation?"
"No?" Harry replied. "What for?"
He paused, then added lightly, "Give it time. The others will get there too. You're not a ticking curse, Aunt Bella."
Something unreadable flickered across Bellatrix's face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She just nodded and took a drag from her cup.
Emma stood. "So what dragged you back from your pocket utopia?"
"Idea" Harry said. "A bad one. Possibly brilliant."
Bellatrix grinned. "Ah. One of those."
Harry glanced around the hall. "I'm going to need the castle empty."
Emma blinked. "Empty?"
"Completely," he confirmed. "For a few hours."
Bellatrix set her cup down slowly. "You're about to do something structurally irresponsible, aren't you?"
"Yes."
She laughed and rose to her feet. "Where do you want us?"
"Anywhere else," Harry said. "Dursley, Greengrass, Parkinson, Weasley, Lovegood, Tonks, Granger—pick one. Just not here."
Emma hesitated. "Harry—"
"I'll be fine," he said gently. "This is experimental, not suicidal."
Bellatrix gave him a look. "That distinction has not historically stopped you."
"Still applies," he replied. He then turned towards the hall, and called out. "Loppy!!!"
The air popped and Loppy appeared bowing to him.
"Master Harry called?" Loppy asked proudly.
Harry pulled a pouch from his pocket and expanded it with a flick of his wrist. Gold clinked softly inside.
"I'm renovating the castle," he said handing the pouch to him. "You are to round up all the elves and go somewhere for a few hours. Go outside, eat and shop. Do whatever you like. This is not an emergency. Just remember to bring back a few sacks of various seeds when you are back."
Loppy stared into the pouch.
Then he looked up at Harry.
Then back at the pouch.
His ears began to tremble.
"Master Harry is giving… free hours?" he asked very carefully, as if the words themselves might explode.
"Yes," Harry said. "All of you."
Loppy's eyes filled instantly.
"Master Harry is the greatest master any elf has ever had," he declared with absolute certainty. "Loppy will make sure every elf is gone and having a wonderful time and also will bring back the very best seeds. The rare ones. The interesting ones."
"That would be ideal," Harry replied.
With a sharp crack, Loppy vanished.
Then another crack.
And another.
Elves began appearing briefly in the hall only to vanish again moments later, spreading the message with astonishing efficiency. Within seconds, the castle felt… lighter. The subtle hum of domestic magic thinned as bindings relaxed and routines unraveled.
Bellatrix watched it all with a crooked smile.
"You realize," she said, "that you have just created thirty of the happiest creatures in Britain."
Harry shrugged. "Why shouldn't they be? They are living beings as well."
Emma laughed softly and shook her head. "You're going to be the reason half of magical Britain needs to rethink how it treats house-elves."
"Good," Harry said.
Bellatrix picked up her cup again and drained it, then stood. "Alright then. I'll take Emma to the Diagon Alley and then we'll head over to the Muggle World."
Harry nodded, "Don't forget the Glamours spell."
"I won't," Bellatrix said smoothly, already reaching for Emma's arm.
Bellatrix paused before apparating and looked back at Harry. Her expression was casual, but her voice was not.
"Try not to break yourself."
Harry met her gaze evenly. "I won't."
That seemed to satisfy her. Without a single sound, both women vanished.
Silence settled over Moonstone Dunvegan.
Not the gentle quiet of rest, but the heavy stillness of a place holding its breath.
Harry walked through the living hall, then the corridors beyond, letting his magic unfurl fully. He felt the castle respond as it always did. Ancient wards stirred. Defensive layers tightened. Recognition pulsed through stone and spell alike. No one was inside.
At the front doors, he stopped.
With a thought, he sealed the castle.
Not locked.
Isolated.
Any attempt to enter would simply fail to resolve. Space would slide. Intention would blur. Visitors would find themselves elsewhere, never realizing they had been redirected.
Harry stepped outside.
The wind off the sea was sharp, carrying salt and cold. Moonstone Dunvegan rose behind him, it's silhouette harsh against the evening sky. Centuries of magic pressed outward from its walls, overlapping, contradicting, compensating.
He closed his eyes and sighed. He knew this was complete madness because he was going to be actually messing with a place people had been living in already. Moreover, it was for an idea that he hadn't even theorized properly.
"I'm becoming Dumbledore..."
With that Elythral appeared in his hand and his magic spread to cover the entire castle. He raised his hand to change what lied in front of him.
Several hours later, around 11 pm, everyone returned.
Bellatrix and Emma had already updated them about the 'idea' of Harry's and they returned expecting new stone.
But they arrived into light.
The apparation resolved inside what should have been the old living hall of Moonstone Dunvegan. Instead, they found themselves standing in a vast, open chamber formed of pale crystalline material that seemed both solid and luminous. The floor was smooth and faintly translucent, veins of silver light beneath its surface like slow lightning trapped under glass.
No chandeliers.
No torches.
No visible source of illumination at all.
The walls curved upward in elegant arcs, dissolving into a vaulted ceiling that looked less constructed and more grown. Lines of intricate script ran along the surfaces shifting subtly as though recalibrating in response to their presence.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Petunia turned in a slow circle. "This is not the Potter's living room."
Sirius stared at a floating platform that drifted gently across the chamber, carrying what appeared to be bookshelves and seating arrangements suspended midair. "I don't believe this is anyone's living room."
Dan took a cautious step forward. His shoe made no sound on the floor. "This looks like a science fiction film set."
Emma nodded faintly. "Not film. Concept art. Futuristic habitation designs. Sustainable arcologies."
Sirius barked a laugh that held no real humor. "You're telling me my godson turned our castle into a muggle fantasy?"
Bellatrix stepped forward, her boots clicking once before the sound was absorbed entirely by the floor. "This is not muggle," she said softly. "This is pure magic."
It was everywhere.
Not layered on top of architecture.
Integrated into it.
The walls were spells. The air hummed with contained power. Pathways formed and retracted along the chamber's periphery as if anticipating movement. Far above, bridges of light connected upper levels that should not have existed within the spatial confines of the old structure.
And yet it did not feel cramped.
If anything, it felt… expansive.
Molly swallowed. "Where are the stairs?"
As if in answer, a section of the floor ahead of her shimmered and rose into a gently curving ramp of transparent energy.
Percival Parkinson let out a slow breath. "Spatial expansion."
Edmund Greengrass nodded grimly. "Extensive."
On a nearby surface, several small, transparent glass slabs rested neatly in a recessed alcove. Amaryllis reached one first.
The moment her fingers touched it, the slab activated.
A three-dimensional projection rose from its surface, rotating slowly. It was a complete model of the structure they stood in. Layers could be peeled back. Wings highlighted. Sections labeled.
Her breath caught.
"This isn't just a house," she whispered.
One by one, the others picked up their own slabs.
The projections revealed something staggering.
Multiple residential wings, each restructured and expanded. Training halls larger than Hogwarts' Great Hall. A library that spiraled vertically through five levels. Indoor gardens. Aquatic sections.
And beyond the primary structure, further nodes.
Arthur zoomed outward on the projection and nearly dropped the slab.
"There's… more?"
Dan adjusted his angle and enlarged the outer perimeter.
"Oh my God."
The hologram shifted, revealing the full estate.
It was no longer a single grounded castle.
It was an elevated central structure, suspended roughly a hundred feet above the cliffs, supported by immense curved arches of pale silver-blue energy. Beneath and around it spread a vast, interconnected network of grounds and facilities extending across the landscape like a small town built with impossible symmetry.
Swimming complexes that fed into natural-looking waterfalls cascading from the elevated structure. A massive water sports arena connected to a clear lake basin shaped with deliberate design. Racing tracks curved along the outer perimeter, complete with elevated viewing galleries and enchanted timing systems. Stadium seating suggested structured competitions.
Multiple Quidditch pitches hovered at varying heights, each encased in subtle containment wards.
Greenhouses. Training fields. Combat arenas. Meditation terraces overlooking the sea. Residential quarters integrated into cliff faces with panoramic views.
It was absurd.
It was magnificent.
It was completely beyond reasonable scale.
Molly sank slowly into a chair that materialized beneath her the moment her knees bent. "He said renovation, right?"
"Yeah, he did..." Emma murmured. "Then he threw us out."
Nymphadora was already scrolling through the map like an excited child. "There's a dueling arena with adjustable terrain settings. Adjustable terrain."
Bill Weasley looked up toward the curving ceiling. "This is warded beyond anything I've ever seen. The structure itself is the ward. It's self-repairing."
Emma turned to Dan and held up her slab, pulling up an image from her phone for comparison. Sleek sci-fi cities. Futuristic arcology towers. Concept designs of floating habitats.
"This," she said quietly to the group, "is the magical equivalent of those."
The others leaned in, studying the images.
Arthur's eyes widened. "You're saying this is like… future housing?"
"Yes," Dan said faintly. "Except this is better."
Sirius ran a hand through his hair. "He tore down centuries of history."
"No," Edmund corrected slowly. "He reinterpreted it."
Pandora looked delighted. "It feels like possibility."
Victor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do any of you understand what this means logistically?"
For a few long moments, they simply stood there, staring at projections.
Holograms were one thing.
Reality was another.
"I want to see outside," Nymphadora said abruptly.
The words had barely left her mouth when the floor responded.
Lines of soft violet light traced themselves outward from beneath her boots, flowing across the crystalline surface in elegant, branching paths. They converged toward one direction of the chamber, forming a clear, luminous trail.
Everyone froze.
Arthur blinked. "Did it just… listen to you?"
The violet lines pulsed once, as if in confirmation.
Sirius gave a low whistle. "Of course it did."
The path extended toward a curved section of the wall that shimmered faintly. As they approached, the wall thinned into transparency, then separated seamlessly into an arched opening. No hinges. No visible mechanism. The material simply parted.
Cool sea air brushed their faces.
They stepped through.
And stopped.
The scale did not translate from the hologram.
Not even close.
They stood on a vast terrace of pale, luminous stone that curved outward like the lip of a colossal crown. The surface beneath their feet was not opaque marble but something finer, something layered with faint veins of light that flowed in quiet patterns.
Beyond the terrace edge, the world dropped away.
Moonstone Dunvegan did not sit on the cliff anymore.
It hovered.
A hundred feet above the coastline, suspended between four immense arched structures that curved upward like ribcage spines of some celestial creature. The arches were etched with moving runic patterns, their surfaces shimmering between solid and translucent as magic coursed through them in slow, controlled pulses.
Below them stretched the entire transformed estate.
Gasps broke the silence.
It was not a castle with grounds.
It was a domain.
Terraced gardens cascaded down from the elevated core, forming layered platforms connected by translucent bridges of violet energy. Waterfalls spilled from the floating structure, but instead of crashing violently below, they curved midair, guided by invisible channels into crystalline basins that fed into a vast artificial lake.
The lake was not ornamental. It was structured for activity. Clear sections partitioned for swimming. Areas shaped for water sports. Docks extended like silver fingers. Boats, enchanted and sleek, rested along the edges.
To the west, a racing circuit carved through the landscape in precise loops and curves, complete with tiered stadium seating. The track itself shimmered faintly, enchanted for speed and safety. Beyond it stood a grand arena with retractable shielding, its interior visible through transparent sections.
Multiple Quidditch pitches hovered at varying heights, suspended on anchored magical platforms. Each pitch was encased in subtle containment wards that glimmered faintly in the air.
Greenhouses sprawled along one slope, their glass domes glowing softly from internal climate systems. Training fields. Meditation platforms that extended out over the sea. Residential clusters integrated into the cliffs with panoramic views.
And everywhere, roads of pure magical energy arced through the air. Semi-transparent pathways in rich violet connected terraces, structures, and grounds. They glowed softly, branching and weaving like a living network.
Molly gripped Arthur's arm.
"It's… enormous."
Arthur could not tear his eyes away. "It's structured. Look at the symmetry. The flow."
Dan took several steps forward to the terrace edge and stared downward. "This is beyond architecture. This is urban design."
Emma nodded slowly. "It's like a floating arcology. A self-contained habitat. Only magical."
Petunia's hand flew to her mouth. "It was a castle."
"It still is," Edmund said quietly. "Just… redefined."
Sirius leaned forward slightly, testing the air. "How are we supposed to get down?"
As if summoned by the question, one of the violet pathways brightened near the terrace edge. It extended outward, thickening and stabilizing. Subtle railings of translucent magic rose along its sides.
Bellatrix laughed softly. "It's waiting."
Tonks stepped forward first again, because of course she did. The moment her foot touched the path, the surface solidified fully beneath her weight. A pleasant warmth traveled up her leg, not intrusive, just anchoring.
The path adjusted its incline and began to move her forward gently, like a smooth, silent escalator made of light.
She let out a delighted sound. "It feels like it's holding me."
Below them, lights began to shift as the structure acknowledged increased occupancy. Sections illuminated more brightly. Distant platforms adjusted angles. Waterfalls shimmered.
Victor stared at the entire expanse, calculating something only he understood.
"This is not a renovation," he muttered.
No one disagreed.
Adorabella Greengrass looked at the arches supporting the floating structure. "Those are not decorative."
"No," Bill said softly. "Those are load-bearing magical constructs. If even one destabilizes—"
"It won't," Ted interrupted quietly, though his expression was tight. "He would not leave if it were unstable."
Pandora tilted her head, watching the way light flowed along the arches. "It feels alive."
Because it did.
The wind moved differently up here. Controlled. Guided. Environmental charms hummed invisibly, maintaining pressure and temperature without suffocating the natural air.
They were not looking at an upgraded castle.
They were looking at a future Harry had decided to build without asking permission.
Adorabella exhaled shakily. "He is twelve."
Sirius gave a helpless laugh. "Not in any way that matters."
Tonks reached the lower platform first and turned in a slow circle, arms spread as if testing balance on a moving ship.
"It's responsive," she called up. "Not just moving. Adjusting."
That was when Bill spotted a subtle marking on the holographic slab in his hand.
"Garage," he read aloud.
Arthur's head snapped up.
Sirius grinned.
Victor looked interested for the first time since the reveal.
The slab pulsed softly in Arthur's palm as if it had sensed his intent. A route highlighted itself, this time not outward but inward, threading through the structure behind them.
The floor lit again.
They followed.
The path curved through corridors that did not feel like corridors. Transparent walls gave glimpses of suspended gardens and internal courtyards. Light filtered in from impossible angles. The architecture was fluid, layered, multi-directional. Stairs existed, but they were optional. Gravity seemed… negotiable.
Eventually, the space opened.
And they stepped into something that did not resemble a garage in any conventional sense.
It was vast.
Not in length alone, but in dimension.
There was no defined floor.
Or rather, there were many.
Cars hung in space like constellations.
Ninety of them.
Sports cars gleaming in aggressive reds and midnight blacks. Long, elegant luxury sedans. Heavy SUVs built like armored beasts. Vintage classics polished to museum perfection. Hyper-modern machines that looked like they belonged on racetracks rather than roads.
Each vehicle was suspended at a different angle. Some horizontal. Some angled diagonally. A few entirely vertical as if parked on invisible walls.
They were not cluttered.
They were displayed.
Soft white light framed each one individually, giving them the presence of curated art pieces.
Arthur whispered, "Good lord."
Sirius stepped forward instinctively toward a low-slung silver sports car positioned at what appeared to be a thirty-degree incline in midair.
Percival moved toward a deep blue luxury model that was standing perfectly upright against what looked like nothing.
And that was when reality tilted.
Not violently.
Not even noticeably.
The moment Sirius crossed an invisible threshold, his orientation adjusted seamlessly. To him, the silver car was now perfectly horizontal, resting on solid ground.
To Percival, the blue luxury car was upright in front of him.
From Arthur's perspective, both Sirius and Percival looked like they were standing at odd angles, one slightly tilted, the other vertical against an invisible plane.
Arthur blinked.
"What," he said slowly, "is happening to gravity?"
Dan stepped forward experimentally toward a matte-black SUV positioned sideways. The moment he approached, the world rotated gently around him. The SUV leveled out. The surface beneath his feet stabilized.
He looked back.
From his vantage point, everyone else now appeared tilted ninety degrees, standing along walls that did not exist.
Emma laughed nervously. "Oh this is going to make physics cry."
Victor walked deliberately toward a dark green performance coupe suspended completely vertical. As he neared it, his perception shifted. The car rotated into proper orientation relative to him. The environment complied.
"Localized gravitational anchoring," Bill murmured. "He's layered fields."
Arthur slowly stepped into the space and felt it happen.
Not a pull.
Not a fall.
Just a recalibration.
He felt perfectly grounded.
No vertigo. No pressure change.
Just a smooth reassignment of down.
Sirius ran a hand along the hood of the silver car and gave a low whistle. "He arranged them like trophies."
"Or like options," Victor corrected quietly.
Molly was still near the entrance, staring at the suspended arrangement with visible concern. "It's safe, yes?"
Arthur pressed his foot more firmly against the surface that was technically a wall from someone else's perspective.
"It feels safer than the driveway at the Burrow."
Bill laughed.
Sirius reached for the door handle of the silver car.
The door opened upward in a smooth arc.
He slid into the driver's seat.
The moment he settled in, the interior lit softly. The dashboard awakened without a key. A violet line appeared ahead of the car, glowing faintly, stretching outward from the nose of the vehicle.
It extended through open space.
Downward.
Outward.
It formed a defined path, curving gracefully through the layered gravitational fields, threading toward an opening that had not been visible before.
The path continued beyond the garage, descending along the floating structure and eventually merging with the main roadway near the estate entrance far below.
Sirius grinned like a child.
"You're telling me it built a launch corridor."
Victor folded his arms, impressed despite himself. "Pre-mapped safe exit trajectory."
The engine purred to life.
There was no exhaust roar. No violent vibration. Just controlled power.
The violet path brightened slightly, signaling readiness.
Sirius glanced around. "Well?"
Molly pointed a stern finger at him. "If you crash into the sea, I am not fishing you out."
Sirius laughed and eased forward.
The car glided off its suspended position smoothly. The gravity around it adjusted seamlessly. The vehicle followed the illuminated path, descending along a graceful curve of energy as if riding a rail made of light.
From the garage vantage, they watched the silver car travel downward through open air, guided and stabilized until it reached the lower roadway. The violet path merged with the estate's main road and dissolved.
Silence filled the garage again.
Arthur exhaled slowly.
"It's not a garage," he said. "It's a three-dimensional transportation matrix."
Percival ran a hand through his hair, staring at the suspended rows. "He reorganized space, gravity, and vehicular access just to because he likes cars?"
Dan looked around, half amused, half overwhelmed. "This is what happens when you give a genius unlimited magical bandwidth."