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The Stormborn - Chapter - 59
🕑 Added 2025-10-11 15:54:34 +0000 UTCThe week after Hagrid received his television, the atmosphere in the Shrieking Shack turned electric.
Hermione and Draco were hardly sleeping. Parchments covered every surface—filled with complex rune diagrams, energy-flow formulas, and sketches of shimmering light circles.
Draco sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by glowing rune circles. His silver-blond hair was a mess, and a thin sheen of sweat clung to his forehead.
“Hand me the seventh rune plate!” he called.
Hermione, who was balancing an open book titled Runic Energies and Elemental Pathways, rummaged through their supplies. “You mean the one with the memory loop or the one that regulates projection?”
“The loop one!” Draco snapped, then immediately softened. “Sorry—just hurry, before the current fades.”
Hermione passed him the thin golden plate etched with flowing symbols. Draco pressed it onto the glowing circle, and the air shimmered with soft blue light.
“Alright,” Hermione said, eyes gleaming. “Now the waterstone.”
The “memory blocks” they’d designed were small, translucent blue crystals shaped like flattened discs. They pulsed faintly with magical energy—waterstones, they called them—naturally attuned to memory and reflection.
Draco placed one into the circle and stepped back. “Okay, moment of truth.”
Hermione’s heart raced. “Are you sure it’s stable this time?”
Draco smirked. “Only one way to find out.”
He flicked his wand, and the runes came alive. The blue glow brightened, connecting the memory stone to the massive slab of enchanted glass standing nearby—their prototype “computer.”
At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, ripples of light spread across the glass, like water disturbed by a pebble. Shapes began to form—first blurry, then clear.
Hermione gasped. “It’s working!”
Draco stepped forward, his voice trembling with disbelief. “We’re… we’re seeing the footage!”
The glass display showed a vivid, moving image—the one stored in the memory stone. It was a recording of Hagrid laughing as Fang rolled in the dirt outside his hut, sunlight glinting off his beard. The image was sharp, alive, real.
Hermione pressed her fingers against the glass, which rippled like liquid beneath her touch. “It’s… it’s just like a Pensieve, but visible—controllable!”
“Exactly,” Draco said proudly. “No need to dive into memories anymore. The rune circle transfers the waterstone’s contents directly into the glass.”
Hermione laughed, unable to contain her joy. “Draco, this isn’t just an milestone—this is revolutionary!”
Draco leaned against the table, pretending to look casual but failing to hide his grin. “We did it, Granger. We actually did it.”
The rest of the day was a blur of excitement. They tested again and again—recording small moments into different waterstones, inserting them into the rune circle, and watching as the enchanted glass displayed every memory perfectly.
When Harry arrived later than usual, he found the two of them dancing around the glowing glass, laughing like mad scientists.
“What did I miss?” Harry asked, removing his invisibility cloak.
Hermione turned, practically glowing. “We did it, Harry! We’ve created the world’s first magical computer prototype!”
Draco added smugly, “And a runic interface that can project footage directly into light.”
Harry raised a brow. “You’re telling me… you’ve already succeeded?”
“Exactly!” Hermione beamed. “A video player! Imagine—one day, people could record anything they see and replay it anywhere.”
Harry stared at the glowing glass as it replayed Hagrid’s laughter, shimmering like a living portrait. Slowly, a grin spread across his face.
“Looks like our magical theater just got an upgrade,” he said softly.
The three of them stood there in the light of their invention, unaware that what they’d just created would one day change the wizarding world forever.
As Draco played the video over and over and tinkering the computer, something in the projected footage caught Harry's eye—a flickering image of Hagrid’s hut, its cozy fireplace, and, unmistakably, a large black box sitting in the corner.
Harry frowned. “Wait a second. Pause that.”
Hermione tapped her wand against the rune circle, freezing the image. On the glass screen, Hagrid sat in his oversized chair, snoring softly as strange moving pictures danced across a glowing screen in front of him.
Harry leaned closer, incredulous. “Is that… a television?!”
Draco grinned proudly. “Indeed it is. Our little side project. We rigged it up with an antenna—works even with strong magical ward interference. The runes channel air and sound like conductors.”
Hermione folded her arms, her tone half-proud, half-exasperated. “It took us two weeks, five blown circuits, and one terrified house elf before it started working properly.”
Harry’s eyes widened with excitement. “You put a working television in Hagrid’s hut?”
Draco nodded. “Four channels. BBC One through Four. He loves the animal programs.”
Harry laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s… brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I want one at Highlands Manor.”
Hermione blinked. “You want one?”
“Of course! Highlands feels too quiet sometimes. I want to hear stories and voices in the halls, like Hagrid has now.”
Draco smirked, leaning against the enchanted glass. “Alright then, Potter. I’ll build one for you. Actually—make that two. One for you, one for me. A Malfoy Manor television sounds fitting, don’t you think?”
Harry grinned. “Deal. How long will it take?”
“Two weeks,” Draco said, glancing at Hermione, who nodded reluctantly. “But we’ll need materials—components that can channel both magical and electromagnetic energy. You’ll have to buy them. Muggle stores won’t sell what we need.”
Harry crossed his arms, smirking. “Name it.”
Draco conjured a short list onto a parchment. “Wardstone for batteries, thunder-quartz resonators, two sheets of dragon glass, and a rune-forged converter crystal.”
Harry read the list and whistled. “Expensive taste.”
Draco shrugged, smirking. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You mean Harry is doing it right while you do the enchanting.”
Harry chuckled. “Don’t worry, Hermione. I’ll get everything. Just make sure it doesn’t explode when I turn it on.”
Draco gave a mock bow. “No promises.”
That evening, as they packed their things, Hermione and Draco prepared to head back through the Whomping Willow passage. Harry lingered by the glowing glass display, still marveling at how far they’d come.
“From tinkering with cameras to building magical televisions…” he murmured. “You two are geniuses.”
Hermione smiled softly. “We had a good teacher.”
When they left, Harry stood for a long while in the quiet Shack, the soft hum of the rune-circle still echoing faintly through the air. Then he whispered a spell, opening a swirling portal to the familiar warmth of Highlands Manor.
The manor was peaceful that night. Sirius was out in the garden practicing dueling charms with Remus, while the faint sound of America’s laughter carried from the greenhouse. But Harry didn’t rest.
In his room, he unrolled blueprints—not for televisions or glass computers this time, but for something far greater.
A suit of armor.
Not for Thor—he had already finished that.
This one was for Odin himself.
Harry traced the sketches with his finger, whispering to himself, “For the All-Father… it has to be perfect.”
The forge flame flickered to life once more, its reflection glinting in Harry’s determined green eyes.
And somewhere in Hogwarts, Draco and Hermione began preparing the next great marvel of the wizarding world—while Harry Potter, child of magic and thunder, shaped destiny in the fires of gods.
When Draco and Hermione finally found a break from their endless tinkering, they decided it was time to check on Hagrid. It had been nearly a week since they’d installed the television, and they were curious—no, anxious—to see if it was still working or if Hagrid had accidentally blown it up.
The two Ravenclaws made their way across the grassy slope toward Hagrid’s hut. The sun hung low, bathing the Forbidden Forest in golden light. But as they approached, they stopped short.
The clearing outside the hut was crowded.
Students—Purebloods, Half-bloods, and even a few Muggleborns—were coming and going in small groups, their faces lit with excitement. The air was filled with laughter, chatter, and the faint sound of voices echoing from inside the hut.
Hermione blinked. “Draco… is it just me, or is Hagrid’s hut more crowded than the Great Hall at breakfast?”
Draco smirked. “If it’s broken, it’s putting on quite the performance.”
They squeezed through the throng of students. When they stepped inside, the sight before them left even Hermione speechless.
Hagrid’s hut, usually a quiet and slightly smoky place, now buzzed with life. At least a dozen students sat on the floor or perched on overturned crates, eyes glued to the glowing box in the corner. On the screen, a presenter was talking animatedly about animals—strange, Muggle animals.
And there, in the middle of it all, sat Hagrid, beaming from ear to ear. Beside him sat Professor McGonagall, looking torn between disapproval and fascination. On her other side, Professor Charity Burbage—the Muggle Studies teacher—was positively radiant with excitement, scribbling furious notes on a parchment.
“Hagrid,” McGonagall was saying, “you mean to tell me this contraption is powered without magic at all?”
Hagrid chuckled. “Well, mostly magic now, Professor. Hermione an’ Draco fixed it up ter work here. Ain’t it brilliant?”
“Absolutely extraordinary!” Charity exclaimed. “Imagine the teaching potential—moving images, documentaries, lectures—oh, this changes everything!”
When Hagrid noticed Draco and Hermione by the door, his face lit up. “There yeh are! Come in, come in! Everyone, it’s them! The geniuses what built it!”
All eyes turned toward them. The students burst into applause, and both Hermione and Draco flushed crimson.
Draco coughed, trying to look modest. “Er—thank you.”
Hermione fidgeted with her sleeve. “We just wanted to see if it was still working properly.”
Hagrid laughed heartily. “Workin’? It’s a bleedin’ miracle! I’ve had students comin’ down every evenin’ ter watch. Even Professor McGonagall’s taken a shine ter the animal show!”
“I have not,” McGonagall said quickly, though she didn’t move from her seat. “I was merely ensuring this… device poses no threat to student safety.”
Charity Burbage smiled knowingly. “Of course you were, Minerva.”
A pair of Pureblood seventh-years entered then, whispering to each other. “I can’t believe Muggles made this,” one muttered.
The other folded his arms, trying to sound dismissive. “It’s just… moving portraits, that’s all.”
Hermione heard them and smiled. “Except the portraits don’t show the whole world in motion, or speak about things that happened hours ago.”
The boys exchanged uneasy glances, suddenly less confident.
Draco grinned at Hermione. “You just converted two Purebloods to BBC One.”
She stifled a laugh. “Looks that way.”
After a while, Hagrid ushered them to the front, insisting they explain how it all worked. Draco gestured toward the box with his usual showman’s flair.
“It’s called a television. Think of it as a window that shows stories from far away. The antenna on the roof collects signals—like a net catching sound and light. We run those signals through runes that convert them into magical energy into electrical energy so it works even here.”
Professor Burbage clapped delightedly. “A perfect blend of science and sorcery!”
McGonagall sniffed. “It’s… innovative, I’ll grant you that. Though I expect this will spark chaos if word reaches the Ministry.”
Draco smirked. “Then we’ll just have to make more televisions, won’t we?”
Hagrid roared with laughter, his shoulders shaking. “That’s the spirit, Draco! Yeh’ve made me hut the busiest spot in Hogwarts. Even Fang won’t sleep till the late-night programs end!”
The crowd laughed.
Hermione looked around, her heart swelling. For once, Hogwarts didn’t feel divided by blood or background. Purebloods, Half-bloods, and Muggleborns sat side by side, united by simple wonder at a glowing box of stories.
And she thought, Maybe this is what magic is truly meant for—to bring people together.
By the time the professors managed to usher all the curious students back toward the castle, the sky had turned a soft orange, and the last echoes of laughter faded down the slope. Hagrid stood in the doorway of his hut, watching them leave, a deep warmth filling his enormous chest.
He closed the door gently behind him and turned toward the now–quiet room. The glow of the television still flickered softly in the corner, showing a family of lions prowling across a sunlit savanna. The same picture that had mesmerized an entire crowd just an hour before.
For a moment, Hagrid simply stood there, taking it in—the hum of the machine, the faint ticking of his teapot, the soft snoring of Fang by the hearth. Then he turned to Draco and Hermione, who were still tidying up the chairs and cups left behind.
Without a word, he swept them both up into his massive arms.
“Oi—Hagrid—can’t breathe!” Draco wheezed, his voice muffled against Hagrid’s coat.
“Hagrid, please!” Hermione gasped, laughing even as she tried to wriggle free.
But Hagrid only held them tighter, tears streaming down his broad face. “Bless the both o’ yeh,” he said thickly. “Yeh’ve no idea what yeh’ve done fer me. None.”
Draco blinked in surprise. “We just gave you a television, Hagrid. Hardly—”
But Hagrid shook his shaggy head, releasing them at last. His voice was soft, trembling with emotion. “No, yeh don’t understand. I’ve spent years here… alone mostly. Students don’t come down ‘less they want somethin’. Professors only stop by on business—’cept Dumbledore, o’ course.”
He sniffed loudly, wiping his eyes with one great hand. “But today… today I had a crowd. Laughin’, talkin’, sittin’ by me fire. They weren’t afraid of me voice, or me stories, or me creatures. They just… came.”
Hermione’s eyes softened. “They came because of you, Hagrid. The television might have drawn them in, but you made them stay.”
He smiled through his tears, his beard glistening. “Maybe. But yeh two made it possible. I can’t thank yeh enough.”
Draco awkwardly kicked the floor, embarrassed. “Well… someone had to show Hogwarts that Muggle ideas aren’t all bad.”
Hagrid laughed, a deep booming sound that filled the hut. “A Malfoy sayin’ that—if yer father could hear yeh now, he’d faint straight into a cauldron.”
Hermione giggled. “He’s been saying things like that a lot lately.”
Just then, the kettle began to whistle, and Hagrid quickly busied himself pouring three steaming mugs of tea. “McGonagall an’ Professor Burbage said I’m not ter turn on the telly during class hours—reckon they’re right about that. Students’d never leave.”
Draco smirked. “A Hogwarts revolution caused by BBC Two. Imagine the headlines.”
Hagrid chuckled, setting the mugs down. “Weekdays fer study, weekends fer stories—that’s what they said. Works fine fer me. I’ve got me creatures to tend to anyhow. But I’ll tell yeh, the nights don’t feel half as lonely no more.”
He sat down heavily, looking around his little hut—the flicker of the fire, the hum of the television, the warmth of friendship still lingering in the air. For the first time in many years, the place truly felt like home.
Hermione smiled gently. “We’re glad, Hagrid.”
Draco raised his teacup. “To Hagrid’s hut—the most popular place in Hogwarts.”
Hagrid laughed, clinking his mug against theirs. “To friends—and to this funny little box that made it happen.”
They drank together, the sound of laughter and the faint voice of the television mingling with the crackle of the fire.
Outside, night settled softly over the castle, and the stars shimmered above the Forbidden Forest. Inside the hut, the old half-giant smiled—his heart light, his teapot always boiling, and the company he’d longed for finally found.
