Sirius Black was a man who thrived on spectacle. Once he heard the word theater, something in him lit up like fireworks. The very next evening, he barged into the drawing room of Highlands Manor carrying a stack of Muggle movie reels he had borrowed from a London cinema.
"Remus, you've got to see this!" he cried, shoving a reel into the werewolf's hands.
Remus raised an eyebrow, though his lips twitched with amusement. "Sirius, what on earth are you planning to do with this? We don't even have a projector—"
"We have a projector," Sirius said smugly, jerking his thumb toward Draco's enchanted device in the corner. "And we've got an audience."
Minutes later, the two Marauders sat sprawled on an enchanted sofa, their eyes glued to the flickering wall where scenes of knights and dragons played out in black-and-white glory. Sirius leaned forward like a child at Christmas.
"Look at that!" he exclaimed, pointing at the screen. "Swords clashing, fire-breathing monsters—Merlin's beard, this is brilliant!"
Remus chuckled. "You do realize this is fiction, don't you? Actors, sets, stage tricks."
"Exactly!" Sirius grinned. "That's the point. Imagine us doing the same—but magical! No fake tricks, no painted props. Real spells, real magic. The whole wizarding world will be queuing up to see it."
Remus adjusted his glasses, thoughtful. "So you want to make a magical movie. Something scripted, something staged."
"Not want—will," Sirius declared. "This will be remembered in magical history. The first true wizarding film, written, acted, and directed by Sirius Black!" He leapt to his feet dramatically, raising an imaginary sword. "I'll even star in it. Who better than me to play a great hero? Arthur Pendragon, Merlin's champion—oh, I can see it now!"
Remus shook his head, though a fond smile lingered. "You always did love the spotlight. But… perhaps it's not such a bad idea. If you're serious about this—"
"I'm always Sirius about this!" the man interrupted with a laugh.
Remus sighed but couldn't suppress his own grin. "Then I'll help. Someone needs to write the script properly. I could take the old tales of Merlin, Arthur, Morgana, and shape them into something watchable. Structure, pacing, dialogue. You'll need that if you want people to take it seriously."
Sirius clapped his friend on the shoulder. "That's why I've got you, Moony. You're the quill, I'm the face. Together, we'll make history."
While Sirius and Remus filled parchment with dramatic lines and argued over which legend should be their first great tale, another battle waged across the hall.
Harry, Draco, and Hermione huddled over their workbench, surrounded by shards of enchanted glass and rune-inscribed metal frames.
"This isn't a computer," Draco muttered, frustration lacing his tone. "It's a nightmare."
"It's not meant to be a normal computer," Harry reminded him firmly. "We don't need Muggle keyboards or operating systems. All we need is an editing tool. Something simple enough to cut film, add voice, maybe layer in magical effects."
Hermione tapped her quill against a half-finished rune chain on the glass panel before them. "Simple? Harry, this is incredibly complex. We're replacing circuits with runes that carry sound, light, and memory all at once. Every time I think I've stabilized the array, the energy disperses."
Draco raked a hand through his pale hair. "At least with the projector, we had a model to copy. This—this is like reinventing an entire field of Muggle science using nothing but ink and runes."
Harry's gaze hardened, though his voice stayed calm. "Then that's what we'll do. Piece by piece. No shortcuts. If we want this theater to work, we need editing. We can't rely on Muggle machines—they'd collapse under magic."
Hermione's expression softened at his determination. "You're right. All right, let's try again. If we reroute the rune flow through a focusing crystal, maybe it will stop dispersing."
Together, they bent over the glowing glass panel again. Lines of runes shimmered faintly, sparks of unstable energy flaring at the edges. Harry guided Hermione's hand as she carved a stabilizing glyph with her wand, while Draco adjusted the crystal at the center.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the panel flickered—an image appeared. Blurry, distorted, but recognizable: a still frame of Sirius waving a sword from the movie reel earlier.
"It works!" Draco shouted, his voice echoing through the room.
Hermione squealed with excitement, clutching his arm. "It's not perfect, but it works! The glass is holding the memory!"
Harry allowed himself the faintest of smiles. "First step done. Now we refine it until it can hold hours of footage. Then… we'll edit our own magical movie."
And somewhere in the other room, Sirius's voice bellowed over parchment and laughter:
"Moony, write this down—By my wand and my honor, I will slay the beast! No, no, make it grander—add more adjectives!"
The future of wizarding cinema was being born in chaos, laughter, and runes. And none of them would ever forget these first nights.
The days blurred together at Highlands Manor, filled with sketches, rune-carving, laughter, and the constant hum of Sirius and Remus bickering over their screenplay. Everyone had been so absorbed in their work that time slipped by almost unnoticed—until suddenly it was July 31st.
Harry's birthday.
The manor was transformed overnight. The usually quiet halls rang with music, laughter, and the scent of Andromeda's charmed feast drifting in from the kitchens. Instead of formal decorations, Sirius had insisted on a riot of floating fireworks that spelled Happy Birthday Harry! in glowing sparks across the ceiling.
But what made the day feel different was the company.
Nymphadora Tonks had taken to visiting the manor often that summer. Today, she bounded into the great hall with hair a shocking shade of bubblegum pink, a grin stretching across her face. At her side was Kyle Walker, Harry's longtime friend, his brown hair sticking up worse than Harry's own.
"Oi, birthday boy!" Tonks yelled, shifting her face into a caricature of Harry's, complete with messy hair and green eyes. "See? I don't even need Polyjuice to look like you!"
Harry burst out laughing, shaking his head. "You look ridiculous."
Kyle grinned. "Better than you do most days."
The teasing only made Tonks beam brighter. She darted over to where Sirius was lounging. "So it's true, then? You're making a magical movie? With a real script, real acting?"
Sirius's eyes gleamed. "Not just true—it's history in the making. And lucky for me, I've found my co-star."
"Co-star?" Tonks asked, blinking.
"Yes, you," Sirius said, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "Think about it—your Metamorphmagus gift! You can be anyone. A child, an old man, a queen, a knight, even Morgana herself! You're not just an actress, Dora—you're every actress."
Tonks's jaw dropped, then slowly curled into a grin. "I… could actually do that. Blimey, I could be everyone in the whole story if I wanted!"
Remus chuckled, setting down his quill. "Try not to overwork yourself, Tonks. But yes—you'd be perfect. It takes most actors months to master a role. You could become the role in seconds."
Her eyes glowed with excitement. "Forget being an Auror—I want to do this. I will do this."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "What about catching dark wizards?"
Tonks shrugged, her hair shifting to fiery red. "They can wait. Acting is way more fun."
Kyle chimed in, his face flushed with enthusiasm. "If Dora's acting, then I'm helping too. I might not know runes or any of that brainy stuff you lot are working on, but I can stand in front of a camera and swing a sword."
Sirius leaned back, smug. "See, Harry? We've got a full cast already. The Black family theater is practically ready to open!"
Harry rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. "Just don't turn my birthday into a rehearsal, all right?"
The celebration itself was warm and loud. The great dining hall filled with family and close friends: Lily and Sirius and Remus, Andromeda and Narcissa, even Draco sitting proudly at the table beside Hermione. No outsiders, no politics—just the people who mattered.
Gifts piled high. Tonks gave Harry a self-charmed Sneakoscope that whistled a tune instead of shrieking. Kyle handed him a magical cloak. Hermione, true to form, had bought him a thick journal with rune-etched pages for his magical research. Sirius presented a broom-polishing kit that looked suspiciously like it had been nicked from a Quidditch shop.
The laughter and joy filled every corner of the manor. For once, Harry let himself relax completely.
But as the cake was cleared away and the evening light turned the windows golden, the moment Harry had been waiting for arrived.
An owl swooped in through the open doors, landing neatly on the table with a heavy envelope clutched in its beak. The wax seal glittered red under the fading light—Hogwarts.
Hermione gasped. "Harry—it's your letter!"
Harry broke the seal with steady fingers. His eyes scanned the parchment quickly: the familiar words of welcome, the list of supplies, the start-of-term date. He folded it shut without a word.
"Well?" Tonks asked eagerly.
Harry shrugged. "As expected. I'm not going."
The room stilled.
Kyle cleared his throat shocked. "Harry—are you sure? Hogwarts is—"
"Not for me," Harry interrupted firmly. His eyes were steady, his voice hard. "We've already decided. My path isn't sitting in classrooms while Dumbledore peers over my shoulder, waiting for me to play his games. I'll learn here. I'll build here. That's final."
Sirius's grin widened as if he'd been expecting this. "Well, that settles that. Highlands Manor beats dusty old towers any day."
But not everyone was pleased.
The Highlands celebration faded into memory, but for Harry, the festivities were not yet over. As night fell on Midgard, the family gathered—Sirius still laughing over America's antics, Lily holding Harry's arm, Harry with a smile that hadn't left his face since morning. And with a flash of Bifröst light, they left the quiet hills of Scotland behind.
The rainbow bridge stretched beneath their feet, shimmering across the stars. Wind roared in Harry's ears, carrying them higher and higher until the gleaming spires of Asgard came into view.
"Welcome home, my prince," Heimdall intoned as the gate opened, his golden eyes reflecting the light.
Harry's chest warmed at the words. "It's good to be back."
If the Highlands celebration had been cozy and familial, Asgard's was the opposite—grand, roaring, magnificent. The streets blazed with banners of gold and crimson. Horns sounded from the towers. Every citizen, from warriors in shining armor to children clutching tiny wooden swords, filled the streets to cheer for the boy who was more than mortal, more than wizard—Asgard's little prince.
"Harry!" Thor's booming voice carried across the plaza as he swept his son into a crushing embrace. "My son, my pride, today you are honored not just by family, but by all of Asgard!"
The crowd erupted in cheers. Cups of mead were raised, drums thundered, and fireworks like bursts of lightning lit the skies.
Odin himself descended from his throne, his single eye shining with pride. "Long has it been since we celebrated something lately."
Harry bowed slightly, though his grin betrayed his excitement. "Thank you, Grandfather."
The feast was magnificent. Long tables stretched across the golden hall, laden with roasted boar, honeyed bread, and goblets overflowing with mead and sparkling juices. Music thundered from warrior-bards, and every few minutes, someone would break into a cheer of "To Prince Harry!"
Sirius leaned over to Harry, already tipsy. "And here I thought my birthday parties were wild. This puts the Black family balls to shame!"
Lily shook her head, smiling despite herself. "Only Asgard would turn an eleven-year-old's birthday into a festival for thousands."
Later, as the music softened and the crowd quieted, Thor turned to Harry, his expression shifting from joy to something sterner.
"My son, I am gladdened to see you, but you visit us too rarely of late." His voice boomed across the hall, though his words were meant for Harry alone. "You neglect your studies here in Asgard."
Odin's gaze sharpened. "Indeed. Knowledge of both worlds is your duty."
Harry straightened, unflinching. "I know. But I've not been idle. On Midgard, I'm working on something important. My friends and I—we're creating a magical project, something that will change their world. That is why I've stayed away."
Thor frowned. "A project greater than the wisdom of Asgard?"
Harry's eyes glinted with determination. "Not greater. But different. Asgard gives me knowledge of the divine, the eternal. Midgard gives me a chance to shape the present. I will not attend their school—Hogwarts—but I'll continue my studies here, with you. That way, I'll learn both worlds in my own way."
For a moment, silence stretched. Then Odin's stern features softened, and he gave a single nod.
"Spoken like a true prince," the All-Father said. "You choose your own path, and so it shall be."
Thor's face broke into a proud smile, clapping his son on the shoulder so hard Harry almost toppled. "Well said, boy! Very well. Your studies here will continue, and Asgard will stand beside you as you forge your Midgardian dreams."
The hall erupted in cheers once more.
Harry sat back, heart swelling, as the music resumed. For once, he felt entirely at peace—welcomed in both worlds, bound by neither, but belonging to both.
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