June 2nd dawned warm and bright, sunlight spilling across the immaculate lawns of Malfoy Manor. Inside, the air hummed with a quiet tension that came whenever the Malfoys hosted guests. Today, however, there was no grand gala, no glittering ball. Today was for Draco.
It was his birthday. And more than cake or gifts, Draco was waiting for something greater.
All morning, his eyes darted to the high windows of the drawing room, searching the skies for a familiar shadow of wings. Any moment now, an owl would come—an owl bearing his Hogwarts acceptance letter.
"Stop fidgeting," Narcissa murmured as she adjusted the emerald sash on her son's robes. "You look like you're about to leap out of your skin."
Draco scowled lightly. "It's not fidgeting. I'm… preparing. Today's important."
Narsissa gave a soft chuckle. "Indeed it is. Not only your birthday, but the day the world sees the future of House Malfoy. You will hold your head high."
Draco nodded, though his eyes still flicked toward the window.
The guest list had been carefully chosen. Not too many people—just enough to show that Malfoy influence had not waned. But the subtle shift in political winds had made the difference. Since the news spread that the Malfoys were on good terms with Lord Black, the old whispers of decline had vanished. Their alliance with Sirius gave them stability, even respectability, among the more cautious pure-blood families.
So Narcissa had dared to invite old friends once more. And, surprisingly, many came. Familiar faces from Draco's childhood arrived in elegant carriages: the Notts, the Greengrasses, even a few minor families who had once kept their distance.
Draco's old acquaintances, some of whom he had not seen in months, greeted him politely. He puffed out his chest, pleased that they had come to witness his birthday, his acceptance, his future.
Harry and Hermione arrived through the floo, stepping out into the grandeur of the Manor's marble hall. Draco rushed forward to greet them, his usual cool demeanor slipping into a genuine grin.
"You came," he said, relief and pride tangled in his voice.
"Of course we did," Harry replied with a smirk. "Wouldn't miss it." He cast a glance around the polished room with its gilded frames and towering ceilings. "You know, Hermione… you might be the first Muggleborn ever to set foot in Malfoy Manor."
Hermione stiffened for a second, clutching the hem of her robes. "Really?"
"Really," Harry said softly. "And that makes today even more important."
Hermione lifted her chin, eyes flashing with quiet determination. "Then I'll make sure I represent us well."
Draco rolled his eyes but there was no malice in it. "Don't be ridiculous. You're here as my friend. That's enough."
The party was intimate yet glittering. Crystal glasses floated on silver trays. A string quartet enchanted with self-playing violins filled the hall with soft music. Children gathered around Draco to offer him small gifts, while the adults murmured politely over politics, the Malfoys' renewed stability, and the presence of Sirius Black himself.
For Sirius was there, standing boldly at Narcissa's side, wine in hand, as though he had never been estranged from the family. His laughter rang loudly, deliberately, daring anyone to challenge his presence.
And where Sirius went, trouble followed.
Severus Snape had come as well—his dark robes billowing as he moved silently through the room. But the moment his eyes found Lily, his expression transformed. His gaze softened, almost reverent, though it soured instantly whenever Sirius drew near her.
Snape spent the better part of the day stealing glances at Lily, his face flickering between longing and bitterness.
Sirius, of course, noticed.
"Merlin's beard," Sirius whispered to Harry at one point, grinning wickedly, "I think Snape might drown if he stares any harder at your mum. Look at him, poor sod."
Harry frowned, embarrassed. "Don't make a scene."
But Sirius was already chuckling, raising his glass in a mock toast across the room, earning himself a murderous scowl from the Potions Master.
Lily, caught in the middle, gave a long-suffering sigh. "Some things never change," she muttered, though her cheeks tinged pink.
As the hours passed, Draco's restlessness grew. Every knock at the door, every sound of wings outside the window, made him stiffen. But at last, as the clock chimed noon, a sleek barn owl swooped through the open window.
Draco's heart leapt. The letter, sealed with the crest of Hogwarts, dropped neatly into his hands.
He broke the wax seal with trembling fingers and read aloud, his voice carrying across the hall:
"Dear Mr. Malfoy,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"
The guests applauded, Narcissa dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, and Draco smiled with rare pride. Even Sirius, though he joked about it, clapped Draco on the back.
"Well, you're official now," Sirius teased. "Try not to hex too many first years on your first day."
Draco smirked, clutching the letter tightly to his chest. This—this was the moment he had been waiting for.
And surrounded by friends and family, with political stability restored and his future bright, Draco Malfoy's eleventh birthday became the true beginning of his journey.
When the last toast had been made and the final notes of the quartet faded into silence, the celebration wound down. Guests began to filter out of Malfoy Manor, carriages creaking along the gravel paths beneath the evening sky.
Draco, still holding his Hogwarts letter close, was flushed with pride and excitement. But the moment Harry and Hermione approached him, his expression softened.
"We've got something for you," Hermione said, her voice bright as she pulled a neatly wrapped package from her bag. "I spent a long time choosing this."
Draco tore away the paper carefully, revealing a thick tome bound in deep green leather. Gold lettering across the front read: "Advanced Enchanting for the Modern Wizard."
Draco's eyes widened. "This—this is brilliant!" He flipped through the pages, his grin widening at the intricate diagrams and complex rune chains. "Some of these I've only seen referenced in passing. This is proper, Hermione."
Harry then stepped forward, holding two slim volumes under his arm. "And from me… something different." He handed them over, one book thick with strange diagrams and symbols of circuits, the other covered in runic inscriptions that hummed faintly with magic.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Muggle books?"
Harry smirked. "Not just Muggle books. That one explains how computers work—every function, every component. If you want to replace electronics with runes, you need to know what the Muggles built first. And the other… well, it's an old text on ancient runes. Consider it inspiration."
For a long moment, Draco said nothing. Then he looked between them and tucked the books against his chest. "These are perfect. Thank you—both of you."
Hermione smiled warmly, but Harry's expression shifted, his eyes flicking around the hall where the remaining pure-blood guests still lingered. The air was thick with whispers.
"Come on, Hermione," Harry said finally. "Time for us to go."
Hermione hesitated. "But—"
"No buts," Harry muttered. "I've had enough of pure-blood balls to last a lifetime. Boring doesn't even begin to cover it."
Hermione bit her lip but nodded. Truth be told, she had been growing restless as well. Few of Draco's old acquaintances had spoken to her beyond polite nods, and more than a few had stared openly, their expressions curling with disdain.
Draco noticed too. "Ignore them," he said quickly, his voice edged with frustration. "They don't understand. They don't matter."
But Hermione's temper was not as easily soothed. "They do matter, Draco. They matter because their prejudice makes it harder for me to stand here without wanting to hex them all." Her cheeks flushed red. "And I'm not going to apologize for existing."
Harry laid a hand on her arm gently. "Hermione. Let it go—for tonight. You've already proven you're better than any of them."
She took a deep breath, calming herself, though her eyes still burned. "Fine. But if one more person looks at me like I don't belong, I won't hold my tongue."
Draco gave a rueful smile. "That's what I like about you, Granger. You don't back down."
With that, Harry and Hermione took their leave, stepping through the floo with gifts exchanged, tempers cooled, and a quiet promise lingering unspoken: whatever the pure-blood world thought of them, their friendship would endure.
Draco stood watching the flames die, his fingers tightening around the books they had given him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the runes and diagrams already began to weave together, hinting at the future they would build.
The week after Draco's birthday, the study at Highlands Manor was once again cluttered with scraps of parchment, half-finished rune stones, and diagrams of enchanted lenses. Draco, Hermione, and Harry had thrown themselves into designing their new magical camera and projector, but the more complex their sketches became, the more the atmosphere thickened with frustration.
Hermione groaned as she erased yet another line of runes from her parchment. "This won't stabilize. No matter how many amplification arrays I draw, the energy flow collapses after three minutes. It's maddening."
Draco slammed a quill down onto the desk. "We're going in circles! Every time we fix one problem, three more appear. Maybe it's impossible to make this work on a scale big enough for broadcasts."
Harry leaned back in his chair, arms folded, studying them both. His eyes were sharp but calm. "Nothing's impossible. But maybe we're climbing too fast. The wizarding world isn't ready for all of this—not yet."
Before Hermione could argue, Sirius strolled into the study, a glass of firewhisky in hand and a grin tugging at his lips. "Well, isn't this a gloomy little workshop? You three look like you've been locked in here for a month."
"We're trying to build a magical broadcast system," Draco snapped.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Broadcast system? For what?"
"For everything," Hermione said quickly. "Quidditch, lessons, magical news—imagine if every household had a way to see events as they happened! It would change wizarding society completely."
Sirius chuckled, swirling his drink. "And how many households in this world do you think are ready to invite moving pictures into their parlors? You're forgetting something: wizards hate change. They barely accept enchanted clocks and self-cleaning kettles. You drop a magical television into their laps and they'll hex it to dust before they watch it."
Hermione frowned. "But Muggles adjusted—"
"Muggles adjusted slowly," Sirius interrupted, his tone suddenly more serious. "First, there were theaters. People went to one place to see moving pictures together. They shared the experience. That made it exciting, magical in its own right. Only later did Muggles invent televisions to bring it into every home. You three are skipping the first step."
Draco tilted his head, interest flickering across his face. "So you're saying… before we build a broadcast network, we should build a theater."
"Exactly," Sirius said, slapping his palm on the desk. "Start small. Make the wizarding world fall in love with the idea of movies first. Build a magical theater in Diagon Alley. Fill it with charm, wonder, and stories about our world—our heroes, our legends. Let wizards and witches see their own history unfold on a screen. That'll catch fire faster than any network."
Harry leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. "You mean actually make magical movies? Shoot them like stories?"
Sirius grinned. "Why not? You've got the camera, don't you? You can film stories about Merlin, Morgana, Godric Gryffindor, battles long past—make them live again. Wizards will pay a fortune to see their ancestors brought to life." He paused, then added, "And once they're hooked, you can expand. Quidditch matches, dueling tournaments—live broadcasts in the theater. But not yet. Step by step."
Hermione's eyes lit up. "That… makes sense. It would be less complicated than trying to deliver broadcasts directly to every home."
Draco, who had been sulking minutes before, suddenly looked thrilled. "A theater in Diagon Alley," he said, almost reverently. "Our theater. Imagine it—the Malfoy name attached to the greatest magical invention since broomsticks!"
Harry smirked. "You mean our theater. Don't get greedy, Draco."
Draco flushed but didn't deny it.
Sirius raised his glass in a mock toast. "There you go. Finally, some sense. Forget throwing yourselves against a mountain—you need to climb the hill first. Build your theater, and I promise, every witch and wizard from London to Hogsmeade will line up to see what you've created."
For the first time in weeks, the three young inventors looked at each other not with frustration but with excitement.
Hermione snatched up her quill again. "We'll need a proper plan. Construction charms, seating arrangements, sound enchantments—"
Draco was already scribbling sketches of a grand building with domed ceilings and enchanted chandeliers. "It has to be bigger than the Leaky Cauldron, something that draws the eye the moment you step into Diagon Alley."
Harry leaned back with a small, rare smile. "And once it's built, we'll give them something they've never seen before."
The future no longer seemed overwhelming. With Sirius's suggestion, it felt achievable. The wizarding world's first magical theater—an idea so simple, yet so revolutionary, that it could change everything.
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