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The Stormborn - Chapter - 64
🕑 Added 2025-10-24 15:50:26 +0000 UTCBy the next morning, Hogwarts was buzzing louder than a Quidditch stadium on finals day. News had spread like Fiendfyre through the castle: a full-grown mountain troll had broken into the school on Halloween night—and someone had defeated it.
No one knew who.
At breakfast, students crowded around the House tables, whispering excitedly. Theories flew through the air like enchanted letters.
“I heard it was Professor Snape!” a Hufflepuff declared.
“No, no,” argued a Gryffindor third-year. “It must’ve been Dumbledore himself! Who else could knock out a troll easily?”
A Ravenclaw nearby leaned in conspiratorially. “What if it was the troll itself that tripped and hit its own head?”
Hermione and Draco, seated quietly at the end of the Ravenclaw table, tried very hard to look surprised—though their nerves were fraying.
Hermione whispered through clenched teeth, “Don’t look suspicious. Eat your porridge. Just—act normal.”
Draco, pale and wide-eyed, muttered back, “Define normal. We helped hide someone who punched a troll into a wall.”
Hermione’s spoon froze midair. “…Fair point.”
At the staff table, the professors spoke in hushed voices. McGonagall looked stern and worried, Snape’s face was tight with suspicion, and Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled oddly—as though he found the mystery amusing.
“Still no trace of the person responsible?” McGonagall asked in a low voice.
Snape shook his head. “No magical residue. No evidence of a spell. Whoever—or whatever—subdued it did so with pure strength.”
Flitwick looked astonished. “A spell-less subdual? That’s unheard of!”
Dumbledore only smiled faintly. “Unheard of… but not impossible.”
Later that morning, Draco and Hermione were summoned to Professor McGonagall’s office.
They exchanged a quick, nervous glance as they knocked on the door.
“Enter,” came the crisp Scottish voice.
McGonagall sat behind her desk, spectacles glinting, and beside her stood Professor Flitwick, his expression more curious than accusatory.
Draco swallowed hard. “Professor, we didn’t—”
McGonagall raised a hand. “Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, I am not accusing you of anything. But it has come to my attention that you two were not present in the Great Hall during the Halloween feast.”
Hermione straightened, trying to look confident. “Yes, Professor. We were working on our project for Muggle Studies. The… the theater, remember?”
Flitwick nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed, they’ve been enchanting that classroom for weeks.”
McGonagall’s brows knit together. “You were working through the feast?”
Draco quickly nodded. “We lost track of time, Professor. The runes we were stabilizing took longer than expected. We didn’t even realize what time it was until the castle alarms went off.”
Hermione added softly, “We were inside the Muggle Studies room the entire time. Professor Flitwick can verify the enchantment traces if needed.”
McGonagall studied them both for a long moment. Her sharp eyes flicked from Draco’s perfectly calm expression to Hermione’s anxious fidgeting.
Finally, she sighed. “Very well. But do not make a habit of missing feasts for projects. The safety of this castle is no small matter.”
Flitwick smiled reassuringly. “They are bright young minds, Headmistress. A little absentmindedness comes with brilliance.”
McGonagall’s lips twitched in reluctant amusement. “Perhaps.” She turned to them again. “You may go. And twenty points each to Ravenclaw for diligence and academic dedication.”
The two first-years nearly tripped over each other in their hurry to leave.
Once outside the office, Draco exhaled hard. “That… went better than expected.”
Hermione clutched her bag tightly, her voice low. “We can’t tell Harry about this. He’ll love that everyone’s trying to solve the mystery.”
Draco gave a faint smirk. “Oh, you know he’ll find out anyway.”
Hermione groaned softly. “You’re probably right.”
As they walked down the corridor, whispers of “the troll mystery” echoed from passing students. And high above, in the rafters near the moving staircases, a faint glimmer of electricity crackled for just a second—almost like laughter riding on the air.
The weeks that followed the Halloween chaos passed in a blur of excitement, work, and secrecy. The mysterious troll incident still lingered in whispers across the school, but soon, something else entirely took hold of Hogwarts’ attention—the creation of the first-ever Magical Theater.
Draco and Hermione worked tirelessly. Between classes, meals, and even late evenings, they could be found inside the enchanted room that now looked nothing like a classroom. Curtains floated in midair, benches rearranged themselves with a single wave, and the enormous television-turned-screen shimmered with soft runic light.
But they weren’t alone anymore.
Under Professor Baggage’s approval, a few of the older students from NEWT-level Ancient Runes joined the project. There was Christopher Pike, a tall seventh-year Ravenclaw who specialized in advanced runic stabilization; Melissa, a sixth-year from Hufflepuff with a knack for sound enchantments; and two Gryffindor upper-years who were eager to help with lighting charms.
The first day they all met, Draco leaned over to Hermione and whispered, “They’re all older than us. Think they’ll listen?”
Hermione had grinned confidently. “If they know what’s good for the project, they will.”
And to everyone’s surprise—they did.
When Hermione began explaining the theory behind Muggle electricity and how they were replicating it through runic energy channels, even Christopher Pike—who prided himself on being one of the best in Arithmancy—took notes.
“Brilliant,” he muttered as Hermione traced runes on the chalkboard. “You’re not just translating power; you’re restructuring it magically.”
Draco smirked from the corner. “Told you she’s a genius.”
Hermione flushed slightly but continued, “We’re integrating an amplification rune along the core line, so the sound doesn’t distort. The Muggle device uses circuits—ours will use enchanted conduits. It’s similar, only cleaner and self-sustaining.”
Even the upper-years nodded with respect. By the end of the week, most of them had started calling her “Professor Granger” jokingly.
The theater became the talk of the entire castle.
Curious students of all years sneaked down the corridors during their free hours, hoping to catch a glimpse. First-years and second-years peered through the slightly open doors; older students stood on tiptoe to see the glowing screen flicker during testing.
“Merlin’s beard, look at that!” one third-year whispered as the enchanted lights shifted from blue to gold. “They’re actually making moving pictures!”
Even Peeves tried to get in, floating upside down above the door. He poked his head through once, got zapped by a stray stabilizing rune, and left screaming something about “Muggle devil boxes.”
Within days, Hogwarts was alive with rumors—not about trolls or duels, but about the new theater.
Professor Charity Baggage couldn’t stop smiling. Every morning, her mailbox was overflowing with requests. “It’s remarkable!” she told Hermione and Draco one afternoon. “Since word spread, the number of students signing up for Muggle Studies has tripled!”
Draco grinned proudly. “Well, of course. Who wouldn’t want to learn about the world that makes this possible?” He gestured at the glowing room, where enchanted speakers hummed softly as they tested the sound clarity.
Charity laughed. “If you two keep this up, the Ministry might have to update the curriculum just to keep up with you!”
Hermione blushed under the praise but smiled. “We just want people to see how creative the Muggle world really is.”
“And how profitable,” Draco added slyly, earning himself an elbow in the ribs.
That evening, as the older students packed up their parchment and testing tools, Christopher Pike paused by Hermione. “You know, Granger,” he said with a grin, “I’ve taken NEWT-level runes for two years, and I learned more from you in three weeks than from any textbook.”
Hermione blinked in surprise. “Oh—I don’t know about that—”
“No, he’s right,” Melissa chimed in. “You and Malfoy… you make a good team. We’re lucky to be part of this.”
Draco smiled faintly, pride flickering across his face. “Wait till you see it finished. This isn’t just going to change Hogwarts—it’s going to change how the wizarding world sees Muggles.”
As the last of the helpers left, Hermione stood before the massive screen, watching the soft glow of runes pulsing in rhythm. For the first time, Hogwarts was no longer a place of just wands and parchment—it was a place of invention, of bridges between worlds.
She smiled. “Imagine what Harry would say if he saw this.”
Draco chuckled. “He’d probably ask if he could buy it.”
And as they extinguished the torches and stepped out into the dim hallway, the echoes of their laughter joined the quiet hum of magic still pulsing within the room—a promise that something extraordinary was coming soon.
Every Sunday, as promised, Draco and Hermione met Harry in the Shrieking Shack. Those meetings had become their secret ritual — a blend of laughter, planning, and whispered dreams about what their future inventions could bring to the wizarding world.
But lately, Harry’s mind was elsewhere. He spoke endlessly about the armor — the magnificent gift he was forging for Odin himself.
“It’s almost done,” Harry said proudly one Sunday afternoon, his hands glinting faintly with runic light as he adjusted a small fragment of Uru metal hovering in midair. “I’ve enchanted every plate to respond to Allfather’s energy signature alone. Once I finish the final seal, it’ll be unbreakable.”
Hermione couldn’t help but smile, even if she didn’t understand half of what he said. “You’ve been working on that for weeks now. Odin must be proud.”
Harry chuckled. “He hasn’t seen it yet. But he will.” Then, his grin turned boyish. “Though, to be honest, I’m more excited about something else.”
Draco sighed. “Let me guess—the Cerberus.”
Harry’s eyes gleamed. “Exactly! When can we go see him again? I swear he will recognize me from last time!”
Hermione folded her arms. “Harry, you can’t just visit a Cerberus like it’s a petting zoo!”
Harry pouted dramatically. “You say that, but he likes me.”
Draco groaned. “He’ll like you even more if you bring him home and let him destroy half the Highlands Manor, I’m sure.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “We’ll… figure something out. Just stop talking about kidnapping the school’s guard dog.”
But both of them knew Harry well enough to realize he wasn’t joking. If left unchecked, he might very well try it.
So, the next day after classes, they walked down to Hagrid’s hut with a purpose.
The autumn wind was crisp, carrying the smell of pumpkin stew and freshly cut grass. Smoke drifted lazily from Hagrid’s chimney, and when they knocked, the door swung open to reveal the half-giant beaming from ear to ear.
“Well, if it isn’t me favorite Ravenclaws!” Hagrid boomed cheerfully. “Come in, come in! I was jus’ makin’ lunch.”
The warm, homey smell of roasted meat and herbs filled the hut. On the table sat a small television, faintly humming with color.
“Been watchin’ one o’ them Muggle cookin’ shows!” Hagrid said proudly. “Figured I’d try somethin’ meself. Made this stew accordin’ to what the lady on telly said.”
He ladled steaming portions into wooden bowls and handed them out. Draco eyed his suspiciously, but after a cautious spoonful, his eyebrows rose.
“This is… actually good!”
Hagrid puffed out his chest, delighted. “Aye! I’m learnin’. Those Muggles sure know how to cook a proper meal. Don’ taste like burnt dragon liver, does it?”
Hermione laughed, surprised by how neat and clean the hut looked — no crossbows on the floor, no muddy footprints, even Fang’s fur had been brushed. The television, she realized, had transformed Hagrid’s life in more ways than one.
Once the meal was finished, Draco cleared his throat. “Actually, Hagrid, we came to ask you for a favor.”
“Favor, eh?” Hagrid said, settling down into his oversized chair. “What sort o’ favor?”
Hermione exchanged a nervous glance with Draco before saying carefully, “It’s… about a friend of ours. He’s very interested in magical creatures. Especially… um… Cerberuses.”
Hagrid’s eyes twinkled immediately. “Ah, bless ‘im! Good lad! Nothin’ wrong with likin’ a fine beast like that. I ‘ad one meself years ago — Fluffy. Best guard dog I ever ‘ad.”
Draco smiled, encouraged. “Right. Well, this friend—”
“Harry Potter,” Hermione interrupted gently, knowing full well that hiding the name would only make things harder later.
At once, Hagrid’s face split into a wide grin. “Harry! O’ course! Shoulda guessed. He’s got that look o’ someone who’d get along with a Cerberus, that one.”
Draco muttered, “You’ve got no idea.”
Hermione continued, “We were wondering if… maybe… there’s a way to, um, get him one. Not a big one! Just a cub. He really, really likes them.”
Hagrid leaned back, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “A Cerberus pup, eh? Not easy, that. Rare creatures, and the Ministry’s got rules ‘bout importin’ ‘em. But…”
Draco and Hermione leaned forward. “But?”
“I know some folks,” Hagrid said at last with a sly grin. “Old friends in Greece, keepers o’ magical beasts. They sometimes get litters from the underworld herders. I could write to ‘em, see if there’s a pup needin’ a good home.”
Hermione’s face brightened. “Really?”
Hagrid nodded. “Aye. Might take some time, though. They ain’t exactly common, yeh know. But if it’s for Harry Potter, I’ll make sure it’s done right.”
Draco smiled. “Thank you, Hagrid. He’s going to be thrilled.”
“Don’ mention it!” Hagrid said, already rummaging for parchment and quill. “Always happy to help that boy. Been meanin’ to thank ‘im meself fer what he did.”
As they left the hut, the autumn wind ruffled their robes, and Draco said quietly, “Well, that’s done. Now let’s hope he doesn’t try to break into the third floor again before the pup arrives.”
Hermione sighed but smiled. “You know Harry. He’ll probably try anyway.”
Draco chuckled. “Then I suppose it’s our job to keep him alive until then.”
They shared a knowing look, both amused and exasperated — because being friends with Harry Potter meant living halfway between brilliance and disaster every single day.
