The golden halls of Asgard shimmered under the glow of thousands of floating lanterns. The great banners of the royal house—deep red threaded with gold—hung from towering arches. Warriors, nobles, Einherjar, and gods alike stood gathered in the throne room, whispering in awe.
At the center of it all stood Harry Potter.
For once, his messy hair was tied back. His hands radiated with enchantment-light, runes glowing faintly across his palms. And before him, set upon a stand of enchanted stone, rested what everyone had come to witness—the Armor of the All-Father.
Forged from pure Uru by Harry's own hand, polished to a mirror-like obsidian finish, and threaded with glowing runic patterns, the armor looked less like metal and more like a living star forged into plate.
Thor elbowed Loki with a proud grin.
"My son from Midgard—no, of Asgard—has crafted a weapon the realms will speak of for ages."
Loki's lips twitched in a reluctant smile.
"Yes. Disgustingly talented child."
Odin himself stepped forward, his one good eye gleaming with pride and deep curiosity.
"Let us see, Harry—what gift you have made for your grandfather."
Harry bowed respectfully, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"It's more than a gift, Grandfather. It's protection… a promise that Asgard will never fall."
Two armorsmiths stepped forward to assist Odin in donning the armor—because the ritual demanded that the first time, the wearer must do it manually, binding themselves to the runes.
Piece by piece, the armor was fitted to Odin's frame:
The chest plate—decorated with Huginn and Muninn, his ravens
The gauntlets—carved with runes of lightning and might
The boots—engraved with ancient sigils of speed and balance
The back plating—smooth, dark, and waiting quietly
As the final clasp sealed, the runes surged to life—glowing like molten gold beneath his skin. Odin inhaled sharply as power flowed through him.
The crowd gasped.
From Odin's back, eight spectral ropes of cosmic energy suddenly unfurled—alive, swirling like celestial serpents. They crackled with magic older than the stars, shifting from chains to blades to shields in rapid succession. The air hummed violently, charged with divine power.
Thor's jaw fell open.
"Odin's beard…!"
Frigga clasped her hands to her heart.
"Beautiful…"
Odin turned slowly, the spectral weapons forming and reforming behind him like living guardians. His voice was reverent.
"What… is this?"
Harry stepped closer, eyes shining.
"It responds to your intent. It can defend you… or strike down your enemies. You need not even lift your spear."
Odin raised an arm. One of the energy-tentacles flashed forward, forming a blazing greatsword that cut through the air with a sound like thunder ripping the sky.
The audience staggered back in astonishment.
Loki whispered, "I want one…"
Odin's voice trembled—not from fear, but from awe.
"You bound this… to me?"
Harry nodded.
"And to the Bifrost. It will answer your call from any realm, faster than a heartbeat."
A pulse of blue light leapt from the armor as Odin spoke its activation word—
"Niðr!"
In a blink—
the armor dissolved into rainbow light
—shot upward—
and vanished into the Bifrost.
Gasps filled the hall.
Then, at a mere thought from Odin—
BOOM
The armor rematerialized around him in a burst of brilliant rainbow lightning, every plate perfectly in place.
The hall erupted into cheers and stunned cries.
Thor clapped Harry's back so hard he nearly fell forward.
"HA! My son may very well be the greatest smith Asgard has ever seen!"
Harry, catching his breath, smirked.
"Don't tell the Dwarves that. They'll riot."
Odin stepped down from the dais, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"You have honored Asgard… and honored me. From this day, let the Nine Realms know—Prince Harry of Asgard is the greatest smith of this time."
The hall roared in approval.
Harry bowed deeply, pride warming his heart—
but already, his mind drifted to something else…
The Royal Feasting Hall of Asgard was a place mortals would mistake for a palace of the gods—because it was. Pillars sculpted from starlight framed the room, the ceiling mirrored the constellations beyond the realm, and golden braziers lit the long table where only the royal family dined.
Harry sat among them.
To his right sat Thor, laughing heartily as he tore into a roasted boar leg.
To his left, Frigga poured him spiced nectar into a silver goblet.
At the head of the table, Odin cut his meat with measured grace, the faint glow of his new armor's enchantments still shimmering under his robes.
And opposite Harry sat Loki—glowering.
Loki pointed his fork accusingly.
"So Father gets a marvelous, self-fighting armor infused with cosmic chains and raven cresting. And Thor gets lightning-forged plates that respond to his call. But me?" He placed a dramatic hand on his chest. "I, Loki, get nothing?"
Thor snorted into his goblet. "For once, brother, you speak truth."
Loki glared. "Do not joke. I want an armor too, Harry! Something elegant, something cunning, something with—" he wiggled his fingers mischievously, "—style."
Harry swallowed his mouthful and tried to remain diplomatic. "I… haven't forgotten you, Uncle Loki. But armor for a master of illusions feels… redundant."
Loki gasped theatrically. "Redundant?! How dare—"
Odin raised a hand, cutting Loki off mid-rant.
"Harry will be busy with his Midgardian life for some time yet. Crafting armor for every god is not his duty."
Loki's eyes narrowed. "Yes, yes, the mortals. The short-lived, fragile creatures Harry insists on calling friends." He looked Harry directly in the eye. "Why spend time with them? You are Asgardian—prince of the realm. You belong here."
Harry set down his fork gently, but his voice was firm.
"I do belong here. But I belong on Midgard too. My friends, my family—they're there."
Thor nodded proudly, placing a supportive hand on Harry's shoulder.
"Well said, my son."
Loki scoffed. "Asgardians should not lower themselves—"
CLANG.
Odin's cup hit the table with a thunderous finality.
His voice was calm, but sharp as a blade:
"Be careful how you speak, Loki."
Loki froze.
Odin leaned forward, his stern gaze unblinking.
"Strength is not measured by years alone. Mortals burn bright—quickly, intensely. If Harry wishes to cherish them during their brief time, he will. A hundred mortal years is but the blink of an eye to us."
Frigga smiled warmly at Harry.
"Love is not inferior to power. It is what makes power worth having."
Loki pursed his lips, chastened but still fuming. "Fine. But when he returns to Asgard permanently, I want the first commission."
Harry chuckled. "Deal. Something stylish. I promise."
Loki huffed but seemed pleased… at least for the moment.
Conversation shifted as Odin set down his utensils.
"Thor, Loki," he said, voice thoughtful, "tomorrow we begin negotiations with Jörmungandr's heralds over the warding borders of the Nine Seas."
Thor wiped his beard and nodded. "Aye. The serpent has been restless lately. Best to address it through peace if possible."
"And through force if necessary," Loki added dryly.
Odin glanced toward Harry. "You may observe, if you choose. A prince must learn diplomacy as well as war."
Harry nodded respectfully—though inwardly, his thoughts drifted back to Midgard… to two Ravenclaws building a theater… and a certain three-headed dog who wagged its tails just for him.
Thor nudged him with a grin.
"Thinking about your little mortal friends?"
Harry smirked. "Always."
Loki rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of reluctant fondness in his expression.
"Yes, yes, go back and play hero. Just don't forget us while you're… babysitting mortals."
Harry lifted his goblet.
"I won't."
Odin nodded gravely.
"To the prince of two worlds."
They drank.
And above them, the stars of the throne room shimmered—
as if Midgard and Asgard both watched over the boy who would bridge them.
The newly completed Hogwarts Theater glowed with an eager buzz of anticipation. It was packed shoulder-to-shoulder — not only with every Muggle Studies student, but with almost every student and professor in the castle.
Even portraits squeezed together to peek inside. Ghosts hovered above the seats like excited children. Peeves was bribed with six dungbombs to behave (he accepted… before giving them back explosively).
Up front stood Hermione and Draco.
Nervous. Proud.
Professor Charity Burbage clapped her hands for attention.
"Students of Hogwarts — welcome… to your very first Muggle Motion Picture!"
A wave of cheers rolled through the hall.
Hermione stepped up next, doing her best to hide her trembling hands.
"This," she said, lifting a glossy VHS case with bold letters,
"is James Bond: The Spy Who Loved Me — a classic from Muggle cinema."
Draco chimed in with a grin:
"Muggles might not have magic — but they have imagination."
Gasps echoed when Hermione told the room the hero had no wand.
"What?!" a fifth-year shouted from the back. "He fights evil without spells?!"
Hermione only smiled.
"Watch and learn."
She flicked her wand.
The torches extinguished.
The room plunged into perfect darkness.
With another tap on the projector —
FWOOOM
The screen shone bright.
A daring chase began across snowy mountains.
Music boomed from enchanted speakers.
Cars raced. Explosions hit.
James Bond saved the day using gadgets, wit, and sheer nerve.
The reaction was instant.
Gryffindors: "BLOODY HELL!"
Ravenclaws: "Ingenious…"
Hufflepuffs: nervous gasps, excited claps
Slytherins: pretending not to enjoy it while totally enjoying it
Professor McGonagall accidentally flinched during a car chase —
then pretended she had not flinched.
Snape squinted suspiciously at the screen the entire time…
but forgot to scowl every once in a while.
Even Dumbledore leaned forward in his seat, eyes twinkling like a boy seeing dragons for the first time.
For the wizarding world —
it was magic of a different kind.
A world where bravery wore a suit, not robes.
Where danger was met with gadgets — not charms.
Where imagination, not enchantment, ruled the day.
And when the lights rose at the end —
the applause shook the enchanted ceiling above.
Students swarmed Draco and Hermione in a wave of excitement:
"When's the next showing?"
"Can we watch one more tonight?!"
"Is this James Bond a real person?"
Professor Burbage wiped tears of joy from her eyes.
"You two," she whispered proudly,
"have just changed wizarding history."
Hermione blushed so hard her hair nearly curled into a heart shape.
Draco looked like he had swallowed a sunbeam.
The excitement of Hogwarts' first movie night spread far beyond castle walls.
Whispers raced through Hogsmeade… then to Diagon Alley…
and finally straight into the cold marble halls of the Ministry of Magic.
And not everyone there was thrilled.
The Department of Magical Transportation didn't care.
The Auror Office shrugged.
But the Department of Magical Law Enforcement
and worse—
the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office—
practically screeched.
"They are letting children play with Muggle machinery inside Hogwarts?!"
shouted one stern-looking witch with a clipboard practically glued to her arm.
Within a day, a group of Ministry officials in dark green robes stormed the castle gates like a flock of judgmental ducks.
Hermione and Draco were summoned to a side chamber off the Great Hall.
Ministry seals gleamed on every official's robes.
Professor Flitwick stood behind the two First Years protectively, barely reaching the officials' elbows but radiating fierce loyalty.
A balding wizard with spectacles tapped his quill impatiently.
"So. You two are responsible for this… Muggle contraption theatre?"
Hermione tried to sound confident.
"Yes, sir. We enchanted and modified the equipment ourselves—"
"Modified?"
His tone suggested she had admitted to murder.
Draco crossed his arms. "We improved it. Made it magical. Everyone enjoyed the film!"
A witch from the back scoffed loudly.
"We cannot have Hogwarts students being exposed to excessive Muggle influence!
What if they decide wands are obsolete?! What if they start—"
she shuddered dramatically
"—drinking electric tea instead of proper wizarding tea?!"
Hermione blinked. "Electric tea doesn't exist."
"YET."
the witch hissed.
Draco had to stop himself from rolling his eyes so hard he'd see his brain.
The lead official clucked his tongue.
"We are confiscating all Muggle devices immediately."
Flitwick cleared his throat, voice deceptively sweet—
"The theatre and all its components fall under Hogwarts jurisdiction.
Unless Headmaster Dumbledore personally approves,
you may not touch anything."
As if summoned by his name, Dumbledore appeared,
twinkling eyes sharper than diamonds.
He smiled politely.
"Is there a problem?"
All Ministry bravado evaporated.
"Ah—no, Headmaster. Merely routine inspection."
Dumbledore raised a brow.
"Splendid. And now that you've inspected,
I trust you know the way out?"
The officials retreated so quickly they nearly tripped over themselves.
Once gone, Draco let out a laugh he'd been holding in.
"Oh, they hated that."
Flitwick chuckled. "Quite right. But they'll return. Tradition fears innovation."
Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully.
"They tried to confiscate everything because it was originally Muggle-built…"
Draco's eyes narrowed, mind racing with new ideas.
"So if the devices were purely magical to begin with…"
Hermione finished, excitement sparking—
"They can't be confiscated. They won't count as Muggle at all!"
Flitwick clapped his hands.
"Now that is clever thinking!"
Draco's grin turned sharp, ambitious.
"We'll build our own projector. Our own cameras. Our own screens."
Hermione nodded eagerly.
"A totally magical cinema.
No Ministry can stop that."
They shared a look—
determination and genius burning bright.
The theatre wasn't just a room anymore.
It was a revolution.
A bridge between worlds that would no longer rely on borrowed parts.
Hogwarts had seen its first film.
Next, the entire Wizarding World would.
And not even the Ministry could stand in the way.
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