Harry Potter: The Revenant

by Vikrant_Utekar

Summary:

After surviving Voldemort's attack as infants, Harry and Rose Potter grow up apart: Rose under Dumbledore's protection, Harry with neglectful Muggles. HYDRA, led by Daniel Whitehall, seeks to exploit their magical potential. Whitehall plans to kidnap Harry, eliminate his guardians, and mold him into a weapon. Meanwhile, a HYDRA operative within the Ministry ensures secrecy. As tensions rise, Harry's fate hangs in the balance between Dumbledore's protection and HYDRA's sinister designs.

Notes:

Disclaimer: This fanfiction is a creative work of fiction produced by a fan of the Harry Potter and Marvel Comics franchises and is not officially endorsed by J.K. Rowling, Marvel Comics, or any affiliated parties. All characters, events, and settings from both universes are used in a transformative manner and should be viewed as such. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real-life events is purely coincidental. The views and interpretations expressed in this fanfiction are solely those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the official canon of either Harry Potter or Marvel Comics. Reader discretion is advised as this fanfiction may explore crossover themes, character interactions, and storylines not present in the original works.

Chapter 1: Prologue

James Potter paced the dimly lit nursery like a caged hippogriff, his footsteps echoing with the nervous energy of someone who’d just accidentally set off a dungbomb in a broom closet. The air in the room practically hummed with tension, making it feel like they were waiting for a Niffler to pop out of the wardrobe and cause chaos.

Lily sat in the old rocking chair, cradling baby Harry in her arms, her eyes darting anxiously toward her husband. “James, what’s going on?” Lily whispered, trying to sound calm but failing miserably. Her voice trembled like a first-year facing down a mountain troll.

James paused, shooting a worried glance at the window, where the chill of the night seemed to seep through the glass. “I don’t know, Lils,” he muttered, running a hand through his already messy hair. “It’s just this feeling… like something’s about to happen, and not the good kind. More like the ‘You-Know-Who-wants-to-ruin-our-night’ kind.”

Their daughter, Rose, stirred in her crib, sensing the tension that hung in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst. James moved closer to Lily, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as if to shield her from the unknown. “Maybe it’s nothing,” he said, but the crack in his voice didn’t exactly scream confidence.

James’s instincts—honed from years of dueling dark wizards and evading magical mishaps—were yelling at him louder than a Howler at breakfast. The sense of doom was so thick you could almost cut it with a cursed knife. Despite his best efforts to calm down, James couldn't shake the feeling that something really bad was about to go down.

Suddenly, a thunderous crash shattered the calm of the night. The front door exploded into splinters, sending wood flying across the hallway. James’s heart pounded like a war drum as he instinctively threw himself in front of Lily and the twins, his body acting as a human shield against whatever nightmare had barged in. Through the smoke and chaos, a figure emerged—Voldemort, the Dark Lord himself, wrapped in shadows and radiating pure evil like a dementor’s worst day.

“Lily, take the kids and run!” James shouted, his voice a fierce mix of fear and determination. He knew that Voldemort’s arrival meant danger with a capital ‘D,’ but he wasn’t about to let his family become the next tragic headline in the *Daily Prophet.*

“No, James, I’m not leaving you!” Lily protested, her face a mask of terror as she clutched Harry tightly, like he was her own personal Patronus charm.

James locked eyes with Lily, a mix of love and pain reflecting in his gaze. “Please, Lily,” he begged softly, his voice cracking with emotion. “Take them and go. Keep them safe.”

Before Lily could respond, Voldemort’s cold, high-pitched voice sliced through the air like a cursed dagger. “Avada Kedavra!”

With a last desperate effort, James threw himself in front of his family. The green light of the Killing Curse collided with a protective runic circle that Lily had carefully inscribed throughout their home. This circle, the result of months of intense study and probably a few late-night study sessions fueled by too much coffee, was designed to keep dark forces at bay. The curse rebounded with a blinding flash, turning Voldemort’s physical form into a puff of smoke and a lot of dark, icky residue.

The protective magic, however, came at a cost. The immense magical energy drained from both Voldemort and James and Lily, leaving them gravely weakened. James and Lily collapsed, their strength sapped by their own protective enchantments. Baby Harry, though shielded by their sacrifice, wasn’t left unscathed. The magical backlash weakened his core, leaving him with a strange sensation like he’d just been through a magical blender.

As Lily fell unconscious, her wedding ring grazed Rose’s forehead, leaving a lightning-shaped mark. It was a mark that would one day become as famous as Merlin’s beard but for now, it was just a peculiar scar on a sleeping baby.

In the chaotic aftermath, Dumbledore arrived at Godric’s Hollow, his eyes sparkling with the self-assured wisdom of a man who believed he knew better than anyone else. He surveyed the scene, his mind already working overtime to fit the pieces of the puzzle into his grand plan. Dumbledore fancied himself as the grandmaster chess player of the wizarding world, and today was another move in the game.

As he took in the wreckage—the Potters gravely injured, their home reduced to rubble, and the lingering darkness of Voldemort’s presence—Dumbledore felt a mixture of sorrow and vindication. “Ah, the prophecy,” he mused, his voice carrying the weight of someone who thought they had it all figured out.

His gaze fell upon the crib where the twins lay, their cries piercing the heavy silence. His eyes were immediately drawn to the lightning-shaped scar on Rose’s forehead. “Of course,” he muttered, stroking his beard with the satisfaction of someone who just found the missing sock in the laundry. “She is the one.”

Turning to Harry, Dumbledore’s keen senses detected something different. His diminished magical aura led Dumbledore to jump to a conclusion faster than a Firebolt could zip across a Quidditch pitch. “A squib?” he thought, a hint of disappointment coloring his thoughts. “Clearly, he is not the wizarding world’s next hero.”

In his mind, the narrative was clear. Rose was the chosen one, destined to defeat the Dark Lord. And as for Harry, well, Dumbledore believed that the boy would be better off away from the pressures of the wizarding world. He saw it as his duty—no, his responsibility—to make sure the pieces of the prophecy fell into place just as he envisioned.

With a heavy heart (and perhaps a touch of self-importance), Dumbledore made a decision that would set two very different paths for the Potter twins. Convinced that Rose was the Vanquisher, he decided to raise her himself, determined to prepare her for the challenges ahead. “After all,” he thought to himself, “who better than Albus Dumbledore, the great and powerful, to guide the chosen one?”

Meanwhile, Dumbledore deemed Harry’s magical potential as lacking and chose to leave him with the Dursleys. “He needs to grow up away from the wizarding world, away from the dangers and expectations,” Dumbledore reasoned, convinced that his decision was the right one. “Besides, a normal life is the least I can give him.”

---

Harry Potter’s life with the Dursleys was like being stuck in an endless loop of the worst reality TV show ever. Picture a show where the contestants are relentlessly cruel, the challenges are mortifying, and the only reward is a never-ending supply of disdain. That was Harry’s reality—minus the glamour, and with way more sorrow.

From the very start, Harry’s life was more cramped than a gnome’s favorite hiding spot. His “room”—if you could call a dark, damp cupboard under the stairs a room—was as inviting as a troll’s lair. It was so small that even the spiders had to fight over space. The only light was a dim, flickering bulb that seemed perpetually on the brink of quitting.

The Dursleys, his lovely relatives, were experts at making Harry feel like the universe’s biggest joke. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were the Voldemorts of family dynamics: creepy, oppressive, and bent on making Harry’s life as miserable as possible. Their looks of disdain? They reserved them for Harry like he was a particularly nasty houseplant they couldn’t get rid of.

Their son Dudley was the undisputed emperor of his playground kingdom. Dudley had more toys than an entire toy store, while Harry was lucky if he got to scrape up the crumbs from Dudley’s leftover cake. Meals for Harry were a pitiful affair. He got the scraps, while Dudley had enough food to make a young Roman emperor jealous. The Dursleys’ idea of punishment? Making Harry eat his dinner in the cupboard while they enjoyed a sumptuous feast. Talk about a meal plan from the darkest depths.

If Harry ever made a sound or accidentally used magic (which was always accidental), he faced Uncle Vernon’s infamous wrath. The Dursleys saw magic as a personal affront. If Harry’s spoon floated an inch above the table, Uncle Vernon would turn purple, like an overripe tomato with anger issues. “You’re a freak!” he’d bellow, as if Harry had just performed the worst insult imaginable.

Physical punishment was as routine as breakfast. If Harry failed to meet the Dursleys’ absurd standards, he’d be locked in the cupboard without food or sent to bed early. The cupboard became his dark, cold prison, filled with nothing but the occasional mouse and the echoes of his own lonely thoughts.

Then there was the emotional abuse, an area where the Dursleys were also experts. They never missed an opportunity to remind Harry that he was a burden, a mistake, a living reminder of everything they despised. “Why can’t you be more like Dudley?” Petunia would sneer, as if Harry could just magically transform into a chubby, spoiled brat with a single wish.

Harry’s life was a master class in hardship, each day more dismal than the last, as if the universe was giving him a crash course in suffering. But through it all, Harry had a remarkable knack for survival. It was like he had an internal resilience radar that kept him going despite the Dursleys’ relentless attempts to break him.

Meanwhile, in a far more magical corner of the world, things were quite different for Rose Potter. Under the care of Albus Dumbledore, Rose was living the kind of life that could make a house-elf green with envy. Imagine a child who was pampered with attention, gifts, and magical indulgence. By age five, Rose had already perfected the art of throwing tantrums that would make even the house-elves quiver. “Grandfather,” she’d demand with a haughty air, “this pumpkin juice is lukewarm! How can I possibly concentrate on my play-time with such tepid juice?”

Dumbledore, ever the doting grandfather, catered to Rose’s every whim as though she was the golden child of the wizarding world. Meanwhile, Harry was stuck in the Muggle world, unaware of his magical heritage. His mundane existence was about to be shattered by a reality he could never have imagined.

Now, let’s take a peek at James and Lily Potter, who were in a slightly less glamorous situation. Picture them in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Their state? Think less “holiday spa” and more “extreme magical exhaustion.” They were lying in beds in the Intensive Care Ward, looking like they’d just survived a particularly grueling Quidditch match. James’s usually lively face was pale and hooked up to a web of diagnostic spells and soothing charms. Lily’s hair spread out around her like a halo, while she looked serene despite the dire circumstances.

The Healers were working tirelessly, casting diagnostic spells and murmuring reassurances. “Magical exhaustion,” they frequently said, their faces etched with concern. The magical backlash from Voldemort’s curse and their own runic array had left James and Lily in a deep magical coma. They weren’t quite gone, but they weren’t fully here either, caught in a strange limbo.

Dumbledore, with all the gravitas of a Shakespearean hero, visited them often. “Ah, James, Lily,” he’d say, his voice heavy with the weight of a grand plan. “Your sacrifice was monumental. Truly, the world owes its fate to my careful manipulation of events.”

Amidst this backdrop, Rose was thriving in a world of magical luxury while Harry struggled in a world that barely acknowledged his existence. By the age of five, the Potter twins were on drastically different paths. Harry was preparing to discover a world beyond his dreary cupboard, while Rose was being groomed for a destiny shaped by Dumbledore’s grand design.

So, there they stood, two very different children at the edge of their futures. Harry, with his cupboard of sadness, and Rose, with her world of magic and privilege. The stage was set for their stories to collide in ways that would make even the most elaborate of magical prophecies look like child’s play. The magical chessboard was in play, and the pieces were about to move in ways that would change their lives forever.

Chapter 2: Chapter 1

In the year 1985, the living room of Number Six Privet Drive was as cozy as a dragon's lair—if dragons were into comfy armchairs and sipping tea by the fire. Mr. and Mrs. Smythe were settled in, their evening ritual of small-town gossip in full swing.

“Did you see the new flowers the Johnsons planted?” Mrs. Smythe began, her voice bubbling with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for chocolate cake. “Absolutely breathtaking. So bright, even the sun would feel a bit jealous. And their new car! A snazzy red convertible—like something straight out of a Bond movie. Can you believe it?”

Mr. Smythe, a man with a mind like a secret agent’s Rolodex, nodded, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Maybe plotting his next espionage escapade, or wondering how to make a perfect cup of tea. “Oh, yes, dear, quite splendid,” he muttered, barely listening.

Mrs. Smythe’s eyes sparkled like she’d just found out the neighborhood’s juiciest secret. “But wait till you hear about the Dursleys at Number Four!” she leaned in, as if she were about to reveal the secret ingredient in Mrs. Johnson’s famous apple pie.

Mr. Smythe snapped out of his daydream. The Dursleys? Now that’s a topic worth pausing his mental mission for. “The Dursleys? What’s the scoop?”

“It’s their nephew, Harry Potter!” Mrs. Smythe’s voice dropped to a dramatic whisper, like she was about to announce the winner of the neighborhood’s best garden competition. “Strange things keep happening around that boy. Just the other day, I saw Petunia dragging him down the street, muttering about ‘freakishness.’ And you’ll never guess—Mrs. Figg’s cats go absolutely bonkers whenever he’s near!”

Mr. Smythe’s curiosity piqued like a cat spotting a laser pointer. “Cats, you say?” 

“Absolutely!” Mrs. Smythe nodded like she was confirming the juiciest bit of gossip. “And get this—last week, Dudley was chasing Harry, and out of nowhere, Dudley tripped over thin air! One minute he’s running like a rhino in a tutu, and the next, he’s face down on the pavement. Vernon blames Harry, but seriously, how can a five-year-old make that happen?”

Mr. Smythe’s eyes gleamed, a light bulb moment in the making. His HYDRA training—secretly, of course—had taught him to spot the extraordinary hiding in plain sight. “That’s quite the twist,” he mused, stirring the conversation as easily as he stirred his tea. “Anything else worth noting?”

Mrs. Smythe settled back into her chair, her tea cup perched on her lap like a queen on her throne. “Oh, definitely. The lights flicker when Harry’s upset, toys seem to move on their own, and even the weather takes a turn for the weird. Poor Petunia’s losing her mind.”

Mr. Smythe hid a sly smile behind his teacup. This Harry Potter could be quite the asset for HYDRA. “Well, kids often have wild imaginations,” he said, his tone as casual as if they were discussing the weather. “But it might be wise to keep an eye on things—for the good of the neighborhood, of course.”

Mrs. Smythe nodded, satisfied with the evening’s gossip session. “Absolutely. We can’t have anything disturbing our peaceful little street.”

As their conversation drifted back to the mundane, Mr. Smythe’s thoughts were anything but ordinary. His mind was abuzz with plans, schemes, and all sorts of spy-worthy ideas. He was ready to report this curious child to his HYDRA superiors, setting the stage for a new adventure in the seemingly quiet town of Little Whinging.

—

With a determined stride, Mr. Smythe slipped away from the cozy confines of Number Six Privet Drive, his heart racing like he had just outrun a pack of hungry werewolves. The shadowy world of HYDRA awaited his news, and he knew that what he’d uncovered could be a real game-changer—like finding out your cat was secretly plotting to take over the world. Finding a secure location, he tapped into a top-secret HYDRA communication channel, his fingers moving so swiftly over the controls that they were almost a blur.

“Sir, I’ve got some intel that might just blow your mind,” Mr. Smythe announced, trying to sound as calm and collected as a spy in a Bond movie, even though his heart was thumping like a rock concert drum solo.

“Proceed,” came the chilling response of Daniel Whitehall, a man whose dark past was as long and twisted as a mountain troll’s toenails.

Mr. Smythe took a deep breath and dove into the details, recounting the strange events surrounding Harry Potter, the five-year-old boy living at Number Four Privet Drive. He talked about the cats that went wild, Dudley Dursley’s bizarre fall, the flickering lights, and the toys that seemed to have a mind of their own—like they were auditioning for the next season of Stranger Things.

Whitehall’s mind whirled as he listened, his experience with magical phenomena and dark history guiding his thoughts. “Accidental magic,” he muttered, a sinister grin spreading across his face like he’d just heard the punchline to a really dark joke.

“Sir?” Mr. Smythe’s voice was edged with curiosity, like a kid waiting to hear if they got the last piece of pizza.

“Well done, Mr. Smythe,” Whitehall said, satisfaction dripping from his tone like melted ice cream on a hot day. “This boy is showing signs of accidental magic. Even untamed, such power is incredibly rare and valuable. He could be a significant asset to us.”

Whitehall, once known as Werner Reinhardt, recalled his time alongside the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald and the strategic experiments that aimed to harness magic’s potential. The power he witnessed back then still fueled his ambitions like a never-ending supply of caffeine.

“Monitor the boy closely,” Whitehall commanded. “But be discreet. We must gauge the full extent of his abilities without drawing unwanted attention. We can’t let him fall into the hands of those who would use him against us.”

“Understood, sir,” Mr. Smythe replied, a mixture of pride and apprehension coloring his tone—like a painter with a palette full of mixed emotions.

As the connection ended, Whitehall’s mind buzzed with possibilities. This Harry Potter might just be the key to unlocking immense magical power for HYDRA. With the right moves, the boy’s talents could be twisted to serve their dark ambitions—like turning a cuddly kitten into a ferocious lion.

Whitehall’s thoughts drifted back to his days of working with Grindelwald, envisioning the destructive potential of magic in their hands. The world might have changed, but the pursuit of power remained as relentless as ever. And now, with this new opportunity, HYDRA’s plans could reach new, unprecedented heights—like a rocket soaring through the stratosphere.

Meanwhile, Harry Potter continued his unsuspecting life on Privet Drive, marked by curious occurrences and the dark shadows beginning to close in. Mr. Smythe remained ever-vigilant, reporting every odd detail back to his master, Daniel Whitehall, as the wheels of intrigue and ambition turned ever forward—like a never-ending roller coaster ride.

—

Deep within his dimly lit London flat, the wizard known only by his codename "Shadow" received an encrypted message from none other than the infamous Daniel Whitehall. It was late, and the shadows danced on the walls like they were at a creepy prom. The enchanted mirror flickered to life, revealing Whitehall’s cool and commanding presence.

“Shadow, listen up! I need you to dig up everything you can on a young lad named Harry Potter. Lives with Muggles at Number Four, Privet Drive. And don’t forget his twin sister, Rose Potter, who’s under the wing of that legendary wizard, Albus Dumbledore. I want the full scoop—background, lineage, magical abilities, you name it. And do it without drawing any unnecessary attention!”

Shadow, a wizard with more covert operations under his belt than most people have socks, nodded with a serious expression. “Got it, sir. I’ll get the details from the Ministry’s vaults. Anything specific you’re after?”

“Everything!” Whitehall snapped. “Their backgrounds, their family tree, and any magical talents they might have. We need to know just how potent they are. This is crucial for our plans, so tread carefully.”

Shadow gave a respectful nod, acknowledging the gravity of his mission. “I’ll get on it immediately.”

Over the next few days, Shadow maneuvered through the Ministry’s bureaucratic maze with the finesse of a ninja, if ninjas wore robes and carried wands. He dove into confidential records, balancing his expertise and stealth to keep his unusual interest under wraps.

In a week’s time, he had a dossier ready and contacted Whitehall through the secure channel. “Sir, I’ve got the lowdown. Harry and Rose Potter are the offspring of James and Lily Potter, a pair of top-tier wizards. James and Lily took a nasty hit from Voldemort and are now in a coma at St. Mungo’s.”

Whitehall’s eyes gleamed with intrigue, like a cat spotting an unwary mouse. “Do go on.”

“Rose Potter’s the so-called ‘Girl Who Lived.’ Survived Voldemort’s Killing Curse, which rebounded and supposedly obliterated the dark wizard. She’s a major figure in the magical world and is under Dumbledore’s personal protection and mentorship. Her brother Harry also made it through, but he’s been placed with their Muggle relatives, the Dursleys, at Number Four, Privet Drive.”

Whitehall’s gaze sharpened at the mention of Dumbledore, a name associated with numerous foiled schemes and formidable resistance. “And their current magical abilities?”

“Both have shown signs of accidental magic, as most young wizards do. However, given their lineage and the circumstances of their survival, they could possess extraordinary power. Dumbledore’s direct involvement with Rose indicates he believes she has significant potential. Harry’s more off the radar, which could make him ripe for influence.”

Whitehall’s mind churned with possibilities, a plan slowly crystallizing, like a mad scientist piecing together his latest creation. “Excellent work, Shadow. Keep a close eye on both Potter twins. Update me immediately if anything changes or if they display more magical prowess.”

“Understood, sir,” Shadow replied, his loyalty and commitment evident.

As the enchanted mirror dimmed, Whitehall leaned back with a smirk, plotting his next move. The Potters—especially the twins—were more valuable than anticipated. With the right moves, Harry and Rose could become powerful assets for HYDRA, key players in their quest for global domination. And with Whitehall’s blend of magic and strategy, he was certain he could outwit even Dumbledore when the moment arrived. After all, what’s a little magical world domination between friends?

—

In his high-tech lair, Daniel Whitehall sat like an evil mastermind, which, you know, he basically was. The room was dimly lit, making the shadows dance on the walls like a twisted version of ‘Dancing with the Stars.’ His desk was a bizarre blend of modern technology and arcane gadgets, the kind of stuff you’d expect to see in a wizard's lab if the wizard had binge-watched way too many sci-fi shows. A high-tech communication device sat on the desk, just waiting to relay critical information or maybe the latest episode of ‘The Real Housewives of HYDRA.’

With eyes sharp enough to cut glass (or maybe just glare at people), Whitehall studied the report from his secret agent, Shadow. The report was about a five-year-old wizard named Harry Potter living with a bunch of Muggles. Whitehall’s mind raced through the possibilities faster than a Nimbus 2000. “Rose Potter,” he muttered, sounding like a villain who’d just found out that the hero’s little sister was a big deal. “Protected by Albus Dumbledore, the ultimate wizarding bodyguard. But Harry? Harry is like a shiny new treasure waiting to be discovered!”

He adjusted his posture, looking like he was about to give a speech to an army of minions. With a decisive click, he activated the secure communication channel, and the enchanted mirror on the wall flickered to life. Shadow’s face appeared on the mirror, looking like he was trying really hard to look professional and not like he was secretly checking out cat memes on another screen.

“Shadow, we need to switch things up,” Whitehall said, his voice calm but with just enough of that supervillain vibe to make you wonder if he practiced in front of a mirror. “We’re going to focus on Harry Potter. He’s a hidden gem of magical power. Your job is to deal with the fallout while we get him out of Number Four, Privet Drive, without causing a scene. We need this to be a smooth operation—no evidence, no one noticing.”

Shadow nodded, taking the whole thing in stride, like this was just another day at the office and not a major magical kidnapping. “Got it, sir. I’ll make sure to handle it with the finesse of a ninja wizard. Dumbledore and the Ministry won’t even know we were there.”

With that wrapped up, Whitehall turned his attention to Mr. Smythe, another big player in this operation. The mirror shifted again, and Smythe’s face appeared, looking like he’d just been told his favorite TV show was canceled.

“Smythe,” Whitehall commanded, “this is top priority. You’re in charge of getting Harry Potter out of his current situation. Make sure the operation is done with maximum secrecy and precision. Leave no traces.”

Smythe’s face showed he understood the seriousness of the task. “What about the Dursleys, sir?”

Whitehall’s eyes narrowed, a look that could make icebergs shiver. “They need to be taken care of. We’re going to make it look like a tragic accident. I suggest a gas leak and an explosion—something that’ll make the authorities think, ‘Wow, what a horrible, yet totally accidental event.’”

Smythe’s expression hardened, showing he was ready to get the job done. “I’ll start getting everything ready right away. I’ll make sure the plan goes off without a hitch.”

As the communication ended, Whitehall’s mind was already on the next steps. He was picturing Harry Potter as a powerful asset for HYDRA. With Harry under their control, HYDRA could make big moves in the wizarding world, breaking down their enemies from the inside and expanding their influence everywhere.

Whitehall’s lips curled into a smile that would’ve made the Joker proud. “The boy will soon be a force to be reckoned with. With HYDRA’s guidance, we’ll turn him into a game-changer. The world won’t know what hit it.”

He leaned back in his chair, imagining Harry Potter as a symbol of HYDRA’s big plans. The plan was set, and Whitehall was ready to make his move with the precision of a chess grandmaster. Harry’s future, once just about surviving, was now headed for world domination. The wizarding world and the Muggle world were about to see some major changes, all thanks to HYDRA’s scheming and a five-year-old wizard.

—

In the dead of night, Number Four, Privet Drive was wrapped in a thick blanket of uneasy silence. The kind that makes you think something terrible is about to happen. And boy, was it about to. Mr. Smythe was like a shadow slipping through the house, every move sharp and calculated. He was a man on a mission, and failure was not an option.

As the clock struck midnight, Smythe glided through the darkness with the stealth of a cat burglar and the determination of a man on a quest. The Dursleys’ house, a bastion of boring normalcy, was nothing to him but a puzzle to be solved. He navigated the maze of rooms like a pro, finally reaching the cupboard under the stairs where little Harry Potter was sleeping. With a swift, practiced motion, he slipped a sedative into Harry’s drink, ensuring the boy stayed in dreamland while the real fireworks began.

Now came the pièce de résistance: turning the kitchen into an explosive masterpiece. Smythe was as meticulous as a mad scientist, rigging the place with a gas leak that would make even the most astute inspector miss it. He set an explosive device with a timer so precise it would make a Swiss watch look like a broken alarm clock. The bomb was engineered to wreak havoc and vanish without a trace. With everything primed and ready, he took one last look, as if bidding farewell to an old friend.

Cradling Harry with the tenderness of a treasure, Smythe stepped into the cool night air. The satisfaction of a job well done washed over him. He was now safely distant, ready for the grand finale of his perfectly orchestrated disaster.

Then, it happened. The explosion roared like a dragon waking from a century-long nap. Number Four, Privet Drive was turned into a fireball of apocalyptic proportions. The blast was so powerful it shook the neighborhood, making it feel like the earth itself was unraveling. The house crumbled in on itself, the walls and roof collapsing into a spectacular shower of flames and debris. It was as if the house had been hit by a magical meteorite.

Inside, the Dursleys' shrieks were drowned out by the explosive cacophony. The familiar rooms were engulfed in a merciless inferno. Heat surged through the house, while thick, choking smoke blotted out the remaining light. Windows exploded outwards, and walls were shredded in a blaze of chaos. 

To any outside observer, it was an unfortunate accident—a tragic, if ordinary, disaster that had claimed the lives of the Dursleys and their hapless nephew. But for Mr. Smythe, it was a masterstroke of calculated precision. As he watched from a safe distance, the fire consumed the evidence and erased any trace of his intrusion. Harry Potter’s world was about to change forever, leaving the ashes of Privet Drive far behind.

—

Meanwhile, inside the labyrinthine corridors of the Ministry of Magic, Shadow was working his own brand of wizardly mischief. He wasn’t exactly casting flashy spells, but his magic was just as potent. With a few flicks of his wand and a lot of sneaky maneuvering, he was rerouting records, obscuring evidence, and ensuring the catastrophe at Number Four, Privet Drive remained an enigma. Dumbledore and the Ministry were left grasping at shadows, completely oblivious to the true nature of the disaster.

Back at HYDRA’s high-tech hideaway, Smythe delivered Harry Potter with all the pomp of a grand prize. Whitehall, looking every bit the villainous mastermind, greeted the boy with an almost theatrical sense of triumph. Harry, just beginning to wake from his drugged slumber, was about to be plunged into a world of covert conditioning and dark training. The kid who had once symbolized hope and resilience was now at the center of HYDRA’s grand scheme, primed to become their ultimate asset.

Whitehall stood tall, a picture of calculated authority, as he surveyed the fruits of his labor. This operation, executed with the precision of a well-oiled machine, was a testament to his strategic brilliance. With Harry Potter now in his clutches, the road to ruling both the magical and mundane worlds had never been clearer. The shadows of HYDRA loomed larger, and the world was about to face a new, and rather sinister, force on the rise.

—

In the depths of a hidden HYDRA facility, shrouded in secrecy and dark magic, a palpable buzz of excitement fills the room. The air crackles with anticipation as HYDRA's elite scientists and a cadre of wizards—who’ve jumped ship to the dark side—gather around a large conference table. At the head of the table stands Daniel Whitehall, radiating an aura of command and menace.

Whitehall's voice cuts through the murmur like a sword. “Alright, team,” he announces, his tone crisp and commanding. “We’ve got Harry Potter in our grasp. Now it’s time for phase two: turning him into a top-tier HYDRA operative.”

Dr. Schmidt, the head scientist with a glint of ambition in his eyes, leans in. “First thing’s first: we need to gauge his magical abilities and physical stamina. We’ll run a battery of tests to get a full picture of his potential.”

Whitehall gives a curt nod, approval flickering in his eyes. “Exactly. We’ll start with non-invasive tests. We wouldn’t want to trigger any alarms for the ever-vigilant Albus Dumbledore.”

Mulciber, a former Death Eater who’s found a new home with HYDRA, adds with a hint of malicious excitement, “And let’s not forget magical conditioning. We’ll use a blend of spells and potions to ensure his loyalty is ours and his memories of his past life are a thing of the past.”

Dr. Lang, another scientist with a flair for the dramatic, chimes in eagerly, “To make sure we’re covering all bases, we’ll combine magical conditioning with our psychological techniques. Oh, and we could also explore Super-Soldier enhancements and Vibranium upgrades, just like in our other top-secret projects.”

Whitehall’s gaze narrows, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Brilliant ideas. Implement these strategies, but keep everything under wraps. A slip-up could bring the full force of the wizarding world down on us.”

With that, the team springs into action. Dr. Schmidt and Dr. Lang take charge of the physical and psychological enhancements, while Mulciber and his group of dark wizards tackle the magical conditioning.

Whitehall wraps up the meeting with a final, decisive command. “Harry Potter has the potential to be HYDRA’s ultimate weapon. We can’t afford to fail. Track his progress meticulously and report any anomalies. We will mold him into our perfect agent.”

As the team disperses, their purpose is clear and their urgency palpable. Whitehall remains behind, his mind a whirlwind of dark possibilities. Harry Potter, once a symbol of survival and hope, is about to be transformed into HYDRA’s most powerful asset. The stage is set for a new chapter in their quest for domination, and Whitehall is poised to seize it with ruthless efficiency.

—

In the deepest, most hidden corner of a top-secret HYDRA facility, Daniel Whitehall stands with his most trusted operative—a master wizard known only by his codename, "Specter." The room feels charged with tension, like the air just before a thunderstorm, every word they exchange carrying monumental importance.

Whitehall’s eyes gleam with the kind of ambition that could make even the bravest shiver. “Alright, Specter, listen up. We’ve got a high-stakes mission that requires your special brand of magic and cunning. We need to break Gellert Grindelwald out of Nurmengard. His magical prowess and dark knowledge will be a game-changer in training Harry Potter.”

Specter, exuding calm confidence, nods. His gaze is steady, and his tone is cool as he responds. “Got it, sir. What’s the plan?”

Whitehall’s expression turns steely, his voice sharp and commanding. “This operation needs to be flawless. You’re going to infiltrate Nurmengard, bypass its defenses with the stealth of a shadow, and extract Grindelwald without leaving a trace. Once we have him, his expertise will be key in molding Harry into our ultimate weapon.”

Specter gives a small, confident bow, acknowledging the task with resolute commitment. “Understood. I’ll get it done.”

As Specter disappears into the night, Whitehall remains behind, his mind racing with dark possibilities. The escape of Grindelwald and the training of Harry Potter are pivotal moves in HYDRA’s grand design. With Grindelwald’s dark mastery in their arsenal, HYDRA is on the brink of reshaping the world’s balance of power. Whitehall’s lips curl into a cold smile as he considers the impending upheaval. The pieces are falling into place, and soon, the world will witness the full force of HYDRA’s ambition.

—

On a moonless night, the chill in the air felt almost like a warning. Specter, HYDRA’s top wizard operative, approached the looming fortress of Nurmengard, a dark monolith against the starless sky. He was a shadow among shadows, cloaked in secrecy and armed with magical finesse. With a flick of his wand, he cast a Disillusionment Charm, blending into the night like a ghost.

Nurmengard was a fortress of nightmares, shielded by enchantments thick as cobwebs and guarded by wardens with eyes as sharp as hawks. But Specter was no ordinary wizard. He danced through the maze of protective spells with the grace of a seasoned performer, each wand movement precise and silent, dismantling barriers as if they were mere illusions.

As he reached the outer wall, Specter whispered a spell that made the stone ripple and part, just enough for him to slip through. Inside, the corridor was heavy with an oppressive gloom, but Specter’s path was set. He knew this labyrinth like the back of his hand, having memorized every twist and turn. His destination was the highest tower, where Grindelwald’s cell lay wrapped in layers of ancient magic.

At the cell’s final ward, Specter paused, his face set in determined concentration. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he meticulously worked to unravel the complex enchantments. Each second felt like an eternity, a test of both patience and skill.

At last, the ward dissipated with a barely audible sigh. Specter pushed open the heavy door to find Gellert Grindelwald inside. The former dark wizard, his once-terrifying aura now tempered by years of confinement, looked up with sharp, assessing eyes.

“Who are you?” Grindelwald’s voice was rough, like gravel over stone.

“Specter, from HYDRA,” came the smooth reply. “Daniel Whitehall sent me. We’re here to free you and offer you a chance to train a new protégé.”

Grindelwald’s eyes narrowed, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Whitehall, you say? And this protégé?”

“Harry Potter,” Specter said, his voice steady. “A boy with extraordinary potential, destined to be something great.”

A slow, calculating smile spread across Grindelwald’s face. “How intriguing. Lead the way.”

With practiced ease, Specter guided Grindelwald through the fortress, their escape as seamless as their entry. They evaded guards and slipped through walls, leaving no trace of their presence. The fortress, oblivious to the shift in power occurring within its stone walls, remained none the wiser.

Outside, a concealed portkey awaited. Specter activated it with a precise flick of his wand, and in a flash, they were transported to a hidden HYDRA facility. Grindelwald inhaled deeply, savoring the taste of freedom and the thrill of renewed purpose. The stage was set, and HYDRA’s grand scheme was set to unfold with Harry Potter and Gellert Grindelwald at its core.

—

In a dimly lit, heavily fortified HYDRA safe house, the air crackles with a palpable tension. The shadows dance across the walls as Daniel Whitehall, ever the master of manipulation, faces the recently liberated Gellert Grindelwald. This room feels like a stage for a high-stakes drama, where the actors are two of the most dangerous minds in the magical and non-magical worlds.

Whitehall, leaning back in his chair with a smug air, presents his proposal with a glint in his eye. “Mr. Grindelwald, here’s the deal of a lifetime. Help us turn young Harry Potter into an unstoppable force, and I’ll give you the Infinity Formula. This serum will give you not just more years, but a life brimming with vitality. Just think of the wonders you could work with that extra time!”

Grindelwald, with the calm demeanor of a man who has seen it all, studies Whitehall intently. Behind his composed exterior, he weighs the deal’s worth. Harry Potter is just a kid, caught in the crossfire of their ambitions. Yet, with an air of calculated intrigue, Grindelwald responds, his voice smooth but with a hint of hidden layers.

“I accept your offer,” Grindelwald says, his tone betraying nothing of his deeper thoughts. “Training Harry to realize his potential sounds like an engaging challenge. And the Infinity Formula... well, that could be quite useful.”

Whitehall’s face remains a picture of calculated coolness, though his eyes betray a flash of satisfaction. “Perfect. As long as you pull your weight, the formula will be yours.”

Grindelwald nods, already mapping out his next moves. He’s a master of strategy and deception, and while he outwardly agrees, his mind is busy with plans of his own. He knows that his time with Harry won’t just be about teaching him dark arts but also about instilling him with wisdom—about the true nature of power and the importance of making the right choices.

Whitehall, confident in his own scheming, is blissfully unaware of Grindelwald’s true intentions. He believes that Grindelwald’s dark expertise will turn Harry into HYDRA’s ultimate weapon, completely oblivious to the counterplots brewing in the mind of his new ally.

As the agreement is finalized, the wheels of manipulation and power keep turning. The stage is set for an epic struggle, with Harry Potter at the epicenter of a cosmic conflict between light and shadow.

—

In the heart of Dumbledore’s cluttered, magical lair, the office looked like it had been hit by a spell-casting tornado. Enchanted objects whizzed around like hyperactive pixies, casting flickers of light and shadows across the walls. And in the middle of this whimsical chaos, five-year-old Rose Potter was having the time of her life, turning every toy into a sparkling explosion of magical nonsense. Her laughter was the soundtrack to a scene that could have been ripped from the pages of a wizarding storybook—if that storybook had a chapter on untamed five-year-olds and magical mayhem.

Just when it seemed like things couldn’t get any more chaotic, a brilliant flash of light streaked into the room. A Patronus—an elegant silver owl—dove in with all the subtlety of a firework on a caffeine high. Dumbledore’s playful grin vanished faster than a chocolate frog at a kids’ party. He read the message, and his face went from jovial to serious in record time. Gellert Grindelwald had escaped from Nurmengard. Not exactly the news you’d want to receive while supervising a whirlwind of enchanted toys.

Dumbledore’s usually twinkling eyes turned into tiny, worried slits. This was no minor hiccup—it was a major catastrophe that required the full force of his legendary wisdom and dramatic flair. He glanced over at Rose, who was blissfully unaware of the impending storm, absorbed in her enchanted castle.

“Rose, sweetheart,” Dumbledore said, trying to sound as calm as if he were discussing the weather, “I’ve got some important grown-up stuff to deal with. You stay here and have fun with your toys, okay? Grandpa’s got to run off and save the day.”

Rose looked up with the kind of innocent entitlement that only comes from being the world’s most spoiled child. “But Grandpa, don’t you want to play with me? I’ve got a new enchanted castle!” Her whine was as demanding as a dragon with a sore throat.

Dumbledore forced a smile that was probably as fake as the grin on a disgruntled house-elf. “Darling, I’d love to, but this is one of those grown-up emergencies where my unparalleled brilliance is needed. I promise, we’ll play later. Just be a good girl and stay right here.”

Rose pouted but eventually gave in, her face lighting up with the promise of a surprise. “Okay, Grandpa Dumbledore. But you better bring me something amazing when you come back!”

With a final, somewhat begrudging pat on her head, Dumbledore strode out of the office, his mind buzzing with all the heroic clichés he could muster. He was on a mission: protect his pampered granddaughter and tackle the menace that was Grindelwald. And as for Harry Potter, who was still with the Dursleys—well, Dumbledore didn’t exactly hold high hopes for the kid. To him, Harry was a bit of a non-starter, a squib in his grandiose plans.

As Dumbledore made his way through the dimly lit corridors, he ran into Minerva McGonagall, whose serious expression matched his own heavy-duty concerns.

“Albus, is it true? Has Grindelwald actually escaped?” McGonagall’s voice carried a mix of disbelief and dread.

Dumbledore nodded, his face as solemn as a Divination class on a Monday morning. “Yes, Minerva. The Ministry confirmed it. It’s quite the predicament, one that requires my extraordinary expertise.”

McGonagall’s face went as pale as a ghost in a ghost story. “What’s the plan?”

Dumbledore’s eyes hardened with the kind of self-importance usually reserved for epic monologues. “First, we keep Rose safe here at Hogwarts. Then, I’ll rally our allies, track down Grindelwald, and, well, make sure Harry’s safe at Privet Drive. Though, honestly, he’s not exactly central to my grand designs.”

With his grand plan set, Dumbledore’s sense of importance was as inflated as his ego. The stakes were high, and he was ready to handle them with the flair only he believed he could provide. The wizarding world was on a knife-edge, and Dumbledore was ready to leap into action—whether or not Harry Potter was a key player in his grand narrative.

Chapter 3: Chapter 2

In a dimly lit, sterile room, young Harry wakes up, blinking in confusion at the cold, grey surroundings. This place is a world away from the cramped cupboard he had called home under the stairs. The room is as basic as it gets—just a metal bed, a small table, and a heavy door. The air smells strongly of antiseptic, making the whole setup feel even more isolated. As Harry’s eyes get used to the gloom, the door creaks open, and in walks someone who seems to have walked straight out of a fantasy novel.

This guy is tall and striking, with piercing blue eyes that could probably cut through steel and slicked-back white hair that shines in the dim light like it’s got its own spotlight. His dark robes flow around him like he’s stepped out of some ancient, royal court. There’s an aura about him that’s both scary and strangely magnetic.

“Good morning, Harry,” the man says, his voice smooth as silk with a hint of a European accent. “I’m Gellert Grindelwald. But you can call me Gellert.”

Harry’s heart skips a beat. He doesn’t know who this guy is, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is seriously off. It’s like trying to ignore the sensation of standing on the edge of a cliff.

“Where am I?” Harry asks, his voice a mix of fear and curiosity, his eyes darting around like he’s expecting a giant monster to pop out.

Grindelwald’s gaze softens, his eyes turning from intimidating to almost kind. He must notice how scared Harry looks. “You’re in a place where you can discover your true potential, Harry. A place where you can learn and grow. You’ve been chosen for something way bigger than you can imagine. I’m here to help you.”

Harry’s confusion is written all over his face. “Chosen? For what?”

Grindelwald moves closer, his presence suddenly warmer, as if he’s trying to make this awful place a little less terrifying. “You have a remarkable power, Harry. A power that could change the world. It’s been hidden from you, but I’m here to help you understand and harness it. To help you become strong.”

Harry’s eyes widen. The idea of having any kind of power seems like something out of a bedtime story, not real life. But the idea of escaping from the cupboard and the Dursleys’ cruelty is both thrilling and terrifying. Can he trust this guy?

“What do you mean, power?” Harry’s voice steadies, showing a hint of his old bravery. “What kind of power?”

Grindelwald’s smile turns warmer, almost like he’s trying to be a cool uncle rather than a dark wizard. “Magic, Harry. You’re a wizard, capable of extraordinary things. I’m here to teach you, guide you, and help you become the wizard you’re meant to be.”

Harry’s gaze is locked onto Grindelwald’s, feeling the weight of his words. Could this be the path to the life he’s always dreamed of? Grindelwald, sensing Harry’s vulnerability and the rough treatment he’s endured, feels a protective instinct that surprises even him.

“Alright,” Harry says, his voice a mix of hope and uncertainty. “What do I need to do?”

Grindelwald’s smile becomes genuinely reassuring as he places a hand on Harry’s shoulder, a gesture that speaks of mentorship and unexpected affection. “First, you need to trust me. We’ll start this journey together. Welcome to your new life, Harry.”

As the door closes behind them, Harry steps into a new world—a world where his powers will be nurtured and his destiny rewritten. Grindelwald, starting off with charm, finds himself growing more protective of the young boy who has endured so much. The journey ahead will test them both, but it also sparks the beginning of a deeper, almost grandfatherly bond that will shape Harry’s path in ways he could never have imagined.

—

Albus Dumbledore, the illustrious headmaster of Hogwarts and self-proclaimed guardian of all things magical, arrives at Nurmengard with an air of grandiosity befitting a legend. The fortress, once a formidable prison for the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald, now lies in ruin, its gates breached and silence hanging heavy in the air. Dumbledore, cloaked in his long, flowing robes that swirl like a stage curtain, steps through the shattered entrance as though he’s about to deliver the final act of a dramatic play.

With a confident stride, Dumbledore makes his way through the corridors, his long silver beard flowing behind him like a banner of his own making. His wand is held at the ready but remains sheathed, as if simply being in his presence is enough to command respect. The guards and wardens, awed by his mere presence, shuffle nervously, as if expecting him to single-handedly restore order and banish darkness with a flick of his wrist.

Dumbledore’s investigation is conducted with the flair of a maestro conducting a symphony. He examines every crack and crevice with the meticulousness of a man who believes his every action is nothing short of legendary. The air is thick with traces of Grindelwald’s dark magic, which Dumbledore approaches with the reverence of someone who considers himself the foremost authority on magical residues.

As he ventures deeper into the heart of Nurmengard, Dumbledore’s dramatic flair is on full display. The walls, steeped in the echoes of Grindelwald’s ambitions and malevolent influence, seem to be waiting for his expert analysis. Dumbledore, ever the self-assured sage, absorbs these whispers with a knowing nod, as though he alone can decipher the ancient secrets they hold.

The guards recount the escape with a mix of awe and trepidation, their stories punctuated by Dumbledore’s knowing interjections and authoritative commentary. His examination of the magical artifacts and spell remnants is performed with a flourish, each discovery treated as a personal triumph. His sharp intellect and vast experience, he believes, set him apart as the only one truly equipped to handle such a crisis.

When Dumbledore finally exits Nurmengard, his expression is one of solemn satisfaction, as though he has single-handedly averted disaster. The gravity of Grindelwald’s escape is undeniable, but Dumbledore’s confidence in his own abilities seems to overshadow the looming threat. He departs with a grand gesture, convinced that his mere presence will set things right and that the future of the wizarding world, once again, rests in his capable hands.

—

Minerva McGonagall Apparated to Privet Drive with a stomach full of dread, and she was immediately hit with the inferno of chaos. The Dursleys’ house was a blazing disaster zone, flames shooting up like a dragon’s fiery breath. Smoke churned into the sky, dark and thick, while Muggle firefighters scurried around like ants trying to contain the beastly blaze. The cacophony of the fire was a roar that seemed to drown out every other sound, mingling with the terrified cries of nearby onlookers.

Her normally steely composure shattered in the face of this nightmare. “Where’s Harry?” she demanded, her voice cracking with a mix of desperation and authority as she grabbed a firefighter by the arm.

The firefighter, his face smeared with soot and exhaustion, shook his head slowly, as if his next words were a physical blow. “No one made it out,” he said, each syllable hitting McGonagall like a physical blow.

Her world tilted sideways. Ignoring the barriers and the shouts of "Stay back!" from the Muggle authorities, McGonagall pushed through with single-minded fury. Her eyes darted through the smoke and wreckage, desperately seeking any sign of Harry. This wasn’t just about a house burning down; this was personal. Harry was the son of James and Lily, two of her favorite Gryffindor students. And he was the twin of Rose, the little girl under Dumbledore’s protection at Hogwarts. The thought of him being lost in these flames was a nightmare too cruel to bear.

“Arabella!” Her voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. She spotted Arabella Figg on the periphery, her face as pale as a ghost and her eyes wide with a mix of horror and helplessness.

Arabella shuffled over, visibly shaken. “Minerva, it’s awful,” she said, her voice trembling like a leaf in the wind. “There was an explosion. I heard it from my house. By the time I got here, the house was already on fire. They’re saying no one survived.”

A chill gripped McGonagall’s heart, icy and unrelenting. The world felt like it was spinning, every thought a tangled mess of anguish and denial. “Are you absolutely certain? Did you see Harry?” Her voice was nearly a whisper, as if asking the question louder might make the nightmare real.

Arabella’s eyes filled with tears, her own sorrow a mirror of McGonagall’s. “I’m so sorry, Minerva. I didn’t see him. Everything happened so quickly.” Her voice broke, unable to offer the solace McGonagall desperately needed.

Frustration and helplessness surged through McGonagall, a raw and powerful tide. Harry’s loss was more than a tragedy; it was a devastating blow to her heart and soul. She knew there was more to this disaster than met the eye. “Stay here, Arabella,” she instructed, her voice barely steady. “I need to contact Albus. We need to find out the truth.”

Arabella nodded, her gaze fixed on the smoldering wreckage, a grim testament to the night’s horrors. With a heavy heart, McGonagall Apparated back to Hogwarts, her mind whirling with despair and determination. As she reappeared on the familiar grounds, the weight of the night’s events pressed heavily on her. Harry, the beloved son of her dearest friends and the twin of the child she had come to care for as her own, was lost. And she was resolved to uncover the truth behind this tragedy, for Harry, for Rose, and for the family she had sworn to protect.

—

In a hidden sanctuary that looked like it came straight out of an ancient magical storybook, Gellert Grindelwald sat across from young Harry Potter. The room was packed with old tomes and mystical artifacts that seemed to buzz with secrets from another era. The air was so thick with magic you could almost cut it with a wand, and Harry’s eyes were as big as saucers, soaking in every last detail like a sponge in a rainstorm.

Grindelwald leaned forward, his voice low and smooth, almost like he was telling a bedtime story. “Harry, did you know that magic is all around us, just out of reach from the Muggle world?” His tone was laced with the kind of excitement you’d expect from someone who’d just discovered a hidden treasure. “Wizards and witches can do incredible things. With just a flick of a wand, we can make things appear out of nowhere, cast spells that change the world, and even defy gravity.”

Harry’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and Grindelwald couldn’t help but feel a pang of warmth. “Can you teach me magic, Mr. Grindelwald?”

Grindelwald’s smile was as soft as a summer breeze, his eyes twinkling with what seemed like fatherly pride. “Absolutely, Harry. Magic is a wondrous gift, but it needs to be handled with care and respect. You have something special inside you, and with the right guidance, you could become a wizard everyone talks about.”

Grindelwald was a master at storytelling. He spun tales of legendary witches and wizards who used their powers to do amazing things—helping the helpless, defending the weak, and standing up for what’s right, even when the world was full of trouble.

“Magic isn’t just about waving a wand and making things happen,” Grindelwald said, his voice dropping to a more earnest tone. “It’s about making good choices and making a difference. True strength comes from within—from being kind, brave, and having a compassionate heart.”

Harry listened with rapt attention, his small face reflecting a mix of awe and relief. For the first time, he felt like he was part of something bigger, something beyond the bleakness of Privet Drive. Grindelwald’s words were like a lifeline, offering a glimpse of a world where magic wasn’t just a dream but a way to change his life.

As they talked, Grindelwald noticed the shadows in Harry’s eyes—those tiny hints of hurt that spoke volumes about his past. Harry’s eagerness to learn wasn’t just about curiosity; it was a desperate need for validation, a stark contrast to the cruel dismissals he’d faced. Realizing how the Dursleys had belittled Harry, Grindelwald felt a surge of protectiveness and a fierce determination to shield him.

Their bond grew stronger with each passing story and lesson, evolving into something deeper than just a mentor-student relationship. Grindelwald saw in Harry not just a student but a chance to make things right, to guide a young soul who had been through too much. 

In their secret sanctuary, surrounded by the mysteries of magic, Harry and Grindelwald embarked on a journey of discovery and healing. Together, they began weaving a new chapter in Harry’s life—one filled with courage, redemption, and the kind of hope that could change everything.

—

In the shadowy depths of HYDRA’s hidden laboratory, the air was thick with tension and a hint of something unpleasantly sinister. The room buzzed with the low hum of high-tech machinery and the eerie glow of computer screens, casting long shadows across the walls. Daniel Whitehall, HYDRA’s calculating and cold-blooded leader, stood at the epicenter of the tension, surrounded by a team of scientists who looked as if they’d just seen a ghost. 

Arnim Zola, the genius scientist with an unsettling smile and a penchant for morally questionable decisions, stepped forward with a mix of confidence and something like trepidation. His round spectacles caught the dim light as he began to speak, his voice a curious mix of intellect and an ominous calm. “Herr Whitehall, there’s an issue with our Super-Soldier Serum.”

Whitehall’s eyes narrowed into slits, his patience wearing as thin as paper. “What’s the problem, Zola? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Zola shifted uncomfortably, a rare flicker of doubt crossing his usually unshakeable face. “The serum, while promising, has developed... complications. It’s not holding up as well as Dr. Erskine’s original formula. Our test subjects are showing dangerous side effects and unpredictable mutations.”

Whitehall’s face darkened, the flicker of frustration and anger almost palpable. “You’re telling me our serum is a dud? We can’t afford any slip-ups, especially with our plans for ‘Der Winterzauberer.’”

Zola nodded, urgency creeping into his voice. “Exactly, Herr Whitehall. The formula is flawed. But there’s hope. We’ve discovered that Howard Stark is working on a serum based on Dr. Erskine’s original—essentially the only successful version of the Super-Soldier Serum. If we can get our hands on Stark’s serum, it might be the key to perfecting our own.”

Whitehall’s mind raced, weaving through the implications. Howard Stark was a significant obstacle, and acquiring the serum would require a daring, risky operation. But the potential to enhance 'Der Winterzauberer'—Harry Potter—and HYDRA’s operatives was too valuable to ignore.

While the lab hummed with the frenetic energy of scientists scurrying around, Whitehall turned to a secure communication console, contacting a high-ranking HYDRA operative who oversaw some of their most formidable assets, including the infamous Winter Soldier.

“Give me an update on Der Wintersoldat,” Whitehall barked, his tone leaving no room for hesitation as encrypted data flashed on the screen.

The reply was swift and precise. “Der Wintersoldat is currently engaged under the Red Room’s directive, paired with their top operative, codenamed 'The Black Widow.' They’re on a mission of the highest priority, following Red Room Directive 17.”

Whitehall absorbed the information with a calculating gaze. The involvement of the Red Room added a layer of complexity to HYDRA’s plans, but he saw value in utilizing the Winter Soldier’s formidable skills, even if it was a temporary arrangement.

“Keep constant surveillance and update me on any critical changes,” Whitehall commanded, his mind already spinning with strategies to integrate both the Winter Soldier and Der Winterzauberer into HYDRA’s grand scheme.

As the final preparations for the serum injection took shape and global operation updates streamed in, Whitehall’s vision for HYDRA’s dominance crystallized. With Der Winterzauberer and the Winter Soldier at their disposal, HYDRA’s reach could extend into both the magical and mundane worlds, reshaping the future according to their dark and twisted will.

—

In the dimly lit corners of a safe house buried deep in the hustle and bustle of a city that never slept, Natasha Romanoff, a.k.a. Black Widow, was gearing up for her latest escapade. Picture this: a spy movie scene where the hero dons an outfit meant to captivate and bewilder. Tonight, Natasha’s choice was a schoolgirl uniform designed to charm and disarm. Across the room, the Winter Soldier stood like a shadowy sentinel, his presence as intense as the darkness around him. The flicker of the monitor highlighted his metal arm, casting it as an ominous, high-tech beacon. On screen, their target—a high-ranking diplomat with a weakness for elaborate fantasies—was featured prominently.

Natasha shot a glance at the Winter Soldier, her eyes a cocktail of steely determination and playful mischief. “Ready for this one?” she asked, her voice smooth with just a hint of “watch out, trouble’s brewing.”

The Winter Soldier gave a nod so sharp it could cut glass. His gaze was brimming with focus and unspoken understanding, the kind that only comes from countless high-stakes missions together. Natasha’s grin widened, the kind that suggested she was both confident and relishing the challenge ahead.

As she prepared to slip into character, Natasha’s demeanor transformed completely. From a seasoned operative, she became a shy, innocent schoolgirl, her movements carefully crafted to convey vulnerability. “Time to charm our diplomat,” she murmured to herself, her eyes twinkling with mischievous intent as she approached the opulent hotel suite where her mark awaited.

Inside, the diplomat—a middle-aged man wrapped in layers of power and indulgence—welcomed Natasha with a mix of curiosity and barely concealed delight. “Ah, my dear,” he purred, his voice smooth and inviting, “what a delightful surprise.”

Natasha’s eyes danced with a hint of nervousness as she entered, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor. “I do enjoy making an impression,” she replied, her voice trembling with just the right amount of innocence.

As the diplomat poured wine, Natasha skillfully guided the conversation, her role as a demure schoolgirl perfectly executed. “So, what is it that brings you to this charming establishment?” he asked, his gaze lingering on her with an almost predatory interest.

“Oh, you know,” Natasha said with a demure smile, “just here to brighten your evening. And perhaps… to learn a few things about the fascinating world you inhabit.”

The diplomat chuckled, his eyes glinting with approval. “Ah, such a curious little thing. Do tell me, what do you find most intriguing about my world?”

Natasha tilted her head, her expression one of feigned innocence. “Well, I suppose it’s the power and influence. It’s all very… captivating.”

The diplomat leaned in closer, clearly enjoying the game. “And what about me, my dear? Am I captivating as well?”

Natasha’s cheeks flushed slightly as she took a sip of her wine, her gaze shyly meeting his. “You certainly have a way of making an impression. I’m sure you’ve had many fascinating encounters.”

“Indeed,” the diplomat said, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. “But none quite like this, I’m sure. And I must say, you’re quite the enchanting little actress.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkled with playful mischief as she leaned in closer. “Is that so? Perhaps I’m just playing a part. Or maybe there’s something more to it.”

The diplomat’s gaze grew intense, his interest clearly piqued. “Oh, I’m certain there’s more to it. Tell me, what is it you truly desire?”

Natasha’s fingers lightly traced the line of his arm, her touch a blend of command and invitation. “Perhaps I’m just here to explore… to see what secrets you might share.”

In the shadows, the Winter Soldier’s tension was palpable. He was calculating their next move with the precision of a chess grandmaster, every moment bringing them closer to the intelligence they sought.

The diplomat’s defenses began to crumble as Natasha expertly played her role. “Tell me,” she asked softly, her voice a mix of genuine curiosity and feigned naivety, “what do you find most… exhilarating about your position?”

The diplomat leaned back, clearly enjoying the attention. “Power is exhilarating, my dear. But I find the thrill of secrecy even more so. There are many things people don’t know, things that are kept hidden… for a reason.”

Natasha nodded, her eyes never leaving his. “And what about the secrets you keep? Are they as thrilling as you’d like?”

The diplomat’s eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. “Ah, my dear, you’re quite perceptive. The secrets I keep are my most prized possessions. But sometimes, sharing them can be… quite the indulgence.”

As the night wore on and the diplomat’s defenses crumbled like a sandcastle at high tide, Natasha gave a subtle signal to the Winter Soldier. The extraction was executed with the precision of a well-rehearsed ballet, each move perfectly timed to leave the diplomat none the wiser.

Mission accomplished, Natasha’s mind was already racing ahead, plotting their next maneuver in the ever-shifting game of espionage. Beside her, the Winter Soldier stood like a rock, his job done but always ready for the next twist in the tale.

In the world of spies and secrets, Natasha Romanoff and the Winter Soldier were the dynamic duo of covert operations. Their partnership, forged through countless battles and tight squeezes, was unstoppable. Together, they danced on the edge of danger with a blend of wit and skill that was nothing short of legendary.

—

Minerva McGonagall Apparated into the ancient halls of Hogwarts Castle, her heart weighed down by the gravity of the news she carried. The crisp autumn air seemed to cling to her robes as she made her way down the dimly lit corridors, each step echoing with the urgency of her mission.

In Dumbledore's office, the atmosphere was steeped in an almost theatrical grandeur. Albus Dumbledore stood by the grand window, gazing out into the twilight with the air of someone who believed himself to be the maestro of a grand symphony. Candles flickered dramatically, casting long, shifting shadows that seemed to dance to the rhythm of his self-importance.

“Minerva!” Dumbledore’s voice rang out with a flourish as he turned to greet her. His expression was one of practiced serenity, tinged with the kind of grandiosity that came from years of self-assuredness. “What brings you here in such a state of distress? Surely it must be something momentous!”

Minerva took a steadying breath, her usual composure cracking under the weight of her message. “Albus, there’s been a tragedy at Privet Drive,” she began, her voice heavy with sorrow. “The Dursleys’ home… it’s been engulfed in flames.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened slightly, but the concern was fleeting. His expression quickly morphed into one of contemplative detachment, as if he was already mentally adjusting his grand plans. “Harry?” he asked, a hint of curiosity laced in his tone. “Is he…?”

Minerva’s face softened with a rare glimpse of vulnerability. “I’m afraid… he didn’t survive,” she whispered, her voice barely holding steady. “The Muggle authorities couldn’t save him.”

Dumbledore’s response was a mix of fleeting surprise and philosophical acceptance. “Ah, yes,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Harry was always meant to be a symbol, but I have always had my doubts about his true potential, him being a squib and all. We must look forward.”

Minerva’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Albus, Harry wasn't just a squib, he was an innocent child caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. This isn’t just about symbolism!”

Dumbledore’s demeanor remained unfazed, as if the reality of Harry’s death was a mere footnote in his grand design. “Indeed, it’s a tragic loss, but the true focus should remain on Rose Potter. She is the one who carries the mantle of our future. We must ensure that the world continues to see her as the beacon of hope she is destined to be.”

Minerva’s frustration was palpable. “Rose has been spoiled and shielded from the harsh truths. The reality of what’s happened hasn’t even touched her.”

Dumbledore, ever the grand orchestrator of his own narrative, dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. “We must inform the Ministry and prepare for any necessary adjustments. The narrative we’ve crafted around Rose will continue, regardless of these unfortunate developments.”

Minerva struggled to maintain her composure. “And the Order? The wizarding world deserves to know the truth about what’s happened.”

Dumbledore’s gaze was distant, absorbed in a vision only he could see. “Yes, inform the Order. They must be ready for the new reality. As for the wider world, they will remain focused on Rose as their symbol of hope. We cannot afford to undermine their belief.”

With a heavy heart, Minerva turned to leave, her steps laden with the burden of delivering a truth that Dumbledore’s grand vision had overshadowed. Dumbledore watched her go, his mind already reweaving his plans and precautions. In his world of self-crafted destinies, the future was a grand spectacle where Harry’s tragic end was but a minor detail, overshadowed by the shining promise of Rose Potter.

—

In a secretive, dimly lit chamber within the safe house, the air crackled with an electric mix of excitement and warmth. Gellert Grindelwald, the famous (and, let’s be honest, kind of full-of-himself) master of wandlore, was sitting across from a young Harry Potter, whose eyes were a cocktail of awe and nerves. The room was packed with an assortment of wands, each one just itching to be the next big thing in Harry’s magical journey.

“Alright, kiddo,” Grindelwald said, leaning forward with a grin that screamed ‘I’m about to drop some wisdom on you,’ “choosing a wand isn’t just about picking a stick with a magical core. It’s about finding a buddy, a wand that totally clicks with your soul.”

Harry, all of five years old but already carrying more emotional baggage than an overstuffed suitcase, looked up at Grindelwald with a mix of hope and trepidation. The magical world was like a whole new universe to him, and picking his own wand was like being given the keys to the kingdom—or at least that’s what it felt like.

Grindelwald’s eyes softened, and he picked up a wand made of sturdy oak with a phoenix feather core. With a flourish, he handed it to Harry, who took it with trembling fingers. As Harry gripped the wand, it seemed to glow with a warm, comforting light—a far cry from the icy indifference he was used to.

“Oak represents strength and endurance,” Grindelwald explained, his tone dripping with that classic wise old sage vibe. “And the phoenix feather? It’s all about rebirth and bravery. If this wand’s chosen you, it’s because you’ve got something pretty special going on.”

Harry waved the wand experimentally, feeling a wave of energy that was like a burst of sunshine in his gloomy world. The wand felt right, like it was an old friend he’d just met. He looked up at Grindelwald with wide eyes. “Do you really think this wand is for me?” he asked, his voice a mix of excitement and disbelief.

Grindelwald’s expression softened even further, showing a surprisingly grandfatherly concern. “The wand chooses the wizard, Harry,” he said, his tone both reassuring and grandiose. “And this wand seems to have found something extraordinary in you.”

Harry’s heart fluttered with a newfound sense of confidence. “It feels perfect,” he said, holding the wand like it was the answer to all his problems.

But then, Harry’s gaze was drawn to another wand on the table—a sleek ebony one with a dragon heartstring core. “Gellert,” Harry said, his voice filled with curiosity, “there’s another wand... it’s sort of calling to me.”

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by the depth of Harry’s connection with the wands. He reached for the ebony wand, handing it over with a touch that was both careful and a little dramatic. As Harry grasped it, a powerful, intense energy surged through him.

“This one,” Harry said, his eyes wide with awe, “it feels... so strong, like it’s meant for something big.”

Grindelwald’s eyes sparkled with a mix of admiration and protective affection. “Ebony wands are known for their power and versatility, and a dragon heartstring core? That’s pure legend material—fierce and full of fire. Not something you see every day in a kid your age.”

Harry stood there, holding both wands, feeling a unique connection with each one. “Gellert,” he asked, hope and uncertainty in his voice, “can I... keep both?”

Grindelwald’s smile was warm, a blend of pride and a touch of theatrical flair. “It’s unconventional, sure, but if both wands have chosen you, who are we to argue with destiny? They’re yours, Harry, and they’ll serve you well.”

With a heart full of gratitude and a spark of newfound self-worth, Harry accepted both wands. Under Grindelwald’s watchful eye, he was not just getting his magical tools; he was also receiving a rare gift—belonging and protection. As the doors to the magical world swung open, Harry felt a fresh wave of readiness and hope, guided by Grindelwald’s blend of wisdom and charisma.

—

In the shadowy depths of the Red Room base, two of the world’s deadliest operatives emerged from the gloom: Natasha Romanoff, the elusive Black Widow, and the enigmatic Winter Soldier. The dim light flickered as they moved, their senses tuned to the subtle changes in their environment, ready for whatever Dreykov, the mastermind of their shadowy operations, had planned.

Dreykov’s gaze was sharp enough to cut glass. “Romanoff, Soldier,” he began, his voice slicing through the tension with a no-nonsense authority. “New orders for both of you.”

Natasha, ever the consummate professional, shot a glance at her partner. The Winter Soldier, the human enigma, stood like a statue, his metal arm catching the scant light. The air was thick with anticipation—something big was coming, and it was bound to shake things up.

Dreykov’s tone was blunt. “The Winter Soldier is being recalled by Hydra. They need his... unique talents for a mission. He’ll leave immediately.”

Natasha’s heart felt like it had dropped into her stomach. The partnership she’d come to rely on, honed through countless missions and shared danger, was about to be torn apart. But her face stayed a mask of calm. Years of training had drilled into her the art of hiding emotions, even as they threatened to overwhelm her.

“And you, Romanoff,” Dreykov said, his gaze locking onto hers with a predatory gleam, “will be assigned to Hydra as well. They need your skills to train a new asset—someone crucial to their plans.”

A shiver ran down Natasha’s spine. Hydra was notorious for its dark operations, and the idea of molding a new operative for such a ruthless organization was unsettling. But Natasha knew her role and the grim necessity of it.

Dreykov’s voice softened, though only slightly. “This is a critical mission. Hydra expects you to teach advanced combat and infiltration techniques, while the Winter Soldier will handle tactical and operational training.”

The Winter Soldier gave a curt nod. His silence spoke volumes—he was ready for whatever came next, unflinching and resolute.

Natasha’s voice was steady, though it betrayed a hint of concern. “Understood.” She exchanged a brief, meaningful look with her partner. They’d faced impossible odds together before, and while their paths were diverging, she was determined to uphold their shared legacy.

Dreykov nodded, evidently satisfied. “The asset is unique, and Hydra has high expectations. Your combined expertise will be crucial. Prepare for immediate departure.”

As they were dismissed, Natasha felt the weight of the new mission press down on her. In her quarters, she packed her gear with practiced efficiency, her mind racing with questions—who was this new asset? What secrets did Hydra hide? She knew the organization’s methods were ruthless, but she steeled herself for the challenges ahead. Deep down, Natasha remained a decent person, scarred by years of manipulation but holding on to the hope that her actions, however grim, might one day contribute to a greater good.

Chapter 4: Chapter 3

In the shadowy corridors of the Hydra base, Natasha Romanoff and the Winter Soldier followed their guide, their footsteps echoing off the cold, metallic walls. The air buzzed with the hum of unseen machinery and the sharp tang of steel. The guide, a Hydra officer with a face as stern as a carved statue, stopped in front of a heavy door. With a series of beeps and whirs, it slid open to reveal a small, glass-walled observation room.

Inside, Natasha and the Winter Soldier stepped into the room, their gazes immediately drawn to the large pane of one-way glass. On the other side, in a room that was almost comically bright compared to the rest of the facility, sat a young boy. Harry, no more than five years old, with dark, tousled hair and wide, green eyes full of a mix of wonder and fear, clutched a well-loved toy with trembling fingers. He looked like he’d stumbled into the wrong world, one where the warmth and safety of a child's life had been replaced by the cold shadows of Hydra.

"Meet Harry," the officer's voice was as flat as a pancake. "He’s to be molded into Der Winterzauberer, our latest asset. Your job is to train him and turn him into a formidable weapon for Hydra."

Natasha’s heart twisted at the sight of the child. She glanced at the Winter Soldier, whose face was a mask of cold detachment. Yet, for a brief moment, there was a flicker in his eyes—a hint of something softer, something reminiscent of a young boy he once might have known. It was as if Harry had sparked a memory of a time long forgotten.

"He’s just a kid," Natasha said, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her training might have drilled her into an emotionless machine, but the sight of this innocent child cracked through her façade.

"Hydra believes in starting them young," the officer replied, his tone as clinical as a textbook. "The younger they are, the easier they are to mold. Your skills will ensure his training is top-notch."

Natasha swallowed hard, fighting to keep her composure. She had faced many recruits, but none so young or so visibly hurt. The thought of turning Harry into a Hydra operative was deeply disturbing, but she knew she had no choice. Her vow, however, was to protect him as much as she could while carrying out her orders.

The Winter Soldier’s gaze remained locked on Harry, his silence stark against Natasha’s turmoil. The brief flash of recognition in his eyes—a shadow of a young boy—was quickly overtaken by his conditioning. Even he couldn’t completely erase the image of Harry, a poignant reminder of innocence and suffering.

"What’s his story?" Natasha asked, trying to keep her voice steady as she battled the storm inside her.

"Harry Potter," the officer said, tapping away at a tablet with mechanical efficiency. "Orphaned and thought to be a Squib by the wizarding community. He’s been off the radar, making him perfect for our needs."

Natasha took a deep breath. "We’ll do our part, but we need to be involved in every step of his training. He needs to trust us."

The officer hesitated, then gave a curt nod. "You’ll have full access. But remember, failure is not an option."

With that, the officer left, leaving Natasha and the Winter Soldier alone with their thoughts. They continued to observe Harry through the glass, their silent contemplation heavy with unspoken promises.

"We’ll need to be careful," Natasha murmured to the Winter Soldier. "He doesn’t deserve this. We’ll train him, but we’ll protect him too, as much as we can."

The Winter Soldier gave a slight nod, his eyes never leaving Harry. In their shared silence, an unspoken pact formed—they were not just operatives but guardians of this young boy caught in Hydra’s web.

As they prepared to meet Harry face-to-face, the door opened again, and in strode a figure of undeniable presence: Gellert Grindelwald. His magnetic aura and piercing blue eyes commanded respect. Despite his calculated demeanor, there was a soft warmth in his gaze as he looked at the boy behind the glass.

"Gellert Grindelwald," the officer introduced with a hint of reverence. "He’ll be responsible for teaching Harry magic."

Grindelwald’s gaze softened as he looked at the boy. "Ah, young Harry," he said quietly, almost to himself. "A remarkable future awaits him."

Turning his attention back to Natasha and the Winter Soldier, Grindelwald’s expression became inscrutable. "Together, we will shape him into a force Hydra has never seen. But remember, his mind is delicate. Our task is not only to train him but to guide him with care."

Natasha nodded, fully understanding the gravity of Grindelwald’s words. The Winter Soldier remained silent, his eyes reflecting a mix of recognition and wariness.

"Welcome to your new reality, Harry," Grindelwald said softly, his voice a blend of promise and concern. He hid his true feelings, a protective, grandfatherly concern for the boy, as he faced the harsh reality of Hydra's plans.

—

In the bustling corridors of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, something close to a magical commotion began to bubble up among the staff. Healers and medi-witches zipped through the halls, their chatter practically crackling with excitement as if the very air was charged with it. Meanwhile, in a long-term care ward where time had apparently decided to take a sabbatical, two figures were starting to wake from what could only be described as an epic nap.

James Potter’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing a ceiling that seemed both totally alien and weirdly familiar. It was like waking up to find yourself in a room that was a cross between an insane asylum and a giant marshmallow. His muscles, which felt like they'd been frozen in place by a particularly unkind ice spell, slowly started to work again. With great effort, he turned his head, which felt like moving a truck after a three-year engine overhaul. There, lying next to him, was a woman with tangled red hair and a face that screamed, “I’m just as confused as you are.”

"Lily," he croaked, his voice sounding like it had taken a detour through a desert. He reached out, his hand shaking as if it had forgotten how to be steady. His fingers made a hesitant pass over her arm, like he was afraid she might turn into a pumpkin.

Lily Potter’s eyes slowly opened, peering through what looked like a very thick fog. When she recognized James, her face transformed into a mix of disbelief and joy that could have been lifted straight out of a fairy tale. "James?" she whispered back, her voice trembling with hope and a touch of panic. She turned to him, her expression a perfect blend of confusion and relief.

At that moment, the door burst open like it was auditioning for a part in an action movie. A healer stormed into the room, her eyes wide with astonishment and glee. "Merlin's beard! You’re awake!" she shouted, her excitement so tangible you could almost see it floating in the air. With a flick of her wand, she summoned reinforcements, her movements so frantic it looked like she was trying to perform a spell and a dance routine simultaneously.

James and Lily exchanged bewildered glances as a horde of healers descended upon them, their wands casting diagnostic spells that lit up the room in a soothing, bluish glow. The Potters, still trying to process their bizarre surroundings, learned that they had been in a magical coma for over three years—ever since that catastrophic night in Godric's Hollow.

"Your bodies were preserved by a ridiculously complicated spell," explained Healer Pye, the head healer who seemed like she’d just stepped out of a particularly dramatic medical drama. "It’s nothing short of a miracle that you’ve woken up now."

James, looking like he’d been through a ghostly wringer, suddenly became all business. "Harry? Rose? What about our kids?" he demanded, his voice cracking like an old broomstick.

The healers exchanged glances that screamed, “We’ve got a lot to explain.” "Rose was placed under the care of Albus Dumbledore. Harry was sent to live with your relatives, the Dursleys," one of them said, their tone carefully measured. "But there have been... complications. We need to catch you up on everything."

Lily’s eyes practically popped out of her head, her face turning redder than a Weasley’s hair. She struggled to sit up, her muscles protesting like they had been in a bad relationship with gravity. "The Dursleys? You sent Harry to the Dursleys? They—" She sputtered, her anger barely contained. "You have no idea what they’re like! Petunia’s a nasty piece of work, and Vernon’s a bigoted pig who calls people with magic ‘freaks!’ Why on earth would he be sent there? And why were our kids raised separately in the first place?"

Healer Pye held up her hands, like she was trying to perform a peacekeeping spell. "Please, try to stay calm. There were reasons for these decisions made under extraordinary circumstances. We need to discuss this rationally. Harry’s placement was a decision made with a lot of factors considered, and it's crucial we give you a full briefing."

James’s face darkened, and he looked like he might burst a blood vessel. "What complications? What’s happened to Harry? Is he okay?"

"Please, stay calm," Healer Pye said gently. "You need to regain your strength first. We’ll provide you with all the details, but it’s important you’re in a condition to process this information."

James and Lily nodded, their faces a mix of worry and resignation. They settled back into their beds, their minds heavy with the weight of lost time and the uncertainty surrounding their children. The physical effects of their coma were clear: their muscles were weak, their movements wobbly, and their minds a bit foggy as they adjusted to the shock of waking up.

As the healers continued their work, ensuring the Potters' recovery, the news of their awakening began to spread like wildfire through St. Mungo’s. The entire wizarding world was about to buzz with the incredible return of two of its most beloved figures. But for James and Lily, their thoughts were consumed by a single, urgent concern—finding their children, Harry and Rose, and figuring out why they had been separated and placed under such dangerous circumstances.

—

In the shadowed confines of a hidden safe house, where darkness seemed to have a life of its own, Gellert Grindelwald stood next to a small boy with tousled dark hair and striking green eyes. Harry Potter, barely five years old, seemed to be a lost soul in this enigmatic world. Grindelwald’s air of authority and intrigue was palpable as he observed Harry with a gaze that combined curiosity with a shrewd, calculating edge.

Flanking Grindelwald were two figures with legacies that spanned espionage and magic: Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, and the Winter Soldier, a silent and imposing presence. The atmosphere was thick with the weight of their combined histories and the seriousness of their mission.

“Natasha, Soldier,” Grindelwald began, his voice a blend of command and mystery, “allow me to introduce you to our young charge, Harry Potter.”

Natasha’s eyes, sharp and perceptive, shifted between Grindelwald and the boy. Despite her tough exterior, something about Harry’s guarded expression resonated with her, a reminder of her own trials and her struggle to break free from her past.

The Winter Soldier, his metal arm gleaming faintly in the dim light, observed Harry with a detached intensity. His emotions were tightly controlled, but there was a flicker of something softer in his gaze whenever he looked at the boy. To him, Harry was just another recruit, but that fleeting softness felt like an echo of something lost and familiar, though he could not place why.

“Harry,” Grindelwald continued, addressing the boy with a theatrical flourish, “these are Natasha and the Winter Soldier. They will be your guides as you begin your training.”

Harry looked up at the trio, his expression a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Natasha’s presence seemed oddly familiar, stirring something deep within him that he couldn’t quite identify. The Winter Soldier’s formidable presence felt like something from a dark legend, instilling both awe and unease.

Natasha, her usual grace softened by an innate sense of empathy, crouched down to Harry’s level. “Hi, Harry,” she said gently, offering a smile that was both warm and weary. “We’re here to help you discover and master your abilities. It’s going to be a tough journey, but you’re not alone.”

The Winter Soldier, though silent, allowed a brief moment of warmth to touch his gaze. Each time he looked at Harry, a fleeting image of a young boy—something that felt profoundly familiar but was shrouded in obscurity—crossed his mind. The image vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving him with a sense of unspoken protectiveness.

Grindelwald, ever the master of deception, concealed his true emotions behind a veneer of cool calculation. Despite his role in Hydra’s plans, he felt a surprising surge of protectiveness towards Harry, akin to the feelings of a reluctant guardian. He wished to shield the boy from Hydra’s clutches, even as he played his part in their grand scheme.

“Natasha, Soldier,” Grindelwald said with a finality that brooked no argument, “initiate the preparations. Harry’s training begins now.”

Natasha and the Winter Soldier nodded, their duty clear and heavy with implication. They were not merely mentors but guardians in a world where shadows loomed large.

As they began their preparations, the gravity of their mission settled heavily on their shoulders. Bound by their allegiance to Hydra, yet secretly driven to protect Harry, they prepared to guide him through a journey fraught with challenges and moral dilemmas. In a world where the line between light and darkness was often blurred, their efforts would shape the destiny of the boy who seemed as fragile as he was resilient.

—

In the grand, echoing halls of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore strode with an air of self-importance, as if he were the only one who could solve the universe’s problems. The news he carried was monumental, and he was determined to deliver it with the drama and flair of a man who believed his own hype.

When Dumbledore arrived at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the long-term care ward was a flurry of activity. Healers bustled around, their faces a blend of exhaustion and cautious optimism. James and Lily Potter, just awakening from a long slumber, turned their attention to the grand wizard who seemed to believe he was about to drop the world’s most pivotal revelation.

“James, Lily,” Dumbledore intoned, his voice heavy with the gravity of someone who clearly thought of himself as the master of cosmic revelations, “It is both a relief and a duty to inform you of recent events.”

James, still weak and disoriented, managed a strained smile. “Professor Dumbledore,” he rasped, “it’s good to see you, though I can’t imagine what’s been going on.”

Lily’s eyes were full of tears as she sought answers. “Professor, what has happened to our children? Where are Harry and Rose?”

Dumbledore, with an air of someone who believed he was about to reveal the universe’s biggest secret, cleared his throat. “Lily, James,” he began, his voice filled with the dramatic tension of someone who thought he was narrating a grand epic, “Rose has been under my care at Hogwarts. She’s been celebrated as the Girl-Who-Lived.”

James exhaled in relief, though his concern was palpable. “And Harry?”

Dumbledore’s expression turned somber, as if he were about to deliver a blow that only he could bear. “Harry… was placed with Petunia Dursley. Tragically, he was lost in the fire that consumed their home. The Dursleys perished, and Harry, we believe, was lost in the blaze.”

The words hit like a thunderclap. Lily gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. James’s face twisted in grief and disbelief. The news of their son’s death was like a brutal blow, shattering their world.

“I’m deeply sorry,” Dumbledore continued, his voice tinged with the heavy burden of his perceived wisdom. “We did everything we could to protect him, but fate had other plans.”

Lily’s eyes were filled with anguished confusion. “But… but why was Harry with Petunia? And why was Rose with you?”

Dumbledore’s face showed a flicker of defensiveness. “Petunia’s home was considered the safest place at the time. Harry was a Squib, which led us to believe he needed to be hidden where he could be safe from Voldemort’s followers.”

James, now visibly upset, interrupted with anger. “A Squib? Harry has shown magical abilities since he was a baby! He can’t be a Squib!”

Dumbledore’s confidence faltered slightly. “The decisions were made based on the information we had. My judgment has usually been sound.”

Lily’s frustration and grief combined into a forceful plea. “But what about Sirius and Remus? Sirius was Harry’s godfather. And why were Harry and Rose separated in the first place?”

Dumbledore’s face grew graver. “Sirius was the Secret Keeper and betrayed your location. As for the separation, Harry’s supposed lack of magical ability and the need for secrecy led to that decision.”

James’s anger flared. “Sirius would never have betrayed us. He wasn’t the Secret Keeper!”

Dumbledore’s expression shifted to one of dawning realization and confusion. “Then who was the Secret Keeper?”

Lily’s voice was laden with pain and anger. “Peter Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper. He was our friend, but he was weak and betrayed us.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened, his confidence shaken. “Peter Pettigrew? That changes everything.”

Lily, her grief and anger a potent force, continued. “And you, Dumbledore, assumed Rose was the one mentioned in the prophecy. But Rose was born on August 1st at 12:01 a.m., which makes her ineligible. Harry, born on July 31st at 11:59 p.m., was the true subject of the prophecy.”

Dumbledore’s face reflected shock and dawning realization, as if he’d just discovered his carefully laid plans had a massive flaw. “I hadn’t considered the exact timing of their births,” he admitted, his voice betraying his own sense of disarray.

James’s frustration boiled over. “Dumbledore, you’ve made a mess of this. Return our daughter immediately and clear Sirius’s name.”

Dumbledore, now visibly shaken and grappling with his wounded pride, nodded gravely. “You’re right, James. I’ve made significant errors. I will ensure Rose is returned and rectify the injustice done to Sirius.”

Lily’s voice was firm and resolute. “And you,” she said with steely resolve, “will be held accountable for treating our children’s lives like pieces in your grand game.”

As James and Lily stood together, their grief and anger combined into a powerful force. Their mission was clear: they would ensure their family’s safety, clear their names, and hold Dumbledore accountable for his grandiose mistakes. The quest for justice and redemption had just begun, and they were not about to rest until their children were safe and their names were cleared.

—

As the twilight shadows lengthened over Hogwarts, James and Lily Potter, fresh from their long-awaited return, navigated the castle’s labyrinthine halls with Albus Dumbledore leading the way. He was flanked by Healer Andromeda Tonks, Lily’s best friend and Sirius Black’s cousin, who had insisted on joining them for support.

Dumbledore, ever the grand maestro of his own show, seemed to revel in the drama of the moment. His robes fluttered with the grace of someone who believed the world itself was his stage. Andromeda stayed close to Lily, her presence a steady anchor amid the whirlwind of emotions.

The castle’s corridors, usually alive with the sounds of students and magic, were eerily silent as they approached the Headmaster’s office. The grandeur of the place felt almost theatrical, as if Dumbledore had cast a spell to make everything more dramatic. 

When they reached the office, Professor McGonagall was waiting with a young girl who looked like she’d just stepped off a throne. Rose Potter, now five, had been raised by Dumbledore to believe she was a princess in a world where her every whim was catered to. Her fiery red hair and imperious demeanor only added to the impression.

“Mum? Dad?” Rose’s voice was a mix of haughtiness and curiosity. She surveyed her parents as if they were a new brand of exotic creature.

Lily, her emotions raw and tears streaming down her face, reached out with open arms. “Yes, Rose, it’s us. We’re here to take you home.”

Rose didn’t budge, her arms crossed defensively. “Dumbledore gives me everything I want. Why would I leave? I’m perfectly content here.”

James and Lily exchanged a look of frustration and heartache. Lily dropped to her knees, trying to bridge the gap between their worlds. “We wanted to be with you, sweetheart. We were… we couldn’t be here before.”

Rose’s skepticism didn’t waver. “But Dumbledore said you were asleep. I don’t need anything else. He’s given me everything.”

James, struggling to keep his composure, placed a reassuring hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Rose, we’re your parents. We love you. We want to be with you and take care of you.”

Andromeda gave a sympathetic smile, her heart aching for this bittersweet family reunion. Dumbledore, standing in the background, appeared almost to relish the drama, though his self-satisfied expression was starting to slip.

James pivoted sharply toward Dumbledore, his anger barely contained. “You need to get Sirius out of Azkaban. He’s been wrongfully imprisoned. You owe us that much.”

Dumbledore, caught off guard, nodded solemnly, though the gravity of the situation was clearly starting to hit him. “I will do everything in my power to ensure Sirius is released and his name cleared,” he promised, his voice a mix of reluctant earnestness and guilt.

James’s eyes flared with a potent mix of grief and resolve. “Make sure you do. We’ve already lost Harry because of your decisions. We can’t afford to lose Sirius as well.”

Dumbledore’s usual aura of invincibility faltered, a shadow of regret passing over his features. “I understand, James. I will act immediately.”

Lily, still hugging Rose close, turned her gaze toward Dumbledore with a blend of sadness and determination. “We will hold you to that promise.”

Rose, still wrapped in her self-centered bubble, tugged on Lily’s sleeve. “Mummy, who’s Harry?”

James and Lily exchanged a pained glance. James’s jaw tightened, fighting back tears, while Lily took a deep breath, her voice breaking as she spoke. “Harry is your twin brother, Rose. He… he’s not here with us anymore.”

Rose’s face contorted with confusion, her royal facade cracking slightly. “But where is he, Mummy?” she asked, her voice filled with genuine curiosity.

Dumbledore, standing nearby, listened in silence, his heart weighed down by the consequences of his past actions. Although he couldn’t undo the damage he had done, he silently vowed to make things right.

James, choked with emotion, offered a strained smile. “We’ll tell you all about Harry, Rose. But for now, let’s focus on being together as a family.”

Lily nodded, pulling Rose into a warm embrace. As they held each other close, Dumbledore quietly slipped out of the room, his mind reeling from the consequences of his decisions and the daunting task of making amends.

—

In a top-secret Hydra facility that smelled faintly of old gym socks and moldy cheese, young Harry Potter was smack-dab in the middle of a training montage, with mentors so wildly different that a sitcom about them would probably be the next big thing on Netflix. He had Natasha Romanoff, the ever-mysterious Black Widow; the Winter Soldier, who was basically the human equivalent of a malfunctioning toaster with all the settings wiped clean; and the illustrious Gellert Grindelwald, who gave off vibes of being an ancient wizard, but with the heart of a slightly misguided grandfather.

Natasha Romanoff wasn’t just the Black Widow; she was a whole swarm of deadly, highly-trained spiders, which was both awesome and terrifying. She ran Harry’s physical training sessions like an action movie, minus the explosions. Okay, sometimes there were explosions.

“Alright, Harry, show me what you’ve got!” Natasha shouted, her voice as sharp as a kunai. She demonstrated a flurry of punches and kicks that looked like they were choreographed by a team of hyperactive ninjas.

Harry, a pint-sized ball of determination, followed her lead, copying her moves with as much precision as a five-year-old could muster. “Like this?” he asked, his voice tinged with the hopeful innocence of someone who’s just figured out how to tie their shoelaces.

“Not bad!” Natasha grinned. “But keep your guard up. You’re not fighting off ninjas at the playground, kid.”

Despite her tough exterior, Natasha was a softie underneath. She always found a way to encourage Harry, even when he stumbled. “Remember, kiddo, it’s not just about being the toughest guy in the room. It’s about being smart, quick, and above all, knowing when to pull out the dad jokes.”

Harry’s face lit up like a Christmas tree as he nodded. “I want to be strong and tell the best jokes!” he declared, his eyes gleaming with a mix of courage and mischief.

Natasha’s smile was warm and proud. “You’re on the right track, Harry. But let’s save the jokes for after you master the roundhouse kick, okay?”

Then there was the Winter Soldier, a guy who was basically a Marvel superhero mashed up with a high-tech zombie. He didn’t talk much—mostly because Hydra had wiped his memory clean, leaving him more robotic than a malfunctioning Roomba. When he looked at Harry, though, there was something in his eyes, a flicker of recognition that he couldn’t quite place.

The Winter Soldier taught Harry the ins and outs of firearms and tactical maneuvers. Despite his cold exterior, every time he watched Harry, he’d get this weird déjà vu of a skinny, scrappy kid who reminded him of... well, someone. 

During a quiet moment, the Soldier caught sight of Harry’s small frame, and for a second, an image flashed through his mind. A young, scrawny boy who looked oddly familiar. But then, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, and he was back to his stoic self.

While the Soldier’s methods were strict and methodical, there was an unspoken bond between him and Harry. Even if he couldn’t remember who he was or what a childhood was like, he found himself drawn to the kid’s determination to stand up to the world.

And then there was Gellert Grindelwald, a wizard who had seen better days and probably used too much hair gel. On the surface, he was the quintessential magical mentor, complete with the beard and the mysterious aura. But underneath all that, Grindelwald felt a protective instinct toward Harry, much like a grandfather guarding his favorite grandchild from the evil squirrels of the world.

Grindelwald taught Harry everything he knew about magic, from Occlumency to the art of dodging fireballs. “Focus, Harry. Your mind must be as clear as a polished crystal ball,” Grindelwald would say, trying to hide his smirk when Harry’s spells went haywire.

He could see the signs of the hardships Harry had endured, and it pained him. He was determined to keep the boy out of Hydra’s clutches, even if he had to do it covertly.

When they were alone, Grindelwald would share tales of magic and adventure, hoping to inspire Harry to rise above his past. “Remember, Harry, true magic lies not in spells, but in the courage and kindness within your heart,” he’d say, hoping that one day, Harry would be free from the chains that bound him.

In the dimly lit corridors of the Hydra facility, Harry was on a journey of transformation. Under Natasha’s guidance, he learned to move with grace and precision. With the Winter Soldier’s help, he honed his skills and tactical thinking. And through Grindelwald’s teachings, he discovered the depth of his magical abilities.

Each mentor played a critical role in Harry’s development, shaping him into a force to be reckoned with. As he navigated the trials and tribulations of his training, Harry found strength in his newfound skills and the bonds he forged with his mentors.

With every step he took, Harry moved closer to becoming a hero, ready to face the challenges ahead with courage and a touch of humor. In the shadows of Hydra’s facility, a legend was being born, and the world would soon come to know the true power of Harry Potter.

—

After months of playing detective, dodging curses, and generally feeling like characters in a mystery novel, James and Lily Potter, along with their band of magical misfits, finally cracked the case. Drumroll, please… Sirius Black was innocent! Turns out Peter Pettigrew, the rat who was a rat, had been the real Secret Keeper all along!

With all the evidence ready to drop like a bombshell, James, Lily, and their team of legal wizards burst into the Wizengamot courtroom. The room was electric with anticipation, like they were about to announce the winner of the Wizarding World's biggest reality show.

James stood tall next to Lily, their faces practically glowing with determination. “We’ve got this,” he whispered, a hint of a grin on his face.

The Chief Warlock, Augusta Longbottom, banged her gavel with the authority of someone announcing a long-awaited verdict. “Not guilty!” she declared, and it echoed around the room like a thunderclap.

Chains clattered to the ground, and there stood Sirius Black, looking like he’d just been pardoned from a life sentence. He blinked a few times, his eyes wide with disbelief, and then, like the hero of some epic tale, he broke into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

Lily, tears of joy streaming down her face, didn’t waste a second. She rushed over and wrapped Sirius in a hug that could rival a bear’s grip. “Sirius, you’re free! We did it!”

Sirius, clearly struggling to find his voice, nodded. He looked around the room, a mixture of gratitude and disbelief on his face. James stepped up, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. It was their way of saying, “We’ve been through hell and back, but we’re still here.”

Outside the courtroom, the place went wild. People were cheering, clapping, and probably making plans to throw a party that would go down in history. After years of being wrongfully imprisoned, Sirius was finally a free man, and the world seemed a little brighter.

But before Sirius could get swept away in the celebrations, he turned to James, his expression suddenly serious. “James,” he said, his voice shaky, “the first thing I want to do is hold my godson. I’ve missed so much, and now that I’m free, I need to make things right.”

James’s face darkened, the joy from moments ago fading away. “Sirius, I need to tell you something,” he began, his voice heavy. “Dumbledore sent Harry to the Dursleys while Lily and I were in a coma. And… we recently found out he died in a gas explosion.”

Sirius staggered back like he’d been hit by a curse. “No… Harry…” he whispered, his face going as pale as a ghost. It was like someone had just dropped the weight of the world on his shoulders.

James reached out, steadying his friend. “I’m so sorry, Sirius,” he said, his voice cracking. “We thought we lost him.”

As the news spread through the crowd, the joyous clamor outside turned into a somber silence. The victory felt hollow, and the weight of their loss hung in the air like a dark cloud.

Sirius, his eyes brimming with a mix of hope and dread, turned to Lily and James. “Lily, James,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “can I see my pocket watch? It’s the only thing I have left from before… It was meant to keep Harry safe.”

Lily nodded, her eyes filled with tears as she retrieved the watch. “Here,” she said softly, handing it over. “This watch was bound to Harry with his blood. It’s supposed to show if he’s okay or where he is.”

Sirius took the watch with trembling hands, feeling the faint magical pulse that still connected him to Harry. As he looked at the watch, his eyes widened.

“I don’t understand,” Sirius murmured, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and hope. “If Harry’s gone… how can the watch still work?”

James placed a comforting hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “We don’t know, but it means Harry is out there somewhere. We have to find him.”

Lily nodded, her voice firm with determination. “It’s a sign, Sirius. We need to bring him back.”

Sirius closed the watch with a click, holding it close to his heart. His eyes were full of fierce resolve. “We’ll find him,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the tears. “I’ll find him. And when I do, I’ll protect him with everything I’ve got.”

So there they stood, in the quiet aftermath of their victory and loss. With the pocket watch as their guide, the Potters and Sirius Black set off on a new quest, determined to find their son and godson, no matter what stood in their way. It was a journey that would test their courage and strength, but they were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Chapter 5: Chapter 4

In the dimly lit command center, the atmosphere buzzed with the kind of energy you'd expect right before a game-changing move. The room was a blend of high-tech gadgets, blinking lights, and a giant holographic display showing the face of none other than Harry Potter.

At the center of this high-stakes circus stood Daniel Whitehall, the guy who could give the Grinch a run for his money when it came to cold, calculating stares. He was like the evil mastermind from every spy movie ever, and his eyes were locked onto Harry’s profile, which floated in mid-air like the ultimate piece of evidence.

“We’re entering the pivotal moment, folks!” Whitehall’s voice cut through the room like he was announcing the final score of the Super Bowl. “Potter has displayed extraordinary potential. Now it’s time to turn him into our ultimate weapon!”

Around the big, circular table, the Hydra operatives exchanged glances that said, “Are we really doing this?” and “This better work, or we’re toast.” The tension in the room was thicker than a pot of Aunt Petunia's lumpy gravy.

And then there was the Winter Soldier, lurking in the shadows like the world’s scariest bodyguard. Clad in tactical gear and sporting a mask that screamed “Don’t mess with me,” he was the living embodiment of a secret weapon. His cybernetic arm gleamed in the dim light, a reminder that he was part man, part machine, and all business.

Whitehall turned his laser-focused gaze to the Winter Soldier. “Soldier, you know the drill. Howard Stark’s got the Super Soldier Serum. Get your hands on it, no matter the cost.”

The Winter Soldier nodded, but behind that mask, things were a bit more complicated. Lately, he’d been having these weird flashes of memories, like watching random clips of a movie with no plot. A skinny kid, a warm smile, a friendship he couldn't quite place. It was all there, jumbled and confusing, but he couldn’t let Hydra know. Not yet.

He flexed his metallic arm—a little show of strength to remind himself of the job at hand—and with a final, resolute nod, he turned and slipped out of the command center. He moved through the shadows like he was part of them, a silent hunter with a mission. But somewhere deep inside, a part of him was waking up, and it wasn’t just the Soldier. It was the man he used to be. And that man was starting to question just what he was fighting for.

—

The sleek, futuristic interior of Howard Stark’s high-tech car hummed with quiet efficiency as they glided down the road. Howard was lost in thought, his mind racing over the details of his latest engineering feat, while beside him, Maria Stark noticed the lines of worry etched on her husband’s face.

“Are you okay, Howard?” Maria asked gently, her voice cutting through his reverie.

Howard forced a smile, though his eyes were still distant. “Just thinking about some work stuff, my dear. You know how it is.”

His gaze flicked to the secure container beside him—the latest version of the Super Soldier Serum. He was taking it to SHIELD headquarters, unaware of the shadowy figure waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Suddenly, out of the darkness, a dark figure leapt onto the hood of their car. The sudden impact jolted Howard and Maria, their car swerving wildly. The figure was clad in tactical gear and a fearsome mask, the Winter Soldier. Maria’s eyes widened in terror as Howard shouted, “Hold on!”

The Winter Soldier’s cybernetic arm smashed through the windshield with a terrifying force, sending shards of glass raining down. Maria screamed, and Howard tried to regain control of the vehicle, but the attacker was too fast, too strong. He reached into the car, his metal arm grabbing the serum container with an iron grip.

“NO!” Howard yelled, lunging for the serum. The Winter Soldier paused, his masked face inches from Howard’s. Something flickered in the soldier’s eyes—confusion, recognition, a flash of memory he couldn’t quite grasp. The name Howard Stark stirred something deep within him, a memory he couldn’t make sense of. Who is this man? Why does he feel familiar?

The moment of hesitation was all it took. With a quick, decisive movement, the Winter Soldier ripped the serum away and leapt off the car. Howard fought to control the vehicle, but it was too late. The car veered off the road, crashing into a tree with a sickening crunch.

In the aftermath, silence hung heavy in the air. The car lay crumpled and broken, the engine hissing as steam escaped from beneath the hood. Howard, dazed and disoriented, turned to Maria, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Maria, are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse. Maria groaned, clutching her arm where glass had cut her skin. “I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “But the serum, Howard…”

Howard shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his mind. He freed himself from the wreckage and gently helped Maria out of the car. The world around them was eerily quiet, the only sound the rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

In the shadows, the Winter Soldier watched them, the serum container clutched tightly in his hand. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fragmented memories. He knew the name Howard Stark, but from where? The images in his head were jumbled, flashes of a past he couldn’t fully recall. A man with a warm smile, a handshake, a promise—why did it all feel so familiar?

As he watched Howard and Maria stumble away from the wreckage, the soldier felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite identify—regret, perhaps, or a longing for something he’d lost. He turned away, his mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions, and disappeared into the night, the serum held tightly against his chest.

The container was more than just a vial of serum; it was a symbol of his fractured identity, a reminder of a life he couldn’t fully remember. As he moved through the darkness, the Winter Soldier couldn’t shake the feeling that he was chasing shadows, trying to piece together a puzzle that refused to fit.

—

In the shadowy lair of Hydra’s command center, the air was as thick with tension as a three-week-old milk carton. Daniel Whitehall, the head honcho of Hydra—think of him as the guy who put the “ugh” in “evil overlord”—stood as stiff as a frozen statue. His eyes, cold and sharp, were locked onto the Winter Soldier, like he was about to lecture him for forgetting his homework.

“Bring him in!” Whitehall’s voice cut through the room like the world’s most boring PowerPoint presentation.

The Winter Soldier, Hydra’s very own terminator, walked into the room. His movements were smooth, and his mask covered his face, making him look like he was cosplaying as a very serious ninja. He stood there, all business, ready for his next assignment—or at least a good oil change.

“You’ve brought us the serum,” Whitehall began, sounding like a teacher grading a half-decent essay. “But you didn’t get rid of the Starks as we told you to. What gives?”

The Winter Soldier didn’t move a muscle, just stared straight ahead like he was trying to solve a Sudoku puzzle in his head. Sure, his mission was clear—get the serum, skip the hugs. But then he saw Howard Stark, and it was like running into your high school teacher in a grocery store: familiar, yet completely out of place.

Whitehall was about as happy as a cat in a rainstorm. “You’re supposed to be our top guy,” he snapped, his frustration sizzling like an overcooked steak. “Sentimentality has no place in Hydra’s plans for world domination!”

The room fell silent. You could almost hear the gears turning in Whitehall’s brain. In Hydra’s book, a screw-up like this was like dropping your phone in the toilet—definitely not part of the plan.

“Take him in for recalibration,” Whitehall finally said, his voice colder than a penguin’s toes. “Grindelwald will sort this out.”

As the Winter Soldier was escorted away, Whitehall’s words echoed in the room like a bad joke. He was about to meet Grindelwald, the wizard with a knack for mind games and an attitude to match.

---

Grindelwald watched the Winter Soldier shuffle into his chamber, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. The wizard’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he started poking around the Soldier’s brain. Suddenly, Grindelwald’s eyes went as wide as saucers. 

“Well, I’ll be a wizard’s whisker!” Grindelwald exclaimed, seeing flashes of the Soldier’s past—images of a young, eager Bucky Barnes, hanging out with Steve Rogers, aka Captain America. 

“So, you’re James Buchanan Barnes!” Grindelwald said, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Good old Bucky. Friend of Captain America. You guys used to be tighter than Thor’s pants!”

Now, it all made sense—why seeing Howard Stark had thrown the Soldier off his game. The guy was starting to remember bits and pieces of his life, buried under all that Hydra brainwashing. Grindelwald saw this as his big chance, like finding an extra fry at the bottom of the bag.

“Listen up, Barnes,” Grindelwald whispered, as if they were sharing a secret about the latest Hydra office gossip. “You’re more than just Hydra’s puppet. Remember who you used to be. Remember Steve Rogers, your pal.”

Grindelwald carefully planted the seeds of doubt and curiosity, opening up the Winter Soldier’s mind just a crack. It was like trying to sneak candy past a dragon—tricky, but doable. 

“Go back to your duties,” Grindelwald said, waving him off like he was done with a magic show. “But remember, Barnes, the choice is yours. You don’t have to be stuck playing the bad guy.”

The Winter Soldier turned and walked away, his mind spinning with memories and questions. In the shadows of Hydra’s hideout, the game was changing, and the Winter Soldier was smack in the middle of it, like a lost tourist in a labyrinth of mysteries and danger.

—

In the super-secret depths of Hydra’s top-secret training facility (because it’s Hydra, and they don’t do anything without at least three “secrets” in the description), a young Harry Potter, all of five years old, fidgeted like he had ants in his pants. The massive training room was so big, it felt like standing in the middle of a coliseum designed for giants—or at least a place where everything was twice as scary and ten times as intimidating. Across from him stood Natasha Romanoff, the formidable Black Widow herself. At just 18, she was tasked with turning Harry into a little powerhouse, or as she might call it, “the world’s smallest ninja.”

Natasha eyed Harry with the kind of focus you’d use when trying to assemble an IKEA dresser without losing your cool. “Alright, kiddo,” she said, her voice the perfect mix of drill sergeant and cool older sister. “Let’s get that stance right. Balance is where it all starts. No balance, and you’re just a wobbly wizard.”

Harry tried his best to mirror her stance, his little fists held up in a way that said, “I’m totally a fierce warrior,” even if his feet were wobbling like a plate of Jell-O. But the determination in his eyes was unmistakable. He was here to learn.

Natasha’s steely gaze cracked just a bit, like ice on a pond when you toss a stone. Her lips twitched into a faint smile as she adjusted his stance, gently nudging his feet into position. “Looking good, Harry,” she said, sounding more like a proud coach than a deadly assassin. “Now, let’s work on some basic moves.”

They moved through the training routines, Natasha showing Harry how to punch, kick, and maybe not fall over every five seconds. As Harry puffed between breaths, his curiosity couldn’t help but bubble over. “Natasha,” he asked, trying to sound all serious, “why do you always look like you’re thinking about world domination or something?”

Natasha stopped mid-move, momentarily thrown off by the question. She crouched down to meet his wide-eyed gaze, her expression softening like a marshmallow over a campfire. “Being serious helps us stay focused and ready,” she explained, doing her best to sound like a life coach instead of a spy. “It’s just part of what we do. Plus, it helps to keep a straight face when someone’s monologuing about their evil plans.”

Harry thought about this for a moment, then flashed a cheeky grin. “But you’re not looking serious now,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Natasha laughed softly, a sound that was as rare as finding a unicorn in a parking lot. She ruffled his messy hair with a touch of warmth. “Well, even spies need to take a break from looking like they’re plotting to take over the world,” she admitted. “But when it’s training time, we gotta stay sharp, like a knife made of awesomeness.”

As the hours ticked by, their training sessions were filled with a mix of serious moves and not-so-serious moments. Natasha’s tough exterior softened, especially when Harry tried to mimic her moves and ended up in a tangled heap on the floor. Their laughter echoed through the training room, a sound that even Hydra’s walls couldn’t suppress.

Despite Hydra’s grand plans (which usually involved world domination or at least causing a bit of mayhem), in that small corner of the facility, a mentor and her student were forming a connection that went beyond secret missions and top-secret files. Harry and Natasha found in each other something more than just a teacher and a pupil—they found a friendship that would shape their futures in ways they couldn’t even begin to imagine. 

—

In his grand office, Daniel Whitehall paced like a tiger who had just discovered his cage was too small. His thoughts were a swirling storm of plots and plans. Hydra had finally snagged the Super Soldier Serum—a huge win, but now the real fun began: making sure it did what it was supposed to do!

With a flourish, Whitehall pressed a button that made the room hum with high-tech energy. Moments later, Dr. Arnim Zola, Hydra’s chief scientist and all-around mad genius, appeared. His face was the epitome of calm professionalism, and his posture was so stiff you’d think he’d been carved from marble.

“Dr. Zola!” Whitehall boomed, as if he was about to announce the arrival of a new superhero. “We’ve got our hands on the Serum! It’s time to get this show on the road. Our subject, ‘Der Winterzauberer,’ needs to be ready for action ASAP!”

Zola’s eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and the kind of concentration usually reserved for assembling furniture with only half the instructions. “Understood, Herr Whitehall! I’ll make sure everything is perfect. The injection will be flawless.”

Whitehall’s gaze was as cold and sharp as a newly sharpened knife. “This is a make-or-break moment, Doctor. We’re counting on this transformation being absolutely top-notch. No pressure, right?”

“Of course, Herr Whitehall,” Zola said with a bow so deep it almost seemed like he was trying to touch his toes. He then hustled out the door, probably imagining himself in a lab coat version of a superhero cape.

As the door clicked shut, Whitehall’s mind raced through a thousand scenarios. ‘Der Winterzauberer’—the name alone sounded like it belonged to some epic villain out of a fantasy novel. This kid was going to be Hydra’s secret weapon, and nothing was going to stand in their way.

Meanwhile, Zola wove his way through the Hydra facility’s labyrinthine corridors, his brain zooming in on the task ahead. He entered the lab, which buzzed with the kind of energy that only comes from scientists who are about to handle something really cool—or really dangerous.

“Alright, team!” Zola’s voice sliced through the lab’s commotion like a hot knife through butter. “We’ve got the green light from the top! Get everything ready for the Super Soldier Serum injection. This has to be perfect, people!”

The lab erupted into a whirlwind of organized chaos. Scientists scrambled to handle vials like they were made of pure gold and adjusted equipment with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker. Zola, with his lab coat flapping dramatically, oversaw it all with the meticulousness of a maestro conducting an orchestra. 

In this buzzing hive of activity, every beep and click felt like the prelude to a grand performance, and everyone knew they were about to see whether ‘Der Winterzauberer’ would be a hit or a spectacular flop.

—

In a nearby chamber, young Harry Potter—aka ‘Der Winterzauberer’—sat with a serene look that betrayed nothing of the massive transformation about to take place. His training with Natasha Romanoff had turned him into a formidable young warrior, but he still had the wide-eyed curiosity of a kid who just learned that magic is real.

Natasha and the Winter Soldier, watching from a distance, exchanged glances that were about as readable as a riddle wrapped in an enigma. They were both deeply entrenched in their roles within Hydra, but their personal stakes in the experiment were as tangled as a jigsaw puzzle missing a few pieces.

Finally, the moment of truth arrived. Dr. Arnim Zola walked up to Daniel Whitehall with a twinkle of barely contained excitement in his eyes. “Herr Whitehall, we’re ready. Just waiting for your go-ahead.”

Whitehall’s lips stretched into a grin that could have given a dragon a run for its money. “Excellent. Let’s get this party started. The fate of Hydra—and our new secret weapon—rests on this moment!”

As the scientists moved to escort Harry to the injection chamber, the air was thick with a tension that felt like you could cut it with a knife. Every footstep echoed with the weight of what was to come. The success of the experiment, and the future of 'Der Winterzauberer,' teetered on the edge of a monumental change.

The chamber’s doors loomed ahead, promising a shift in the course of destiny, and for young Harry, the next moments would either catapult him into a future of power or thrust him into a new world of uncertainty.

—

In the hidden depths of his quarters, Gellert Grindelwald was a brooding storm cloud, casting a shadow over Hydra’s facility below. His thoughts raced with conflict. He despised the idea of young Harry Potter undergoing Dr. Zola’s grueling procedure, yet he knew that if Harry was to achieve the power needed to fulfill Grindelwald’s grand vision, he had to face this trial.

A knock on the door jolted him from his reverie. With a deep breath, Grindelwald called out, “Come in!”

A Hydra guard entered with military precision, snapping to attention. “Herr Grindelwald, it’s time to bring the boy to Dr. Zola.”

Grindelwald nodded curtly. “Very well. I’ll escort him myself.”

As the guard left, Grindelwald made his way to Harry’s room. The young boy was sitting on his bed, swinging his legs and playing with a small toy Natasha had given him. Harry’s face brightened at the sight of Grindelwald.

“Hello, Gellert!” Harry greeted with a beam of pure enthusiasm.

Grindelwald managed a strained smile, masking his inner conflict. “Hello, Harry. We’re going for a check-up with Dr. Zola.”

Harry, ever the trusting child, bounced off the bed. “Okay!” he said, excitedly following Grindelwald down the corridor.

As they walked through the sterile, humming halls, Grindelwald’s mind was a whirlwind. He had been secretly teaching Harry Occlumency to guard him against Hydra’s influence and finding ways to shield him from the harshest aspects of their plans, all while keeping up a facade of loyalty.

Reaching the lab, Grindelwald paused and placed a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Remember what I’ve taught you, Harry. Stay strong and trust yourself.”

Harry looked up at him, sensing the seriousness in Grindelwald’s voice. “I will, Gellert,” he said, though he was too young to fully grasp the gravity of the situation.

Grindelwald led Harry into the lab, where Dr. Zola and his team waited amidst a gleaming array of high-tech equipment and vials of the Super Soldier Serum. Zola greeted them with a clinical smile.

“Ah, Herr Grindelwald,” Zola said smoothly. “Thank you for delivering the boy. We’re ready to start.”

Harry glanced back at Grindelwald, who gave him a reassuring nod. With newfound bravery, Harry stepped forward, trying to muster the courage Grindelwald had instilled in him.

As Zola’s assistants prepared the syringes, Grindelwald stood nearby, his fists clenched in anxious resolve. He knew this procedure was critical, but he was also formulating a plan. If he could sway the Winter Soldier and Natasha to his side, he might be able to turn the tide against Hydra’s schemes.

As the first syringe was readied, Grindelwald closed his eyes for a moment, sending a silent promise to the boy who had become a beacon of hope. “Stay strong, Harry. I will find a way to save you.”

The scene was set, the future uncertain, but in that moment, Grindelwald’s resolve was as solid as the ancient walls of his own dark fortress.

—

As the Super Soldier Serum was injected into Harry, the lab erupted into chaos. Harry’s screams pierced through the cold, metal walls like a siren of agony. His small frame bucked and twisted, struggling against the invasive serum as it clashed with the dormant magic inside him. It was as if his body was staging a full-scale rebellion against the foreign substance.

Dr. Zola and his team, usually so composed, stared at the monitors with wide-eyed horror. They were like spectators at a car crash, unable to look away from the mayhem unfolding before them. Grindelwald, standing on the sidelines, clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned as white as his expression.

Harry’s magic, which had lain quietly beneath the surface, erupted in fierce resistance. It was a magical fury that roared through his veins, desperately trying to eject the serum. The clash of forces was like a storm of lightning battling a hurricane—intense, wild, and unrelenting.

As the pain reached its peak, Harry’s body began a transformation that could only be described as apocalyptic. His bones cracked and creaked as they elongated, stretching with an audible groan. Muscles expanded in painful, violent surges, pushing against his skin, which seemed to be stretching to its limits. His hair, once a messy mop, fell away in clumps, replaced by sleek, dark waves that framed his face with an almost mythical grandeur.

Harry’s screams turned into guttural roars as his entire being was reshaped. He was growing at an alarming rate, each second turning him from a small, terrified five-year-old into a towering, muscular 18-year-old. His features sharpened, his eyes glowing with a fierce, otherworldly light that flickered with the combined power of the serum and his awakened magic.

Dr. Zola’s voice broke through the chaos, a mix of awe and disbelief. “This is… beyond anything we’ve anticipated!” he exclaimed, his clinical calm shattering under the weight of the transformation. The lab’s scientists scrambled like ants, their hands and equipment flailing in frantic attempts to keep up with the astonishing metamorphosis.

Grindelwald watched, torn between relief and anguish. The boy who had been a symbol of hope now stood before him, transformed into a figure of immense power and potential. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear—Harry’s journey was far from over, and it was going to be anything but ordinary.

—

Deep in the shadowy labyrinth of Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black, James Potter, and Lily Potter were huddled over a cluttered table, its surface a chaotic mess of maps, ancient scrolls, and half-eaten snacks. Their faces were drawn tight with worry and fierce determination as they pored over their search for the missing Harry.

Sirius, his brow furrowed in concentration, reached for his pocket watch—a magical heirloom with a direct link to Harry’s safety. But as soon as his fingers touched it, he jerked back with a sharp intake of breath. The watch was scorching hot, its fiery heat radiating a clear warning: Harry was in grave danger.

“James! Lily!” Sirius’s voice roared, echoing through the dusty old rooms like a fire alarm. “The watch—it’s burning up!”

James and Lily rushed over, their faces paling as they saw the watch glowing ominously. “What’s happening?” Lily’s voice wavered, her eyes wide with dread.

“It means Harry’s in serious trouble!” Sirius bellowed, his voice quivering with a mix of anger and fear. “We’ve got to find him now!”

Meanwhile, Rose’s relentless antics and tantrums created a circus-like atmosphere that only added to their mounting stress. Amidst the chaos, however, Sirius, James, and Lily remained focused. Their mission was crystal clear: rescue their son from whatever danger awaited him. Determined and resolute, they pushed through the pandemonium, driven by the burning urgency to save Harry from peril.

—

In the chaotic heart of the Hydra lab, Harry Potter, now trapped in the muscular body of an 18-year-old while still possessing the mind of a five-year-old, was experiencing a transformation like no other. The Super Soldier Serum and his inherent magic had collided in a dramatic, explosive fusion, sending waves of energy crackling through the lab.

Harry thrashed on the metal table, his small frame struggling against the enormity of his new body. His eyes, glowing with a strange light, darted around as he tried to make sense of the whirlwind inside him.

Grindelwald, ever the schemer with a taste for the dramatic, stepped closer with a mix of admiration and concern. “Harry, can you hear me?” he asked, his voice a combination of urgency and comfort.

Harry’s gaze, a curious mix of childish wonder and newfound power, barely locked onto Grindelwald. “I… I think so,” he replied, his voice a blend of youthful squeak and deeper resonance.

Grindelwald helped Harry sit up, but the strain was evident. The transformation had left Harry’s new body trembling, and he seemed to be teetering on the edge of exhaustion. The lab spun around him, adding to his disorientation.

“Hang in there, Harry,” Grindelwald urged, his hand steadying the boy’s shaking shoulder. “We’re going to get through this. Stay strong.”

Harry looked up at Grindelwald with a spark of trust. “I trust you, Gellert,” he said with effort. “I won’t let them break me.”

Before Grindelwald could say more, Harry’s tiny body gave out. His head lolled back, and he lost consciousness, his muscles relaxing as fatigue overwhelmed him. What neither Grindelwald nor the Hydra scientists realized was that Harry’s X-gene, dormant until now, had been triggered by the tumultuous mix of the Serum and his magic.

Dr. Zola, his eyes gleaming with scientific curiosity, watched the scene unfold with awe. “Remarkable!” he exclaimed. “The boy is a phenomenon!”

Grindelwald, his expression carefully neutral, nodded in agreement. “Yes, Doctor. But we need to proceed with caution. This transformation is unprecedented, and we must thoroughly understand his new abilities.”

As the Hydra scientists rushed to set up further tests, Grindelwald remained vigilant, watching over the unconscious Harry. He leaned in close, his voice a low murmur meant only for the boy. “Rest now, Harry. We’ll make sure you’re prepared for what comes next.”

In the sterile lab filled with the hum of machines and the activity of scientists, Harry lay still, his new form brimming with untapped potential. Unbeknownst to everyone, including Harry, the merging of Serum and magic had unlocked his X-gene, setting the stage for an extraordinary future.

—

In the shadowy confines of the Hydra observation chamber, Natasha Romanoff and the Winter Soldier stood like two statues next to the formidable Daniel Whitehall. Through the one-way glass, they watched as Harry Potter’s transformation unfolded—a scene so surreal it might have come straight out of a demigod’s fever dream.

Whitehall’s eyes sparkled with an almost fanatical excitement. “This is it,” he announced, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “This boy has gone above and beyond our wildest dreams!”

Natasha, usually the epitome of calm, felt her insides twist into a knot. The five-year-old Harry she’d trained with, who had been like a little brother to her, was now an 18-year-old powerhouse, and—honestly?—unbelievably hot. The transition from sweet little kid to this tall, striking young man was making her heart race in ways she couldn’t quite understand. The contrast between his previous innocence and his current, almost painfully attractive appearance was throwing her for a loop.

The Winter Soldier stood next to her, his face as unreadable as ever. His own emotions, buried deep under layers of training and conditioning, were stirred by the sight of Harry’s dramatic change. He focused on the task at hand, pushing away his own conflicted feelings.

Whitehall, oblivious to the internal chaos of his team, kept his focus firmly on Harry. “Take a good look,” he instructed, his tone brimming with ambition. “This is the future of Hydra—where magic and science collide. Picture an army of soldiers like this, utterly loyal!”

Natasha struggled to keep her voice steady as she replied, “Yes, sir,” even though her thoughts were swirling in a maelstrom of confusion and unexpected attraction.

The Winter Soldier’s gaze softened just a fraction as he watched Harry stabilize. He thought of his own past and the weight of his responsibilities, but for now, he remained locked in the present.

Whitehall’s authoritative tone cut through the charged atmosphere. “Natasha, Soldier, you’re up next. You’ll handle Harry’s ongoing training and conditioning. His loyalty must be rock-solid. We can’t afford any slip-ups.”

“Understood, sir,” Natasha responded, her voice resolute despite her inner turmoil.

As Whitehall turned back to oversee the scientists, Natasha and the Winter Soldier exchanged a fleeting glance that spoke volumes. They both knew that Harry’s future was hanging in a precarious balance, caught between Hydra’s control and their own tangled loyalties.

Watching Harry’s transformation, Natasha felt a strange mix of desire and duty. In the midst of Hydra’s cold, calculated environment, the plan to protect Harry—and perhaps defy Hydra’s manipulations—began to take shape. The echoes of their own humanity, despite the harsh reality, were slowly stirring to life.

—

In the bustling hubbub of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Howard Stark was pacing Peggy Carter’s office with all the intensity of a caffeinated squirrel. His face was a mask of frustration and fierce determination, his eyes flickering with the kind of fire usually reserved for the world’s most explosive science experiments.

“Peggy, you’ve got to hear this,” Howard blurted out, his voice ringing with urgency. “We’re not just talking about a Super Soldier Serum mishap here. The Winter Soldier—he’s not just a mindless wrecking ball. There’s something seriously weird going on with him. He actually recognized me and hesitated. But that didn’t stop him from causing a huge mess. And Maria’s in the hospital because of it!”

Peggy, ever the picture of calm even when the world was on fire, softened at the mention of Maria. “Howard, I’m really sorry about Maria. But we need to focus. What exactly happened? Your details might be the missing piece we need.”

Howard took a deep breath, his mind racing through the chaotic events. “So, we were heading straight for S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, aiming to get the Serum. Out of nowhere, the Winter Soldier charged at us like a tornado on steroids. He grabbed one of the two doses of the Serum, but here’s the kicker—he didn’t finish me off when he had the chance. It was like he was waging an internal battle.”

Peggy’s eyes narrowed, her interest piqued. “Conflicted? That’s a game changer. The Winter Soldier’s supposed to be a perfect puppet of Hydra. If there’s any shred of humanity left in him, we need to find it and exploit it.”

Howard locked eyes with Peggy, his expression fierce. “I’m convinced there’s a flicker of the old him still smoldering beneath that icy exterior. We need to reach that part of him and figure out what Hydra’s up to with the Serum. They’re up to something huge, and we need to stop it.”

Peggy’s resolve hardened, her determination like tempered steel. “We’ll assemble a team to track down the Winter Soldier and crack Hydra’s plan. And, Howard, we’ve got the second dose of the Serum in our hands. It might be our secret weapon, or at least the key to understanding Hydra’s diabolical scheme.”

As they strategized, Peggy’s thoughts turned to Harry, a mysterious kid mentioned in intercepted Hydra chatter. If Hydra’s scheme revolved around the Serum, this kid could be the epicenter of their plans. They needed to act fast—not only to secure the Serum but to ensure the boy’s safety.

Outside Peggy’s office, S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters was buzzing with activity. Agents scurried about, gearing up for the next big operation. The stakes had never been higher, and the fight against Hydra was about to take a dramatic turn. But with Howard Stark’s unyielding determination and Peggy Carter’s unbreakable leadership, S.H.I.E.L.D. was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead with unwavering bravery.

Chapter 6: Chapter 5

Tony Stark, sixteen and more used to tinkering with tech than handling family crises, landed at the airport with his usual swagger—but today, his trademark charm was mixed with genuine worry. Spring break had been interrupted by the shocking news of his mother’s hospitalization, and while Tony’s worry was real, his way of coping was through his trademark quips.

As he stepped out of the terminal, Edwin Jarvis, the Stark family’s ever-patient butler, was there to greet him with the sort of calm that Tony both appreciated and envied.

“Master Tony,” Jarvis said, his smile as steady as ever. “I’m glad to see you. We should head to the hospital immediately.”

Tony, attempting to keep his anxiety at bay with humor, replied, “Ah, the joys of spring break—swapping beach parties for hospital visits. Maybe next year, I’ll just have a picnic in the ER.”

Jarvis offered a patient smile, fully aware that Tony’s jokes were just a mask. “Let’s get you there. Your father is expecting you.”

The drive to the hospital was a far cry from the carefree spring break Tony had imagined. His usual banter was replaced by a brooding silence as he wrestled with his strained relationship with his father, Howard. Howard’s relentless pursuit of Captain America and constant comparisons to Steve Rogers had left Tony feeling like an extra in a story he was desperate to rewrite.

When they arrived at the hospital, the sterile environment was a stark contrast to Tony’s imagined vacation paradise. Jarvis guided him through the busy corridors to the ICU, where Maria Stark was being treated.

Howard Stark, usually a paragon of unshakable strength, now looked exhausted and worn. He stood by Maria’s bedside, his usually confident demeanor cracked by worry. The sight of his mother, frail and unconscious, was a heavy reminder of life’s fragility.

Tony took a deep breath, attempting to steady himself before approaching his father. His trademark bravado was dimmed but still present. “Hey, Dad,” he said, his voice a mix of sarcasm and genuine concern. “Looks like I’m just in time for the family drama. How’s Mom holding up?”

Howard turned, his face reflecting a mix of surprise and relief. “Tony,” he said, his voice rough with concern. “I didn’t expect you back so soon. I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

Tony shrugged, trying to keep things light despite the seriousness of the situation. “Well, when the family emergency is this epic, you kind of have to press pause on the fun. Plus, I didn’t want to add another lecture about how I’m not as reliable as Steve Rogers to my list.”

Howard’s stern expression softened, though the worry for Maria was still evident. “The doctors are doing everything they can. It’s been a tough few days, but she’s hanging in there.”

Tony’s gaze shifted to his mother’s still form. His usual wit faded as he took in the gravity of the situation. “I’m sure they’re doing their best,” he said quietly. “I just hope it’s enough.”

Jarvis, having given them some space, approached and placed a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder. His warmth was a stark contrast to the cold hospital setting.

As they waited for news, the tension in the room was palpable. Tony and Howard, despite their long-standing estrangement, found themselves united by their shared concern for Maria. The hospital room, filled with beeping monitors and hushed conversations, became a place where old conflicts were put aside in favor of focusing on the immediate need to support Maria. Tony’s usual jokes gave way to a heartfelt, if guarded, show of support for his mother and father, as they clung to the hope of her recovery, with Jarvis quietly bridging the gap between them.

---

In the dimly lit recovery room, Natasha Romanoff stood guard like a vigilant sentinel beside the bed of Harry Potter. The scene before her was nothing short of extraordinary: Harry lay unconscious, his body a blend of raw power and adolescent vulnerability, the aftermath of the intense Super Soldier Serum procedure. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, a testament to the grueling transformation he had endured.

Natasha, despite her usual composure, found herself momentarily spellbound by Harry’s new form. The eighteen-year-old version of Harry was a far cry from the five-year-old boy she had come to see as a younger brother. The striking contrast between his muscular frame and the innocent child she remembered was jarring, stirring feelings she wasn’t quite prepared for.

The door slid open with a soft whoosh, and in strode Gellert Grindelwald, his presence commanding immediate attention. Natasha straightened, her expression a blend of concern and determination.

“How’s he holding up?” Grindelwald asked, his voice a mixture of genuine worry and controlled authority as he approached the bed.

Natasha’s gaze lingered on Harry’s still form. “He’s been out for hours. The procedure was intense—he’s handling the transformation, but it’s really taken a toll on him.”

Grindelwald nodded, studying Harry with a thoughtful expression. “The strain is expected. We need to ensure he recovers fully before we move forward with our plans.”

Natasha’s concern deepened. “And the Winter Soldier? His loyalty to Hydra could throw a wrench into our plans.”

Grindelwald’s lips curled into a subtle smile. “I’m aware of the complications. I’ve been working on a strategy to sway the Winter Soldier to our side. It’s a delicate maneuver, but I’m confident we can pull it off.”

Natasha’s skepticism was clear. “And what’s the plan? We can’t afford any mistakes.”

Grindelwald’s eyes were steely with resolve. “The Winter Soldier’s memories aren’t as buried as Hydra might think. I’m laying the groundwork to awaken fragments of his old self and align him with our goals. It’s a careful process, but it’s doable.”

Natasha nodded, though her worry remained. “And Harry? We need to ensure his safety and prepare for the escape.”

Grindelwald’s tone grew serious. “First, we stabilize Harry and get him ready for the next phase. Once he’s recovered, we execute the escape plan. We need to act quickly—the longer we stay, the greater the risk.”

Natasha’s resolve hardened as she focused on Harry. “Got it. I’ll keep a close eye on him and make sure he’s prepared.”

Grindelwald gave her a reassuring nod. “We’re in this together, Natasha. With careful planning and teamwork, we’ll achieve our goals.”

As Grindelwald left to continue his strategic preparations, Natasha remained by Harry’s side. Her thoughts swirled with the gravity of their situation and the unexpected emotions stirred by Harry’s transformed appearance. The road ahead was fraught with danger, but Natasha steeled herself for the challenges to come, her resolve unwavering despite the complex feelings Harry’s new form had ignited within her.

—

In Hydra’s shadowy lab—picture the kind of place where you’d expect mad scientists to hang out, complete with bubbling beakers and sinister machines—a monumental experiment was about to go down. Our hero, Harry Potter, fresh from his Super Soldier Serum transformation, was lying on an operating table. Imagine a mix between a high-tech magic show and a horror movie set, with Harry as the main act.

Whitehall, the guy in charge, looked like he was planning something devious. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, his voice dripping with a creepy sort of glee, “the Super Soldier Serum has done its job. But this is just Act One. We need to take ‘Der Winterzauberer’ to the next level!”

Standing next to him was Dr. Arnim Zola, a guy who probably spent too much time in his lab. Zola held up a vial of weird glowing stuff, his eyes shining with excitement. “The next phase involves adding a little something extra—genetic material that will give Harry regenerative and aggressive traits. Think of it like a superhero smoothie.”

Whitehall’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure this will go smoothly? No hiccups?”

Zola grinned. “Absolutely! This stuff will make Harry stronger, faster, and nearly invincible. And since he’s still out cold from the first procedure, he won’t even feel it.”

Yeah, right. Easy for them to say.

With the flick of a switch, Zola injected the serum into Harry. The lab was as quiet as a tomb, everyone watching as the serum mixed with Harry’s blood. Suddenly, Harry’s body jerked like he’d been hit with a jolt of electricity. His muscles tensed, and his back arched off the table. If he’d been awake, he probably would’ve had a few choice words for them.

As the serum did its work, Harry began to change. Bone claws burst out from his knuckles with a sound like a snapping tree branch. His hair, usually a tangled mess of black, started looking wild and spiky, giving him a more rugged appearance. His face became sharper, more intense—a mix of his usual boyish charm and something far more fierce.

But wait, there’s more! Now came the Vibranium treatment. If you don’t know Vibranium, it’s like the Swiss Army knife of metals—light, strong, and nearly indestructible. Perfect for enhancing Harry’s skeleton. The Vibranium was heated until it glowed like molten lava, and Harry was carefully lowered into a tank of ice-cold water. Talk about a shock to the system!

Robotic arms with creepy, precise needles moved in, ready to inject the molten metal into Harry’s bones. The needles pierced his skin, and the Vibranium flowed in, searing its way through his body. It was like watching a firework show gone wrong, with sparks flying and steam hissing as the metal fused with his skeleton.

Harry’s body twitched and shuddered, his mouth open in a silent scream. His veins stood out like blue ropes beneath his skin, and his muscles spasmed as the Vibranium spread. The whole lab smelled like burnt toast and melted plastic, and the sound of grinding metal filled the air.

Finally, the last of the Vibranium settled into place, and the robotic arms retracted. Harry was lifted out of the tank, his body steaming and glowing with the aftermath of the procedure. He looked like a superhero fresh out of a comic book, his skeleton now a shining network of metal and bone.

The lab fell silent as everyone stared at Harry, their faces a mix of awe and fear. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, had just become a lot more than a magical prodigy. He was now a powerhouse, a blend of mystical energy and technological marvel.

With his new Vibranium-coated skeleton and enhanced abilities, Harry was ready to face whatever Hydra had planned next. One thing was for sure—this was just the beginning of an epic adventure.

---

In the dimly lit confines of his room, Gellert Grindelwald was practically bouncing off the walls. He paced back and forth like a caged lion, the kind that’s just been told it has to go vegan. His usual calm demeanor was nowhere to be found. Instead, a storm of fury had taken over, crackling through the air like static electricity. Hydra’s recent “upgrades” on young Harry Potter—injecting him with some freaky Weapon X DNA and slapping Vibranium onto his bones—had left Grindelwald fuming. It was like a bad sci-fi movie, except it was happening right before his eyes, and it was far from entertaining.

Grindelwald stopped pacing, his fists clenched so tight you’d think he was trying to squeeze diamonds out of coal. His eyes blazed with a mix of frustration and sheer determination. He knew that acting on his impulse to blast Hydra’s lab into smithereens wouldn’t be the smartest move. Nope, he had to stay cool, stay sharp, and keep his eye on the prize: getting Harry out of Hydra’s clutches before they turned him into a superhero smoothie.

He turned to his desk, which looked like it had been hit by a tornado of maps, documents, and scribbled plans. It was a mess, but it was his mess. And somewhere in that chaos was the key to saving Harry. Grindelwald’s brain went into overdrive, racing through every possible strategy and alliance. His plan needed the help of Natasha Romanoff and the Winter Soldier. Talk about a motley crew. Navigating their loyalties was like trying to juggle flaming swords while riding a unicycle. Not impossible, but definitely tricky.

As he pored over the details of his escape plan, Grindelwald’s resolve hardened like a diamond under pressure. Sure, Hydra’s methods were as twisted as a pretzel at a carnival, and the pain Harry was going through was enough to make anyone’s blood boil. But Grindelwald channeled his anger into a laser-focused determination. He was like a chess master, plotting each move with surgical precision, making sure every piece was exactly where it needed to be.

Patience and precision were his magic words. One wrong move, and Hydra would be onto them faster than you could say “Avada Kedavra.” Grindelwald knew he had to play his cards right. The stakes were as high as Mount Everest, and one slip-up could send their entire plan tumbling down like a house of cards. But Grindelwald was no stranger to high-stakes games. With his cunning and resolve, he was ready to take on Hydra and turn the tide in their favor.

For now, he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and went back to plotting his next move. The game was on, and Grindelwald was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. With a smirk on his face and a plan in his head, he knew that the rescue mission was just the beginning of an epic adventure.

—

Harry woke up feeling as though he’d been pushed down the staircase by Dudley, but a million times worse. Everything seemed to weigh a ton, and his head felt like it was full of fog. As he tried to shake off the strange sensation, he realized something was off. Really off. Like he'd eaten something he shouldn’t have, except this time it felt like his whole body had swallowed an anchor.

His eyes fluttered open, and he found himself in a dimly lit room that looked like it belonged in one of Uncle Vernon's science fiction movies. Blinking a few times to clear his vision, Harry noticed a weird, itchy feeling between his knuckles. It was like the time Dudley shoved nettles in his hands, but worse. Much worse.

As Harry raised his hands to look at them, something strange happened. With a loud, metallic snikt—a sound that made his whole body tense up—three long, shiny claws popped out from between each of his knuckles. Harry’s eyes widened, his heart pounding like it was trying to jump out of his chest.

"Whoa!" he gasped, staring at the claws in horror. They looked like they belonged to a monster, or one of the meaner creatures in the stories Aunt Petunia used to read Dudley to scare him.

He tried to wiggle his fingers, hoping to make the claws disappear, but nothing happened. "Go back in, go back in!" he whispered frantically. As if listening to his plea, the claws retracted with another snikt, leaving his hands looking like normal again.

Harry let out a shaky breath. This was way weirder than anything he’d ever experienced before. "What did they do to me?" he muttered, glancing around the room for any clues or answers. His mind was a whirl of confusion and fear, mixed with the stubborn determination of a five-year-old who’d had enough of grown-ups messing with him.

Flexing his hands again, Harry winced as the claws shot out once more. "Okay, this is kind of cool," he admitted, his curiosity getting the better of him. He retracted them and extended them a few more times, each snikt bringing a mix of awe and terror.

Looking around the lab, Harry knew he had to find a way out of there. He didn’t fully understand what Hydra had done to him, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let them turn him into a weapon. He might be stuck in the body of a tall, muscular teenager, but deep down, he was still just a kid.

Harry took a deep breath, his heart still racing. "Time to be brave," he told himself, trying to sound more confident than he felt. With claws ready, he prepared to make his escape, determined to find his way back to the world he belonged in.

—

In the heart of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, where the labs were as high-tech as they were secretive, Peggy Carter stood in front of a secure containment unit. Inside was the last remaining dose of Howard Stark’s Super Soldier Serum—a vial that felt heavier than any pile of gold. This serum was their trump card against Hydra, and Peggy knew that making the call to use it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.

Howard Stark stormed in, his usual swagger replaced by a rare look of worry. “Peggy,” he said, voice low and serious, “are you absolutely sure you want to do this? There are other ways to fight Hydra.”

Peggy turned, eyes sharp as a blade. “Howard, the stakes are sky-high. Hydra’s got their hands on a serum of their own. If we don’t level the playing field, we’re toast.”

Howard’s face was a study in conflict. “I get it, but this serum is no magic potion. It transforms you—physically and mentally. You’re already one of our best agents. Adding this serum... it’s risky. We’ve seen what it did to Erskine’s other subjects before Steve.”

Peggy took a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “I know the risks. But we’re out of options. Hydra’s threat is massive, and if they make super soldiers, we’ll be facing an army we can’t beat. We need every edge we can get.”

Howard rubbed his temples, a sign of his internal battle. He approached the containment unit, fingers hovering over the release mechanism. “I just... don’t want to see you get hurt, Peggy. This serum is unpredictable. Even with all the prep work, it’s a gamble.”

Peggy stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. “I appreciate your concern. But I’ve faced danger before, and I’m ready to face it again. We need to act fast. Please, Howard. No more debates.”

Seeing the determination in her eyes, Howard finally nodded, albeit reluctantly. He activated the containment unit and carefully withdrew the serum. His gaze met Peggy’s, and they shared a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation. “Just promise me you’ll come back in one piece,” he said, preparing the syringe.

Peggy smiled, the warmth of her resolve unmistakable. “I promise.”

Howard drew the serum into the syringe and approached Peggy. His hands were steady, but his eyes showed the depth of his worry. He carefully administered the injection. Peggy winced slightly as the needle pierced her skin. Almost instantly, she felt a rush of energy flood through her, like she’d just taken a direct hit of pure vitality. Her muscles tensed and grew more defined, her posture straightened with newfound strength.

As the transformation settled, Peggy glanced at her reflection in the lab’s mirror. The figure that stared back was like a blast from the past—youthful, strong, and commanding, as though she’d stepped out of a time machine and into her prime.

Howard stepped back, his awe barely concealed. “Well, that’s impressive,” he said, trying to mask his concern. “How do you feel?”

Peggy flexed her hands, marveling at the sheer power she now felt. “I feel... ready,” she replied, her voice steady and confident. “Ready to take on whatever Hydra throws at us.”

Howard nodded, still processing the transformation. “This changes everything. We now have a fighting chance, but we need to stay smart. Hydra will definitely notice what we’ve done.”

Peggy turned to face him fully, eyes steely with resolve. “I understand. We need to move quickly. With this new edge, I can lead our teams more effectively. We’ll hit Hydra hard and fast before they can retaliate.”

Howard managed a smile, tinged with sadness. “You’ve always been the best, Peggy. Just... be careful out there.”

Peggy nodded, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I will. And Howard, thank you. For everything.”

As they geared up to brief the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D., the air was electric with anticipation. Peggy Carter, now invigorated with the serum, felt a powerful sense of purpose. With Howard’s backing and her own unbreakable resolve, she was ready to take the fight to Hydra. The battle was far from over, but with her newfound strength, Peggy was determined to turn the tide in their favor.

—

In the dimly lit corners of Hydra’s labyrinthine base, Gellert Grindelwald was a whirlwind of strategizing and simmering frustration. Learning that the Winter Soldier was actually Bucky Barnes—Steve Rogers’ old buddy and a key player in the Howling Commandos—was a mixed blessing. It gave Grindelwald a unique edge: Bucky’s fractured memories could be the crack in Hydra’s armor that he needed. But cracking open a mind that had been ruthlessly brainwashed for decades was no easy feat.

Grindelwald had taken a mental dive into Bucky’s brain using Legilimency. What he saw was like diving into a stormy sea of disjointed images: Bucky’s days with Steve Rogers, his WWII escapades, all buried under Hydra’s relentless brainwashing. The memories were there, flickering like stubborn embers waiting for a spark. But Hydra’s mental chains were strong, and breaking through them was going to be a challenge.

Merely unlocking Bucky’s memories wouldn’t cut it. The Winter Soldier’s conditioning was like a mental straitjacket—one that needed more than just brute force to untangle. It required a jolt of raw emotion, something explosive enough to shatter the mental chains. Grindelwald had his eyes on the perfect candidate for this: Peggy Carter.

Peggy wasn’t just another name from the past. She was a living link to Bucky’s life before Hydra hijacked it. As a former liaison for the Howling Commandos and the girlfriend of Captain America, Peggy had been part of Bucky’s pre-Hydra world. Grindelwald figured that seeing Peggy again might stir some powerful emotions in Bucky, potentially shaking loose his hidden memories. But getting to Peggy? That was a whole different can of worms.

As Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Peggy was under constant watch. Any direct approach could easily be intercepted by Hydra’s surveillance network. Grindelwald knew Hydra’s agents were sharp, and any hint of his plan could blow their cover. So, he had to be as sneaky as a cat burglar on a caffeine high.

Enter the intermediary—a wizard with connections to S.H.I.E.L.D. but who flew under Hydra’s radar. This magical messenger was tasked with delivering a sealed, enchanted letter that only Peggy could open. The letter was designed to be cryptic but clear enough to convey the urgency: Bucky Barnes’ true identity, the struggles with his conditioning, and the crucial role Peggy could play in waking him up. Grindelwald kept his own role and the details of Harry’s escape under wraps, focusing solely on Bucky.

After briefing the intermediary and making sure they understood the gravity of the task, Grindelwald watched as the messenger vanished into the shadows. His stomach was a knot of anticipation and anxiety. Peggy’s response was crucial; if her old bond with Bucky was strong enough, it might just crack the mental shackles that bound him. If they succeeded, Bucky would not only become an ally but also help them safeguard Harry and execute their escape plan.

In the days that followed, Grindelwald kept a close eye on everything, waiting for any sign from Peggy or a hint that the plan was rolling into action. Every detail had to be perfect. The stakes were sky-high, and the plan had to be executed with the precision of a well-oiled machine. Grindelwald was ready for anything—sacrifices, risks, you name it. His resolve was as solid as granite. He was determined to see their mission through, no matter what.

—

In the quiet early morning, Peggy Carter, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., was savoring her usual routine—sipping coffee and preparing for another busy day. The tranquility was abruptly broken by a quiet knock on the door. Peggy, ever cautious, approached with a wary eye. Opening the door, she found a small, elegantly sealed envelope resting on her doorstep.

The envelope was made of high-quality paper and bore an intricate seal that suggested it was from someone with significant resources or knowledge. Peggy’s instincts told her this was no ordinary message. She carefully broke the seal and unfolded the letter inside.

The letter was written in a neat, precise hand, and its tone was both formal and cryptic:

Director Carter,

You do not know me, but I have been following your work with great respect. Your dedication to S.H.I.E.L.D. and your leadership are well known. I write to you today with urgent information about Hydra, the organization that you are all too familiar with.

Hydra has recently obtained a sample of the Super Soldier Serum—a theft that may ring familiar to you. Their intentions with this Serum are far from benevolent. I have crucial details about their plans and a way to counteract them. Additionally, there is someone whose well-being is at risk, and your involvement could be crucial.

For reasons I cannot disclose here, it is imperative that we meet in person. I propose a meeting at the old Pier 47 warehouse tonight at 10 PM. This location should offer the privacy and security needed for our discussion.

Please understand the gravity of this situation and the need for discretion. Come alone.

A concerned ally.

Peggy examined the letter, her mind racing with the implications. Hydra’s acquisition of the Serum was a serious threat, but the letter’s mention of an unspecified individual and the urgency of the situation piqued her curiosity and concern. The letter’s anonymity and the need for secrecy added layers of complexity to the matter.

She considered the possible motivations behind the letter. While the mention of the Serum suggested a potential crisis, the reference to someone at risk was equally troubling. It was clear that the letter’s author knew significant details about Hydra’s plans and had a specific reason for reaching out to her.

Peggy’s strategic mind quickly assessed the risks. Pier 47, a rundown warehouse district, was a perfect place for a secret meeting but also a prime spot for an ambush. The request to come alone was a classic tactic for isolating a target, but the threat posed by Hydra and the Serum made it necessary to consider the meeting seriously.

She decided to take precautions. First, she would inform Howard Stark and a small, trusted team within S.H.I.E.L.D. about the letter and her plan. While she intended to attend the meeting alone, she would ensure that her team was ready to act if needed. Peggy would also carry a concealed communication device, standard for covert operations, to signal for help if the situation turned dangerous.

Peggy planned her approach carefully. She would arrive early at the warehouse to scout the area, establish escape routes, and set up potential cover. Her training and experience had prepared her for such scenarios, but the unknowns still left her on edge. The letter’s vague references and the sender’s anonymity hinted at deeper layers of intrigue and potential danger.

As the day progressed, Peggy reflected on the state of the world. Hydra’s resurgence and the mysterious nature of the letter reminded her that the past could still cast long shadows over the present. The stakes were high, and the need to protect both her team and the broader world was paramount.

By evening, Peggy was ready. Dressed in attire suited for both negotiation and combat, she was mentally and physically prepared for whatever the night at Pier 47 might bring. The weight of the letter’s secrets and the potential risks were heavy, but Peggy Carter was determined to face the challenge head-on, ready to uncover the truth and confront Hydra’s schemes.

—

In the cold, sterile lab of Hydra, five-year-old Harry was stuck in the body of a very tall, very muscular eighteen-year-old. Imagine a kindergartner in a pro wrestler’s costume—that’s basically what it felt like. The confusion and fear swirling inside him were just as overwhelming as the physical and mental strain of Hydra’s procedures.

Gellert Grindelwald, who had been a steady presence through it all, stepped into the room. His usual stoic demeanor was replaced by an expression of weary concern. Kneeling beside the little boy in the oversized body, he said softly, "Harry, how are you holding up?"

Harry looked up, his small face a mix of fear and fierce determination. "It hurts," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "But... there’s something I need to tell you."

Gellert’s curiosity was piqued. "What is it, Harry?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry gathered his thoughts. "Every time they hurt me, every time they test my healing, I can feel my magic getting stronger. It’s like... every wound makes my core more powerful. You taught me how to sense my core, and now I can feel it growing. Even just moving around makes me a bit stronger."

Gellert’s eyes widened with interest. "That’s quite something. It must be the Vibranium. It’s known for absorbing energy, and it seems like it’s feeding that energy to your magical core."

Harry nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of hope and worry. "But I don’t know how much more I can take."

Gellert placed a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. "I’m so sorry for what you’re going through. I promise, Harry, I will get you out of here. Soon."

Harry gave a brave little smile. "I believe you, Gellert."

After leaving Harry, Gellert returned to his quarters, his mind racing with urgency. The experiments and torture were not only cruel but unsustainable. He needed to act quickly. With a flick of his wand, he created a homunculus—a life-like copy of himself. The homunculus, looking exactly like the real Gellert, lay on the bed, making it look like he was resting.

Gellert then used a disillusionment charm to slip out of the room, moving silently through the Hydra facility’s maze-like corridors. He had a crucial meeting with Peggy Carter, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., who might hold the key to their escape.

As he navigated the winding hallways, Gellert’s mind was focused on the upcoming conversation. He had to convince Peggy to help without revealing too much, risking their plan. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, was a significant part of this. If he could help rekindle Bucky’s memories, they might gain a powerful ally.

Arriving at the rendezvous point, Gellert paused to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Once satisfied, he slipped out of the Hydra facility, determined to make the meeting with Peggy Carter count. The stakes were high, and failure wasn’t an option. For Harry’s sake and to strike a major blow against Hydra, Gellert knew he had to succeed.

---

Peggy Carter sat behind her desk in her sleek S.H.I.E.L.D. office, her fingers nervously toying with the edge of a mysterious letter. The letter's contents were as cryptic as a riddle from a sphinx, hinting at vital information about Hydra and a stolen Super Soldier Serum that had once belonged to Howard Stark. It also asked for a meeting at a neutral location, promising answers but shrouded in secrecy. Peggy’s gut told her this was a chance she couldn’t afford to ignore, no matter how risky.

The letter’s enigmatic nature was both intriguing and unsettling. Peggy had tackled numerous threats over the years, but this felt different—more personal. The mention of the Serum and Hydra's schemes struck a nerve, especially given the recent chaos and Howard Stark’s involvement.

Just as she was mulling over her next move, a knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Howard Stark burst in, his face a mixture of frustration and stubborn determination. "Peggy, you can’t seriously be considering going to this meeting alone. It’s way too dangerous."

Peggy met Howard’s concerned gaze with a steely look of her own. "Howard, if there’s a chance to get the information we need about Hydra’s plans and maybe even stop them, we have to take it."

Howard ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. "I get that, but this could be a trap. I don’t want you walking into it alone."

Peggy offered him a reassuring smile, touched by his concern. "I’ll be careful, I promise. But the Serum is crucial, and stopping Hydra is even more so."

Howard sighed, seeing the resolve in her eyes. "Fine. But I’m coming with you. We’ll face whatever’s out there together."

With that, Peggy and Howard prepared to face the unknown, knowing they were up against a dangerous game of shadows and secrets.

Chapter 7: Chapter 6

At Pier 47, Peggy Carter and Howard Stark stood under the harsh glow of flickering overhead lights, eyes scanning the deserted warehouse for any sign of their mysterious contact. The letter they’d received was as cryptic as it was urgent, hinting at crucial intel about Hydra and their stolen Serum. The anticipation in the air was thick, like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When a figure finally emerged from the shadows, Peggy and Howard’s expressions shifted from cautious curiosity to genuine shock. The man stepping into the light was none other than Gellert Grindelwald, the infamous dark wizard who had been a thorn in the side of world leaders during World War II. His arrival felt like a thunderstorm breaking over an otherwise calm day.

“Grindelwald,” Peggy spat, her hand moving towards her concealed weapon with the reflexes of a seasoned operative. “You’ve got some nerve showing your face here.”

Howard’s eyes narrowed, disbelief and anger mixing in his expression. “You should be rotting in a cell for your war crimes.”

Gellert raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, but his eyes were sharp, scanning Peggy with a look of recognition and surprise. “I understand your anger, and I would gladly face justice if it meant saving the child I’m here to tell you about.”

Peggy’s eyes narrowed further. “What child?”

Gellert took a deep breath, his gaze settling on Peggy with a mix of awe and unease. “Harry. A six-year-old boy who Hydra injected with the Super Soldier Serum, aging him up to look 18. But that’s only the start. They’ve also injected him with Weapon X DNA and grafted Vibranium onto his skeleton.”

The horror on Peggy and Howard’s faces was immediate. “That’s monstrous,” Peggy whispered, her mind racing with the implications.

“And why should we believe you?” Howard demanded, his skepticism evident.

“Because this is my chance for redemption,” Gellert confessed, his voice laden with genuine remorse. “In 1927, during my time in Paris, I allowed a subordinate, Vinda Rosier, to kill a baby to avoid leaving loose ends. That act has haunted me more than any other. Even in Nurmengard, it was that child’s death that tormented me. Harry is my chance to make amends. Every day they experiment on him, it tears me apart. I need to get him out, and after that, you’re welcome to send me back to prison.”

Peggy and Howard exchanged a look that spoke volumes. The sincerity in Grindelwald’s eyes was hard to ignore. “Alright,” Peggy said cautiously. “We’ll help. But if you’re playing us, you’ll regret it.”

Gellert nodded, relief evident. “Thank you. There’s more. The Winter Soldier, Hydra’s top assassin, is actually Bucky Barnes—a member of the Howling Commandos and Steve Rogers’ best friend. He’s been brainwashed for decades, but his memories are starting to resurface. We need him to help rescue Harry, and Peggy, you’re crucial in making him remember who he is.”

Peggy’s heart skipped a beat. “Bucky... Oh my God. How do I help him?”

Gellert’s eyes lingered on Peggy with a flicker of curiosity before he spoke. “Before I continue, I must ask—how is it you look as youthful and healthy as you did almost forty years ago? I’ve sensed the effects of the Super Soldier Serum.”

Peggy straightened, a mixture of surprise and unease crossing her face. “You’ve figured it out. Yes, I took the Serum. It’s been a while, but it seems it’s still holding up.”

Gellert nodded, a hint of admiration in his eyes. “That explains your formidable presence. We’ll need to pull off a joint assault on the Hydra base. I can provide the location and I have another ally on the inside—the Black Widow.”

“The Black Widow?” Howard echoed, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “She’s a legend already and she’s only been active for less than a year.”

“Yes,” Gellert confirmed. “Natasha Romanoff is on our side. She and I will create chaos from the inside while S.H.I.E.L.D. hits them from the outside. Peggy, you’ll need to focus on Bucky. Help him remember who he really is.”

Peggy nodded, her mind already whirring with strategy. “We’ll need a rock-solid plan and impeccable timing. We can’t afford to slip up.”

Gellert agreed. “I’ll provide detailed intel on the base layout and security. We need to be quick and decisive.”

Howard, still grappling with the enormity of the situation, finally nodded. “Alright. Let’s get to work.”

With their plan set in motion, Peggy, Howard, and Gellert moved to coordinate their resources, knowing that the fate of an innocent child—and possibly the future of their battle against Hydra—hung in the balance like a precarious game of Jenga.

—

Over the next few days, Gellert Grindelwald and Peggy Carter became experts in the art of covert communication. They swapped vital intel through a trusted middleman, each scrap of information about the Hydra base—its location, layout, and optimal assault timing—carefully analyzed and integrated into their master plan.

Meanwhile, Peggy and Howard Stark were busy assembling the ultimate superhero squad. They knew they needed the crème de la crème for this mission. Their first recruit was Nick Fury, a young, sharp-eyed agent whose tactical genius was matched only by his fierce determination. Peggy kept one eye on Nick, sizing him up for a potential future role as S.H.I.E.L.D.’s top boss.

Next on their list was Dr. Henry "Hank" Pym, a biochemist with a knack for shrinking and growing at will thanks to his "Pym particles." Hank, better known as Ant-Man, was brilliant but had the unfortunate habit of mixing business with booze and holding outdated views on women, making him a wild card. His wife, Janet Van Dyne, was also on board. She had the heroic chops to match her smarts and had adopted the moniker "The Wasp." Janet’s cool-headedness helped balance Hank’s less savory traits, though there was an undeniable tension between them. Peggy could sense the undercurrent of issues, something she filed away for later.

In a secure S.H.I.E.L.D. briefing room, Peggy, Howard, and the team gathered for the final briefing. The air was electric with anticipation.

“Alright, folks,” Peggy began, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “We’re gearing up for a high-stakes mission. Hydra has a young boy named Harry, and they’ve subjected him to some pretty horrific experiments. Our job is to rescue him and shut down their operation.”

Nick Fury leaned forward, his eyes scanning the detailed map Peggy laid out. “So what’s the game plan?”

“This,” Peggy said, pointing at the map, “is the Hydra base. We’ve identified their security measures and weak spots. Gellert and the Black Widow will stir up chaos from the inside, while we hit them from the outside. Timing is everything.”

Hank Pym, with a skeptical frown and a side-eye toward Janet, spoke up. “And this Grindelwald guy? We’re supposed to trust him just like that?”

Peggy met his gaze with a steady look. “For now, yes. He’s our best shot at getting in without blowing our cover. And he’s personally invested in saving Harry.”

Janet Van Dyne, always the voice of reason, chimed in. “Let’s not get sidetracked. If Grindelwald can help us get in, we use that to our advantage.”

Howard Stark, who had been absorbed in his own thoughts, finally weighed in. “I’ll handle the tech and logistics. Nick, you lead the assault team. Hank and Janet, your skills will be key for navigating the base’s defenses.”

As they wrapped up their planning session, the tension between Hank and Janet was hard to ignore. Hank’s brusque demeanor and Janet’s anxious responses suggested there were more issues than just professional ones. Peggy noted this but kept her focus on the mission at hand.

In the days leading up to the big operation, the team trained intensively, drilling every detail of their approach. Their covert communications with Gellert ensured that every piece of the plan was in place.

Finally, the day of the assault arrived. Peggy, Howard, Nick, Hank, and Janet stood poised and ready, united by their single-minded goal. With the plan set and Gellert’s diversion ready to go, they waited for the signal to storm the Hydra base. Each member of the team knew that their success hinged on precision and a rock-solid commitment to their mission. For now, all that mattered was rescuing Harry and putting a stop to Hydra’s sinister plans.

—

In the shadowy depths of the S.H.I.E.L.D. armory, Howard Stark was busy putting the finishing touches on Peggy Carter’s gear for the upcoming mission. The room was a tech-lover's dream, cluttered with futuristic weapons and gadgets, but Howard’s focus was solely on the centerpiece—a suit that was essentially Captain America’s getup with a Peggy Carter twist.

The suit was a bold clash of blue, red, and white, featuring a giant star on the chest and the Union Jack splashed across the front. It wasn’t just about looking heroic; it was built for maximum protection and agility, blending sleek design with real-world function.

Howard worked his magic on the suit, ensuring it fit Peggy like it was custom-made for her (which, in a way, it was). Peggy stood still, her mind locked onto the mission ahead, feeling the suit conform to her form, bolstering her resolve and readiness.

“This suit,” Howard said, his voice steady as he adjusted the final straps, “isn’t just about armor. It’s about carrying forward the legacy. It’s a symbol of everything we’re fighting for.”

Peggy met his gaze with a determined look. “I get it, Howard. We’re not just agents today. We’re symbols of hope and courage.”

Howard stepped back, eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and something else. He reached over to a display and pulled out Captain America’s iconic Vibranium shield. It shimmered under the dim lights, radiating the weight of history and heroism.

Peggy’s eyes widened. “The shield... How did you get this? It was lost with Steve when the plane went down into the ice.”

Howard’s face tightened. “Found it during an expedition to search for Steve. It was all I managed to recover.”

Peggy’s shock was evident. “But what about Steve? Did you find him?”

Howard’s expression shifted to one of guarded secrecy. “No sign of him. Just the shield. It’s been in storage.”

Peggy’s thoughts raced. “Howard, where was the crash site? What about Steve’s body?”

Howard’s eyes darkened. “I couldn’t find Steve. Only the shield. But right now, we need to focus on the mission.”

Peggy, though clearly troubled, took the shield with a new sense of purpose. “Okay, Howard. We’ll discuss this later.”

As she strapped the shield onto her arm, its familiar weight felt like a solid promise. The legacy of Captain America was now part of her mission.

Howard watched her, torn between pride and concern. “Be careful out there, Peggy. We really can’t afford to lose you.”

Peggy flashed him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. We’ll get Harry out of there. Together.”

With her suit on and shield in place, Peggy Carter was more than ready for the mission. She was no longer just the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.; she was a living symbol of hope and justice. As she walked out of the armory, Howard’s words echoed in her mind, but the weight of the mission and the shield on her arm steeled her resolve. She was ready to tackle whatever came next, driven by duty and an unyielding sense of responsibility.

—

As Peggy and the team set off for their high-stakes mission, Howard Stark stood in the armory, watching them with a mix of pride and worry. The room, once bustling with the preparations for their mission, was now eerily quiet. 

Howard’s mind was anything but peaceful. It was a whirlwind of thoughts, anxieties, and, most haunting of all, secrets. He had seen Peggy strap on Captain America's shield—a symbol of bravery, hope, and an era gone by. But every time he glanced at her, he couldn’t help but think of Steve Rogers, the friend he had to leave behind in the ice.

The truth was, Steve wasn’t lost to the ice as everyone believed. Howard had found him during his expedition, still alive and preserved in a frozen sleep. The shield Peggy now wielded had been the only thing Howard managed to recover. Steve, on the other hand, was locked away in a top-secret facility, waiting for Howard to work some miracle.

That facility was a private fortress of hope and failure, a place where Howard tried every possible method to awaken his friend, but to no avail. Each failed attempt felt like another nail in the coffin of his guilt and regret. He had promised himself he’d find a way, but so far, every scientific breakthrough and every desperate experiment had come up empty.

He watched Peggy and the team prepare to head off into the unknown, their silhouettes disappearing from view for a minute. Their success or failure now depended on factors beyond his control. Howard’s own personal mission—to find a way to revive Steve—was a constant, unspoken weight on his shoulders. 

As the armory door clicked shut, Howard was left alone in the quiet for a minute. The emptiness of the room seemed to amplify his internal struggle. He couldn’t share his secret with anyone; the knowledge of Steve’s condition was his alone to bear. And so, with a heavy heart and a mind racing with worry, Howard Stark turned away from the now-silent armory and made to follow them, hoping against hope that Peggy and the team would prevail.

—

Outside the Hydra base, the night was filled with the kind of tension that made Peggy Carter feel like she was starring in an action movie—minus the popcorn and the chance to pause for bathroom breaks. Peggy, decked out in her spiffy Captain Carter suit with the Union Jack plastered across her chest, felt like a superhero ready to save the world. The only thing missing was an epic soundtrack.

Nick Fury, who was still very much an agent (and had both his eyes at this point), gave the nod to start the operation. “Alright, team, let’s make this look easy,” he said, trying to sound cool despite the fact that he was about to dive headfirst into a Hydra base.

Hank Pym, who was currently smaller than a mouse and twice as sneaky, was the first to make his move. He zipped through the chain-link fence like he was auditioning for a spy movie. With a few well-placed karate chops and a flick of his wrist, he made short work of the perimeter guards. Hank’s actions were so smooth, it was like watching a magician who had just discovered the art of stealth.

Janet Van Dyne, in her Wasp suit, was like a buzzsaw in the night—quick, efficient, and not in the least bit concerned with the laws of physics. She zipped around, taking out guards with a combination of grace and sheer determination. It was a bit like watching a ballet performance, but with more unconscious bodies and fewer tutus.

Peggy Carter, meanwhile, was having the time of her life. Her new suit was not only snazzy but also made her feel invincible. The shield, which she’d only recently learned was back in play, was like an old friend who had just shown up at a party. Every swing and toss was as satisfying as a perfectly executed punchline.

Howard Stark, who was off to the side playing with his fancy gadgets, looked like a mad scientist in the best possible way. His tech was a cacophony of lights and sounds, making short work of cameras and alarms. “Nothing like a little high-tech wizardry to spice up a night of heroics,” he said with a grin, clearly enjoying his role as the team’s behind-the-scenes genius.

Nick Fury, ever the consummate professional, took out his share of guards with practiced precision. Peggy couldn’t help but watch him with a critical eye. If she was being honest, she was assessing him for a possible promotion. If Fury kept up this level of competence, he might just be the future Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. (or at least the future star of a really great spy movie).

“Everyone good?” Fury’s voice crackled through the comms, sounding as calm as if he were ordering a coffee.

“Perfectly fine,” Peggy replied, her tone laced with the kind of confidence that came from years of fighting bad guys.

“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Fury said, his voice setting the stage for what was about to unfold. The team moved forward, each member seamlessly playing their part in this intricate dance of heroism.

As they advanced deeper into the Hydra base, Peggy felt the thrill of the mission—and the weight of her new responsibilities. The stakes were high, but she was ready. With every step, she knew they were not just inching closer to their goal but also shaping the future of S.H.I.E.L.D. And with that thought, Peggy pushed forward, ready for whatever came next.

---

Inside the Hydra base, things were about to get real interesting. Natasha Romanoff and Gellert Grindelwald moved through the hallways like they were the ultimate spy duo. Their mission? Rescue Harry, the kid who’d gone from “aww, cute” to “whoa, when did you become a superhero?” in a matter of days.

Let’s back up a bit. Harry used to be this adorable five-year-old, the kind of kid who reminded Natasha of a little brother. Now, thanks to Hydra’s not-so-friendly science projects, he was suddenly eighteen, built like a Marvel action figure, and had more muscles than Captain America himself. He also had Vibranium claws—yep, just like Wolverine. Hydra had really outdone themselves on this one, creating a mix between a science experiment and a comic book legend.

Natasha led the way, moving like a shadow ninja through the base. Grindelwald, who looked like he’d just stepped out of a wizarding convention, followed close behind, wand at the ready. They navigated the sterile hallways, which seemed to have been decorated by someone with a fondness for white paint and fluorescent lights. Every corner looked the same, like the worst maze ever designed by an evil lair decorator.

“Keep it low-key,” Natasha whispered, even though she knew stealth was never their strong suit. “We’ve gotta get to Harry’s room without tripping every alarm in this place.”

Grindelwald nodded, his eyes serious and focused. “I’ve got the spells for the alarms. We just need to grab Harry and get out before we’re surrounded by angry Hydra agents.”

When they finally reached Harry’s room, what they saw made them both stop in their tracks. Harry was strapped to a medical table, looking more like a sci-fi prop than a person. His huge, muscular body was restrained, but the look in his eyes was pure five-year-old terror.

Natasha was conflicted. Just days ago, Harry was a kid she’d protect with her life. Now, he looked like someone who could bench press a truck. Her feelings were a rollercoaster: a mix of protective big sister and something else entirely, something that had her mind spinning.

“Hey, Harry, we’re busting you out of here,” she said softly, trying to hide her confusion and desire. (Note to self: hydra labs are not good for surprise visits).

Harry looked up at her with big eyes, a mix of hope and uncertainty in his gaze. His claws retracted with a cool metallic click, and he reached out to Natasha as she helped him off the table.

Grindelwald stood guard at the door, ready to throw a spell at anything that moved. “Time to go. Hydra’s not going to like us borrowing their star player.”

As they made their way through the base, the tension was so thick you could’ve cut it with a Vibranium claw. Natasha carried Harry with ease, despite his new size, and Grindelwald’s magic kept the hallway clear of guards and other unwelcome surprises.

The base felt like it went on forever, a labyrinth of identical hallways designed to make escape as confusing as possible. It was like a high-tech maze, with every turn feeling like a game of Russian roulette. The air was heavy with the anticipation of their escape, and Harry’s grip on Natasha’s arm was a constant reminder of what was at stake.

With every step, Natasha’s resolve grew stronger, and Grindelwald’s wand glowed with protective spells. They were on a mission: get Harry out of Hydra’s clutches and away from their crazy science experiments. Despite the swirling emotions in her chest, Natasha knew one thing for sure: she wasn’t leaving without Harry, no matter what. Even if she had to fight off a whole army of Hydra agents. Or, you know, if she had to explain to Peggy Carter why they suddenly had a super-powered teenager with claws running around. Either way, it was going to be one heck of a story.

---

Meanwhile, outside the base, Peggy Carter found herself face-to-face with the Winter Soldier, a name that was only slightly less terrifying than a Monday morning without coffee. Standing there in his dark tactical gear, Bucky Barnes looked like he could give Darth Vader a run for his money in the “brooding villain” department. Except, of course, Peggy knew that deep down, Bucky was no villain—he was a hero under a very nasty spell of amnesia.

“Hey, Bucky!” Peggy called out, trying to inject a little cheer into the grim surroundings. “Long time no see! You don’t happen to remember me, do you?”

Bucky’s response was less than ideal. He lunged at her, a blur of fists and metal, forcing Peggy to duck and roll out of the way. Talk about a lousy welcome. She barely had time to register the whoosh of his metal arm swinging where her head had been before she was back on her feet, shield at the ready.

“Okay, so you don’t want to chat,” she muttered, sidestepping another attack. “Got it. But seriously, Bucky, you should know this whole assassin look isn’t really your color.”

The Winter Soldier didn’t even blink. His attacks were relentless, each one harder to dodge than the last. It was like fighting a Terminator, but with a tragic backstory instead of an Austrian accent. Peggy knew she had to get through to him—she just needed to find the right words, the magic phrase that would snap him out of this trance.

“Remember Steve?” Peggy said, using her shield to deflect a blow that would’ve sent her flying. “Your best friend? You guys were like the original buddy cop duo, taking on the bad guys and making the world a better place.”

For a moment, Bucky paused, his expression flickering between confusion and frustration. It was like watching someone trying to remember a dream they’d had the night before, only to have it slip through their fingers.

Peggy took advantage of the pause, lowering her shield slightly. “Come on, Bucky. Think back to all the good times—the laughs, the missions, the really awful cafeteria food. You’re not just the Winter Soldier. You’re Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers’ best friend. And we need you back.”

The words seemed to hit a nerve. Bucky’s gaze softened, his metal arm lowering just a fraction. He blinked, as if waking up from a long, dark dream. “Peggy?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is it really you?”

Peggy nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s me, Bucky. And it’s good to see you again.”

The memories came flooding back then, like a tidal wave crashing over him. Bucky staggered back, his hands clutching his head as if trying to hold onto the fragments of his past. It was all there—the war, Steve, Peggy. The man he used to be before Hydra got their claws into him.

“I remember,” he said, his voice shaking. “I remember everything.”

Peggy stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and determination. “Welcome back, Bucky. Now, let’s show Hydra what happens when they mess with our friends.”

Bucky nodded, a newfound resolve in his eyes. The Winter Soldier might have been Hydra’s greatest weapon, but now he was back where he belonged—fighting alongside his friends, ready to take down anyone who threatened the people he cared about.

Together, Peggy and Bucky turned to face the Hydra agents, a united front against the darkness. And as they charged into battle, side by side, Peggy couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope. After all, with friends like these, how could they possibly lose?

---

Inside the Hydra base, the air crackled with tension. Grindelwald and Natasha moved through the maze of corridors with the practiced ease of seasoned spies. Behind them trailed Harry, who had somehow gone from being a pint-sized bundle of curiosity to an 18-year-old muscle-bound powerhouse, complete with claws that could slice through steel like butter. Harry's internal struggle was akin to a kid trying to navigate a grown-up’s world—if that world involved a lot of high-stakes spy stuff and magical mayhem.

Just as they turned a corner, they ran smack into Daniel Whitehall, who looked like he’d just bitten into a particularly sour lemon. Whitehall’s Hydra army flanked him, their guns trained on the trio. The scene was set for an epic showdown.

Whitehall’s face twisted into a sneer that could curdle milk. “Well, if it isn’t my most cherished assets. And what a delightful surprise to see Der Winterzauberer here as well. I must admit, I’m not particularly thrilled with this little act of rebellion.”

Natasha leaned against the wall nonchalantly, her stance casual but her eyes sharp. “Yeah, well, Whitehall, your management style is about as appealing as a week-old pizza. We’re just here to make a new plan, one that doesn’t involve world domination.”

Grindelwald, ever the drama king, offered a theatrical bow. “Apologies, Whitehall, but we’re rather fond of our freedom. Your plans, however, are less appealing than a triple-decker sandwich filled with disappointment.”

Harry, caught in the middle of this high-stakes showdown, felt his muscles tensing as the Hydra soldiers began to advance. He looked down at his claws, now extended and gleaming. He had been itching to see what these bad boys could do. As he flexed his claws, a sudden, unexpected surge of magical energy erupted from them. It wasn’t just a trickle—it was a full-blown burst of dazzling light, like the most spectacular fireworks show you could imagine.

Whitehall’s eyes widened in shock as Harry’s claws unleashed a magical blast that cut through the Hydra ranks with a mix of raw power and elegant precision. Harry stared at his claws, equally stunned. “Whoa, did I just… use my claws like wands? That’s wicked!”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “Kid, you’ve got some serious hidden talents. Didn’t see that one coming.”

Grindelwald, usually the one doing the magic, looked at Harry with a mix of pride and astonishment. “Harry, my dear boy, you’re not just strong—you’re a natural at this magical combat. Quite impressive.”

Whitehall, who had been momentarily thrown off by the spectacle, was now red-faced with fury. “This—this isn’t some magic show! Take them down, you fools!”

The Hydra soldiers charged, but Harry was already in motion. Using his claws to deflect bullets and channel bursts of magic, he moved with a blend of lethal grace and youthful enthusiasm. Natasha and Grindelwald leapt into action, combining their skills to dismantle the Hydra forces with a series of coordinated attacks.

The battle was intense and chaotic, a whirlwind of combat where Harry’s new abilities shone brightly. He felt a surge of confidence with every swipe of his claws, each magical blast that flew from his hands. He wasn’t just the kid caught in a grown-up’s world anymore—he was a formidable force, ready to take on whatever Hydra could throw at him.

As the last of the Hydra soldiers fell or retreated, Whitehall’s face was a picture of defeat. “This isn’t the end, Der Winterzauberer!” he roared, disappearing into the shadows.

Harry, Natasha, and Grindelwald stood amid the wreckage of the battle, breathing heavily but victorious. Harry looked at his claws, now retracted, with a sense of awe and determination.

“Guess I’m not just a kid with super-strength anymore,” Harry said, a grin spreading across his face. “I’m ready to be the hero I was meant to be.”

With a sense of renewed purpose, they pressed forward, ready to face whatever lay ahead. Because together, they knew there was nothing they couldn’t handle.

—

As Harry, Grindelwald, and Natasha rounded a corner in the chaos of the Hydra base, they finally encountered the S.H.I.E.L.D. team. It was like running into a scene from a blockbuster movie—Peggy Carter, now in her snazzy super-soldier suit, and a familiar face from earlier: Howard Stark, busy adjusting a gadget that looked like it was about to blow something up.

“Peggy, Howard, this is Harry,” Grindelwald said with an exaggerated flourish, as if introducing a high-stakes magician. “And you’ve already met Natasha.”

Peggy’s eyes widened at the sight of Harry. “You weren’t kidding about him being... impressive,” she said, her gaze shifting from the now quite muscular Harry to his claws.

“Nice to meet you all,” Harry said, trying to sound casual despite the adrenaline still buzzing in his veins. “So, are we getting out of here or what?”

Before anyone could answer, Bucky appeared, looking surprisingly calm amidst the chaos. His metal arm gleamed ominously in the dim light.

“Harry,” Bucky said in a low, gravelly voice. “It’s good to see you in one piece.”

Harry’s jaw dropped when he saw him—this was the first time the Winter Soldier had spoken since Harry met him.

Harry blinked, dumbfounded. “Wait, you talk? I thought you were mute.”

Bucky offered a rare, ghost of a smile. “Well, I’m full of surprises.”

They exchanged a look of mutual respect—Harry still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his gruff trainer was actually capable of human interaction.

“Alright, folks,” Peggy said, taking charge. “We need to get out of here and debrief at a S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse. But first, we’re blowing this place to pieces.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Grindelwald agreed, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I’ve always had a flair for dramatic exits.”

As they made their way to the exit, Howard busied himself with setting up a series of explosive devices—because, of course, what’s a daring escape without a little pyrotechnics?

“Everyone ready?” Howard asked, checking his gadgets with a precision that suggested he was more than a little excited about this part.

“Ready,” Natasha replied, her gaze steely.

They hustled through the corridors, the sound of explosions growing louder as Howard’s devices went off. The base began to tremble and collapse in a series of spectacular bursts of flame and debris. The team emerged into the open air, just in time to see the Hydra base erupt in a massive explosion, sending plumes of smoke and fire into the sky.

The heroes walked away from the inferno with a combination of relief and triumph. They moved with the confident stride of people who had just pulled off an impossible feat.

As they reached the safety of their vehicle, Peggy clapped Harry on the back. “You did great today, kid. We’re heading to the safehouse to regroup and figure out our next steps.”

Harry, feeling the weight of the day’s events but also a surge of exhilaration, nodded. “I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

With that, they piled into the vehicle, leaving behind the smoldering ruins of the Hydra base. The road ahead was uncertain, but for now, they were victorious. And as the smoke cleared, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, with all the confidence and camaraderie they’d forged through their explosive escape.

—

Meanwhile, James, Sirius, and Lily appeared with a pop at the site of what used to be the Hydra facility. To call it a mess would be the understatement of the century. There was rubble, smoke, and flames everywhere—a real fixer-upper for the next Bond villain, if you asked Sirius.

Sirius pulled out his trusty pocket watch, the one he had blood-linked to Harry when he was just a baby. It was a magical GPS for his godson emergencies—like when Harry vanished at the zoo or in this case, got himself captured by Hydra.

“Alright, you glorified compass, show us the way,” Sirius muttered, tapping the watch face with his wand. The hands spun around like they were playing a game of spin-the-bottle, then pointed towards the facility’s smoldering remains.

Lily, her eyes wide with worry, glanced at James. “Do you think he’s still here?” she asked, her voice shaking a bit.

“He better be,” James replied, though his voice betrayed his own nerves. “We’ve got to find him. Harry!” he called out, his voice echoing through the destruction.

They picked their way through the debris, their hearts pounding like a rock band’s drum solo. The watch led them deeper into the facility, but every turn just led to more broken bits and pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle no one ever wanted.

“Harry!” Lily called again, her voice filled with growing desperation. “Harry, where are you?”

Finally, they reached the heart of the facility, where the pocket watch’s hands pointed straight down. Sirius looked around, his brow furrowed in confusion. “He should be right here. This doesn’t make any sense.”

James kicked a piece of debris in frustration. “He was here. The watch wouldn’t lie.”

Lily knelt down, picking up a scrap of torn fabric from the ground. “He’s not here anymore. He must have left just before we got here.” Her voice was heavy with disappointment, but there was a hint of relief, too, knowing their son had escaped the chaos.

Sirius nodded, tucking the watch back into his pocket. “That’s good news, right? If he left, it means he’s safe.”

James ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. “We just missed him. Probably by minutes.”

Lily stood up, her resolve strengthening. “We’ll find him. We just have to keep looking.”

Sirius put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ll track him down.”

As they prepared to Apparate back, James looked at his friends. “Alright, we’ve got a lead. Let’s see if we can catch up with him.”

With that, they all concentrated, picturing their next destination, and with a soft crack, they vanished, ready to continue their search for Harry.

Chapter 8: Chapter 7

The convoy arrived at the SHIELD safehouse, nestled so discreetly in the woods it could have doubled as a set for one of those spy movies where nobody knows where anyone is. Harry stepped out first, looking like he’d just hopped off an action movie poster. He was tall, muscular, and apparently still adjusting to the fact that he could now see the tops of everyone’s heads instead of looking up at them like they were trees and he was a squirrel.

“Okay, this place is a bit nicer than my last room at Hydra’s torture hotel,” he said, squinting at the safehouse. “But I think I’d rather be back in my little cupboard under the stairs.”

Natasha emerged from the vehicle next, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. Just days ago, Harry had been a little boy—innocent, curious, and desperately in need of protection. Now, he was towering over her, and while he still had that boyish charm, there was no denying the transformation. Hydra had turned him into an 18-year-old muscle factory, complete with claws that would make Wolverine green with envy. The crazy part? Natasha found herself more than a little conflicted, and not just because of the claws.

As they walked toward the safehouse, Peggy Carter and Nick Fury stood waiting, looking like they were about to hand out report cards for all the good work.

“Welcome to the safehouse,” Peggy said with a smile that could disarm a nuclear bomb. “I know Harry has been through quite the ordeal. So we should rest and recuperate.”

Fury nodded, his eyes taking in the changes. “You’ve come a long way, kid. How does it feel being grown up?”

Harry sank into a couch that seemed to protest under his newfound weight. He looked at his hands, which had gone from tiny kid fingers to massive paws capable of swatting a bludger into next week. “It’s weird,” he admitted. “One minute I’m a kid who's supposed to be eating cereal and watching cartoons, and the next, I’m… well, this. I feel like I skipped puberty and went straight to ‘action hero.’”

Bucky, the mysterious, silent guardian who had trained Harry, nodded his approval. It was a rare gesture from the man who barely spoke a word in the Hydra base. “You did well, Harry,” he said. His voice was deep, calm, and encouraging. “You’ve got a lot of strength in you.”

Harry was stilltaken aback. This was only the second time he’d heard Bucky speak—he’d always been a silent, stoic figure in his training sessions. It felt like hearing a statue suddenly deliver a motivational speech.

“Thanks, Bucky,” Harry replied, a grin spreading across his face. “I mean, it’s not every day you find out you can cast spells with your retractable claws. That’s got to be a new one, even for the wizarding world.”

Natasha leaned against the wall, watching Harry with a mix of pride and something else—a fluttery, complicated feeling that made her heart race like she’d had too much coffee. “You’ve got more up your sleeve than you think, Harry,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I mean, those claws of yours are just the beginning.”

Grindelwald, the enigmatic mentor figure who’d introduced Harry to his magical potential, gave a nod of approval. “Hydra might have changed your body, Harry, but they could never touch your spirit. Your destiny is still yours to shape.”

Peggy cleared her throat, bringing everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand. “We need to figure out our next move. Hydra isn’t going to let this defeat slide easily.”

As the group huddled together to discuss strategy, Natasha couldn’t help but steal glances at Harry. He was no longer the frightened little boy she’d once protected; he was growing into someone who could protect others. And while the transformation was jarring, it also filled her with a sense of admiration—and something more.

Harry caught her gaze and gave a reassuring smile, a hint of the playful, mischievous kid she’d come to care about shining through his rugged exterior. In that moment, Natasha realized that no matter how much Harry had changed, he was still the same person inside—the same kid she’d promised to look after, just with a few extra perks.

“Thanks, everyone,” Harry said, his voice filled with determination and gratitude. “This isn’t just my fight—it’s ours. And together, I think we can take on whatever Hydra throws at us.”

Natasha smiled, her conflicted feelings easing as she saw Harry’s confidence grow. No matter what challenges lay ahead, she knew they would face them together as a team.

With their plan set, the group prepared to take on Hydra and any other obstacles in their path. Because as long as they stuck together, there was nothing they couldn’t handle.

---

Outside the safehouse, James Potter, Sirius Black, and Lily Potter appeared with a sudden pop, having just apparated in like they were late for the world’s weirdest family reunion. Their eyes were wide with a mix of hope and anxiety. Sirius’s pocket watch, blood-linked to Harry since he was a baby (thanks to some impressive spellwork on Sirius’s part), had led them here. But instead of finding their five-year-old son, they stumbled into a scene that looked more like an action movie set.

“This is definitely the place, right?” Sirius asked, peering at the watch like it might suddenly offer directions to a different location.

James scanned the area, his expression somewhere between shock and awe. “Yeah, this is it. Harry should be here.”

Lily’s voice wavered with a mix of fear and excitement. “Harry, sweetheart, where are you?”

The door to the safehouse creaked open, and out stepped Natasha and Bucky, followed closely by Harry. The sight was like something straight out of a superhero comic: instead of the chubby-cheeked toddler they remembered, there was an eighteen-year-old muscle-bound giant who looked like he could bench-press a tank.

James’s jaw practically hit the ground. “What in Merlin’s name happened to Harry?”

Sirius’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “He was supposed to be a toddler! Not a human skyscraper!”

Lily’s gaze locked onto the young man in front of her, her heart pounding like a drum solo. Despite the hulking physique, she couldn’t miss those emerald green eyes—her eyes. With a mix of disbelief and hope, she took a hesitant step forward. “Harry?”

Harry, still adjusting to his new towering form, looked at the three strangers, his expression one of utter confusion. “Who are you?”

Lily’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the recognition flicker in Harry’s eyes. “Harry, it’s us. Your parents—James, Lily.”

Harry’s eyes widened, like he’d just been hit by a freight train of memories. “Mom?” The word sounded strange, yet familiar. He looked at Sirius and felt a jolt of recognition. “Pafoo?”

Sirius’s face went from shock to a mixture of awe and relief. “Yes, it’s me, Harry. It’s Pafoo.” He took a step forward, his voice cracking a little.

James and Lily didn’t need any more invitations. They rushed to Harry, enveloping him in a hug that was both fierce and tender. Lily’s voice broke as she clung to him. “We thought we’d lost you forever.”

Harry, overwhelmed by the tidal wave of emotions, hugged them back with a mix of relief and confusion. His mind was a whirlpool of recent events and this unexpected, heartfelt reunion.

The SHIELD team, who had been watching the scene with wary eyes, lowered their weapons as the emotional reunion unfolded. Natasha, grappling with her own mix of feelings for Harry, watched with a bittersweet smile that hinted at old memories.

Grindelwald, observing from the sidelines with a thoughtful expression, stepped forward with a hint of a smile. “It seems our mission has brought us full circle,” he said. “Now that Harry is safe, we have a lot to discuss.”

Sirius, still in shock, finally managed to speak. “Harry, you’ve turned into this... superhero version of yourself. Last time I saw you, you were barely walking!”

James nodded, his eyes brimming with pride and disbelief. “You’ve grown up so much. We were so worried.”

Harry looked down at his parents, still grappling with his new reality. “It’s been... a lot. I’m still getting used to it.”

The reunited family stood together in the safehouse, their hearts full as they began to process their new reality. The tension and confusion of the past few days seemed to dissolve, replaced by a shared resolve to face whatever came next.

---

As the Potter family hugged it out, Grindelwald stood off to the side, observing the whole scene like a wizard at a Muggle magic show. He didn’t know which was more surprising—the sudden transformation of Harry from a five-year-old to a muscle-bound eighteen-year-old or the fact that he, a former Dark Lord, was part of a superhero team-up with SHIELD. Talk about career pivots.

Grindelwald’s thoughts weren’t just on the spectacle before him, though. He had his own little secret tucked away in his robes—a vial of Hydra’s Infinity Formula. Just because he was on the redemption train didn’t mean he couldn’t make a few stops along the way, especially if one of those stops included a one-way ticket back to his prime. I mean, who wouldn’t want to trade in their senior discount card for a new lease on life?

While Harry’s parents and Sirius were busy trying to wrap their heads around how their baby boy turned into a human tank, Grindelwald casually slipped a hand into his pocket, feeling the smooth glass of the vial. It was a small gesture, but it carried the weight of a thousand “what-ifs.” After all, with the Infinity Formula, he could potentially outlive all his enemies and maybe even see what kind of mischief Harry’s future kids might get into.

Harry, for his part, was still grappling with the sudden reunion. He looked down at his parents, who seemed to be shrinking in his newfound shadow. “So, uh, how do I explain this?” he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

James patted his son on the back, his face a mix of pride and confusion. “You’ve certainly outdone yourself, son. I mean, last time we saw you, you were barely taller than a broomstick.”

“Yeah, and now you look like you could bench press a Hippogriff,” Sirius chimed in, flashing a grin.

Lily smiled, her eyes shining with tears of joy. “It’s the eyes,” she said, her voice soft. “No matter how much you’ve changed, those emerald eyes are still the same.”

Meanwhile, Natasha and the rest of the SHIELD team were busy trying to piece together what they had just witnessed. “Is it just me, or does this feel like we’ve stepped into a crossover episode?” Natasha muttered to Bucky, who nodded in agreement.

“More like a season finale with a cliffhanger,” Bucky replied, glancing over at Grindelwald. He noticed the wizard’s subtle movements but decided to keep it to himself. After all, everyone had their secrets, and this team was no different.

As the family reunion continued, Grindelwald took a moment to reflect on his journey. He was no longer the dark, brooding figure of his past. He was a new man, ready to embrace whatever the future held—especially if that future involved a few more decades of youthful adventures.

For now, the Infinity Formula would remain his little secret, tucked away for a rainy day. After all, in a world full of superheroes, spies, and sorcerers, it never hurt to have a little extra magic up your sleeve.

—

Harry took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. It wasn’t every day you had to explain to your long-lost parents that you’d gone from toddler to human weapon in just a few short years. The SHIELD team—Peggy, Howard, Fury, Hank Pym, and Janet Van Dyne—along with Natasha, Bucky, and Grindelwald, stood nearby, listening in. Harry could feel their eyes on him, waiting for him to start.

“Okay, so… where do I even begin?” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. “I guess I should start with the Dursleys.”

James and Sirius exchanged confused looks, while Lily’s expression shifted from joy to concern. “The Dursleys?” she asked gently.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “They were the people who raised me—or rather, the people who treated me like the world’s worst house guest. From as far back as I can remember, which is about fifteen months old, I lived with them. And, uh, let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a five-star experience.”

James frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Harry began, trying to keep his voice steady, “they weren’t exactly thrilled about having me around. They… beat me whenever I did something weird, which usually meant anything magical. If I made something float by accident, they’d lock me in a cupboard under the stairs. That’s where I slept, by the way. Every night.”

Lily’s hand flew to her mouth, horror in her eyes. “They locked you in a cupboard?”

“Yep,” Harry said, trying to sound nonchalant. “And if I wasn’t in the cupboard, I was their personal servant. They called me a freak, told me I was worthless. You know, the usual pep talk.”

Sirius looked like he was about to punch a wall. “Those… those Muggles! They treated you like that? Why didn’t Dumbledore—”

Harry cut him off. “I don’t know why Dumbledore left me there. But that’s not even the worst part.”

James, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke. “What could be worse?”

Harry hesitated, glancing at Grindelwald, who nodded for him to continue. “About a year ago, the Dursleys… died in a fas explosion. Or at least, that’s what people thought.”

Grindelwald stepped forward, his voice calm and measured. “The accident was staged. HYDRA orchestrated it to take Harry.”

“HYDRA?” James and Sirius asked in unison, eyes narrowing at Grindelwald.

“An organization of Muggle terrorists,” Lily explained quickly, her voice trembling with anger. “They’re dangerous. But why would they want Harry?”

“To turn him into a weapon,” Grindelwald answered, his expression serious. “They broke me out of prison to teach him magic. Meanwhile, Natasha and Bucky here”—he nodded toward the two assassins—“trained him in hand-to-hand combat and weapons.”

Harry nodded. “They wanted to create the ultimate soldier. So, after all the training, they experimented on me.”

James paled. “Experimented? How?”

“First, they injected me with something that made me, well, look like this,” Harry gestured to his towering, muscular frame. “Grindelwald says it’s called the Super Soldier Serum.”

Lily, being a Muggleborn, perked up. “Like Captain America?”

James and Sirius looked at her with identical confused expressions. “Captain who?” James asked.

Lily sighed. “Captain America, the Muggle superhero. He was given a serum during World War II that made him super strong and fast.”

Harry gave a small, humorless chuckle. “Yeah, something like that. Except they didn’t stop there.” He held up his hand and, with a snikt, metal claws shot out of his knuckles.

Lily gasped, and Sirius and James stumbled back, eyes wide.

“What the—” Sirius stammered.

“Yeah, these freaked me out too,” Harry admitted, retracting the claws with another snikt. “Natasha told me they added some DNA—uh, that’s a Muggle thing, I’ll explain in a sec—from someone called Weapon X, and then bonded my skeleton with Vibranium.”

“Vibranium?” Sirius echoed, completely lost. “And what’s DNA?”

Lily took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure as she explained. “DNA is… well, it’s what makes us who we are, on a biological level. And Vibranium is a nearly indestructible metal found in Wakanda. It’s incredibly rare and powerful.”

“So, you’re saying…” James began, trying to wrap his mind around everything, “that HYDRA turned our son into some sort of super soldier with metal claws?”

“Pretty much,” Harry said with a shrug. “But hey, at least now I’m built like a tank, right?”

Sirius shook his head, his voice laced with disbelief. “Merlin, Harry… you’ve been through hell.”

Harry just nodded, trying to hide the pain behind his eyes. “Yeah, but I survived. And now I’ve got a whole new family to deal with.”

As the weight of Harry’s story settled in, the group exchanged solemn glances, the reality of what had been done to him sinking in. But through it all, one thing was clear: Harry was still standing, still fighting. And with his family by his side, he wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon.

---

Harry had barely processed everything he'd just shared when Lily and James exchanged one of those looks that said, “Buckle up, kiddo, because we’re about to drop some serious knowledge.”

Lily started, her voice soft but steady. “Harry, there’s something we need to tell you about the night of Halloween almost four years ago. But to understand it, we need to backtrack a bit and give you some context.”

James nodded, chiming in like he was reciting the plot of the world’s worst bedtime story. “Right, so first, there’s this dark wizard named Voldemort. Real piece of work, this guy. Thinks he’s the wizarding world’s gift to magic and believes only purebloods—meaning wizards and witches from all-magical families—deserve to live.”

“Sounds like another Muggle megalomaniac we dealt with,” Peggy quipped, her tone as dry as sandpaper. “You might’ve heard of him. Name rhymes with ‘Hitler.’”

Fury raised an eyebrow, nodding. “Voldemort sounds like he’s taken a page right out of Hitler’s playbook.”

Lily winced, but nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s not far off. Voldemort wanted to take over the wizarding world and, well, ‘purify’ it. That included getting rid of people like me—Muggle-borns—and anyone else he considered beneath him.”

James clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. “We were in the middle of a full-blown war. Wizards and witches were fighting for their lives, for the right to exist without fear of being hunted down. Voldemort had followers—Death Eaters—who did his dirty work.”

Harry listened, the puzzle pieces of his life starting to fit together in a way that made too much sense, and yet not enough.

Lily continued, her voice tinged with both pride and sadness. “Voldemort heard a prophecy that there would be a child born at the end of July who would have the power to defeat him. Naturally, he became obsessed with finding and eliminating this child before they could grow up and challenge him. Unfortunately, that child… was you and Rose.”

Harry blinked. “Rose?”

Lily paused, as if searching for the right words. “Yes, Harry. You have a twin sister—Rose. She was born just after you, at 12:01 a.m. on August 1st.”

James jumped in, taking over the narration like he was reporting the Quidditch finals. “Anyway, Voldemort found us on Halloween night. We were in hiding, but somehow he tracked us down. He came at us with all the subtlety of a rampaging troll. But your mum, she had a plan.”

Lily’s eyes shone with a mix of pride and something else Harry couldn’t quite place. “I had been studying ancient runes, and I discovered a way to create a protective array. When Voldemort attacked, the array activated. It saved us from him, but it drained us of our magic completely. All three of us—me, James, and you—fell into a state of magical exhaustion.”

Harry squinted, trying to wrap his mind around it. “Magical exhaustion?”

Lily nodded. “It’s what happens when a witch or wizard uses up all their magical energy. We were left in comas, and you… you were left without magic. When Dumbledore arrived after the attack, he found us in that state.”

James’ expression soured, and he spoke as if the words tasted bitter. “Dumbledore saw us lying there and made some pretty wild assumptions. He thought you were a Squib—someone born into a magical family but without magic. So, naturally, he decided the best thing to do was to send you to the Dursleys.”

Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach. “He thought I was a Squib? And just sent me away because of that?”

Lily nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, but there’s more. Dumbledore believed that Rose—since she still had her magic—was the child the prophecy spoke of. He took her and raised her himself, thinking she was the one destined to save the wizarding world.”

For a moment, Harry couldn’t breathe. He had a sister? A twin? And Dumbledore had just… taken her?

“There’s something else,” Lily added gently. “There was a prophecy. It spoke of a child born at the end of July who would have the power to defeat Voldemort. Dumbledore assumed Rose was that child because she was born a minute after you—at 12:01 a.m. on August 1st.”

“But he was wrong,” James said firmly, like a judge delivering a verdict. “You, Harry, were born at 11:59 p.m. on July 31st. You’re the child the prophecy was about.”

Harry’s head was spinning. All this time, Dumbledore had been prepping his sister for a battle that was meant for him. Should he be angry? Confused? Relieved? All of the above?

Grindelwald, who had been suspiciously quiet, finally spoke up, his tone dripping with disdain. “Albus always did believe his own hype a bit too much. He thought he had all the answers, that he alone could shape the future. But he was wrong, Harry. He was wrong about you, wrong about Rose, and wrong about the prophecy.”

Harry’s emotions whirled inside him like a hurricane. Anger at Dumbledore, frustration at being left in the dark, but also a strange sense of relief. He wasn’t alone—he had a sister, parents who had fought for him, and a destiny that was still very much his.

Looking around at the faces of those who had gathered to hear his story, Harry realized something: these people weren’t just here out of obligation or curiosity; they genuinely cared. They wanted to protect him, to help him.

“Well,” Harry said, trying to inject some levity into the situation, “looks like we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

James chuckled, ruffling Harry’s hair like he was a little kid again. “You have no idea, kiddo.”

Lily smiled, her eyes brimming with love and pride. “But we’ll do it together, Harry. As a family.”

And for the first time, Harry felt like he truly understood what that word meant.

—

Once the air was cleared and all the secrets were out in the open, the group found themselves in the strange position of deciding Harry’s future, like it was some sort of epic board game. Only this time, the stakes were ridiculously high, and the pieces on the board were a lot more complex than they seemed.

James, ever the protective father, was the first to voice what everyone was probably thinking. “As far as the wizarding world is concerned, Harry died with the Dursleys.”

That sentence hung in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst. Harry blinked, a bit shocked at the revelation. “Wait, everyone thinks I’m dead?”

Lily nodded, her eyes shimmering with concern. “Yes, Harry. After the accident—well, the staged accident, thanks to Hydra—everyone assumed you perished. No one knows you’re alive, which… in a strange way, might be a good thing.”

Grindelwald, who had been leaning casually against a wall with a smirk, couldn’t help but chime in. “Indeed. It’s probably the best thing to come out of this mess. The last thing we want is for you to be snatched from one organization eager to use you as a weapon—Hydra—only to be handed over to another one, like Dumbledore and his merry band of Fried Turkeys.”

“Order of the Phoenix,” Sirius corrected, though the grin on his face suggested he was more amused than offended by Grindelwald’s nickname for Dumbledore’s group.

Grindelwald waved his hand dismissively. “Tomato, tomahto.”

Peggy, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally stepped forward, her expression a mix of determination and warmth. “Well, if it’s a fresh start you’re all looking for, then I have a proposal. I can offer the Potter family, and Sirius, asylum in the United States. We could use talents like yours at S.H.I.E.L.D. Plus, it’s a chance to live without constantly looking over your shoulder.”

James and Lily exchanged a glance, the idea of starting anew clearly appealing to them. “What would we be doing?” James asked, always the practical one.

Peggy smiled. “You’d be part of a new initiative—S.H.I.E.L.D.’s very own wizarding division. We’re just getting it off the ground, but it could use a few capable wizards and witches to make sure it runs smoothly. You’d be working with the best minds we have.”

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, his usual cocky attitude still present despite everything. “And who exactly would be running this wizarding division?”

Peggy hesitated, her gaze drifting over to Grindelwald, who was still looking suspiciously pleased with himself. “Well, I was initially all for sending Gellert back to prison, but… recent events have convinced me he genuinely wants to turn over a new leaf. So, I’m offering him a job.”

“A job?” James repeated, his tone a mix of disbelief and something close to horror.

Peggy nodded, her voice firm. “Yes, a job. He’d be running the wizarding division, with you three working under him.”

If the room hadn’t been full of super spies and magical beings, you could’ve heard a pin drop. James and Sirius both looked like they’d swallowed something particularly unpleasant, while Lily’s expression was more thoughtful, probably because Grindelwald had just saved her son’s life.

“You want us to work under a former Dark Lord?” James finally managed to say, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Well,” Grindelwald drawled, clearly enjoying their discomfort, “I prefer the term ‘reformed.’”

“Or maybe ‘slightly less evil than before,’” Sirius muttered under his breath, earning him a glare from James and a snicker from Harry.

Lily, ever the voice of reason, placed a hand on James’s arm. “He did save Harry, James. And maybe this is his chance to do some good. Besides, if we’re working together, we can keep an eye on him.”

James sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly torn. “I don’t like it, but… you’re right. If it keeps Harry safe, then it’s worth it.”

Sirius crossed his arms, still looking a bit grumpy about the whole thing, but eventually nodded. “Fine. But if he so much as sneezes in a way I don’t like, I’m turning him into a toad.”

Grindelwald smirked. “You’re welcome to try, Black.”

Peggy clapped her hands together, cutting through the tension. “Great! So, it’s settled then. You’ll come to the States, work for S.H.I.E.L.D., and start fresh. And Gellert will have a new identity, of course. The last thing we need is people recognizing him.”

Grindelwald’s smile widened, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “A new identity… and a new purpose. I suppose it’s time to see what good can come from all of this.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit of hope flutter in his chest. It was a strange, crazy plan, but it was his strange, crazy plan. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the future didn’t seem quite so dark.

—

Arriving at 12 Grimmauld Place felt like walking into a lion’s den, except Harry was pretty sure lions would be easier to deal with than his five-year-old sister, Rose. He stood in the doorway, towering over his parents, James and Lily, and his godfather, Sirius. Looking eighteen, Harry was already ridiculously tall and muscular—thanks to a lifetime of dodging danger and, more recently, the whole super-soldier situation. It didn’t help that his civilian clothes were doing nothing to hide the fact that he looked more like a walking tank than a regular teenager.

On either side of him were Bucky and Natasha, both in civilian clothing but moving with that same lethal grace they always had. It was supposed to be a low-key operation, but let’s face it, there was nothing low-key about this group.

“Remember,” Sirius muttered as they made their way up the steps, “the mission here is twofold: we’re taking Rose and the Tonks family with us to the States. But, uh, be prepared—Rose isn’t exactly what you’d call… easy.”

“Great,” Harry mumbled, shooting his godfather a sideways glance. “Because everything so far has been super easy.”

Sirius chuckled, patting Harry on the back. “Just keep that sense of humor, kid. You’re gonna need it.”

Inside, the house was as dark and foreboding as Harry remembered from his few visits. But it wasn’t the creepy old décor that made his stomach twist—it was the shrill voice that greeted them from upstairs.

“I said I wanted the red dress, Kreacher! You’re useless!”

Harry exchanged a look with Lily, who sighed. “That’s Rose,” she confirmed, her voice tinged with a mix of sadness and frustration. “Dumbledore’s idea of ‘raising’ her was to give her whatever she wanted. She doesn’t even know how to hear the word ‘no.’”

“Fantastic,” Harry said under his breath, just loud enough for Bucky to snicker beside him.

“Relax, kid,” Bucky said with a smirk. “We’ve handled worse.”

Natasha, as usual, remained stoic, though there was a glint in her eye that told Harry she was finding this whole situation amusing. “Let’s just get this over with.”

They reached the sitting room, where the Tonks family was waiting—Andromeda and Ted standing stiffly, clearly confused and a little on edge. Their daughter, Nymphadora—no, Tonks, Harry reminded himself—was perched on the edge of a sofa, her bright pink hair standing out like a neon sign.

Andromeda’s eyes widened when she saw Harry. “Sirius,” she began cautiously, “what’s going on? And who—?”

“Long story,” Sirius interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll explain everything, but first, introductions. Andi, Ted, this is Harry—yes, that Harry. The one who’s supposed to be dead, but isn’t.”

Ted’s eyebrows shot up. “Supposed to be dead?”

“Like I said,” Sirius replied, “it’s a long story. And we don’t have time to get into it right now.”

Tonks, meanwhile, was staring at Harry with open curiosity. “You’re telling me this giant is the twin brother Rose thinks is dead?”

“Yep,” Harry answered with a small, awkward smile. “That’s me. The giant.”

Before anyone could respond, there was a loud stomp from the stairs, and Rose appeared, looking every bit the spoiled brat she’d been described as. Her eyes were bright with fury, but the moment she saw Harry, she froze, her mouth dropping open in shock.

“You’re… who are you?” she demanded, her voice wavering slightly.

“I’m Harry,” he said gently, crouching down to her level. “Your brother.”

Rose blinked, clearly confused. “But… you’re supposed to be dead. Grandpa Dumbledore said—”

“Dumbledore says a lot of things,” Sirius cut in dryly. “Most of them wrong. But we’re here to take you with us, Rose. You and the Tonks family. We’re heading to the States.”

Rose’s expression shifted to one of petulance. “Why should I go with you? Grandpa Dumbledore says—”

Lily stepped forward, her tone firm but kind. “Because, Rose, we’re your family. And it’s time you knew the truth.”

Rose looked from Lily to James, then back to Harry, her face a mixture of fear and defiance. “But… but I’m supposed to stay with Grandpa Dumbledore. He said I’m special.”

“Special?” Sirius snorted. “Kid, we’re all special. But that doesn’t mean Dumbledore gets to decide your life. You’ve got family who actually cares about you.”

Harry could see the wheels turning in Rose’s mind as she tried to process everything. But before she could say anything else, Sirius turned to Andromeda and Ted, shifting the conversation.

“We’re offering you a fresh start in the States,” Sirius said. “Join us. You’re both brilliant healers, and we could use your skills. And it’s a chance to get away from all this… madness.”

Ted looked at Andromeda, who still seemed stunned. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Sirius replied with a smirk. “No pun intended.”

Before they could respond, Rose spoke up again, her voice trembling. “But… what if I don’t want to go?”

“You have to, Rose,” Lily said softly. “It’s the safest option. We’ll protect you. We’re your family.”

The room fell silent as Rose stared at them, her little face scrunched up in confusion and hurt. Finally, she nodded slowly. “Okay… I’ll go.”

Ted, still looking slightly bewildered, turned to Sirius. “And you’ll explain all this on the way?”

“Absolutely,” Sirius promised. “Though I’ll warn you now, it’s a lot to take in.”

“Considering we just found out Harry Potter is alive and standing right in front of us,” Ted said dryly, “I think we’re prepared for just about anything.”

Sirius grinned. “You’d be surprised.”

As they began making plans to leave, Harry felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. This wasn’t going to be easy, and the road ahead was still full of uncertainty. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like they were moving in the right direction. They were a team—no, a family—and they were ready to face whatever came next together.

Chapter 9: Chapter 8

The group hustled through the dimly lit streets of London, a mix of urgency and tension in the air. Harry, who looked like he could star in his own superhero blockbuster, tried to focus on the task at hand. His muscular frame and youthful face were a jarring contrast to his supposed age. Beside him, Lily, Rose and James strode with purpose, while Sirius, Bucky, and Natasha followed closely behind, each exuding their own brand of quiet intensity.

 

Their goal was a discreet airstrip where SHIELD's transport—a sleek, black cargo plane—waited. As they approached the site, Sirius decided it was time for some much-needed explanations for the Tonks family, who were still trying to wrap their heads around the sight of a pint-sized Hercules.

 

“Alright, team,” Sirius began, flashing his usual cheeky grin. “I can see you’re wondering why Harry here looks like he could bench-press a car, despite being only five years old.”

 

Ted, the ever-practical Muggleborn, scratched his head. “Yeah, that’s a bit of a head-scratcher. Last I saw, he was barely a baby.”

 

“Buckle up,” Sirius said, settling into his storytelling mode. “So, after the Dursleys died, Hydra—yes, the Nazi science geeks from World War II—got their hands on Harry.”

 

Andromeda’s eyes widened. “Hydra? The same group that experimented on people back in the day?”

 

“That’s the one,” Sirius confirmed with a nod. “They decided to make Harry their latest lab rat.”

 

“Lab rat?” Ted echoed, looking more concerned by the second.

 

Bucky stepped in, taking over the narrative. “They injected him with something called the Super Soldier Serum. It’s the same stuff that turned Steve Rogers into Captain America.”

 

Ted’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Captain America? You mean the Muggle superhero?”

 

“Yep, that’s him,” Natasha said, trying to keep things straightforward. “But Hydra wasn’t done. They accelerated his growth and added metal claws.”

 

Andromeda’s jaw dropped. “Metal claws? Seriously?”

 

“Yup,” Sirius said. “And they didn’t stop there. They bonded his skeleton with a metal called Vibranium and mixed in some DNA from a mutant known as Weapon X.”

 

Ted looked at Harry with a new sense of awe. “So Harry’s basically a super-soldier with a side of metal claws?”

 

“Exactly,” Bucky confirmed. “Hydra’s idea was to create the ultimate weapon. Lucky us, Harry’s on our side now.”

 

Andromeda shook her head, struggling to process the whirlwind of information. “This is definitely more than I was prepared for.”

 

Ted gave her a reassuring pat. “We’ll figure it out. It’s good to know Harry’s with us.”

 

Sirius’s grin widened as he saw the Tonks family starting to get a grip on the situation. “That’s the plan. We’re heading to the US where we can keep him safe and figure out the next steps.”

 

As they reached the airstrip, the cargo plane loomed ahead, its engines humming softly. Agent Fury, waited with an authoritative stance.

 

“Good to see you all,” Fury said, his voice as commanding as ever. “How’s the kid holding up?”

 

Harry managed a tired smile. “Better now, thanks to you.”

 

Fury gave Harry an approving look. “You’ve done well getting through Hydra. We’ve got a long flight ahead. Let’s get you all settled and sort out what comes next.”

 

As they boarded the plane and settled into their seats, Sirius glanced around at his companions. Despite the chaos and revelations, he felt a flicker of hope. This was the beginning of a new chapter, and although the future was uncertain, they had each other.

 

With a roar of engines, the plane began its ascent, lifting them away from the past and toward an unknown, but promising, future. As Harry looked out the window, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, things were starting to look up.

 

—

 

As the plane roared through the sky, leaving British airspace behind, the scene at Dumbledore's office was a mix of enchanted chaos and self-satisfied smirks. The trinkets and mirrors, all linked to Rose Potter, were going haywire, flashing and whirring in a way that suggested someone had just hit the “panic” button on their magical to-do list.

 

Dumbledore, perched behind his cluttered desk with a twinkle in his eye that could only be described as "Evil Santa Claus," peered over his half-moon spectacles at the images flickering in the magical mirrors. The images showed James and Lily Potter, along with a now five-year-old Rose, making a dramatic exit from England. It was like a soap opera, except with more magic and fewer commercial breaks.

 

Dumbledore sighed dramatically. “Ah, the Potters, always making things difficult. But really, is this any surprise? It seems my carefully crafted plans have been thwarted. How dreadfully unexpected.” He gave himself a theatrical pat on the back, clearly reveling in his own perceived genius.

 

The trinkets, apparently programmed to add a bit of melodrama, continued their flashing dance. One particularly insistent mirror showed Rose, now a spoiled princess in the making, leaving the country. Dumbledore couldn’t help but chuckle. “My, my, Rose. I did so enjoy raising you as the ‘Girl-Who-Lived.’ It was almost like having a pet project.”

 

He leaned back in his chair, a gesture that seemed to say, “Of course, I knew this would happen.” “So, the Potters have slipped away from my grasp. James and Lily, always so determined. But honestly, I have bigger fish to fry. Like Neville Longbottom.”

 

Dumbledore's face lit up with a self-satisfied grin as he imagined the new star of his grand plan. “Neville Longbottom, the second-best option. How quaint. It’s almost poetic, really. Fate’s way of keeping things interesting.”

 

His thoughts drifted to the grievances the Potters had against him: giving Harry to the Dursleys under the mistaken belief that he was a squib, raising Rose in her delusional ‘savior’ role, and imprisoning Sirius without a trial. “Ah, those were simpler times,” he mused. “When my plans were thwarted by mere mortals. Now, it’s all about making sure the backup plan—Neville—gets his turn in the spotlight.”

 

He started rifling through papers and scrolls, his mind already racing with schemes and strategies. “Let’s see how Neville handles this,” he said with a flourish. “It’s not like I haven’t dealt with setbacks before. They’re just opportunities in disguise.”

 

As he settled back into his chair, Dumbledore’s confidence was as unshakable as ever. “So, the Potters are out of my reach for now. No matter. I’m sure Neville will provide all the drama and heroics I need. After all, destiny is just another word for ‘my grand plan.’”

 

With that, he gave a final, smug nod to the flickering trinkets and mirrors, confident that whatever happened next, he’d be right at the center of it all. After all, in the grand scheme of things, Dumbledore was always the star of his own show.

 

—

 

The air in the secret Stark Industries warehouse was dense with tension and a hint of stale coffee. Howard Stark, looking like he’d spent the past decade wrestling with spreadsheets and caffeine, led Gellert Grindelwald through a maze of high-tech gizmos and blinking lights. The real showstopper, however, was in the center of the room: a high-tech pod holding none other than Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, who was frozen solid, as if he’d just decided to take a nap in the middle of a cosmic battle.

 

Howard, who was clearly running on fumes and barely masking his anxiety, gestured dramatically toward the pod. “Welcome to the future of cryogenics, or at least my attempt at it. Steve Rogers, as frozen as the ice cream I never get around to eating.”

 

Gellert Grindelwald, always one for flair, peered at the pod with a mix of fascination and skepticism. His eyes glowed with a faint light, as if he was trying to decode the very essence of the Captain’s predicament. “I see you’ve been having some trouble with your ice cube here.”

 

Howard sighed. “Trouble doesn’t even start to cover it. I’ve thrown every scientific method I’ve got at him. Nothing. Nada. Zip. I thought maybe magic could crack this ice-cold conundrum.”

 

Gellert arched an eyebrow and moved closer, running his fingers through the air near the pod like he was stirring a magical cauldron. “You’re in luck, Howard. This isn’t just about frozen technology. Steve here has been dosed with the Draught of Living Death.”

 

Howard’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “The Draught of Living Death? You mean like the potion that’s supposedly the stuff of wizarding legend?”

 

“The very same,” Gellert said with a smirk. “This potion places its victim into an enchanted slumber, one that defies all your fancy science tricks. It’s why you haven’t been able to revive him with all your gizmos and gadgets.”

 

Howard scratched his head, looking like he was trying to process a particularly complex math problem. “So, you’re saying my state-of-the-art tech is useless because Steve’s been hit with a magical snooze button?”

 

“Precisely,” Gellert replied, “though I must say, it’s a rather elegant solution to a sticky problem. Waking him up will require a magical counter-ritual, which is a bit more nuanced than flipping a switch.”

 

Howard let out a deep breath, his shoulders slumping. “Fantastic. I was hoping you’d have a magical fix. How long do you think this will take?”

 

Gellert’s eyes sparkled with both confidence and a hint of mischief. “Well, it’s not like we’re cooking a quick dinner. It’ll take some time, precision, and a bit of ancient spellwork. But don’t worry, I have just the thing.”

 

Howard looked from Gellert to the frozen Steve, his hope rekindled. “Good. Because I don’t think I can handle any more bad news.”

 

Gellert gave a reassuring nod. “No more bad news. Just a lot of work. And maybe a touch of dramatic flair. Let’s get started.”

 

As Gellert prepared his magical tools, Howard watched, a mix of anticipation and caffeine-fueled jitters. The moment had arrived, and with it, the chance to wake a hero from his frozen prison. If anyone could pull off a magical miracle, it was Gellert Grindelwald—and Howard Stark was all in for the ride.

 

—

 

The cargo plane touched down with a lurch that sent everyone’s stomachs on a brief rollercoaster ride. Sirius groaned dramatically as he unbuckled his harness. “Ten out of ten landing. If by ‘ten’ you mean a solid two and a half.”

 

Lily rolled her eyes, clutching a still-snoozing Rose close to her chest. “Please, Sirius. You’ve crashed into more things on a broom than this plane did.”

 

“I’d like to point out that I survived all those crashes,” Sirius shot back, grinning. “Which makes me an expert in bad landings.”

 

Meanwhile, James Potter was craning his neck to peer out the window, no doubt trying to spot something—anything—American. Maybe a bald eagle, or a guy in a cowboy hat. Beside him, Harry sat silently, his eyes darting between his parents and the door of the plane. You couldn’t blame the kid—he’d just escaped a Hydra science experiment that turned him into a miniature Captain America meets Wolverine combo. No big deal.

 

The ramp lowered with a hiss, revealing the concrete runway, a few scattered SHIELD agents, and a man standing front and center. He looked like he’d stepped right out of a spy movie, all crisp suit and unshakeable calm. You could already tell he was the kind of guy who didn’t flinch, even if you hurled a fireball his way.

 

“Welcome to America,” the man said as the group descended the ramp. “I’m Agent Phil Coulson. I’ve been assigned as your SHIELD liaison. My job is to keep you out of trouble.”

 

“Good luck with that,” Sirius muttered.

 

Coulson’s face didn’t even twitch. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

 

“Wait, did you say ‘trouble?’” James said, feigning innocence with the kind of over-the-top charm that would make a politician jealous. “Us? Never. We’re a family of upstanding citizens.”

 

“Sure you are,” Coulson replied, so deadpan he might as well have been a statue. “And I’m sure none of you have any history of blowing things up, sneaking out of secure locations, or getting into fights that require extensive SHIELD cleanups.”

 

Sirius gave a mock salute. “Scout’s honor. I mean, if I were ever a scout, which I wasn’t.”

 

The Tonks family followed closely behind. Ted gave Coulson an awkward wave. “Uh, nice to meet you. I’m Ted. This is my wife, Andromeda, and our daughter, Tonks.”

 

“Nymphadora,” Andromeda corrected, earning a murderous glare from her daughter.

 

“Tonks,” the younger witch said through gritted teeth. “Just Tonks. Unless you want me to turn your hair green.”

 

Coulson nodded, unfazed. “Tonks, then.”

 

Fury stepped off the plane last, trench coat flaring like he was auditioning for a superhero flick. “Coulson, they’re all yours. Keep them under control. And if anyone asks, I’ve never met them.”

 

Coulson turned back to the group, clipboard in hand. “We’ve arranged for you to stay in a secure SHIELD facility. Think of it as a safe house with extra security. No one knows its location except for people who specialize in keeping secrets.”

 

“Sounds perfect,” Lily said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “Does it come with tea? Or do we need to smuggle that in?”

 

“We have tea,” Coulson replied. “Though it’s probably not what you’re used to. Welcome to America.”

 

As they piled into the waiting transport, Harry glanced out the window, trying to soak in this whole “new life in a new country” thing. Sure, he’d just escaped Hydra’s clutches, discovered he had claws, and moved halfway across the globe. But somehow, sitting in this car with his family and a guy who could out-stoic a stone gargoyle, it didn’t feel so bad.

 

Until, of course, the next disaster showed up. Which, knowing their luck, would probably happen in about five minutes.

 

—

 

At a SHIELD facility on the other side of town—because let’s face it, SHIELD always has another facility—Peggy Carter was in her element. Which is to say, she was running things like a boss. Her sharp blue eyes scanned the briefing room, her iconic red lipstick somehow making her look both approachable and terrifying at the same time. It was a superpower all its own.

 

Next to her, Billy Koenig stood clutching his clipboard like it contained state secrets—which, knowing Billy, it probably did. He was flanked by a table full of lanyards, neatly arranged by color, size, and, presumably, some top-secret SHIELD ranking system. He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat like he was about to announce the end of the world. Or, worse, that someone didn’t have proper clearance.

 

“Before we begin,” Billy said, his voice all business, “everyone will need to confirm they have their lanyards. If you don’t have a lanyard, I’m afraid I can’t let you proceed.”

 

Bucky Barnes leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Seriously? A lanyard?”

 

Billy nodded, completely missing—or ignoring—the sarcasm. “Lanyards are crucial for maintaining security. How else would we know who’s allowed to be here?”

 

Natasha Romanoff, perched gracefully on the edge of the table like a deadly cat deciding whether or not to pounce, smirked. “Maybe by the fact that we walked in with you?”

 

Billy frowned, clearly wrestling with the idea that someone might not understand the sheer importance of laminated identification. “That’s... not how protocol works.”

 

Peggy clapped her hands sharply, cutting off the brewing lanyard debate. “Enough. Let’s focus on the mission, shall we? Natasha, Bucky, we need to debrief you on the Hydra situation.”

 

Natasha slid off the table and stood with that practiced ease that only world-class spies seemed to master. “What do you want to know?”

 

“For starters,” Peggy said, fixing her gaze on Bucky, “how is it that Hydra managed to keep their claws in you for so long without SHIELD catching wind of it?”

 

Bucky shrugged, his metal arm catching the room’s fluorescent light. “They’re good at hiding. And I wasn’t exactly leaving breadcrumbs. Not voluntarily, anyway.”

 

“And now?” Peggy pressed.

 

“Now?” Bucky’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked every bit like the ghost of the Winter Soldier. “Now, I’m making sure they don’t do it to anyone else.”

 

Natasha gave a small nod, her face unreadable but her eyes sharp. “He’s clean. I’d know if he wasn’t.”

 

“Good,” Peggy said, her voice softer now. “Because we’re going to need both of you if we’re to deal with what’s coming.”

 

Billy perked up, his clipboard suddenly a weapon of enthusiasm. “Do you mean the new recruits? Because I have their lanyards ready. Also, I’m running a workshop on proper badge etiquette later, and attendance is—”

 

“Optional,” Peggy interrupted smoothly, giving him a look that said absolutely not optional without saying it aloud. “Now, as I was saying, we have reason to believe Hydra isn’t just after super-soldiers. They’re after something bigger. Something we’ve yet to uncover.”

 

Natasha exchanged a glance with Bucky. “Bigger than a kid with metal claws and super strength?”

 

Peggy nodded grimly. “Much bigger. And if Hydra’s as desperate as they seem, we’ll need to stay one step ahead of them at every turn.”

 

Billy tapped his clipboard again. “Right. So, lanyards?”

 

Peggy sighed, her patience legendary but not infinite. “Fine, Billy. Distribute the lanyards.”

 

Billy practically beamed as he handed one to Natasha. She glanced at it, then at him. “You know I could kill you with this, right?”

 

Billy hesitated, then nodded solemnly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

 

Bucky snorted, slipping his own lanyard over his neck with exaggerated care. “You happy now?”

 

Billy grinned. “Immensely.”

 

Peggy ignored the chaos and glanced at the clock. They didn’t have time for games—Hydra was still out there, and whatever they were planning, it wasn’t going to be good. But for now, she let the room settle. Sometimes, even in a world of super-soldiers and spy games, you needed a moment of ridiculous normalcy. Even if it involved lanyards.

 

—

 

The journey to the SHIELD facility was smooth enough—nothing to make James comment on the landing this time, which was a small miracle in itself. He was too busy admiring the streets and marveling at the sheer size of everything. Sirius, however, was busy analyzing the windows, the architecture, and muttering under his breath about how American construction was "a bit too modern for his tastes."

 

Lily, who had long since given up trying to reign in her husband’s tendency to talk at full volume, simply smiled at Harry, who was staring out of the window in that quiet, pensive way he often did. As if he was still figuring out where he belonged in this strange new world. She couldn’t blame him. After all, the kid had just discovered he was the result of some hybrid science experiment—and now he was expected to act like a normal kid.

 

She reached over and ruffled his hair. "You doing okay, Harry?"

 

He shrugged, the motion small but deliberate. "Yeah. Just thinking. About all of it."

 

James leaned over the seat, giving Harry a wide grin. "Kid, I can’t imagine how this must feel. One minute you're in the middle of a fight, next minute you're halfway across the world, meeting secret agents and all sorts of crazy people."

 

Harry shot his dad a look that could only be described as "weirdly philosophical for a 5-year-old who looks like an 18-year-old." "Yeah. But I’m starting to get used to it."

 

"That's the spirit!" James slapped him on the back, causing him to jolt forward a little. "Soon enough, you'll be fighting off aliens and giant lizards in no time."

 

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was a glimmer of something else in them—maybe the spark of curiosity or maybe just an acknowledgement that, in this world, anything was possible.

 

The transport vehicle, a sleek SHIELD design, pulled up to a nondescript building nestled in a wooded area. It didn’t look like much, just a warehouse tucked away behind layers of security. But Harry knew better by now. Things rarely were what they seemed in the world of SHIELD. Or his family, for that matter.

 

As they exited the vehicle, Harry noticed Coulson scanning the horizon like a hawk, never letting his attention wander for even a second. It was clear the man had a sixth sense for danger. And, judging by the expression on his face, he was constantly bracing for whatever absurdities the Potters and their allies would throw at him.

 

"Okay, folks," Coulson began, "We’ll be staying here for a while. It's equipped for both comfort and security. You’ll have your own rooms, and yes, there will be tea." He shot a quick glance at Lily, who gave him a satisfied nod. "There’s also an armory in case anyone feels the need to arm themselves. But I’m sure that won’t be necessary, right?"

 

Sirius, who had been quietly eyeing the "security" measures, perked up. "Did you say armory?"

 

Coulson gave him a look. "Yes, but don’t get any ideas. You’ve got your own weapons. I’m sure you don’t need any more."

 

"Can never have enough," Sirius muttered under his breath, but when no one laughed, he shrugged and raised his hands in mock surrender.

 

They entered the building, which had the cold, antiseptic feel of a government facility—sterile, utilitarian, and completely devoid of personality. Coulson led them down a series of long hallways, all bathed in a harsh fluorescent glow. The occasional SHIELD agent passed by, nodding respectfully as they went.

 

"Follow me," Coulson said, gesturing for them to enter a large room at the end of the hall. Inside, the walls were lined with high-tech monitors, some displaying data, others random schematics and codes. A large round table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by chairs that looked as though they’d been made for top-secret meetings.

 

"First things first," Coulson began, "Let’s get the boring stuff out of the way." He tapped a few keys on a console, and a screen flickered to life, showing various photos of Hydra bases and other related threats. "This is what you’ll be up against. Hydra isn’t exactly known for letting things go, and they’ll be after you. All of you."

 

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "What, do you think we can’t handle them? We’ve been doing this a lot longer than you, buddy."

 

Coulson didn’t flinch. “I’m sure you have. But Hydra isn’t the kind of problem you fight with bravado. They’re calculated. Strategic. And they won’t stop until they get what they want.”

 

"And what exactly do they want?" Lily asked, her arms crossed over her chest.

 

“That’s the $64 million question," Coulson replied. "They’re after something... or someone. We’re still figuring that part out.”

 

James’ eyes narrowed. "What makes you think they’d be interested in us, then?"

 

Coulson hesitated for a split second, then nodded. "Well, you’ve been targeted before. And with your... son’s... situation, Hydra’s bound to take an interest."

 

Harry’s stomach sank at the mention of himself. He glanced at his parents, who exchanged a look. They hadn’t told him everything about what Hydra had done to him, but he had a sinking feeling that this was just the beginning.

 

"I think we need to start with some basic training," Coulson continued, his voice steady and business-like. "Get everyone up to speed, just in case. I’ve already arranged for a few SHIELD agents to help. It’ll be intense, but you’ve all handled worse."

 

"Yeah, sure," Sirius muttered. "Nothing like a little light espionage to kick off the morning, eh?"

 

Tonks, who had been standing quietly by her parents, suddenly perked up. "Do we get cool gadgets? Please tell me there are gadgets. I’m dying to see what kind of tech you guys have."

 

Coulson smiled faintly. "Gadgets, yes. And trust me, you’ll be impressed."

 

Harry gave his dad a glance. James gave him a thumbs up.

 

"Alright," Lily said, finally breaking the silence, "Let’s get to work."

 

It wasn’t going to be easy, not with Hydra on their tail. But somehow, Harry thought, they’d make it through—just like they always did.

 

And maybe, just maybe, they’d even have a little fun along the way.

 

—

 

Back at the SHIELD facility, the lanyard chaos was momentarily forgotten as Peggy refocused on the task at hand. She stood in front of the large digital map on the wall, fingers tapping rhythmically against the screen. The Hydra situation was worsening—new reports were flooding in, each one more troubling than the last.

 

“Alright, enough of the bureaucracy,” Peggy said, her tone sharp as ever. “Let’s get to the heart of the matter.”

 

Billy, still holding his clipboard like it was a weapon, cleared his throat and stepped forward. “We’ve identified several Hydra safehouses across the country. And by ‘we,’ I mean me, with some help from... well, let’s just say that tracking Hydra’s communications isn’t exactly their strong suit. Still, they’re moving fast. We don’t have much time.”

 

Natasha leaned forward, her expression hardening. “What’s the next move?”

 

Peggy looked up from the map, her jaw clenched. “The recruits, Natasha. You and Bucky will be taking point. We’ve got a new team coming in for training—ones who can help us make sure this doesn’t get worse.”

 

“And they’re...?” Bucky asked, his brow furrowing.

 

“A little unconventional,” Peggy said with a glint of something unamused in her eyes. “We’ve got a pair of former SHIELD agents who’ve been off the grid for a while, a few operatives with talents you might not expect, and one who might just be a walking, talking disaster.”

 

“Walking disaster?” Bucky echoed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

“More like a walking disaster with a talent for getting out of trouble,” Peggy said dryly, tapping a few commands into the screen. “And speaking of disasters, I believe the rest of the team should be making their way here now.”

 

As if on cue, the door to the briefing room swung open, and in walked a group of people—young, but unmistakably dangerous in their own right. Among them, Harry Potter stood at the front, his expression calm but a bit distant, as if he were still adjusting to the whirlwind of recent events. Behind him, Lily and James Potter walked in, trying to balance an air of quiet authority with the chaos that usually surrounded them. And, of course, there was Sirius Black, who didn’t walk—he practically floated into the room, his signature grin plastered across his face.

 

Billy, who had been in the middle of arranging his lanyards once more, looked up and blinked twice. “Ah, yes. The new recruits.”

 

Harry gave him a polite, almost bored nod. “Right, well. Let’s get this over with.”

 

Billy looked a little disoriented by Harry’s coolness, but Peggy was far more interested in the young wizard's presence. Her eyes flicked to Bucky and Natasha, who were both sizing up the new arrivals. Natasha’s eyes lingered on Harry, reading the way he moved, the way he held himself. Harry wasn’t just some kid—they all knew it. He had an aura about him that made even the seasoned agents feel a little... uncertain.

 

“Agent Carter,” Lily said, stepping forward. “We’re ready for your briefing.”

 

Peggy nodded, leading the group to the large table in the middle of the room. “We’re facing an enemy who isn’t just interested in weapons—they’re after something more. Something beyond what we’ve seen.”

 

James glanced around the room. “So, what’s the game plan?”

 

Peggy took a deep breath, eyes scanning the team. “The game plan is we fight back. We train, we get ready, and we don’t let Hydra get ahead of us again.”

 

Harry’s eyes flicked over to Natasha, Bucky, and Peggy as they spoke. He wasn’t one for making grand speeches or boasting. He knew the world they were walking into wasn’t a fairytale. But there was something about the way this team operated—something about the quiet confidence that Peggy exuded—that made him feel a little less alone.

 

“Hydra thinks they can keep hiding in the shadows,” Peggy continued, “but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, and so do you. We’re going to find them, take them down, and we’re going to make sure they never get this far again.”

 

Sirius snorted from the back of the room. “Hydra’s in for a rude awakening, then.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll survive the shock,” Natasha replied dryly, “but I wouldn’t count on them being happy about it.”

 

The air in the room shifted as Peggy’s final words hung in the space between them. There was no question about it—this was a team forged by chaos, driven by the need to stop Hydra at any cost. Harry’s thoughts drifted as he looked around. He was no stranger to dangerous battles, but the magnitude of what they were up against was starting to sink in.

 

Billy cleared his throat, trying to get everyone’s attention again. “Right! Lanyards?”

 

“Billy,” Peggy said warningly, her eyes narrowing slightly.

 

Billy froze mid-motion, eyes wide. “Right. Never mind. Lanyards are for later.”

 

The entire room exhaled collectively, their focus on the task at hand. The next battle was already on the horizon, and this time, they weren’t just fighting for their lives. They were fighting for the future.

 

—

 

Gellert straightened his coat, his movements slow and deliberate as he produced a wand that gleamed faintly under the sterile warehouse lights. It wasn’t his original wand—no, Howard had heard the stories about the legendary Elder Wand—but this one still carried an air of menace, as if it had its own personality and wasn’t afraid to use it.

 

“So,” Howard said, his voice jittery, “what exactly are we doing here? You’re not going to, I don’t know, accidentally set him on fire or turn him into a toad, right?”

 

Gellert smirked, his lips curling like he found the very idea amusing. “Howard, I appreciate your concern, but please give me some credit. Steve Rogers will remain perfectly human and flame-free. Well... mostly.”

 

“Mostly?” Howard’s voice cracked a little.

 

Ignoring the borderline panic in Howard’s tone, Gellert began tracing intricate patterns in the air with his wand, muttering words that didn’t sound remotely English—or any language Howard had ever heard. Sparks of gold and blue danced in the air, forming symbols and runes that hung like glowing constellations around the pod.

 

“Fascinating,” Howard muttered, his scientist instincts momentarily overriding his nerves. “Those symbols… are they some sort of magical code? Like a mystical version of binary?”

 

Gellert shot him a withering look, as though comparing ancient wizardry to computer code was deeply offensive. “Let’s just say your science is still crawling while magic has been sprinting for centuries. Now hush—this requires focus.”

 

Howard crossed his arms but stayed silent, though his foot tapped against the concrete floor. Patience was not one of his strong suits.

 

As Gellert continued weaving his spell, the pod began to hum. It wasn’t the mechanical hum Howard was used to; this was different, deeper, almost musical. The glass of the pod glowed faintly, the frost on its surface melting away like an ice cube under a magnifying glass.

 

Howard leaned closer, his breath fogging the edges of the pod. Inside, Steve’s features grew clearer. The man still looked impossibly young—no wrinkles, no gray hairs, nothing to suggest he’d been in this state for decades. It was like time had taken a coffee break and forgotten to come back.

 

“Is that supposed to happen?” Howard asked, pointing to the swirling lights inside the pod.

 

“Patience,” Gellert said sharply. “If you’re going to hover, at least make yourself useful and hand me that vial over there.”

 

Howard grabbed the vial in question—a strange, swirling silver liquid that looked like molten metal but moved as though it had a mind of its own. “What is this stuff?”

 

“Phoenix essence,” Gellert said, his tone casual, as if he hadn’t just named one of the rarest substances in existence. “It will awaken the spirit locked in stasis.”

 

“Of course it will,” Howard muttered, handing it over. “You wizards and your shiny, impossible potions.”

 

Gellert uncorked the vial, and a soft, melodic note escaped, hanging in the air like the faint trill of a bird. He poured the liquid into a small indentation in the pod, and the reaction was immediate. The glowing symbols flared brightly, and the musical hum turned into a resonant chord that vibrated in Howard’s chest.

 

Steve’s eyes flickered.

 

Howard froze, his breath catching. “Is he—did that—?”

 

“Not yet,” Gellert interrupted, though his tone carried a hint of satisfaction. “The Draught of Living Death is stubborn. It clings. We’re close, but this next part will determine whether he wakes as Captain America… or just a man who’s very confused.”

 

“Great,” Howard said, his sarcasm back in full force. “No pressure or anything.”

 

Gellert raised his wand one last time, his voice rising in a chant that echoed through the warehouse. The golden light around the pod intensified, filling the space with a warmth that felt oddly alive. Then, as suddenly as it started, the light faded, leaving only silence.

 

Inside the pod, Steve Rogers let out a sharp gasp, his chest heaving as his eyes snapped open.

 

Howard took a step back, hands in his hair. “Holy—he’s awake! He’s actually awake!”

 

Steve’s gaze darted around the room, confusion etched on his face. His voice was hoarse but steady. “Where… where am I? Howard?”

 

Howard grinned, relief washing over him like a tidal wave. “Welcome back, Cap. You’ve got some catching up to do.”

 

Gellert, standing off to the side with an air of smug satisfaction, simply said, “You’re welcome.”

 

And just like that, the legend of Captain America was reborn, with a dash of magic and a whole lot of Stark stubbornness. But as Steve’s eyes settled on Gellert, narrowing ever so slightly, Howard knew the questions were about to begin—and that things were about to get very interesting.

Chapter 10: Chapter 9

Steve blinked a few times, his gaze still unfocused as his mind struggled to catch up with the bizarre reality unfolding before him. The last thing he remembered was… well, not much. The cold, the ice, the war. Then nothing. And now, here he was, in a strange, dimly lit warehouse, surrounded by people who didn’t quite match the era he knew.

 

"Howard?" Steve's voice was hoarse, like someone waking from a long, strange dream. "What... happened? How long...?"

 

"Longer than you think, Cap," Howard said, a grin stretching across his face, though it was a little too tight. "But we're going to get into that. First, you need to know: this is Gellert Grindelwald. Don’t ask any questions yet—just trust me on that part. He's... well, I’m not sure what he is, but he just helped wake you up, so a 'thank you' might be in order."

 

Steve turned to the man Howard was pointing at, and for a second, he thought he saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes—a flash of something, but it was gone too quickly. The man looked older, almost ancient, with sharp features and an air of arrogance that would have made anyone else uneasy. But Steve, for all his confusion, didn’t let it show.

 

Gellert offered a slight smile, an unsettling one, and inclined his head. “A pleasure, Captain. Though, I must admit, I expected you to be a bit more grateful. You are quite literally back from the dead, after all.”

 

Howard rolled his eyes, but Steve was too focused on Gellert’s words. "Back from the dead? What do you mean—how is that possible?"

 

"It’s a long story," Howard said quickly, waving a hand as if to dismiss the weight of the situation. "But you’ve been frozen for a while, Steve. Decades, actually. We’ve had some trouble getting you back to normal. But now—thanks to Gellert here—you’re... well, more or less alive again. So, what’s your first impression? Feel any different?”

 

Steve sat up, his limbs stiff and slow, like he was waking from a deep, long slumber. The cold of the pod had left an odd numbness in his bones, but beneath that, there was something else. Something... sharp. His mind was clear, but his body was a stranger. His eyes flicked to the edges of the room, and for a moment, he thought he saw shadows move where there shouldn’t be any.

 

The hum of the magic that had filled the room earlier was still reverberating faintly in his skull. It was an unsettling feeling—like the air had changed, and everything in the room had become heavier, somehow.

 

"Cap?" Howard's voice was tinged with concern, pulling Steve from his thoughts. "You with me?"

 

Steve’s hands gripped the edge of the pod, steadying himself. He nodded, slowly, his gaze sharp. "I feel… different. Like something's not quite right. Like I’ve been away for too long." His voice trailed off, as though the words weren’t enough to describe it.

 

Gellert’s smile widened, his pale blue eyes gleaming with something almost too pleased. "That would be the magic, Captain. You were frozen in a state of stasis. Time had no hold on you, but now... now you’re waking up in a world that’s not quite the same as the one you left behind. Magic has a way of changing people—sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse."

 

Steve’s eyes narrowed. "I’ve been gone for how long? How much time has passed?"

 

Howard shuffled uncomfortably. "A while. Decades, Steve. The war's long over. Things have changed. But we can get into all that later. Right now, we need to make sure you're not... well, about to burst into flames or something."

 

"Flames?" Steve’s head snapped up, his confusion momentarily shifting to wariness. "What the hell are you talking about?"

 

Gellert’s smirk remained, but there was a coldness behind it. "Nothing to worry about, Captain. Not unless you plan on testing me, of course."

 

"Right," Steve muttered, his instincts still honed despite the years of dormancy. He shifted on the edge of the pod, trying to get a better grip on his bearings. "So... this magic, it can bring people back from the dead?"

 

"Not exactly," Gellert replied with a tilt of his head. "We didn’t raise you from the grave, Captain. We simply repaired the damage, using a combination of rare magical substances. Phoenix essence to awaken the spirit locked in stasis... a bit of manipulation to force the physical body back to a state of health. It’s... delicate work."

 

Howard interrupted before Steve could ask more questions. "Look, we’re just glad you’re back, Cap. Trust me, you’ve got a lot to catch up on."

 

Gellert seemed to sense the growing tension in the room and sighed dramatically. "I’m certain Howard has... well, let’s say a unique way of explaining things. You’ll figure it out soon enough. Just be aware, Captain, that your return is... a delicate one. Don’t expect everything to be the way it was when you left."

 

Steve didn’t need to hear it twice. He stood up slowly, testing his legs, the sensation of unfamiliar strength making him hesitate for a moment before he spoke. “Whatever’s going on here… I need to know. Everything. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there’s always a bigger fight ahead.”

 

Howard's eyes gleamed with a strange mix of excitement and concern. "That’s the spirit. You’re going to need it, Steve. Because the world you’re waking up to is nothing like the one you remember."

 

Steve glanced at Gellert, his eyes hardening. "I’ll take my chances. But if anyone tries to put me back in the ice, it won’t be for long."

 

The quiet tension in the air thickened. Howard’s nervous chuckle broke the silence, but the weight of what was happening hung heavy in the room. Whatever future Steve Rogers was going to face, it wasn’t going to be easy. But as he stood there, breathing in the strange new world around him, he was ready for whatever came next.

 

—

 

Peggy Carter paced back and forth, eyes sharp as a hawk’s, her mind running a mile a minute. You’d think, after all these years, she’d get used to the constant chaos and high-stakes situations, but no. It was like her brain had decided that stress was its new best friend. Right now, she was juggling more problems than a circus clown with a dozen spinning plates—most of them all crashing to the ground at once.

 

“Bucky, Natasha,” Peggy started, voice cool but laced with the authority that made her an absolute nightmare to argue with, “Keep pushing Harry. He’s stronger than anyone gives him credit for, but that doesn’t mean he can’t end up in the ‘oops’ pile if we’re not careful.”

 

Bucky and Natasha, who were both way too good at looking like they were about to leap into action without a single word of protest, exchanged a glance. Both had been training Harry for what felt like forever, but Peggy’s reminder about "mental discipline" was exactly what Harry needed to hear. Sure, he could bench press a tank at this point, but controlling that power was a whole other story.

 

“Got it, Peggy,” Natasha said, giving Harry a look that could strip paint off a wall. "He’s tough, but he’s still learning to keep that rage from exploding."

 

Peggy nodded. Natasha was right. Harry was a ticking time bomb with a cape—minus the cape. But, if anyone could keep him from detonating, it was Bucky and Natasha. They were practically born with an uncanny ability to teach people how to stay calm when everything around them was on fire.

 

Turning her gaze to the other members of the group—James and Lily, who were still recovering from their magical coma-induced nap—Peggy’s tone softened just a hair. She was all about tough love, but she wasn’t blind to the damage these two had endured.

 

“James, Lily,” she said, her voice still commanding but with a touch of warmth, “You two have been through hell and back. I know it’s been... a lot. But we can’t afford to go easy on you. I’m trusting you both to get back to full strength. And I’m not talking about just your magic. We need you both sharp. Bucky, Natasha—help them out.”

 

James didn’t flinch, but Peggy could see the weight in his eyes. It wasn’t the same as when he was an Auror, in his prime. But if there was one thing she knew about James Potter, it was that he wouldn’t quit, no matter how much his body hated him for it. Lily, too. If anything, she looked even more determined to prove she was ready to jump back into the action.

 

“We’ll be ready,” James said, his voice calm, but Peggy didn’t miss the faint tremor. They had a long way to go, but she wasn’t going to sugarcoat it.

 

Sirius, standing next to them, shifted his weight, a weary sigh escaping his lips. Peggy raised an eyebrow. He looked like someone who’d just had a conversation with a dementor—and probably not for the first time. Azkaban had done a number on him, but Peggy wasn’t about to let him slide by just because he’d spent years locked up in a soul-sucking hellhole.

 

"Sirius," she said, her gaze steady, "I know Azkaban’s been the world's worst vacation spot, but you’ve been a Hit-Wizard. You’ve got the chops. Now it’s time to shake the rust off. We need you back in top form. Don’t let me down."

 

Sirius, looking a little worse for wear but still with that mischievous glint in his eyes, gave a half-hearted shrug. "I’m good, Carter. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Just... give me a minute before I start pulling off the impossible stunts again.”

 

Peggy just shot him a look that said don’t even try it.

 

Next up were the Tonks family. Ted and Andromeda, both healers by trade, had the kind of wisdom that made Peggy respect them almost as much as she respected her own tactical genius. But even healers needed to know how to fight, because magic and medicine could only take you so far. And if there was one thing Peggy knew, it was that Hydra wasn’t interested in playing fair.

 

“I’m trusting you all to be ready for whatever’s coming,” she said to Ted and Andromeda. “This fight’s not just about healing—it’s about survival. Be prepared.”

 

Ted nodded seriously, as did Andromeda. They knew the deal. But it was young Tonks, still only twelve but with a fire in her eyes that was anything but childlike, who stepped forward next.

 

“I want to train, too,” Tonks said, her tone like someone asking for permission to be awesome. “I can’t go on missions yet, but I want to be useful. I want to help.”

 

Peggy raised an eyebrow, about to shoot the idea down. “Tonks, you’re too young to—”

 

“I can handle it!” Tonks said, cutting her off before Peggy could finish her sentence. "I may not be able to run into battle just yet, but I can train, right? I mean, I’ve already learned how to change my hair color. How hard can it be to learn how to punch bad guys?"

 

There it was. The familiar look of sheer determination—and no small amount of defiance. Peggy sighed. She’d been expecting this.

 

“Alright, you can train. But don’t even think about taking a mission until you’re older,” Peggy said, rubbing her temples. "And no wild stunts, or I'll send you back to your parents, capisce?"

 

Tonks’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Capisce!”

 

Just as Peggy was about to turn her attention back to the team’s schedule, Lily, ever observant, spoke up. "What's on your mind, Peggy? You look... tense."

 

Peggy frowned, the weight of the situation settling over her like a dark cloud. “It’s Grindelwald and Howard,” she muttered. “They were supposed to be here by now. And they’re not. We need them. I need them.”

 

Lily’s face hardened. “Howard was supposed to bring—”

 

“I know!” Peggy snapped. “I know what he was supposed to bring, and I know Grindelwald was supposed to lead this mission, but he’s nowhere to be found. I don’t trust him. He’s always been unpredictable. And now he’s gone... again.”

 

The room grew quiet, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. They had no idea what was happening, but Peggy could feel it in her gut. Something wasn’t right. And whatever it was, it was going to hit them hard.

 

With a sigh, Peggy glanced around the room. They were a team, but this time, they might be on their own. And that thought? It didn’t sit well with her. Not at all.

 

The clock was ticking. And with every second, things were getting worse.

 

—

 

Meanwhile, in another part of the facility, Phil Coulson and Billy Koenig were stuck in what could only be described as an absolute nightmare. And no, it wasn’t an alien invasion or another Hydra plot (though those were still on the table). No, today’s horror was a pint-sized, 5-year-old powerhouse of willpower named Rose Potter.

 

Now, to be fair, they’d been given instructions, which were basically: “Don’t let her set anything on fire, and please try to keep the tantrums to a minimum.” As vague as that was, Coulson had taken it seriously—after all, it’s not every day you’re tasked with babysitting a child raised by Albus Dumbledore (or as Rose referred to him, Grandpa Dumbledore). From the way she said it, you’d think Albus had personally taught her to throw fireballs and demand nothing less than a unicorn-puppy hybrid as her next pet.

 

“She’s not that bad, right?” Billy whispered, glancing sideways at Coulson, who was trying not to panic as Rose marched in front of them, a pink tiara perched precariously on her head. She’d somehow found the tiara, even though Coulson was pretty sure there was no tiara in the approved babysitting supplies list. But then again, this was Rose Potter. Rules were more like suggestions.

 

Rose was currently inspecting the room with the look of someone who'd just discovered a new planet—and her first order of business was apparently to rearrange everything. Which, if you didn’t know, meant everything that wasn't nailed down or actively glowing had a high chance of becoming part of an impromptu castle construction project.

 

“I demand the finest strawberries from the garden,” Rose said, hands on her hips like she was the queen of some faraway land where strawberries were a currency.

 

"Uh, Rose, sweetie, we don’t have a garden," Billy said, sounding more like a guy trying to defuse a bomb than a babysitter. “How about we get you a snack from the kitchen?”

 

“Not good enough,” Rose said with a dramatic eye-roll that made Coulson seriously wonder if she’d been taking lessons from a very snarky teenager. “I want the garden strawberries. And I’ll wait here.” She flopped down dramatically, somehow managing to arrange herself on the couch like an ancient queen reclining on a throne.

 

Billy exchanged a glance with Coulson. "Okay, you go try to negotiate the garden strawberries, and I’ll see if I can get her a juice box… maybe that’ll tide her over?"

 

Coulson gave him a thumbs-up, though it was obvious that neither of them had any idea how they’d gotten into this situation. Dumbledore had left the child in their care, after all, and while Coulson was used to dealing with all sorts of high-stakes, world-saving missions, this was an entirely new level of stress.

 

Rose's eyes narrowed as she watched Billy head toward the kitchen. "And no funny business," she warned him in the most serious voice a 5-year-old could muster. “I’m watching you.”

 

"Right," Billy muttered under his breath. "I’m dealing with a toddler who thinks she’s the boss of everything. Totally normal."

 

Coulson just sighed and gave Billy a sympathetic look. Then he turned to Rose, who was now making sure her tiara was perfectly in place.

 

“So,” Coulson started, trying his best to be engaging without sounding like he was reading from a parenting manual, “tell me about your favorite adventure. Did Grandpa Dumbledore take you on any fun trips?”

 

Rose’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, Grandpa took me to this huge tower once. It was really tall, and we went up to the top, and I saw the whole world from there. He promised me I’d get to turn it into a giant playground.”

 

"Uh, sure," Coulson said, trying to process what she just said. “Did you get to play with any cool toys there?”

 

“Only magical ones!” Rose replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “There were flying books, and these talking mirrors, and there was a dragon who gave me advice. He told me not to trust people who don’t wear hats.” She frowned, clearly deep in thought. “Except for Grandpa. He always wears hats.”

 

“Good advice,” Coulson said, nodding solemnly. “Now, uh, how about we—”

 

Before he could finish, Rose clapped her hands together. "I want a flying broomstick!" she announced, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "And I want it now!"

 

Billy, just returning from the kitchen with two juice boxes in hand, froze mid-step. He was a trained agent, but he was not prepared for this.

 

"Rose, you can’t—" Coulson started, but it was already too late. The young witch had already conjured up what appeared to be a miniature broomstick from thin air, hovering slightly off the ground.

 

Billy stared at the broomstick. "Is that... a thing she can just do?"

 

"Apparently," Coulson said, trying to keep his cool, though his voice had a slight tremor. “I’m gonna need backup.”

 

The terrifying thing was that Rose just grinned at him, completely unfazed. "You should probably stay out of the way."

 

—

 

The hum of the facility's main hall echoed with the sound of boots hitting the ground as Grindelwald and Howard Stark walked side by side, their arrival drawing the attention of everyone in the training area. Peggy, who had been pacing and reviewing the strategies for the team’s next move, looked up, only to freeze mid-step as her gaze landed on Howard—and the man beside him.

 

For a moment, her heart stopped. The world seemed to blur and slow as her eyes locked onto the familiar figure. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. But there, standing in front of her, was Steve Rogers. The Steve Rogers she’d lost—the Steve Rogers she’d buried—was standing there, alive, with a look in his eyes that screamed, I’ve been gone too long.

 

“Peggy,” Howard said, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “You look just like you did when I last saw you. You haven’t aged a day.”

 

Peggy blinked, her breath catching. “Howard… this… he—”

 

“Long story,” Howard cut her off, holding up a hand before she could dive into the whirlwind of emotions rushing through her. “But yeah, Steve’s back. Apparently, a combination of some Stark ingenuity and a little help from a certain magical friend—” he gestured toward Grindelwald, who was standing nearby with his arms folded, looking disturbingly pleased with himself—“managed to bring him back. After a little… nudge.”

 

Peggy’s mind was still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions. There was Steve, alive, and somehow just as frozen in time as she had been. There was that same jawline, those eyes, that captain swagger. It was like no time had passed at all, and yet so much had changed.

 

“Steve…” Peggy breathed, her voice shaking as she took a few hesitant steps forward.

 

Steve, for his part, looked a bit disoriented, but he stepped forward too, as if to close the distance between them. “Peggy, I… I thought I lost you too,” he said softly, his voice as familiar as it had always been, though with an edge of weariness that hadn’t been there before. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

 

But before they could get caught in that moment, Bucky’s voice rang out from across the room.

 

“Steve?” Bucky said, his tone flat but with a hint of disbelief. The other members of the team—Harry, James, Lily, Ted, Andromeda, and even young Tonks—had stopped what they were doing, watching the scene unfold. But it was Bucky who stood frozen, staring at Steve with an expression that could only be described as a mixture of confusion and cautious hope.

 

“I—I thought you were dead,” Bucky’s voice cracked just slightly.

 

Steve’s eyes darted toward Bucky, his brow furrowed. The tension in the room thickened, as if the entire team was holding their breath.

 

“Bucky,” Steve said, taking a step forward, and there was something raw in his tone. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know... they told me you were dead. That mission... I—”

 

“You don’t have to explain,” Bucky cut him off, his voice thick with emotion. “You were frozen for seventy years. We all thought you were gone, Steve. But here you are.” He took a deep breath, clearly trying to keep his composure. “And me… I’m still here. With a new arm, too. Seems like I’m just full of surprises these days.”

 

Peggy blinked, glancing at Bucky’s new metal arm, her breath catching once again. He looked like himself, but there was something new there—something different. And as much as it shocked her, she was relieved to see Bucky looking like Bucky, strong and solid as ever.

 

“You’re all here,” Steve said softly, his gaze sweeping over the group. He looked a bit overwhelmed, as if he was seeing everything through the lens of someone who’d missed decades of history. “How… how long has it been?”

 

“Longer than I care to admit,” Bucky replied dryly, though there was a warmth in his tone that Peggy wasn’t sure everyone else caught. “But now that you’re back, maybe we can finally do something about Hydra, huh?”

 

Howard smirked. “That’s the plan. But first, Peggy has some questions. And I imagine you all have a few of your own.”

 

Steve took a deep breath, his hands clenched at his sides. “I think we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Starting with... you,” he gestured to Peggy, his eyes softened by a kind of longing she hadn’t seen in decades. “I had no idea you were still—”

 

“Serum,” Peggy interrupted quickly, still trying to catch her breath. “I took a version of the Super Soldier Serum. Howard’s formula,” she added with a faint smile, her eyes flashing to Howard, who gave her a wink. “Don’t ask for the details, Steve. You don’t want to know.”

 

Steve’s brow shot up, a mix of surprise and curiosity on his face. “You’re... super?”

 

“Don’t get too excited,” Peggy said with a huff, “I’m still me—just with a bit more stamina. And I’m not the one who’s been frozen for decades.”

 

Steve gave her a dry grin. “Fair enough.”

 

Just then, Natasha stepped forward, her sharp eyes never leaving Steve’s face. She tilted her head slightly and raised an eyebrow. “So, Steve Rogers—thawed out and ready to jump back into the fray? No rest for the weary, huh?”

 

“Not when Hydra’s still out there,” Steve said, his gaze hardening. “If they thought they could keep me in that ice forever, they’ve got another thing coming.”

 

Bucky smirked, clapping him on the shoulder. “Glad to have you back, old friend. Let’s take down Hydra.”

 

And just like that, the tension in the room shifted. The team was complete, even if they were still getting used to this new dynamic. But with Steve Rogers back, Peggy’s confidence returned in full force.

 

This was the team they’d been waiting for.

 

And now, together, they would take on Hydra—and whatever other dangers the world could throw at them.

 

—

 

The training room was buzzing with its usual chaotic energy. People were throwing punches, breaking a sweat, trying to push their limits without wrecking anything important. Fists connecting with pads, the sound of someone getting knocked down, and the steady rhythm of feet pounding the floor. Steve Rogers was watching it all, but his mind wasn’t really on the fight. He was still processing a lot—like how his best friend Bucky had been turned into a Hydra weapon for decades. And now, here he was, in this room full of kids. One of ‘em was Harry.

 

Harry was a complicated case. He had the body of an 18-year-old, all muscles and height, with that “I could probably bench press a tank” vibe. But then, you looked at his face... it still screamed "kid who got stuck in a grown-up’s body." And if that wasn’t jarring enough, the whole Hydra-experiment-gone-wrong thing wasn’t exactly making him feel any better about it. Steve, being the guy who’d seen his share of messed-up mind control, felt for him. He really did.

 

But Steve wasn’t the kind of guy who’d just sit back and wait for someone to open up. That’s not how he worked. So, without thinking too much about it (which, in hindsight, was probably a bad idea), he decided to go talk to Harry.

 

He walked over to where Harry was leaning against the wall, looking like he was deep in thought about whether the wall might suddenly develop an existential crisis or if he was gonna have to solve it himself. Classic Harry move. The guy wasn’t sparring. He wasn’t part of the action. Nah, he was the observer. The “I’m too dangerous to actually participate, but I’m gonna watch and make sure no one blows up” kind of guy.

 

“Hey, kid,” Steve called, voice sounding rougher than he intended, like it usually did. “Got a minute?”

 

Harry turned around, his face unreadable. Of course it was. The kid had mastered the art of the “I’m emotionally closed off, don’t bother me” stare.

 

“Sure,” Harry said with a shrug that made Steve think maybe the kid was trying too hard to seem detached. Like, he didn’t want anyone to know that, under all that, he might actually be a mess.

 

Steve motioned toward a quieter corner, away from all the noise, the chaos, and definitely away from the rest of the team who might overhear something serious about the kind of trauma the kid was probably trying to bury.

 

Steve didn’t sit down. He wasn’t here for a cozy heart-to-heart. He just leaned against the wall, watching Harry. After a few seconds, Harry met his gaze. For a guy who probably had more emotional baggage than a suitcase store, Harry had this intensity about him. Like, he knew how to keep his feelings under lock and key—and wasn’t about to let anyone in.

 

“So,” Steve started, scratching the back of his neck like an old Brooklyn guy who didn’t know how to deal with feelings but was gonna try anyway. “I heard about... you know. Hydra. The experiments. All that crap.”

 

Harry gave a small nod, like he was too tired to argue with it or fight back. He was just... accepting it.

 

“It was a mess,” Harry said, voice steady, like he’d said the words a hundred times before. “But I’m not the only one. I’m just... lucky, I guess. I’m back with my family now.”

 

Steve’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know what it felt like to have your family ripped away and then put back together in some weird, broken version of what it once was. But he knew the feeling of losing people. His best friend Bucky, for instance. He’d lost him to the war, to Hydra. And even now, Steve was still fighting to bring him back from all the crap they’d put him through.

 

“I get it,” Steve said, voice softer now, even though his Brooklyn accent was still there, like it always was. “My best friend—Bucky—he was... made into something else. Brainwashed, used as a weapon. But I found him again. And we’re still figuring it out.”

 

Harry didn’t say anything at first, but Steve caught that flicker in his eyes. For a second, there was something in there. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was just curiosity. Who the hell could say?

 

“It’s not easy,” Steve continued, his voice low. “Hell, I’ve been fighting Hydra, fighting my own demons, and I’m still trying to figure out how to handle it. But, Harry...” He looked the kid dead in the eye, his tone getting firmer. “What I do know is, you get to make your own damn choices now. You don’t gotta be anyone else’s weapon. Not anymore.”

 

For a second, Harry’s face softened just the slightest bit—like someone who didn’t know how to take a compliment, but wasn’t about to shut it down either.

 

“Thanks, Steve,” Harry said quietly. “I... it helps. Hearing that.”

 

Steve let out a soft laugh. “Don’t mention it, kid. I mean, you’re not on your own here. You’ve got a team now. And if you ever need to talk—or hell, just grab a burger—come find me, alright?”

 

Harry’s lips twitched, almost like he was trying to fight a smile. For the first time since he’d joined the team, Steve saw a little flicker of something—maybe even a glimpse of the kid he used to be, the one buried under all the trauma and the Hydra crap.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry said, the first hint of lightness in his voice. Like, maybe he wasn’t so alone in this after all.

 

“Good,” Steve said with a nod. He turned to head back, but then he paused. “And if you ever need a new shield—”

 

“I’m not carrying your shield,” Harry shot back with a grin.

 

Steve snorted. “Tough crowd.”

 

As Steve walked away, he caught Harry’s eyes one more time. And for once, it felt like the kid wasn’t carrying the whole damn weight of the world on his shoulders. Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to find his place here. One step at a time.

Chapter 11: Chapter 10

Gellert Grindelwald locked the door to his small, Spartan room at the safehouse. The simple click of the lock felt louder than it should have, but he didn’t flinch. He wasn’t nervous—he hadn’t been nervous in decades. No, this was something else. Anticipation. A mix of calculated determination and the faintest hint of hope.

 

The room was plain: a bed, a desk, a chair. Nothing that hinted at the grandeur or power he once wielded as one of the most feared wizards of his age. The Dark Lord Grindelwald—terror of Europe, the visionary who almost bent the magical and mundane worlds to his will—now stood here, an aging man, wrapped in shadows and necessity.

 

From within his coat, he withdrew a small vial filled with a faintly glowing liquid: the Infinity Formula. The result of decades of Hydra’s obsessive experimentation and one of the many treasures hidden within their labyrinthine strongholds. He’d stolen it, of course. Hydra’s secrets had always been ripe for the taking, and in the chaos of planning Harry’s escape, this particular prize had fallen neatly into his hands.

 

He turned the vial over in his fingers, the liquid inside shifting and catching the dim light of the desk lamp. The formula was Hydra’s attempt to cheat death—a concoction promising a longer, stronger life. Gellert couldn’t help but smile wryly at the irony. He was about to steal the future from an organization that had tried to rob it from countless others.

 

It wasn’t vanity that drove him. No, Gellert had abandoned such trivialities long ago. This was practicality. He was still an escaped war criminal, no matter how much time had passed or how reformed he might claim to be. If he was to lead the new Wizarding division that S.H.I.E.L.D. was building, to stand in the spotlight—or even the shadows—he couldn’t do it looking like a relic of another age.

 

More than that, Harry needed him. Not as the broken old man he’d been forced to become in Nurmengard, but as someone capable of standing beside him, guiding him, protecting him. During their time in Hydra’s clutches, Gellert had grown to care for the boy—a strange, fierce attachment he hadn’t anticipated. Harry had reminded him of his younger self: full of fire and potential but burdened by chains and expectations he hadn’t chosen. It was no small thing to admit, but he thought of Harry like a grandson, and now that they were free, he intended to ensure the boy had the chance to build a life outside of Hydra’s shadow.

 

With steady hands, he prepared the injection, pulling the formula into the syringe. The hum of magic in his blood called to him, an old, familiar ache, but this was a task for science—a necessary compromise in a world that now demanded both magic and technology.

 

Rolling up his sleeve, Gellert revealed the thin, pale skin of his arm, crisscrossed with veins that seemed like faded maps to places long forgotten. He took a breath, steady and deliberate, before pressing the needle against his skin and injecting the formula.

 

The reaction was immediate.

 

A heat unlike anything he’d felt in years spread through his veins, igniting every nerve, every fiber of his being. He dropped the syringe, his fingers clutching the edge of the desk as his legs threatened to give way. His body felt like it was on fire, burning away the decades of wear and decay that had settled into his bones.

 

He staggered back, crashing against the wall, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse. But then, just as suddenly as it began, the pain subsided, leaving behind a strange, thrumming energy.

 

Gellert moved to the small mirror on the wall, his hands trembling as he lifted his gaze.

 

The man staring back at him was... younger. Not the sharp-jawed youth he had been during his rise to power, but no longer the frail, silver-haired prisoner who had rotted away in Nurmengard. His hair was now a darker, platinum blond, streaked faintly with silver, and his face, though still lined with age, had smoothed out, the deep creases of time softened. His eyes—sharp, calculating, and still very much his own—glimmered with something that had been missing for years: vitality.

 

He touched his face, almost disbelieving. It had worked.

 

This new visage would be enough to craft a new identity. A new man. Not Gellert Grindelwald, the fallen Dark Lord, but someone else entirely. A ghost, perhaps, but one with a purpose.

 

Straightening, Gellert allowed himself a small smile. The weight of years still lingered in his mind, but his body was a blank slate, ready for what came next. He glanced down at the discarded vial, its now-empty contents the key to his rebirth.

 

“Time to rebuild,” he murmured to himself, his voice low and firm. “For Harry. For magic. For the future.”

 

He picked up the vial and stashed it away, his mind already racing with plans. The past was behind him now. What mattered was what lay ahead.

 

—

 

Steve hadn’t walked far when he heard the distinct metallic snikt of claws extending. He stopped in his tracks, turning just in time to see Harry step into the sparring ring with Bucky. The room fell silent, save for the quiet hum of tension that followed Harry everywhere these days.

 

Bucky cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, his left arm gleaming faintly under the training room’s fluorescent lights. He glanced at Harry with a smirk, the kind of look that said, Let’s see what you’ve got, kid.

 

Harry, on the other hand, looked calm—too calm. His posture was loose, his hands hanging by his sides, but Steve didn’t miss the way his emerald eyes flickered with something sharp, something lethal.

 

Bucky lunged first, his movements quick and precise, a perfect mix of his Hydra training and years of experience. Harry dodged with ease, his footwork fluid and deliberate. He wasn’t just keeping up with Bucky—he was anticipating him.

 

Steve leaned against the wall, arms crossed, observing the fight with growing curiosity. Harry was holding back, no doubt about it. His punches were controlled, his blocks deliberate. But then Bucky feinted left, his Vibranium arm swinging toward Harry’s ribs.

 

That’s when it happened.

 

Harry’s hands shot up, and suddenly, claws of shimmering Vibranium extended from his knuckles with that unmistakable snikt. The sound was sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room, and everyone froze for a split second—including Bucky.

 

Steve’s jaw tightened. What the hell did Hydra do to this kid?

 

Harry didn’t give Bucky time to recover. He parried the swing with his claws, the Vibranium-on-Vibranium clash sending a ringing vibration through the room. But that wasn’t all. As Bucky pressed forward, Harry’s claws began to glow faintly, absorbing the kinetic energy of the hit.

 

With a grunt, Harry shoved Bucky back, the stored energy in his claws dispersing in a pulse that sent the Winter Soldier sliding several feet across the mat.

 

“Whoa,” Bucky muttered, shaking out his arm. He glanced at Steve, then back at Harry, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t see that coming.”

 

Harry smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve got a few tricks.”

 

Steve pushed off the wall and stepped closer, his concern masked by his usual composed demeanor. “Harry.” His voice was calm but firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument.

 

Harry turned, retracting his claws with another soft snikt. “Yeah?”

 

Steve gestured toward the sparring ring. “What was that?”

 

Harry hesitated, glancing at the floor for a moment before meeting Steve’s gaze. “Hydra didn’t just mess with my head,” he admitted quietly. “They... experimented. Spliced my DNA with someone they called Weapon X. And then they decided to improve on the experiment.”

 

Steve’s stomach churned. He knew exactly who Weapon X was—Wolverine. But adding Vibranium to the mix? That was new. And horrifying.

 

“They grafted Vibranium to my skeleton,” Harry continued, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. “Said it made me the perfect weapon. The claws? They weren’t exactly optional.”

 

Steve’s eyes softened as he took a step closer. “And the energy thing?”

 

Harry shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal. “Something about how Vibranium absorbs and stores kinetic energy. Turns out, I can channel it into my magic. The more I absorb, the stronger my core gets.”

 

Bucky, now standing at Steve’s side, let out a low whistle. “That’s... intense.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, his smirk returning, though this time it was tinged with bitterness. “Guess Hydra didn’t get the memo that I don’t like being anyone’s science project.”

 

Steve reached out, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You’re not a project. Not to us. You’re part of this team, Harry. And no matter what they did to you, you get to decide what you do with it now.”

 

For a moment, Harry didn’t respond. But then he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

 

“Thanks, Captain.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

As Harry turned back to the sparring ring, Steve exchanged a glance with Bucky. Neither of them said anything, but the unspoken agreement was clear: whatever Hydra had done to Harry, they’d make damn sure he never felt like a weapon again.

 

—

 

Gellert Grindelwald adjusted the cuffs of his sleeve as he stepped out of his room, his movements fluid and deliberate. It was strange to feel strength return to his limbs, his joints no longer creaking under the weight of years. The sharp energy coursing through him was almost intoxicating, but he kept his expression neutral. He wasn’t here to flaunt his transformation—he was here to face the consequences.

 

The quiet hallway of the safehouse was interrupted by the echo of voices, a sharp contrast to the stillness of his thoughts. Rounding the corner, he found Peggy Carter and Howard Stark in a heated discussion. Howard, as usual, gestured wildly with his hands, his voice dripping with sarcasm and irritation. Peggy stood opposite him, arms crossed, her expression one of exasperated patience.

 

“…I’m just saying, Peg, if we had access to more samples, I could’ve figured out a way to replicate it—safely this time! Hydra wasn’t exactly sharing their notes with the rest of the class,” Howard was saying when he noticed Gellert approaching.

 

The words died on his lips as his gaze locked onto the wizard. Peggy turned a moment later, her brows knitting together in confusion before realization hit. She blinked once, twice, before schooling her features into something resembling composure.

 

“Grindelwald?” Peggy asked cautiously, though her tone carried the authority of someone who demanded answers. “What have you done?”

 

Howard’s reaction was less composed. He let out a low whistle, his eyes narrowing as he took in Gellert’s altered appearance. “Well, I’ll be damned. Either you found a really good hair dye, or—”

 

“I took the Infinity Formula,” Gellert interrupted, his voice calm but firm. “I know what it looks like, but let me explain.”

 

Peggy’s gaze hardened, her arms dropping to her sides as she stepped closer. “You stole it from Hydra,” she said, her voice laced with equal parts accusation and curiosity.

 

“Yes,” Gellert admitted without hesitation. “And I used it.”

 

Howard folded his arms, clearly unimpressed. “You used it? You know, some of us might’ve liked a chance to, I don’t know, study it first?”

 

Gellert reached into his pocket and, without a word, tossed the empty vial to Howard. The inventor caught it reflexively, his mouth opening to protest before he realized there was still a small residue of the glowing liquid inside.

 

“Study what’s left,” Gellert said evenly. “There wasn’t much to begin with. I used what I needed and nothing more.”

 

Howard scowled, inspecting the vial like it was a personal affront. “Gee, thanks. A few drops to work with. That’s generous.”

 

“Enough, Howard,” Peggy said sharply, her attention still fixed on Gellert. “Why? Why take it now? Why not tell us?”

 

Gellert’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. “Because, Agent Carter, you would have argued against it. You would have told me it was unnecessary or reckless. And perhaps you would’ve been right. But I couldn’t risk being a liability. Harry needs me—whole and capable. Not an aging relic.”

 

Peggy’s frown deepened, but she didn’t immediately argue. Her gaze softened just slightly as she considered his words. “And you think this will make you better suited to protect him?”

 

“I do,” Gellert said simply. “I don’t regret it. But I understand if you feel otherwise.”

 

Howard let out a huff of frustration, waving the vial in the air. “Well, great. Now you’re all shiny and new. But what happens when someone recognizes that face of yours? You’re not exactly inconspicuous, you know.”

 

Gellert inclined his head. “I assumed that’s where the two of you would come in. A new identity will be necessary, I imagine.”

 

Peggy raised a brow. “Do you have one in mind?”

 

Gellert’s smile widened slightly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Call me Gideon Adler.”

 

Howard snorted. “Subtle.”

 

Peggy ignored him, nodding thoughtfully. “Gideon Adler it is. You’ll need documents, of course—birth records, identification. Howard?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Howard muttered, still inspecting the vial. “I’ll take care of it. Just don’t expect me to forgive you for wasting this golden ticket.”

 

Gellert inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Your contribution is appreciated, Mr. Stark.”

 

Peggy glanced between the two men, letting out a quiet sigh. “We’ll make this work, but, Gideon, I need you to understand something. Trust is hard-earned in this line of work, and you’ve just complicated things.”

 

“I’m well aware,” Gellert said, his tone softening. “But I assure you, Agent Carter, my loyalty remains with Harry. And, by extension, to you.”

 

Peggy held his gaze for a moment longer before nodding. “Fine. Then let’s focus on what comes next.”

 

As they walked away, Gellert allowed himself a moment of reflection. Gideon Adler. A new name for a new life. It felt strange, almost foreign, but necessary. He had chosen it for a reason.

 

Because if there was one thing Gellert Grindelwald excelled at, it was reinventing himself.

 

—

 

The safehouse's training room was a hub of noise and motion. Steve Rogers sparred with Bucky Barnes in the center, their movements sharp and deliberate as they tested each other’s reflexes. Nearby, Harry Potter, a 5-year-old in the body of an 18-year-old supersoldier, moved with awkward precision, attempting to mimic their movements under Steve's watchful eye. Harry’s muscles obeyed Hydra’s conditioning more than his actual thoughts, making every motion a strange blend of grace and hesitation.

 

On the far side of the room, Natasha Romanoff was going through drills with James, Lily, Sirius, Ted, Andromeda, and Tonks. The wizards, still adjusting to the more physical demands of Muggle training, were visibly out of their element but determined to keep up. Tonks tripped over her own feet for the third time, earning a snort from Sirius and a muffled laugh from James.

 

The door opened, and Peggy Carter walked in, flanked by Howard Stark and a newly rejuvenated Gellert Grindelwald—now Gideon Adler. The chatter died down almost immediately as all eyes turned toward them.

 

Steve straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. “Peggy. Howard. And... Grindelwald?” He squinted at the older man, clearly thrown by his younger appearance.

 

“Not anymore,” Peggy announced, her voice crisp. “From this moment forward, Gellert Grindelwald is officially Gideon Adler. For operational purposes, he’s starting over.”

 

Sirius barked out a laugh, nudging James. “Well, Gideon Adler certainly has a ring to it. Sounds like a dodgy wizard from a cheap novel.”

 

James grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Or a traveling potion salesman. ‘Step right up, ladies and gents! I’m Gideon Adler, purveyor of magical elixirs and miracle cures!’”

 

“Very amusing,” Grindelwald—no, Adler—said dryly, his tone not entirely devoid of humor. “I trust your field names are equally inventive?”

 

“Padfoot and Prongs,” Lily said with a sigh, arms crossed. “Yes, I’m married to Prongs. And before you ask, no, they’re not changing them—though I’ve tried.”

 

“Those are barely pseudonyms,” Peggy pointed out, frowning. “Field names are supposed to protect your identities, not broadcast your Animagus forms.”

 

Howard snickered. “She’s right. Might as well call yourself ‘Big Stag Energy’ at this point.”

 

“Big Stag Energy has a nice ring to it,” Sirius said with a grin, dodging the swat James aimed at his head.

 

“Enough,” Peggy said, her patience wearing thin. “This is serious. We all need proper field names. Even Harry.”

 

Harry, who had been half-listening while practicing a sequence of punches, froze. He turned to the group, his expression clouding. “I’m not going by Der Winterzauberer.” The bitterness in his voice was palpable. “That’s what Hydra called me.”

 

Bucky, who had been leaning against the wall, nodded in solidarity. “Same goes for me. The Winter Soldier is dead. If I need a name, I’m going with White Wolf.”

 

Steve gave Bucky an approving nod, but his gaze softened when it turned to Harry. “Fair enough, kid. What do you want to be called?”

 

Harry hesitated, glancing around the room. Everyone was watching him now, waiting. He hated this. He’d barely come to terms with what Hydra had done to him—transforming his body into a weapon and robbing him of his childhood—and now he was supposed to rebrand himself like a superhero? The thought made his skin crawl.

 

“How about something cool, like ‘Phoenix’?” Tonks suggested. “You know, rising from the ashes and all that?”

 

“Too obvious,” Andromeda countered. “And it doesn’t fit his... situation.”

 

“What about Auror?” James said proudly. “That’s a solid name.”

 

“For a wizard,” Ted said, shaking his head. “Not for someone operating in both worlds.”

 

Suggestions flew around the room, each one less suitable than the last. Harry’s frustration grew until Adler stepped forward, his voice cutting through the noise.

 

“The Revenant,” he said, his tone quiet but commanding.

 

The room fell silent.

 

Grindelwald’s—or rather, Adler’s—gaze met Harry’s, steady and unwavering. “Hydra killed the Dursleys to make it appear as though you died with them. To the world, Harry Potter is dead. But you’re here, alive, stronger than ever. A revenant. Risen from the grave.”

 

Harry considered it, the weight of the name sinking in. It wasn’t flashy, but it fit. It felt like him—someone who had been through hell and come out the other side, scarred but standing.

 

“The Revenant,” Harry said slowly, testing the name on his tongue. He looked up at Adler and nodded. “I like it.”

 

Peggy glanced at the group. “Then it’s settled. From this point forward, Harry is The Revenant. No more arguing.”

 

Sirius, never one to stay silent for long, smirked. “Fine, but I’m still calling him ‘Kid’ off the field.”

 

“Try it and see how far I punch you,” Harry said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

 

The room erupted into chuckles, the tension broken. For the first time in what felt like forever, Harry felt like he was part of something—something bigger than himself, something worth fighting for.

 

—

 

The months flew by with a blur of preparation and teamwork, each day adding another layer to the bonds forming between the members of this newly forged team. They had learned to fight together, to heal together, and above all, to trust one another. The stakes had never been higher, and they knew that every action, every decision, would be crucial.

 

Ted Tonks and Andromeda Black were the first to focus on the team’s healing needs. It wasn’t just about treating cuts and bruises, it was about creating a robust system of recovery for the kind of injuries they might face in battle. With Lily Potter’s help, the trio had transformed their makeshift laboratory into a small, but efficient, healing center.

 

“I’ve been brewing for hours,” Lily muttered, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead as she carefully added a pinch of powdered moonstone to a cauldron. “These potions need to be precise, or we’ll risk making things worse. Ted, can you check the salves again?”

 

Ted looked up from his notes, his hands dusted with soot from another concoction he’d just finished brewing. “Of course,” he said, grabbing a small vial and holding it up to the light. “I’ve got this. You’re the expert, Lily.”

 

Andromeda, busy inscribing runes onto the walls of the lab, nodded approvingly. “Everything needs to be perfect,” she said quietly, “For them. For all of us.”

 

Howard Stark, who had been standing off to the side, occasionally glancing over their work with an almost childlike wonder, couldn’t help but marvel at the magic in play. It wasn’t just the precision or the result; it was the sheer foreignness of it. He knew science—he lived science—but this? This was something else entirely.

 

“Lily, I have to say, I’m amazed,” Howard said, coming closer to observe the shimmering potions as they settled in their vials. “I mean, I’ve seen all sorts of gadgets and tech, but this... this is different. How do you even begin to understand all this?”

 

Lily flashed him a smile, though it was tinged with sadness. “It’s second nature to us, Howard. We were taught it from the moment we could walk. Magic isn’t about science—it’s about understanding the world in a different way. But,” she added, turning to face him fully, “I’d be happy to show you a thing or two, if you’re interested.”

 

Howard raised an eyebrow. “Maybe later. I’m still trying to figure out how a wand can explode in your hands and not send you to the hospital.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Lily said with a laugh. “We’re not that reckless... usually.”

 

Meanwhile, in another room of their hidden base, Howard, Adler, and Lily were working together to create new suits for the team. They had been using the technology they’d salvaged from the Hydra base where Harry had been held—most notably, the Vibranium. The material was precious, and there was only so much of it, but it was enough to create something special.

 

“Okay, let’s get serious here,” Howard said as he spread out blueprints on a workbench. “I’ve got the tech sorted. The suits need to be light, durable, and able to handle whatever magic or firepower we throw at them. I can handle that.”

 

Adler, looking over the designs with a critical eye, tapped a finger on the paper. “The magic infusion needs to be carefully balanced. We can’t just slap some charms on them and call it a day. Each suit needs an individual approach. Protection against curses, hexes, and, most importantly, pain. We don’t want them down in the field because they’ve been incapacitated by something as trivial as a curse.”

 

“That’s where you come in,” Lily said, pulling a small vial of shimmering liquid from her pocket and handing it to Adler. “The special enchantments. They’ll make all the difference.”

 

“I’m on it,” Adler replied, his voice a low rumble of concentration. “The suits are going to be something else.”

 

Howard glanced up from his work, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know, I’m really excited to see how this goes, but I can’t wait to see the look on Steve’s face when he gets his new shield.”

 

Lily smiled. “You’re the one who suggested it—this new shield for Peggy, not Steve. The design’s based on her Captain role, but instead of the Stars and Stripes, we’ll go with the Union Jack. I thought it would be a fitting tribute to her leadership.”

 

“I still can’t believe you got your hands on Vibranium,” Howard muttered in awe. “But hey, if it works for Captain America, it’ll work for Peggy. And Harry’s suit? That one’s extra special, right?”

 

Lily’s face softened at the mention of Harry. “Yes. I still feel like I failed him. I wasn’t there when he needed me most... not when he was growing up, not when Hydra took him. I can’t undo the past, but I’ll make sure he has what he needs now. No one’s going to hurt him again.”

 

“I understand,” Howard said, his tone surprisingly soft. “But you’re doing something right, because he’s a different person now. Stronger. Better.”

 

“I hope so,” Lily replied. “I hope so.”

 

 

---

 

On the training grounds, Harry was gradually becoming accustomed to the body he had inherited. With the super-soldier strength coursing through him, combined with his magical abilities, he felt both powerful and overwhelmed. At times, he felt like an oversized child, unsure of how much power to use in any given situation.

 

Bucky was the first to notice Harry’s struggle during one of their sparring sessions. “You’ve got the strength, kid, but you need to learn to control it,” Bucky said, his voice steady as he dodged one of Harry’s overly aggressive punches. “Think before you throw a punch. You’re not just throwing fists—you’re controlling everything.”

 

“I know, but it feels like I’m living in someone else’s body,” Harry grumbled, trying to regain his footing after missing his target. “I’ve got all this power, and I don’t know what to do with it. It’s like I’m trying to figure out how to play a game without reading the rules.”

 

Steve, who had been observing from the sidelines, stepped forward. “Take a breath,” he said, offering Harry a calming presence. “You’re not alone in this. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got a team who’s got your back. You’re going to figure it out. We’ll help you get there.”

 

Harry nodded, but the doubt still lingered in his eyes. “I’m supposed to be this great hero, but I’m not sure I’m cut out for it. I don’t want to fail.”

 

“You won’t,” Natasha said, coming up behind him. “Not with us here.”

 

Across the room, Adler was in the middle of instructing Harry on magical combat, while Lily, Sirius, and James provided assistance. The magical training was just as intense as the physical one, but it was different—calm, methodical, and deeply rooted in Harry’s sense of identity. The harder they pushed him, the more he began to understand his own magic, each spell building upon the last.

 

Meanwhile, Billy Koenig and Phil Coulson had their hands full with their most difficult mission yet: babysitting five-year-old Rose Potter.

 

“Phil, I thought you said you were good with kids,” Billy said, rubbing his temples as Rose threw yet another tantrum in the corner of the room. “This kid’s a hurricane.”

 

Phil’s calm demeanor barely shifted. “I can handle this. I’ve dealt with worse.”

 

Rose, sitting cross-legged on the floor, pouted. “I want to go outside!”

 

Billy groaned. “It’s too dangerous out there, Rose.”

 

“I don’t care!” she shouted, crossing her arms and sticking out her bottom lip. “I want now!”

 

“Yeah,” Phil muttered, “this is definitely worse than Hydra.”

 

Tonks wandered by, glancing in at the chaos. “Need help?”

 

“I don’t know if there’s anything that can help,” Billy said with a resigned sigh.

 

“She’s definitely a handful, isn’t she?” Tonks said, raising an eyebrow. “I guess this is the real challenge, huh?”

 

As the months passed, the team’s efforts to train, heal, and create the tools they would need to protect each other continued. They worked tirelessly, but through it all, they grew stronger. And they knew that when the time came, they’d be ready—together.

 

—

 

The day had come. The suits, the gear, the culmination of months of work, were finally ready for the team. Howard Stark had been the mastermind behind the tech, blending his cutting-edge engineering with magical enhancements from Lily and Adler, who had meticulously fused ancient runes and charms into the fabric of their suits. The result was a fusion of technology and magic that no one could have ever expected.

 

As the team gathered in their makeshift training facility, the atmosphere was electric. Howard paced excitedly in front of them, almost like a proud father. “Alright, folks, it’s showtime,” he said with a grin. “I’m pretty sure these suits could stop a tank, and that’s before you add the magic to the mix.”

 

“Let’s see them, then,” Steve said, standing with his arms crossed, the usual stoic expression on his face, though a spark of excitement flickered in his eyes.

 

Harry stepped forward first, his armor glinting under the dim lights. His suit—red, black, and sleek—was a perfect match for his new persona, the Revenant. The sleek, segmented armor hugged his frame, with a hood flowing around his face like a shadow. His helmet was dark and sleek, with glowing eyes that glowed red like embers in the dark.

 

The others took a step back, staring in awe. Even Sirius, ever the cynic, couldn’t help but smile, impressed by the craftsmanship. “Well, look at you, kid,” he said with a proud chuckle. “That’s some serious armor.”

 

“Yeah,” James added, “That’s definitely the ‘I’m about to kick some serious butt’ look.”

 

Howard gave a small bow. “You’re welcome.”

 

Harry flexed his fingers, feeling the enhanced strength and speed coursing through him. The suit was tailored to his every need, light enough to allow for fluid movement but strong enough to withstand the harshest blows. He could feel the Vibranium coursing through the suit, giving it that extra edge in durability.

 

“Not bad,” Harry said, his voice slightly muffled by the helmet. “Not bad at all.”

 

Next, Steve, ever the soldier, stepped forward. His armor was a blend of red, white, and blue, but it was more tactical than the usual shield-bearing gear he wore. The armor was sleek and functional, designed for agility and protection in combat, with a matching helmet that had a full faceplate. The traditional star motif was subtle, engraved into the chest, with a glowing blue hue that symbolized the magic-infused technology.

 

“It’s... different,” Peggy said, inspecting the suit with a critical eye, “But I like it. It’s practical, and it fits the look.”

 

Bucky, always the quieter one, let out a low whistle. “I think I’ve found my new favorite toy,” he said, rubbing his hand over the durable surface of his own suit. His armor was darker, more tactical, with black and silver accents. His suit had been designed for stealth and speed, just like him.

 

“Lily, Adler,” Natasha said, her voice filled with approval, “You’ve outdone yourselves.”

 

Adler gave a small smirk. “It’s the best of both worlds, really—tech that’s been upgraded by magic. Your new weapons are ready too.”

 

Howard clapped his hands together. “Don’t forget about the gear. Gadgets, weapons, the whole shebang. We’ve got everything you need.”

 

James handed Harry a new, modified version of his wand—now imbued with magical runes and tech enhancements. He felt the surge of power immediately, the familiar warmth of magic meeting the precision of technology.

 

Ted and Andromeda’s suits were designed for versatility, incorporating various magical wards for protection and healing. Ted’s helmet was designed to allow for quick communication, while Andromeda’s gauntlets had been customized to amplify her magical abilities.

 

“I feel like I could take on an army,” Andromeda remarked, admiring the way her suit flexed with her movements.

 

Sirius, ever the showman, turned to Harry with a grin. “I’ve gotta say, that’s a pretty epic look you’ve got there. Can’t wait to see you in action with that.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow under the helmet. “I’ll try to keep the dramatic poses to a minimum.”

 

Howard cleared his throat dramatically. “I hope you all know that this is just the beginning. There’s a lot more we can do with these suits. If we get into a jam, we’ve got backup plans ready. And if we don’t, well, we can just wing it. Right, Adler?”

 

Adler just grinned. “Always.”

 

As the team donned their suits and gathered their weapons, there was a sense of unity among them. These weren’t just pieces of armor; they were symbols. Symbols of their readiness to face whatever challenges came their way—together.

 

Sirius cracked his knuckles, glancing at Harry. “Alright, kid. Let’s see if you can handle the heat. We’ve got a war to win.”

 

“Just try to keep up,” Harry teased, his voice tinged with excitement.

 

With their new suits and their combined might, the team was ready for anything that lay ahead.

Chapter 12: Chapter 11

Howard Stark parked his sleek black car in the long driveway of his family’s estate, the weight of his double life pressing heavier on his shoulders than ever before. He knew what awaited him inside: a mixture of love, frustration, and the ever-present shadow of disappointment that hung between him and his teenage son, Tony.

 

As he entered, the house buzzed with a subdued energy. The faint sound of Maria’s favorite classical music played from the living room, where she was undergoing her daily physical therapy session. Maria, ever the gracious fighter, was seated on a cushioned therapy chair, her legs moving in slow, deliberate motions as the physiotherapist guided her through the exercises. Standing nearby was Tony, who had his arms crossed, his expression a blend of concern and irritation. Edwin Jarvis, the Stark family’s loyal butler, hovered discreetly in the background, ready to assist when needed.

 

Maria looked up with a warm smile as Howard entered. "Howard," she greeted, her voice soft but steady despite the strain of her therapy. "You're home."

 

Howard walked over, kissing her on the forehead. "How are you feeling today, sweetheart?"

 

"Better," Maria said, glancing briefly at the physiotherapist, who nodded approvingly. "A little stronger every day."

 

Tony, who had been silently observing, scoffed under his breath and turned away.

 

Howard frowned but chose to ignore it for now. Instead, he turned to Jarvis. "Thank you for keeping everything running smoothly, Jarvis. How’s the progress?"

 

Jarvis gave a slight nod. "Mrs. Stark has been remarkably diligent with her sessions, sir. The physiotherapist says she's improving steadily."

 

"Good," Howard said, genuinely relieved. "Maria, you’re doing great."

 

Maria smiled at him, though there was a flicker of sadness in her eyes. "Thank you, Howard. It’s been easier with Tony here to help."

 

At the mention of his name, Tony turned back, his expression sharp. "Yeah, because someone had to step up while you were off saving the world or whatever it is you do."

 

The room grew tense. Maria sighed, glancing at Howard with a silent plea to keep his temper in check.

 

"Tony," Howard began, his tone even but firm, "I’ve told you before, my work—"

 

"—is important. Yeah, I’ve heard it a thousand times," Tony interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you know what else is important? Mom. She’s been sitting here, pushing through pain every single day, and where were you? Off chasing some mysterious project you can’t even talk about? Give me a break, Dad."

 

"Tony!" Maria said sharply, her tone a mixture of reprimand and concern.

 

But Tony wasn’t done. "You act like you’re the only one with responsibilities. I dropped everything—my classes, my projects—to be here for her. Meanwhile, you just... what? Pop in when it’s convenient?"

 

Howard’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this, not by his son, not by anyone. "You think I don’t care about your mother? About this family? Everything I do—everything—is for you both. You might not understand that now, but—"

 

"No, I don’t understand," Tony shot back. "All I see is you running off, treating me like I’m some failed science project because I’m not Steve Rogers!"

 

The room went silent. Even the physiotherapist discreetly stepped back, suddenly very interested in her clipboard.

 

Howard’s expression darkened. "This isn’t about Steve," he said, his voice low and controlled.

 

"Isn’t it?" Tony challenged, stepping closer. "Because it sure feels like you’re always comparing me to him. ‘Steve would’ve done this,’ ‘Steve wouldn’t have done that.’ Guess what, Dad? I’m not Steve Rogers, and I never will be. Sorry to disappoint."

 

Maria interjected softly, "Tony, that’s enough."

 

Tony hesitated, his frustration flickering into guilt as he glanced at his mother. He muttered something under his breath and stormed out of the room, leaving Howard standing there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

 

Maria sighed deeply. "Howard, he’s young. He doesn’t understand..."

 

Howard ran a hand through his hair, looking more tired than ever. "I know, Maria. I know he doesn’t. But that doesn’t make it any easier."

 

She reached out, taking his hand. "He loves you, Howard. He just... needs to see it."

 

Howard’s shoulders slumped as he sat beside her, his hand still in hers. "Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing, keeping him in the dark about everything. About S.H.I.E.L.D., about Hydra, about the danger out there."

 

Maria gave him a knowing look. "You’re protecting him. But maybe... maybe it’s time you showed him that you’re not just running away from us. That what you’re doing matters."

 

Howard nodded slowly, her words sinking in. He glanced toward the door Tony had stormed through, his expression softening. "I’ll talk to him. Eventually."

 

Maria smiled faintly. "Eventually better not take too long, Howard. He’s your son. And deep down, he just wants to know that you’re proud of him."

 

Howard swallowed hard, his throat tightening. "I am proud of him," he said quietly. "I just wish he knew that."

 

Maria squeezed his hand, her touch grounding him. "Then show him, Howard. Before it’s too late."

 

—

 

The dimly lit safehouse was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the ventilation system and the faint sounds of James and Lily chatting softly in the kitchen. Natasha Romanoff sat on the worn leather couch in the living area, pretending to clean her sidearm but really just stealing glances at Harry. He was across the room, working out—a routine he had thrown himself into ever since they'd escaped Hydra. He needed to learn his new body, he’d said, to feel like it belonged to him.

 

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek as she watched him. The 18-year-old figure in front of her bore little resemblance to the child she’d trained all those months ago. He was tall now, impossibly broad, his muscles rippling with every movement. The way his Vibranium-laced skeleton made no sound when he moved still unsettled her at times. There was no trace of the awkward little boy who had once clung to her during Hydra's cruel experiments.

 

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He wasn’t that boy anymore. Hydra had stolen his childhood, warping him into something unrecognizable. They had aged him artificially, pumped him full of the Super Soldier Serum, spliced his DNA with Weapon X, and turned his very bones into unbreakable metal. The result was standing right in front of her, grunting softly as he bench-pressed more weight than any normal human could dream of lifting.

 

And Natasha hated herself for the way her stomach tightened when she looked at him.

 

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal. She’d once thought of him as a little brother, someone she needed to protect from the horrors of the world. But now... Now her thoughts strayed into places they shouldn’t.

 

“Stop it,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as if that would silence the intrusive thoughts.

 

Harry, oblivious, finished his set and sat up, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel. He caught her watching and gave her a small smile. "Something on your mind, Nat?" he asked, his voice deep and warm, with just a hint of the boyish charm that had somehow survived Hydra’s horrors.

 

Natasha quickly schooled her expression into neutrality, a skill honed by years in the Red Room. "Just thinking about your form. You’re still over-relying on your right side. If someone exploits that, you’re vulnerable."

 

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking down at himself. "Right side, huh? Guess that explains why my left shoulder’s sore after sparring with Sirius yesterday."

 

She smirked, glad to focus on something else. "You should listen to me more often. I do know a thing or two about fighting."

 

"I’d be stupid not to," he replied, his grin widening. "You did train me, after all."

 

Natasha felt a pang at his words. She had trained him, but back then, it had been under Hydra’s orders. She’d been complicit, even if she’d done her best to shield him when she could. That guilt still gnawed at her, a constant reminder of her own sins.

 

Harry stood, tossing the towel over his shoulder as he walked toward her. Natasha’s breath hitched for the briefest of moments before she forced herself to relax. He stopped a few feet away, his head tilted slightly as he studied her.

 

"You okay?" he asked, his green eyes sharp and perceptive.

 

She waved him off. "I’m fine. Just tired."

 

He nodded, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. "You’ve been training with Rose a lot lately. She’s lucky to have you."

 

Natasha glanced toward the hallway where Rose’s room was. The little redhead was still awake, probably playing with the battered set of blocks Harry had found for her. It was surreal, seeing the twins together. Rose was still a child, her face full of innocence and mischief. Harry, on the other hand, was...

 

"She reminds me of you," Natasha said, deflecting. "The stubbornness, I mean. Must run in the family."

 

Harry chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Yeah, Sirius says I got that from Mum. Rose too, probably. Dad’s more of the charming, reckless type."

 

Natasha smiled faintly, but the conversation was stirring memories she’d rather not face. Memories of Harry crying out for his parents during the experiments, of her holding his hand and whispering lies to comfort him. Lies she’d started to believe herself, back when she thought she could protect him.

 

"You know," Harry said, pulling her from her thoughts, "I never thanked you properly. For everything you did back at Hydra."

 

Her gaze snapped to his, alarmed. "Harry—"

 

"I know what you’re going to say," he interrupted, his voice soft but firm. "You were just doing what you had to, right? Following orders."

 

She looked away, her jaw tightening. "I could have done more. I should have done more."

 

"You did enough," he said quietly. "More than anyone else there. You kept me sane, Nat. I don’t know if I would’ve made it without you."

 

Her chest tightened at his words. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but the look in his eyes stopped her. He wasn’t that scared little boy anymore, but in that moment, she saw a flicker of him, buried beneath the layers of muscle and metal and trauma.

 

"I don’t deserve your gratitude," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

 

"Maybe not," he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. "But you’ve got it anyway."

 

Natasha didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing. Instead, she stood and patted him on the shoulder as she passed. "Get some rest. We’ve got training tomorrow, and if I catch you favoring your right side again, you’re running laps until you drop."

 

Harry laughed, the sound chasing away some of the tension. "Yes, ma’am."

 

As she walked away, she felt his gaze lingering on her. She clenched her fists, willing herself to focus on the mission. On Hydra. On anything but the boy-turned-man who had managed to worm his way into her carefully guarded heart.

 

—

 

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the safehouse windows, the warmth a stark contrast to the chill that Hydra’s shadow had left over their lives. For the first time in weeks, there was no scheduled training, no tense planning sessions, just a much-needed day to catch their breaths.

 

Steve Rogers leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and glancing out the window like he was seeing an entirely new world. Which, in a way, he was. “So, Times Square,” he said to Bucky, who was flipping through a tourist brochure. “Think it’s still got those big neon signs?”

 

Bucky snorted. “Steve, I’ve been a brainwashed assassin for the better part of six decades. I don’t think they were sending me on sightseeing tours.”

 

James Potter wandered into the kitchen, already grinning. “Well, lucky for you two, we’ve got guides. Lily and I are dying to see how the Muggle world’s evolved. Ted’s coming too—he’s great with translations for, uh... magical misunderstandings.”

 

“You’re gonna need more than a translator,” Sirius said, slapping James on the back as he joined them. “You need someone to stop you from buying every weird Muggle contraption you see. Last time we were in London, you tried to hex a toaster.”

 

James scowled. “It popped up too fast. How was I supposed to know that’s how it works?”

 

The laughter eased some of the tension that always seemed to hang over the group, and for a moment, it felt like any other family preparing for a day out. Except, of course, for the fact that the family included two former Hydra operatives, a brainwashed assassin, and the savior of the Wizarding World.

 

Rose, meanwhile, was already dressed and ready, standing in the living room with her hands on her hips. “Tonks! Andromeda! Hurry up! I’ve got an entire list of things we need to buy!”

 

Andromeda emerged from the hallway, looking amused. “Rose, you do realize we can’t buy out an entire mall, right?”

 

“Watch me,” Rose replied, her chin held high. “Harry said I could get whatever I wanted.”

 

From the corner of the room, Harry muttered without looking up, “I said reasonable things, Rose. Not a shopping spree that would bankrupt a small country.”

 

Natasha smirked from where she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You’re gonna regret that when she drags you into a fashion store.”

 

“Not my problem today,” Harry replied with a faint grin, tossing his gym towel over his shoulder. “I’ve got other plans.”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s so important you’re bailing on babysitting duty?”

 

“Thought I’d spend some time with you,” Harry said casually, his green eyes flicking to hers. “You know, since you never take a day off. Figured I could drag you away for a while.”

 

Her mouth opened, then closed again, the suggestion catching her off guard. She glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to protest, but the others were too preoccupied with their own plans. Finally, she shrugged, schooling her expression into something nonchalant. “Fine. But if this turns into you trying to get me to teach you more hand-to-hand combat, I’m leaving.”

 

Harry’s grin widened. “Deal.”

 

 

---

 

The two of them ended up at a quiet park on the outskirts of the city, a far cry from the bustling streets where the others had gone. Harry had insisted on bringing food—“You don’t eat enough,” he’d said—and Natasha had grudgingly agreed to humor him. Now, they sat on a bench beneath the shade of a tree, the sounds of the city distant and muted.

 

“So,” Harry said, breaking the comfortable silence, “what’s it like? Being the Black Widow, I mean.”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit of a loaded question.”

 

He shrugged. “Fair enough. Let me rephrase. Do you ever regret it? Everything you’ve been through?”

 

She hesitated, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone. “I used to,” she admitted. “When I first defected from the Red Room, I thought I’d made the worst mistake of my life. But... over time, I realized I had a chance to make things right. To balance the scales, even if I’ll never really tip them.”

 

Harry nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “It’s weird, you know. For so long, all I wanted was revenge against Hydra. But now that I’ve got my family back, it feels... smaller somehow. Like I should want something more.”

 

“You should,” Natasha said quietly. “Revenge burns out fast. And once it’s gone, you’re left with nothing.”

 

They fell into silence again, the weight of her words settling between them. After a moment, Harry turned to her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re pretty good at this whole advice thing. Who knew?”

 

“Don’t get used to it,” she replied, her smirk returning. “I’m still going to kick your ass in training tomorrow.”

 

Harry laughed, the sound warm and genuine. And for the first time in a long while, Natasha felt the tension in her chest ease, if only a little.

 

—

 

Steve and Bucky found themselves wandering through the heart of Manhattan, blending into the crowd as best they could. The city had changed drastically since the 1940s, though some parts still felt familiar in a strange, fragmented way. The towering skyscrapers, the neon lights of Times Square, the endless throngs of people—it was both overwhelming and oddly comforting.

 

Steve glanced at Bucky, who was scanning their surroundings with a cautious but curious eye. "Feels a little like stepping into a movie, doesn’t it?"

 

Bucky smirked, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. "Yeah, except the sound’s turned up to eleven, and I don’t recognize half the cast."

 

They walked in companionable silence for a while, letting the city’s rhythm wash over them. Eventually, they found themselves on a quieter street lined with small cafés and shops. Steve stopped in front of a storefront, peering through the glass at the colorful display of vintage comic books. His reflection stared back at him—older, more tired, but still holding that unmistakable boyish curiosity.

 

"Look at this," he said, gesturing for Bucky to join him. "They’ve got comics about us now. About me."

 

Bucky leaned closer, squinting at the cover of Captain America: The First Avenger. "Huh. You ever read one?"

 

Steve shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Not really. Feels weird, you know? Like looking at someone else’s life."

 

Bucky chuckled. "Well, at least they got your jawline right. Mine probably wouldn’t sell as many copies."

 

Steve shot him a sidelong glance, but the humor in Bucky’s tone was a relief. It wasn’t always easy to tell how much of the old Bucky was still there, buried beneath the Winter Soldier’s scars.

 

They moved on, eventually finding a small diner that didn’t look too modern for their tastes. Sliding into a booth near the window, they ordered coffee and sandwiches, and for a moment, it felt almost normal—like they were back in the 40s, just two guys grabbing a bite after a long day.

 

"You know," Bucky said after taking a sip of his coffee, "I’m still getting used to all this. The phones, the cars, the... what do they call it? Streaming?"

 

Steve smiled knowingly. "It’s a lot. Took me a while to wrap my head around it too. You’re doing fine, Buck."

 

Bucky nodded but didn’t look entirely convinced. He stared down at his coffee cup, his metal fingers tracing absent patterns along the ceramic. "Sometimes I think about the old days, before everything went to hell. Feels like another lifetime, doesn’t it?"

 

"It does," Steve admitted. "But we’re still here, Buck. Still fighting. That’s got to count for something."

 

Bucky looked up, his expression hard to read. "Yeah, but what are we fighting for now? Back then, it was simple—good guys, bad guys, black and white. Now... it’s all shades of gray. Half the time, I don’t even know if I’m on the right side."

 

Steve leaned forward, his voice steady. "We fight for the people who can’t fight for themselves. For the ones Hydra tried to destroy, for the ones who need a chance to live in a world that’s better than the one we grew up in. It’s not perfect, but it’s worth it."

 

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You always did know how to make things sound noble."

 

"It’s not just talk," Steve said firmly. "We’ve got a chance to do something good, to make up for all the things we couldn’t fix before. Doesn’t mean it’s easy, but it’s worth it."

 

Bucky was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the street outside. "You ever wonder if we’re out of place? Like we don’t belong in this world anymore?"

 

Steve considered the question, his brow furrowing. "Sometimes. But then I remember that we’re not the only ones trying to figure it out. Everyone’s got their own battles, their own struggles. We’re just... part of the same fight now. Different battlefield, same mission."

 

Bucky nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Guess I’ll just have to trust you on that, huh?"

 

Steve smiled. "Always, Buck. Always."

 

The two of them sat there for a while longer, the noise of the city muffled by the diner’s walls. It wasn’t much, but for now, it was enough.

 

—

 

James Potter adjusted his round glasses, tilting his head back to take in the staggering height of the Empire State Building. "Blimey, Padfoot," he muttered, an awestruck grin spreading across his face. "You think they stuck an extension charm on this thing?"

 

Sirius Black smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of his face as he craned his neck to look up. "If they did, it's bloody brilliant. Imagine the Ministry trying to regulate something like this. Bet they'd have a heart attack."

 

"You're not wrong," Ted Tonks chimed in, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. The Muggle-born wizard looked more at ease navigating the bustling streets of New York than either James or Sirius. "But no magic here, lads. Just good old-fashioned Muggle engineering."

 

Lily Potter, standing beside her husband, shot him a playful look. "Not everything impressive comes from magic, you know."

 

"Sure, sure," James said, grinning as he nudged Sirius with his elbow. "Still, can you imagine what we could do with something like this back in Diagon Alley? Maybe slap a Quidditch pitch on the roof."

 

"Oi, that's the kind of thinking I can get behind," Sirius quipped, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief. "Though we'd need to charm the Snitch to avoid plummeting to its doom."

 

Ted chuckled, shaking his head as he led the group down the street. "You two are hopeless."

 

The group wandered through the streets of Manhattan, their senses bombarded by the sights, sounds, and smells of the city. The glowing advertisements of Times Square, the aroma of street food wafting through the air, the cacophony of honking horns and chatter—it was all so foreign yet fascinating.

 

"What's that smell?" James asked, wrinkling his nose as they passed a hot dog cart.

 

"Hot dogs," Ted answered. "Classic Muggle street food."

 

Sirius arched an eyebrow. "Doesn't smell like any kind of dog I've encountered."

 

Lily rolled her eyes. "They're sausages, Sirius. Made of meat."

 

Sirius gave the cart a skeptical glance. "Meat, you say? Looks more like what you'd scrape off the bottom of a cauldron."

 

James snorted. "Well, we have to try it now, don't we? For science."

 

Ted sighed but stepped forward to buy a round of hot dogs for everyone. As they unwrapped their food, James took a hesitant bite, chewing thoughtfully before his eyes lit up. "Alright, this is actually brilliant. Sirius, you’ve got to try it."

 

Sirius eyed his hot dog warily before taking a tentative bite. A moment later, his face broke into a grin. "Not bad, not bad. Still think butterbeer would wash it down better, though."

 

They continued their exploration, wandering into Central Park where the chaos of the city faded into a relative calm. Sirius spotted a group of street performers juggling flaming torches and turned to Ted. "Alright, I'll bite. That magic, or just an impressive trick?"

 

"Just a trick," Ted replied, amused. "Muggles can be surprisingly creative when it comes to entertaining themselves."

 

James leaned against a park bench, watching a young boy fly a kite with his father. "You know, if you told me a year ago that I'd be walking through a Muggle city eating questionable food and watching jugglers, I'd have thought you'd gone mad."

 

"Still mad," Sirius said with a grin. "But this is... kind of brilliant. No dragons, no Death Eaters, no Ministry breathing down our necks. Just life."

 

Lily reached out, lacing her fingers with James's. "It's nice to see how much the world has to offer beyond our little bubble, isn't it?"

 

James nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah. Makes you wonder how much we’ve missed out on, sticking to what we know."

 

Sirius clapped him on the back. "Well, we’re here now, mate. And if there’s one thing we’ve always been good at, it’s causing a bit of chaos wherever we go."

 

Ted groaned. "Please don’t get us arrested."

 

Lily smirked. "Oh, let them try. I’d love to see Sirius try to talk his way out of Muggle jail."

 

Sirius grinned wickedly. "Challenge accepted."

 

They spent the rest of the day wandering through the city, visiting landmarks like the Statue of Liberty and the Brooklyn Bridge, and laughing at Sirius’s increasingly ridiculous attempts to “blend in” with Muggles. By the time the sun set, casting the skyline in hues of gold and orange, they found themselves sitting on the steps of the New York Public Library, watching the city lights come to life.

 

"This place," James said, leaning back on his elbows and gazing up at the towering skyscrapers, "it’s overwhelming, but in the best way. Like anything’s possible."

 

Sirius nodded, his usual smirk replaced by a rare moment of quiet reflection. "Yeah. Feels like a fresh start, doesn’t it?"

 

Lily rested her head on James's shoulder, smiling softly. "Maybe that's exactly what we need."

 

Ted, sitting cross-legged on the steps, looked at his companions and couldn’t help but grin. "Well, if this is your idea of blending in, you’re doing a terrible job. But... it’s good to see you all enjoying yourselves."

 

James raised an imaginary glass. "To fresh starts, then. And to the Muggle world—full of surprises, even for us wizards."

 

Sirius chuckled, raising his hot dog like a toast. "Hear, hear."

 

They sat there as the city buzzed around them, feeling, for the first time in a long while, like maybe things really could be different.

 

—

 

The department store’s automatic doors whooshed open, and Rose barreled through like a tiny whirlwind of chaos in her frilly pink dress, dragging a beleaguered Andromeda Black and her equally unimpressed 12-year-old daughter, Nymphadora Tonks, in tow.

 

"Come on, Aunt Andi, keep up! We have so much to buy!" Rose declared, her high-pitched voice cutting through the air like a spell gone wrong. She clutched a glittery purse in one hand and waved a catalog in the other like it was a battle plan.

 

Andromeda sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she trudged after her niece. "Rose, darling, don’t you think we should... I don’t know, prioritize what you need?"

 

"Need?" Rose repeated with a scandalized gasp, spinning on her heel to face her aunt. "This isn’t about need, Aunt Andi. It’s about fashion. You wouldn’t understand."

 

Tonks snorted loudly, adjusting her oversized leather jacket—something she’d insisted on wearing even though it was far too warm for it. Her bubblegum-pink hair stood out in wild spikes, and her combat boots clomped heavily against the polished floor. "Oh yeah, Mum, you wouldn’t understand. You’re so out of touch."

 

Andromeda shot her daughter a look. "You're not helping, Nymphadora."

 

Tonks winced. "It's Tonks, Mum. Tonks. And for the record, I think this is the worst way to spend a Saturday. I could be doing literally anything else. Like practicing hexes."

 

Rose ignored both of them, already marching toward the nearest display of glittery shoes. She let out a squeal of delight. "Look at these! They sparkle when you walk! Aunt Andi, I must have them!"

 

"Rose," Andromeda began, rubbing her temples, "you already have three pairs of sparkly shoes at home."

 

"But these ones are different! They’re... American! And they light up!"

 

Tonks leaned against a rack of clothes, yawning dramatically. "Honestly, Rose, just put a Lumos charm on your old shoes and call it a day."

 

Rose turned and narrowed her eyes at Tonks. "That’s why you don’t have any friends, Nymphadora."

 

Tonks bristled, standing upright. "Oh, you did not just—"

 

"Girls," Andromeda interrupted sharply, her voice carrying that no-nonsense tone only a mother could manage. "Enough. Rose, pick one thing. Tonks, stop antagonizing her. I’m already regretting agreeing to this."

 

Rose pouted, crossing her arms in a way that screamed future queen of drama. "Fine. But I want the shoes and that handbag." She pointed to a glittering monstrosity that looked like it had been made by a unicorn on a sugar high.

 

Tonks groaned. "You’re impossible, Rose. Absolutely impossible."

 

Rose stuck her tongue out at her cousin before grabbing Andromeda’s hand and dragging her toward the checkout counter. "Come on, Aunt Andi! We’re wasting precious time! We still have to get to the toy section!"

 

Andromeda glanced over her shoulder at Tonks, her eyes pleading. "You owe me for this, Nymphadora."

 

Tonks shrugged, falling into step behind them. "Oh, I owe you? She’s your goddaughter, Mum. I’m just here for moral support—and maybe to hex something if she calls me Nymphadora again."

 

Rose, oblivious to the muttered threats behind her, pranced ahead like the self-appointed ruler of the shopping mall, already making plans for her next royal decree. Andromeda sighed deeply. It was going to be a long day.

 

—

 

The safehouse was unusually quiet the next morning, with most of the group scattered across the city, indulging in a much-needed day off. Harry stood in the small, cluttered kitchen, wrestling with the ancient coffee maker, which seemed determined to defy him. He muttered a curse under his breath as it sputtered, refusing to cooperate.

 

"Need some help?" Natasha’s voice cut through the silence.

 

Harry glanced up, catching sight of her leaning against the doorway, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, wearing a tank top and sweatpants that somehow made her look effortlessly lethal.

 

"Not unless you have a degree in ancient kitchen appliances," he replied, flashing her a lopsided grin. "I’m pretty sure this thing predates the Cold War."

 

She smirked, walking over to join him. "Step aside, soldier. Let the professional handle this."

 

Harry raised an eyebrow but moved aside, watching as she fiddled with the machine. It was strange, seeing Natasha like this—relaxed, almost casual. He was so used to seeing her as the Black Widow: deadly, calculating, always five steps ahead of everyone else. But here, in the quiet of the safehouse, she was... human.

 

Within moments, the coffee maker sputtered to life, and Natasha turned to him with a triumphant look. "See? You just have to know how to talk to it."

 

"Impressive," Harry said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. "I’ll be sure to add ‘coffee maker whisperer’ to your long list of talents."

 

Natasha poured herself a cup, hiding her smile behind the rim as she sipped. "So, what’s the plan for today? Or are you planning to sulk around the safehouse while everyone else is out having fun?"

 

Harry shrugged. "Thought I’d get some training in. Maybe go for a run. You?"

 

She tilted her head, studying him. "Training, huh? Mind if I join you? It’s been a while since we sparred."

 

Harry’s grin widened. "You sure you can keep up with me, Nat?"

 

Her eyes narrowed, a playful challenge glinting in them. "Careful, Potter. I might be nice enough to let you walk away without limping this time."

 

 

---

 

The training room in the basement of the safehouse was dimly lit, the walls lined with various weapons and exercise equipment. Harry and Natasha stood across from each other on the sparring mats, both barefoot and dressed in workout gear.

 

"Ready?" Natasha asked, dropping into a fighting stance.

 

Harry mirrored her stance, his grin still firmly in place. "You tell me."

 

The fight began with Natasha lunging forward, her movements fluid and precise. Harry dodged her first strike, his reflexes honed to near perfection thanks to the super-soldier serum and his enhanced abilities. But Natasha wasn’t one to be underestimated. She moved like a shadow, striking with speed and precision, forcing Harry to stay on the defensive.

 

"Not bad," she said, ducking under a punch and delivering a sharp kick to his ribs that sent him stumbling back a step. "But you’re still telegraphing your moves."

 

"Or maybe I’m just letting you feel good about yourself," Harry shot back, recovering quickly.

 

Natasha smirked, but the teasing vanished as she pressed her advantage, forcing Harry to adapt. They moved in a blur of strikes and counterstrikes, their breathing heavy but controlled. Harry was faster, stronger, but Natasha had years of experience and an uncanny ability to read her opponent.

 

Finally, Harry managed to sweep her legs out from under her, pinning her to the mat with a triumphant grin. "Looks like I win this round."

 

Natasha arched an eyebrow, completely unfazed. "Oh, really?"

 

Before Harry could react, she twisted her body, using his own momentum against him. In an instant, their positions were reversed, and Natasha was straddling him, her forearm pressed lightly against his throat.

 

"Still think you’ve won?" she asked, her voice low and teasing.

 

Harry chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. You’ve made your point."

 

Natasha smirked but didn’t move right away. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the playful banter giving way to something heavier. Her green eyes searched his face, and Harry felt his heart skip a beat.

 

"You’ve changed," she said softly, almost to herself.

 

Harry’s expression sobered. "So have you."

 

They stayed like that for a moment longer, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Then Natasha pulled back, standing and offering him a hand.

 

"Come on," she said, her tone light once again. "Let’s grab some lunch before I beat you in round two."

 

Harry took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. "You’re awfully confident for someone who just lost."

 

Natasha smirked, already heading for the stairs. "Keep telling yourself that, Potter."

 

As he followed her out of the training room, Harry couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe again.

Chapter 13: Chapter 12

A couple of days had passed since the heated argument between Howard and Tony, but the tension still hung heavy in the air. Howard had tried to focus on his work, burying himself in the familiar hum of innovation and mechanics, but his mind kept drifting back to the conversation with his son.

 

He knew he couldn’t ignore it forever. Maria had been right: Tony needed to understand, and he needed to see the bigger picture. But how? How do you tell your son that the world is far more dangerous than he could possibly imagine? How do you tell him that his father has been keeping secrets for his own protection?

 

It wasn’t just about Tony’s safety. It was about trust. He could see the cracks in their relationship, and while Tony may have been angry, Howard wasn’t blind to the hurt. He couldn’t stand the idea of losing his son to that kind of resentment.

 

Sighing deeply, Howard stood from his desk and walked to the living room, where Tony was sitting on the couch, half-absorbed in one of his tech magazines, though Howard could tell his son wasn’t truly reading. The silence between them felt suffocating.

 

Howard cleared his throat, drawing Tony’s attention. "We need to talk."

 

Tony didn’t immediately respond, but the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed his reluctance. Finally, he lowered the magazine and looked at his father, though his expression was still guarded.

 

"About what? More excuses about why you couldn’t be around?" Tony's tone was sharp, but there was something softer behind the edge, a mixture of curiosity and bitterness.

 

Howard sat across from him, his gaze steady. "No. This is about the truth, Tony."

 

Tony raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, though still skeptical. "The truth? What, did you lose another invention to Hydra or something?"

 

Howard took a breath, realizing just how much he had kept from his son. This wasn’t going to be easy, but it was necessary. "You know how I’ve always been busy. That I work with a lot of... organizations. People in power." He paused, watching for Tony’s reaction. Tony’s frown deepened, but he didn’t interrupt. "Well, what I’ve never told you is that some of that work has been with a group called S.H.I.E.L.D."

 

Tony’s eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but in complete confusion. "S.H.I.E.L.D.? What’s that? Sounds like a government acronym for ‘Stay Home and Hide’."

 

Howard chuckled despite himself, then sobered. "It’s a bit more than that. It’s an organization, a shield, really, against threats too dangerous for normal intelligence agencies. It was founded decades ago, back in the '40s, right after the war. Peggy Carter, your godmother, was one of the original founders."

 

Tony blinked, the name "Peggy Carter" stopping him short. He had known the name, of course—his godmother, the woman who had somehow managed to stay both a fixture in his life and a mystery. But he had no idea she’d been involved in anything like this.

 

"Wait, Peggy Carter?" Tony echoed, sitting up straighter now. "You and her... what, founded some super-secret organization?" He let out a disbelieving laugh. "What, is this some kind of spy movie?"

 

"It’s not a movie, Tony," Howard said, his voice steady. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is exactly what we’ve needed all along. An organization that tracks and deals with extraterrestrial threats, rogue scientists, and dangerous individuals. We’ve been protecting the world from things most people never even know exist."

 

Tony’s eyes widened. "You’re telling me that all those strange disappearances, the stuff you’ve been working on in the garage—those weren’t just… you know, billionaire toys?" He was beginning to connect the dots, and Howard could see the gears turning in his mind. But he also saw the flash of anger—the anger that was always there when Tony felt like he’d been kept in the dark.

 

Howard pressed on. "A lot of what I’ve been doing, Tony, has been for S.H.I.E.L.D. I’ve been working on tech to help protect the world. Things you’ve seen me build, like the armor, or the weapons—they were all part of this bigger picture. This... responsibility I carry."

 

Tony shook his head, his voice quiet but harsh. "And you didn’t think to mention any of this before? How long has this been going on? You’ve been lying to me for years, Dad. What else have you been hiding?"

 

Howard’s heart clenched at the hurt in his son’s voice. "I wasn’t lying, Tony. I was protecting you. Keeping you safe from things that you didn’t need to know about. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t just about me or Peggy. It was about keeping the world from falling apart. There are things out there, things you can’t even imagine, and we’ve been keeping it all from the public eye. You think I wanted you involved in that kind of danger?" His voice softened, regret and exhaustion in his eyes. "I never wanted that for you."

 

Tony stared at him, his arms folded across his chest, jaw clenched. He was processing, but Howard could see the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "So what, I’ve just been this... kid you were keeping in the dark because it was 'safer'?"

 

Howard shook his head slowly. "I didn’t know how to tell you, Tony. I never wanted you to feel like you had to be a part of that world. But you’ve always been the smart one, the one with the potential to do something big. I couldn’t protect you from everything, and I should’ve trusted you more."

 

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Tony’s gaze dropped to the floor, his hands resting on his knees. "You think I’m angry because you didn’t tell me about S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Tony’s voice was quieter now, almost distant. "I’m not angry about that. I’m angry because you never thought I was enough. You and Peggy, you were always talking about Steve Rogers, about how he could do things I never could. But you never gave me a chance to be... me. You always wanted me to be someone else."

 

Howard’s chest tightened. "I never wanted you to be anyone else, Tony. I was proud of you from the moment you were born. But I was also scared. I didn’t want you to face the same kind of dangers that I did."

 

Tony stood abruptly, walking toward the window. "You never wanted me to have the chance to choose, did you? You made all the decisions for me. You kept me away from this world because you didn’t trust me to handle it."

 

"I trusted you more than you know," Howard said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I didn’t know how to bring you into it. I didn’t want to pull you into the danger I’ve seen. But I should have trusted you. You’re not a kid anymore, Tony. And you’ve proven you can handle anything."

 

Tony didn’t turn back, but there was a momentary pause in his movements. Then, without a word, he walked out of the room.

 

Howard sat back, his heart heavy. Maybe this wasn’t the end of their struggle. But for the first time in a long while, Howard felt like he might have finally taken a step toward truly understanding his son.

 

—

 

Tony stood in the doorway, his hand lingering on the frame as he stared out the window, lost in his thoughts. His father’s words still echoed in his mind, each one a punch to the gut, a truth he wasn’t sure how to process. Howard had done what he always did—shielded him, kept him at arm’s length, and tried to decide what was best. Tony had spent his whole life fighting against that, and now, for the first time, it felt like all the walls that had kept him from truly understanding his father were crumbling.

 

But that didn’t make it easier.

 

He exhaled slowly, as if trying to expel the frustration, the anger, and the confusion that had been building for days. He couldn’t go on like this. He needed to talk to someone—someone who didn’t have an agenda, someone who didn’t see him as just another asset in some grand scheme. Someone who had always been there for him, in the quiet, unassuming way that never asked for anything in return.

 

Without thinking, he turned and headed toward the study, his mind already shifting to the one person who could always calm him down: Edwin Jarvis.

 

The older man had been with the Stark family longer than Tony could remember, and he’d been a constant in Tony’s life—a steady presence in a world that often felt anything but. It was Jarvis who had been there when Tony had taken his first steps, who had shown him how to tinker with machines before he could even tie his shoes. More than that, it was Jarvis who had always been there when things got tough, never pushing too hard, but always offering the kind of advice that made everything seem a little clearer.

 

Tony found him in the study, sitting at his desk, the same calm and collected figure he had always been. Jarvis wasn’t just a butler; he was family. And right now, Tony felt like he needed family more than ever.

 

"Jarvis," Tony said softly, his voice carrying the weight of everything he had just heard from his father. "Can I talk to you?"

 

Jarvis looked up from his papers, his expression unreadable, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he motioned for Tony to sit. "Of course, Master Tony. What’s on your mind?"

 

Tony didn’t sit. Instead, he stood there for a moment, trying to find the right words. The anger from earlier still lingered, but now there was a sense of confusion, of hurt. "I don’t know what to make of it, Jarvis. My whole life, I’ve been told that everything I did—everything I built—was because I was 'doing it my way.' But now, I find out that everything was... everything was part of some bigger plan, some secret organization I knew nothing about. My father’s been hiding it all from me."

 

He let out a frustrated breath and finally sank into the chair across from Jarvis. "And that’s the thing—he’s been hiding it, hiding me from it, like I wasn’t supposed to be a part of it. And I can’t figure out if it’s because he didn’t trust me, or if he was just trying to protect me from whatever it is he’s been involved with."

 

Jarvis remained silent for a moment, his hands folding calmly in front of him. His voice was gentle, but there was an unmistakable depth to it. "I can understand why you’re feeling this way, Master Tony. Your father has always had a unique way of showing love—his methods may not always make sense, but his intentions were never to push you away."

 

Tony’s eyes narrowed, a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "That’s what he says. But you don’t know what it’s like. He was always so focused on what was 'best' for me, on what he thought I needed, that I never had a chance to decide for myself. I was always second to whatever this was. S.H.I.E.L.D., secret tech, some government stuff... I don’t even know what’s real anymore."

 

Jarvis nodded slowly, as though weighing his words carefully. "Master Tony, I’ve known you for many years, and I know your father better than most. I think you should take a step back before making any decisions. What you’re feeling now, while valid, is shaped by the shock of learning the truth. But I know Howard Stark, and I can tell you that he wasn’t trying to shield you because he didn’t trust you. He was shielding you because he wanted to give you a choice—a chance to find your own path without the weight of the world on your shoulders."

 

Tony exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "It doesn’t feel like it, Jarvis. It feels like he’s been controlling my life, telling me what’s best for me without ever letting me in on the bigger picture. And now I have to wonder... what else has he kept from me? What else have I been blind to?"

 

Jarvis stood up from his desk, his movements as measured and steady as ever, and walked over to Tony. He placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder, a comforting gesture that spoke volumes more than words could. "I cannot speak for everything your father has done, but I can tell you this—he has always been proud of you, Tony. He just wanted you to have the freedom to be who you are, without the burden of the things he’s carried for so long."

 

Tony looked up at Jarvis, his expression a mix of confusion and pain. "So what do I do now? How do I move past this? I don’t even know where to start."

 

Jarvis smiled, though it was small, and placed his hand back in his pocket. "Take some time to think. Your father is a complicated man, as you well know. But in time, you’ll find a way to make sense of all this. And when you’re ready, when the anger has faded, you can talk to him. I’m sure he would welcome it."

 

Tony nodded slowly, his mind still spinning, but he felt a little more grounded with Jarvis there, offering a sense of clarity amid the storm of his thoughts. "Thanks, Jarvis."

 

"Anytime, Master Tony," Jarvis replied, his voice full of the kind of calm reassurance Tony needed.

 

As Tony stood up to leave, he felt a strange mix of gratitude and uncertainty. He wasn’t sure what the next step would be, but for the first time in days, he felt like he wasn’t completely alone in trying to make sense of it all.

 

—

 

A few days had passed since that sparring match, and Harry couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that had settled in his chest after the training session with Natasha. It wasn’t just the adrenaline from the fight or the thrill of victory (or his near defeat, depending on who you asked). No, it was something else entirely.

 

His mind kept returning to the way Natasha’s eyes had softened when she’d pinned him, the teasing words now echoing in his thoughts, laced with something else—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And then there was the way she’d looked at him afterward, as if she were searching for something in him, something beyond the banter, something deeper. He hadn’t imagined that look, had he?

 

The truth was, since waking up in this new body, things had been... complicated. He had memories of his childhood, his time with the Dursleys, the people he’d loved and lost, and everything in between. But now, in this new skin—this taller, older body—things felt different. His emotions were different. His experiences with people were different. He wasn’t the same person, but sometimes, the weight of what he had been before seemed to hang over him like a ghost.

 

Natasha had always been close to him. Back when he was a kid, trapped by Hydra, she had been a constant presence. She was patient, kind, even in the harshest of circumstances. She had trained him, guided him, and yes—there had been moments where he had looked up to her as if she were a sister. But that was before.

 

Now, everything was in flux. His body was older, stronger, faster. The serum had changed him in ways he still didn’t fully understand, and his feelings were tangled, confusing. He didn’t know what to do with them.

 

And that’s when it hit him: he needed to talk to someone.

 

There was only one person he trusted enough to help him figure this all out—someone who had, in the months since they reunited, had become his rock. Someone who knew him better than anyone, even if she had only known him either as a baby, or in this form.

 

He made his way to the living room, where the rest of the team was either napping or out and about, and slipped quietly into a corner. The old fireplace crackled softly in the background, but his thoughts were far away. His hand brushed over the pendant around his neck—the one that had once belonged to his mother.

 

It wasn’t long before he felt the familiar warmth of her presence. Harry didn’t need to say anything. The magical bond between them, the one that had always been there, was enough.

 

"Mom?" he said quietly, his voice faltering slightly as he summoned her from wherever she resided in his heart and memories.

 

There was a pause, and then her voice filled his mind, soft and comforting, as it always was. "Harry, sweetheart. You’re troubled. What’s on your mind?"

 

He hesitated, unsure of how to start. His feelings were so muddled, and this was far from a simple conversation. But Lily was patient, always had been, and he knew she wouldn’t judge him.

 

"I—" Harry swallowed, struggling to find the words. "I’ve been... thinking about Natasha. And I don’t know how to deal with it. It’s different now, Mom. It’s not like it was before."

 

Lily was silent for a moment, and Harry’s heart raced as he waited. "What do you mean, Harry?" Her voice was gentle, encouraging.

 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. "When I was... younger, when I was a kid—Natasha, she trained me, she was like a sister to me. We were close. I looked up to her. But now, now that I’m... this," he gestured to his body, though Lily couldn’t see it, "I don’t know. I feel things that I don’t think I’m supposed to. Things that... aren’t brotherly."

 

Lily’s voice was soothing, but there was a thread of concern in it. "It’s natural, Harry. Your body may have changed, but your heart still holds the memories of the past. And now, you’re facing feelings that are new to you. It’s difficult, I know. But don’t let confusion cloud your heart. You need to be honest with yourself, first and foremost."

 

"I don’t even know what I’m feeling," Harry admitted, his voice raw. "I just... I can’t stop thinking about her, and I feel guilty because I shouldn’t. She’s always been like family, but now..."

 

"Now, you’re growing into something more than you were before. You’re seeing things in a new light, and it’s not wrong to feel the way you do, Harry. Love doesn’t always come neatly packaged in a way we can easily understand. Sometimes, the lines blur."

 

He closed his eyes, the weight of her words sinking in. "But what if it ruins everything? What if I push her away by being... this?"

 

Lily’s voice softened, almost like a caress. "If she truly cares for you, she will understand. You need to be honest with her, and with yourself. Don’t be afraid of your emotions. You’ve been through so much, Harry, and you deserve happiness. Whatever that may look like."

 

Harry exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He knew she was right. But still, the idea of confronting Natasha with these feelings—after everything they had been through—felt terrifying.

 

"You think I should tell her?" he asked quietly.

 

Lily’s voice was warm with maternal wisdom. "When you’re ready. When you understand what you’re truly feeling, and when you’re ready to face it. But remember, Harry, there’s no shame in love. Only in pretending it doesn’t exist."

 

Harry sat there for a long while after, lost in thought. His feelings for Natasha weren’t just a passing phase, a side effect of the serum or his age. No, they were real. And now, with his mother’s guidance, he could see that it wasn’t something to be afraid of. It was something to explore, to embrace—even if it came with its own set of challenges.

 

For the first time in days, Harry felt like he could breathe again. He didn’t have all the answers yet, but for now, that was enough.

 

—

 

Harry spent the next few days walking a tightrope between his growing feelings for Natasha and the nagging doubt that threatened to unravel everything. Each time she looked at him with that same playful smirk, that same teasing glint in her eyes, his heart would do that strange, irritating flip-flop. The more he tried to ignore it, the more it consumed him.

 

He hadn’t told anyone about his feelings—especially not Natasha. And yet, the universe seemed to conspire to make it more difficult to avoid her. It wasn’t just the way she’d taken care of him in those dark days or the comfort of her presence. It was the subtle shifts in their dynamic since he’d come back to life in this new, older body. She was different with him now. Or maybe he was different with her. It was hard to say.

 

Every sparring match, every casual conversation, felt laced with tension now. And that only made Harry more certain he needed to have a conversation with her. One way or another, it had to happen.

 

The night before, after training, he’d caught her watching him for a little too long—her gaze softer than usual, contemplative. And when she’d left the room without saying a word, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting between them, just out of reach, like a thread that might unravel everything if either of them pulled on it.

 

But today, today was different. Today, Harry had decided he would face it head-on. He couldn’t keep dodging this, not if it meant losing himself in confusion. The plan was simple—catch her before she slipped away for her usual evening patrol, talk things through, and hopefully avoid ruining everything.

 

He found her in the small courtyard behind the safehouse, leaning against the brick wall, a cup of coffee in her hands as she stared at the setting sun. The faint orange light bathed the scene in a warm glow, and for a moment, Harry forgot about everything. It was just him and Natasha—no distractions, no Hydra, no team.

 

He cleared his throat, walking up slowly. Natasha didn’t turn to look at him right away, but her posture straightened, and Harry could feel her awareness of him.

 

"Natasha," he said, his voice careful, unsure.

 

She tilted her head slightly, acknowledging his presence. "Harry," she said simply, her voice light but laced with that hint of something deeper.

 

There it was again. That weight between them, hanging in the air like smoke.

 

"I—uh, I wanted to talk," Harry continued, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His usual confidence was a little frayed today. "About... well, about us."

 

Natasha didn’t say anything for a long moment, but he could see her eyes studying him carefully now, sharper than before.

 

"Go on," she said softly, her voice oddly calm.

 

Harry hesitated. How could he even begin? This was so much more than words. But he had to try. He had to push through the awkwardness.

 

"I’ve been feeling... strange," he began, trying to keep his voice steady. "I mean, since I woke up, and especially since you and I started sparring again." He felt like an idiot saying it out loud, but there was no other way around it. "Things have changed, and I can’t ignore it anymore."

 

Natasha’s eyes softened, and her expression became unreadable. She took a slow sip from her coffee, her fingers curling around the warm mug like she was giving herself a moment to collect her thoughts. Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. This was it.

 

"Harry," she said quietly, her voice carrying an edge of something that sounded almost... familiar. "I think I know exactly what you’re talking about."

 

His stomach dropped. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? His mouth went dry, but he managed to speak. "You do?"

 

She turned slightly to face him, her gaze unwavering. "You think you’re the only one who feels confused about all of this?"

 

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Natasha, the Black Widow herself—the one who always had her walls up, who never let anything slip—was dealing with the same feelings.

 

She continued, her voice low, almost hesitant. "Harry, when you... changed—it wasn’t just your body. Something shifted between us, too. And I’ve been trying to make sense of it ever since. But I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. Not until I was sure it wasn’t just me." Her lips curved up into a half-smile, but there was no humor in it. "And maybe, just maybe, you were feeling the same way."

 

Harry stood there for a moment, completely caught off guard, his mind racing to process everything she’d just said. So, it wasn’t just him. She felt it, too.

 

A nervous laugh escaped him, a sound he hadn’t expected to make. "I thought I was going insane," he admitted, his voice slightly strained. "I kept telling myself it wasn’t supposed to be this way. You were... you were like family, Nat. And now, I don’t know what to think anymore. I just know that every time I see you, I can’t... I can’t shake this feeling. And I don’t want to ruin everything between us, you know?"

 

There was a long silence between them, thick with the weight of their shared uncertainty. Natasha finally set her coffee cup down on the ledge beside her, her gaze softening even more as she stepped closer to him.

 

"You’re not ruining anything, Harry," she said gently. "I’ve been wondering the same thing. But if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you don’t do anything halfway. You never have. If this is something we need to figure out, we’ll figure it out together."

 

Her words were like a balm to his anxious mind. A quiet relief settled over him as he looked into her eyes, finally feeling like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t alone in this.

 

"Yeah?" he asked, a tentative hope in his voice.

 

She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Yeah." Then, after a beat, she added with a smirk, "Besides, you’re going to need all the help you can get if you want to keep up with me."

 

Harry’s heart thudded loudly in his chest, but this time, it wasn’t from confusion or anxiety. It was something else—something warm and unfamiliar. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself feel it. The weight of the moment—the unspoken truth between them—wasn’t so terrifying anymore.

 

Maybe they didn’t have all the answers, but they’d figure it out. Together.

 

—

 

A few days had passed since Tony's conversation with Jarvis, and the storm of confusion, anger, and uncertainty had settled, but it hadn't dissipated completely. The questions still lingered in his mind like unwelcome guests, refusing to leave, demanding answers. What did it all mean? And what was he supposed to do with the information he had now?

 

For the first time in years, Tony found himself sitting in his father's study—Howard's study—the very room that had been the epicenter of so many of his memories growing up. The smell of aged wood and leather mixed with the faint scent of cigars that still lingered, reminders of a time when Tony had walked in this room with nothing but admiration for the man who had always been just out of reach.

 

He sat behind Howard’s desk, fingers tapping rhythmically against the wood. His thoughts churned as he stared at the sleek, cold, metallic objects scattered around the room—gadgets, blueprints, inventions that had always fascinated him. But this time, it felt different. This time, they felt like relics of a world he wasn’t sure he belonged to anymore.

 

He had gone over it in his mind a hundred times. The revelations about S.H.I.E.L.D., the secretive projects, the pieces of a puzzle that never quite fit. But now, with time to reflect, one thing became clear: if he was going to make sense of any of this, if he was going to understand what his father had been a part of, he couldn’t do it from the outside. He needed to be in the thick of it.

 

And so, he was here, standing in front of the most complicated person in his life, ready to have a conversation he had avoided for years.

 

The door to the study opened, and there stood Howard Stark, older now, but still the same larger-than-life figure that Tony had spent most of his life resenting. The man’s sharp gaze landed on Tony with that familiar, dispassionate scrutiny. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, finally, Howard broke the silence.

 

"You're here," he said simply, crossing the room with a slow, deliberate gait. "I didn’t think you'd come."

 

Tony had spent years dreaming of this moment—years rehearsing every word he might say to his father. But now that it was real, the words felt stuck in his throat. He cleared his throat and forced himself to speak.

 

"I’ve been thinking," Tony began, his voice low, measured. "I need to be part of it, Dad. I want to be involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. I want to know what you’ve been doing, what it all means. I want to be a part of whatever this is."

 

Howard’s brow furrowed, his expression unreadable as he took a step back. "Tony, I didn’t think you’d be interested in the kind of work I’ve been involved with. It's dangerous. It's not something I ever wanted you to be burdened with."

 

Tony couldn’t help but laugh, a bitter sound that felt foreign even to his own ears. "You’re always doing that. Protecting me. Shielding me from things that might be too difficult for me to handle. I’ve spent my whole life fighting against that. I don’t need you to protect me anymore, Dad. I need to understand it. I need to be part of the bigger picture."

 

For a moment, Howard just stared at him, his expression softening. It was the first time Tony had ever seen that kind of vulnerability in his father, and it threw him off guard. Howard had always been a man of control, never letting anything slip, never allowing anyone to see him as anything less than the genius billionaire inventor he had built himself up to be.

 

"You think you’re ready for this, Tony?" Howard asked, his voice softer now, but still tinged with that guarded edge. "This isn’t the kind of work you can just walk into without consequences. People get hurt. Things go wrong. You can’t just play with the toys and leave the rest behind."

 

Tony leaned forward, eyes burning with determination. "I’ve always been good at fixing things, right? So let me fix this. Let me fix the mess you've made. I can handle it."

 

Howard sighed, looking at him for a long moment as if trying to weigh the truth of Tony’s words. Finally, he spoke, his voice a little quieter than before.

 

"Alright, Tony. You want in? You’re in. But this isn’t a game. And it’s not just about tinkering with machines and making headlines. There’s more to this than you think. And if you’re really ready, if you’re really willing to face what’s coming, then we’ll talk. But you need to understand this: once you’re in, there’s no turning back."

 

Tony nodded, his resolve unwavering. "I understand. I’m ready."

 

Howard studied him for a moment longer, then reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, sleek device—something Tony had seen before but never fully understood. He handed it to Tony without a word.

 

"This is a key," Howard said, his voice firm. "It’ll give you access to everything. The plans, the tech, the people. But it’s up to you how you use it."

 

Tony took the device, the weight of it settling heavily in his hand. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he was holding onto something that could change everything—something that would give him a shot at answering all the questions he’d had for so long.

 

He stood up, meeting his father’s gaze for the first time in what felt like forever. "Thanks, Dad," he said quietly, but with conviction.

 

Howard nodded once, his expression unreadable but somehow softer than before. "Don’t thank me yet. You’ve still got a long way to go."

 

As Tony turned to leave, the gravity of the decision hit him all at once. He was in. And he had no idea what the next chapter of his life would look like. But for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was ready to face whatever came next.

Chapter 14: Chapter 13

As Howard drove Tony to an unassuming safehouse tucked in the outskirts of the city, Tony’s mind was racing. The key Howard had given him now felt like it weighed a ton in his pocket, a constant reminder of what he'd just signed up for. Howard had been frustratingly vague about where they were headed, which only made Tony more determined to unravel whatever his father was hiding.

 

The safehouse didn’t look like much from the outside—a nondescript building surrounded by tall trees and overgrown shrubbery. But as soon as Howard opened the door, Tony’s jaw almost hit the floor. The interior was a high-tech workshop straight out of his dreams. Holographic displays floated in midair, tools he hadn’t seen before lined the walls, and a low hum of activity filled the space.

 

"Alright," Tony said, turning to Howard. "Color me impressed. Didn’t think you still had a few tricks up your sleeve, old man."

 

Howard smirked. "You haven’t seen anything yet."

 

Before Tony could respond, he heard voices coming from the far end of the workshop. Two figures were huddled over a sleek table, surrounded by intricate gadgets and glowing orbs. One of them was tall and broad-shouldered with messy black hair, and the other was leaner with a mischievous glint in his eye and hair that looked like it hadn’t been combed in weeks.

 

"James! Sirius!" Howard called out, his voice cutting through the hum of the workshop.

 

The two men looked up, and Tony could swear the taller one—James—looked eerily familiar. But before he could place it, Sirius shot him a wide grin and swaggered over, wiping his hands on his jeans.

 

"Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous Tony Stark," Sirius said, his tone light and teasing. "Howard’s talked about you, but I figured you were more... polished."

 

Tony raised an eyebrow, not missing a beat. "And you must be... the workshop comic relief?"

 

Sirius laughed. "I like this one, Howard. Can we keep him?"

 

James stepped forward, a more serious expression on his face but a twinkle of humor in his eyes. "I’m James Potter. This joker here is Sirius Black. We’ve been working with Howard on a couple of projects."

 

Tony glanced at the table, his curiosity piqued. "Mind if I take a look?"

 

James gestured to the table. "Be our guest."

 

On the table were several small, golden orbs that looked like miniature versions of a Snitch from a Quidditch game, though Tony wouldn’t know that yet. They hovered slightly above the surface, glowing faintly as they whirred and clicked.

 

"They're surveillance drones," James explained. "But not just any drones. They can scan an entire area, map it out, and create a real-time holographic projection of the space. But there’s more—they can also identify the people within the location and track their movements."

 

Tony picked one up, turning it over in his hand. "Okay, this is good work. But the tracking and real-time mapping... How are you doing this? I don’t see any GPS integration or standard tech protocols."

 

Sirius and James exchanged a look, barely concealing their grins. Howard cleared his throat, stepping in before Tony could ask more questions.

 

"Why don’t you show him the other project, Sirius?"

 

Sirius reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, palm-sized device. He pressed a button, and a holographic image flickered to life above it, showing a grainy video feed of James.

 

"This is our prototype for a portable comms system," Sirius explained. "We’re working on making the video feed holographic, but for now, it’s just standard video. Once it’s integrated into the suits we’re designing, it’ll allow for instant communication—audio, visual, and eventually, even location tracking."

 

Tony’s mind was already racing with possibilities. "This could revolutionize field communication. But again—how are you doing this without a major power source? This tech doesn’t add up."

 

Howard chuckled, stepping forward. "You’re sharp, Tony. Always have been. But there’s something you’re missing. Something I haven’t told you."

 

Tony turned to him, eyes narrowing. "What’s that?"

 

Howard gestured to James and Sirius. "These two aren’t just brilliant inventors. They’re wizards."

 

Tony stared at his father, waiting for the punchline. When none came, he laughed nervously. "Right. Wizards. Sure. And I suppose they ride broomsticks and pull rabbits out of hats?"

 

James smirked, pulling a thin stick—his wand—from his pocket. With a casual flick, the golden orbs on the table lifted into the air, spinning and arranging themselves into a perfect holographic projection of the workshop, complete with glowing outlines of everyone in the room.

 

Tony’s jaw dropped.

 

"Okay," he said, pointing at the projection. "That... That’s not tech. That’s something else entirely. What the hell is going on?"

 

Sirius grinned. "Welcome to the world of magic, Stark. Things are about to get interesting."

 

—

 

Tony stared at the holographic projection, his mind oscillating between awe and disbelief. Wizards. Real, actual wizards. His gaze darted from the floating orbs to James, Sirius, and then to his father, who seemed entirely too calm for someone who just dropped this world-shattering bombshell.

 

"Magic," Tony finally said, his voice laced with skepticism. "You’re seriously telling me that magic is real, and you’ve just been... what? Moonlighting with Gandalf this whole time?"

 

Sirius snorted. "Not quite. Gandalf’s too serious, and his beard game puts us to shame."

 

James elbowed him but added, "We get it, Stark. It’s a lot to process. But this isn’t some party trick. Magic is as real as the tech in your garage."

 

Tony opened his mouth to retort when Howard interrupted, his tone grave. "There’s more, Tony. And I need you to listen carefully."

 

Howard gestured to a sleek console against the far wall, its screen displaying a SHIELD emblem. He tapped a few buttons, and the screen lit up with a video feed.

 

Tony’s heart skipped a beat when the face of Steve Rogers—a man he’d seen in old photos but knew was supposed to be long dead—appeared on the screen. His jaw tightened as the feed played a briefing. Steve was alive, de-aged, and—if the reports were accurate—leading a team for SHIELD.

 

“Steve Rogers?!” Tony exclaimed, his voice pitching higher than intended. "The guy from your war stories is alive? How? Did you defrost him or something?"

 

Howard nodded. "It’s a long story, but yes, he was in cryostasis. SHIELD recovered him. But Steve isn’t the reason we’re here. It’s about him."

 

Howard tapped the console again, and the feed shifted to an image of a tall, muscular young man, no older than eighteen, with wild black hair and striking green eyes. A sharp pang of familiarity hit Tony, though he couldn’t place why. The dossier labeled the boy as Harry James Potter.

 

“Who’s the guy?” Tony asked.

 

James stepped forward, his face darkening. "He’s my son. Or at least... he was." His voice cracked slightly. "Harry was kidnapped when he was five, while Lily and I were in a magical coma thanks to some wizard lunatic. They framed Sirius, stuck him in Azkaban—the wizard prison. Hydra kept Harry for their experiments."

 

Tony frowned. "Experiments? What kind of experiments?"

 

“Hydra’s kind,” Sirius growled. "They used the Super Soldier Serum, among other things. They aged him artificially, spliced his DNA with a guy called Weapon X—an experiment gone berserk—and grafted Vibranium to his skeleton. They turned a five-year-old into a goddamn weapon."

 

Tony’s blood ran cold. "Vibranium skeleton? You’re telling me this kid has... claws? Like actual metal claws?"

 

Sirius’s expression hardened. "Yes. And more. Enhanced strength, healing, the works. Hydra wanted the perfect magical super soldier, and they used Harry to create it."

 

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, the weight of their revelations pressing down on Tony like a lead blanket. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to piece it all together.

 

"And you're saying SHIELD broke him out?" Tony finally asked.

 

"Not just SHIELD," Howard clarified. "Peggy led the operation with help from a few Hydra defectors who couldn’t stomach what was happening to the boy. When we found him, they were preparing for the next step: brainwashing. Hydra would have erased his memories, programmed him to follow orders, and left him with nothing but their mission. We’re still trying to undo the damage."

 

“And now?” Tony pressed. "What’s the plan?"

 

James straightened, his jaw set. "The plan is to fight back. Peggy’s formed a covert team to take on Hydra and their magical operatives. Harry’s with us now—trying to piece together his identity, reclaim his life. And we’re building weapons, tech, and magical tools to even the playing field."

 

Tony leaned back, his mind racing. A magical super soldier who was also James’s son. SHIELD, Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, and Hydra operatives dabbling in magic. It was a lot, even for him. But one thing stood out above all.

 

"And you’re bringing me into this why?" Tony asked, his voice edged with suspicion.

 

Howard looked him in the eye. "Because this fight isn’t just about magic or super soldiers. It’s about people like you and me—people who can bridge the gap between science and the impossible. You’ve got the mind for this, Tony. And... I trust you."

 

The sincerity in Howard’s voice caught Tony off guard. For once, it felt like his father wasn’t withholding or critiquing. He was asking for help.

 

Tony sighed, glancing around the room. "Fine. But if we’re doing this, I need full access. No secrets, no half-truths. And I want to meet the kid."

 

James smiled faintly. "You’ll meet him. Just be prepared. He’s... been through hell."

 

Tony smirked, his resolve hardening. "Well, he’s part of this world now, isn’t he? Hell’s just another training ground."

 

—

 

The training area was bathed in dim, ambient light, casting long shadows across the floor. The sound of clashing metal and the crackle of magic filled the air as Harry James Potter—now no longer just a child but a hardened weapon—faced off against Gideon Adler, a tall, imposing figure with piercing eyes and a dangerous presence. Adler’s features, though seemingly younger, bore an unmistakable resemblance to Gellert Grindelwald, though de-aged, still exuded the same dark charisma.

 

Harry's muscles were taut, his eyes narrowed with focus as he flicked his wrist, sending a bolt of fiery magic toward Adler. The spell sizzled through the air, narrowly missing the older wizard, who deftly countered with a flick of his own wand, sending Harry stumbling back with a gust of wind.

 

“Not bad,” Adler said, his voice cool but approving. “But you need to control your aggression. Precision over power, always.”

 

Harry gritted his teeth, flexing his claws. They gleamed with a cold, silvery light as he summoned the magic within him. The claws weren’t just for close combat—they were extensions of his will, his connection to both the physical and magical worlds. With a growl, Harry slashed through the air, carving a magical sigil in the space between them. The sigil shimmered for a moment before erupting into a blinding wave of light.

 

Adler raised an eyebrow, not impressed but intrigued. “Interesting. Combining your abilities like that... You have potential, Harry. But you’re still fighting like you’re in survival mode. Magic is about more than just instinct.”

 

Harry didn’t respond, his focus too sharp. The hiss of his claws cutting through the air was the only sound that filled the room, his movements fluid, a blend of magic and ferocity. He could feel the power surging through his veins—the perfect fusion of magic, enhanced strength, and the raw, brutal precision of his new body. But Adler was right—he was still too wild, too unpredictable.

 

Adler raised his wand again, his voice colder now. “Focus, Harry. Fight me with your mind, not just your fury.”

 

As Harry squared off, ready to strike again, the door to the training room slid open with a soft hiss, and the sound of footsteps echoed through the space. The two men paused mid-action, turning to see James Potter and Sirius Black entering.

 

“Enough, Harry,” James called, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve made progress, but we need to talk.”

 

Harry’s jaw tightened as he lowered his claws. He was still processing everything, but his father’s voice—especially in a tone like that—was enough to put him on alert.

 

Sirius grinned, his expression light despite the tension. “He’s getting there. Slow, but steady. You should’ve seen the first time we let him try to use magic while in this... condition.” He gestured to Harry with a smirk. “It was more like a fireworks show gone wrong.”

 

James chuckled softly, but the look in his eyes softened as he stepped closer to his son. “We’ve got a visitor for you, Harry. Someone you should meet.”

 

Harry frowned. "A visitor? Who?"

 

Before Sirius could answer, Tony Stark strode into the room, his eyes taking in the high-tech surroundings. He looked every bit the billionaire genius, his posture oozing confidence. But there was a flicker of curiosity in his gaze as he assessed the scene.

 

“Tony,” James said, his voice warm. "This is Harry. Harry, this is Tony Stark. He’s—well, I suppose he’s family now, in a way.”

 

Harry’s eyes scanned Tony for a moment, sizing him up. He wasn’t sure what to think of this stranger—he could feel the magic flowing around him, the strange aura this man exuded, but it wasn’t like anything Harry had felt before. Something about him was... off. But in a way that made Harry’s instincts itch to know more.

 

Tony studied him in return, his gaze flicking from Harry’s claws to the way he carried himself. There was no denying the resemblance between father and son—Harry’s dark eyes, the set of his jaw, his stance. It was unmistakable.

 

“So you’re the kid who’s been through hell,” Tony said, his voice more serious than Harry expected. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, but if you’re anything like your old man”—he nodded toward James—“then I’m sure you’ve got a hell of a story.”

 

Harry didn’t say anything at first. He was still sorting through his thoughts, the last few months of his life a whirlwind of pain, anger, and confusion. But something in Tony’s expression made him pause, and for the first time in a while, Harry found himself wanting to talk.

 

James stepped forward, his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s not just about the tech and the magic, Tony. It’s about making sure Harry has a place to belong. He’s had his world shattered, and we need to rebuild it, piece by piece.”

 

Sirius nodded, his voice tinged with pride. “And we need all the help we can get. Hydra’s still out there, and with all their magical experiments, we need every advantage we can find.”

 

Tony’s gaze softened just slightly as he looked at Harry, who was still standing stiffly, unsure of what to make of this whole situation. “Alright, kid. Let’s get to work. I’m not going to pretend I know exactly what you’ve been through, but if you’ve got a cause, I’m in. And believe me, I’ve got the tools to make sure we kick Hydra’s ass.”

 

Harry’s lips quirked upward just a little, the first genuine expression he’d shown since he met the group. “You’ve got the tools, huh?”

 

Tony grinned, already stepping toward one of the nearby tables. “You have no idea.”

 

As the tension began to ease, Harry felt a strange mix of hope and uncertainty rising in his chest. There was still so much he didn’t know, so much he had to figure out. But in this strange new world, maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t alone anymore.

 

And for the first time in a long while, that thought didn’t feel as terrifying as it once had.

 

—

 

Lily found herself sitting on a bench outside the safehouse, a warm cup of coffee in her hands, watching as the sun peeked over the horizon. The morning air was crisp, and the world felt a little quieter here—like a brief, precious moment of calm before the storm. She wasn’t sure how much time they had left before everything would shift again. There was always something new on the horizon. And today, she could sense that something was stirring between Natasha and Harry.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps approaching, and she looked up to see Natasha, in her usual black attire, walking toward her with a cautious but determined look on her face. Natasha had always been hard to read, but Lily had learned enough about her over the years to sense when something was on her mind.

 

"Morning," Natasha greeted, a touch of wariness in her voice.

 

Lily smiled and patted the space next to her. "Morning. Have a seat. We need to talk."

 

Natasha hesitated, then sat down beside her, glancing at the coffee cup in Lily’s hand. "Everything okay?"

 

Lily took a slow sip of her coffee before setting it down on the bench beside her. Her gaze met Natasha’s, and for a moment, the weight of the conversation they were about to have settled between them.

 

"I’ve been watching you two," Lily began, her tone soft but firm. "You and Harry. I can see what’s happening. And I think it’s time we have a little chat about it."

 

Natasha's posture stiffened ever so slightly, but she didn’t look away. "What do you mean?"

 

"You know what I mean," Lily said with a sigh. "It’s complicated, Natasha. Harry’s... well, he’s my son. And I know you care about him. You’ve been there for him. But this? This is something else."

 

Natasha's eyes flickered briefly, and she opened her mouth to respond, but Lily held up a hand, signaling for her to listen.

 

"I don’t need you to explain yourself," Lily continued, her voice quieter now, like a mother speaking to a daughter. "I know what it’s like to have feelings for someone, especially when you’re as close as you two are. And I can see that Harry’s changed. His body might be eighteen now, but I’ve watched him grow from a baby into someone with more power than he even knows how to control. This is... complicated. For both of you."

 

Natasha nodded, her face betraying no emotion, but Lily could see the tension in her shoulders. "I know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t expect it to be this way either. But... you’ve seen us together. I think we both know what’s going on. And I’m not going to lie and say it’s easy. I never planned on any of this."

 

Lily gave her a gentle, understanding smile. "No one ever plans for these things. Life has a way of throwing you into situations you can’t control." She paused, her gaze drifting to the safehouse in the distance. "But I need to know—what are your intentions with him? Because if this is just a phase for you, or if you’re going to hurt him—"

 

"I’m not going to hurt him," Natasha interrupted, her voice tight with conviction. "I care about him. I know what he’s been through, and I know what he needs right now. But he’s not the only one who’s confused by all this. I’m just... trying to figure it out."

 

Lily nodded slowly. She wasn’t surprised by Natasha’s response, but it didn’t ease her worries completely. "Just remember, Natasha, that he’s still my son. And no matter how old he looks, I’m always going to see him as the five-year-old who was torn away from me. You need to be sure about this. Because Harry... he doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings yet. And neither do you."

 

There was a long silence between them, the weight of their conversation settling like a heavy fog in the air. Natasha stared at the ground, lost in thought for a moment, before she finally spoke.

 

"I know," she murmured. "I’m not looking to complicate his life any more than it already is. But sometimes things happen when you least expect it. And this? This is one of those things."

 

Lily studied her for a long moment. She had never been one to hold back from speaking her mind, but this was different. This was her son they were talking about. "Just be careful, Natasha," Lily said gently, her voice softening. "It’s not just about what’s happening right now. It’s about the long term. He’s still figuring out who he is, and you can’t be the one to shape that for him. He needs to figure it out himself."

 

Natasha met her gaze, and for the first time, there was a softness in her eyes—a rare glimpse of vulnerability. "I know. I won’t rush him. But I can’t just ignore this either. I won’t do that to either of us."

 

Lily smiled, her heart easing just a fraction. "I believe you. Just take your time, okay? And remember, you’re not alone in this. We’re all here for him."

 

Natasha nodded, her lips curling into a faint but sincere smile. "Thanks, Lily. I needed to hear that."

 

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Lily’s mind wandered to Harry, to everything he had been through and everything that lay ahead. It wasn’t going to be easy for him, but he wasn’t alone. Not with Natasha by his side, and certainly not with her, his mother, watching out for him.

 

"Alright, then," Natasha said, breaking the silence with a faint chuckle. "I guess we’ll figure this out together."

 

Lily nodded, standing up and giving Natasha a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "We will. Now, let’s get inside before someone comes looking for us."

 

As they walked back toward the safehouse, Lily couldn’t help but feel a small sense of peace settle over her. Whatever the future held for Harry, Natasha, and herself, they would face it together. And that was all she could ask for.

 

—

 

As Harry resumed his training with Adler, the room filling with the sharp sounds of combat and the crackling of magic, Tony Stark, James Potter, and Sirius Black made their way down the corridor towards the workshop. The metallic hum of the facility surrounded them, and the distant sound of machines whirring could be heard as they approached.

 

Howard Stark was already at his workbench, his sleeves rolled up, a look of intense focus on his face as he bent over a complex array of blueprints and schematics. He glanced up when he heard their footsteps, offering them a quick, distracted wave before returning to his work.

 

Tony wasted no time. He was already deep into his own thoughts, his brain firing on all cylinders as he observed the set-up. He immediately started pacing around, muttering to himself.

 

“So, here’s the thing,” Tony said, tapping his fingers on a holographic display, which flickered to life as he ran his hand over the controls. “The Communication Mirrors are great in concept—really, they are. A solid piece of ancient wizard tech, but the interface is… well, archaic. Literally. We could repurpose it to make the whole thing far more efficient if we switch from traditional video to holographic projections.”

 

James exchanged a look with Sirius, who shrugged. They were familiar with the phenomenon: the love for science and technology of the Stark men was legendary, but when Howard got into his tech-speak, it was like watching a bird trying to fly through a brick wall. They just didn’t get it. And apparently the old adage was true: Like Father, Like Son.

 

Howard, however, immediately perked up at the mention of holographs. He looked at Tony, arching an eyebrow. “Holographic projections? I’ve dabbled with it some, especially with the map we showed you earlier, but we couldn't crack how to integrate it in the comms. You think you can make it work?”

 

“Of course I can make it work. You know me,” Tony replied with a grin, running a hand through his hair as he approached the workbench. “But we need to scrap the base signal processing unit and upgrade it with some adaptive software. The current spells and the enchanted mirrors are limited by their range and fixed spectrum. We need to integrate dynamic protocols—say, something like a real-time data-to-frequency translation. We use—what’s the term?—spatial light modulator holography?”

 

Howard blinked, clearly trying to keep up with Tony's rapid-fire explanation. “Wait, so you’re telling me we can project a 3D image out of thin air, but for real, not just some cheap parlor trick?”

 

“Exactly! Now, imagine that with interdimensional capabilities, so the images are clear from any angle, and we can even interface them with live systems. Data transfer will be instantaneous, and we don’t need to deal with static or degradation. In fact, I’m betting we could integrate something akin to an advanced quantum processor for the efficiency boost. But we’ll need to cut down on the magical interference. Gotta keep that flux in check.”

 

“Right, right…” Howard muttered, nodding, though it was clear he wasn’t entirely on the same wavelength. He was more a man of hands-on work than abstract theory, but Tony’s excitement was infectious. “So, no more ‘video calls’ through a tiny reflective mirror?”

 

“Nope, we’re going full 3D, baby. Imagine talking to someone in full holographic form—real time. It’ll be like you’re sitting right across from them, no matter where they are.”

 

Sirius, who had been quietly watching, exchanged another glance with James. “So, wait, we’re talking about using magic… but now we’re upgrading it with technology? Can we do that?”

 

“Of course,” Tony answered, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “The key here is hybridization. You’ve got your magic—great stuff. But we live on the edge of the 21st century, gentlemen, so why not apply some cutting-edge tech to optimize it? The idea is to bridge the gap between the two worlds. No need to rely solely on magic when we’ve got science on our side.”

 

James scratched the back of his head, clearly lost. “I mean, I get the ‘science’ part, but the rest of it… goes over my head. So, no more fiddling with those little mirrors, and we can just talk with someone using this fancy new system?”

 

“Exactly!” Tony grinned, turning to Howard with a satisfied look. “Once we get the tech rolling, it’ll be more reliable, faster, and we can adapt it to practically anything. We could even add encryption, so Hydra or whoever can’t just hack into our conversations. It’s secure, efficient, and—”

 

Howard interrupted him with a smile. “Alright, kid, you’ve sold me. Let’s see what you can do with it.” He gestured to the components laid out in front of them. “We can start by retrofitting the current spells with a digital interface, and we’ll take it from there.”

 

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Tony said, cracking his knuckles as he leaned over the table. His mind was already speeding through the calculations. “Now, if we’re going to have a holographic signal, I’ll need to work out how to counter the low-frequency interference from the magical spells. I’m thinking we’ll need a stronger signal generator… maybe even reverse-engineer the crystal conduits… But I’ll need to check out your magic flux compensators.”

 

“Sure, sure, all that sounds great,” Howard replied, already looking for the necessary equipment. He didn’t mind the jargon—it was clear Tony was in his element.

 

James and Sirius watched as the two men dove into the technical weeds, exchanging ideas and planning the next steps. The jargon was completely lost on them, but their trust in the process was unwavering. They were used to working with people who thought in ways they couldn’t fully understand.

 

Sirius sighed dramatically, throwing an arm around James’s shoulder. “This is going to take a while, isn’t it?”

 

“Probably,” James replied with a chuckle. “But if anyone can turn magic into technology, it’s Stark.”

 

Sirius looked over at the two men who were already lost in their world of blueprints and holograms. “Yeah, but I’ll bet you one thing: by the time they’re done, it’ll be the most complicated and dangerous communication device ever made. We’ll be talking to people across the universe… if they can survive Tony’s version of a ‘tutorial.’”

 

James laughed. “I’ll take that bet.”

 

Meanwhile, as the two wizards tried to follow the conversation, they exchanged a knowing look. They might not fully understand what was happening in the workshop, but they knew one thing—Harry would need all the help he could get.

 

And with Tony Stark in the mix, things were about to get very interesting indeed.

 

—

 

In a spacious training room, the sounds of fist meeting flesh and the rhythmic thud of boots on the floor echoed. Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter moved with a fluidity only two Super Soldiers could achieve. Their combat was a dance—a graceful yet brutal exchange of punches, dodges, and flips. Every movement was precise, calculated, and timed to perfection, a stark contrast to the chaos of their first battles decades ago.

 

Steve’s blue eyes locked with Peggy’s as he swung a punch toward her, his movements fast and forceful. She blocked with ease, her own fist coming up to meet his jaw in a stunning counter. Despite the power behind it, Steve only smirked as he staggered back, grinning like a man who’d just seen an old friend.

 

“You’re still as fast as ever,” Steve said, wiping a trickle of sweat from his brow. “You’ve got to show me some of your secrets.”

 

Peggy raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “Secrets? Darling, I think you’ve learned everything you need to know by now.” She feinted to the left and then struck, her elbow catching him lightly in the ribs.

 

Steve grunted, pretending to stumble, but in reality, it was all part of the fun. He danced back a step, his gaze never leaving her. “You’re still better than most,” he said, clearly enjoying the challenge.

 

Peggy's smile softened just slightly as she adjusted her stance, her eyes flickering with something deeper. “You know, Steve, we were supposed to have a dance, once. Before you went and got yourself frozen.”

 

Steve paused, his smile faltering for a moment. The air between them seemed to shift, a slight tension hanging as memories of their time together during World War II resurfaced. The war, the unfinished promises, the moments stolen amidst the chaos—moments that they never had a chance to fully embrace.

 

Steve’s voice was low, his tone more serious now. “I never forgot, Peggy. I just... got distracted.”

 

“Distracted?” Peggy’s eyebrow arched in mock indignation, but there was warmth in her eyes. “A five-decade-long distraction, Captain?”

 

Steve chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped closer to her. “Something like that.” He offered a slight shrug, a sheepish grin creeping onto his face. “I guess time got away from me.”

 

She sighed, stepping back into a defensive stance, though her eyes were still soft. “Well, it’s lucky for you I’m a patient woman. Or at least, I was. You’d better make good on that promise eventually.”

 

Steve looked at her, and for a moment, the room seemed to vanish. It was just the two of them—two old friends, two soldiers who had shared a lifetime of sacrifices. He nodded slowly, his voice low and sincere. “I’ll keep that in mind. I owe you that much... and more.”

 

The moment lingered, unspoken words hanging in the air between them. But then, ever the professional, Peggy broke the silence with a smirk.

 

“Alright, Captain,” she said with a wink. “Less talking, more sparring. You’re starting to make me look bad.”

 

Steve grinned, his playful side returning. “Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of stealing your spotlight.”

 

With that, they resumed their sparring, the dance of combat continuing, filled with the perfect balance of flirtation, respect, and the unspoken bond of two people who had lived, loved, and lost through the trials of time. Despite the tension between them, there was an undeniable connection—one that only time, war, and shared history could create.

 

As Steve blocked Peggy’s kick and countered with a swift move of his own, he knew, deep down, that the dance they were promised all those years ago was still on the horizon. And this time, he wouldn’t let it slip away.

Chapter 15: Chapter 14

The days leading up to Harry and Rose’s 6th birthday were anything but calm. In the heart of New York City, Lily Potter led the shopping expedition with an air of quiet determination. The group consisted of Rose, her adorably bratty yet slowly improving daughter; Natasha Romanoff, the ever-composed and sharp-witted former assassin grappling with an awkward attraction to Harry; Andromeda Tonks, providing sage advice with her usual no-nonsense demeanor; and twelve-year-old Nymphadora Tonks, who somehow managed to trip over everything in sight despite her enthusiasm.

 

The mission: to find birthday presents for two children with wildly different experiences of the world.

 

Rose was practically skipping along, her arms swinging as she admired the glitz of New York’s department stores. She was decked out in a stylish outfit that screamed "spoiled princess," though the occasional sharp glance from Natasha kept her behavior from devolving into outright tantrums.

 

"Can I get this, Mum?" Rose called, holding up a glittering pink tiara from a display. "It’s perfect for my birthday outfit!"

 

Lily sighed, stepping closer. "Darling, we’re here to buy presents for Harry and you, not just to add more sparkles to your collection." Her tone was patient but firm, the remnants of Albus Dumbledore’s spoiling still evident in Rose’s every gesture. "Pick one thing you truly want, and that’s it."

 

Rose pouted but nodded, placing the tiara back with a dramatic sigh. Natasha smirked. “You’ve got her wrapped around your finger, Lily. That’s impressive.”

 

"Work in progress," Lily replied with a chuckle. "Years of undoing Dumbledore’s indulgence take time. Speaking of, what about you, Nat? Any idea what to get Harry?"

 

Natasha froze, the question hitting her like a freight train. What did you get for a boy who was technically six but looked like an Olympic athlete, thanks to the magical super-soldier serum? Especially when said boy had wormed his way into her guarded heart without even trying.

 

"I was thinking... maybe something practical," Natasha said, frowning as she examined a shelf of books. "Like training gear? Or maybe a new weapon?"

 

Twelve-year-old Tonks, trailing behind, snorted. "Yeah, 'Happy Birthday, Harry, here’s a battle axe'—that totally won’t make it awkward."

 

"Do you have a better idea, Nymphadora?" Natasha shot back, raising an eyebrow.

 

Tonks groaned. "Don’t call me that! And for the record, Harry seems like the kind of guy who’d like something... personal. Not all ‘spy assassin.’”

 

Andromeda, observing from a few steps away, chimed in. "Nymphadora’s not wrong, you know. Harry has spent most of his life fighting or surviving. Perhaps something sentimental might remind him he’s just a boy, too."

 

Natasha glanced at Lily, who gave her a knowing smile. "You’ll figure it out," Lily said gently. "Just think about what makes Harry happy, not what you think he needs. He’s got enough people dictating his life already."

 

Natasha nodded, her gaze turning thoughtful as the group moved toward the next store. Lily, meanwhile, was silently grappling with her own set of challenges. She wanted this birthday to be perfect—a chance to celebrate her children properly after years of trauma and separation. But what did you get for a boy who had survived unspeakable horrors? And for a girl who was only just learning the value of kindness?

 

While Rose darted ahead to admire a stuffed unicorn in a toy store window, Lily exchanged a look with Andromeda. "Any ideas?" she asked.

 

Andromeda smiled faintly. "Something that brings them joy, Lily. It doesn’t have to be perfect—it just has to show them you care."

 

The words settled over Lily as she gazed at Rose, her little princess who had once been lavished with gifts by a manipulative old man. Nearby, Natasha picked up a sleek leather jacket, turning it over in her hands as if wondering whether it was something Harry would appreciate.

 

Lily stepped over to her. "What’s that?"

 

Natasha shrugged, but there was a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. "I thought maybe he’d like something cool. Practical but... you know, stylish."

 

Lily’s smile was warm. "He’d love it, Natasha. He’d love anything you pick out, because it’s from you."

 

Natasha hesitated, then nodded. "Thanks, Lily. I just... I want to get it right."

 

"You will," Lily assured her. "Trust me, Harry adores you. Just don’t overthink it."

 

As they exited the store, laden with bags and brimming with ideas, the group felt a flicker of something rare: hope. For all the complexities of their lives, the laughter of a soon-to-be-six-year-old girl and the faint smiles of a boy who had been through too much were worth every moment of effort. This birthday, Lily decided, would mark the beginning of something new—something better.

 

And for Natasha? Well, she might still be figuring things out, but one thing was certain: she wasn’t going anywhere.

 

—-

 

In the dimly lit workshop of the safehouse, the hum of machinery and the faint smell of soldering filled the air. James Potter and Sirius Black, dressed in matching jumpsuits that Howard Stark had begrudgingly provided, stood hunched over a cluttered workbench. Surrounding them were an array of tools, scraps of metal, and a half-disassembled communication mirror.

 

Tony Stark, leaning back in a rolling chair with a cup of coffee in hand, watched the scene with a bemused smirk. At just sixteen, he already had the swagger of someone who knew he was destined for greatness—or at least, for headlines. He was multitasking, of course, with one hand flipping through blueprints on a tablet and the other occasionally tinkering with a holographic interface projected from his watch.

 

"All right, Prongs," Sirius said, squinting at the mirror’s crystalline surface. "You sure this thing can handle Stark-level upgrades? It’s already fragile as hell."

 

James snorted, adjusting his glasses as he poked at the enchanted runes etched into the mirror’s edges. "Relax, Padfoot. These mirrors have survived multiple Marauder catastrophes. Remember the time we accidentally linked one to the bathroom mirror at Hogwarts? McGonagall nearly had a stroke."

 

Tony chuckled from his seat. "Yeah, well, let’s hope your magical relics can survive a little Stark ingenuity. I’m not responsible if they start broadcasting to every radio tower in New York."

 

Howard Stark entered the room, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag. "Tony, quit giving them a hard time. Magic and tech—this is groundbreaking stuff, and you know it."

 

"Yeah, yeah, groundbreaking," Tony replied, his tone dripping with mock enthusiasm. "But I’ve got a paper due at MIT, and I’m not exactly in the mood to rewrite it because your wizard friends fried my laptop with their wand-waving."

 

Howard ignored the quip and joined the others at the workbench. "What’s the plan, gentlemen?"

 

James grinned, his face lighting up with mischief. "Simple. We’re upgrading the communication mirrors so they’re not just for face-to-face chats. We want holographic displays, maybe even integrated spell functionality—like tracking charms or emergency alerts."

 

"And pranks," Sirius added, deadpan. "Let’s not forget pranks. It’s still us, after all."

 

Howard raised an eyebrow. "Pranks?"

 

"Relax, Howard," Sirius said with a wink. "We’re repurposing old Marauder tech—harmless stuff. Like charm-activated distractions or, say, a confetti burst for special occasions."

 

Tony let out a low whistle. "And here I thought I was the master of multitasking. You’re turning a magical FaceTime device into an all-purpose Swiss Army mirror."

 

"Exactly," James said proudly. "But seriously, it’s for the kids. Harry’s too responsible to prank anyone, but I figure Rose could use a laugh. Plus, the tracking charm feature will let Lily sleep better at night."

 

"Thoughtful and mischievous," Tony said, shaking his head. "You two are an enigma."

 

As the Marauders continued bickering over rune alignment and wiring compatibility, Tony leaned back and sipped his coffee. Despite himself, he found their antics endearing. It wasn’t often he got to see adults—especially ones tied to a world as secretive as magic—so openly playful.

 

Still, his thoughts drifted to Harry. The kid had been through hell and back, and yet he carried himself with a quiet strength that Tony couldn’t help but admire. What did you get for someone like that? Someone who deserved the world but wouldn’t ask for a thing?

 

"Hey, Dad," Tony said, interrupting the flow of magical jargon. "Any thoughts on a birthday gift for Harry?"

 

Howard paused, his brow furrowing in thought. "Something practical, I’d say. He’s a smart kid, resourceful. Maybe something he can build on."

 

Tony nodded slowly. "Yeah, that tracks. Maybe I could rig up something small—a gadget or tool he can tinker with. Something that says, ‘Welcome to the Stark way of thinking.’"

 

"Just don’t make it too complicated," James said, looking up with a grin. "Harry’s brilliant, but he’s still six."

 

"Mentally, maybe," Tony muttered under his breath, earning a laugh from Sirius.

 

The workshop buzzed with renewed energy as the men—two wizards and two engineers—delved deeper into their project. It wasn’t just about the mirrors anymore; it was about creating something meaningful for two kids who had already captured their hearts.

 

For James and Sirius, it was a chance to give Harry and Rose a piece of their legacy. For Tony, it was an opportunity to connect with someone who, despite their differences, reminded him of himself—a kid who’d had to grow up way too fast.

 

And for Howard? Well, he’d seen plenty of genius in his lifetime, but watching his son work alongside wizards? That was a whole new kind of magic.

 

—-

 

In the quieter, less chaotic corner of the safehouse, Gideon Adler sat in a well-worn armchair, his silver hair catching the light from the fire crackling in the nearby hearth. A wooden table beside him was cluttered with parchment, quills, and a stack of rare magical tomes. In his hand, he held a slim wand, its carved surface worn smooth by years of use. Despite his serene surroundings, his expression was far from calm.

 

The man formerly known as Gellert Grindelwald, once the most feared Dark Lord in magical history, now found himself grappling with something far more intimidating: picking a birthday present for Harry.

 

Gideon sighed, his piercing blue eyes scanning the pages of a book he'd been studying. It was an ancient tome on protective enchantments, filled with spells that had once been used to safeguard entire kingdoms. He’d already marked a dozen pages with spells he thought Harry might find useful—wards, shield charms, and advanced defensive magic. But none of it felt... personal.

 

"I was once the greatest wizard of my time," he muttered to himself. "And now, I’m paralyzed over what to gift a six-year-old boy."

 

"Talking to yourself again, old man?" a voice quipped from the doorway.

 

Gideon looked up to see Andromeda Tonks leaning against the frame, her arms crossed and a knowing smirk on her face. "Let me guess—you’re trying to outdo whatever James and Sirius are cooking up?"

 

Gideon huffed, setting the book down. "I wouldn’t dignify their antics with the word ‘competition.’ This is about Harry. The boy deserves something meaningful."

 

Andromeda stepped into the room, glancing over the scattered books and notes. "You’ve already taught him more about magic than most wizards learn in a lifetime. What could possibly top that?"

 

Gideon hesitated, his gaze dropping to the wand in his hand. "It’s not about topping anything. It’s about giving him something that reflects how much he means to me. Harry... saved me in ways I didn’t think possible. I need him to know that."

 

Andromeda softened, pulling a chair closer and sitting down. "You’ve already shown him that, Gideon. You defected from Hydra, orchestrated his escape, and stood by his side through everything. But if you’re looking for something tangible, why not something that connects to his magic?"

 

"I’ve considered that," Gideon admitted. "But what?"

 

Andromeda picked up one of the books and flipped through it absentmindedly. "You’ve always been fond of artifacts. Why not create something unique for him? A focus item, perhaps—a magical tool he can grow into."

 

Gideon’s eyes lit up, a spark of inspiration igniting. "A focus item... yes. Something that will grow with his magic, enhance it, and protect him."

 

He stood abruptly, his mind racing. "I could craft a medallion. Enchanted, of course. It would hold layered protections, amplify his magical abilities, and even serve as a tether to me if he ever needs guidance."

 

Andromeda smiled. "That sounds perfect. And knowing you, it’ll be a masterpiece."

 

"I’ll need to start immediately," Gideon said, already moving toward the shelves to retrieve the necessary materials. "The enchantments alone will take days, and the carving must be precise."

 

As he began assembling his tools and materials, Andromeda leaned back, watching him with quiet amusement. "You really do care about him, don’t you?"

 

Gideon paused, his hands hovering over a piece of enchanted silver. "He’s more than just a student or a ward, Andromeda. He’s... family. The closest thing I’ll ever have to a grandson."

 

Andromeda’s smirk softened into a warm smile. "Then I think he’s going to love whatever you create. Because it’s coming from the heart."

 

Gideon didn’t respond, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he set to work. The medallion would be his magnum opus, a blend of old magic and new purpose—a symbol of the bond he shared with Harry.

 

For now, though, he let the work consume him, the room filling with the soft hum of enchantments and the steady scrape of carving tools. In the quiet, he allowed himself to hope that this gift would convey everything he couldn’t quite put into words.

 

—

 

The streets of New York were bustling with the usual noise of traffic, street vendors, and tourists, but for Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Peggy Carter, the world felt like a quieter place. They walked together in a comfortable silence, each of them still adjusting to the changes in their lives, the ones that had been thrust upon them when the world had shifted in ways they never could’ve predicted.

 

Steve, still adjusting to being back in the 21st century after decades trapped in the ice, was always a little out of place here, no matter how many times he walked these streets. He’d gotten used to the technology, the speed of everything around him, but it was still a lot to take in. Bucky, on the other hand, was adjusting to the fact that he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, a fact that felt both like a blessing and a curse. Peggy, having gone from leading S.H.I.E.L.D. at an advanced age to being a Super Soldier again in her prime, had found it all the more surreal.

 

But today, they walked as a team—something that had felt impossible not too long ago.

 

“So,” Steve began, his hands in his jacket pockets as he glanced at his two companions. “We’re on a mission, right? Harry and Rose's birthday?”

 

“Yep, that’s why we’re out here,” Bucky said with a hint of a smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. His recovery had been slow, and while Harry had helped him piece his life back together, the weight of what he’d done as the Winter Soldier still lingered.

 

Peggy, who had her arms crossed, walked with a stride that still commanded respect, even in the quiet of a civilian setting. “They’re our responsibility now, Bucky. And I’m not about to mess up their birthday presents, especially not after everything Harry’s been through.”

 

Steve chuckled softly. “I think he’s tough enough to handle a bad gift, Peg. But you’re right. Harry’s been through a lot. We all know that.”

 

They walked in a comfortable rhythm, their pace slower than it had been when they were younger, but the camaraderie between them was undeniable. Steve cleared his throat.

 

“So, Bucky. You’ve trained Harry. What do you think? What’s the kid want?”

 

Bucky shrugged, his usual nonchalance at play. “He’s not much for gifts. He’s got a lot of people giving him stuff all the time, but... he’s not the kind of kid who cares for much of it. He’s always thinking about other people.”

 

“He needs to be reminded to think about himself too,” Peggy said with a knowing glance. “He’s not a soldier anymore, but he’s been through a hell of a lot. He deserves to have a little fun. A reminder that he’s just a kid.”

 

Steve nodded. “Right. So we get him something that says that, then?”

 

“Exactly.” Peggy smiled a little. “Maybe something that speaks to who he is now, not what he was.”

 

Bucky tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Harry’s pretty sentimental, actually. He won’t admit it, but he holds on to things. I mean, I trained him, but he always remembers the little things.”

 

Steve’s expression softened. “He’s a good kid. I’m proud of him.”

 

Bucky nodded, looking off into the distance. “Yeah, me too. After everything he’s been through, he still hasn’t lost that spark. That hope.” He paused. “Maybe a gift that helps him hold on to that. Something that gives him a sense of belonging, I guess.”

 

“I think I know just what to get him,” Peggy said, her lips curling into a thoughtful smile. “Something that reflects both his past and his future. Maybe something a little personal, like... a piece of history. Something that connects him to the people who care about him.”

 

Steve looked from Peggy to Bucky, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “Alright, now you’ve got me curious. What’s your idea?”

 

“Something like a photo album,” Peggy said, tapping her fingers together. “But not just any album. Something that holds his memories—the good ones. Maybe we get a few pictures from his past and let him fill in the rest. A place for all the people he’s met, all the people who’ve helped him along the way.”

 

Bucky grinned. “That’s actually pretty good, Peg. Maybe I’ll add a picture of me and him during our training sessions, just to remind him of the good old days.”

 

Steve smiled at that, the thought of Harry having such a tangible connection to all the people who cared for him was something he wholeheartedly approved of. “I like it. It’s personal, it’s meaningful... and it’s not something you can buy in a store. He’d appreciate that.”

 

“Agreed,” Peggy said. “Now, what about Rose? We can’t forget her.”

 

Steve’s smile widened a little. “Rose is easier. She’s got that fiery personality, but she’s still a kid at heart. What do you think, Bucky? Any ideas?”

 

Bucky scratched his head, clearly thinking. “She’s always chasing after Harry, wanting to be just like him. Maybe something that helps her stand on her own, though. Something that lets her express herself. She’s got potential, just needs to find her thing.”

 

“I was thinking something like that, too,” Steve said. “Maybe some art supplies? Or something that sparks her creativity.”

 

Peggy’s eyes lit up. “A painting set? She could use that to channel her energy into something positive.”

 

“Perfect,” Bucky said, nodding. “She’ll love it. And if nothing else, it’ll keep her occupied for hours.”

 

Steve gave a soft laugh, looking down at his two companions. “Well, this was a good day. I think we’ve got everything we need for Harry and Rose.”

 

They turned a corner, making their way back toward the safehouse, the weight of the world still on their shoulders, but for a moment, it felt lighter. For the first time in a long while, the future didn’t feel so uncertain.

 

“Peggy,” Steve began, after a moment’s silence, “I think this birthday’s going to mean something special. For all of us.”

 

Peggy glanced at Steve, her expression softening. “It will. Harry and Rose have no idea how much they’ve already changed us.”

 

And for once, all three of them felt the hope that had eluded them for so long—a hope for the future, for healing, and for a family they had never expected to find.

 

—

 

Harry leaned back on the couch, one hand propped behind his head, as he stared at the ceiling of the safehouse. The soft hum of the city outside the windows barely registered as his thoughts drifted to something unexpected: his upcoming birthday.

 

Six years old.

 

Except, well, not really. Technically, he was six, but in the body of someone much older—taller, broader, with the physique of someone who looked like he could bench-press a tank. It was a weird thing to reconcile. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be proud or just confused. He had a six-year-old’s mind, memories of a boy who hadn’t had a chance to really live a childhood, but the body of a seasoned warrior who’d survived too many battles.

 

But the thing that really stung about this birthday? It was the first one he'd ever get to actually celebrate. Sure, he'd been alive for more than six years, but his earliest memories were of that damn cupboard under the stairs—his so-called "room." Vernon and Petunia Dursley had never let him forget that he wasn’t worth the air he breathed. On his birthday, when other kids got cake and presents, Harry had been stuck in the kitchen, working like a slave, while his fat cousin Dudley and his insufferable uncle gorged themselves, oblivious to his existence. And every year, they’d remind him just how little he deserved any of it.

 

“Freaks like you don’t get birthdays,” Uncle Vernon would growl, as if Harry was the one who’d ruined the day.

 

The thought of it made his jaw tighten. He remembered the smell of the burnt toast he'd made that one year, the slivers of cake he wasn’t allowed to touch, the pile of chores that stretched into the night. The worst part? He didn’t even know if his parents had celebrated his first birthday. It was one of those things that, in his younger years, he’d told himself was a dream—a fantasy to cling to. After all, how could they have celebrated when they’d been in a coma, unconscious, and then— gone?

 

There was no one around to make him feel special then. There was no warm hug from a mother or father. There was just the cold reality of his life with the Dursleys, always reminding him that he was nothing more than a burden.

 

But here, now... things were different.

 

He ran a hand over his face, brushing away the emotion that threatened to spill over. He didn't really know how to feel about it all. His mind still rebelled at the idea of someone celebrating him. And yet, when he thought about the upcoming birthday, something in his chest tightened in a way he couldn’t explain. For the first time in his life, he would be given the chance to be a child. To be a normal kid.

 

His mom would be there, and dad too, and Sirius. Natasha, Andromeda, and the rest of the people who had come to mean something to him in the last year. He thought about Rose, too. She was a handful, but she was his sister. And even though she could be a brat sometimes, she was his brat. They would have a proper celebration. Gifts, laughter, maybe even a cake. For once, no one would be telling him to get back to work or making him feel like he didn’t deserve it.

 

It was almost too much to believe.

 

Harry closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the thought wash over him. He didn’t even know what to ask for. What do you get someone who’s seen so much death, so much darkness, yet never got to be a kid? What did someone like him deserve on a day like that?

 

His fingers idly toyed with the edge of his shirt sleeve, thinking about the possibilities. Maybe something simple, something that reminded him that he was more than just a weapon. Maybe something that would let him remember what it felt like to be just Harry—the boy who deserved a birthday. The boy who didn’t have to fight for survival on that one day of the year. The boy who had a family now—real, flawed, and caring.

 

A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Whatever it was, it would be his. Not some twisted version of it.

 

And that, he thought, was worth celebrating.

 

—

 

Natasha stepped quietly into the living room, the soft click of the door behind her barely disturbing the silence. She had been on edge all day—what with the constant second-guessing about Harry’s gift, and trying to balance the strange, unsettling feeling of wanting to get it right with the ever-present ache in her chest that reminded her just how much she was still figuring out.

 

She paused at the threshold, taking in the sight of Harry sitting on the couch. He was deep in thought, his gaze fixed on some far-off point, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Natasha simply observed him—his posture relaxed but his eyes distant, like he was somewhere else entirely.

 

He looked... sad, though in that quiet, introspective way that Harry seemed to do so often. It wasn’t the full, rage-fueled sadness she’d seen in battle or the frustration he sometimes expressed when his anger would slip loose. No, this was different. This was... quieter, more private.

 

It hit her a little harder than she expected. Harry—this six-year-old boy in an adult’s body—had been through more than anyone should have to. He’d fought battles, saved worlds, carried the weight of things that no one his age should even know about. And yet, here he was, sitting on a couch in a safe house, in a place that, while far from home, had become his sanctuary. His birthday was coming up, and the thought that this might be the first one he ever really celebrated, it made Natasha’s chest tighten.

 

"Hey," she said softly, her voice cutting through the silence. "What’s going on in that head of yours?"

 

Harry blinked and slowly turned to face her, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he broke into a small, warm smile. "Oh, hey, Nat. Just... thinking."

 

"Thinking?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow as she moved further into the room. She leaned against the back of the chair opposite him, crossing her arms. "You’ve been thinking for a while. Something on your mind?"

 

Harry gave a half-shrug, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. "Just... my birthday," he admitted quietly. "It’s... it’s weird to think about, y’know? I mean, I’ve had a few, but it feels different this time. Like it might actually matter."

 

Natasha’s heart ached at the words. She wasn’t sure how to respond—she wanted to tell him it would be perfect, that it was his time now, and he could leave all that darkness behind, but she wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear that yet.

 

Instead, she chose to sit down beside him, the weight of the moment pressing between them. "What makes this one different?" she asked, her voice low and careful.

 

Harry looked down at his hands for a moment, his fingers absently tracing the seams of his jeans. "I dunno. I guess... this is the first time I’ll actually get to have one. Like, a real one. Not a day of work, or having to pretend I’m fine when everyone else is celebrating."

 

The words hit Natasha like a punch. She’d known about Harry’s past, of course—knew that he’d lived through hell with the Dursleys. But hearing him say it so simply, with that mix of bitter resignation and quiet hope, made her realize just how deeply those years had shaped him.

 

"You know," she began, voice quieter now, "we’re going to make sure it’s the best one ever, right?" She shot him a sideways glance. "No more of that ‘working all day’ nonsense. You’re not getting stuck doing anything, except... I don’t know, maybe blowing out some candles and enjoying a few presents."

 

A soft chuckle escaped Harry, the sound more genuine than before, as if her words were exactly what he needed to hear. "That sounds nice," he said, his smile returning, albeit faint. "I guess it’s just hard to imagine."

 

Natasha didn’t push him to say more. Instead, she pulled her legs up underneath her, settling in a comfortable silence with him for a moment. She thought about the gift she’d hidden in her room—something she’d been obsessing over for days. She wasn’t sure if it was the right choice. But then again, how do you pick the right thing for someone who had lost so much?

 

"I know it’s hard to imagine," she finally said, her voice soft, "but sometimes... it’s the things you least expect that make the biggest impact."

 

Harry turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Like... what?"

 

Natasha smiled faintly, her eyes distant for a moment before she refocused on him. "Like this birthday. A real one. A day just for you." She hesitated, then added, "And maybe, just maybe... a little bit of happiness."

 

Harry met her gaze, and for a split second, there was a flicker of something between them. Something unspoken, something tender that neither of them had expected. It was raw and real, just like the strange, chaotic bond they shared.

 

He nodded slowly, his expression softening. "Yeah... that sounds good." He looked away briefly, then met her gaze again. "Thanks, Nat."

 

She gave him a soft, knowing smile. "Anytime, Harry. Anytime."

 

For a moment, the two of them just sat there, the weight of the world outside seeming to fade away. Harry’s birthday was coming, and whatever happened, he was going to have a chance to celebrate, for once in his life.

 

And that, Natasha thought, was worth everything.

 

—

 

Lily stood just outside the door, her hand resting lightly on the frame as she listened to the soft exchange between Harry and Natasha. She’d been walking through the hallway, on her way to check on something, when she heard their voices—Harry’s quiet and thoughtful, Natasha’s steady but tinged with something deeper. She had meant to just pass by, but something about the conversation had stopped her in her tracks.

 

The way Harry had said it—“I guess this is the first time I’ll actually get to have one. Like a real one.” That hurt. Lily had known his childhood had been a series of long, painful silences, punctuated by cruelty and neglect. But hearing him voice it so plainly made the ache in her chest grow deeper.

 

She felt a pang of guilt, sharp and sudden, like a wave crashing over her. Had she done enough for him? Was his sense of family and home as fractured as it seemed? All those years lost, those birthdays that had never been celebrated, never acknowledged, and how much that must have scarred him...

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Natasha’s voice, low but clear: “No more of that ‘working all day’ nonsense. You’re not getting stuck doing anything, except... I don’t know, maybe blowing out some candles and enjoying a few presents.”

 

Lily’s lips quirked into a small, private smile at that. Natasha, despite everything, had this way of showing up when it mattered most. And in that moment, Lily could hear the sincerity in her voice. Natasha might not have known how to show it, but she cared—she cared about Harry, perhaps in a way she herself hadn’t fully realized until now.

 

Then came Harry’s response, soft and hopeful, yet tinged with disbelief. “That sounds nice.”

 

Lily’s heart fluttered. He deserved nice. He deserved every ounce of that comfort and joy, a birthday that wasn’t haunted by the specters of neglect and abuse.

 

She exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall, listening as Natasha spoke again, her tone reassuring. “Sometimes... it’s the things you least expect that make the biggest impact. Like this birthday. A real one. A day just for you.”

 

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Lily was silent, her own thoughts swirling in a storm of emotions. It was more than just a birthday to Harry. It was the promise of something better. Something they all needed.

 

Lily knew this birthday was different—not just for Harry, but for all of them. It was a chance for healing, for real connection. For once, they could give him a piece of his childhood back. No fighting, no running, just celebration.

 

Her lips parted as she stepped forward, not wanting to eavesdrop any longer but knowing she couldn’t let this moment pass without adding something to it.

 

She knocked gently on the doorframe before pushing it open slightly. Both Harry and Natasha turned toward her, the quiet understanding between them lingering in the air.

 

“Is everything alright in here?” Lily asked softly, her gaze flicking between them both. Her eyes lingered on Harry, a quiet affection in her expression.

 

Harry smiled, a little embarrassed but still earnest. “Yeah, just... talking.” His voice was softer than usual, more vulnerable. “Natasha was helping me sort through some... stuff.”

 

Lily nodded, stepping into the room with a small, knowing smile. “Good. I’m glad. You both deserve to be heard, Harry.”

 

There was a beat of silence as Natasha met Lily’s gaze, something unspoken passing between them. Then Natasha straightened and gave a small nod, as if giving her silent approval.

 

“Thanks for listening,” Natasha said, her voice steady but warm. "I think we're all still getting used to this idea of... home.”

 

Lily’s heart swelled with something a little more than just pride. “We’re getting there,” she said gently, her words more of a reassurance to herself than anyone else. “One step at a time.”

 

Harry looked up at her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a light in his eyes. “I think... I think I’m starting to believe that.”

 

Lily moved closer, sitting beside him on the couch, her hand reaching for his. She gave his fingers a squeeze, feeling the warmth of his hand beneath hers. “You should, Harry. You’re home. You’ve always had a place with us.”

 

The weight of his past—of everything he’d endured—didn’t vanish in an instant, and Lily knew that. But for this moment, in this room, there was peace. No more working on birthdays, no more trying to hide the scars of neglect. For Harry, for Rose, for all of them, this would be the beginning of something new.

 

The soft hum of New York City filtered in through the windows, a reminder of the world that lay outside, but in here, in this safehouse, it was just them—a family, imperfect but whole. And Lily knew that no matter what had happened before, no matter the struggles ahead, they would make this birthday one to remember.

 

And for Harry—who had never really had a birthday before—that was enough. It was everything.

Chapter 16: Chapter 15

The sun hung low over Washington, D.C., casting long shadows across the towering Triskelion. Deep within the heart of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Peggy Carter—Director of the world’s most advanced espionage agency—sat at the head of a polished conference table. Across from her stood Howard Stark, co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D., fiddling with a small gadget that hummed faintly in his hands. Between them, the room’s stark lighting reflected the gravity of the conversation to come.

 

Agent Nick Fury strode into the room with his usual air of confidence, his long black coat flaring slightly behind him. He wasn’t one to be summoned without reason, and his sharp eyes—still intact and unpatched at this stage—swept across the room, taking in the expressions of the two legends before him.

 

“You wanted to see me, Director Carter?” Fury asked, his tone calm but curious.

 

Peggy rose, her Super Soldier frame lending her a commanding presence that had only deepened since the serum had reversed the effects of time. She gestured for Fury to sit, and when he did, she remained standing, her gaze steady.

 

“Yes, Agent Fury,” she began. “Howard and I have been discussing the future of S.H.I.E.L.D., and your role in it.”

 

Fury raised an eyebrow. “My role?”

 

Howard grinned, finally setting down the gadget with a satisfied click. “Don’t look so nervous, Nick. This isn’t an interrogation. It’s... well, let’s call it a promotion opportunity.”

 

Fury leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “Promotion? I wasn’t aware I was in the running.”

 

Peggy folded her hands behind her back, her voice steady but laced with warmth. “You’ve been under observation for a while now, Fury. I’ve watched you lead operations that most would call impossible. From the Harry Potter rescue mission to the evacuation of the Potter family and their allies from Wizarding Britain, you’ve proven yourself time and again. You’re resourceful, fearless, and, most importantly, capable of making hard decisions when it matters most.”

 

Fury’s usually unreadable expression flickered with surprise, though he masked it quickly. “I appreciate the compliment, but I’m guessing there’s more to this than flattery.”

 

Howard chuckled. “Smart as ever. Listen, Peggy’s got a plan. A big one. And it involves you stepping up.”

 

Peggy nodded. “I’m stepping down as Director.”

 

Fury’s composure cracked for a moment. He straightened in his chair, his brows furrowing. “You’re what?”

 

“You heard me,” Peggy said firmly. “As much as I’ve valued my time leading this organization, my place isn’t behind a desk anymore. Not since the serum. I’ve been biding my time, ensuring this team—this agency—is ready to function at its peak. We’re almost there, and soon, I’ll be moving back into the field.”

 

Fury processed her words carefully, his mind already racing through the implications. “And you want me to take over as Director?”

 

“Yes,” Peggy said simply. “I’ve been watching you, Nick. You have the vision, the leadership, and, frankly, the grit that this role requires. You’ve seen the worst the world has to offer, and instead of faltering, you’ve found ways to adapt. You’re exactly what S.H.I.E.L.D. needs for the future.”

 

Fury leaned forward, his voice low but serious. “I’m honored, Director Carter, but this isn’t exactly a small job. You’re sure I’m the right person for it?”

 

Howard interjected, his grin widening. “We’re Stark-level sure, Fury. Which is to say, 99% confident and willing to bet the house on you.”

 

Peggy smirked but returned to seriousness quickly. “Nick, I’ve spent my life making tough calls, and this is one of them. You’ve earned this, not just because of what you’ve done, but because of who you are. You don’t just see problems; you see solutions. S.H.I.E.L.D. will face challenges in the years ahead that none of us can predict, and I believe you’re the man to lead us through them.”

 

Fury was silent for a moment, weighing her words. Finally, he spoke, his tone tinged with both respect and a rare touch of humility. “If you think I’m ready, Director Carter, then I’ll do it. But I’ll warn you—I won’t run things exactly the way you did.”

 

Peggy smiled. “Good. You’re not supposed to. You’re supposed to make it better.”

 

Howard clapped his hands together. “Now that’s settled, let’s drink to the new Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.!”

 

Peggy rolled her eyes but chuckled softly. “Howard, it’s the middle of the day.”

 

“And?” Howard replied, feigning innocence. “Besides, we’re celebrating. That calls for at least a glass of something strong.”

 

Fury stood, extending his hand to Peggy. “Thank you for trusting me with this, Director. I won’t let you down.”

 

Peggy shook his hand firmly, her expression warm but resolute. “I know you won’t. And don’t worry—you won’t be doing it alone. S.H.I.E.L.D. is about teamwork, and this team is stronger than it’s ever been.”

 

As Fury left the room, his mind already racing with plans and possibilities, Peggy exchanged a glance with Howard.

 

“Well,” Howard said, picking up his gadget again. “I think we just made history.”

 

Peggy’s smile was faint but proud. “No, Howard. We just secured the future.”

 

—

 

The workshop buzzed with the low hum of Tony Stark’s inventions. The young genius leaned over a pair of communication mirrors, his fingers flying as he calibrated the final holographic interface. With each tap, holographic icons flared to life above the mirror, displaying an elegant, modernized overlay that made the original enchantments look like Stone Age relics.

 

Tony grinned, pleased with his handiwork. “There we go. Holo-interface version 1.0. Ready for deployment.”

 

He stretched, cracking his knuckles. “And that’s my magnum opus for this trip. MIT, here I come.”

 

Before he could fully bask in his own brilliance, the door creaked open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered figure dressed in casual civilian clothes that still somehow screamed war hero. Tony turned, raising an eyebrow as Steve Rogers stepped into the room, his presence as commanding as it was unintentional.

 

"Uh, hi?" Tony said, cocking his head. "You lost or just curious about what actual genius looks like?"

 

Steve chuckled softly, his hands held up in a disarming gesture. “I’m looking for James and Sirius. Heard they might have some baby photos of Harry for a project Peggy, Bucky, and I are working on. Mind if I ask?”

 

Tony’s smirk faltered, replaced by an almost indiscernible tension. Steve Rogers. The guy his dad wouldn’t shut up about. The man who could do no wrong, who haunted Tony’s childhood like an unattainable benchmark of perfection. And now, here he was, in the flesh.

 

“Baby photos, huh? Sure, you’ll find them in the other room,” Tony said, keeping his tone light but clipped. “James and Sirius are probably debating whose Harry’s favourite of the two.”

 

Steve stepped further into the workshop, his gaze drawn to the impressive array of gadgets and projects scattered across the room. He nodded appreciatively. “Nice setup. You do all this yourself?”

 

Tony shrugged. “What can I say? Some people are just born great.”

 

The corner of Steve’s mouth quirked up. “And some people work their way there.”

 

Tony bristled slightly, but Steve didn’t seem to notice. His attention was on the mirrors Tony had been working on.

 

“These part of the Potter family’s setup?” Steve asked, gesturing to the holographic display.

 

“Yep. Upgraded their magical communication mirrors. Now they’ve got a holo-interface, real-time tracking, and enhanced encryption—thanks to me,” Tony replied, crossing his arms.

 

Steve nodded, impressed. “Howard always said you were sharp. Never thought I’d see it firsthand.”

 

At the mention of his father, Tony stiffened. “Dad said that? News to me. All I ever heard was how I wasn’t you.”

 

Steve blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

 

Tony huffed a laugh, turning back to the mirrors as if they were more interesting than the man himself. “Yeah, you. ‘Why can’t you be more like Steve Rogers, Tony? Steve’s brave, Steve’s selfless, Steve’s a leader.’ Blah, blah, blah. Trust me, I know the script by heart.”

 

Steve frowned, stepping closer. “Tony, I—”

 

“Save it,” Tony interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended. “I get it. You’re perfect. You’re the golden boy. And now you’re here, in all your righteous glory, probably thinking about how shocking it is that Howard Stark—playboy extraordinaire—ended up a family man with a kid who’s smarter than he is.”

 

Steve hesitated, his expression softening. “It is surprising,” he admitted.

 

Tony froze, not expecting the honesty.

 

“The Howard I knew… he was brilliant, but, yeah, he was a bit of a Casanova,” Steve continued, his tone thoughtful rather than judgmental. “The idea of him settling down, having a family—it’s hard to picture. But I can tell you this: the way he talked about you, he was proud.”

 

Tony turned to face him fully, skepticism etched into his features. “Really?”

 

Steve nodded. “He said you were smarter than him, more innovative. He wasn’t shy about admitting that you’d outshine him someday.”

 

For a moment, Tony didn’t know how to respond. The idea that his father might have actually been proud of him—without comparing him to Steve—was a revelation.

 

Steve smiled gently. “You don’t have to live up to anyone else, Tony. You’re already doing something incredible here. And I think your dad knew that better than anyone.”

 

Tony swallowed hard, his usual bravado slipping for just a moment. “Huh. Guess he wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

 

“Guess not,” Steve said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to find those baby photos. Can’t let Peggy down.”

 

Tony smirked, his confidence returning. “Good luck with James and Sirius. They’re probably arguing about whether Harry’s more handsome than they were at his age.”

 

Steve laughed, the tension between them easing. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

As Steve left the workshop, Tony turned back to his mirrors, his mind racing with thoughts he hadn’t expected to have. For the first time, the idea of being compared to Steve Rogers didn’t feel like a weight—it felt like a challenge. One he was finally ready to accept.

 

—

 

Bucky Barnes strolled through the safehouse gardens, searching for Lily Potter. He held a small notebook in his hand, jotting down ideas for Harry’s birthday photo album. Steve had already spoken to James and Sirius—who had promptly devolved into a debate about which of them Harry took after more—but now he needed Lily’s input. She’d know where to find the tender, less chaotic moments from Harry’s early life, if there were any.

 

As he rounded a corner, a rhythmic thwap-thwap-thwap of fists meeting pads drew his attention. Bucky turned toward the training area and froze at the sight before him. Natasha Romanoff and Harry Potter were sparring.

 

It wasn’t just the sparring, though. It was the way they moved—fluid, synchronized, and far too… familiar. Natasha smirked as Harry feigned a sloppy punch, then countered her move with a quick grapple, earning an impressed laugh from her. She responded with a sweep that sent Harry tumbling, but he caught himself with a roll and sprang to his feet, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

 

They weren’t just training. They were flirting, clear as day.

 

Bucky frowned, a swirl of emotions twisting in his chest. On one hand, Harry had the body of an adult—an extremely fit and agile one, thanks to the Super-Soldier serum coursing through his veins. His movements were confident, his reflexes sharp. Yet, Bucky couldn’t shake the truth: Harry was still almost six years old.

 

“This right or wrong, Buck?” he muttered under his breath, his thoughts a tangle of uncertainty. He knew better than most how trauma aged a person, but this? It was a gray area he didn’t have an answer for.

 

“Harry and Natasha sparring again?” Lily’s voice cut through his thoughts.

 

Bucky turned to see Lily standing a few feet away, arms crossed, watching the scene with a small, resigned smile. She didn’t seem surprised, but there was a shadow in her eyes.

 

“You don’t seem too shocked,” Bucky said, his voice low.

 

Lily sighed, walking up to stand beside him. “That’s because I’m not.”

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You knew?”

 

“I’ve known for a while,” she admitted, her gaze fixed on the pair. “Harry came to me a few weeks ago, confused about how he was feeling around Natasha. We had a long talk. Then I spoke to Natasha, and we talked some more. I’m keeping an eye on things.”

 

“Keeping an eye?” Bucky asked, incredulous. “Lily, he’s still a kid. Sure, he looks grown, but inside? He’s not even six. You can’t tell me this doesn’t feel... off.”

 

Lily’s smile faded, replaced by a tired, somber expression. “Believe me, Bucky, I want to think of Harry as a child. He’s my baby boy. But the truth is… he hasn’t been a child for a long time.”

 

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by her candor. “What do you mean?”

 

Lily’s voice grew quiet, laced with regret. “His childhood died the moment Dumbledore left him on the Dursleys’ doorstep like he was nothing. I didn’t know at the time, of course. James and I were in that damned coma, helpless while our son was neglected, abused, treated like a slave. And if that wasn’t enough, Hydra took him. Experimented on him. Tried to turn him into a weapon. By the time we got him back, he was… different. Not broken, but... hardened.”

 

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “I’ve been through Hydra’s hell, Lily. I know what it does to you. But still, he deserves to be a kid, to have that chance.”

 

“I agree,” Lily said, her voice cracking slightly. “But it’s too late for that. I hate it, but it’s the truth. Harry doesn’t think like a child anymore. His experiences—what he’s been through—have made him grow up too fast. And while I don’t like the idea of him and Natasha, I can’t ignore that it’s not as black-and-white as it seems.”

 

Bucky frowned, looking back at Harry and Natasha. Harry had managed to pin Natasha, but she rolled her eyes and flipped him over with an effortless move, leaving him laughing as he dusted himself off.

 

“It still feels… wrong,” Bucky said quietly.

 

Lily nodded. “It does. But I’ve learned the hard way that I can’t shield Harry from everything. He’s smart, Bucky—too smart for his own good sometimes. And he’s stubborn, just like his father. If this is something he’s determined about, I can’t stand in his way. I can only guide him and hope he makes the right choices.”

 

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Lily. I just… it feels like he’s been robbed of so much already. This doesn’t seem fair.”

 

“None of it is fair,” Lily agreed, her voice heavy with sadness. “But fairness doesn’t matter to the world. All I can do is make sure Harry knows he’s loved and supported, no matter what.”

 

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as Harry and Natasha exchanged a playful jab and a mock scolding. The bond between them was clear, even if it wasn’t something Bucky was entirely comfortable with.

 

“I guess that’s all any of us can do,” Bucky finally said.

 

Lily nodded, her eyes softening as she watched her son. “Exactly.”

 

—

 

Harry grinned as he adjusted his stance, circling Natasha with a spring in his step. The faint morning sun glinted off the thin sheen of sweat on his skin, though his breathing was steady.

 

"Come on, Romanoff," he teased, dodging a quick jab aimed at his midsection. "You can do better than that. Or is the Black Widow losing her touch?"

 

Natasha rolled her eyes, but the smirk tugging at her lips gave her away. "Careful, Potter. Pride comes before a fall."

 

Harry’s grin widened. "You sound like my mum."

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow and feinted left before sweeping a leg out. Harry barely dodged, stumbling back a step as he caught himself. "Do I? Then maybe you should listen for once. Could save you a lot of bruises."

 

"Maybe I like bruises," he quipped, recovering his balance and lunging forward with a quick series of punches. Natasha deflected each one with ease, her movements fluid and precise.

 

"Well, that’s just weird," she shot back, ducking under his last strike and pivoting behind him.

 

"Don’t kink-shame me," Harry said, twisting around to block her next attack.

 

Natasha laughed—a low, melodic sound that made Harry’s stomach flip, though he’d never admit it aloud. “Oh, Potter. You’re lucky I tolerate you.”

 

“Only tolerate?” Harry asked, sidestepping her strike and countering with a spinning kick. “And here I thought we were friends.”

 

"Friends? Please." Natasha caught his kick and twisted, forcing Harry to leap awkwardly to avoid being flipped. "You’re just a particularly amusing punching bag."

 

Harry barked out a laugh as he regained his footing. "Admit it, you’d miss me if I weren’t around."

 

"Miss having someone this cocky to knock down a peg? Maybe," she said, her tone playful as she lunged forward.

 

This time, Harry anticipated her move. He sidestepped and hooked his arm around hers, using her momentum to flip her over. Natasha hit the mat with a grunt, but her expression remained calm, almost amused.

 

"Not bad," she said, lying flat on her back for a moment before kipping up with an effortless motion. "For a kid."

 

Harry froze for a fraction of a second, his expression faltering. It wasn’t much, but Natasha noticed.

 

“Something I said?” she asked, tilting her head.

 

Harry forced a grin. "Just trying to decide if I should take that as a compliment or an insult."

 

"Your call," she said lightly, but there was a note of curiosity in her voice now. She stepped closer, lowering her hands. "Seriously, though. What’s going on in that oversized brain of yours?"

 

Harry hesitated, but then shrugged, a faint smirk returning to his face. "If I told you, you’d probably kick me again."

 

Natasha studied him for a moment, her green eyes sharp. Then, with a sly smile, she stepped into his space. "I could kick you now if you’d prefer."

 

Harry chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "You’re terrifying, you know that?"

 

"That’s the point," Natasha said with a wink, punching him lightly on the shoulder before stepping back. “But seriously, you’re doing good. You’ve got potential.”

 

“High praise coming from you,” Harry said, his tone warm.

 

Natasha shrugged, her smirk softening into something more genuine. "Don’t let it go to your head. Now, ready for another round, or do you need a break, kid?"

 

This time, Harry rolled his eyes but laughed, the tension from earlier melting away. "Oh, it’s on, Widow."

 

Unbeknownst to them, Lily and Bucky had quietly retreated, leaving the pair to their sparring. Lily’s expression was thoughtful, her emotions a mix of worry and reluctant acceptance. Bucky followed her with a shake of his head, muttering, "Kid’s got guts, I’ll give him that."

 

—

 

Tony leaned back in the chair, legs propped up on the workbench, as he watched the progress bar on the holographic interface software crawl forward. "This thing is slower than dial-up," he muttered.

 

Across the room, Sirius Black and James Potter exchanged a glance. Sirius’s grin was wide and mischievous, while James pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

 

“Patience isn’t your strong suit, huh, Stark?” Sirius teased, leaning casually against the edge of the table.

 

Tony shot him a withering look. "When you’re a genius, time is money, and I’ve got a lot of ideas to fund."

 

Steve Rogers, seated nearby with his arms crossed, chuckled softly. “You sound like your dad. Howard used to say the same thing.”

 

Tony visibly bristled at the mention of his father, but before he could snap back, James clapped his hands together. "Alright, enough about Howard. Let’s talk about something way cooler. Ever heard of Animagi?"

 

“Anima-what-now?” Tony raised an eyebrow.

 

Steve tilted his head. “Sounds Latin.”

 

Sirius smirked, clearly enjoying the attention. “It is. An Animagus is a witch or wizard who can transform into an animal at will. It’s not like some basic shapeshifting spell. It’s a skill—a bond with the animal inside you.”

 

James nodded enthusiastically. “It’s incredibly rare and takes years to master. Most wizards wouldn’t even try because it’s so dangerous.”

 

“Dangerous?” Steve frowned. “How so?”

 

“Imagine this,” Sirius said, his tone low and dramatic. “You’re halfway through transforming, and you get stuck. Not quite human, not quite animal. It’s… not pretty.”

 

Tony grimaced. “Sounds like a bad sci-fi movie.”

 

“You have no idea,” James said with a shudder. “That’s why it’s heavily regulated by the Ministry of Magic.”

 

“Wait,” Tony interrupted, holding up a hand. “Are you saying you two did this whole Animagus thing?”

 

Sirius’s grin widened. “Oh, absolutely.”

 

“Illegally,” James added, not looking the least bit repentant.

 

Tony laughed, clearly intrigued. “Let me guess. You got bored and thought, ‘Why not break some wizarding laws?’”

 

“Pretty much,” Sirius said with a shrug. “James here turned into a stag, big antlers and all. Me? I’m a magnificent black dog.”

 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “A stag and a dog? How does that work? Do you choose the animal?”

 

James shook his head. “Nope. The animal chooses you. It’s a reflection of your personality—who you are at your core.”

 

Steve leaned forward, clearly fascinated. “So, it’s not random?”

 

“Not at all,” Sirius said. “James here—noble, protective, family man—of course, he’d be a stag. Me? Loyal, playful, maybe a bit wild. A dog makes sense, doesn’t it?”

 

Tony tapped his chin, his curiosity piqued. “So, if someone like me tried this… what would I turn into?”

 

Sirius and James exchanged a look, then burst out laughing.

 

“Probably a fox,” Sirius said, smirking. “Clever, resourceful, a bit sly.”

 

“Or maybe a peacock,” James teased. “You do have a flair for the dramatic.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Hilarious. Really.”

 

Steve, still processing the information, asked, “Why did you decide to become Animagi in the first place?”

 

James’s grin softened. “It was for Remus. Our friend. He’s a werewolf, and when he transformed, he was all alone. It’s dangerous for a werewolf to be around humans, but not animals. So, we became Animagi to keep him company during full moons.”

 

Steve blinked, clearly moved. “That’s… incredible.”

 

Sirius shrugged, his grin faltering just slightly. “It wasn’t always easy, but it was worth it. He’s family.”

 

Tony leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking thoughtful. “Huh. You broke the rules… for a good reason. Maybe you two aren’t so bad after all.”

 

“High praise,” Sirius said with a mock bow.

 

The upload bar on Tony’s screen dinged, signaling completion. He pushed off the desk and stood. “Looks like it’s done. Now, let’s see if your magical mirrors can handle a bit of Stark tech.”

 

As Tony began tinkering, Sirius leaned toward James and whispered, “Think we should teach Harry how to become an Animagus?”

 

James smirked. “Let’s keep that one a surprise.”

 

—

 

In a sleek, dimly lit restaurant in downtown Washington, D.C., Nick Fury sat across from Alexander Pierce, his long-time friend and now the U.S. Secretary of State. The two men shared a toast, their glasses clinking softly as the ambient murmur of other patrons filled the air.

 

“To your promotion, Nick,” Pierce said, his sharp blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he raised his glass. “Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. That’s no small feat. Though I always knew you’d make it.”

 

Fury smirked, his good eye narrowing. “Appreciate that, Alex. Didn’t know if I’d ever get out of the field. Guess someone thought I was more useful behind a desk.”

 

Pierce chuckled. “Behind a desk or not, you’ve got the sharpest mind in the room. You proved that back in Bogotá.”

 

Fury’s expression shifted slightly at the mention. Bogotá. It had been one of his first high-stakes missions, a hostage rescue that had become the stuff of legends. Fury had not only saved all the hostages but had personally ensured the safety of Pierce’s teenage daughter, Sophie.

 

“That was a hell of a day,” Fury said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “You gave me hell for going off the playbook, as I recall.”

 

“I did,” Pierce admitted with a wry grin. “But only because I was scared out of my mind. You saved Sophie. Saved all of them. You earned my loyalty that day, Nick. For life.”

 

Fury raised his glass again, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. “Good to know I’ve got at least one ally in this mess.”

 

They drank in companionable silence for a moment before Pierce leaned forward, his tone casual but probing. “So, what’s next for S.H.I.E.L.D.? You’ve got your hands on some pretty powerful tools these days—super soldiers, wizards, Stark tech. Any big plans?”

 

Fury regarded his friend carefully. Pierce had always been a diplomat, a man who thrived on knowing everything. It wasn’t unusual for him to be curious, but Fury’s instincts—honed over years in the field—prickled just slightly.

 

“We’re still cleaning up messes from the Wizarding War and HYDRA’s nonsense,” Fury said smoothly. “Focus now is on keeping the world safe, no matter where the threat comes from.”

 

“Admirable,” Pierce said, his smile unwavering. “Though with power like that, I’d imagine some would see S.H.I.E.L.D. as more than just a defense agency. Could be the world’s police force. Or even its rulers.”

 

Fury laughed, though the sound didn’t quite reach his eye. “You’ve been watching too many sci-fi flicks, Alex. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t rule. We serve.”

 

“Of course,” Pierce said, leaning back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Just a thought.”

 

Their conversation turned lighter after that—anecdotes about old missions, mutual acquaintances, and Pierce’s insights into the murky world of international politics. Fury didn’t notice the subtle tension in Pierce’s posture or the way his eyes occasionally darted toward Fury, as if weighing something unseen.

 

Pierce played the role of friend and confidant perfectly, but behind his genial facade, his mind was racing. Fury’s ascension to Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. was a complication. HYDRA’s influence within the organization was strong, but Fury’s sharp instincts and unwavering integrity posed a potential threat.

 

Still, Pierce thought as he drained his glass, he’d faced challenges before. Bogotá had changed his life, true—but not in the way Fury believed. That mission had shown Pierce the limits of diplomacy and the need for control, for order. It had been HYDRA that had offered him a way to ensure that order.

 

As they stood to leave, Pierce clapped Fury on the shoulder. “You’re going to do great things, Nick. I have no doubt.”

 

Fury smirked, his confidence as unshakable as ever. “And you’re gonna keep running the world, Alex. Guess we’re both where we’re meant to be.”

 

For now, Pierce thought. For now.

 

—

 

Within the mystical halls of the New York Sanctum Sanctorum, the Ancient One sat cross-legged on a floating dais, her ageless face serene yet contemplative. Around her, the ever-shifting Mirror Dimension reflected countless possibilities, timelines branching and converging like streams in a great cosmic river. The Eye of Agamotto hung heavy around her neck, pulsing faintly as if sharing her burden of foresight.

 

Her thoughts were consumed by a single, unassuming figure amidst the vast web of the multiverse: Harry Potter.

 

"An anomaly," she murmured, her voice soft yet carrying the weight of countless centuries of knowledge.

 

She raised a hand, and the Mirror Dimension stilled. In its depths, the image of a boy appeared—a strikingly tall and muscular figure, his body radiating power, yet his eyes held the confusion and yearning of a child. Around him, the faint shimmer of destiny flickered chaotically, as if the threads of his future refused to align.

 

"Born into a world of magic yet thrust into one of pain and science," the Ancient One said to herself, tracing the boy’s image with her gaze. "A soul burdened with suffering, yet unbroken. A paradox."

 

With a flick of her wrist, the image shifted, revealing Harry’s origins. The Wizarding War, his parents’ love and sacrifice, and then the cruel twist of fate that left him at the mercy of the Dursleys. She winced at the sight of his hardships—a childhood stolen, a spirit tested beyond its limits.

 

The scene shifted again: Harry in a Hydra facility, strapped to a cold, metallic table, his small body writhing in agony as mad scientists reshaped him into a weapon. The claws, the unyielding skeleton, the accelerated healing—it was a monstrous gift, one born of cruelty.

 

"Hydra," she whispered, her tone laced with quiet disdain. "Always seeking to twist nature's gifts into instruments of domination."

 

Yet Harry had escaped, and his path had led him to S.H.I.E.L.D. Under their watchful eyes, the boy—no, the soldier—was being molded into something more. A fighter, a leader, perhaps even a symbol.

 

"But what will he become?" she wondered aloud. "A force of chaos or a champion of order?"

 

The Ancient One rose gracefully from the dais, her robes flowing like liquid light. With a gesture, the Mirror Dimension expanded, revealing a tangle of timelines that revolved around Harry Potter.

 

In some, he became a beacon of hope, his unique fusion of magic and science forging alliances that would reshape the world. In others, he fell prey to his own anger, becoming a destructive force that even the mightiest could not contain. And in the rarest of possibilities, he simply disappeared, consumed by the weight of his existence.

 

"Such potential," she mused. "Yet so precarious."

 

She paced slowly, her mind racing through the implications. Harry’s emergence as a Super Soldier was not merely a consequence of Hydra’s ambition—it was a ripple in the grand design, an unplanned variable in the delicate balance of the universe.

 

"The boy's heart is pure," she finally said, her voice resolute. "But it is a heart burdened with scars."

 

She turned to Wong, who had been silently observing her contemplations from the edge of the chamber. His brow furrowed as he processed the gravity of her words.

 

"Do we intervene?" he asked.

 

The Ancient One shook her head. "Not yet. His journey is his own, and to meddle now would risk unraveling more than we intend."

 

"But Hydra—"

 

"Hydra is a disease," she interrupted, her tone sharp. "And he is their unintended cure. But even cures can become poisons if wielded carelessly."

 

Wong nodded, though concern lingered in his eyes.

 

The Ancient One turned her gaze back to Harry’s image in the Mirror Dimension, watching as he sparred with Natasha Romanoff, his movements a blend of raw power and burgeoning skill.

 

"Prepare the Sanctum," she instructed. "The time may come when he seeks guidance—or when his actions ripple too far beyond control. Either way, we must be ready."

 

As Wong bowed and left to carry out her orders, the Ancient One remained, her gaze fixed on Harry Potter.

 

"Fate has dealt you a cruel hand, child," she said softly. "But perhaps, through fire and steel, you may yet become something greater than any of us can foresee."

 

And with that, the Mirror Dimension rippled once more, its infinite possibilities swirling around the figure of the boy who was both man and weapon, destined to challenge the very fabric of his world.

Chapter 17: Chapter 16

The morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the safehouse, casting a golden glow on the neatly organized chaos of Harry’s room. Books, trinkets, and a few scattered drawings filled the space, evidence of a curious mind constantly at work.

 

Harry stirred under his covers, his body still aching slightly from the intense sparring session with Natasha the previous day. He groaned softly, turning over in an attempt to sink back into the warmth of sleep.

 

That plan, however, was promptly derailed.

 

"Harry! Harry! Wake up! It’s our birthday!"

 

Rose’s voice, loud and excited, echoed through the room as she threw open the door and barreled toward his bed like a miniature hurricane. Behind her, Lily stood in the doorway, shaking her head with a fond smile.

 

"Rose, maybe give your brother a second to—"

 

But her words were lost as Rose launched herself onto Harry’s bed, bouncing on the mattress.

 

"Wake up! You promised we’d open presents together!" she insisted, tugging at his blanket with a force that belied her small size.

 

Harry groaned again, this time more theatrically, as he peeked out from under the blanket. "Rose, it’s barely morning. Can’t we do this after breakfast?"

 

"Nope!" Rose declared with the unyielding authority of a six-year-old on her birthday. "Presents first!"

 

Lily walked over, crossing her arms as she looked down at Harry. "You did make a promise, Harry," she teased.

 

With a sigh that spoke of long-suffering sibling patience, Harry sat up, his unruly hair sticking up in all directions. "Fine, fine. Let’s get this over with before she explodes."

 

Rose clapped her hands in triumph and hopped off the bed, dragging him toward the small pile of presents Lily had carried in earlier.

 

As they settled on the floor, Lily knelt beside them, her smile warm and loving as she watched her children. For a moment, the chaos of their lives seemed far away, and she could simply enjoy this slice of normalcy.

 

"Okay, Rose, you first," Harry said, gesturing grandly toward the pile.

 

Rose beamed and eagerly reached for a brightly wrapped box. As she tore into the paper, Harry leaned toward Lily, his voice low. "Thanks for letting her wake me up. I’m guessing you could’ve stopped her?"

 

Lily smirked. "Where’s the fun in that?"

 

Rose gasped as she unveiled her gift—a beautifully crafted dollhouse, complete with intricate details. Her face lit up, and she threw her arms around Lily. "Thank you, Mum! It’s perfect!"

 

Lily hugged her back before nudging Harry gently. "Your turn, birthday boy."

 

Harry reached for his own present, unwrapping it carefully. Inside was a leather-bound journal with his initials embossed in gold.

 

"For your thoughts," Lily said softly. "And maybe some plans and ideas. I know you’ve always got a lot on your mind."

 

Harry smiled, running his fingers over the cover. "Thanks, Mum. It’s… perfect."

 

Rose, meanwhile, was already examining the dollhouse, chattering excitedly about the stories she would create with it. Harry glanced at Lily, his smile turning a bit mischievous.

 

"So… are there any other surprises I should know about today?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

Lily laughed softly. "Let’s just say it’s a day full of surprises, Harry. You’ll see soon enough."

 

Harry couldn’t help but grin. Whatever the day had in store, it was off to a pretty great start.

 

—

 

In her room, Natasha Romanoff paced restlessly, her usually steady nerves betraying her. On her bed lay the gift she’d agonized over for weeks—a sleek black leather jacket with subtle red trim along the seams, a nod to both her own aesthetic and Harry’s as well.

 

She ran a hand through her hair, glancing at the clock on the wall. It’s just a birthday gift. No big deal. Except it’s Harry, and he’s… different.

 

Her thoughts spiraled as she sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing the soft leather of the jacket. She had debated long and hard about what to get him. Toys seemed juvenile, books felt impersonal, and she doubted he’d want anything too flashy. The jacket had felt like the perfect middle ground—practical, stylish, and something he’d probably never had before.

 

But what if he doesn’t like it? The thought nagged at her.

 

Natasha wasn’t one to get nervous, not in the traditional sense. She had faced down assassins, infiltrated high-security facilities, and stared death in the face more times than she could count. But waiting for Harry’s reaction? That felt like a whole new level of vulnerability.

 

She stood abruptly, grabbing the jacket and holding it up. The leather gleamed in the light, the red trim subtle yet striking. She could already picture Harry wearing it, the way it would complement his serious demeanor while giving him a touch of flair.

 

Still, the doubt lingered. He’s been through so much. What if it’s too much? Or not enough?

 

A soft knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. Natasha turned to see Lily standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

 

“Everything okay?” Lily asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

 

Natasha hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Just… overthinking.” She gestured to the jacket. “It’s for Harry. Do you think he’ll like it?”

 

Lily walked over, inspecting the jacket with a critical eye. After a moment, she smiled softly. “He’ll love it. It’s thoughtful, practical, and stylish. All things Harry secretly appreciates, even if he doesn’t always show it.”

 

Natasha exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “I just… I want him to know I care. Not just because of everything he’s been through, but because of who he is. He’s different, Lily. Special.”

 

Lily’s smile turned wistful. “He is. And he knows you care, Natasha. It’s written all over the way you look at him. You don’t need to worry so much.”

 

Natasha nodded, her grip on the jacket relaxing. “Thanks, Lily. I needed that.”

 

Lily rested a hand on her shoulder briefly. “Come on. Let’s go see the birthday boy. You don’t want to miss his reaction.”

 

Natasha followed Lily out of the room, the jacket draped over her arm. She still felt a flicker of nervousness, but it was tempered by the hope that, just maybe, she’d managed to pick the perfect gift.

 

—

 

Steve Rogers leaned over the table, carefully arranging the photographs into the leather-bound album they’d picked out for Harry’s birthday. The soft hum of conversation filled the room as Peggy Carter and Bucky Barnes joined him, each handling a small stack of wizarding photographs provided by Lily and James Potter.

 

The pictures moved. That alone was still a novelty to Steve, even after all he’d seen since waking up from the ice. He watched as a young Harry, only a year old, giggled and waved enthusiastically from a swing. In another, he was perched on James’s shoulders, arms spread wide like an airplane.

 

“These are incredible,” Steve murmured, tilting a photograph to watch the movement. “How do they do this?”

 

Peggy, seated across from him, smiled. “It’s a simple spell, apparently. James was explaining it earlier. They develop the film like we would, but the magic brings the images to life.”

 

Bucky whistled softly, holding up a photo of baby Harry with Lily. The toddler was laughing, his little fists tugging at Lily’s hair, while Lily pretended to scowl before breaking into a warm smile. “This is amazing. Makes our old photo albums look pretty boring, huh?”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Steve teased, sliding another photo into place. “I’ve still got a picture of us from Coney Island where you’re pulling a ridiculous face.”

 

Bucky grinned. “What can I say? I’ve always been the life of the party.”

 

Peggy smirked, placing a photo of Harry holding a toy broomstick into the next spot. “From what I’ve heard, Harry could use a little more joy in his life. This album will mean the world to him.”

 

Steve nodded, his expression softening. “He’s been through too much for someone so young. This… it’s a good reminder that he’s got people who care about him now.”

 

Bucky leaned back, stretching his arms. “And these moving photos? It’s like having memories come alive again. I’d kill to have something like this from back in the day.”

 

“Careful,” Peggy warned with a raised eyebrow. “You’ll make me regret not introducing you to wizarding magic sooner.”

 

Steve chuckled, closing the album and smoothing his hand over the cover. The title they’d chosen—Harry’s Journey—was embossed in gold on the front. “I think it’s perfect. Between this and everything else, Harry’s going to have a birthday he won’t forget.”

 

Peggy leaned forward, her voice soft. “He deserves it, Steve. And more. After everything Hydra put him through, after losing so much… this is just the beginning of showing him he’s got a family now.”

 

Bucky nodded, his usual smirk replaced by a look of quiet determination. “Yeah. And if anyone tries to take that away from him again, they’re going to have to go through us first.”

 

Steve smiled at that, his blue eyes filled with warmth. “Let’s make sure he knows that today.”

 

With the album complete, the three of them sat back, taking a moment to admire their work. The moving photographs, the handwritten notes they’d added to accompany them, and the care they’d poured into it—it all came together as a testament to the family Harry had gained, and the love he was finally surrounded by.

 

—

 

In the cozy living room of their section of the safehouse, Ted Tonks was carefully wrapping a brightly colored package, his tongue poking out in concentration. Andromeda, sitting on the sofa, was using her wand to charm a ribbon to twirl perfectly around another gift. Nearby, 12-year-old Nymphadora Tonks—or just Tonks, as she preferred—was sprawled out on the carpet, doodling on a homemade birthday card.

 

"You're still not writing your name as 'Nymphadora,' are you?" Ted teased, glancing at his daughter.

 

Tonks huffed dramatically, flipping her bubblegum-pink hair over her shoulder. "Of course not, Dad. I don’t want Harry and Rose thinking I’m some stuffy old lady. It’s just 'Tonks,' thank you very much."

 

Andromeda smiled faintly, not looking up from her task. "Your name is beautiful, darling. You might appreciate it more one day."

 

"Maybe," Tonks muttered, adding a cartoonish drawing of Harry and Rose laughing. She glanced up at her parents. "Do you think they'll like this? It’s not, you know, lame, is it?"

 

Ted leaned over to inspect her work, his smile wide and approving. “Not lame at all. That’s brilliant, love. Harry and Rose will treasure it.”

 

“Absolutely,” Andromeda added, flicking her wand to add a final flourish to the ribbon. “You’ve captured their personalities wonderfully.”

 

Tonks beamed, looking proud of herself. “Good. Because I’m planning on being the cool cousin.”

 

Ted chuckled, moving to sit beside his wife on the sofa. “You’re already cool, Tonks. Between the hair and your Metamorphmagus tricks, I think you’ve got that title locked down.”

 

Tonks grinned, shifting her features to mimic an exaggerated version of her father’s face. “You think so?”

 

Andromeda rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her amusement. “Just remember not to overdo it during the party. Harry and Rose should be the center of attention, not you.”

 

Tonks let her face return to normal, but her grin didn’t fade. “Don’t worry, Mum. This is their day. I just want to make sure it’s fun. You know, not all serious like you grown-ups can be.”

 

Ted smirked. “Serious? Us? Never.”

 

Andromeda gave him a playful nudge before standing up and inspecting the pile of gifts. "We’ve got everything sorted, then? The books for Rose, the Quidditch set for Harry, and the sweets basket for both of them?"

 

“Check, check, and check,” Ted confirmed, ticking off each item with a grin. “And your idea of adding those wizarding joke items? Inspired. They’re going to love them.”

 

Tonks sat up, her eyes bright. “Yeah, those Zonko’s prank candies are going to be epic. Just imagine Harry sneaking one to Sirius!”

 

Andromeda gave her daughter a pointed look. “Just as long as you don’t try them out before the party.”

 

“Me?” Tonks said, feigning innocence. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

Ted snorted. “Sure you wouldn’t. Just like you didn’t try out that color-changing powder last week and turned the bathroom mirror purple.”

 

Tonks giggled. “Okay, fine. But this time, I’ll be good. Promise.”

 

Andromeda sighed, shaking her head fondly. “That’s the best we’re going to get, isn’t it?”

 

Ted patted her hand. “It is. But you wouldn’t want her any other way.”

 

Tonks stood up, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Alright, when do we head over to the main safehouse? I can’t wait to see their faces when they open everything.”

 

“Soon,” Andromeda said, gathering the gifts into a neat stack with a flick of her wand. “Let’s make sure we haven’t forgotten anything first.”

 

As the family did one last sweep of their preparations, the room buzzed with anticipation. For the Tonks family, this birthday celebration wasn’t just about gifts—it was a chance to show Harry and Rose how deeply they were loved and cherished, something they knew the children needed more than anything.

 

—

 

The dining area was bustling with the soft hum of conversation and clinking silverware as the various members of the safehouse slowly trickled in for breakfast. Harry and Natasha were already sitting at the large wooden table, sharing an amused glance as they exchanged a silent understanding. The two had been planning this for days, and it was finally time to put their scheme into motion.

 

James, Sirius, and 16-year-old Tony entered together, all looking like they’d just crawled out of a warzone. Their eyes were half-lidded, their steps slow, and they all shared the unmistakable zombie shuffle that came with pulling an all-nighter in Tony's workshop. Tony, looking like he might have fallen asleep standing up, was holding a steaming cup of coffee in both hands like it was the Holy Grail.

 

“Morning,” Tony croaked, his voice raspy from exhaustion. “I think I could sleep for a week, but let’s start with coffee.”

 

Sirius waved lazily, then dropped into a chair beside Harry. “Is it too early to start with something that’ll keep us awake until next Tuesday?”

 

James sighed dramatically as he plopped down in another chair. “I swear, next time we let you play with Stark's tech, I’m putting a limit on caffeine.”

 

Natasha’s lips quirked as she took a long sip of her own coffee, her eyes glinting with mischief. Harry barely hid his smirk, both of them already on the edge of bursting into laughter.

 

The two of them had devised a plan that would surely liven up the morning—and it involved James and Sirius, two of the most prank-prone individuals Harry had ever met.

 

Before the chaos could begin, Peggy, Steve, Bucky, Andromeda, Ted, and Tonks all arrived, joining the still-groggy trio of James, Sirius, and Tony. The atmosphere shifted from groggy exhaustion to the calm hum of a warm, almost festive breakfast. Laughter began to fill the room as everyone caught up on the previous day’s events.

 

“Did you guys sleep at all last night?” Bucky asked with a raised brow, giving James and Sirius a side-eye.

 

“Not really,” James said with a yawn. “We were too busy...working on an important project.” His words were slow and heavy, an indication of how little sleep he’d had.

 

“Important? Please. It was an excuse to mess around in Tony’s workshop,” Sirius said with a lazy grin.

 

Harry’s eyes flicked to Natasha, and without saying a word, the two shared a knowing look. Their plan was already in motion.

 

Natasha, in her quiet way, had gotten creative with some of Tony’s spare tech. The pranks were going to be harmless, but hilarious—just the way they liked it.

 

With a brief nod from Harry, she subtly tapped the device hidden beneath the table. From across the room, a small, almost inaudible hum filled the air.

 

The first sign of trouble came when the air suddenly smelled like burnt toast. But it wasn’t coming from the kitchen—it was coming from the center of the table. Tony, ever the genius, immediately started to scan the room with suspicion, his eyes narrowing at the rising smell.

 

“What the hell...?” Tony muttered, setting down his coffee and leaning over the table. His fingers hovered over his laptop as he typed something in.

 

Before he could catch up to what was going on, the sound of a low buzzing filled the room. James and Sirius, who had been too out of it to notice the change, were now both looking around in confusion.

 

“What’s that noise?” Sirius grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Is it…?”

 

“Check your pockets,” Natasha said sweetly, her eyes wide with feigned innocence.

 

Harry leaned back in his chair, trying to contain his laughter, knowing full well what was about to happen.

 

Sirius reached into his jacket pocket with a puzzled expression and pulled out a small device, which immediately began vibrating uncontrollably in his hand. James, too, reached for his pocket, only to have his phone buzz wildly—except, it wasn’t his phone. The device inside his pocket wasn’t his at all.

 

Suddenly, the two gadgets began to emit a loud, obnoxious ringtone of a very familiar wizarding tune—one of the many prank songs Harry had snuck into their phones over the last few days.

 

“The Wandering Wizard?” James spluttered, looking horrified. “I swear I did not set that as my ringtone!”

 

“Who’s been messing with my phone?” Sirius demanded, standing up abruptly. “Stark—did you do this?”

 

“Me?” Tony gave them a wide-eyed look of innocence. “I’d never. But maybe someone who isn’t magical has been involved.” His eyes flicked toward Natasha with a playful grin.

 

James was already pulling at the device in his pocket, attempting to turn it off. “You two better not have—”

 

Before he could finish, the devices began releasing small bursts of colorful sparks, filling the air with harmless but dazzling lights. Each spark burst accompanied a different, cheerful tune, escalating the chaos of the prank.

 

“Alright, alright!” Sirius groaned, his voice laced with amusement. “You got us! I admit it! I’m at the mercy of you, Harry, and your little friend here.”

 

“And don’t forget me,” Natasha added with a wink, clearly enjoying her moment.

 

Harry was practically shaking with laughter now, his hands covering his face as he failed to hold it back. “I’d say I learned from the best,” he muttered, eyes sparkling with mischief.

 

“Next time I’m taking you down,” James threatened, though his smile betrayed his enjoyment of the harmless joke.

 

The laughter and chatter grew louder as everyone joined in on the fun. Harry leaned back in his chair, his face still flushed with excitement. Despite everything he’d been through in his short life, moments like this made him feel—well—normal. For once, he was just a kid enjoying his birthday, surrounded by friends and family who, despite their differences, were all united in their love for him.

 

And it seemed that no good celebration was ever complete without a prank—or two.

 

—

 

As the laughter from the prank continued to fill the air, Natasha found herself growing increasingly nervous. She had been sitting quietly at the table, eyes flicking toward Harry every now and then, watching as he basked in the lighthearted chaos of the moment.

 

But now, as the noise died down, she realized it was time to act. The gift she had gotten him—the black leather jacket with red trim—was something she’d put a lot of thought into. She wasn’t sure if Harry would even like it. After all, he wasn’t exactly a typical six-year-old, and while he had the heart and innocence of a child, the rest of him? Well, that was a different story.

 

She hesitated, her fingers playing nervously with the hem of her sleeve. Her heart beat a little faster, a small part of her wondering if the jacket would be something he’d enjoy—or if she’d completely misjudged it.

 

She took a deep breath, steadying herself before rising to her feet. The room was still buzzing with energy, but her eyes were locked on Harry as she made her way over to him. His gaze flicked up to meet hers, his features softening into that characteristic, almost otherworldly calm that had become so familiar to her. For a split second, she almost forgot about the gift.

 

But no. Focus.

 

With a small, but steady smile, Natasha took the folded jacket from under her arm and held it out to him. Her hands were slightly trembling, betraying her confidence. “Hey, Harry,” she said, her voice a little quieter than usual. “I got you something.”

 

Harry looked at the jacket, then back at her. He blinked once, then raised an eyebrow in that way he had, as if trying to read her, but his lips quirked into a smile. The fact that he didn’t immediately start laughing or asking questions made Natasha’s nerves ease just a little.

 

“What’s this?” he asked, his tone casual but with the slightest edge of curiosity that made her heart skip.

 

“It’s a... well, it’s a jacket,” Natasha replied, clearing her throat. “It’s a bit different, I thought you might like it. I figured you could use something... a little more you.”

 

The hesitation in her voice made her cringe inside. Ugh, smooth. Really smooth, Romanoff. But Harry didn’t seem to mind. He took the jacket from her hands, his large frame dwarfing the small piece of clothing for a moment. His expression softened as he ran his fingers over the leather, clearly impressed.

 

“This is cool,” Harry said, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Natasha.”

 

She felt a wave of relief wash over her as he looked up at her, his eyes warm, and for a split second, it almost felt like they were the only two people in the room.

 

“Do you think it’ll fit?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light. She needed to distract herself from the intense weight of the moment, from the way her heart was fluttering just a little too much.

 

“I think it’ll be perfect.” Harry’s smile was wide now, and Natasha realized with a small shock that, despite his towering height and seemingly adult demeanor, there was still so much childlike wonder in him.

 

“Wanna try it on?” she asked with a teasing smile, a part of her wondering if the jacket might look a little out of place on him, given that he was still technically just a six-year-old. But that didn’t matter right now.

 

He grinned and stood up, walking toward the open space. “I guess I’ll have to, won’t I?”

 

As Harry slipped on the jacket, his muscles stretching against the soft leather, Natasha couldn’t help but notice how much it suited him. It didn’t matter that he was young, or that he was incredibly strong. The jacket looked right on him, like a second skin. The red trim gave it a touch of danger, a little bit of flair, and for a moment, it made Natasha think of him not just as the powerful child-wonder he was, but as the young man he could one day become.

 

Harry gave her a mock serious look, adjusting the collar with a flair. “How do I look?”

 

Natasha’s breath caught for just a second. His smile—bright and playful—was enough to make her heart skip, but she managed to force herself to respond with a grin.

 

“You look...” she paused, her lips curling into a mischievous smile of her own, “dangerous.”

 

Harry laughed, his voice light and easy. “I like it. A lot. Thanks again, Natasha.”

 

Relief flooded through her, washing away the last of her anxiety. Harry liked it. He really liked it. And that meant everything to her.

 

As he walked back to the table, adjusting the jacket to show it off to the rest of the room, she found herself smiling in a way she hadn’t expected to. Maybe it was the connection they shared, maybe it was just the simple joy of seeing him happy with her gift. But whatever it was, it felt... right.

 

“Okay, okay,” Tony said, grinning from ear to ear as he leaned over to look at Harry in the jacket. “Now that is a superhero look if I’ve ever seen one.”

 

Sirius laughed. “Yeah, that jacket practically screams ‘I’m ready to take down Hydra and still look good doing it.’”

 

“Don’t forget ‘dangerous,’” Natasha added with a wink, her eyes meeting Harry’s again.

 

And in that moment, Harry—the Revenant—looked every bit as dangerous as his jacket made him out to be.

 

—

 

As everyone continued to admire Harry in his new jacket, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway, signaling the arrival of Lily and Rose. Harry, still grinning from ear to ear, turned just as the door swung open, and there they were—his mother, looking as graceful and loving as ever, and his little sister, Rose, who was practically radiating birthday energy.

 

Rose had clearly been anticipating the day for a long time, and it showed in her outfit. She was dressed in a fluffy, pastel pink princess dress that looked like it had been pulled straight from a fairytale, complete with sparkly slippers and a tiara perched atop her wild curls. The dress twirled out from her waist in a way that made her look like she could float away with a gust of wind, and every little movement made her look even more like a tiny princess than before.

 

Lily's expression softened when she saw the scene—her son in the jacket Natasha had gifted him, surrounded by the people who cared for him, her daughter beside her. The joy and warmth in her gaze didn’t go unnoticed by anyone.

 

“Happy Birthday, sweetie,” Lily said, stepping forward and enveloping Rose in a warm hug, her voice filled with affection. “You’re going to have the best day.”

 

Rose beamed up at her mother, her eyes sparkling. “Thanks, Mama!” she chirped in a high, excited voice, before her gaze darted to Harry, taking in the new jacket. “Ooooh, Harry! You look like a superhero! Is it for your birthday too?” she asked, her words rushed with excitement.

 

Harry chuckled, crouching down slightly to meet her level. “Thanks, Rosie! Yeah, Natasha got me this jacket. I think it makes me look even cooler than usual, don’t you think?” He gave a playful spin, showing off the red trim, and struck a mock-heroic pose.

 

Rose’s eyes widened with awe, her hands clasped together in delight. “You do! You look so cool! Like one of those heroes in the comics. But, um, I look pretty cool too, right?” She twirled around in a circle, making her princess dress flutter out dramatically.

 

Lily chuckled softly, stepping to the side to let Rose enjoy the attention, but she shot Harry a warm smile. “I see you’ve got quite the birthday ensemble going on,” Lily remarked, admiring the jacket. “Nice choice, Natasha.”

 

Natasha gave her a small nod, feeling a rush of pride. “Thanks. Glad you think so.”

 

Harry stood back up, reaching for Rose’s tiny hand and squeezing it gently. “You look amazing, Rosie. Like a real-life princess.” He ruffled her hair affectionately.

 

“Thanks, Harry!” Rose replied, practically bouncing with happiness. “I’m going to be the best princess today. And you’re going to be the best superhero, right?” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with admiration.

 

“Absolutely,” Harry said with a wink. “It’s a superhero’s job to protect their princess, after all.” He turned toward the group, raising his voice slightly. “And I’ve got my team, so Hydra better watch out.”

 

The others chuckled as Rose squealed in delight, twirling around once again. Even Tony, who had been observing from the table, raised an eyebrow at the playful interaction between the siblings. “Well, I see some serious teamwork in the making,” he said, clearly amused.

 

James, who had been watching quietly from the kitchen counter, finally stepped forward, a wide grin on his face as he crossed the room to join the family. “It’s nice to see you both looking so happy,” he said, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of his kids. He leaned over to ruffle Harry’s hair in the way only a proud father could. “That jacket’s a real statement, Harry. Now you’ve got both style and strength.”

 

Harry shrugged modestly but couldn’t hide the faint blush on his cheeks. “I guess I do,” he said, finally admitting it.

 

Peggy, who had just entered the room, observed the scene with a smile. “Looks like today’s going to be quite the celebration,” she commented, her tone light but affectionate. “Are we all ready for some birthday cake?”

 

“Oh, I’m definitely ready for cake,” Tony chimed in, still looking a bit sleep-deprived from his all-nighter but animated at the prospect of dessert. “But can we make sure there’s some coffee first? My brain’s still recovering from the all-nighter.”

 

“Don’t worry, Tony,” Steve said with a grin, clapping him on the back. “Cake’s coming, and we’ve got your caffeine fix too.”

 

Lily exchanged a knowing glance with her husband. “Alright, then, looks like it’s time to kick things off, huh? Are we ready for presents, games, and cake?”

 

The room erupted in laughter and cheers, everyone energized by the excitement of the day ahead. Rose’s birthday had always been a big deal, and today, with both her and Harry celebrating, it promised to be an unforgettable one.

 

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Sirius said, throwing his arm around James’s shoulders and looking at Harry with a mock-serious expression. “Just make sure you save me a slice of cake, kid. I’m serious. No cake stealing.”

 

“Same goes for me,” Natasha added with a wink, still feeling that warm glow from the success of her gift.

 

Harry smiled, feeling the love of the people around him—his family, his friends—and it was in that moment, with everyone gathered in the room, that he realized this was the best kind of birthday celebration: full of laughter, surprises, and the ones he cared about most.

Chapter 18: Chapter 17

The dining area was buzzing with energy, the table laden with all kinds of birthday treats, from cupcakes to cookies, and of course, the two-tiered birthday cake in the center. Harry and Rose sat side by side, their excitement palpable as everyone gathered around them.

 

Just as Lily was lighting the candles on the cake, the sound of voices and laughter echoed from the hallway. In strode Billy Koenig and Phil Coulson, looking a bit frazzled but victorious, each holding a brightly wrapped gift in their hands. Rose squealed in delight upon spotting her babysitters.

 

“Uncle Billy! Uncle Phil!” Rose exclaimed, scrambling off her chair to rush toward them, her princess dress flouncing with every step.

 

Billy dramatically dropped to one knee, presenting his gift with an exaggerated flourish. “Your Highness! We have journeyed from the far corners of the house to bring you treasures for your birthday!”

 

Phil rolled his eyes but smiled warmly as he handed Rose his own gift. “Happy birthday, Rose. And Harry, of course.”

 

Rose giggled, taking the gifts and placing them carefully on the growing pile. “Thank you! Did you guys get lost? You were supposed to be here ages ago!”

 

“Not lost,” Billy replied, straightening up. “We were just... negotiating with some rogue crayons and glitter glue. Right, Coulson?”

 

Coulson nodded, deadpan. “The glitter won. But we’re here now, and we wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

 

Before anyone could respond, the faint hum of a Quinjet engine vibrated through the air, growing louder as it approached. Everyone turned toward the window just in time to see the sleek jet descending gracefully onto the landing pad outside. Moments later, the door opened, and out stepped Howard Stark, followed closely by Nick Fury.

 

Howard, ever the showman, was dressed in a sharp suit, a wide grin on his face as he took in the scene. Fury, on the other hand, looked as stoic as ever, his trench coat billowing dramatically behind him as if he’d timed it perfectly for effect.

 

“Alright, alright,” Howard called out, clapping his hands together. “I hope you didn’t start the party without us!”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tony replied, standing with arms crossed, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Nice of you to show up, Dad.”

 

Howard ignored the jab, striding over to Harry and Rose. “Happy birthday, kid,” he said, giving Harry a firm pat on the shoulder before crouching slightly to ruffle Rose’s hair. “And happy birthday to our little princess too.”

 

Rose giggled, clearly thrilled by the attention. “Thanks, Mr. Stark! Did you bring presents?”

 

Howard laughed. “Of course I did! But you’ve got to cut the cake first. That’s the rule.”

 

Fury, who had been standing silently, finally spoke up. “I trust the two of you didn’t eat all the cake before we got here,” he said, his one good eye narrowing at Sirius and James.

 

James held up his hands in mock innocence. “Hey, we haven’t even touched it yet. You’re just in time.”

 

Lily smiled warmly as she stepped forward, her hands resting on Rose’s shoulders. “Alright, now that everyone’s here, let’s cut the cake, shall we?”

 

The room erupted in cheers as Harry and Rose took their places at the table once more, both leaning toward the cake, their faces lit up by the glow of the candles. Harry glanced at Rose, then back at the cake, a mischievous glint in his eye.

 

“Alright, Rosie, you ready to blow out the candles?” he asked.

 

Rose nodded enthusiastically. “Ready!”

 

Everyone began to sing, their voices filling the room. As the final note of Happy Birthday faded, Harry and Rose leaned forward together, blowing out the candles in one swift breath. The room burst into applause, and Lily began slicing the cake while everyone jostled to grab a plate.

 

Howard sidled up to Tony, holding a slice of cake in one hand. “So, how’d the jacket idea go over?”

 

Tony smirked. “Natasha knocked it out of the park. Kid’s practically glowing.”

 

Howard nodded approvingly. “Good. That jacket’s a sharp look. Practical, too.”

 

Meanwhile, Fury was observing the scene with arms crossed, a rare hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve got a good team here,” he said to Steve, who was standing nearby.

 

Steve nodded. “They’re more than a team. They’re family.”

 

And as the room filled with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of plates and forks, it was clear that this celebration was about more than just a birthday—it was about the bonds that had been forged between them all. For Harry and Rose, surrounded by love and laughter, it was a moment they would treasure forever.

 

—

 

The party was in full swing. Cake was being passed around, people were laughing and talking over each other, and the candles on Harry’s birthday cake flickered merrily. Harry, sandwiched between Rose and Natasha, couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good. Seriously, he didn’t even have to make any snarky comments about how over-the-top the cake was. (Okay, maybe one snarky comment.) All in all, it was a perfect celebration. Or at least, it was until the door creaked open and all conversation came to a screeching halt.

 

In the doorway stood a figure who looked like he belonged in a different time, like the villain in an epic fantasy novel who suddenly realized he was late to the party. It was Gideon Adler, though he looked way too young to be the former Gellert Grindelwald. He had the silver hair and the regal robes, the sort of look you’d expect from someone who might be hiding a dragon in their closet. But Adler wasn’t just any guy. This was the dude who’d once tried to conquer the world but now seemed more like someone who’d offer you a glass of tea and ask about your day.

 

Harry felt his smile fade a little as Adler’s gaze found him. That intense stare? Yeah, it was the kind of stare that made you feel like someone had just cast a spell to turn you into a porcupine. Harry blinked and looked back at his cake, hoping that maybe the frosting would shield him from whatever was coming next.

 

“Harry,” Adler said, his voice like a rumble of distant thunder, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

 

Harry’s brain scrambled for something to say, but it was hard when you were trying not to look like a deer in headlights. He quickly recovered, though, a grin returning to his face. “Nah, you’re good! Just enjoying the cake. You want some?”

 

Adler’s lips curled up ever so slightly—not quite a smile, but close enough to make Harry think he was being humored. “I bring a gift,” he said, walking over like he was on a mission to deliver something world-changing. Which, honestly, knowing Adler, it probably was.

 

With a flourish, Adler produced a small velvet pouch from within his robes. As he placed it on the table in front of Harry, it was like the air itself went a little still. Everyone leaned in, eyes wide, waiting for something important. When Adler opened the pouch, Harry expected a puff of smoke or a dramatic sound effect, but no. What he got was a shiny silver medallion that looked way more expensive than any piece of jewelry he’d ever owned. The kind of thing you’d find in a museum, except, you know, more magical and less “please don’t touch.”

 

“This,” Adler said, his voice almost reverent, “is for you. A birthday gift.”

 

Harry eyed the medallion, intrigued but trying not to look too interested. “Looks... shiny,” he said. His attempt at sounding casual was about as successful as a broomstick with no handles, but hey, he tried.

 

Adler didn’t seem bothered by the underwhelming response. He continued, “This medallion holds layered protections—physical and magical. It amplifies your abilities.” He paused, his gaze steady, unwavering. “And even with your Vibranium skeleton, it’s always wise to have more power at your disposal.”

 

Harry blinked, looking down at the medallion again. Was this guy seriously handing him a magical power boost? Harry already had a literal skeleton made of super metal that absorbed kinetic energy, so the idea of more power was... well, a little overkill. But he didn’t say that out loud, mostly because Adler was staring at him like he’d just been handed a potion of eternal youth.

 

“No offense, Adler,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow, “but I think I’m doing alright in the power department. You know, with the whole ‘Vibranium skeleton’ thing.” He paused, then added with a grin, “I could probably bench press a car now. Not that I plan to, but... you know. In case I need to.”

 

Adler’s eyes sparkled with the hint of amusement, but his voice stayed as serious as a wizard who'd lost his wand. “Power is a tool, Harry. You don’t use it just for show. This will help you refine that power, amplify it, keep you in control when things get... complicated.”

 

Harry gave a nod, even though he wasn’t exactly convinced that his current level of power needed refining. But Adler didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d just give you a trinket for nothing, so he held the medallion up, watching the runes along the edges glow faintly. He could feel the magic pulsing inside it—powerful stuff.

 

“You’re saying this medallion will make me stronger?” Harry asked, turning it over in his hand.

 

Adler’s smile grew, but it was the kind of smile you’d give a dragon when you knew you were about to hand it a really shiny gem. “Yes. But it’s also more than that.” He leaned in a little, eyes meeting Harry’s with a weight that felt like an entire prophecy was about to be dropped. “This medallion can serve as a tether. A connection between us. Should you ever need guidance, all you need to do is focus, and I’ll be there. No matter where you are.”

 

Harry blinked again, this time seriously considering the offer. He wasn’t sure he needed Adler’s advice on everything—especially considering he was still trying to figure out how to deal with his newfound powers and a list of enemies that he was sure wasn't going to stop at HYDRA. But, hey, a magic tether to one of the most powerful wizards in history? That was a pretty good backup plan.

 

“Okay, okay,” Harry said, shaking his head, “I get it. I’m supposed to call you up if I get into trouble, like some sort of magical customer service hotline.”

 

Adler’s lips twitched with something close to amusement. “Something like that.”

 

Harry paused for a moment, then smiled and slipped the medallion into his pocket. “I appreciate it, Adler. Seriously. I’ll make sure it doesn’t collect dust.”

 

Adler gave him a single nod, then turned to leave, his cloak swishing dramatically behind him. Just as he reached the door, Harry called out after him, “Adler?”

 

The man stopped and glanced back. Harry wasn’t sure why he had called out, but his instinct told him that there was something important to say.

 

“I’ll take care of it,” Harry said, “and... thanks.”

 

Adler’s smile flickered, just for a second, before he nodded. “I trust you, Harry.”

 

And with that, he was gone, leaving Harry and the rest of the group in the still silence that followed. Tony broke the silence first, raising his glass with a raised eyebrow.

 

“So, uh... no big deal, but that medallion? Definitely some next-level power packed in there,” he said, winking. “How’d you even get a gift like that?”

 

Steve nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. That’s a lot of magic. I’m sure you’ll handle it.”

 

Harry shrugged, his grin returning. “I guess we’ll find out. But for now, how about more cake?”

 

And just like that, the room was full of laughter again, the hum of magic blending with the sounds of family, friends, and a birthday celebration that Harry would never forget. With the medallion tucked safely in his pocket, he felt ready for whatever came next. After all, when you had a crazy, world-changing birthday gift and a team like this behind you, how could you not be?

 

—

 

The laughter from the group slowly died down, and Harry felt a slight shift in the atmosphere. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was definitely different. Steve, Peggy, and Bucky were exchanging quiet looks, like they were conspiring. A second later, Steve stood up, and the group grew quiet, all eyes on him.

 

“Alright, Harry,” Steve said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We’ve got something for you too. A gift, of sorts.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Oh? What is it? A really, really old shield? A vintage Captain America costume? I’m honestly a little scared.”

 

Bucky snorted, and Steve shot him a playful glare. “No, nothing like that. Just a little something that, well, we thought you might appreciate.”

 

At that, Bucky reached down and pulled out a hefty-looking photo album, the kind that looked like it was packed with decades’ worth of memories. It had the well-worn feel of something passed down through generations, and it was decorated with the kind of attention to detail that suggested it wasn’t just a random gift. It was personal.

 

Steve slid the album across the table to Harry, who stared at it for a moment before looking up, perplexed. “This is... what exactly?”

 

“Open it,” Peggy said, her smile warm and knowing. “You’ll see.”

 

Harry hesitated, but then his fingers brushed the cover of the album, flipping it open. And then, just like that, his eyes widened.

 

The first page was filled with a series of baby pictures. Not just any baby pictures, either. These were his baby pictures—some from before he had even met these people, some from way back, when he had no idea who was watching over him, or who cared enough to take those shots.

 

“Wait,” Harry said, his voice half a chuckle, half disbelief. “How did you—?”

 

“James, Lily, Sirius, Andromeda,” Bucky replied, leaning back in his chair, as though he was watching an old friend react to a long-forgotten treasure. “They all chipped in. You didn’t think we were gonna leave you with just the party, did you?”

 

Harry felt a laugh bubble up in his throat. He flipped through the pages, and there they were: baby Harry, looking totally clueless in a tiny, slightly ridiculous wizarding onesie, surrounded by adults who clearly adored him. There were photos of a young James Potter trying to juggle diapers, Sirius attempting (and failing) to play peekaboo, and Andromeda holding him with an expression that could melt a mountain. Lily, too—her smile was unmistakable, radiating pure love.

 

Each picture was an explosion of memories, some familiar, some blurry and long-forgotten. It felt like the universe had conspired to give him a front-row seat to a piece of his past he didn’t know he needed to see.

 

He flipped the page again, and there was one of him as a toddler with Sirius—both covered in what looked like flour and frosting, a cake disaster in the making. The next one showed a young Harry sitting on a grassy knoll, looking up at the stars with a contemplative look on his face. Beside him, James stood proudly with his arm around his shoulder, eyes bright with hope.

 

“You guys didn’t have to do all this,” Harry said, a lump forming in his throat. “This is... it’s a lot. But it’s really... something.”

 

“Figured you might like seeing it all,” Steve said, his voice softer now, more genuine. “There’s more where that came from, but we thought we’d start small.”

 

“You know,” Peggy added, with a small chuckle, “I can’t remember the last time I saw a kid look so adorable in a wizarding onesie.”

 

Harry smirked at her. “Yeah, that was definitely a fashion choice I regretted by the time I hit ten.”

 

Bucky leaned forward, grinning. “Don’t worry, kid. You’ve always been cute. Even when you were covered in cake. Though, I’ve gotta admit, that whole 'toddler-in-a-flour-bomb' look is a classic."

 

Harry shot him a deadpan stare. “You don’t have to remind me of that.”

 

The album continued, page after page of these snapshot moments that felt as though they carried the weight of entire lifetimes within them. Every picture was a reminder that, even in the chaos of his life, he’d always been loved. That was something he couldn’t quite get used to, the idea of having a family who cared about him this much.

 

“Thanks, guys,” Harry said finally, his voice thick with emotion, though he did his best to hide it behind a grin. “You really didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

 

Peggy reached over and patted his hand. “We’ve all got your back, Harry. Don’t forget that.”

 

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. And we’ve got more photos if you need them. The next one’s got you, James, and Sirius in an epic snowball fight. I think the entire kitchen got wrecked.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Harry said, unable to suppress the grin that tugged at his lips. “I think I’m good for now. But maybe I’ll take a peek later.”

 

Steve, Peggy, and Bucky exchanged glances, a quiet understanding passing between them. Then Steve raised his glass. “Well, with all this reminiscing and cake eating, how about we all get back to celebrating? It is your birthday, after all.”

 

Harry held up his own glass, grinning wide. “That’s the plan. More cake, less emotional breakdowns. Deal?”

 

“Deal!” Bucky cheered.

 

And just like that, the room filled with laughter again, the warm, comforting hum of conversation and joy carrying them all through the rest of the evening. Harry’s heart felt a little fuller, the knowledge of this new family—and their gift to him—settling into his bones. And in that moment, everything felt right.

 

—

 

The party carried on in full swing, with the cake nearly devoured and the laughter echoing through the room. Harry, feeling the warmth of the moment, wandered over to where Sirius and James were standing, discussing something that looked incredibly high-tech. Rose, who had been hovering nearby, her eyes darting from one shiny gadget to the next, caught sight of them and immediately made a beeline for the conversation, eager for her next opportunity to be spoiled.

 

Sirius, with his usual mischievous grin, held up a small, sleek device in his hand. "Hey, Harry, Rose—come check this out," he called, and Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes at how quickly Rose’s attention was snagged.

 

Rose darted forward like a ravenous animal spotting its next meal, and Harry followed with a bemused grin. They reached the two older men, who were already waiting with their hands full of some kind of upgraded device. James, always the inventor at heart, was already talking as he handed Harry a small, polished mirror.

 

"Okay, so we’ve got something pretty cool here," James said, his voice full of that familiar excitement Harry always associated with his father’s goofy grin. "We’ve taken the old communication mirrors and gave them a little—well, a lot—of an upgrade."

 

Sirius gave a mock bow. "Credit where credit’s due, kid. We had some help. Say hello to the future of magical communication!"

 

Harry raised an eyebrow as he turned the mirror over in his hand. It didn’t look any different from the old one, except it had a slightly more polished finish, and there were a few glowing lines running through the glass. "I’m guessing this isn’t just a mirror that lets me call people?"

 

"Nope!" James said, pulling out a second, slightly larger device. "This is courtesy of a 16-year-old genius—none other than Tony Stark himself. Now, instead of just talking, the mirrors have a holographic interface that lets you see and interact with whoever’s on the other end. Just like a real video call."

 

Harry’s eyes widened. "Wait. Tony? You mean the Tony Stark who is currently giving his own dad a run for his money as the coolest genius in the world?"

 

Sirius nodded, giving him a knowing grin. "That’s the one. Kid’s got talent. And as much as he likes to act like a little brat, he’s pretty damn good at magic-tech crossovers."

 

"These new mirrors are all connected to the gear you’ve got, Harry," James added, tapping the side of his own wrist where a sleek, high-tech watch-like device sat. "They’ll sync up with your suit, your phone, your—well, basically anything you’re carrying. And for Rose, we even made a little handheld version."

 

At that, Rose, who had been eagerly waiting her turn to hold the small mirror, lit up like a firecracker. "It’s just like one of those things you see in the future movies!" she squealed, clapping her hands excitedly as she took the miniature version from James.

 

Sirius smiled at her enthusiasm, ruffling her hair. "Exactly. Now you’ll be able to contact anyone you want, anytime, anywhere. Even if you’re in the middle of some mischief."

 

"I love it!" Rose beamed, inspecting the device closely.

 

"Just don’t use it to prank your mother, okay?" James warned with a wink. "I’m not getting caught in the crossfire again."

 

Harry chuckled, slipping the upgraded mirror into his pocket. "Thanks, guys. This is amazing. Tony Stark really outdid himself this time."

 

"Don't mention it to him," Sirius said with a laugh, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "He’ll get all smug, and we’ll never hear the end of it."

 

Before Harry could respond, Sirius and James exchanged a quick look, and Harry’s grin faltered slightly as they both took him aside, away from Rose, who was already engrossed in her new toy.

 

"Alright, kid," James said, his tone suddenly serious. "We’ve got something else for you. But this is... well, you’re gonna have to promise us something first."

 

Harry gave them a curious look. "What’s that?"

 

"Don’t tell Lily about this," Sirius said, lowering his voice as if Lily was right behind them. "She’ll kill us if she finds out."

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What are you guys hiding from Mum this time?"

 

James and Sirius exchanged a sheepish look before James sighed and pulled a small, leather-bound journal out of his jacket pocket. The cover was worn, and it looked like it had been passed around for a while. He handed it to Harry, who took it, inspecting it carefully.

 

"This," James said, his voice dropping to a confidential tone, "is the real story. The one we’ve never told Lily."

 

"Uh-oh," Harry muttered, flicking through the pages of the journal. "What’s going on here?"

 

Sirius chuckled darkly. "Well, it’s the process we went through to become Animagi. And trust me, it wasn’t as simple as flicking a wand and poof, a new form. There’s more to it than you know."

 

James nodded, his face growing more serious. "It wasn’t just a magical transformation. It was dangerous—complicated, even. The steps, the rituals, the commitment... We didn’t want Lily worrying. So we kept it between us."

 

"And now," Sirius said with a grin, "you’re the one who gets to know the story. You’re ready for it, Harry."

 

Harry stared at the journal for a moment, his mind racing. "You guys... you really want me to know this? Why not let Mum read it?"

 

"Because she’ll freak out," James said bluntly. "And, honestly, it’s better that you know. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but someday, kid, you’ll need to understand it."

 

Harry looked up at them, a bit overwhelmed but feeling the weight of their trust. "Alright. I promise I won’t say a word to Mum. But seriously, the next time I see you two turn into animals, I’m going to ask way too many questions."

 

"That’s the spirit!" Sirius said, grinning widely. "Now, you better get back to the party before Lily notices you’re missing."

 

As Harry pocketed the journal, his mind already swirling with thoughts of Animagi transformations, the holographic mirrors, and the deepening bond with his family, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging—of being a part of something much bigger than himself. Something magical, yes, but also something real.

 

—

 

The briefing room looked like every other briefing room: dark, dreary, with just enough lighting to make you squint at the walls and pretend the air didn’t smell like cheap coffee and even cheaper bureaucracy. It was the kind of place you’d expect to have big decisions made, like who was going to save the world, or who was getting blamed for a supervillain-related disaster. (Spoiler: It’s always someone else.)

 

Fury, the guy with the permanently grumpy face, was standing at the head of the table, looking like he’d just come off a bender of drinking only black coffee and more black coffee. His voice was gruff, but that was pretty much his default setting, so nobody batted an eye.

 

“We’ve got a problem,” Fury said, looking at everyone around the table like he was about to drop the worst secret ever. “Hydra’s still out there, doing their thing. And we just found a place where they’ve been keeping their worst, most unstable experiments.” He clicked a button, and a map of Siberia showed up on the wall behind him. "This here is the perfect little vacation spot for them: A Hydra facility in Siberia, stocked with brainwashed soldiers. The kind that are too crazy to be useful. I’m talking the real bargain bin stuff. And guess what? They’re still frozen, in cryogenic stasis, waiting for someone to come along and give them a reason to wake up.

 

“Now, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Fury, why are we concerned about a bunch of frozen guys who aren’t even a threat?’ Well, turns out, Hydra doesn’t know how to quit. With Bucky and Harry under S.H.I.E.L.D., Hydra might decide to wake up the crew in Siberia and give us a really bad surprise.”

 

Adler, who was standing off to the side, made a noise like someone had stepped on a cat’s tail. “If they wake up... that’s a problem. We don’t know what they’ve got down there. For all we know, they’ve got a new super soldier prototype in cryo, something worse than the original Winter Soldier.” He gave everyone a pointed look. "And, believe me, you don’t want to find out what Hydra’s been cooking up in their science labs."

 

Howard Stark tilted his head and squinted at the map. "Let me guess. It's heavily guarded, right? Like, lasers, big walls, robots, the whole nine yards?"

 

“Bingo,” Fury replied, crossing his arms. “But we’ve got a plan. And we’ve got a team. That’s where you come in.” He glanced at Peggy and Adler. "You two are going in first. Peggy, you’re the strategic brain on this one. Adler, you're leading the charge."

 

“Fantastic,” Adler muttered, but his eyes were sharp. "I'll make sure we get in and out without anyone noticing. But don’t expect it to be easy. We’re dealing with Hydra here, and when they want something to stay hidden... they’re really good at hiding it."

 

Steve Rogers, sitting across from Peggy, nodded. “We’ll back you up. If anyone needs help... we’ll be there."

 

“Which, of course, means I need to make sure you’re all properly suited up,” Howard said, tapping away on his tablet like he was coding the Matrix. “I’ve upgraded the gear. Added some shiny new bells and whistles. Cloaking, EMP resistance, stealth mode... the works. You’re going to love it.”

 

"Don't get too fancy," Peggy warned him with a raised eyebrow. "We need to move fast, not look like we’ve stepped out of a bad sci-fi movie."

 

“Hey, trust me, these upgrades are top notch,” Howard said, clearly proud of his work. “Think of it as the difference between a Camcorder and High Definition.”

 

“Great,” Adler said, dryly. "Because that’s exactly what I needed right now: A new way to make Hydra notice us."

 

Fury gave Adler a pointed look but said nothing. Instead, he turned his attention to Steve and Peggy. "This isn’t just about infiltrating the facility. The real concern here is that Hydra might decide to release those soldiers. You’ve got to stop them before they get to the point where they can launch a counterattack."

 

Steve crossed his arms. "And if they do try to release anything... we take them down. Simple as that."

 

“Easy to say,” Fury muttered, “but Hydra doesn’t play fair. We need to be prepared for everything, including some backup plans that we don’t even know about yet.”

 

Adler pushed off the wall and started pacing. "You know how Hydra operates. They’ve got backup after backup. Contingency plans for their contingency plans. And I bet they’ve been keeping these soldiers frozen because they’re waiting for the right moment. Or maybe they just like to play god. Either way, it’s a ticking time bomb."

 

Peggy stood up from the table, her expression hardening. "So, we make sure this doesn’t turn into a worst-case scenario. We get in there, freeze their plans, and walk out like it’s just another Tuesday."

 

"And if Hydra doesn’t like that?" Steve asked with a smirk.

 

"Then we make it Wednesday." Peggy’s voice was cool, but the spark in her eyes was unmistakable.

 

Howard shot Adler a grin. "With a little luck, we won’t even have to fire a shot."

 

"Yeah," Adler said, "or we’ll need ten thousand shots, all at once. Let’s hope it’s the first one."

 

Fury was the last to speak, standing up and giving the team a look that was part general, part frustrated uncle. "We’ve got one shot at this. Get in, stop the soldiers from waking up, and make sure Hydra stays in the past. We can’t afford to let this be their comeback."

 

With that, the team stood up, everyone in sync, ready to take on the unknown. As they filed out of the room, Steve turned to Peggy and Adler, his lips curling into a grin. "So, do we get the fancy gear first, or do we go straight to Siberia and freeze our butts off?"

 

"Let’s get the gear," Peggy said with a smirk. "And after that, we can focus on not dying in the cold."

Chapter 19: Chapter 18

The black Stark Industries limousine pulled up to the bustling airport curb, its sleek exterior managing to look both intimidating and ostentatiously expensive—classic Stark style. Howard Stark stepped out first, adjusting his tie as if it were some kind of armor against the chaos of a public terminal. Behind him, Edwin Jarvis, the ever-dutiful butler, opened the door for Maria Stark, who was still recovering from her recent injuries but looked as poised as ever. She leaned on Jarvis’s arm for support, her serene expression a stark (pun intended) contrast to the whirlwind of activity around her.

 

And then there was Tony. Sixteen years old, with a smirk that could either charm you or make you want to strangle him—it was a toss-up, really. He stepped out last, looking simultaneously too cool for the situation and deeply annoyed at being fussed over. His backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder, and his other hand clutched a tablet that he hadn’t looked up from since they left the house.

 

Howard glanced at his son and sighed. “You know, Tony, you could at least pretend to care that we’re seeing you off.”

 

“I do care,” Tony said without looking up. “I just multitask better than you do, old man.” He tapped something on the tablet with a flourish, like he was proving a point.

 

Maria raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Anthony Edward Stark, you are going to put that thing down and say a proper goodbye to your parents.” Her tone was light, but there was no mistaking the command behind it.

 

Tony hesitated for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Maria to smirk in victory—before tucking the tablet under his arm. “Fine, but only because you pulled the full-name card. That’s cheating, by the way.”

 

“Parents invented cheating,” Maria quipped, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “Now, come here and let me look at you.”

 

Tony sighed dramatically but complied, standing still as Maria fussed over his collar. “You know, MIT isn’t that far. I’ll be back for Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And every other major holiday where you can guilt me into showing up.”

 

“We’re not guilting you,” Howard said, though the tone of his voice suggested otherwise. “We’re just making sure you don’t forget where you came from. And where your funding comes from.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Noted. I’ll send you a postcard. ‘Dear Mom and Dad, MIT is great. Thanks for paying for everything. Love, your favorite child.’”

 

Maria laughed, though it quickly turned into a cough. Jarvis immediately stepped forward, his ever-watchful presence reassuring. “Mrs. Stark, perhaps we should get you back to the car. The air here isn’t particularly kind.”

 

“I’m fine, Jarvis,” Maria said, waving him off, though she leaned a little more on his arm. “But you’re right. We should let Tony get going.”

 

Howard clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder, his expression softening for a moment. “Just... don’t forget to call, alright? Your mother worries.”

 

“And you don’t?” Tony asked, though his tone was more teasing than accusatory.

 

Howard hesitated, then smirked. “I don’t have to worry. I know you’re going to be fine. You’re a Stark, after all.”

 

Tony snorted. “Pretty sure that’s why most people do worry.”

 

Maria shook her head but pulled Tony into a quick hug. “Stay out of trouble,” she said, though they both knew it was a futile request.

 

“Trouble finds me,” Tony replied, but he hugged her back.

 

Jarvis handed Tony his carry-on with a small smile. “Do try to behave, Master Tony. And if you can’t manage that, at least don’t get caught.”

 

“Solid advice, Jarvis,” Tony said with a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

As Tony turned to head into the airport, he glanced back once, his smirk fading for just a moment. “See you guys soon.”

 

Howard nodded, his expression unreadable, while Maria waved. Jarvis held the door open for them as they got back into the limo, and the car pulled away, leaving Tony standing on the curb, surrounded by strangers but looking completely at ease.

 

“MIT,” he muttered to himself as he headed inside. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

 

—

 

The plane was packed, as always, but Tony Stark—being Tony Stark—managed to land himself a seat in first class, naturally. He settled into his plush leather seat with the same swagger as a rockstar stepping on stage. He tossed his bag into the overhead compartment, adjusted his sunglasses, and cracked open a fresh bottle of water, all the while pretending not to notice the appreciative glances he was getting from the other passengers.

 

But then, he noticed her.

 

She was sitting next to the window, already engrossed in a book. Long brown hair, hazel eyes that sparkled like something out of a magazine ad, and that smile—oh, that smile—like she knew secrets about the universe but was willing to let you in on them if you played your cards right. Tony couldn’t help but admire the view for a moment. She looked like the type of person who could make a boring six-hour flight feel like five minutes, and Tony Stark was always up for a challenge.

 

He flashed his signature cocky grin, hoping to get her attention. “So, I know this is the best seat on the plane, but I’m still kinda surprised they gave it to you,” he said, leaning a bit toward her in that way that only he could pull off—confident but somehow smooth. “I mean, look at me. I’m Tony Stark. You’re just, well, you’re... you.”

 

She glanced up, her expression unreadable for a second, then smiled. It was a dangerous smile, one that told him she knew exactly who he was but wasn’t impressed by the Stark charm. Interesting.

 

“I’m Cynthia,” she said, her voice low and sweet, with just a hint of an accent he couldn’t quite place. She extended a hand. “And you’re Tony Stark, I know. I’ve read about you. Your... adventures.”

 

Tony smirked, shaking her hand. “I have many adventures. Some I tell people about. Some, I’m legally required to keep on the down-low. You know how it is.”

 

“Legally required,” she mused, tilting her head. “Sounds like fun.”

 

Oh, she was good. Tony was getting all kinds of "playful but dangerous" vibes from her now. His radar for this kind of thing was practically a superpower.

 

“Fun? You could say that.” He leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head as if he owned the entire plane. "So, Cynthia, tell me. Are you on a business trip, or are you just flying away to escape a life full of boring people who don’t appreciate your... unique qualities?"

 

Her lips twitched with amusement, and Tony could see that she wasn’t easily rattled. “Something like that,” she said cryptically. "I’m... just getting away for a while."

 

Tony’s curiosity piqued, and he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I get it. Sometimes you need to hit the reset button. Maybe see the world from a different perspective. I’m guessing you’re not a fan of... well, what most people consider normal?”

 

Cynthia laughed softly, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she was sizing him up. “You could say that. I’m a... global citizen, I suppose.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Global citizen? Well, that sounds like the kind of title that comes with a backstory. You a diplomat? Some kind of UN hero?"

 

“I suppose I could tell you, but it might spoil the mystery,” she replied with a teasing grin. “And where’s the fun in that?”

 

Tony chuckled, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. He liked a challenge. And this girl? She was definitely a challenge. “Fair enough. You’re keeping me on my toes, I’ll give you that.”

 

But just as the conversation was starting to get interesting, something about Cynthia shifted. Her eyes, for a split second, darkened in a way that was... unsettling. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Tony’s ever-alert instincts picked it up. It was like she’d slipped into a different personality, one that wasn’t quite as... warm.

 

The moment passed, and she smiled again, though it seemed a little more calculated. “I’m sure you have a lot of... stories to tell, Tony Stark. Perhaps, next time we meet, I can hear some of them?”

 

“Next time?” Tony said, flashing a grin. “Is that an invitation?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d call it an invitation,” Cynthia said smoothly. “More like a... suggestion.”

 

“Well, you just made my day,” Tony replied, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ll be sure to put it in my calendar. But listen, you keep me guessing, I’ll keep you entertained. Deal?”

 

She smiled again, but this time, it was different—almost like she knew something he didn’t. “Deal.”

 

Tony leaned back in his seat, letting out a low whistle. “I’ll admit, Cynthia, you’re a tough one to crack. But hey, I love a good puzzle.”

 

Unbeknownst to him, Cynthia—Sinthea, really—wasn’t just any puzzle. She was a ticking time bomb, and Tony Stark had just made himself a very interesting target.

 

As the plane ascended into the sky, neither of them knew that this meeting was just the beginning of something far more complicated and dangerous than either of them could imagine.

 

—

 

Tony spent the next hour chatting with Cynthia, throwing out his usual brand of charm, wit, and more than a few self-deprecating jokes about his overachieving nature. Cynthia, for her part, played the game expertly—just enough intrigue to keep Tony hooked but always pulling back before giving too much away.

 

She was a master of the verbal chess match, and Tony was loving it. This wasn’t the kind of interaction he was used to. Most people were either too impressed or too intimidated by him to keep up. But Cynthia? She was different.

 

Eventually, their conversation drifted toward lighter topics. Tony mentioned MIT, his latest tech project (a holographic interface he was sure was going to revolutionize communication), and even managed to casually brag about being the youngest student to ever graduate from the university.

 

Cynthia listened, her responses carefully measured. She even seemed genuinely impressed when Tony explained the intricacies of his newest design, though there was a sharpness in her eyes that suggested she understood far more than she was letting on.

 

“You’re quite... ambitious,” she said after a while, her tone neutral.

 

“Well, I’ve been called worse,” Tony quipped. “But hey, life’s too short to play small ball. If you’re not aiming for the stars, what’s the point?”

 

Cynthia tilted her head, her gaze lingering on him in a way that felt... almost predatory. “And do you always hit your targets, Tony Stark?”

 

Tony smirked. “Always. Well, unless it’s mini-golf. Don’t ask me to putt. It’s embarrassing.”

 

She laughed lightly at that, though the humor didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It must be exhausting, always striving for perfection.”

 

He shrugged, pretending not to notice the subtle shift in her tone. “Nah, it’s not about perfection. It’s about the challenge. You know, pushing boundaries, breaking rules... annoying people who say things like, ‘That’s impossible.’”

 

Cynthia’s smile sharpened. “Yes, I imagine you’d be very good at that.”

 

Something about the way she said it made Tony pause, but before he could analyze it too much, the flight attendant appeared with their meals, breaking the moment.

 

---

 

Meanwhile, in the cockpit of the plane, everything seemed routine. The pilots chatted casually about their flight path, unaware that Hydra agents in the ground crew had tampered with their navigation systems before takeoff.

 

Back in first class, Cynthia—Sinthea, though she’d long since perfected her alias—was mentally cataloging every detail about Tony Stark. His mannerisms, his vulnerabilities, his ego. She’d been trained to exploit such things, and Stark was practically handing her the keys to his psyche on a silver platter.

 

But her mission wasn’t just about observation. Hydra had plans for Tony Stark. Big ones. His brilliance, his arrogance—it made him both a threat and an opportunity.

 

The real question was whether she’d need to manipulate him directly or simply plant the seeds for someone else to harvest. Either way, Tony Stark was about to become a very important piece in Hydra’s long game.

M

 

---

 

Tony, of course, had no idea. He was too busy trying to figure out if Cynthia was single without coming across as desperate. “So, what’s waiting for you when we land? A boyfriend? A secret identity as a pop star? Or are you just planning on taking the city by storm?”

 

Cynthia smiled again, the kind of smile that would make anyone feel like they were the center of the universe. “Something like that,” she said cryptically.

 

Tony leaned closer, intrigued. “You know, you’re pretty good at dodging questions. Have you considered politics? You’d make a great senator.”

 

She chuckled softly, her eyes gleaming. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 

“Oh, it was. Trust me,” Tony replied, flashing another grin.

 

As the plane began its descent, Tony felt oddly disappointed. For once, he wasn’t in a rush to get to his destination. He wasn’t done figuring out Cynthia—or enjoying the thrill of trying, anyway.

 

Little did he know, Cynthia felt the same way. Except for her, it wasn’t a game. It was a strategy. And Tony Stark was already playing right into her hands.

 

As the plane landed, Cynthia adjusted her scarf and gathered her things, her expression cool and composed. “It was nice meeting you, Tony,” she said as they prepared to disembark. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”

 

Tony grinned. “Oh, I wouldn’t bet against it. Destiny seems to have a thing for me.”

 

She gave him one last enigmatic smile before disappearing into the crowd, leaving Tony both intrigued and completely unaware of just how close he’d come to walking straight into Hydra’s web.

 

—

 

Tony strutted out of the airport, his duffle bag slung over one shoulder and his mind still half on the mysterious Cynthia. She was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve, and that never happened. Most people were as easy to figure out as basic circuitry for him—straightforward, predictable. But Cynthia? She was an encrypted code wrapped in a riddle. And Tony Stark loved cracking codes.

 

“Tony!” a familiar voice called out, cutting through his thoughts.

 

He turned to see James Rhodes—Rhodey to his friends—leaning against a battered old pickup truck, arms crossed, and wearing an expression that screamed How much trouble did you get into this time?

 

Rhodey, with his clean-cut demeanor and perpetually responsible attitude, was the exact opposite of Tony in almost every way. Which probably explained why they got along so well.

 

“Rhodey!” Tony grinned, dropping his bag on the curb and throwing his arms wide. “Miss me?”

 

“Not even a little,” Rhodey deadpanned, though his smirk gave him away. “You know, some of us had normal summers. You? I’m guessing you spent yours blowing something up or hitting on every girl in New York?”

 

Tony feigned a look of shock. “Why can’t it be both? Multitasking, my friend. It’s the future.”

 

Rhodey shook his head, already regretting the decision to pick Tony up instead of letting him take a cab. “Get in the truck before I leave you here.”

 

Tony tossed his bag in the back and slid into the passenger seat, immediately fiddling with the truck’s old radio. “How do you even drive this thing? It’s like a fossil. Does it run on steam power?”

 

Rhodey swatted his hand away from the dials. “Touch anything, and you’re walking to campus.”

 

Tony leaned back with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But for the record, I could probably rebuild this thing into a fully autonomous vehicle in, like, a weekend.”

 

“Yeah, and then it’d explode two miles down the road because you skipped half the safety checks,” Rhodey shot back, pulling onto the highway.

 

Tony pointed at him. “That only happened once. And I fixed it.”

 

The two of them settled into an easy rhythm, the kind of banter that came from years of friendship. Rhodey was used to Tony’s quirks—his ego, his impulsiveness, his tendency to talk like he was auditioning for his own reality show. And Tony knew Rhodey would always call him out when he got too full of himself, which, to be fair, was often.

 

“So,” Rhodey said after a while, glancing at Tony out of the corner of his eye. “You look... distracted. Did something happen on the plane? Did someone finally tell you that wearing sunglasses indoors makes you look like a jerk?”

 

Tony smirked, adjusting the aforementioned sunglasses. “First of all, these are Ray-Bans. Iconic. Secondly, I might’ve met someone.”

 

Rhodey groaned. “Here we go.”

 

“No, no, this one was different,” Tony insisted. “She wasn’t impressed by me. I mean, she was, but not in the usual way. It was like... she was playing a game, and I didn’t even know the rules.”

 

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. “And you liked that?”

 

“Are you kidding? I loved it. She was smart, sharp, gorgeous... and mysterious. Like a Bond villain, but, you know, hotter.”

 

“Tony, I’m begging you, don’t date someone who could be an actual villain,” Rhodey said, half-joking, half-serious.

 

Tony waved him off. “Relax. She was probably just shy. Or playing hard to get. Either way, I’m intrigued.”

 

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, try not to let your intrigue get you into trouble, okay? You’ve got a whole year of classes to focus on. And I’m not bailing you out if you hack the campus network again.”

 

Tony grinned. “No promises.”

 

As they neared campus, Tony leaned his head back against the seat, already planning his next move. Cynthia might have been a mystery, but Tony Stark was nothing if not persistent. And if she was a Bond villain? Well, he’d cross that bridge when he got there. Probably with Rhodey yelling at him the whole way.

 

—

 

In the quiet confines of the New York safehouse—a secure, high-tech bunker that Howard Stark would have called homey if not for the slight hum of surveillance equipment—Howard and Lily Potter were hard at work. Their makeshift lab looked like a cross between a mad scientist’s lair and a wizard’s workshop. It wasn’t just cutting-edge; it was bleeding edge, thanks to a mix of Howard's relentless ingenuity and Lily’s mastery of magical enchantments.

 

“Alright,” Howard muttered, adjusting his goggles as he leaned over the holographic blueprint of the team's updated gear. “Peggy’s shield enhancements are solid. The vibranium-laced edges will handle almost anything Hydra can throw at her. And Bucky’s arm—”

 

“—Isn’t going to start misbehaving again, I hope,” Lily cut in, her wand flicking toward a nearby rack of weapons. She was double-checking the enchantments she’d placed on them, ensuring that every charm and ward was in perfect alignment. “The last thing we need is his arm deciding it wants to take over mid-mission.”

 

Howard waved her off with a cocky grin. “Relax, Red. That arm is more secure than Fort Knox. I’ve even added a few surprises—shock pulses, magnetic locks, the works. Hydra won’t know what hit them.”

 

James Potter, leaning casually against the doorframe, snorted. “If they do, it’s probably because you couldn’t resist leaving your name engraved on it somewhere.”

 

“Please,” Howard said, looking offended. “I’m not that vain.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s on the inside. Small. Tasteful.”

 

Sirius Black, perched on a stool with an apple in one hand and a knife in the other, was no help at all. “You’re both missing the bigger picture. What’s really important is whether you’ve given me the coolest gear of the lot.”

 

Lily rolled her eyes. “You’re getting what you need, Sirius, not what’ll make you look like a wizard rock star.”

 

“Who says those things are mutually exclusive?” Sirius quipped, tossing the apple core into a trash bin with a dramatic flick of his wrist.

 

Lily ignored him and turned back to Howard. “The communication mirrors?”

 

“Better than ever,” Howard said, gesturing to a sleek, hand-held device on the table. It looked like a smartphone but shimmered faintly, as if it were more than it appeared. “Thanks to young Tony’s meddling—sorry, genius contributions—these babies now have a holographic interface. Think of it as FaceTime, but cooler. And with enchantments layered on top, courtesy of you, they’re unhackable and practically indestructible.”

 

“Practically?” James asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Look, Potter, you want indestructible, talk to Jesus. I’m only human.”

 

“And a very humble one at that,” James said with a grin.

 

Lily waved her wand again, and the mirrors floated into the air before landing gently in their respective slots. “These will do. Everyone on the team gets one, including the handheld version for Rose. I’ve added a location-tracking charm and emergency portkey function, just in case.”

 

“Smart,” Howard said, nodding. “Let’s hope they don’t need it.”

 

The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of the upcoming mission settling over them.

 

“So,” Sirius said, breaking the silence, “what’s in the box you’ve been so secretive about?”

 

Howard and Lily exchanged a glance before Howard reached under the table and pulled out a plain-looking journal. He handed it to Lily, who sighed and reluctantly passed it to James and Sirius.

 

“This,” Lily said, her voice low, “is everything we could find on the Siberian facility. Adler’s intel, Grindelwald’s notes, old SHIELD files—it’s all in here. And it’s not pretty.”

 

Sirius flipped it open, skimming through the pages, his usual smirk fading. “Cryogenic chambers, brainwashing protocols… This is grim.”

 

James frowned, looking over his shoulder. “Hydra really kept them frozen, all because they couldn’t control them? What’s the plan if they wake them up?”

 

“That’s why we’re sending you guys,” Howard said firmly. “If anyone can handle this, it’s this team.”

 

Lily nodded, though her expression was tight. “I just hope we’re not sending them into something even worse than what we’re expecting.”

 

Sirius closed the journal and set it down, his eyes unusually serious. “Don’t worry, Lily. Whatever Hydra’s got hiding in that frozen hellhole, they’re about to wish they’d stayed buried.”

 

Howard grinned. “Now that’s the kind of optimism I like to hear.”

 

Lily just shook her head. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

 

—

 

In the dim light of the safehouse's armory, Harry stood before the full-length mirror, his reflection a striking mix of danger and mystique. The Revenant Armor gleamed under the flickering overhead light—an intimidating blend of crimson and black, crafted to be as functional as it was menacing. His movements were precise as he secured his wands into the custom-built holsters on his gauntlets. The Oak wand, with its Phoenix Feather core, slipped easily into the left holster, while the Ebony wand with its Dragon Heartstring core found its place on the right.

 

As he worked, the door creaked open behind him. Natasha Romanoff leaned casually against the frame, her sharp eyes scanning his suit. She tilted her head, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Nice look, Harry. Very 'vengeful ghost of Christmas future.' But tell me, why the wands? I thought your Vibranium claws were already a magician's best friend."

 

Harry glanced at her reflection in the mirror and smirked under his mask. "The claws are powerful," he said, his voice light but focused. "Think of them as sledgehammers. Great for breaking down walls, terrible for performing delicate surgery. For the kind of magic Adler taught me—subtle enchantments, intricate spellwork—you need finesse. And that's what these are for." He patted the holsters.

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow, watching as he retrieved the medallion Adler had given him for his birthday. The faintly glowing object seemed to hum with a quiet, otherworldly energy. "Let me guess—Grindelwald's 'reformed' wisdom strikes again?"

 

Harry chuckled. "Adler. Grindelwald's a chapter of the past, at least for now. This," he held up the medallion, "is supposed to amplify my magical focus. He said it might come in handy one day, so I figured why not make it part of the suit?"

 

Natasha crossed her arms, her curiosity piqued as Harry placed the medallion over the chestplate of his armor. With a whispered incantation, the medallion shimmered, its light spreading outward until it melted seamlessly into the crimson plating. The magic felt alive, almost breathing as it settled into the armor, enhancing its design and functionality. The armor looked complete now, more than just battle gear—it was an extension of Harry himself.

 

"Well, that was flashy," Natasha quipped. "But I guess it matches the rest of the getup."

 

Harry reached for his mask, a sleek black design charmed by Lily to distort his voice. With practiced ease, he slid it over his face, the mask melding perfectly with the hood. He turned to Natasha, the red hood now fully up, and spoke in a voice that sounded deeper, colder, and more commanding than his own. "Flashy is part of the job description. You know that better than anyone."

 

Natasha smirked but said nothing, her eyes lingering on the armor for a moment longer before stepping back into the hallway. "Come on, Revenant. Time to see if the rest of the team is ready."

 

As Harry followed her out, he took one last glance at his reflection in the mirror. The Revenant stared back, ready for the mission ahead.

 

—

 

The hangar was buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves. The team was gathered around the large cargo plane, their mission to Siberia looming on the horizon. The massive plane sat parked, its engines humming softly, ready for takeoff. The air was thick with the metallic scent of gear and anticipation.

 

Steve Rogers, clad in his iconic Stars and Stripes shield and matching tactical gear, adjusted his shoulder straps. He turned to Peggy Carter, who stood beside him, her Union Jack shield gleaming under the harsh hangar lights. The two exchanged a glance, admiring the symmetry of their outfits.

 

"You know," Steve said, a rare grin tugging at his lips, "I always thought it'd be a bit cheesy to have matching gear, but I have to admit... this looks good."

 

Peggy raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming at the corner of her mouth. "I think the stars and stripes suit you just fine, Steve. But, of course, I do have the superior shield."

 

"Really?" Steve raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Is that so?"

 

Before Peggy could reply, Bucky Barnes—dressed in his White Wolf gear—let out an exaggerated sigh and called out, "You two need to get a room. The only thing more nauseating than that display is your constant flirting."

 

Steve and Peggy shared an amused glance before turning back to their gear. "We’ll keep that in mind, Bucky," Steve shot back, but the smile never left his face.

 

Meanwhile, James Potter and Sirius Black were leaning against a cargo crate, watching the rest of the team and occasionally throwing out jabs. "So, which of us looks better in this gear?" James asked, looking to Lily, Ted, and Andromeda, all of whom were clad in the same high-tech armor. Each piece of gear was perfectly tailored, blending practicality with sleek design, and all three wore the same dark, tactical look—slightly more understated than the others, but no less intimidating.

 

Ted, raising an eyebrow, shot a playful look at James. "You clearly think you're the one pulling it off, don't you?"

 

Lily rolled her eyes but smiled. "It's hard to compare when one of you is practically glowing with ego, and the other one has his face covered in scars."

 

Sirius snorted. "Just admit it, Lily. You all know I'm the best-looking one here."

 

Lily raised her hand. "If we're talking looks alone, Ted wins the prize. But if we're talking about who can look the least ridiculous while wearing this armor? It's clearly me."

 

Sirius and James exchanged an exaggerated look of disbelief, but both laughed in good nature.

 

Across from them, Gideon Adler—now looking far younger than his actual age thanks to the rejuvenating effects of some serious magic—was staring intently at a set of blueprints spread across a table. His tailored suit, made from Vibranium-laced fabric to match the team’s gear, gave him an air of sophistication, though it was clearly not meant for fieldwork. He was deep in thought, his mind clearly elsewhere as the chatter around him continued.

 

"Not even a word on the gear, Adler?" Sirius teased, clearly trying to draw him into the conversation.

 

Adler didn’t even look up from the blueprints, his fingers tracing the lines absently. "My attire is not a topic for debate right now," he replied coolly. "The mission comes first."

 

James snorted. "Yeah, but that suit’s a bit much, don't you think? You’re in the middle of a battlefield, not a gala."

 

Sirius snickered, adding, "What, are you expecting someone to hand you a drink, Adler? Maybe a nice canapè while we’re in Siberia?"

 

Adler finally glanced up, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Unlike some, I don’t need to rely on flashy armor or ridiculous comments to keep my focus. But please, feel free to keep making fun of me—it’s hardly my first time."

 

Before the banter could continue, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hangar. All eyes turned to see the Revenant—Harry—step into the room, his crimson armor gleaming under the harsh lights, the red hood casting shadows over his face. Natasha Romanoff was right behind him, her sleek black outfit and signature red hair standing out like a beacon of danger.

 

Harry’s presence was instantly commanding. He moved with the same grace and purpose as the armor he wore, his magic subtly humming in the air around him. As he reached the group, his voice—distorted by the magical charm Lily had placed on his mask—broke the silence. "Ready to take on the world?" he asked, his tone serious but laced with an edge of humor.

 

"Speak for yourself, kid," Bucky muttered, eyeing the armor with a raised eyebrow. "I’m just here to make sure you don’t blow anything up."

 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bucky," Harry replied, unbothered by the jibe. His eyes flicked toward Adler, then the others, giving each one a nod. "Everyone’s prepped?"

 

"Everything’s good to go," Steve confirmed, already moving toward the cargo plane with Peggy by his side. "Let’s get this show on the road."

 

With the team assembled and ready, there was a brief moment of quiet—then the unmistakable sound of the plane’s engines roared to life, cutting through the silence like a promise. The mission to Siberia was about to begin.

Chapter 20: Chapter 19

The hum of the cargo plane’s engines was the only sound filling the air as the team settled in, their mission drawing nearer with every passing minute. The plane was spacious, each member of the team seated or standing in a designated area, checking over their gear and preparing for what lay ahead.

 

Adler, always the strategist, stood near the center of the room, flanked by Peggy Carter. She was the perfect partner for this mission—intelligent, capable, and always ready to fight for the greater good. Adler adjusted his suit—tailored but still practical enough for combat—and nodded to Peggy, signaling for the team’s attention.

 

"Alright, everyone," Adler began, his voice calm yet authoritative, "our objective is simple: we infiltrate the Hydra facility in Siberia, where they’ve been storing and experimenting on Winter Soldiers too unstable for active duty. These are the ones that didn't make the cut—dangerous, unpredictable, and dangerous in ways we can’t fully comprehend. We need to retrieve the data, neutralize any threats, and, if possible, extract anything useful for research. But our priority is clear—get in, get out, and leave no trace behind."

 

Peggy nodded in agreement, her eyes sharp. "We’ve trained for this. We know the layout of the base, we know the defenses, and we know the risks. Our stealth and speed will be our greatest assets. We move fast, and we hit hard when necessary. But most importantly, we stay focused. Hydra isn’t the same enemy we’ve faced before. We’re dealing with shadows, and shadows need light to be exposed."

 

A quiet moment passed, the tension palpable, before Steve Rogers spoke up. His voice was steady, but the confidence in it was clear. He stood tall in his Stars and Stripes armor, his shield secured firmly on his back.

 

"We’ve all faced enemies that seemed impossible to defeat. I’ve fought wars, seen friends fall, and survived the worst odds. But there’s one thing I’ve learned—when you’ve got a team, when you trust each other and stand together, you can face anything." He let his words sink in, his blue eyes scanning the team. "This mission isn’t just about taking down Hydra—it’s about showing the world that there’s no place for them to hide. We’re doing this for those who can’t fight for themselves. We’re doing this for freedom. And most importantly, we’re doing this together."

 

A collective nod ran through the group. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just unity in purpose.

 

Meanwhile, in the back of the plane, Harry Potter—also known as The Revenant—sat with his arms crossed, staring out of the small window. The crimson armor he wore seemed to shimmer with energy, the red hood casting shadows over his face. His mask, a gift from Lily, distorted his voice whenever he spoke, giving him an edge of mystery.

 

Lily, James, and Sirius approached him, their faces a mix of concern and amusement. The three of them, now in their own tactical gear, exchanged a glance before approaching Harry, who was lost in thought.

 

"Harry," Lily started gently, a soft smile on her face as she sat beside him. "You alright? You’re awfully quiet."

 

James leaned in, his usual grin replaced with something more serious. "Yeah, it's your first real mission with us. You nervous?"

 

Sirius, ever the jokester, chuckled as he put an arm over Harry’s shoulder. "If anyone can handle the pressure, it's you. But hey, I’m still waiting for the part where you freak out a little. Don’t let me down, Potter."

 

Harry remained still for a moment, his fingers tapping against the edge of his armor, the sharp sound echoing through the silence between them. Then, finally, he let out a long breath and spoke, his voice distorted by the mask but still recognizable to those who knew him well.

 

"I’m not nervous," Harry said, his tone steady but with an undercurrent of something more, something deeper. "But I can’t say I’m not... thinking. This is a big mission. And we’re going up against a kind of enemy I haven’t faced before. These Winter Soldiers—they’re a different kind of monster."

 

"Yeah, well," Sirius chimed in, "you’re not exactly a rookie anymore, mate. You’ve got the gear, the skills, and the support. Besides, you’ve faced worse odds before. What’s the worst that could happen?"

 

"Let’s not tempt fate," James added with a wry smile. "But seriously, Harry, you’re ready for this. You’ve been training for this moment. You’ve got this."

 

Lily placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. "We’ve all been through a lot, Harry. There’s no shame in being anxious. What matters is what you do when it counts. And I know you’ll make the right call when the time comes."

 

Harry met her gaze, nodding slightly. "Thanks, everyone. I know I’m not alone in this. But it's different when you're facing the unknown, you know? No matter how much prep you do, nothing can really prepare you for the chaos."

 

Sirius clapped Harry on the back. "True. But chaos is where we thrive. We’ll get through it together."

 

Harry stood, pushing back the thoughts of uncertainty that had been clouding his mind. "Let’s just focus on getting through this mission first. After that, I’ll think about how to deal with the fallout."

 

The camaraderie in the group was palpable. Each one of them had their own reasons for being here, their own burdens and fears. But in this moment, they were united by a single purpose.

 

The plane rumbled slightly as it began its descent toward Siberia, and with a collective sense of determination, the team braced for what lay ahead. Harry’s heart beat a little faster, but the tension had been replaced with clarity. This wasn’t just about surviving. This was about standing together, fighting for what was right, and making sure the world didn’t fall into the hands of those who would corrupt it.

 

"Let’s move," Steve said, his voice unwavering as he turned toward the door. "This isn’t just about us. It’s about showing Hydra—and everyone else—that we won’t back down."

 

The rest of the team followed his lead, their resolve strengthened. The mission had begun.

 

—

 

The cargo plane touched down with a soft bump on the snowy ground, the vast Siberian wilderness stretching out around them in every direction. The cold, biting wind immediately greeted the team as the ramp of the plane lowered, revealing the stark, frozen landscape. The base loomed in the distance, half-hidden by the towering trees and snowdrifts, its high walls and barbed wire fences barely visible in the harsh winter night.

 

Steve Rogers stepped off the plane first, his shield strapped to his back and his expression hard as he surveyed their surroundings. "Stay sharp, everyone. We move quickly and quietly. This is a stealth operation until we have no choice but to fight."

 

Peggy Carter followed closely behind, her Union Jack shield gleaming under the pale moonlight. "We know what we’re dealing with. The perimeter is lightly guarded, but the farther we go inside, the more we’ll encounter. No heroics, just efficiency."

 

Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf, had his rifle slung over his shoulder, and his eyes were scanning the surroundings like a hawk. He turned to the group, his voice low but firm. "Let's clear the perimeter and make sure no one alerts the rest of the base. Keep your comms open."

 

Harry, the Revenant, stood near the back, his crimson armor almost blending in with the shadows. His mask distorted his voice, giving it an eerie edge as he surveyed the area. "I’ve got the outer perimeter covered. I’ll take the rooftops, get a better angle on things."

 

James, Sirius, and Lily moved swiftly and silently alongside them. They were prepared for this, having spent weeks training for operations like this one. Lily, her keen mind always analyzing the situation, held her hand up to signal the group to stop. She was already working through the security systems in her head, but they needed to be quick—every second counted.

 

Adler stood by her side, his eyes scanning the icy horizon as he began calculating their approach. "Lily, I’m scanning for any magical wards or security measures. You should work on shutting them down, but I’ll need a second set of eyes to make sure we don’t miss anything. This facility is old, and Hydra is known for having both technological and magical defenses."

 

Lily nodded and pulled out her wand, her focus narrowing as she began silently muttering incantations under her breath. Her sharp mind was already working overtime, tracking the magical signatures in the area. "We’ve got some wards around the entrance. I can take care of them, but we’ll have to move fast once I disable them. Hydra might be using something a bit more advanced, so be on alert."

 

Adler raised his eyebrows, impressed by Lily’s calmness under pressure. "I’ll handle the technological side. There’s a control panel just past the perimeter gate. I’ll bypass their firewalls and unlock the security measures."

 

The group split up to carry out their tasks. Steve, Peggy, Bucky, and Harry moved in perfect synchronization, dispatching the guards at the perimeter with swift, silent takedowns. Steve's shield whistled through the air, knocking out the first guard with a precise throw to the back of the head. Peggy, with the grace of a seasoned spy, took down another guard with a fluid strike to the throat, rendering him unconscious before he could even react.

 

Bucky moved like a shadow, his combat skills honed to perfection. He incapacitated the next guard by disarming him, twisting his arm behind his back, and slamming him into the cold ground with a quiet grunt. The last guard, seeing the danger, reached for his gun, but Harry was already on him, a blur of red and silver as he knocked the weapon from the guard’s hand and sent him sprawling in the snow.

 

"Clear," Bucky muttered over the comms, his eyes scanning the area as he kept watch.

 

Harry adjusted his crimson hood, his voice coming through distorted. "The upper levels are clear too. No signs of any movement. I’ve got eyes on the building’s roof. No alarms yet."

 

"Good," Steve replied, his voice carrying an air of quiet authority. "Now we move inside."

 

Lily’s voice crackled through the comms as she and Adler began their work on disabling the wards and hacking the security systems. "The first set of wards is down. I’m moving to the next level now."

 

Adler, standing beside her, tapped away at his portable device, his fingers flying over the screen. "I’m bypassing their tech now. We should have access to the internal cameras and doors in just a moment."

 

The team moved closer to the entrance, their boots crunching through the thick snow, barely making a sound. They arrived at the facility’s massive metal door, standing tall and foreboding against the night sky.

 

"On your mark, Lily," Steve said, his voice low but commanding.

 

"Done," Lily said, her voice a soft exhale as she finished her incantation. The shimmering magical wards around the door faded away, and Adler immediately began typing in the bypass codes. Within seconds, the door clicked open, revealing a dimly lit hallway beyond.

 

"All clear," Adler said with a satisfied smirk, his confidence unwavering. "Let’s move."

 

They infiltrated the base with precision, the group splitting into smaller teams to cover more ground. As they moved deeper into the facility, the air grew colder, and the oppressive silence inside was only broken by the soft hum of machinery. The team knew they were getting closer to the cryogenically frozen Winter Soldiers—unstable, deadly, and terrifying in their own right.

 

But they also knew that they had a greater purpose. This mission wasn’t just about stopping Hydra—it was about saving lives, taking down dangerous weapons, and making sure that the world didn’t fall prey to Hydra’s twisted experiments. Together, they were an unstoppable force.

 

As they rounded a corner, a sudden blast echoed through the facility, followed by the hiss of a security door sliding open. The team paused, their hearts racing, ready for the next challenge.

 

Steve’s voice came through their comms, steady and focused. "This is it. Stay sharp. We’re not just fighting Hydra anymore. We’re fighting for everyone who’s ever been affected by their madness."

 

The group moved forward, their resolve hardened, prepared for whatever awaited them in the depths of the Siberian Hydra base.

 

—

 

Inside the darkened corridors of the Hydra base, the atmosphere was thick with tension. As the rest of the team pressed forward, James and Sirius moved separately, each taking on their own role in the mission.

 

James, clad in his family's Invisibility Cloak, blended seamlessly into the shadows. He was a ghost in the cold, dark halls, moving unnoticed as the sounds of the team's stealthy assault continued in the background. His eyes narrowed, focused on the task at hand. The USB drive in his pocket pulsed with a sense of importance. Howard Stark had entrusted him with this device, which was the key to extracting Hydra's most sensitive information. The data contained everything about their experiments with the Winter Soldiers—their creation, their failures, and potentially something even worse.

 

"Alright, Howard," James whispered, pulling the small Communication Mirror out of his pocket. He activated it with a swift gesture, and the holographic interface flickered to life, displaying Howard Stark's grinning face. The man was in his workshop back in New York, fiddling with some tech as always.

 

"Everything's in place on your end?" Howard's voice crackled through the mirror. "You know the drill, kid. If anything goes wrong, don't hesitate. Get out of there fast."

 

James smirked, adjusting his grip on the USB drive as he approached the door to the Winter Soldier chamber. "All good, Stark. I’ve got your back. Let’s just hope I don’t need to make a hasty exit."

 

Howard’s face flickered with an expression of mock seriousness. "You better not. I’m not doing this just for kicks. I’m counting on you."

 

The door in front of James slid open with a low, mechanical hum. The chamber inside was dimly lit, but the rows upon rows of cryogenically frozen soldiers were visible, suspended in thick glass tanks, their eyes shut in eternal sleep. Each figure was eerily still, their bodies encased in the frosty preservation chambers.

 

James’ heart clenched as he looked at the super-soldiers, many of them scarred and disfigured from failed experiments. Their eyes, if they could open them, would likely show the trauma of lives forcibly altered in Hydra's pursuit of power. He couldn’t help but wonder if they were even capable of feeling anymore, if their minds had been wiped clean, or if they still held on to fragments of who they used to be.

 

But there was no time for sympathy. He pulled the USB drive from his pocket and plugged it into a nearby terminal. As soon as it connected, the system whirred to life. Howard’s voice came through the mirror, crackling in his ear.

 

"Copying the data now, kid. Stay low, stay sharp."

 

James nodded to himself, scanning the room as he moved with quiet precision, his Invisibility Cloak making him almost entirely undetectable. He had to act quickly—while Howard accessed the files remotely, James placed small, strategically hidden explosive charges throughout the chamber. The explosives were low yield, designed to disable the cryogenic tanks without triggering a catastrophic chain reaction. He had to ensure that the Winter Soldiers remained frozen, but the facility would be thoroughly compromised.

 

Outside, Sirius was causing a distraction, shifting into his Animagus form. As a large, black dog, he bounded through the facility, disrupting Hydra’s guards with expertly timed chaos. He knocked over equipment, growled menacingly, and gave Hydra agents just enough to worry about, forcing them into frantic maneuvers. Each moment Sirius wasted, every distraction he created, bought James more time to finish his task.

 

"You're good, James," Sirius' voice came through their comms, his tone filled with mischief. "I'm just about to lead a couple more of them on a merry chase. Keep doing your thing, and don't get caught."

 

James’ response was brief, focused on the task ahead. "Stay close, and don’t get yourself caught. I’m nearly done."

 

As the countdown to the data transfer reached its final stages, James glanced around once more, checking his explosives and ensuring they were all set. The digital interface before him flickered with Howard’s progress.

 

"Got everything," Howard said, his voice crackling through the mirror. "I’ve copied the files. You need to get out now."

 

"Roger that," James muttered. He was already on his way, taking the last look at the cryogenically frozen soldiers. A heavy silence hung in the air as the data transfer completed. There were so many lives Hydra had destroyed, and James couldn’t help but feel the weight of that loss. But he had a job to do, and now, he’d done it.

 

Sirius’ voice came through the comms again, this time tinged with urgency. "James, get moving. We’ve got company incoming. You’ve got less than five minutes before the entire place knows you’re there."

 

James felt the pressure mounting. He slipped back toward the exit, weaving through the shadows, his heart pounding. As he reached the door to the hallway, a sudden crash echoed from down the corridor—someone had triggered the alarm.

 

"Dammit," James muttered under his breath. "Time to go."

 

With a final glance over his shoulder, he disappeared into the darkness, his Invisibility Cloak shrouding him once more. Outside, the rest of the team was in position, waiting for him. They knew the mission wasn’t over yet—it was just beginning.

 

James reached the rendezvous point, where Peggy, Steve, and Bucky stood, weapons ready, their eyes alert.

 

"Mission’s a go," James said, his voice low and controlled. "Let's get out of here."

 

A loud explosion shook the base, and the team instantly moved into action, prepared to fight their way out if necessary. The sound of distant shouting and chaos filled the air as alarms blared across the facility.

 

Peggy looked at James, a proud yet intense look in her eyes. "Nice work. Let’s finish this."

 

The team sprinted into the night, the sounds of their boots crunching in the snow the only indication of their departure. Behind them, Hydra’s secrets—dark, twisted, and dangerous—had been exposed. But there was still much work to be done. The Winter Soldiers would not be forgotten, and neither would the sacrifices made to stop Hydra.

 

—

 

The team returned to the cargo plane in near silence, the weight of their successful mission hanging in the air, but there was a shared sense of purpose. The snow outside continued to fall in thick, white blankets, as though the world was trying to bury the chaos that had unfolded within the Hydra base. They moved with efficiency, the adrenaline still coursing through their veins as they boarded the plane, eager to get out of enemy territory.

 

As the ramp closed and the engines roared to life, Peggy Carter and Adler settled into the cockpit, making the necessary course adjustments. Steve Rogers, his shield resting against the seat beside him, turned to face the rest of the team. His eyes, though filled with the usual calm resolve, held a deeper weight tonight. This mission had been a success, but it was clear to all of them that this was only the beginning.

 

"We did good," Steve said, breaking the silence. "But we need to stay vigilant. What we uncovered tonight isn't just Hydra's past—it's their future."

 

"Agreed," Peggy added, her voice steady but tinged with the same seriousness. "We can’t afford to let our guard down. There’s more to this than just frozen soldiers."

 

The cargo hold was filled with quiet murmurs as the team settled in for the long flight back. Each of them processing the weight of the mission in their own way.

 

James, who had been unusually quiet, stood up from his seat and moved toward the rear of the plane, his eyes scanning the horizon through the small porthole window. Sirius followed him, his presence a calming one as James needed to think—he always did after a mission like this. It wasn’t about the mission itself; it was about what came next. What Hydra had been doing, what they had uncovered, and what it meant for the world.

 

"You did well back there," Sirius said, his voice quiet but firm. "That was some serious work you pulled off."

 

James smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Yeah, but it’s never easy. Not with them. They’re always one step ahead."

 

"Well, at least you got the data out," Sirius replied, his voice taking on a softer tone. "And we stopped another Hydra scheme before it could really get rolling."

 

"True," James admitted, but there was a hint of doubt in his voice. "Still doesn’t sit right with me. These are people we’re dealing with. They’ve been turned into weapons, just like Bucky. Some of them may not even know what they’ve done."

 

Sirius clapped him on the back. "You know what they say. The first step to changing things is confronting the truth. You’ve got the truth now. We all do."

 

As the words settled, the holographic interface in the middle of the cargo hold flickered to life, and Howard Stark’s face appeared, grinning as usual.

 

"Well, well, well," Howard’s voice crackled through the speakers. "Look who’s back in one piece. I have to say, I’m impressed. You all actually pulled it off."

 

"Always a pleasure to make you proud, Stark," Peggy replied, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "What have you got for us?"

 

Howard’s face sobered a bit, his grin fading as he leaned closer to the holographic interface, the data behind him flickering across the screen. "Alright, I’ve gone through most of the files you sent me. It’s... pretty damning. We’ve got a whole batch of cryogenically frozen Winter Soldiers. The ones you took out? Those were the ones that Hydra considered 'too unstable' for active missions. The ones who couldn’t be controlled, who were... well, who were just too far gone for their plans to succeed."

 

"How far gone?" Steve asked, his voice sharp. "Do we have anything useful on them?"

 

"Not much, Captain," Howard replied, his tone grim. "Most of these soldiers are beyond saving. Their bodies have been twisted and experimented on—twice the power of a regular soldier, but also twice the fragility. Their minds... shattered in the process. Some were enhanced with unnatural compounds, chemical injections, and even magical practices. It’s no wonder they went rogue."

 

Lily, who had been listening intently, glanced at Adler. "And the others? The ones we didn’t take down?"

 

"Yeah, there’s a whole database on them," Howard continued. "Hydra was trying to create a perfect soldier—some with complete mental conditioning, others who were literally designed to be the next generation of Winter Soldiers. They’re locked away in some deep underground lab somewhere. And trust me when I say, it’s not over. They have a backup plan. We need to find those other labs."

 

James raised a brow. "Sounds like this is just the tip of the iceberg. What else did you find?"

 

Howard sighed, rubbing his temple. "Well, there’s a pile of heavily encrypted files, the kind that take a while to break into. I’ll need a few days to crack them. But based on the files I have so far, Hydra’s plans were far more extensive than we anticipated. This was just one part of their twisted agenda."

 

"Any leads on who’s behind it all?" Adler asked, his voice cool.

 

"That’s the kicker," Howard replied. "No names yet. Just initials and a lot of security clearance logs. Someone high up. But I’ll need time to figure out who exactly is pulling the strings. They knew how to cover their tracks. This is far from over."

 

Steve nodded, his jaw set. "We’ll be ready. Just keep us posted, Howard."

 

"Of course, Cap," Howard said, his voice tinged with humor again. "Now get some rest. You’ve earned it. But don’t get too comfortable. This is only the beginning."

 

As the hologram flickered off, the team exchanged glances. The weight of the mission hung over them, but their resolve was stronger than ever. The information they had gathered would be key, but there was still so much more to uncover. With Hydra’s network still intact, it was clear the battle wasn’t over.

 

As the cargo plane flew on through the night, the team braced for what would come next. Whatever Hydra had planned, they were ready to face it—together.

 

—

 

Back in their dorm room at MIT, the night had fallen into its usual rhythm. The hum of the campus outside was accompanied by the quiet buzz of excitement within the walls. Tony Stark, in his signature style, had a clutter of half-disassembled gadgets scattered across his desk, while Rhodey, in a rare moment of repose, lounged on his bed flipping through a textbook he probably hadn’t read more than a few pages of.

 

Tony was still distracted by thoughts of Cynthia, his mind running in a dozen different directions. His usually sharp focus was thrown off track by the memory of her—the way she had carried herself with confidence and mystery, making him work harder than usual for her attention. He was used to getting the upper hand, but with her, he felt like he was scrambling just to keep up.

 

“So, uh, you all packed for the party?” Rhodey asked, breaking Tony out of his thoughts.

 

“Party? What party?” Tony looked up, momentarily confused, before the smirk reappeared on his face. “Oh, right, the usual college shindig. I’ve got the suit ready.”

 

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. “The suit? You know this isn’t a gala, right? It’s just a frat party.”

 

Tony threw him a grin that bordered on cocky. “It’s never just a party when I’m involved, Rhodey. Besides, I need to keep up appearances.”

 

Rhodey snorted. “Right, because showing up like you’re auditioning for the next James Bond movie is gonna help you blend in.”

 

Tony threw a jacket over his shoulder, ignoring Rhodey’s jab. “You don’t understand, my friend. I’m a walking spectacle. They’ll thank me later.”

 

Rhodey rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, knowing full well that Tony had a knack for turning even the most mundane events into something worth talking about. They were heading out, Tony adjusting his sunglasses despite the fact that the sun had long since set, when Tony’s gaze fell on someone across the courtyard.

 

There she was. Cynthia.

 

She stood by the entrance of one of the dorms, talking to a group of students. Her dark hair framed her face in a way that seemed to make her stand out even in a crowd. Tony could feel a familiar sense of curiosity spark in his chest—this time, not just for her beauty, but for the enigma she represented.

 

Rhodey noticed Tony’s distraction. “You’re not gonna go over there, are you?” he asked dryly, his tone making it clear he didn’t think Tony needed any more drama tonight.

 

Tony gave him a wink. “Oh, I’m just going to say hello. What harm could that do?”

 

With a determined step, Tony walked over toward her, pushing through a couple of students who were caught up in their own conversation. When he reached her, he flashed that signature Stark grin.

 

“Well, well, well. What are the odds?” Tony said smoothly, his voice carrying a playful edge. “I was just about to head to the party, and here you are.”

 

Cynthia, looking a bit surprised but not flustered, gave him a nod. “I guess we must have similar taste in parties,” she said, her smile a touch amused. “Actually, I’m here because my cousin invited me.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Your cousin, huh? I didn’t realize the party was such an exclusive event.”

 

She shrugged, her demeanor still cool and composed. “It’s more of a family thing, I guess. But, yeah, I thought I’d check it out.”

 

“Well, lucky for you, you’ve just run into two of the best chaperones MIT has to offer,” Tony said with a wink, gesturing to Rhodey, who had now caught up with him. “This is Rhodey. I’m sure he’ll be a delightful, responsible influence. I, on the other hand, will just provide the entertainment.”

 

Rhodey shot Tony a look. “I don’t know about delightful, but I’m definitely responsible,” he said, offering a friendly smile. “If you’re tagging along, though, you might need to help keep Tony out of trouble. That’s a full-time job right there.”

 

Cynthia’s smile widened, clearly amused by the banter. “I think I can handle myself,” she said, looking at both of them. “But thanks for the offer. I guess I’ll take you up on it.”

 

As they all made their way toward the party, Tony couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation growing. This wasn’t just about making his usual dramatic entrance. There was something about Cynthia that intrigued him, something deeper than the usual superficial interactions he was used to.

 

Rhodey, walking beside Tony as they neared the entrance, gave him a knowing look. “You’re not fooling anyone, Stark,” he muttered.

 

Tony grinned back. “If I was fooling anyone, I’d be impressed. But the game’s on, Rhodey. The game’s on.”

 

—

 

From a nearby rooftop, hidden in the shadows, two Hydra agents observed the unfolding scene below. They were perched in their usual quiet surveillance post, their dark uniforms blending seamlessly with the night, only their eyes visible through the slits of their black tactical gear.

 

The first agent, a man with a steely gaze and a scar running down the side of his face, spoke into his comms device, his voice low but urgent. "Target is interacting with the asset. Proceed with caution."

 

His partner, a woman whose sharp features were partially obscured by the hood of her cloak, nodded silently, scanning the group below through the lens of a high-powered scope. The pair had been tracking Tony Stark for weeks, ever since Sinthea Schmidt—aka Cynthia—had given them the assignment to monitor him.

 

"It’s only a matter of time before he slips," the woman murmured. "His arrogance is his downfall."

 

The man’s lips twisted into a smirk. "No doubt. But we need him to stay oblivious a little longer. Let him think he’s in control of the situation. That’s when we strike."

 

Below them, Tony was still engrossed in his conversation with Cynthia. The chemistry between the two was undeniable—Tony’s charm and quick wit seemed to bounce off her cool, collected demeanor. She had an ease about her, a confidence that made her more than just another face in the crowd, and it didn’t escape the Hydra agents’ notice. She wasn’t just a pretty face, no. Cynthia—or rather, Sinthea Schmidt, as they knew her—was a well-placed operative in Tony Stark’s orbit.

 

As Tony made a sarcastic remark to Rhodey, the woman agent narrowed her eyes. "Cynthia's positioning herself well. She's gained his attention," she said quietly. "Is this the right moment to make contact?"

 

Her partner adjusted the scope and leaned back slightly. "Not yet. She's playing him well. We don’t interfere unless she signals. She’s working her angle, and we stay in the shadows for now."

 

The woman frowned, almost as if considering something. "You know, I’m surprised they didn’t sense her sooner. She’s not exactly subtle."

 

The man shrugged. "No, but that's the point. She's not here to reveal her hand just yet. She’ll get closer. And when the time comes… Stark will be in her web before he even knows it."

 

They watched as Tony gave Cynthia a charming grin, and Rhodey rolled his eyes, likely dismissing the situation as another one of Stark's antics. "See, there it is," the man said, tapping the comm. "She’s playing her part perfectly. This is why we don’t rush in."

 

The agents continued to observe from their elevated position, waiting for the signal. Their role was clear: remain undetected, observe, and report. They were the silent watchers, while Sinthea was the predator, drawing in her prey with grace and precision.

 

Back on the ground, Tony had no idea that his latest interaction, one of many that seemed like nothing more than a typical night out, was being watched by the very person whose orders would soon change the course of his life.

Chapter 21: Chapter 20

As Tony, Rhodey, and Cynthia approached the house, the noise hit them first. Music, laughter, and the unmistakable sound of college students pretending they’re the life of the party. Lights flickered like they were trying to outshine each other, spilling out into the yard where groups of students gathered like a herd of over-caffeinated sheep. Tony grinned, adjusting his sunglasses even though it was dark. This was his scene, even if he wasn’t exactly here to party—he was here for the mystery. And the mystery tonight? Cynthia.

 

“Here we are,” Tony announced with all the flair of someone stepping onto a red carpet at the Oscars. He pushed open the door, throwing it wide like he was entering a five-star hotel, not some frat house on a Tuesday night.

 

Inside, chaos reigned. People swarmed the place like it was Black Friday and the last item on the shelf was a new iPhone. Tony did a quick scan of the room—standard college party stuff. There were groups of people trying way too hard to look cool, others chugging beers like they were training for an Olympic sport, and a few brave souls desperately clinging to their dignity by nursing cups of punch. It was the usual.

 

Rhodey, however, wasted no time. He immediately made a beeline for the drink table, as though he'd seen this scene a hundred times before and knew exactly what to expect. “I’ll grab a beer,” he muttered to himself, his voice already resigned to the inevitable mess of this night. As if he could somehow make it better by getting one drink ahead of the party chaos.

 

Cynthia, on the other hand, seemed way too comfortable here. She adjusted her jacket, glancing over at Tony with a smirk that suggested she was well aware of how extra he was being. “So, this is the infamous Tony Stark charm, huh?”

 

Tony grinned like the Cheshire cat. “You’re getting the PG-rated version. Wait until the fireworks start.”

 

They moved deeper into the fray, and Tony’s eyes darted around, taking in the crowd. Some familiar faces—fellow students, a few undergrads trying to pretend they were more important than they actually were. But then, in the back of the room, a group of guys were making enough noise to start their own circus. Tony could practically hear the desperation in their gestures as they tried to draw attention to themselves.

 

Before Tony could make his move (read: plot how to turn this into a spectacle), Rhodey returned, two beers in hand, like some sort of beer-bearing hero. “Not bad,” he said, taking a sip like he was judging a fine wine, clearly amused by Tony’s distracted state. “You looking to start a fight already?”

 

Tony accepted his beer with a dramatic sigh. “Not yet. But I might need one just to stay awake. This party’s like the textbook definition of ‘meh.’” He grinned at Cynthia. “But hey, we can find something better than this, right?”

 

Cynthia raised an eyebrow. “Sure, but sometimes the best chaos is the kind that sneaks up on you.”

 

Rhodey snorted and raised his beer in mock salute. “Here’s hoping. Just remember, Stark—no blowing things up tonight. You promised.”

 

Tony shot him a wink. “Relax, Rhodey. I’m on my best behavior.”

 

Cynthia shook her head, amused by the dynamic between the two, her smile widening. “You two are something else.”

 

Tony beamed, feeling proud. “You have no idea. Rhodey’s the quiet genius, while I’m the one who gets things done with flair.” He took a long sip from his beer. “And tonight? Oh, it’s definitely going to be interesting.”

 

Just then, a guy from the back of the room—probably about five beers too deep—stumbled toward them, looking way too eager for his own good. “Hey, you’re Tony Stark, right?” he asked, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. “Big fan. Want to join us for a game of beer pong?”

 

Tony’s smirk spread wider. “Beer pong, huh? Well, that’s a game I can’t say no to.”

 

He looked at Cynthia, who seemed just as amused by this whole scene. “You in?”

 

Cynthia grinned, that mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Why not? Could be fun.”

 

Tony turned back to the guy, who was practically shaking with excitement. “Alright, kid. You’ve got yourself a game. But don’t expect us to go easy on you. I don’t lose at anything.”

 

The guy nearly melted with joy as he led them to the beer pong table. Rhodey, however, leaned in closer to Tony, dropping his voice low enough for only the two of them to hear.

 

“Don’t forget, Stark. You’ve got the whole genius thing going for you. No need to crush them too hard.”

 

Tony shot him a wink. “What’s the fun in that?”

 

And just like that, the night hit full throttle. The game began with enough competitive energy to power a small country, and Tony was definitely in his element—though, deep down, there was a small part of him still thinking about one thing: Cynthia. There was something about her that made Tony want to stick around long after the beer pong was over. Maybe it was her easy smile. Maybe it was the way she looked at him like she could see through all the flashy bravado.

 

Whatever it was, it had his full attention. And for once, Tony Stark wasn’t sure if he wanted to walk away from the chaos. Because, just maybe, this night might turn out to be more than just another typical frat party.

 

And that, my friends, was a first.

 

—

 

From their perch on the rooftop, the Hydra agents remained still, like shadows observing the ever-moving scene below. The party had taken on a life of its own, with music pulsing through the air and students laughing, shouting, and engaging in typical college revelry. To an outsider, it looked like any other Friday night, but to the Hydra agents, it was the calm before the storm.

 

Through the lens of their high-powered scopes, they could see Tony Stark laughing, making his usual sarcastic remarks, his charm and charisma filling the space between him and his companions. Cynthia, or rather, Sinthea Schmidt as they knew her, was leaning in, playing her part with precision, her cool confidence only adding to her allure. She wasn’t just fitting into the scene—she was controlling it, and the agents couldn’t help but be impressed.

 

"She's good," the woman murmured into the comms, her voice barely a whisper. "He's eating out of her hand."

 

Her partner, the man with the scar running down his face, kept his eyes glued to the scope. "Of course he is. Stark thinks he's the one in control. His ego's a perfect trap."

 

The woman’s lips twitched into a small smile. "We need to stay in the shadows. If she thinks we’re closing in, she’ll spook. Let her do the heavy lifting for now."

 

The man adjusted the focus on his scope, zooming in on Tony as he took a drink and exchanged another playful jab with Rhodey. "Stark’s got no idea what's coming. His little party’s about to take a turn, and he won’t see it until it’s too late."

 

Below them, the scene played out like a well-rehearsed script. Tony, ever the center of attention, was holding court with his usual mix of humor and sharp wit. Cynthia was clearly intrigued, but there was something more there—a quiet intensity in her gaze as she studied him. The Hydra agents could see it, even from their distant vantage point. She was more than just an observer; she was a player, carefully weaving her way into Stark’s inner circle.

 

The man with the scar took a deep breath. "Cynthia's moving quickly. She’s going to make her move soon."

 

The woman nodded, scanning the group below again, her fingers lightly brushing the lens of her scope. "She knows Stark’s type. Play to his ego, keep him distracted, and he’ll fall into her trap without realizing it."

 

There was a moment of silence as they both watched the interaction unfold. Tony, with his usual bravado, had turned to face Cynthia with a wide grin, the kind that he reserved for moments when he was winning. Cynthia responded with a knowing smile of her own, and the Hydra agents exchanged a glance.

 

"She’s getting closer," the woman whispered, her eyes narrowing. "Too close for comfort."

 

The man gave a slight nod but didn’t look away from the scene below. "Patience. We wait for the signal. Cynthia knows how to play this. We don’t rush in."

 

As Tony laughed again, clinking his beer bottle with Rhodey’s, the agents could almost feel the electric tension that hovered in the air between Tony and Cynthia. It was undeniable. The chemistry was palpable. And the worst part? Tony had no idea what was really at play.

 

Below, Tony was losing himself in the moment—talking, laughing, competing in beer pong, the usual antics that made him the life of any party. But his mind, sharp as ever, was quietly analyzing the situation. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off, though. It was like a buzzing in the back of his brain, one he couldn't ignore. But he pushed it aside, letting his usual bravado take the wheel.

 

Cynthia, meanwhile, was studying him. No doubt trying to figure out how best to reel him in. She was a mystery—calm, collected, never rushed. Tony couldn’t help but admire her poise. She had an aura about her that was both disarming and magnetic. And yet, there was something about her that set off his internal radar. Something he couldn’t place.

 

But that was the fun part, right? Discovering things. Getting to the bottom of mysteries. Tony smirked, deciding he’d figure it out eventually.

 

On the rooftop, the Hydra agents were watching him. And they were watching her.

 

"Now’s the time," the man whispered, his tone flat and calculated. "She’s got him hooked. We don’t need to intervene just yet. But we need to stay alert."

 

The woman gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. "When she makes her move, we’ll be ready."

 

And so, the Hydra agents remained in the shadows, their eyes fixed on Tony and Cynthia below. They were no longer just watching a party—they were watching the beginning of something far bigger. The pieces were in place. The game had begun.

 

—

 

Back at the safehouse, Howard Stark was hunched over a bank of computers in his workshop, the dim glow of multiple screens illuminating his face. His fingers moved with practiced speed across the keys, each tap a calculated step in his ongoing battle against Hydra’s encryption. The files they'd brought back were unlike anything he'd encountered before—twice encrypted, designed to thwart even the most advanced systems. But Howard Stark was no stranger to a challenge.

 

He’d already cracked the first layer, but the second was proving far more stubborn. A series of seemingly random letters and numbers blinked across the screen, a cruel mockery of any attempt to break through. Howard leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes, exhaustion creeping in. He wasn’t about to give up, though. If there was one thing he couldn’t resist, it was a puzzle—especially one that had the potential to bring down Hydra’s influence in the government.

 

"Come on, you slippery little bastards," he muttered, adjusting his glasses as he leaned forward again, his fingers dancing over the keyboard.

 

The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the quiet workshop, marking the time passing with no progress. Howard had been at it for hours, feeding encrypted codes into the system, trying to tease apart the layers of security that Hydra had so carefully woven. But this wasn’t just about a simple password or hidden file. These were Hydra’s deep roots, their agents buried in the very foundation of the American government, operating under layers of protection Howard had only ever seen in the most advanced secret programs.

 

His thoughts flickered back to the team. They were en route back to the safehouse after their mission, the weight of the success hanging in the air. He’d heard the reports from Peggy, Steve, and the rest—more than enough to confirm what they had suspected: Hydra wasn’t just a rogue faction anymore. They were embedded, insidious, lurking in places they had never imagined.

 

But Howard wasn’t content with just breaking open some cryogenic tanks or finding rogue super soldiers. No, he was after the big fish—the puppeteers behind this whole operation. The ones who were controlling the chaos from the shadows. The names on those encrypted files were more than just people—they were Hydra’s lifeline, their secret agents, the ones who’d infiltrated positions of power across the nation.

 

"You’ve got to give them credit," Howard muttered to himself. "They’ve made sure no one finds out about this until it’s too late. Well, guess what, boys? I’m not giving up."

 

His fingers paused as he noticed something in the encryption. A pattern. It wasn’t a breakthrough, not yet, but it was enough to spark his curiosity. The second layer wasn’t a simple code—it was a red herring, a smokescreen designed to keep anyone from looking too closely. He hadn’t missed it before, but now that he had a foothold, he could see the faint outline of something more—something buried deeper than even he had realized.

 

Howard tapped a few keys, bringing up a list of seemingly inconspicuous numbers and letters. Nothing special, nothing at all. But then he ran a quick scan, matching these codes with known Hydra algorithms—something clicked. A secondary encryption had been slipped into the codes, a double lock on the names. Whoever had crafted this wanted to be sure no one was getting their hands on these identities, not ever.

 

He grinned. "Gotcha."

 

The process of decrypting the second layer would take longer. Howard had to adjust the parameters of his decryption software manually, bending it to fit this new discovery. It was frustrating work—sifting through false leads, debugging lines of code—but Howard thrived in this chaos. His mind was sharp, and his hands moved instinctively over the keys as he isolated the secondary encryption system Hydra had embedded within the file.

 

Hours passed, and the first rays of dawn began to peek through the windows of the workshop. Howard hadn’t left the screen, barely noticing the passage of time as he meticulously untangled the complex web. Finally, with a satisfied click, the screen shifted. The double encryption had been cracked. Names began to materialize on the monitor—lines of text, some familiar, others utterly unknown. Names of Hydra agents, deeply embedded within the government, their aliases and roles hidden under layers of secrecy.

 

"Well, well, well," Howard said, his voice barely above a whisper, but filled with the satisfaction of victory. "Looks like we’ve got ourselves a list."

 

As he scrolled down the file, he could feel the weight of the discovery settle in. These names weren’t just agents—they were power players, operatives at every level of government, people who had influenced major policy, shaped history, and been at the heart of Hydra’s plots for decades. There were senators, businessmen, military officials, even some names he recognized from high-profile positions—figures who had managed to stay one step ahead of every investigation into Hydra for years.

 

Howard leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the names once more. His mind raced as he thought about the implications. "If we go public with this, it’ll shake the country to its core. But it won’t be enough to take them down. We’ll need more than just names—we need the proof. The whole damn operation needs to be exposed."

 

Just then, the sound of the team’s arrival reached his ears. The engines of the plane cut off as they touched down on the nearby airstrip. Howard quickly copied the list of names, sending it to his secure server with a final click. He was ready. The team would need this information. They were going to need everything if they were going to take down Hydra once and for all.

 

As the door to the workshop opened and the team filed in, Howard pushed his chair back and stood up, a grin spreading across his face.

 

"Well, looks like you’re all just in time. I’ve got something that’ll make this mission look like a walk in the park."

 

He turned to the group, holding up the list of Hydra agents embedded in the government.

 

"This," he said with a smirk, "is where the real fun begins."

 

—

 

As the team settled back into the safehouse, the weight of the mission pressing down on them, Natasha Romanoff made her way towards Harry’s designated corner of the room. He had removed his helmet and hood, the red fabric of his Revenant Armor still fitting him like a second skin. His black mask was resting beside him, his dark eyes scanning the various screens that surrounded him. Harry was seated at a workbench, his posture slightly hunched as though trying to find some comfort in the middle of the chaos. His expression was unreadable, but Natasha knew better than to take that at face value.

 

It was Harry’s first mission. The team had expected him to be eager, but what they hadn’t accounted for was the burden of it all—the gravity of taking on an enemy like Hydra for the first time. Natasha knew exactly what that felt like. It was easy to be drawn into the excitement of a mission, but the aftermath—the quiet moments when the adrenaline faded—could be harder to deal with.

 

"How’re you holding up?" Natasha’s voice was soft, a rare moment of tenderness slipping through the cracks of her usually stoic demeanor.

 

Harry didn’t look up at first, his fingers moving restlessly over the edges of his armor. He was still getting used to the weight of it—both physically and mentally. The Revenant Armor was designed for someone like him: a hybrid of advanced technology and combat prowess, a warrior with an edge that could cut through any battlefield. But it wasn’t just the tech that Harry was still adjusting to. It was the purpose behind it, the weight of being part of a team that went to battle not just for survival but for a cause much bigger than any one individual.

 

"I’m fine," Harry muttered, though the tension in his voice gave him away. He didn’t even try to disguise it. "Just... processing. You know?"

 

Natasha nodded, understanding more than he realized. She had been there once—had been the new recruit, the one who was expected to fit in, to take orders and execute missions flawlessly. But it took time to shake off the feeling of being an outsider. Of realizing that no matter how powerful you were, there were always new challenges that could change everything.

 

"You did well out there," Natasha said, her tone more reassuring than anything else. "You handled yourself under pressure. That’s not easy."

 

Harry gave her a small, rueful smile but didn’t respond immediately. His eyes flickered to the side, focusing on the control panels of the plane's systems. His thoughts were elsewhere—on the mission, on the people they’d fought, and on what they had learned.

 

"It’s just… I wasn’t expecting it to hit like this," Harry admitted, finally looking up at her. The weight of it all was evident in his eyes. "I’ve trained for this, but it’s different when you’re actually there, you know? When you’re facing real people who’ve been twisted into something they never were…"

 

Natasha sat down next to him, her posture relaxed but alert. "Yeah, it’s always different when it’s real. You can prepare yourself for the tactics, the fights, the missions, but you can’t prepare for what comes after. It messes with you." She let her gaze linger on him for a moment, letting him know she understood. "But the thing is, Harry, you’ve got something that not everyone has. You can make a difference. You might not see it yet, but you will."

 

Harry didn’t say anything for a long moment, as if letting her words sink in. Then, with a deep breath, he stood up and grabbed his mask, slipping it back on with a determined look on his face. The change in his demeanor was almost immediate. The armor, the mask—it was all part of the transition he needed to make. From the young man who had been thrust into this world of secret wars and shadowy enemies, to someone who could stand side by side with the likes of Captain America and Black Widow, taking on the fight without hesitation.

 

"Thanks, Natasha," Harry said quietly. "For the words. I needed that."

 

She gave him a nod, standing up herself. "Anytime. We’re a team, remember? We look out for each other."

 

As Natasha turned to leave, she paused at the door. She could sense something in him—the same thing she’d seen in herself after her first mission. It was the moment of realization that this world was now his, for better or worse. Harry wasn’t just a kid anymore. He was a soldier. And with time, he would become one of the best.

 

"By the way," she added, giving him a sly smile, "I don’t think anyone’s forgotten that it was you who cleared the way for us back there. You kept your cool when things could’ve gone south fast. That counts for a lot."

 

Harry gave her a small, self-deprecating chuckle, but his eyes held a new spark—a confidence born from the trials of the mission, a determination to grow stronger with each step.

 

"Yeah, well," he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I’m just getting started."

 

With that, Natasha gave him a final look before stepping out, leaving Harry to prepare for whatever came next. He wasn’t just a soldier anymore. He was part of this team. And in time, he’d prove just how far he could go.

 

—

 

The safehouse was quieter than usual, save for the faint hum of encrypted communications equipment and the occasional soft laughter coming from the lounge area. James and Lily Potter exchanged a glance as they made their way toward the noise, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. It had been a long and harrowing mission, and both of them were eager to check in on their six-year-old daughter, Rose, who had been left in the care of Billy Koenig and Phil Coulson.

 

While they trusted the two agents implicitly, leaving Rose behind—even in a secure location—was never an easy decision. Rose, despite her young age, had a knack for finding trouble. That, combined with her tendency to demand attention like a pint-sized queen, meant that babysitting her was no small task.

 

As they approached the lounge, they caught sight of a scene that could only be described as controlled chaos. Rose, her dark auburn curls bouncing as she hopped excitedly on the couch, was wearing a tiara slightly askew on her head and a sparkly cape that looked suspiciously like one of Lily’s scarves. She was holding what appeared to be a makeshift wand—a chopstick wrapped in glittery paper—and declaring her dominion over the "kingdom" of the safehouse.

 

"Bow to your queen!" Rose proclaimed, her green eyes flashing with regal authority.

 

Billy Koenig, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a crown made of tin foil perched precariously on his head, dutifully bowed. "Your Majesty, I am but a humble servant. Your wish is my command."

 

Phil Coulson, who was seated on the armchair with a bemused expression, held up a plastic sword. "Your Majesty, I pledge my allegiance to your reign. Though I must warn you, the couch dragon has been spotted nearby."

 

Rose gasped dramatically, clutching her wand. "A dragon? In my kingdom? This cannot stand!"

 

Tonks, who was perched upside-down on the other end of the couch with her bubblegum-pink hair and a mischievous grin, chimed in. "Don’t worry, Your Majesty. I’ll take care of the dragon. Just give me the word."

 

"Do it, brave knight!" Rose commanded, pointing her wand at Tonks.

 

Before Tonks could spring into action, James cleared his throat loudly, drawing everyone’s attention. "And what, pray tell, is going on here?"

 

Rose froze mid-bounce, her tiara slipping further down her forehead. She turned to face her parents, her expression a mix of guilt and defiance. "Daddy! Mummy! You’re back!" she exclaimed, abandoning her royal persona and launching herself at James, who caught her with practiced ease.

 

"Yes, we’re back," Lily said, stepping closer to smooth down her daughter’s wild curls. "And it seems like you’ve been keeping everyone very... busy."

 

Billy shrugged, still wearing the tin foil crown. "She’s got a lot of energy. Figured it was safer to channel it into a pretend kingdom than let her take over the comms system."

 

"Again," Coulson added dryly, giving James and Lily a knowing look. "Your daughter is a force of nature."

 

James chuckled, ruffling Rose’s hair. "That’s one way to put it."

 

Rose, seemingly unfazed by the gentle ribbing, looked up at her mother with wide, innocent eyes. "Mummy, did you fight bad guys again? Did you win?"

 

Lily knelt down to Rose’s level, her expression softening. "We did, sweetheart. And we’re all safe, just like we promised."

 

Rose beamed, clearly pleased with this answer. "Good. 'Cause I told Sir Billy and Sir Phil that my parents are the best heroes ever, and they agreed!"

 

"Did they now?" James said, raising an eyebrow at the two agents.

 

Billy grinned. "What can I say? She’s persuasive."

 

"She threatened to exile us," Coulson deadpanned, though there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "We didn’t stand a chance."

 

"That’s my girl," James said proudly, setting Rose down. "But remember, even queens need to listen to their babysitters."

 

Rose crossed her arms but nodded. "Fine. But only because they were good knights."

 

Tonks snorted, flipping herself upright. "I’ll have you know, I’m the best knight. Took down the couch dragon single-handedly. You’re welcome, Your Majesty."

 

Lily shook her head, smiling despite herself. "Thank you, Tonks. And thank you, Billy, Phil. We owe you one."

 

Coulson waved a hand dismissively. "She’s a handful, but she’s got a good heart. Just like her parents."

 

As Rose ran off to show Tonks her collection of stuffed animals, James and Lily exchanged a glance. Despite the chaos, they couldn’t help but feel grateful. Their daughter was safe, happy, and loved—and in a world as dangerous as theirs, that was no small victory.

 

—

 

The dining area of the safe house was a quiet sanctuary, the warm glow of a single hanging light casting soft shadows across the room. Plates of simple meals and steaming cups of tea were scattered across the table, untouched in favor of shared silence and occasional quiet conversation. The team needed this moment—time to decompress after the chaos of their recent mission.

 

Steve Rogers leaned back in his chair, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, his gaze distant. Peggy Carter sat beside him, her sharp eyes softer now, though still attentive to the quiet tension that lingered. Across from them, Natasha Romanoff methodically disassembled and cleaned one of her pistols, the rhythmic motions a calming ritual. Harry sat nearby, his red-and-black Revenant armor still on but with the mask and hood removed. His dark hair fell over his forehead as he absently toyed with the clasp of his gauntlet. Bucky Barnes was at the far end of the table, his vibranium arm resting on the surface as he stared into his untouched drink.

 

“Quiet night,” Bucky muttered, breaking the silence.

 

“Too quiet,” Natasha replied without looking up from her work.

 

Harry smirked faintly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

 

“It usually is,” Steve said, setting his mug down with a sigh.

 

Peggy was about to add her own thoughts when the air in the room seemed to shift. A sudden gust of wind, though no windows were open, swept through the space, carrying with it an almost tangible energy. The light flickered, dimming for a brief moment before a swirling, golden portal materialized in the center of the room.

 

The team shot to their feet instantly. Steve and Bucky had their weapons ready before the portal had fully formed, their super-soldier reflexes kicking in. Natasha had her pistol raised, aiming at the shimmering anomaly, while Harry’s Revenant armor came alive, he snapped up his hood and put on his mask in a seamless motion. Peggy, though unarmed, moved to Steve’s side, her stance poised and unflinching.

 

“What the hell?” Harry breathed, his voice distorted slightly by the mask.

 

Before anyone could act, James, Lily, and Sirius burst into the room, drawn by the commotion. James had his wand in hand, his green eyes narrowing as he took in the glowing portal. Sirius, ever the loose cannon, already had his wand raised, ready for a fight. Lily, her face set in fierce determination, was at her husband's side in an instant.

 

“What’s going on?” James demanded, his voice sharp as his wand tip sparked with energy.

 

“Stay back!” Steve barked, his shield raised protectively as he positioned himself in front of Peggy.

 

The golden portal shimmered once more, and a figure stepped through with an air of calm authority. She was a woman of indeterminate age, her head shaved bald, and her saffron robes flowing elegantly around her. Her presence was commanding, yet serene, as though she belonged there despite the chaos she’d caused.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Natasha demanded, her pistol never wavering.

 

The woman raised a hand, and with a subtle wave, the air seemed to grow still. “I mean no harm,” she said, her voice calm yet resonant, as if it carried some unspoken truth. “I am the Ancient One.”

 

The name hung in the air like a challenge. Steve, Bucky, Natasha, and Harry didn’t lower their stances, and James, Sirius, and Lily looked equally unconvinced.

 

“What do you want?” Steve asked, his tone measured but firm.

 

The Ancient One met his gaze with an almost amused smile. “I am not here to fight. I am here because events have been set into motion—events that could unravel more than just your world.”

 

Her eyes swept across the room, pausing briefly on each person before landing on Harry. “And you, young one, stand at the center of it all.”

 

Harry tilted his head slightly, his mask retracting to reveal his puzzled expression. “Me? What does that mean?”

 

The Ancient One smiled enigmatically. “All in good time, Mr. Potter.”

 

Before anyone could press her further, the scene cut to black, leaving them all on edge and the promise of answers hanging tantalizingly in the air.

Chapter 22: Chapter 21

The room was heavy with tension as everyone waited for the Ancient One to explain her presence. With a slow, deliberate movement, she took a step forward, the space around her seeming to hum with a quiet, otherworldly energy. Her calm demeanor contrasted sharply with the urgent curiosity in the eyes of everyone present.

 

“I am the Sorcerer Supreme,” she began, her voice resonating with power and ancient wisdom. “A title that perhaps means little to you, but it is one that carries the responsibility of guarding the Earth from mystical threats—threats that the common world cannot perceive.”

 

James, Lily, and Sirius exchanged confused glances, their wands still raised but their expressions filled with disbelief. James was the first to speak.

 

“Sorcerer Supreme?” he repeated, his voice tinged with skepticism. “We’ve never heard of such a title. What are you talking about?”

 

The Ancient One’s lips curled into a small, understanding smile, though there was no mockery in it. “You are wizards. Your world has magic, much like mine, but it is a different form. You wield your magic through wands, incantations, and potions. You live in a world built on a foundation of rules—rules that have been passed down through generations. The world I represent, however, is governed by something else entirely.”

 

Lily stepped forward, a brow furrowed. “But we’re magic users. Our power comes from the same source, doesn’t it? What’s different about your magic?”

 

The Ancient One’s gaze softened. “What you practice is indeed magic, but it is but a fraction of the power that exists in this universe. I am a master of what is called the Mystical Arts. The energy I wield does not come from the natural elements, nor is it tied to the earth in the same way your magic is. My power is drawn from the very fabric of existence—time, space, and the multiverse itself.”

 

Sirius frowned, his stance still tense, though his curiosity was beginning to win out over his suspicion. “So you’re telling us that our magic is... limited? That we’ve been using a kind of cheap imitation?”

 

The Ancient One’s eyes twinkled, though her expression remained serene. “No, not an imitation, Sirius Black. Your magic is incredibly potent, but it is rooted in a particular branch of reality, one that does not encompass the vastness of what exists beyond your understanding. My magic—our magic, the Mystical Arts—exists outside those boundaries, beyond the veil of time and space. I deal with forces that shape realities, manipulate dimensions, and influence fate.”

 

There was a long, heavy silence as her words settled over the group, the weight of her revelations sinking in. Harry, still in his Revenant armor, shifted uncomfortably. He could feel the shift in the atmosphere—the change in the very air around him. He’d dealt with powerful magic before, but this was something else entirely.

 

“So, what does that mean for me?” Harry asked, his voice tinged with a quiet curiosity.

 

The Ancient One turned her gaze to him, the faintest of smiles curling her lips. “It means, young Potter, that you have a greater role to play than you realize. You are not simply a wizard. You are something... more. Your abilities, your connection to forces both mystical and cosmic, places you at the center of an event that could have consequences beyond even my understanding.”

 

Harry furrowed his brow. “What event? What do you mean, ‘more’?”

 

The Ancient One’s eyes sparkled with an ancient wisdom as she stepped closer to him. “You will understand in time, when you are ready. There is more to your story, more to your power, than you know. And you must learn to harness it—to learn the Mystical Arts.”

 

“Learn the...?” Lily interrupted, her voice filled with concern. “You want Harry to learn your magic? But why? What’s so special about him?”

 

The Ancient One regarded Lily thoughtfully. “It is not just about what he is, but his potential. He is connected to forces beyond the ordinary world and makes him an essential piece of a puzzle that is only now beginning to reveal itself. It is necessary for him to learn how to wield the Mystical Arts so that he can protect not just your world, but countless others.”

 

Harry’s thoughts raced, but before he could respond, the Ancient One extended a hand to him, offering a small, intricately carved card. It was embossed with the words 177A Bleecker Street in elegant gold script.

 

“When you are ready, come to me,” she said. “There is much to teach you, and time is of the essence.”

 

With a final, knowing smile, the Ancient One turned and began to walk toward the portal. The room seemed to grow quieter, the energy around her slowly ebbing away. She glanced over her shoulder one last time, her eyes briefly meeting Harry’s before she stepped into the golden light.

 

The portal flickered and began to close behind her, the last of its glow vanishing as if it had never been there. Silence reigned once more, leaving the group to digest the gravity of her words.

 

“177A Bleecker Street,” Harry muttered under his breath, staring at the card in his hand. “I guess I’ve got some learning to do.”

 

Sirius let out a long breath, his face a mix of confusion and awe. “Well, that was... something. What now?”

 

Steve Rogers, still looking at the spot where the Ancient One had stood, shook his head slowly. “I don’t know about you guys, but I think we’ve just had a very strange visit from someone with a lot more power than we can even begin to understand.”

 

Bucky, his vibranium arm resting once more on the table, grunted. “Yeah, ‘strange’ is definitely one way to put it.”

 

The room was heavy with questions, the weight of uncertainty hanging in the air, but Harry, now holding the card in his hand, knew one thing for sure: his journey was far from over.

 

—

 

The silence following the Ancient One's departure stretched long and heavy, as if the air itself was weighing on the group. Harry sat at the table, turning the card over and over in his fingers, his brow furrowed in deep thought. The others remained scattered around the room, exchanging uneasy glances but saying little. Finally, it was Steve who broke the silence.

 

“She said you’re connected to forces beyond this world.” His voice was measured, but his gaze was direct, resting on Harry. “You have any idea what she meant by that?”

 

Harry shrugged, still staring at the card. “Not a clue. I mean, I’ve dealt with plenty of weird stuff—getting Vibranium claws, the whole becoming a Super Soldier nonsense—but this? This is new territory.”

 

“New territory is an understatement,” Natasha muttered, holstering her pistol. “We’ve faced hydra agents, and even dark wizards, but this feels... bigger.”

 

“Bigger, yes,” Lily interjected, her tone sharp with unease. “But why Harry? Why is it always him? Why does it always have to be him?”

 

James placed a comforting hand on her shoulder but said nothing, his own face clouded with worry.

 

“It’s his destiny, isn’t it?” Peggy said quietly, her voice thoughtful. “If what she said is true, then perhaps this was always meant to be.”

 

“Destiny is overrated,” Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t like this whole ‘center of it all’ nonsense. It’s always a bloody trap.”

 

Harry sighed, finally setting the card down. “Trap or not, she didn’t seem like she was lying. And let’s be honest—if there’s something I can learn that’ll help protect all of you, I have to at least consider it.”

 

Before anyone could respond, a slow clap echoed from the shadows of the room. The group turned sharply, hands moving to weapons or wands as a figure stepped into the dim light. He was tall and elegant, his sharp features framed by neatly styled blonde hair. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with amusement, though there was a quiet warmth in his expression as he looked at Harry.

 

“Bravo, Harry,” the man said, his voice rich and smooth. “Spoken like a true Gryffindor. Always ready to dive into danger, even when you don’t understand what’s waiting on the other side.”

 

“Gideon,” Harry said, relaxing slightly. “You were eavesdropping?”

 

“Observing,” Gideon Adler—formerly Gellert Grindelwald—corrected with a sly smile. “And what a fascinating show it was. The Ancient One, here in your safe house? I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

 

James and Sirius exchanged stunned looks, wands still raised. James’s voice was sharp when he spoke. “Hold on a minute. You know her?”

 

“Oh, yes,” Gideon said casually, taking a seat at the edge of the table as if he owned the place. “I’ve had... encounters with the Sorcerer Supreme before. Albus and I both, in fact.”

 

“Dumbledore?” Sirius demanded, his disbelief clear. “What does he have to do with this?”

 

Gideon’s smile turned wry, and he tilted his head as if debating how much to reveal. “Let’s just say Albus and I were once... close. And the Ancient One, well, she didn’t approve of some of our earlier... activities.”

 

James frowned, lowering his wand slightly. “What kind of activities?”

 

Gideon’s gaze flicked to Harry, a hint of sorrow in his eyes. “The kind that nearly tore the world apart. Albus and I were young, brilliant, and foolish. We dreamed of reshaping reality, of breaking the very rules that bind magic—and the Ancient One intervened before we could succeed.”

 

Lily narrowed her eyes, her voice icy. “Are you saying you and Dumbledore were working together? That you were friends?”

 

“Friends,” Gideon said softly, his expression turning bittersweet. “Lovers, perhaps, though Albus would never admit it outright. Our bond was... complicated.”

 

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Sirius looked as though someone had hit him with a Stunning Spell, and James seemed equally stunned.

 

“Dumbledore and Grindelwald,” Sirius muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is insane.”

 

Peggy, who had remained quiet, spoke up, her voice measured. “That explains why the Ancient One intervened. She saw the potential for disaster in your partnership.”

 

“Exactly,” Gideon said, nodding. “And she wasn’t wrong. Albus and I were dangerous together. But that’s ancient history.” He turned his attention back to Harry, his tone softening. “What matters now is your future, Harry. The Ancient One wouldn’t have come to you unless she saw something extraordinary in you. And she’s right—you should learn the Mystical Arts.”

 

Harry frowned. “Why are you so sure?”

 

“Because I know what you’re capable of,” Gideon said simply. “I trained you myself, remember? I saw the raw potential in you even when Hydra tried to twist it to their own ends. And I’m telling you, Harry—learning from the Sorcerer Supreme could make you unstoppable.”

 

Natasha crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “And we’re just supposed to trust your judgment?”

 

“I don’t care if you trust me,” Gideon said with a shrug. “I care about Harry. And if learning the Mystical Arts will keep him alive, then I’ll do whatever it takes to push him in that direction.”

 

Harry met Gideon’s gaze, searching for any hint of deception. He found none. For all his flaws and his shadowed past, Gideon had always been honest with him.

 

“Alright,” Harry said finally, his voice steady. “I’ll think about it.”

 

“Good,” Gideon said with a satisfied nod. “Just remember, Harry—the Ancient One doesn’t offer her tutelage lightly. If you choose this path, it won’t be easy. But it will be worth it.”

 

With that, Gideon leaned back into the shadows, his presence still lingering even as he disappeared from view. The room fell silent once more, though the tension was now accompanied by a sense of inevitability. Harry looked down at the card in his hand, the words 177A Bleecker Street gleaming faintly in the dim light.

 

“I guess I’ve got a lot to think about,” he said quietly.

 

And for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t entirely sure what his next step would be.

 

—

 

Harry stood in his room, towel draped around his neck, his damp hair falling into his eyes. The hot shower had done little to untangle the thoughts swirling in his mind. The Ancient One’s cryptic words echoed in his head, Gideon’s revelations added fuel to the fire, and the weight of his choices felt heavier than ever. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the card in his hand as if it might reveal more if he just stared hard enough.

 

A sharp knock at the door snapped him out of his reverie.

 

He frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was late, and most of the team would either be asleep or deeply absorbed in their own post-mission routines. Rising, he crossed the room and opened the door.

 

There stood Natasha, leaning casually against the doorframe. She was out of her tactical suit, dressed in simple black sweatpants and a loose-fitting T-shirt, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her expression was neutral, but the faint arch of her eyebrow betrayed a hint of amusement.

 

“You’ve got that look,” she said, her voice low but tinged with a knowing edge.

 

Harry blinked. “What look?”

 

“The brooding one,” she replied, stepping past him into the room without waiting for an invitation. “The one that screams, ‘I’m overthinking everything and probably blaming myself for half of it.’”

 

Harry sighed, shutting the door behind her. “I’m fine, Natasha.”

 

“Sure you are,” she said, perching on the edge of the desk and crossing her arms. “That’s why you’ve been up here alone since dinner, staring at that card like it holds all the answers to life.”

 

He glanced down at the card in his hand, then set it on the nightstand. “It’s a lot to process. I just needed some time to think.”

 

Natasha tilted her head, studying him with her sharp, piercing gaze. “You’re not thinking. You’re stewing. Big difference.”

 

Harry chuckled softly, despite himself. “You always know how to call me out, don’t you?”

 

“It’s a gift,” she said with a smirk. Her tone softened slightly as she added, “Look, I get it. You’ve had one hell of a day—Ancient Ones, cryptic prophecies, revelations about your pseudo-grandfather’s sordid past... It’s a lot.”

 

Harry leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. “It’s not just that. It’s... everything. I’ve spent my whole life being told I’m special, that I have some grand destiny. And every time, it comes with a cost—people I care about getting hurt, or worse. What if this is just more of the same?”

 

Natasha’s smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more empathetic. “I won’t lie to you, Harry. It probably is. But you’re not the same abused kid who was taken by Hydra to be made into their weapon. You’ve been through hell and come out the other side stronger. And you’ve got something now you didn’t have then.”

 

“What’s that?” he asked, his tone skeptical.

 

She gestured around the room. “Us. This team. We’re not going to let you face this alone.”

 

Harry looked at her, his expression softening. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

 

“Again, gift,” Natasha said with a shrug. Then she grinned. “Plus, I’ve got a lot of experience dealing with guys like you. Brooders are kind of my specialty.”

 

Harry laughed, the sound lightening the tension in the room. “Thanks, Nat. I mean it.”

 

She stood, patting his shoulder as she headed for the door. “Anytime. Now, try to get some sleep. The world-ending nonsense can wait until morning.”

 

As she reached the door, she paused and glanced back at him. “And Harry?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You’re not alone in this. Remember that.”

 

With that, she left, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. Harry stood there for a moment, her words echoing in his mind. For the first time in hours, the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter.

 

He turned back to the card on the nightstand, picking it up once more. “177A Bleecker Street,” he murmured, his grip tightening slightly.

 

“Not yet,” he said softly to himself. “But maybe soon.”

 

—

 

Howard Stark was slumped over his workstation, the dim light of the screens casting shadows under his tired eyes. The man who once could charm a room in seconds now looked like he’d been wrung out by a particularly vengeful Hydra agent. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loosened, and a tower of empty coffee cups sat precariously to one side of his desk. The clattering of keys was the only sound in the room, broken occasionally by Howard’s muttering.

 

“Come on, you Hydra bastards... you’re not smarter than me,” he grumbled, his voice scratchy from hours of disuse. “Just give me a crack. One little—ah, damn it!”

 

The door creaked open, and Peggy Carter stepped in, balancing a tray with more coffee and a plate of sandwiches. Her sharp gaze softened as she took in Howard’s haggard state, though her tone remained brisk.

 

“Howard, you look like death warmed over,” she said, setting the tray down on a clear patch of his desk.

 

He didn’t even look up. “Thanks for the compliment, Peg. Real morale booster.”

 

Peggy rolled her eyes and placed a steaming cup of coffee next to his keyboard. “Eat something. Drink this. You’re no good to anyone if you collapse before we get through this Hydra mess.”

 

Howard finally leaned back, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” He reached for the coffee, sipping it with a groan of appreciation. “Still the best, Peg. Don’t know how you do it.”

 

She smirked. “Years of practice. Now, what have you found?”

 

He pointed to the screens, where layers of decrypted text were slowly forming into readable files. “I’m getting there. Cracked the names, but I’m looking for context. Connections, proof, the whole shebang. Without it, we’re just making a hit list, and I’d rather not play Hydra’s game.”

 

Peggy nodded, pulling a chair over to sit beside him. “Good. We’ll need something concrete to bring them down.” She paused, a hint of hesitation in her expression. “Speaking of surprises, you missed quite the show yesterday.”

 

Howard raised an eyebrow, his exhaustion momentarily replaced by curiosity. “What kind of show?”

 

Peggy took a deep breath. “Apparently, magic as we know it isn’t the whole story. There are wizards—like Harry, Lily, and Sirius—and then there are sorcerers. The kind that manipulate reality itself. We had a visit from their... leader, I suppose you’d call her. The Ancient One.”

 

Howard blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he processed her words. “Wait. What? Sorcerers? As in more magic? Harry’s lot wasn’t enough?”

 

Peggy sighed. “I didn’t believe it either until I saw her. She made portals appear out of thin air, Howard. She knew things about us, about Hydra, that no one should know. And she implied that Harry might need to learn their... Mystic Arts to stand a chance against what’s coming.”

 

Howard shook his head, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Mystic Arts? How’s that different from the wand-waving Harry does?”

 

“That’s what I asked her,” Peggy admitted. “Apparently, wizards channel magic through their wands or innate talents. Sorcerers manipulate the very fabric of reality—time, space, dimensions. It’s... bigger. More dangerous.”

 

Howard let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. “Well, that’s just great. As if Hydra, super soldiers, and secret agents weren’t enough, now we’ve got reality-bending sorcerers to worry about.”

 

Peggy gave him a wry smile. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. But she seemed... on our side. For now.”

 

Howard rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath. “Next thing you’re gonna tell me is that Hydra’s got their own sorcerers.”

 

Peggy’s smile faded slightly. “I wouldn’t rule it out.”

 

Howard groaned, draining the rest of his coffee. “Fantastic. Just what I needed to hear. Alright, back to work. If Hydra’s got magic on their side, we’re going to need every advantage we can get.”

 

Peggy reached out, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Howard, take a break. Even you can’t outpace a war without rest.”

 

He gave her a half-smile, though his eyes still held a flicker of defiance. “After I crack the next layer. Promise.”

 

She nodded, knowing better than to push further. As she stood, she added softly, “We’ll get through this, Howard. Together.”

 

As the door clicked shut behind her, Howard turned back to his screens, her words echoing in his mind. Together. For the first time in hours, he allowed himself a faint smile before diving back into the tangled web of Hydra’s secrets.

 

—

 

The early morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting long, lazy shadows across the room. Harry stirred, blinking against the soft glow of sunlight. His mind was a haze of lingering thoughts from the previous night—Natasha's words, the cryptic prophecies from the Ancient One, and the unsettling revelations from Gideon. The card, the one with the mysterious address of 177A Bleecker Street, still sat on his nightstand, almost taunting him with its unanswered questions. But despite the heaviness that still clung to him, he managed to drag himself from the bed.

 

He rubbed the back of his neck, groaning slightly as he shuffled toward the bathroom, the lingering tiredness from the previous night still hanging over him. A hot shower helped clear the fog in his head, but it did little to untangle the web of thoughts racing through his mind. As he stepped out of the bathroom, the quiet hum of the house hit him—a far cry from the chaos he had become so used to. Howard must have still been down in the workshop tinkering with some gadget, but the rest of the house seemed still, save for the sounds of the kitchen.

 

Harry made his way downstairs, drawn by the comforting aroma of coffee. He stepped into the dining room and froze for a second. His parents, James and Lily, were already sitting at the table, mugs of coffee in hand, with a plate of toast and eggs in front of each of them. And sitting beside them, leaning back with his usual cocky grin, was Sirius. It was an almost surreal moment—a quiet morning with his family, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

 

Lily looked up as Harry entered, her expression softening. “Morning, Harry. Sleep well?”

 

Harry rubbed his eyes, sitting down and grabbing a cup of coffee. “Yeah, well enough. Could have used a few more hours though.”

 

Sirius snorted, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “You’re young, kid. You’ll learn to function on caffeine and adrenaline. That’s basically what keeps me alive at this point.”

 

James grinned, leaning over to ruffle Harry’s hair, a familiar gesture that made Harry smile despite himself. “He’s not wrong. It’s a necessary life skill.”

 

“Must be,” Harry said, finally taking a sip from his mug. He looked at them all for a moment—his parents and Sirius, all gathered around him, as if this moment of peace was normal, part of the everyday fabric of their lives. It wasn’t, but he didn’t mind pretending for a bit longer.

 

Lily caught his gaze and set her coffee down, her eyes narrowing in concern. “You’ve been quiet this morning. What’s on your mind?”

 

Harry hesitated, staring into his cup for a moment before setting it down on the table. He didn’t want to burden them with all the swirling thoughts in his head, but something about being with them felt… grounding. He could be honest here, with them. “It’s just everything, I guess. The Ancient One’s cryptic words, the whole Gideon situation, Hydra, the mission… It’s a lot. I feel like I’m on the verge of something big, something that’s going to change everything. And I can’t shake the feeling that whatever happens next, it’s going to hurt people I care about.”

 

Sirius leaned forward, his usual easygoing manner replaced with a serious intensity Harry didn’t see often. “Kid, you’ve got a habit of worrying about everyone but yourself. You’re not the same child who got thrust into this mess. You’ve been through hell, and you came out stronger. Yeah, there’s always some new threat on the horizon, but you’ve got more than just us to rely on now.”

 

James chuckled, his voice light but full of meaning. “He’s right, Harry. You’ve got this team—this family—who’s got your back. And not just us, but the people who’ve been there with you, too. The people who trust you.”

 

Harry’s gaze softened, and for a brief moment, he was reminded of the bond they all shared. “I know. I just... I don’t want to let anyone down. I’m trying to be the hero, the one who saves the day, but it seems like there’s always a price. People I love will be bound to get hurt, or worse.”

 

Sirius gave him a knowing look, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Listen, kid, being the hero’s a lot of weight to carry. Hell, I’m still learning that lesson myself. But you’ve got something that makes all the difference—this team. These people who aren’t going anywhere. If that doesn’t give you some peace of mind, I don’t know what will.”

 

James raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Sirius is just mad because he knows if anything happens to you, I’ll be the one who has to clean up the mess. He’ll just be the one cracking jokes from the sidelines.”

 

Sirius chuckled, flicking his fork toward James in mock annoyance. “Yeah, yeah, Prongs. You’re the 'responsible' one. But let’s be real, you’re only that way when it comes to Harry and Rose. The rest of the time, you’re a mess.”

 

Lily shook her head, a fond smile on her face as she reached across the table to touch Harry’s hand. “Boys. Honestly.” She turned back to Harry, her expression turning more serious. “What your father and Sirius are trying to say, Harry, is that you’re not alone in this. You’ve got us, and we’re not going anywhere.”

 

Harry felt a lump form in his throat. He didn’t deserve this—this unwavering support, this love that felt like an anchor. His mind wanted to argue, to find some way to push them away, but his heart knew better. They weren’t going anywhere. And for once, he allowed himself to feel that sense of comfort, of belonging.

 

“Thanks, Mum,” he murmured, his voice thick. He cleared his throat. “I just... I keep thinking about the card.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the mysterious piece of paper, showing it to them. “The address. 177A Bleecker Street. There’s something there, something important. I can feel it.”

 

Sirius leaned forward, a familiar gleam in his eyes. “Sounds like a place where things get weird. I like it.”

 

James raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like something out of one of those detective novels you keep trying to read, huh, Padfoot?”

 

“Exactly!” Sirius said, grinning. “But seriously, Harry, this isn’t a road you walk alone. When the time comes, you’ll have us by your side. I’ve seen you fight. You’ve got more fight in you than anyone I know. And we’ll be there to help you win.”

 

Harry smiled at his godfather, his heart swelling with affection. “Thanks, Sirius. I mean it.”

 

“Anytime, kid,” Sirius said, his grin returning to its usual mischievous flair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to drink my body weight in coffee before we get into any more world-ending business.”

 

James chuckled. “And after that, I’m sure you’ll find some way to mock me for the next few hours.”

 

Lily smiled, shaking her head in amusement. “I don’t know how you two made it this far without getting arrested.”

 

Harry chuckled softly, the tension finally starting to lift from his shoulders. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this—this normalcy, this connection to the people who loved him unconditionally. For the first time in days, he felt like he wasn’t carrying the weight of the world alone.

 

As they continued to chat, Harry’s thoughts drifted once more to the mysterious address in his pocket. 177A Bleecker Street. He wasn’t ready for what it might mean, but he knew he would face it when the time came.

 

And when that time arrived, he wouldn’t be alone. Not now, not ever.

 

—

 

The quiet hum of magic permeated the air at 177A Bleecker Street, an ever-present thrum that felt alive, pulsing gently through the stone walls and intricately carved wooden furniture. The Sanctum Sanctorum was still, save for the faint crackle of a floating brazier illuminating the vast, dimly lit chamber.

 

Wong stood by one of the many bookshelves, his hands clasped behind his back. His usually stern face bore a trace of uncertainty as he turned his gaze toward The Ancient One, who sat cross-legged on a rug in the center of the room. A teapot floated beside her, steam rising lazily from its spout, as she poured herself a small cup.

 

He hesitated, then spoke, his tone as measured as ever. “Do you think he’ll come?”

 

The Ancient One tilted her head slightly, her expression serene, though her eyes glimmered with the knowing amusement that so often accompanied her words. She set the teacup down carefully, the delicate porcelain making the faintest of clinks against the saucer. “Harry Potter is many things,” she said at last, her voice calm yet enigmatic, “but predictable is not one of them.”

 

Wong frowned, stepping closer. “With respect, you sent him the invitation yourself. You must have an idea of how he’ll respond.”

 

She smiled faintly, her head tilting to the side as if considering his words. “An invitation is not the same as a demand, Wong. Harry must choose to come here of his own accord, not because he feels he must, but because he desires to understand.”

 

Wong folded his arms, his tone growing skeptical. “He’s already carrying more burdens than anyone should. Adding this to his path—it might tip the balance.”

 

The Ancient One looked up at him, her gaze piercing yet calm. “And yet, it is often the weight of our burdens that reveals who we truly are. Harry is a thread in the great tapestry of fate, but it is his choices that determine the pattern.” She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. “The question is not whether he will come, but whether he is ready.”

 

Wong sighed, shaking his head. “Cryptic as ever.”

 

Her lips curved upward in a smile that was almost playful. “You would not wish me any other way.”

 

He exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, but close enough. “Fair point.” His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced toward the window, where the early morning light spilled into the room. “If he does come, will you tell him everything?”

 

The Ancient One picked up her teacup again, cradling it in her hands as though the warmth held answers only she could see. “Truth is a matter of perspective, Wong. I will tell him what he needs to know, but not a moment sooner.”

 

Wong raised an eyebrow. “And what happens if he refuses? If he decides he’s had enough of destiny and walks away?”

 

The Ancient One’s gaze turned distant, as if looking through time itself. “Then he will have made a choice, and the world will shift to accommodate it. Harry Potter’s path is his own to walk, whether it leads here or elsewhere. But...” She set the teacup down again, her eyes flickering with an almost imperceptible flicker of mischief. “The winds of magic have a way of guiding even the most reluctant travelers to where they are meant to be.”

 

Wong huffed softly, turning back toward the bookshelf. “I’ll never get used to how you always manage to answer without answering.”

 

“That,” she said with a serene smile, “is the privilege of perspective.”

 

A comfortable silence settled over the room as Wong resumed organizing the shelves. The Ancient One closed her eyes, her hands resting lightly on her knees as she meditated.

 

Far away, a young man stared at the same address on a card, his mind swirling with uncertainty, questions, and the faintest flicker of curiosity.

 

The threads of fate were moving, as they always did. Whether Harry would grasp them or not, only time would tell.

Chapter 23: Chapter 22

The soft rustling of leaves outside filtered into the cozy living room, where Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, a few scattered toys and books surrounding him. The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted from the kitchen, and in the corner, a few small plants were carefully tended to on the windowsill. It was a peaceful scene, a contrast to the chaotic world outside.

 

Sitting next to him on the floor, with her legs stretched out in front of her, was his younger sister, Rose. At six years old, she was all wide eyes and boundless energy. Her golden-brown hair, a perfect blend of their parents' features, was pulled into two messy pigtails. She wore a brightly colored dress with little stars on it, a smudge of chocolate on her cheek from the cookies she'd been sneaking earlier.

 

“So,” Harry said, holding up a small wooden puzzle in his hands, “how about we finish this? You’re good at puzzles, right?”

 

Rose tilted her head, squinting at the pieces. “Hmm... I’m better at making them disappear,” she said in a sing-song voice, her tone far too innocent for the mischief in her eyes.

 

Harry raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Making them disappear, huh? How does that work?”

 

She grinned, picking up a piece and turning it over in her hands. “I just... accidentally put them in the wrong spots! And then—poof!—the pieces go away.”

 

Harry laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’re a little troublemaker, aren’t you?”

 

Rose gave a dramatic gasp, pressing a hand to her chest. “I am not a troublemaker! I’m an adventurer!” She then scooted closer to him, peering down at the puzzle with intense concentration. “But I guess I’ll help you finish this one... just don’t tell Mum and Dad I’m using my adventurer skills to cheat.”

 

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Your secret’s safe with me, kiddo.”

 

They worked together for a few moments in silence, fitting the puzzle pieces together. Rose’s small hands moved quickly, occasionally knocking a piece out of place, but Harry didn’t mind. It felt nice to have this quiet time with her—no prophecies, no grand destinies. Just a simple puzzle and the comforting presence of family.

 

After a while, Harry glanced up from the puzzle, watching as Rose carefully placed the last piece into place. She sat back, beaming with pride.

 

“There! Done!” she declared, throwing her hands up in the air as if she’d just conquered a mountain.

 

“You did it!” Harry said with a mock bow. “I knew I could count on you.”

 

Rose giggled, bouncing on her knees. “We make a good team, Harry!”

 

“We do,” Harry agreed, ruffling her hair affectionately. “You’re the brains of the operation, and I’m just here for the muscle.”

 

Rose laughed, then abruptly stopped, her expression turning serious as she looked up at him. “Harry?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Are you... okay?” she asked, her voice quiet and uncertain. “You’ve been kind of... sad lately. Like when I asked if you wanted to play outside and you said no.”

 

Harry’s heart twinged at her concern. He hadn’t realized she’d been paying so much attention to him. He gave her a soft smile, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I’m okay, Rosie. Just... a lot going on in my head, you know?”

 

She nodded seriously, as if she understood far more than any six-year-old should. “Sometimes when I have too many thoughts in my head, I draw pictures or make stories about dragons. It helps. Maybe you can do that too.”

 

Harry’s smile softened, and he chuckled, touched by her suggestion. “That’s a good idea. Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

 

“Good!” she exclaimed, as if her plan was the greatest one in the world. “You should! And if you want, I can tell you a story about a dragon named Puff who loves chocolate.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “A dragon who loves chocolate?”

 

“Uh-huh! Puff likes to hide the chocolate in his cave and only eats it on the weekends,” she explained, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. “And he shares with all the other dragons who don’t eat chocolate.”

 

“Sounds like a good dragon,” Harry said, trying not to laugh at the absurdity. “I think I’d like to meet Puff someday.”

 

Rose beamed, clearly pleased with the idea. “You can! But only if you bring chocolate. That’s the rule.”

 

“I’ll make sure to remember that,” Harry promised, pretending to think it over. “Chocolate, Puff, and dragons. Got it.”

 

She nodded sagely, clearly satisfied with the arrangement. Then, her expression softened again, and she reached over, slipping her small hand into his. “Harry, no matter what, we’re a team. Even if you’re busy with... things. You’re still my big brother, and I still need you.”

 

Harry’s throat tightened, a lump forming as he looked down at her, his heart swelling with gratitude for the simplicity of her love. In a world that often seemed far too complicated and dangerous, moments like these—quiet moments with his sister—felt like a balm to his soul.

 

“I need you too, Rose,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “More than you know.”

 

For a moment, the two of them just sat there, hand in hand, the weight of the world outside slipping away, if only for a little while.

 

—

 

The next morning felt like the universe was playing an elaborate prank on Tony Stark. He hadn’t been this hungover in years—his head was throbbing like a jackhammer and his body felt like it had been run over by a freight train. It was the kind of hangover that made you question every life decision you’d ever made. He was sitting in the lecture hall, trying (and failing) to focus on the professor's words while cradling a cup of coffee like it was the holy grail. His sunglasses, a perfect cover for both the pain and his signature look, sat firmly on his face, though they were probably doing little to hide his current state.

 

Rhodey, seated beside him, was in a similar state of misery, though he was managing to hold it together a little better. It probably helped that Rhodey was one of those people who had the discipline to drink water between beers. But even Rhodey couldn’t hide the exhaustion in his posture or the slight grimace on his face.

 

“So, next time,” Rhodey grumbled, rubbing his temples, “we’re not going to a frat party. I’m too old for this, man.”

 

Tony made a sound that could’ve been interpreted as a laugh if you weren’t too busy focusing on the fact that his head was attempting to perform a small-scale earthquake inside his skull. “Yeah, yeah, next time we’ll just rent a yacht, drink expensive whiskey, and invite a hundred people to pretend they’re having fun,” he muttered sarcastically, trying to sip his coffee without spilling it all over himself.

 

Rhodey just shot him a flat look. “You know I’m serious, right? I’m not even sure my liver signed up for last night’s festivities.”

 

“I’m serious too,” Tony shot back with a sly grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll think about getting a yacht. Maybe hire a private chef. Someone with taste, not these frat party idiots with their ‘signature cocktail’ of... whatever that punch was.” He shuddered. “That was borderline illegal.”

 

“I’m not even sure it was punch, Tony. More like... mystery fluid,” Rhodey said, cracking a faint smile despite his hangover.

 

Tony chuckled before taking another sip of his coffee, eyes scanning the room. He half-expected the world to stop spinning, but instead, the professor launched into some lecture about quantum mechanics. Tony’s brain felt like it was trying to run at a thousand miles per hour while stuck in first gear. Nothing was making sense, and everything was kind of a blur.

 

That’s when she walked in.

 

Cynthia.

 

She entered the room like someone had turned down the world’s volume. The door opened, and in walked the kind of woman who could steal the spotlight in any room just by existing. Tony’s head jerked up, and for a split second, everything went into slow motion. She was wearing a jacket that looked like it was custom-tailored just for her—effortless, but stylish. Her steps were confident, like she knew she was the main event, and Tony couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly cool she looked, even on a Monday morning.

 

Rhodey, noticing the change in Tony’s demeanor, raised an eyebrow. “You good, Stark?”

 

“Yeah,” Tony muttered, his voice slightly distracted. “I just—uh—need to concentrate for a second.”

 

Cynthia’s gaze caught Tony’s across the room, and she didn’t even hesitate. That smirk of hers appeared, the kind that suggested she knew something Tony didn’t—something dangerous. She walked toward him with that same confidence, and Tony felt the whole world shift around him.

 

"Well, well," Cynthia said with a hint of playful curiosity in her voice. She slid into the seat next to Tony, as if she’d been planning to do it all along. “Didn’t expect to see you in class this morning.”

 

Tony’s mouth felt dry, but he recovered quickly. “Yeah, I’m just here to enhance my intellectual prowess. You know, the usual.” He took another sip of coffee, though it did little to soothe his sudden nerves. “What about you? Thought I saw you leave at at some point... to some mysterious gathering last night?”

 

Cynthia chuckled, crossing her arms. “Oh, I was there. But I think you were too busy winning beer pong to notice me.”

 

Tony grinned, leaning back in his chair, clearly intrigued. “Beer pong? That’s my art form, okay? I practically invented it.” He raised an eyebrow, still trying to play it cool despite the chaos of thoughts running through his head. “So, what’s the deal? Came to MIT for the parties, or are you here to work? Because I’m assuming the latter.”

 

“Actually,” she said, the smirk still there, “I’m transferring here. I’ll be finishing my last year at MIT.”

 

Tony blinked twice, the words not quite processing at first. He opened his mouth to say something, but his brain had short-circuited for a moment. “Wait... transferring? Mid-year? To MIT? In the middle of the semester? Do you have a magic wand, or do you just have people in high places?”

 

Cynthia didn’t flinch. In fact, her smile only grew a bit wider. “Maybe a little bit of both. But I’m not here to make waves. Just... a special project,” she added with a wink, clearly enjoying the mystery she was leaving in her wake.

 

Rhodey, who had been sitting quietly and observing the exchange, narrowed his eyes at the conversation. “Yeah, that sounds really special, like it’s something we should just... trust. Transferring to MIT in the middle of the year isn’t exactly a walk in the park. You don’t just decide to do that unless you’re, I don’t know... a genius, or some kind of secret agent.”

 

Tony shot Rhodey a look like he was missing the point. “Don’t be so suspicious, Rhodey. She’s just... got a project going on. Who am I to argue with that?”

 

Cynthia leaned in slightly, making eye contact with Tony. “You’d be surprised what’s possible when you know the right people, Tony. Things work out.”

 

Rhodey, however, wasn’t convinced. He folded his arms and leaned back, muttering something under his breath about not buying it. “Uh-huh. Sure, 'special project.'”

 

Tony, still smirking, turned his full attention to Cynthia. “You’ve got my interest. So, you’re telling me, the MIT transfer student with the mysterious project, is stuck in this lecture with us? That sounds like perfect timing.”

 

“Oh, it’s not just timing,” Cynthia replied smoothly, her voice laced with a subtle challenge. “It’s fate, Tony. We’re all part of the same project now.”

 

Tony blinked, processing her words with that usual sharpness that came from being the smartest guy in the room. He was definitely intrigued—by her, by her mysterious project, and whatever this was turning into. “Well, I guess we’ll see how this project unfolds, won’t we?”

 

Rhodey just sighed, clearly not sold. “You’re getting way too excited for someone who just got out of a beer pong tournament. Let’s just... see how this goes.”

 

Tony ignored him, his attention still fully on Cynthia. “You’re in for a wild ride, Cynthia. MIT’s about to get a whole lot more interesting.”

 

And as the lecture began and the professor droned on, Tony Stark couldn’t shake the feeling that his world had just gotten a little bit more complicated—and a whole lot more entertaining.

 

—

 

The training room in the safehouse was a fortress in itself—reinforced walls designed to withstand Vibranium-clad destruction and the unyielding strength of Super Soldiers. In the center, Harry stood with his claws extended, gleaming like liquid silver under the overhead lights. Across from him, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes prepared for a sparring session that was about to make the term "high stakes" feel like an understatement.

 

“You sure about this, Harry?” Steve asked, lifting his shield with the practiced ease of a warrior who’d seen it all. “We don’t hold back.”

 

Harry smirked, his British accent cutting through the air like a blade. “Good. If you did, this wouldn’t be any fun. Besides, I need you to work out your opinions on this whole ‘Ancient One’ thing—preferably before I punch them out of you.”

 

Bucky chuckled darkly, rolling his Vibranium shoulder with a metallic whir. “Cocky, aren’t we? Let’s see how long that lasts.”

 

Steve, ever the tactical leader, gave Bucky a nod. They moved in unison, honed by years of fighting side by side. Harry’s emerald eyes narrowed, and the grin on his face only widened.

 

“Let’s dance, boys.”

 

---

 

Steve launched his shield first, the Vibranium disc spinning like a buzz saw as it screamed through the air toward Harry. But instead of dodging, Harry shifted slightly, timing the trajectory with razor precision. His claws retracted with a snikt as he reached out, snatching the shield mid-flight with a casual thunk.

 

For a moment, the room went silent. Steve’s eyes widened, and Bucky stopped mid-charge.

 

“Okay,” Bucky muttered, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “That’s new.”

 

Harry twirled the shield in his hand like it was a toy, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “What’s the matter, Steve? Thought this thing was supposed to come back to you.” He mimicked Steve’s signature stance, crouching slightly and cocking his arm back. “Let’s see how you like it.”

 

With a flick of his wrist, Harry hurled the shield. It whizzed toward Steve with alarming speed, ricocheting off his raised gauntlets before rebounding toward Bucky. Bucky barely managed to duck, the shield slamming into the wall behind him with enough force to leave a dent.

 

Steve raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “Not bad. But it takes more than flashy tricks to win.”

 

“Flashy tricks? Oh, Cap,” Harry said, claws extending once more. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

 

---

 

Bucky recovered first, charging with his Vibranium arm cocked back. Harry met him head-on, their collision sending shockwaves through the room. Bucky’s fist connected with Harry’s ribs, the force reverberating through Harry’s Vibranium-coated skeleton. Instead of staggering, Harry grinned as the kinetic energy coursed into his magical core.

 

“Thanks for the boost,” Harry quipped before slamming his clawed fist into Bucky’s arm. Sparks flew as Vibranium met Vibranium, and Harry used the momentum to vault over Bucky, landing just as Steve lunged with the shield.

 

This time, Steve feinted low and swung high, aiming to catch Harry off guard. But Harry was faster, using his claws to hook the edge of the shield and redirect its momentum, forcing Steve to stumble.

 

“You’ve got the experience, I’ll give you that,” Harry said, spinning on his heel to deflect another punch from Bucky. “But I’ve got the style. And—oh, right—the magic.”

 

With a surge of power, Harry channeled the stored energy into his claws, unleashing a wave of golden flames that swept toward both men. Steve raised his shield just in time to block the blast, while Bucky dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the fiery arc.

 

“That’s cheating!” Bucky shouted, his voice tinged with exasperation.

 

Harry laughed, darting toward him with a speed that rivaled any Super Soldier. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are we playing fair now? Let me just put my claws away and we’ll do a nice, friendly slap fight.”

 

---

 

The sparring intensified. Steve and Bucky adjusted their tactics, attacking in tandem to keep Harry on the defensive. Every clash of Vibranium sent ripples through the room, and Harry moved like a whirlwind, absorbing hits, redirecting attacks, and countering with devastating precision.

 

At one point, Bucky managed to pin Harry’s arm with his Vibranium hand. “Gotcha,” he growled, tightening his grip.

 

Harry’s grin turned feral. “Do you?” With a flex of his muscles, Harry absorbed the kinetic energy from Bucky’s grip and released it in a shockwave that sent the former Winter Soldier flying.

 

Before Harry could press the advantage, Steve was on him, shield slamming down in a powerful arc. Harry raised his claws to block, and the impact sent sparks flying as the two locked in a stalemate.

 

“You’re good,” Steve admitted, his voice strained as he pushed against Harry’s claws. “But you’re not invincible.”

 

Harry’s grin never faltered. “Neither are you, Captain.”

 

With a burst of energy, Harry disengaged, flipping backward and landing in a crouch. The absorbed kinetic energy hummed in his core, and he channeled it downward, slamming his fist into the floor. The resulting shockwave rippled through the room, sending Steve and Bucky sprawling.

 

---

 

When the dust settled, all three men were breathing hard, but none looked ready to quit. Steve pulled himself to his feet, holding out a hand to help Bucky up.

 

“Well,” Bucky muttered, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m officially annoyed.”

 

Steve chuckled, leaning on his shield. “You’re relentless, I’ll give you that. But you’re also asking the wrong question.”

 

Harry tilted his head, retracting his claws with a soft snikt. “Oh, yeah? Enlighten me.”

 

Steve met his gaze, his tone serious. “You’re asking us what we think about the Ancient One’s offer. But what you should be asking is whether you’re ready for the responsibility that comes with it.”

 

Bucky snorted, crossing his arms. “He’s saying you should do it, but only if you’re ready to carry the weight of saving the universe. No pressure.”

 

Harry sighed, glancing between the two of them. “So, let me get this straight. One of you says ‘think it through,’ and the other says ‘go for it.’ Great advice, as usual.”

 

Steve smiled faintly. “You already know the answer, Harry. You just need to trust yourself to make the right choice.”

 

Harry chuckled, brushing a hand through his messy hair. “You know what? I think I do.” He flexed his hands, claws momentarily glinting under the lights. “But first, how about one more round? I’m not done knocking the Boy Scouts around just yet.”

 

Bucky grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

 

—

 

The workshop in the safehouse was a chaotic blend of magic and technology, a space where wands and Vibranium circuitry coexisted in perfect, if eccentric, harmony. The walls were lined with enchanted blueprints, tools that shimmered with a faint magical aura, and shelves crammed with half-finished projects that ranged from intriguing to outright dangerous.

 

In the center of it all stood James Potter, Lily Evans-Potter, and Sirius Black, deeply engrossed in their latest creation. James was fiddling with a sleek metallic gauntlet that pulsed with blue light, his glasses slightly askew as he muttered to himself. Lily hovered over an array of floating crystals, weaving intricate runes in midair with her wand, while Sirius lounged against the workbench, twirling a spanner like it was a wand.

 

“This,” Sirius declared, holding up a glowing orb the size of a Quaffle, “is either going to revolutionize magical communication or blow a hole in the side of this place.”

 

James shot him a look. “Can you not jinx it before we even test it?”

 

“I’m just saying, Prongs,” Sirius said with a roguish grin, “if it does blow up, we can call it a feature.”

 

Lily rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Sirius, you’d turn a malfunctioning toaster into a prank if you could.”

 

“Who says I haven’t?” Sirius quipped, winking.

 

At that moment, Harry entered the workshop, still clad in his sparring gear, though his claws were retracted. The residual energy from his session with Steve and Bucky seemed to radiate off him, making his presence impossible to ignore.

 

“Am I interrupting another episode of Magical Tinkerers Gone Wild?” Harry asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

 

Lily turned first, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her son. “Harry! Perfect timing. Your father’s trying to turn a pair of enchanted boots into hover shoes, and Sirius is, well…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward Sirius.

 

“Being brilliant,” Sirius finished, tossing the spanner aside and spreading his arms dramatically. “What brings you here, kiddo? You’re usually busy saving the world or breaking a sweat with America’s favorite boy scout.”

 

Harry smirked, walking over to the cluttered workbench and picking up a small, glowing crystal. “I’ve made up my mind about the Ancient One’s offer.”

 

That got their attention. James set down the gauntlet, his expression serious. “You mean the whole ‘learning the mystical arts and potentially altering the balance of the universe’ thing?”

 

“Yeah, that,” Harry said, spinning the crystal between his fingers. “I’m going to do it.”

 

Silence hung in the air for a moment before Sirius broke it with a low whistle. “Well, that’s a bloody big decision. What changed your mind?”

 

Harry shrugged, setting the crystal back on the table. “Sparring with Steve and Bucky helped. It’s not just about the power—though, let’s be honest, the idea of me mastering magic on a whole new level is kind of terrifying. It’s about the responsibility. If I have the chance to learn something that could help protect all of us, I’d be an idiot not to take it.”

 

Lily stepped forward, her green eyes filled with concern and pride. “Are you sure, Harry? The Ancient One’s teachings aren’t just about learning spells. It’s a whole different mindset, one that requires sacrifice and—”

 

“Discipline,” James added, crossing his arms. “Something we Potter men are not exactly famous for.”

 

“Oi,” Harry shot back, though his grin softened the jab. “I’m disciplined when it matters. And besides, if anyone can juggle being a wizard, a Super Soldier, and a mystical whatever, it’s me.”

 

Sirius chuckled, clapping Harry on the back. “That’s the spirit. Just promise me you won’t turn into one of those stuffy mystics who speaks in riddles. I’ve got enough of that with Dumbledore’s letters.”

 

Harry smirked. “No promises. I might even grow a beard, just to mess with you.”

 

Lily sighed, though a smile tugged at her lips. “We’ll support you, Harry. Always. Just… be careful. The Ancient One’s world is full of dangers we can’t even begin to understand.”

 

Harry nodded, his expression turning serious. “I know. But I’ve survived Hydra, and sparred with Steve Rogers. How hard can this be?”

 

James snorted. “Famous last words.”

 

“Relax, Dad,” Harry said, heading toward the door. “I’ll be fine. Besides, if I mess up, at least you’ll have something exciting to tinker with.”

 

As he left the workshop, Sirius called after him, “And don’t forget to bring us back something shiny from Bleeker Street!”

 

“Only if it doesn’t explode!” Harry shot back, his voice echoing down the hall.

 

The three adults exchanged glances, a mix of pride and worry reflected in their expressions.

 

“He’s going to be brilliant,” Lily said softly.

 

“Or blow up the multiverse,” James muttered.

 

“Either way,” Sirius said with a grin, “he’s definitely my godson.”

 

—

 

Harry made his way down the quiet hallway, his sparring gear still clinging to him and his boots leaving faint, muffled echoes on the polished floors. His mind buzzed with thoughts about what lay ahead at Kamar-Taj. While the sparring session had helped him make up his mind, a new undercurrent of nervous energy surged within him.

 

“Planning to slip off into the mystic arts without saying goodbye?”

 

Harry stopped abruptly, his enhanced senses catching the faintest shift of movement from the shadows. Turning his head, he saw Natasha Romanoff emerge from the dim corner of the hallway, her presence so seamless it was as if the shadows themselves had parted to let her through. She leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, her expression as unreadable as ever—but there was something in her eyes that spoke louder than words.

 

“I didn’t think I needed to announce my every move,” Harry replied with a smirk, his voice low but amused. “I figured you’d just shadow me to the jet and then drop some cryptic one-liner to wish me luck.”

 

Natasha tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You underestimate how much I enjoy making you squirm first.”

 

Harry chuckled, walking closer until there was only a few feet between them. “Not much of a challenge, considering you can read me like an open book. Should I be worried about whatever interrogation tactics you’re about to use, Widow?”

 

Her smirk softened into something more sincere, and her voice lost its teasing edge. “No tactics. Just… wanted to talk.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “About what? The Ancient One? Mystical arts? Or how I’m probably going to blow up reality on my first day?”

 

Natasha shook her head, stepping closer, her movements deliberate and smooth. “About you leaving. About how long you’ll be gone. About us.”

 

That last word hung in the air, heavier than Harry had expected. He blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Us?”

 

“Yes, Harry. Us.” Her gaze met his, unflinching but layered with something unspoken—vulnerability wrapped in steel. “We’ve been… dancing around this for a while now, haven’t we?”

 

Harry swallowed, his usual wit momentarily failing him. “I mean, I thought the dancing was going pretty well. I even have my two-step down.”

 

Natasha’s lips quirked into a faint smile, but her eyes didn’t lose their intensity. “You’re impossible.”

 

“True,” Harry admitted, stepping just a fraction closer. “But you’re still here, so what does that say about you?”

 

Natasha shook her head, though her smile widened. “That I’m crazy, apparently.”

 

Silence stretched between them, charged with an energy neither of them could ignore. For once, Harry didn’t fill it with a sarcastic comment or a witty remark. He simply looked at her, truly looked, and saw past the assassin, past the spy. What he saw was Natasha—someone who understood the weight he carried because she carried her own.

 

“So…” Harry finally said, his voice quieter, softer. “What happens now?”

 

Natasha’s hand brushed against his as she stepped even closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her. “Now?” she echoed, her voice almost a whisper. “Now, you stop overthinking and let me give you something to remember while you’re off learning how to bend reality.”

 

Harry’s breath hitched, his heart pounding as she reached up, her fingers brushing the back of his neck. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in her movements, only the confident determination he’d always admired in her.

 

And then her lips were on his.

 

The kiss was everything Harry hadn’t allowed himself to imagine it would be—soft yet firm, fiery yet controlled. Natasha kissed him like she had nothing to lose and everything to gain, and Harry responded in kind, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her closer as if he could imprint the moment into his memory.

 

When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Natasha smirked up at him, her hand still resting lightly on his shoulder. “There. Now you have something to look forward to when you come back.”

 

Harry let out a shaky laugh, his forehead resting against hers. “You know, for someone who doesn’t believe in goodbyes, you’re really good at making them memorable.”

 

“It’s not goodbye,” she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Just… see you later.”

 

Harry nodded, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “See you later, Nat.”

 

As she stepped back into the shadows, Harry stood there for a moment longer, his fingers brushing his lips as if to confirm the kiss had been real. With a renewed sense of determination—and maybe just a little smugness—he turned and continued toward his room, ready to face whatever the Ancient One had in store for him.

 

—

 

In the serene quiet of the sanctum at 177A Bleecker Street, the Ancient One sat cross-legged in her meditation chamber. Her hands moved with deliberate grace, manipulating the mystical artifact that hung from her neck—the Eye of Agamotto. The verdant glow of the Time Stone within cast ethereal shadows across the room as she turned the artifact slowly, allowing the threads of time to reveal themselves.

 

Her gaze sharpened as the strands of possible futures unraveled before her, each branching out like a cosmic tree. She saw the young man—Harry Potter, his entire skeleton coated in Vibranium, his claws gleaming with latent magical energy, his body honed into a perfect weapon by Hydra’s cruelty. She saw the path of his choice: his acceptance of her offer to learn the Mystical Arts.

 

The visions accelerated. She saw Harry standing among the masters of Kamar-Taj, shaping intricate spells with his claws, wielding a combination of sorcery and physical prowess that defied precedent. She saw him pushing boundaries, challenging conventions, and perhaps most intriguingly, shaping the future of magic itself.

 

The visions grew darker. She saw him clashing with forces that sought to unravel reality—foes that even she hesitated to name. She saw his Vibranium-infused magic striking out like a thunderclap, his strength and ingenuity holding back chaos itself. But most importantly, she saw him succeeding.

 

The Ancient One’s eyes opened, the green glow of the Time Stone fading as the chamber returned to stillness. A faint smile graced her lips, tempered by the weight of the challenges ahead.

 

---

 

She rose to her feet, her movements fluid and precise, and exited the chamber. Outside, she found Wong overseeing a small pile of ancient tomes in the library, his face creased in concentration.

 

“Wong,” she said softly, yet her voice carried the weight of authority.

 

Wong looked up, immediately sensing the importance of the moment. “You’ve seen something.”

 

“Indeed,” she replied. “Our new student will arrive soon. You remember our discussions about Harry Potter?”

 

Wong nodded slowly, his expression guarded. “The boy who carries more burdens than most lifetimes should endure. You said he was important.”

 

“He is,” the Ancient One confirmed. “More than even I anticipated. His arrival will shift the balance of our world—and many others. Prepare the training chambers and ensure the libraries are ready. He will need access to everything we can provide.”

 

---

 

She found Kaecilius in the Sanctum's main hall, performing a slow, deliberate kata, his hands weaving patterns of golden light in the air. He paused mid-motion when he saw her approach.

 

“Master,” he said, inclining his head. “You seem troubled.”

 

“Not troubled,” she corrected, stepping closer. “Anticipatory. A new student is coming to Kamar-Taj. A unique one.”

 

Kaecilius raised an eyebrow, curious. “Unique how?”

 

“You’ll see soon enough,” she replied cryptically, her tone suggesting there was no room for further inquiry.

 

---

 

Finally, she found Mordo in the outer courtyard, his expression serene as he practiced with his staff. He spun it once, expertly, before lowering it as the Ancient One approached.

 

“You need something of me?” he asked, his eyes scanning her face.

 

“Yes. A student is coming to Kamar-Taj. You will oversee some of his physical training.”

 

Mordo frowned. “Why me? What is so special about this student?”

 

“His journey has made him a warrior unlike any you’ve encountered,” the Ancient One said, her tone calm yet firm. “But there are gaps in his foundation—gaps that only discipline can fill. He will challenge you, Mordo, just as you will challenge him. It will be good for both of you.”

 

Mordo’s frown deepened, but he nodded. “Very well.”

 

---

 

As the Ancient One returned to her meditation chamber, she glanced one last time at the glowing Eye of Agamotto. Her expression remained tranquil, but her mind buzzed with the possibilities that Harry Potter represented. A boy born of magic, forged into a weapon, now seeking to become something more.

 

Her voice carried softly into the air as she whispered, “Welcome to Kamar-Taj, Harry Potter. Let us see what you will become.”

Chapter 24: Chapter 23

Harry stood at the imposing door of 177A Bleecker Street, staring at the weathered wood that seemed to hum with an almost otherworldly energy. His heart thrummed with anticipation. He had accepted the Ancient One’s offer, and now here he was, on the cusp of a new chapter in his life. The weight of it was palpable, but he didn’t let it show. He wasn’t some scared kid anymore—he was a warrior, a weapon, and now, hopefully, a student of the Mystical Arts.

 

He raised his hand, knocked three times with the softest tap of his claws, the sound echoing in the quiet street. He straightened up, wiping the faint bead of sweat from his brow. Was he ready for this?

 

The door creaked open with a quiet groan, and standing on the threshold was a man in a dark robe, his expression as calm and composed as the stillness of the sanctum itself.

 

Wong.

 

Harry studied him for a moment, instantly sizing up the man. He could feel the power radiating off of him—this wasn’t just some humble servant, but a practitioner in his own right, someone who had a connection to something far greater than either of them could fully understand. But Harry wasn’t intimidated. Not anymore.

 

“Are you Harry Potter?” Wong asked, his voice smooth and measured, yet carrying an undertone of quiet curiosity.

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, offering a half-smile. “That’s me. The one and only.” He gestured with his hand, trying to keep things light, despite the swirling intensity of the moment. “Guess I’m the ‘new student’ around here?”

 

Wong studied him for a brief moment, and for the first time, a faint glimmer of amusement appeared in his otherwise stoic expression. “So you’re the one who accepted the Ancient One’s offer. Quite bold. I’m Wong. You can come in.”

 

As Harry stepped past him into the Sanctum, he couldn’t help but notice the subtle yet overwhelming presence of magic here. It was like stepping into a different world entirely—a world where the air practically crackled with possibilities.

 

Wong closed the door behind him, his eyes scanning Harry with a sense of quiet assessment. “I trust you’ve been briefed on the basics. But let me warn you—this is not a typical school. The Ancient One is… unconventional, and her teachings will challenge you in ways you might not expect.”

 

Harry gave a nonchalant shrug, though there was a glint of resolve in his eyes. “I’ve faced worse. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”

 

Wong’s eyebrow arched slightly, as though he were assessing the younger man. “That’s what they all say.” His tone was dry, but there was a hint of approval beneath the surface. “Come. The Ancient One will want to see you.”

 

Harry followed Wong through the Sanctum, trying to take it all in—the shifting, floating books, the strange artifacts scattered about, and the faint echo of distant voices, as though the very walls were alive with ancient secrets. The place was exactly as he had imagined it: mysterious, powerful, and brimming with untold knowledge.

 

“So, Wong,” Harry said, breaking the silence between them, “how long have you been working with the Ancient One?”

 

“Longer than you might think,” Wong replied simply, his pace never faltering. “Time moves differently for those who wield magic. We are all part of the same fabric, but not all of us weave in the same pattern.”

 

Harry frowned slightly. “That’s... cryptic. You don’t talk like other people I know.”

 

Wong glanced at him with a slight smile. “I’m not other people.”

 

There was no further explanation. It was clear that Wong was someone who knew how to stay cryptic when the situation called for it. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the simplicity of it.

 

“Fair enough,” Harry muttered, his gaze shifting toward the large wooden doors at the far end of the hallway. “I suppose we’re almost there.”

 

“Indeed.” Wong stopped in front of the doors and turned toward Harry. “The Ancient One will be waiting for you. Whatever happens in that room, be ready to face your own truths. She will not give you answers easily, but she will provide the tools to find them.”

 

Harry nodded, steeling himself. This was it. No turning back now.

 

Wong opened the door with a single motion, and Harry stepped through, his eyes immediately finding the Ancient One, standing at the center of the room, her expression as serene as ever.

 

“Harry Potter,” the Ancient One said, her voice a soft melody that seemed to echo through his very bones. “I see you’ve made the choice. Welcome to Kamar-Taj.”

 

Harry stood a little taller, his chest swelling with pride, yet there was no mistaking the flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “I’m ready,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else.

 

The Ancient One smiled faintly, a knowing glimmer in her eyes. “We shall see, won’t we?”

 

And just like that, Harry’s new journey had truly begun.

 

—

 

Harry followed the Ancient One as she led him through the portals, each one a shimmering doorway that seemed to bend space and time. One moment, they were in the heart of New York City, the next, they stepped out into the serene mountains of Nepal. The air was thick with the scent of pine and incense, the sounds of the distant wind and the faint hum of magic filling his ears.

 

"Wait a second," Harry said, looking around in awe as they stood on the stone walkway leading through the grand gates of Kamar-Taj. "We just… we just traveled from New York to Nepal? Through this?" He looked back at the portal, which was now a simple glowing ripple in the air. "How did we—?"

 

The Ancient One smiled, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Through the power of the mystic arts. This is but one of the abilities you will come to learn. The barriers between locations are far more fluid than you may realize. This form of teleportation is far more convenient than Apparition, don’t you think?"

 

Harry's eyes widened. "Definitely more convenient. I never thought teleportation could feel so… effortless. When can I start learning that?" He grinned, eager to master it.

 

The Ancient One chuckled. "Patience, young one. All in time. But first, there is much to see, and many who will help you along your journey."

 

As they walked deeper into the ancient complex, Harry couldn’t help but marvel at the architecture. The stone walls were carved with intricate symbols, many of which he could not decipher, but they resonated with an ancient, powerful magic. The air was thick with the weight of centuries of knowledge, and the sound of soft footsteps echoed in the corridors. At the end of the hall, the Ancient One paused before opening another portal with a flick of her hand.

 

"Welcome to your first stop," she said with a quiet reverence, stepping aside so Harry could enter first.

 

Harry stepped through and found himself in what seemed to be a vast, open courtyard. It was peaceful here, with patches of sunlight filtering through the trees, and a small stone circle in the center. Standing within the circle were two men, both in meditation.

 

"This is where we begin your training," the Ancient One said, guiding Harry closer. "This is Mordo and Kaecillius. Mordo will be in charge of your physical training, ensuring that you are capable of mastering both the physical and mental demands of the mystical arts."

 

Mordo, a tall man with sharp features and a stern expression, opened his eyes and gave Harry a nod. "A pleasure," he said, his voice gruff but measured. "We will push your limits, Potter. You will need strength, endurance, and control over your body if you are to survive what comes next."

 

Harry gave a small smirk. "I’ve faced some pretty tough challenges, but I’m up for it."

 

Mordo gave a slight grin, the faintest flicker of approval passing through his gaze. "Good. We will see how well you handle what lies ahead."

 

The Ancient One nodded. "And Kaecillius," she gestured to the other man, a taller figure with piercing eyes and a calm demeanor. "He will guide you through the mental challenges you will face as you dive deeper into the mystic arts."

 

Kaecillius gave Harry a slight bow, his smile warm but mysterious. "The mind is the greatest weapon you have, young wizard. Understanding the true nature of the universe is a delicate and difficult process. But it is one that will open doors you cannot yet imagine."

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like it’s going to be a lot of work."

 

"It will be," Kaecillius confirmed, his smile turning slightly more serious. "But it will be worth it. And the mental discipline you gain will be vital as you learn to wield magic."

 

The Ancient One then led Harry further into the complex, her footsteps silent on the stone floors. As they walked, she spoke of the Library, which Harry had heard murmurs of since his arrival. "There is one other person who will be crucial to your learning," she said as they neared a large stone door. "Wong, the Librarian. He will be of great help to you in your studies, for there is a vast amount of knowledge here, and not all of it is easily accessible. Wong will grant you access to the tomes and scrolls you need."

 

As the door opened, Harry saw Wong standing inside, his arms folded, watching them approach with a quiet intensity. "Ah, Potter," Wong greeted him with a nod, his expression unreadable. "You’ve arrived. I trust the tour has been… enlightening?"

 

Harry, a little taken aback, nodded. "Yeah, it’s... more than I expected. And it’s just one stop? There’s a lot of magic here."

 

Wong gave a small smile. "This place is more than just a structure, Potter. It is an ever-changing place, tied to the very fabric of reality. But, as the Librarian, my role is simple: I guard the knowledge within these walls. Should you seek any book or scroll, I will ensure you have access, provided it is for your studies. But," Wong added with a stern glance, "I ask that you treat the Library with respect. Return the books when you are done."

 

Harry raised an eyebrow, giving Wong an amused look. "Return policy, huh?"

 

"Indeed," Wong said, his tone dry. "The books here are not meant to be kept for personal use. Remember that."

 

"Got it," Harry said with a grin, already thinking about the many books he would likely end up browsing. "I’ll be sure to return them... eventually."

 

The Ancient One gave a soft chuckle, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "There is much for you to learn, Harry Potter. But remember—patience and discipline will be your greatest allies."

 

Harry nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and curiosity. "Alright. Let’s get started."

 

"Indeed," Wong said with a nod. "The Library awaits, and we have much to do. Follow me."

 

As they left the room, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that his life was about to change in ways he couldn’t even begin to understand. But if there was one thing Harry was certain of, it was that he was ready for whatever came next.

 

—

 

Later that evening, after Harry had been shown to his quarters, which were sparsely furnished but comfortable enough for his needs, the Ancient One called for Mordo and Kaecillius. They met her in a quiet room at the far end of Kamar-Taj, a place where the weight of the conversation seemed to hang in the air, heavy with anticipation.

 

Mordo entered first, his demeanor as stoic and focused as ever. Kaecillius followed closely behind, a bit more relaxed, though still bearing the kind of intensity that seemed to radiate from those who walked the mystic path. They both took their seats, waiting for the Ancient One to speak.

 

“Is he ready?” Mordo asked, his voice low but steady, his eyes focused on the Ancient One. “The boy—he appears strong, but he is... different.”

 

The Ancient One, seated at the head of the room, closed her eyes for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. When she opened them again, her gaze was piercing, and there was a sadness there that both men noticed but did not dare question.

 

“He is different indeed, Mordo,” she said softly, her voice carrying an undertone of grave importance. “And his past is far darker than either of you could imagine.”

 

Kaecillius raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “What do you mean?”

 

The Ancient One took a deep breath, and with a slow, deliberate motion, she began to explain the truth of Harry Potter's origins.

 

“The boy, Harry, is not what he seems.” Her voice was calm, but there was a weight to it, as though she were burdened with the knowledge she was about to share. “He is, in truth, six years old—though his appearance may suggest otherwise.”

 

Both Mordo and Kaecillius exchanged a quick glance. Mordo’s brows furrowed, a flicker of confusion passing across his face. “Six?” he repeated. “But he... He is taller than both of us. Stronger, too.”

 

The Ancient One nodded, a sad smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “He was stolen from his true family at a young age, long before the world knew of him. Taken by a shadowy group known as Hydra.”

 

“Hydra?” Kaecillius echoed, his tone laden with disbelief. “The same Hydra that was known for its experiments on soldiers?”

 

“Yes,” the Ancient One confirmed. “They injected Harry with the Super Soldier Serum, accelerating his aging process to make him appear as an adult. It was part of their twisted design to create a perfect weapon. But their efforts didn’t end there. They then spliced his DNA with that of another subject—someone referred to as ‘Weapon X.’”

 

Mordo and Kaecillius both stiffened at the mention of Weapon X. They had heard whispers about the existence of such a being, but it was always shrouded in mystery and fear. Weapon X was said to be a living weapon, a being whose very existence was a threat to the world. But to hear that Harry had been tied to this project—transformed into something more, something unnatural—was disconcerting.

 

“And then,” the Ancient One continued, “Hydra went even further, coating his entire skeleton in Vibranium. It is this that gives him the claws, the enhanced healing factor, and the ability to absorb kinetic energy. His entire body is a living conduit for power, a vessel for both magic and physical strength.”

 

She paused, her gaze now distant as though she were seeing the child she had come to know through a different lens. “His skeleton absorbs any and all kinetic energy—whether it’s from his movements, physical hits, or even when he lands from great heights. That energy is constantly fed into his magical core, which can then be used to cast spells—through his claws or his wand—like a traditional wizard would.”

 

Mordo’s hands clenched into fists, and Kaecillius’s expression grew darker, his mind racing to comprehend the implications of this boy’s existence. The Ancient One’s voice softened, tinged with sympathy.

 

“He may look like an adult, but he is, in reality, a child—one whose innocence has been taken from him. He was raised as a weapon, not allowed to experience the simple joys of childhood, and now he is left to navigate a world he does not fully understand. The challenge before him is not just to master the mystical arts—it is to regain some semblance of who he was before Hydra twisted him into their creation.”

 

Kaecillius, ever the philosopher, leaned forward. “So, he’s not only physically powerful—he’s also carrying the weight of what they made him into. The boy doesn’t just need to learn magic. He needs to learn how to heal from what was done to him.”

 

“Precisely,” the Ancient One said. “He is a weapon, yes, but he is also a soul—one who, deep down, still yearns for freedom, for understanding, for peace. We must be careful in how we approach his training. He will need guidance, and we cannot let him be consumed by the darkness of his past.”

 

Mordo sat back, processing what he had just learned. He had always believed in discipline, in the idea of shaping a person through structure and rigorous training. But this—this was a different matter altogether.

 

“Then, we must proceed cautiously,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “I will teach him to control his physical strength, but we must ensure that his body does not overpower his mind. If he is to harness the full potential of the mystical arts, he must learn to wield his strength with wisdom, not just power.”

 

Kaecillius nodded in agreement. “And I will guide him in understanding the deeper aspects of magic—the ones that go beyond brute force. His mind will be the key to unlocking everything.”

 

The Ancient One gave a single nod of approval, her eyes filled with determination. “I trust you both to help him on this path. But remember, Harry is not just a weapon. He is a child who has been robbed of his innocence, and it will take time for him to understand that he is more than what Hydra made him.”

 

With that, the three of them fell into a thoughtful silence, each contemplating the weight of the responsibility that lay ahead. Harry Potter was no ordinary student. He was a child forged into a weapon—one that could either be the world’s greatest protector or its greatest threat. And it was up to them to decide which path he would walk.

 

—

 

The courtyard of Kamar-Taj was alive with the hum of mystical energy as Harry stood across from Mordo, the morning sun casting long shadows of the ancient walls around them. Harry stretched his arms, his Vibranium claws sliding out with a metallic snikt. His expression was one of calm readiness, though his eyes sparkled with anticipation. Mordo, in contrast, stood with a staff in hand, his posture straight, his expression unreadable, but there was a sharpness to his gaze.

 

“This is not about winning or losing, Harry,” Mordo said as he shifted into a combat stance. “This is about understanding the limits of your strength, your agility, and your focus. Show me what you’ve learned—nothing more, nothing less.”

 

Harry gave him a small, confident smirk. “Fair warning, Mordo—I’ve been taught by some of the best. Don’t hold back, or I might embarrass you in front of the boss.”

 

Mordo raised an eyebrow at the cheeky remark but said nothing. He simply motioned with his staff for Harry to come at him.

 

Watching from a shaded balcony above, the Ancient One and Kaecillius observed in silence. Kaecillius crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on Harry. “He seems confident.”

 

“Confidence can be a mask,” the Ancient One replied serenely, her hands folded in front of her. “But it can also be a foundation. Let us see what lies beneath his bravado.”

 

 

---

 

Harry moved first, closing the gap between them in a heartbeat. His speed caught Mordo off guard—not because Mordo hadn’t expected it, but because it was rare to see someone move with such fluid precision. Harry’s claws slashed horizontally, forcing Mordo to sidestep and spin his staff to deflect the strike.

 

The clang of Vibranium meeting enchanted wood echoed across the courtyard.

 

“Not bad,” Mordo said as he twisted his staff, locking Harry’s claws momentarily before shoving him back. “But predictable.”

 

Harry grinned, landing lightly on his feet. “That was just the warm-up.”

 

Without missing a beat, Harry launched himself into a series of rapid attacks, blending the martial techniques he’d learned from Natasha and Bucky with his own raw power. His movements were relentless but calculated, forcing Mordo to stay on the defensive.

 

Mordo blocked a high slash and ducked under a sweeping strike aimed at his legs. Harry’s claws carved faint trails in the stone floor as he pivoted into another attack. Mordo leapt back, creating distance between them.

 

“Impressive,” Mordo admitted, his voice steady despite the exertion. “You fight with the precision of a soldier, but your magic lacks discipline.”

 

Harry didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he feinted left, forcing Mordo to shift his staff, before suddenly springing into the air. As he came down, he slammed his claws into the ground, releasing a kinetic shockwave that rippled outward.

 

The explosion of energy caught Mordo off guard, forcing him to leap back as the ground beneath him cracked and splintered. Mordo’s expression shifted to one of approval mixed with caution. “You channel your power instinctively, but you waste too much energy.”

 

From the balcony, Kaecillius leaned forward, intrigued. “He’s not just relying on brute force. Look at his footwork—it’s deliberate, almost rehearsed.”

 

The Ancient One nodded, her gaze never leaving Harry. “He has been trained well, but not fully. There is untapped potential in him—a rawness that needs refinement.”

 

 

---

 

Back in the courtyard, Harry wiped a bead of sweat from his brow but kept his claws extended. “You’re not bad with that stick,” he quipped, circling Mordo. “But let’s see how you handle this.”

 

Harry raised his hand, and the air around his claws shimmered with magical energy. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a bolt of magic arcing toward Mordo. Mordo spun his staff, creating a barrier that absorbed the attack, but the force behind it pushed him back several steps.

 

“You mix magic and combat fluidly,” Mordo said, his tone edged with grudging respect. “But do not think for a moment that you’ve mastered either.”

 

Mordo counterattacked, his staff spinning in a blur as he advanced on Harry. The strikes came fast and precise, forcing Harry to rely on his agility to dodge and parry. Each clash of staff against claws sent sparks flying, the sound reverberating through the courtyard.

 

Mordo aimed a low sweep at Harry’s legs, but Harry leapt over it, flipping mid-air. As he descended, he reached out with his hand and caught Mordo’s staff mid-swing. The two locked eyes, both testing the other’s strength. With a grunt, Harry wrenched the staff from Mordo’s grip and tossed it aside.

 

“Well,” Harry said, breathing hard but grinning, “looks like I win round one.”

 

Mordo smirked faintly, stepping back as he raised his hand. A portal opened beside him, and another staff floated through. He caught it effortlessly. “Round one was merely the introduction.”

 

From above, Kaecillius couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle. “This boy might just surprise us all.”

 

The Ancient One remained silent, her gaze contemplative. “He is more than we anticipated,” she said softly. “But his true challenges lie ahead—not here, but within himself.”

 

As the spar continued, it became clear to everyone watching that Harry Potter was not just a promising student. He was a force of nature, one that would either shape the future of the Mystical Arts—or shatter it.

 

—

 

As the sparring session concluded, Mordo stepped back, sweat glistening on his brow. He gave Harry a curt nod, a mix of approval and challenge in his gaze. “You’ve proven you have the strength and reflexes, but brute force and agility will only take you so far. Now comes the harder part—discipline.”

 

Before Harry could respond, Kaecillius walked forward, his expression calm but intense, his sharp features lit by the sunlight streaming into the courtyard. He looked every bit the seasoned practitioner of the Mystic Arts, his movements deliberate and precise. The Ancient One remained on the balcony, her gaze following the transition with quiet interest.

 

“Discipline,” Kaecillius began, addressing Harry with a tone both firm and measured, “isn’t just about how you move your body or wield your power. It’s about mastering your mind. Your thoughts, your emotions, your will—they are your most potent tools, but also your most dangerous adversaries.”

 

Harry arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re about to teach me to meditate. Spoiler alert—I’m not great at sitting still.”

 

Kaecillius allowed a small smirk to break through his otherwise stoic demeanor. “Meditation is part of it, yes. But this isn’t about sitting in a quiet room and humming. It’s about sharpening your mind until it’s as strong and unyielding as your Vibranium skeleton.”

 

He gestured toward a shaded corner of the courtyard, where a small circle of cushions and incense burners had been arranged. A delicate breeze carried the faint scent of sandalwood and sage. “We’ll start here.”

 

Harry glanced at the setup, then back at Kaecillius. “Let me guess. I sit cross-legged, try not to think about food, and you throw cryptic wisdom at me?”

 

Kaecillius’s smirk deepened. “Something like that. Except, if you fail, you’ll be battling the illusions your own mind creates until you break through—or break down.”

 

Harry blinked, his cocky grin faltering slightly. “Right. No pressure then.”

 

Kaecillius motioned for Harry to sit, and as he did, the older man began to pace around him, his voice even and commanding. “Close your eyes. Breathe. Your breath is the anchor that keeps you from drifting in the chaos of your thoughts. Focus on it.”

 

Harry did as instructed, though his body remained tense. His breaths were steady, but his mind raced with a thousand distractions—memories of Hydra’s experiments, flashes of Natasha’s teasing smile, the kinetic thrill of sparring with Mordo.

 

“Your mind is like a storm,” Kaecillius said, as if sensing Harry’s inner turmoil. “Chaos, noise, movement. But beneath every storm is a stillness, a calm. Find it.”

 

The courtyard around Harry began to fade as his focus deepened. For a moment, he felt the swirling cacophony of his thoughts start to settle, like sediment sinking in clear water. But just as he was beginning to relax, a sharp voice cut through the quiet.

 

“Focus, Potter,” Kaecillius snapped. “I can see you drifting. You’re not here to daydream.”

 

Harry’s eyes snapped open, glaring at Kaecillius. “You’re not exactly making this easy.”

 

“It’s not supposed to be easy,” Kaecillius replied. “Discipline is forged through adversity, not comfort. Again.”

 

Harry closed his eyes once more, his jaw tightening. This time, he pushed harder, forcing himself to focus. Slowly, the noise in his mind began to quiet, replaced by a strange sense of clarity. He felt a faint pulse within himself, like a distant heartbeat. It wasn’t his own—it was something deeper, something connected to his magic.

 

Kaecillius watched intently, noting the subtle change in Harry’s posture and breathing. “Good,” he said softly. “Now, hold onto that stillness. Let it grow.”

 

For several minutes, Harry remained in that state, his mind steady, his body relaxed. But then, without warning, he felt a sharp jolt, as if the ground beneath him had shifted. His eyes flew open to see the courtyard around him dissolving into a swirling void of colors and shapes.

 

“What the—?” Harry began, but Kaecillius’s voice cut him off.

 

“Your mind is testing you,” Kaecillius said, his tone calm but commanding. “You’ve opened a door, and now you must face what lies beyond it.”

 

In the swirling void, Harry saw flashes of Hydra’s lab, the cold steel tables, the faces of the scientists who had experimented on him. He saw Natasha, her expression unreadable, and Steve, his shield raised in defense. He saw Grindelwald, his eyes gleaming with power and ambition.

 

The images came faster and faster, threatening to overwhelm him. But then Kaecillius’s voice echoed in his mind: “Breathe. Focus. Find the stillness.”

 

Harry gritted his teeth, closing his eyes against the onslaught. He reached for the calm he had found earlier, the faint pulse of magic within him. Slowly, the chaos began to recede, the void shrinking until it was nothing but darkness.

 

When he opened his eyes again, he was back in the courtyard. Kaecillius stood before him, arms crossed, a hint of approval in his expression.

 

“You’re stronger than I expected,” Kaecillius said. “But strength alone won’t carry you through the challenges ahead. Remember this feeling—the stillness. It will be your greatest weapon.”

 

Harry stood, his legs a little shaky but his resolve unbroken. “That was... intense.”

 

Kaecillius’s smirk returned. “And that was just the first step. Welcome to the Mystical Arts, Potter.”

 

From the balcony, the Ancient One watched the exchange with a faint smile. “He’ll do well,” she murmured to herself, though her tone carried a hint of caution. “If he can survive what lies ahead.”

 

—

 

In the flickering candlelight of the Ancient One’s chamber, Mordo and Kaecillius stood before her, their expressions thoughtful yet weighed with the burden of what lay ahead. The room was silent save for the faint rustle of the wind outside, the stillness amplifying the gravity of their conversation.

 

Mordo was the first to speak, his voice measured and deliberate. “The boy—Harry—he’s unlike any student we’ve ever trained. His abilities alone set him apart, but his past…” Mordo hesitated, glancing at Kaecillius before continuing. “It’s a volatile foundation. Hydra’s experiments may have given him strength and speed, but they also left scars. Emotional ones. He hides it well, but the rage is there, buried deep.”

 

Kaecillius nodded, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. “He’s powerful, no doubt. The way he moved during our session today—instinctual, raw. He’s been trained by some of the best in physical combat, and his magical aptitude is impressive for someone his age, especially given his unorthodox education. But that power is dangerous. Without proper discipline, it could consume him.”

 

The Ancient One listened, her face calm but her eyes sharp and attentive. “You both see the potential in him,” she said, her voice as serene as always. “But also the risk.”

 

“Exactly,” Kaecillius replied, stepping forward. “He’s already stronger than most of the students here, physically and magically. But strength like that without control is a recipe for disaster. We need to approach his training carefully—teach him to temper his abilities before they define him.”

 

Mordo nodded in agreement but added, “There’s something else to consider. His core. It’s not just magical—it’s something more. The Vibranium in his skeleton constantly feeds energy into it, amplifying his power. That’s an immense advantage, but it also makes him a target. If anyone were to discover what Hydra did to him…”

 

The Ancient One raised a hand, silencing Mordo gently. “I am aware of the dangers. That is why he is here. To learn, to grow, to protect himself—and perhaps, in time, to protect others.”

 

Kaecillius frowned. “But how do we proceed? He’s not like the others. The traditional methods won’t work for someone like him.”

 

The Ancient One stood and began to pace, her movements graceful yet purposeful. “We must tailor his training to his unique nature. Mordo, you will continue to push him physically, but not just in combat. Teach him restraint. His strength is a gift, but it must not become his crutch. Show him that true power lies not in what he can do, but in what he chooses not to do.”

 

Mordo inclined his head. “Understood.”

 

Turning to Kaecillius, the Ancient One said, “Your task is more challenging. His mind is a maze, a labyrinth of pain, anger, and determination. You must help him navigate it—guide him to the stillness within himself. If he cannot master his mind, he will never master the Mystic Arts.”

 

Kaecillius exhaled, his expression serious. “I’ll do my best. But he’s not going to make it easy.”

 

The Ancient One smiled faintly, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “The greatest students never do.”

 

Kaecillius smirked despite himself. “True enough.”

 

Finally, the Ancient One’s tone grew more somber. “There is one more thing. Harry’s destiny is not set in stone, but the threads of fate around him are… complicated. He has the potential to become a force for great good—or unimaginable destruction. How we guide him now will shape the path he takes.”

 

Mordo and Kaecillius exchanged a glance, the weight of the Ancient One’s words settling heavily on them.

 

“We’ll do what we must,” Mordo said firmly. “No matter how long it takes.”

 

Kaecillius added, “And no matter how difficult he makes it.”

 

The Ancient One nodded, her expression softening. “Good. Then let us begin. Harry Potter may be unlike any student we’ve trained, but he is also unlike any warrior the world has ever known. Together, we will help him find his way.”

Chapter 25: Chapter 24

The next morning, Harry found himself standing in the center of a circular chamber within Kamar-Taj, surrounded by intricate runic patterns etched into the stone floor. The Ancient One stood before him, her serene expression betraying a hint of anticipation.

 

“Today,” she began, her voice calm and steady, “I will show you a fundamental aspect of the Mystic Arts—the Mirror Dimension.”

 

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “Mirror Dimension? Sounds like something out of a Doctor Who episode.”

 

The Ancient One’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “Not entirely inaccurate. The Mirror Dimension is a parallel plane of existence. It reflects our world, but actions taken within it do not affect the real world. It’s a safe space for practice, containment, or observation.”

 

She raised her hands, fingers weaving a complex gesture. A golden spark ignited in the air, expanding into an intricate mandala. With a flick of her wrist, the room around them shimmered and fractured like glass, the walls folding outward as if peeling away layers of reality. The once-solid chamber now appeared infinite, with reflections cascading endlessly into the distance.

 

Harry’s eyes widened, and he instinctively flexed his Vibranium claws, unsure whether to be amazed or on guard. “That… that’s bloody brilliant,” he muttered, stepping forward to touch the shimmering air. It rippled under his fingertips like water.

 

The Ancient One gestured for him to follow as she began walking through the surreal landscape. “The Mirror Dimension is incredibly useful for training, testing spells, or containing threats. It operates separately from the real world, meaning damage done here stays here.”

 

“So, a safe playground for magical experiments?” Harry asked, glancing around. “And it’s all real, even though it’s not?”

 

“Precisely,” she replied. “But remember, the power to access and control the Mirror Dimension requires discipline and understanding of the Mystic Arts. It is not merely an illusion; it is a tool.”

 

They stopped walking, and the Ancient One turned to him. “You’ve been trained in what you call ‘magic,’ yes?”

 

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Wandwork, spell incantations, some nonverbal casting, and, well, a bit of wandless magic.”

 

The Ancient One smiled faintly. “The Mystic Arts operate on a different principle. Where your magic is tied to your magical core—a reservoir of power within you—the Mystic Arts draw energy from external sources. The multiverse is vast, filled with dimensions of immense power. We tap into these dimensions, borrowing energy to shape reality as needed.”

 

Harry’s brow furrowed. “So it’s not my own power I’m using?”

 

“Not entirely. Your will and focus guide the borrowed energy. Think of it as a partnership—your magic combined with the universe’s limitless potential.”

 

“And how do I actually… do it?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the air.

 

The Ancient One chuckled softly. “Practice and patience. Let me show you.” She conjured another glowing mandala, its intricate design shimmering with golden light. “Begin by focusing on your hands. Feel the energy flowing through you, extending outward into the space around you.”

 

Harry raised his hands, mimicking her movements. He concentrated, drawing on his instincts honed through years of magic and combat. At first, nothing happened. He frowned, glancing at the Ancient One.

 

She observed him quietly, then added, “Do not rely solely on force. The Mystic Arts require balance—your mind, body, and spirit must align. Breathe. Feel the connection to the world around you.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Harry let go of his frustration and focused on the rhythm of his breathing. Slowly, he felt a faint warmth in his palms, a tingling that spread outward. A flicker of golden light appeared, tentative but real.

 

“There,” the Ancient One encouraged. “Now shape it.”

 

Harry grinned, the golden light forming a crude circle between his hands. “I did it!”

 

The Ancient One nodded, her expression calm but approving. “You’ve taken your first step. Remember, the Mystic Arts are not about mastering power—they are about mastering yourself. Your strength will come, but only through discipline and practice.”

 

Harry let the mandala dissipate and looked around the Mirror Dimension again. “This is going to be… different. But I think I can handle it.”

 

The Ancient One smiled. “I have no doubt, Mr. Potter. Now, let’s see how quickly you can adapt. We have much to cover.”

 

—

 

The Ancient One gestured, and the endless reflections of the Mirror Dimension began to twist and reshape. The shimmering landscape transformed into a massive circular training ground, with glowing runes inscribed along the edges. Pillars of light shot up from the ground, each one pulsing with magical energy.

 

“This will be your practice space for today,” she said, walking forward as the runes brightened under her feet. “I will guide you through several exercises to help you develop focus and control.”

 

Harry took a deep breath, glancing around. “Alright. What’s first? More of the hand-glowy stuff?”

 

The Ancient One chuckled softly. “In a manner of speaking. You will learn to create, sustain, and manipulate energy constructs. Start with a simple shield.”

 

She raised her hands, conjuring a circular golden shield in front of her. The runes along its surface glowed with intricate patterns. “This is the first step in shaping energy. It requires focus and intention. Now, you try.”

 

Harry mimicked her movements, hands outstretched as he concentrated. The warmth returned to his palms, and after a moment, a faint circle of golden light began to form. It flickered and wavered, but he held it steady, his brow furrowed in concentration.

 

“Good,” the Ancient One said. “Now, strengthen it. Imagine it as an extension of yourself—your will, your power, your shield against the world.”

 

Harry’s shield grew brighter, the edges solidifying into a proper construct. He grinned, his confidence building. “Not bad for a first try, yeah?”

 

“Indeed,” she replied. “Now, let’s see if it holds up under pressure.”

 

Before Harry could respond, the Ancient One flicked her wrist, sending a pulse of golden energy straight at him. Instinctively, he raised his shield, bracing for impact. The blast hit with a resonating crack, but the shield held firm.

 

Harry staggered back slightly, but his grin widened. “Okay, that was... unexpected. But also awesome.”

 

“Focus, Mr. Potter,” she said, her tone both amused and instructional. “The Mystic Arts often require quick thinking. Anticipation and adaptability are key.”

 

She gestured again, and the training ground shifted. Glowing orbs of light began to materialize around them, moving erratically. “Your next task is to deflect these. Maintain your shield, but use your agility and reflexes to avoid unnecessary strikes.”

 

Harry crouched slightly, his Vibranium-enhanced senses kicking in. The first orb shot toward him, and he twisted his shield to deflect it, the impact sending a ripple through the air. Another came from his left, and he sidestepped, swatting it away with his shield.

 

“Nice try,” he muttered as a third orb zipped toward him, this time from above. He rolled out of the way, countering with a flick of his wrist that sent a blast of energy back at the orb, shattering it.

 

From the sidelines, Mordo and Kaecillius had entered the Mirror Dimension, observing the session with interest.

 

“He’s picking it up quickly,” Kaecillius noted, crossing his arms.

 

Mordo frowned slightly. “Perhaps too quickly. His instincts are sharp, but he relies heavily on his physical enhancements. The Mystic Arts require a deeper understanding—one that cannot be rushed.”

 

Kaecillius smirked. “He’s a fighter, Mordo. That’s his foundation. Let him build on it.”

 

Back in the training ground, Harry ducked under another orb, then leaped high into the air. As he landed, the Vibranium in his skeleton absorbed the kinetic energy, which he redirected into a shockwave, dispersing the remaining orbs.

 

The Ancient One raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “Innovative. You are beginning to understand how to merge your abilities with the Mystic Arts.”

 

Harry straightened, panting slightly but grinning. “This is definitely more fun than a duel with Captain America. What’s next?”

 

The Ancient One gestured for him to follow. “We will delve deeper into dimensional manipulation. But first, a lesson in humility.”

 

Harry’s grin faltered. “Humility? That sounds ominous.”

 

She smiled enigmatically. “Let’s just say you’ll be meeting some of the more… unpredictable aspects of the multiverse.”

 

Mordo and Kaecillius exchanged knowing glances, following as the Ancient One led Harry deeper into the surreal, ever-shifting expanse of the Mirror Dimension.

 

—

 

As they moved through the shifting landscape of the Mirror Dimension, the Ancient One led Harry toward a massive portal etched with swirling patterns of light and shadow. The energy radiating from it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

 

“This,” she said, gesturing to the portal, “is a gateway to the Astral Plane. Within its confines, you will face challenges not of the physical realm but of the mind and spirit.”

 

Harry’s steps slowed. “Challenges? Like what? Weird shadow monsters? Talking mirrors? A giant riddle-spewing sphinx?”

 

The Ancient One smiled faintly. “The Astral Plane reveals what you carry within yourself. Your fears, doubts, hopes, and strengths. Think of it as a mirror to your soul.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “So… therapy. Got it.”

 

“More like survival therapy,” Kaecillius added dryly from behind. “And without a comfortable couch.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the growing sense of unease. “Alright, so what’s the plan? Do I just walk in and… wing it?”

 

“Precisely,” the Ancient One said, her tone calm. “The Astral Plane is not a place I can guide you through. You must navigate it on your own.”

 

Harry hesitated, glancing back at Mordo and Kaecillius, who stood silently with their arms crossed. He sighed, muttering to himself, “Yeah, sure, throw the new guy into the cosmic deep end. Why not?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped through the portal.

 

 

---

 

The moment he entered, the world around him dissolved into an ethereal swirl of colors and light. He felt weightless, as though he were floating in a void. Gradually, shapes began to take form—familiar ones.

 

He stood in a dimly lit room, and his breath caught when he realized where he was: the cupboard under the stairs.

 

“Brilliant,” he muttered, looking around. The tiny space was exactly as he remembered it—cramped, dusty, and filled with the faint scent of damp wood. “Of all the places my mind could conjure…”

 

A voice broke through the silence, soft yet cold. “You think you’ve left this behind, don’t you?”

 

Harry spun around, his claws extending instinctively. Standing in the doorway was a shadowy figure with glowing red eyes. It wore a distorted version of his old Hogwarts robes, but its face was shrouded in darkness.

 

“Great,” Harry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “An evil version of me. Should’ve known.”

 

The shadow tilted its head. “I am not you. I am what you fear. What you doubt. What you hide from.”

 

Harry crossed his arms, claws retracting. “Listen, mate, I’ve faced actual psychotic Hydra scientists who thought turning me into a human experiment was a good idea. You’re gonna have to try harder than creepy speeches.”

 

The shadow’s form shifted, growing larger and more menacing. “You fear failing those who rely on you. You fear being nothing more than a weapon—a tool for others to use.”

 

Harry clenched his fists, but before he could retort, the scene shifted again. He was no longer in the cupboard but on a battlefield. Flames roared around him, and the ground was littered with bodies. At the center of it all stood Natasha, her lifeless eyes staring at him accusingly.

 

“You let this happen,” the shadow said, now looming over him. “You weren’t strong enough. You couldn’t save them.”

 

Harry’s heart pounded, but he forced himself to take a steadying breath. “This isn’t real. It’s just my mind messing with me.”

 

“Is it?” the shadow hissed, stepping closer. “Or is it a glimpse of what’s to come?”

 

---

 

Back in the Mirror Dimension, the Ancient One stood with Mordo and Kaecillius, watching the faint ripples of Harry’s trial through the Astral Plane.

 

“He’s resilient,” Mordo said, his tone measured. “But he carries more weight than most.”

 

“That weight is both his greatest strength and his greatest obstacle,” the Ancient One replied. “He must learn to master it, or it will consume him.”

 

Kaecillius watched silently, his expression unreadable.

 

---

 

Inside the Astral Plane, Harry’s resolve hardened. He summoned his claws, their Vibranium gleaming with an ethereal glow. “Alright, enough of this mind game nonsense. Let’s see how you handle someone who doesn’t play by the rules.”

 

With a roar, he lunged at the shadow, his claws slashing through the darkness. The battlefield erupted in a blinding light, and Harry found himself back in the swirling void. This time, he stood taller, his fear momentarily silenced.

 

The Ancient One’s voice echoed faintly in his mind. “You’ve taken the first step, Harry. But the journey has only just begun.”

 

He smirked. “Yeah, well, bring it on.”

 

—

 

The library at Kamar-Taj was a marvel, an eclectic blend of mysticism and intellect. Towering shelves, filled with tomes of every size and language, stretched endlessly into the shadows, illuminated only by warm, floating lanterns that hovered like obedient fireflies. Harry couldn’t help but gape as he stepped inside.

 

“First time in the library, I see,” Wong said from behind a desk near the entrance, not even looking up from the ancient scroll he was examining.

 

Harry turned, smirking. “What gave it away? The stunned awe or the drool?”

 

“Both,” Wong deadpanned, closing the scroll with a deliberate flourish. He gestured toward the shelves with the air of a man presenting a sacred temple. “Welcome to the repository of Kamar-Taj’s collective knowledge. The rules are simple. Treat the books with respect. Return them when you’re done. And absolutely no snacks while reading.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “No snacks? Not even a cup of tea?”

 

“Tea is permissible if consumed at a safe distance,” Wong allowed, his expression serious. “But spill anything on these books, and you’ll find yourself teleported to the Arctic without a coat.”

 

“Noted,” Harry said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “So, how does this work? Do I just browse, or is there some magical Dewey Decimal system I need to learn?”

 

Wong actually chuckled at that, a rare sound. “Your eagerness is admirable. I assume the Ancient One suggested you start with the fundamentals?”

 

“She said I’d need to understand the ‘fabric of reality’ and how to ‘weave’ it,” Harry said, making air quotes. “Whatever that means.”

 

Wong hummed thoughtfully, already walking down one of the aisles. “Start with these, then.” He plucked a few books from the shelves with practiced efficiency and handed them to Harry. The titles were intimidating: The Weave of Dimensions, Understanding the Multiverse, and Basic Energetic Constructs.

 

Harry stared at the thick tomes. “Basic? Really? These look like they require a degree in quantum physics just to read the titles.”

 

“Quantum physics would help,” Wong said, utterly unbothered. “But think of it as learning to ride a bike. Painful at first, but eventually, you’ll get the hang of it.”

 

“I’ve never ridden a bike,” Harry muttered, balancing the books in his arms.

 

Wong raised an eyebrow. “Never?”

 

“Spent most of my childhood locked in a cupboard,” Harry said matter-of-factly. “Not a lot of bike paths in there.”

 

The admission gave Wong pause, his usual composure flickering for a brief moment. “A cupboard,” he repeated. “And now you’re here, learning to manipulate the very fabric of existence. Life is strange.”

 

“That’s one way to put it,” Harry said with a grin. “So, what’s your story? You’ve got this whole ‘serene librarian monk’ vibe going on. How’d you end up in Kamar-Taj?”

 

Wong folded his arms, his expression unreadable. “Let’s just say I was drawn here by the pursuit of knowledge. And a need to safeguard it.”

 

Harry nodded, sensing there was more to the story but deciding not to push. “Well, Wong, I’m looking forward to learning from you. As long as you don’t teleport me to the Arctic for asking dumb questions.”

 

Wong smirked. “I’ll consider it, but only if your questions are exceptionally dumb.”

 

Harry laughed, already feeling a surprising camaraderie with the stoic librarian. He settled into a nearby table, cracked open The Weave of Dimensions, and began to read. Wong returned to his desk, keeping a watchful eye on Harry as he flipped through the pages.

 

The silence of the library was broken only by the rustle of parchment and the occasional muttered curse from Harry as he tried to decipher the dense text. From behind his desk, Wong smiled faintly. Teaching this particular student was going to be…interesting.

 

—

 

The Triskelion, SHIELD's headquarters, hummed with activity as agents moved purposefully through its sleek corridors. In a private conference room on one of the upper floors, Nick Fury sat at the head of a table, his trademark stoicism masking the anticipation brewing beneath. Across from him, Howard Stark casually leaned back in his chair, a thick stack of papers and a small, sleek StarkTech datapad in front of him.

 

Howard adjusted his tie, smirking. “You know, Fury, when I said I’d help you crack Hydra’s secrets, I didn’t think it’d involve me spending days elbow-deep in Cold War-era encryption algorithms. Do you know how much coffee it takes to fuel this genius?”

 

Fury quirked an eyebrow. “If the coffee didn’t kill you, Stark, my curiosity might. What’ve you got?”

 

Howard slid the datapad across the table with a flourish. “A list of Hydra operatives embedded within the U.S. government, decrypted from the Siberia mission data. Let me tell you, it’s not a short read.”

 

Fury picked up the datapad, his eyes narrowing as he began scrolling through the names. His face, usually carved in stone, hardened further with each passing moment.

 

“Hell,” he muttered under his breath.

 

Howard, always quick to notice, leaned forward. “Judging by the death glare you’re giving that screen, I’m guessing you found someone juicy. Or rather, slimy.”

 

Fury stopped scrolling and looked up, his jaw tight. “Alexander Pierce.”

 

Howard blinked, then let out a low whistle. “Pierce? The Secretary of State? The guy who just turned down a Nobel Prize with that whole ‘peace is a responsibility’ speech? Talk about irony.”

 

Fury leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. “Pierce has been a friend of mine for years. He helped me rise through the ranks in SHIELD, vouched for me when others didn’t. And now—” He stopped himself, taking a deep breath. “Now I find out he’s been playing me this whole time.”

 

Howard shrugged, his tone light but his words pointed. “Spies are like onions, Fury. Layer after layer, and most of ‘em stink. You said it yourself: trust is a liability in this business.”

 

Fury smirked humorlessly. “See, it’s stuff like this that gives me trust issues.” He stared at the datapad, his fingers tightening around it. “Pierce has access to everything. SHIELD operations, global defense initiatives—hell, he’s in the room when the President makes decisions. If he’s Hydra…”

 

Howard nodded, his own humor fading. “Then Hydra has a direct line to every major power in the world.”

 

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of the revelation pressing down on both men. Finally, Fury stood, his posture commanding. “We’re going to handle this carefully. I’m not tipping our hand until we’ve got a plan. I want you to keep digging, Stark. See if there’s anything else buried in that data.”

 

Howard saluted mockingly. “You got it, boss. But don’t forget, I’m a genius, not a miracle worker. If you want miracles, go talk to your wizard friends.”

 

Fury allowed himself a faint smile. “I’ll stick with geniuses for now.” He walked to the door, turning back before exiting. “Oh, and Stark? Good work.”

 

Howard grinned, his usual bravado returning. “Don’t act so surprised. Now go save the world. Or at least start fixing it.”

 

As Fury left, the gears in his mind were already turning. If Pierce was Hydra, it was only a matter of time before he made a move. Fury would have to act fast—and in this game of shadows, every second counted.

 

—

 

In a dimly lit Hydra safehouse tucked into an inconspicuous corner near the MIT campus, Cynthia Schmidt—known to her enemies as Sinthea Schmidt, Red Skull’s daughter—stepped through the door with the precision of a trained operative. Her movements were confident, calculated, and unerringly quiet. She removed her scarf, letting her hair fall over her shoulders, and cast a sharp glance around the cluttered room.

 

The two Hydra agents stationed there, clad in civilian attire but radiating an unmistakable air of menace, snapped to attention at her arrival. One was a wiry man with a penchant for gadgets; the other, a stockier brute more suited to physical intimidation than subtlety. Both looked uneasy under Cynthia's piercing gaze.

 

“Well?” she said crisply, wasting no time. Her voice was soft yet commanding, a silk-wrapped dagger. “What’s the status on Stark?”

 

The wiry agent, Karl, stepped forward, holding a tablet. “We’ve successfully planted both audio bugs and video surveillance in Stark’s dorm room. The operation went smoothly while he, Rhodes, and you were attending the morning lectures. We’re already picking up chatter.”

 

Cynthia arched an eyebrow, her expression one of mild interest. “Chatter, you say? Anything worth my time?”

 

Karl hesitated, glancing nervously at his stockier partner, Lukas, before speaking. “Not yet. Most of it is idle conversation between Stark and Rhodes. College banter. But... it’s clear Stark’s intellect is as sharp as Hydra anticipated. His offhand comments about energy manipulation and structural integrity alone could—”

 

“Spare me the technical admiration,” Cynthia interrupted coldly. “We already know Stark is a prodigy. That’s why Hydra is so interested in him. I need something actionable. Something we can use.”

 

Lukas, emboldened by Cynthia’s attention shifting, spoke up. “He’s... taken quite a liking to you, ma’am.”

 

Cynthia’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “Of course, he has. He’s sixteen, arrogant, and painfully predictable. The transfer-student routine always works. What’s our next step?”

 

Karl fumbled with his tablet, bringing up a live feed from one of the bugs in Tony Stark’s dorm room. The screen showed the neatly arranged but cluttered workspace Tony shared with Rhodes. Piles of blueprints, half-finished projects, and disassembled tech littered the desks.

 

“We’ll continue monitoring,” Karl said. “Stark’s been working on something unusual—a personal energy amplification device. At this stage, it’s theoretical, but if it works—”

 

“If it works,” Cynthia interrupted, her tone sharpening, “it could revolutionize Hydra’s technological capabilities. Keep an eye on it.”

 

She turned away from the feed and began pacing. Her mind worked quickly, weighing the variables. Tony Stark was a valuable asset, but he was also unpredictable—a wild card. The young genius needed to be guided, nudged in Hydra’s direction without realizing it. Too much pressure, and he’d resist. Too little, and he might slip through their fingers entirely.

 

“Lukas,” she said without turning. “Any issues at the frat party last night?”

 

Lukas shifted uneasily. “Nothing major. Stark and Rhodes were... typical teenagers. A lot of attention on you, though. Stark was clearly trying to impress you.”

 

Cynthia smiled faintly. “Good. Let him think he’s in control. Stark’s ego is our greatest ally—and his greatest weakness. But keep your distance. The last thing I need is one of you fumbling and blowing our cover.”

 

Karl cleared his throat. “And if Stark gets suspicious? He’s sharp, ma’am. Too sharp.”

 

Cynthia turned to him, her expression unreadable. “If Stark gets suspicious, deal with it. Quietly. But only if necessary. Hydra needs him alive and... compliant.”

 

Both agents nodded, though neither looked particularly thrilled with the prospect of crossing the teenage genius if it came to that.

 

Satisfied, Cynthia picked up her scarf and began wrapping it around her neck. “Continue monitoring. Keep me informed of anything significant. And remember—Stark is not just another target. He’s the key to Hydra’s future. Don’t screw this up.”

 

With that, she turned and left, her mind already spinning plans for her next encounter with Tony. She was patient, and she was cunning. Sooner or later, she would have Stark exactly where Hydra wanted him.

 

—

 

At Kamar-Taj, Harry stood in the courtyard, the morning sun casting soft golden light over the worn stones. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of incense from within the sanctum. Across from him, the Ancient One approached, her movements as fluid and deliberate as the flow of a calm river. In her hand, she held a metallic object that gleamed in the light—a Sling Ring.

 

“Harry,” she began, her voice resonating with both warmth and authority, “today’s lesson will challenge both your patience and your determination. Portals.”

 

Harry’s eyebrows shot up in interest. “Portals? Like the ones you use to hop around the world? Okay, now you’ve got my attention.”

 

The Ancient One extended the ring toward him. “This is a Sling Ring. It’s a tool we use to focus our energy, allowing us to connect with and manipulate the space between dimensions. With it, one can travel anywhere—if they have the discipline to master it.”

 

Harry took the ring, examining it closely. The smooth metal felt cool and deceptively simple. “So, this little thing can replace Apparition? No nausea, no loud cracks, no accidental splinching?”

 

A faint smile touched the Ancient One’s lips. “Indeed. Though, I must warn you—mastering portals is no small feat. Few grasp it quickly, and many take weeks, even months, to open their first portal. It requires unwavering focus, a clear mind, and absolute precision.”

 

Harry slipped the Sling Ring onto his fingers, rolling his shoulders. “Focus, precision, clear mind. Got it. So, where are we going first?”

 

The Ancient One gestured toward a circular pedestal in the courtyard. “Stand there. Your first task is to create a portal to a nearby mountaintop. It’s not far, but it will test your ability to visualize and channel energy.”

 

Harry stepped onto the pedestal, his boots scuffing against the ancient stone. “Mountaintop, huh? Should I pack a coat, or is this a one-way trip for now?”

 

The Ancient One gave him a knowing smile. “One step at a time, Harry. First, close your eyes. Inhale deeply and focus your mind. Picture the mountaintop in vivid detail—the snow glinting in the sunlight, the sharp scent of the cold air, the jagged rocks underfoot.”

 

Harry closed his eyes, following her instructions. He imagined the mountaintop she described, layering each detail like brushstrokes on a canvas. The vision became sharper with every breath—the brightness of the snow, the biting chill of the wind, the faint sound of distant birds.

 

“Good,” the Ancient One said softly. “Now, raise your hand, palm outward, and move your arm in a slow, deliberate circle. Channel your will through the Sling Ring.”

 

Harry opened his eyes and extended his hand, the ring glinting in the sunlight. He moved his arm in a steady arc, concentrating on the image of the mountaintop. At first, nothing happened. The air remained still, unyielding.

 

“Focus,” the Ancient One urged. “Feel the energy around you. The Sling Ring is merely a conduit. The true power lies within you.”

 

Harry gritted his teeth, trying again. This time, faint golden sparks appeared in the air, flickering like embers caught in a breeze. He frowned, frustration threatening to creep in.

 

“Do not force it,” the Ancient One said, her tone calm but firm. “Let the energy flow naturally. Think of it as guiding a stream, not pushing a boulder.”

 

Harry exhaled, relaxing his shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly, centering himself. When he opened them again, he moved his arm once more. The sparks grew brighter, connecting into a glowing line. Slowly, the circle completed itself, and the air inside shimmered and shifted, revealing the mountaintop beyond.

 

“Bloody hell,” Harry whispered, his green eyes wide with amazement. Through the portal, he could see the pristine snow, the jagged rocks, and the brilliant blue sky of the distant peak. A gust of cold air seeped through, brushing against his face.

 

“You’ve done well,” the Ancient One said, her smile approving. “But the true test is stepping through. Are you ready to trust your work?”

 

Harry glanced at her, a grin tugging at his lips. “Trust? I’ve faced worse odds.”

 

With that, he stepped forward, his boots crunching against the snow as he emerged on the other side. He turned, looking back through the portal to see the courtyard, the Ancient One still standing there.

 

“This is incredible,” he said, the excitement evident in his voice. “No nausea, no disorientation, just... step through and you’re there. I’m never Apparating again.”

 

The Ancient One joined him on the mountaintop, stepping through the portal with the same effortless grace. “Portals are a powerful tool, but they demand respect. Recklessness can lead to catastrophic consequences.”

 

Harry nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Got it. No showing off unless I know what I’m doing.”

 

She smiled faintly. “Wise words. You’ve taken your first step, Harry, but this is only the beginning. Mastery requires discipline, practice, and an understanding of the forces you are manipulating.”

 

Harry looked out over the snowy expanse, the wind tugging at his cloak. “If this is just the start, I can’t wait to see what’s next.”

 

The Ancient One placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then prepare yourself, because the journey ahead will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine.”

 

—

 

Meanwhile, in one of Kamar-Taj's many dimly lit rooms, a long wooden table was stacked with an assortment of mystical artifacts, each pulsing with energy. Ancient tomes lay open, their yellowed pages covered in cryptic runes; shards of enchanted crystal glimmered faintly in the shadows. At the far end of the room, a single, seemingly unassuming object hung from a peg—a Cloak of Levitation.

 

It had remained untouched for centuries, a relic of another time, another destiny. But as Harry Potter, the young, mysterious wizard, stood on the mountaintop in the Mirror Dimension, mastering the art of portals, the Cloak stirred. A soft rustle echoed through the air, a gentle pull—magical energy reacting to an invisible force.

 

The Cloak, once destined for a different hero in another timeline, felt something shift. The magical threads that had woven it with purpose and intention vibrated, their connection to fate stretching and changing, their alignment in flux. Harry Potter, whose presence seemed to defy the very fabric of destiny itself, was now the one to whom it felt drawn.

 

Deep within Kamar-Taj, the Ancient One stood in her sanctum, watching Harry through the mirror-like portal. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a glimmer of realization stirring within her. She had felt it—the change in the cosmic weave, the shift in destiny’s course. The Cloak was no longer meant for Stephen Strange, the brilliant but arrogant surgeon who would one day don the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme. No, Harry Potter had rewritten that path altogether.

 

Her senses prickled as the Cloak, as if guided by an unseen hand, slowly, imperceptibly, began to move. The fine fabric shimmered, levitating just an inch off the wooden peg as it swayed toward an open window, its movements so subtle that one might have missed it if they weren't paying attention.

 

But the Ancient One was paying attention.

 

The threads of fate were constantly shifting, like rivers altering their course, and the pull the Cloak felt was undeniable. Harry, the young wizard whose very soul seemed to resonate with magic in a way that even the Ancient One hadn’t anticipated, had unknowingly reached out across timelines. It was as though the Cloak recognized something in Harry—an affinity, a power—beyond what it had been meant for.

 

With a small, knowing sigh, the Ancient One turned away from the portal, her mind racing. This was no accident. Harry’s arrival in Kamar-Taj, his mastery of magic, the unraveling of his past, and the unique strength of his soul—these things were all shifting the very course of fate.

 

"Interesting," the Ancient One murmured to herself, almost wistfully. "You are far more than what you were meant to be, Harry Potter."

 

Meanwhile, in another part of Kamar-Taj, Wong, who was busy cataloging some enchanted scrolls, turned his head toward the room where the Cloak had once rested. His expression flickered with curiosity, though he said nothing. He had no need to speak, as he, too, felt it—the ripple in the magical currents, the subtle disturbance in the air.

 

Far from the bustling activity of the temple’s hallways, in the quiet solitude of the artifact room, the Cloak hovered a little higher, as though yearning to be claimed. It was no longer just an object; it had a purpose now. It was waiting, as though sensing that the student who would truly embrace it was soon to come.

 

Back on the mountaintop, Harry stood, awestruck by his first portal. The wind whipped around him, and his mind raced with the possibilities that magic now held in his grasp. Little did he know, the Cloak of Levitation was already making its move—toward him, toward his destiny.

 

The Ancient One’s eyes glinted as she watched from afar, knowing that the future would unfold in ways none of them could predict. Harry Potter, it seemed, was not only rewriting the course of his own life, but also the fabric of time itself. And with every twist, the Cloak was bound to him.

 

"Let’s see where this path leads," she murmured, her voice almost a whisper, carried on the wind as it mingled with the whispers of magic that permeated Kamar-Taj.

Chapter 26: Chapter 25

Later that day, the SHIELD team gathered in the operations room. Nick Fury stood at the head of the table, his eyes scanning the room with sharp intensity. Beside him were Maria Hill, Howard Stark, and a carefully selected team of highly trained agents, each of them specialists in their respective fields. The mission ahead was going to be delicate—dangerous, too—and Fury needed the best.

 

The tactical team was assembled: young Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, whose sharpshooting and reconnaissance skills would be indispensable for long-range support; Melinda May, field agent, combat expert, and Fury’s go-to when things got messy; and a stealth expert from SHIELD’s covert ops division, known only as the Ghost—a shadow in the night, an expert in blending into darkness and neutralizing threats with deadly precision.

 

Fury surveyed them all, his hands resting on the table as if preparing to make the hardest of calls. He had led teams like this before, but this felt different—more personal. There was no room for error this time.

 

“Listen up,” Fury began, his gravelly voice filling the room, commanding immediate attention. “You all know why we’re here. Alexander Pierce is Hydra. I don’t need to explain how deep this man’s hands are in the pockets of our government. He’s been playing us for years, and right now? He’s walking a fine line. One wrong move, and he’s gone. We need to catch him before he makes it.”

 

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room. “There’s no room for mistakes. No room for hesitation. You’ve all seen what Hydra can do. What they’ve done. And I’ll be damned if I let them keep their claws in this country. Got it?”

 

“Got it,” Maria Hill replied, her voice unwavering, though her posture was still as sharp as ever.

 

Fury nodded sharply before looking around the room. “Good. We move in sixty minutes. Each of you has a role to play.” His eyes landed first on Clint Barton, who was sitting casually, but his presence was electric with anticipation.

 

“Barton,” Fury said, his tone direct. “You’re handling perimeter and reconnaissance. You’ve got the long-range view, you’ll keep eyes on the ground and on the air. If anything moves, I need to know yesterday.”

 

Clint cracked his knuckles and flashed a smirk. “You can count on me. I’ll see things from a mile away. Pierce won’t know what hit him.”

 

Next, Fury turned to Melinda May, who was already adjusting the straps on her gear with her usual calm and focus. “May, you and Barton will handle the outer perimeter and surveillance. Your job is to make sure no one gets in or out without us knowing about it. If you need to neutralize a threat—do it quietly. I don’t want anyone tipping off Pierce. Understood?”

 

Melinda met his gaze, her expression unreadable, but her lips quirked slightly. “Understood.”

 

Fury’s eyes moved to the next figure—Ghost, who stood silently, her face hidden behind a mask. In the darkened corners of SHIELD, Ghost was a legend. Silent, deadly, unseen. Fury didn’t know much about her personal life—hell, no one did—but when it came to infiltration and espionage, she was the best in the business.

 

“Ghost,” Fury said, his tone slightly softer, but no less intense. “I need you inside with Pierce. He trusts you. He doesn’t know that you’re working for us. That’s a goddamn advantage. Use it.”

 

There was a slight tilt of Ghost’s head, a small acknowledgment of the assignment. Her presence alone had a calming effect on the room. Ghost didn’t speak much, but when she did, everyone listened. Her silence was the kind that demanded respect.

 

“Got it,” Ghost said, her voice low and muffled by her mask. It was more than a promise; it was a guarantee.

 

Fury turned to Howard Stark, who was hunched over a small, humming device in his hands, fiddling with something that could only be described as a piece of cutting-edge tech. Fury was willing to bet the man had spent hours tinkering with it while the rest of the team had been preparing their gear.

 

“Stark,” Fury barked, snapping Howard’s attention away from his gadgets. “You’re in charge of tech. I need you to keep us covered—real-time intel, comms, the works. If Pierce tries anything, I want you on it first. And don’t get cute. I’ll need you sharp.”

 

Howard looked up, raising an eyebrow, the faintest grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “You can always count on me to keep things in line, Nick. But don’t expect me to babysit. I’m not here to hold anyone’s hand.”

 

Fury gave him a pointed look, unamused. “I’ll leave the babysitting to Maria.”

 

Maria, standing just to Fury’s side, gave Howard a deadpan stare. “I can take care of myself.”

 

“Good,” Fury grunted, more out of habit than anything else. “Let’s get this show on the road. We’ve got sixty minutes to prep and go. Move like you’ve got something to lose, people.”

 

The room filled with the sounds of agents securing their gear, checking their weapons, and heading for the exit. Fury’s mind raced as he processed every angle. Pierce had played them all for fools for far too long, but Fury had learned the hard way to never underestimate the enemy. Not again. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

 

Howard Stark fell into step beside him as they walked toward the exit, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his expression unreadable. “So, you think we’ve got a shot at bringing Pierce in alive?” Howard asked, his voice teasing yet carrying an undercurrent of seriousness.

 

Fury glanced at him, his jaw tight. “We’ll see. I don’t trust the bastard, but we don’t have a choice. We play this smart, we play it clean. And we don’t let him slip away this time.”

 

The team filed out, Fury’s eyes still burning with intensity. They had one shot. One shot to bring down Pierce and end Hydra’s stranglehold on the government. Fury wasn’t going to fail—he couldn’t afford to.

 

The clock was ticking down. The mission was set into motion.

 

—

 

The air felt thick as the team moved into position, each agent silently executing their part of the plan. Fury’s mind never stopped calculating, even as he moved swiftly to the command center. His sharp gaze lingered on every agent, making sure they were ready to do what needed to be done. His hand tightened around the strap of his jacket as he mentally ticked through every possible outcome.

 

Maria Hill was already on comms, checking in with Barton and May, who were in position outside, coordinating their efforts. She gave a quick nod, confirming everything was going as planned. Fury trusted Maria—she wasn’t just calm under pressure; she thrived on it.

 

Howard, for his part, was set up in the tech hub, tapping furiously at the holographic interface in front of him. Fury caught a glimpse of his hands flying across the controls, his fingers dancing with the precision of someone who had been born with a silver spoon and a penchant for genius-level tinkering. Stark’s tech prowess was legendary, but Fury knew Howard could also be a wildcard—always unpredictable, always a little too confident. But Fury wasn’t worried. Stark had his back on this one, and that was all that mattered.

 

Clint’s voice crackled through the earpiece, cutting through the silence with a sharp, “Target in sight. I’ve got eyes on the perimeter. Nothing’s moving on my end.”

 

Fury’s pulse didn’t quicken, but his senses sharpened. “Good. Stay sharp, Barton. We need him alive. And for God’s sake, don’t blow anything up.”

 

Clint chuckled, the sound like gravel rolling over stone. “Who, me? I was thinking more along the lines of the stealthy approach, boss.”

 

“Better be,” Fury muttered, but his eyes were focused on the task ahead.

 

Meanwhile, May was already in position, nestled against a shadowy alcove nearby, waiting for any movement from within. She was a master of patience. She didn’t need orders. She knew the drill by heart.

 

It was Ghost who stood out as the wildcard. She hadn’t spoken since the briefing, but Fury could feel her presence, even from across the room. She was preparing for what could only be described as a surgical strike. She didn’t need to say a word for Fury to know that she’d do what needed to be done. Her role in this was critical—getting in close, staying unnoticed, and extracting Pierce before he could set his escape plan into motion.

 

Fury exhaled through his nose, feeling the tension in the pit of his stomach. The thought of Hydra’s continued influence over the government, of Pierce’s calculated manipulation, was something Fury couldn’t stomach. Pierce was a ghost—a man with ties to everyone, yet loyal to no one but Hydra. That kind of person didn’t just disappear. They needed to be taken down. Now.

 

Suddenly, Howard’s voice crackled through the earpiece, breaking through Fury’s thoughts.

 

“Fury, we’ve got a breach in the system. Someone’s trying to access the intel.”

 

Fury’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”

 

“From the inside. We’ve got a mole. Someone is tipping off Pierce.”

 

“Damn it,” Fury cursed under his breath. “Who?”

 

Howard didn’t answer right away, a pause of tension hanging in the air. “I don’t know yet, but I’m tracing it.”

 

“Find it, Stark. And if it’s one of our people, I swear—”

 

“Relax, Nick. I’m on it,” Howard interrupted. “Give me two minutes.”

 

Fury clenched his fist, his temper rising, but he forced himself to stay composed. If there was one thing Fury couldn’t stand, it was betrayal. He had his own suspicions, but it didn’t matter now. They’d deal with it after they had Pierce.

 

“Ghost, status?” Fury’s voice came out clipped, professional, even as his mind raced.

 

The response was immediate. “I’m in. He doesn’t suspect a thing.”

 

“Good. Get to him and don’t waste any time,” Fury ordered. His eyes flicked over to the screen displaying Pierce’s position. He was still in his penthouse, surrounded by a few personal bodyguards, but Fury knew that Pierce had his fingers in too many pies. If they didn’t act now, it would be too late.

 

Fury watched as the seconds ticked down, knowing there was no room for failure. The team was in place, but something still nagged at him—something in his gut told him this mission wasn’t going to go as smoothly as planned. He was no stranger to complications. There was always a surprise, and Fury had learned to expect it, to embrace it.

 

Suddenly, Clint’s voice came through again, this time with a different edge. “Target’s on the move. We’ve got company—three men in black suits heading towards the building. Could be Pierce’s security detail.”

 

“Damn it,” Fury muttered. “Ghost, stay on Pierce. Don’t engage unless necessary.”

 

“Understood,” Ghost replied, her voice a breath of calm in the storm.

 

Howard’s voice came back over the earpiece, urgent now. “Fury, I’ve traced the breach. It’s coming from one of our agents in the command center. I’m pulling their comms now.”

 

Fury’s hand clenched into a fist, fury boiling just beneath the surface. “Identify them, Stark. Now.”

 

The tech was silent for a moment before Howard’s voice came through with a reluctant edge. “It’s Maria Hill.”

 

Fury’s chest tightened. He had never expected it to be her—his right hand, the person he trusted most. Betrayal stung more than any bullet.

 

“Goddamn it,” Fury muttered, his mind racing. He had to make a decision. “Clint, May—stand by. Ghost, keep Pierce occupied. Maria’s on our list now. I’ll deal with her later.”

 

Howard spoke again, his voice filled with tension. “Fury, you sure about that? Maria’s not someone we can just—”

 

“Deal with it, Stark. If Hill’s the leak, I’ll take care of it. Focus on the mission.”

 

Fury took a deep breath and composed himself, pushing the anger down into a place where it could be dealt with later. The mission came first. Pierce came first.

 

“Get ready,” Fury barked. “This is it. We’re going in.”

 

The team was ready. The game was set. And Fury wasn’t going to let anyone—friend or foe—stand in his way. The storm was coming, and Fury was at the eye of it.

 

—

 

The SHIELD team moved in fast, the sleek black uniforms blending with the shadows as they surrounded Pierce’s penthouse. Clint’s voice came through first, calm and precise as always, despite the tension hanging in the air.

 

“Target’s in sight, Fury. Two guards outside, but the place looks clear inside. He’s alone for now.”

 

“Good,” Fury’s voice was low but filled with purpose. “Move in. Don’t engage until we have him secured.”

 

They made their way inside, a well-oiled machine, each agent perfectly synchronized. Ghost slipped through the shadows, a silent predator, as May and Clint positioned themselves on opposite sides of the building. Howard was still coordinating from the tech hub, his voice coming through their earpieces.

 

“Target’s in the study,” Howard reported, his voice steady despite the rising intensity. “I’ve locked down all exits, but if Pierce tries to move, he’s going to be trapped.”

 

Fury nodded to Maria, who was covering his six. The team was ready. The only thing that could go wrong was the unpredictable nature of Hydra—and, as it turned out, there was more to fear than just Pierce’s machinations.

 

Without warning, a wave of energy surged through the room, a flicker in the air that sent chills down Fury’s spine. It wasn’t the usual tech-based interference. This was something... unnatural. Fury’s instincts flared, and he threw up his hand, signaling for the team to halt.

 

Then, it happened.

 

The lights flickered, dimmed, and the air grew dense with an eerie hum. Fury’s sharp gaze locked onto the figure standing in the center of the room: a tall, imposing man, his robes flowing like black ink, wand raised with an air of practiced menace. Fury barely had time to react before the air around them seemed to vibrate, the walls themselves warping.

 

“Hydra’s not the only force at play here, Director Fury,” the wizard sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “And you’ve made a fatal mistake in underestimating the power we bring.”

 

Fury’s pulse quickened as another figure emerged from the shadows, his features shifting unnaturally, like something not quite human. Wizards. Working with Hydra. Of course, Pierce was clever enough to align himself with them.

 

“We’ve got company,” Fury barked into the comms, his voice grating. “Clint, May, Ghost—take cover. We’re in the middle of a goddamn magical ambush.”

 

And with that, the battle erupted in an explosion of violence. The wizards flung spells like whips, their curses flying toward SHIELD agents with deadly intent. Clint ducked behind a pillar, arrows already at the ready, returning fire with rapid precision. May moved like a blur, using the environment to her advantage, while Ghost stayed in the shadows, her strikes sharp and lethal.

 

But Fury, clad in his custom vibranium-laced suit, barely flinched. Designed by Howard Stark, enchanted by Lily Potter and Gideon Adler, it absorbed kinetic energy and redirected impacts, and Fury swore to himself that if he made it out of this, it would be standard-issue gear for every agent on his team.

 

For now, though, it was his lifeline. A dark streak of a spell hit him square in the chest, and it was like being hit with a battering ram, the energy absorbed by the suit, leaving him only a second to adjust before returning fire. The vibranium woven into the fibers of his suit shimmered under the magical barrage, keeping him relatively unharmed.

 

“Is this how Hydra plays now? Sending wizards to do their dirty work?” Fury muttered under his breath, turning to face the enemy.

 

One of the wizards, a lanky man with a cruel grin, raised his wand, muttering an incantation under his breath. Fury’s enhanced reflexes allowed him to dodge the first wave of blasts, but the wizard was relentless, his magic swirling around him like a storm. Fury ducked behind a column as a spell detonated nearby, the force rattling the bones in his body. He gritted his teeth.

 

It was then that he noticed something—one of the wizards was staring at him, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing with confusion. Fury felt it before he saw it: a shift in the air, a spell focused directly on him. The wizard had realized something. His spells weren’t landing as they should.

 

“Did you think your little toys would save you, Fury?” the wizard taunted, raising his wand with a swift motion. Fury’s instincts screamed—he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the attack. The wizard’s incantation was low, his words laced with malice. “Cavum Secundum!”

 

The cutting hex shot through the air with a vicious hiss, aiming straight at Fury’s neck. His body reacted before his mind could even process the threat. He ducked just in time, the razor-thin edge of the spell slicing through the air like a knife.

 

But the spell was too fast. It caught him on the left side of his face. Fury felt the searing pain as the spell sliced through his skin, his eye burning in agony. He staggered back, the blood seeping from the wound, and cursed under his breath. His left eye, once keen and sharp, now useless, blinded by the force of the hex. Fury’s vision clouded as his mind raced to keep himself steady.

 

“Damn it!” Fury hissed, his good eye flashing with fury as he felt the warmth of his own blood trickling down his cheek. He didn’t have time to dwell on it. The fight wasn’t over.

 

“May! Clint! Ghost!” Fury barked, his voice gritty with pain, but focused. “Keep pushing! We’re not done yet!”

 

He threw himself into the battle once more, his movements sharp despite the injury. His suit was holding up—barely—but he could feel the strain. The wizards might have had magic on their side, but Fury had something else: sheer will. His team would not lose this fight.

 

In the chaos of it all, Fury couldn’t help but notice how the enchanted suit seemed to hum in response to his anger, the magical properties augmenting his own sense of purpose. Fury wasn’t just going to survive this fight—he was going to make sure Hydra didn’t see another day.

 

"Clint, I need cover on the left," Fury commanded, his voice a little rougher now, but no less commanding. "Ghost, finish him!"

 

And even though the blood was dripping down his face, Fury's focus never wavered. Not while Pierce, Hydra, and these damn wizards were still standing.

 

—

 

The Ancient One sat in her meditative pose at the center of the grand hall in Kamar-Taj, her serene demeanor masking the intensity of her focus. Her hands moved slowly, weaving invisible strands of energy as she peered into the swirling possibilities of the multiverse. Then, she paused, her expression shifting ever so slightly.

 

“Interesting…” she murmured, her tone laced with concern.

 

Harry, who had been practicing a complex series of wandless spells nearby, stopped mid-cast. He turned to her, sensing the gravity of her thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

 

She opened her eyes and gazed at him with calm urgency. “One of your allies is in grave danger, Harry. Nicholas Fury. His life is at risk.”

 

Harry straightened, his emerald-green eyes flashing with determination. “Fury? Where is he?”

 

The Ancient One’s hands moved again, creating an intricate pattern of golden light that hovered in the air between them. The pattern shifted and re-formed into a vision of Fury, bloodied and cornered, holding his own against what appeared to be wizards in Hydra’s employ. Even from the projection, Harry could feel the oppressive tension and danger radiating from the scene.

 

“He is in Washington, D.C., battling forces both mundane and magical. He fights well,” she said, her tone almost admiring, “but he cannot hold out alone. He will need you.”

 

Harry nodded, already moving toward the doors that led to his room. “I’ll be there in minutes. Just need to suit up.”

 

As he turned to leave, the Ancient One’s gaze sharpened. Her eyes flicked to one of the far corners of the room, where the Cloak of Levitation hung from its peg, swaying faintly in the still air.

 

“Wait,” she said, her voice stopping Harry mid-stride.

 

Harry looked back, puzzled. “What is it?”

 

The Ancient One rose gracefully, her attention fixed on the Cloak. It was trembling now, as though vibrating with an unseen energy. Then, without warning, the Cloak slipped free from its peg and floated into the air, its crimson fabric rippling like liquid fire.

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Is it supposed to do that?”

 

The Ancient One allowed a faint smile to touch her lips. “It seems the Cloak has taken an interest in you.”

 

The Cloak hovered for a moment, as if deliberating, before darting out of the room and disappearing down the corridor in the direction of Harry’s quarters.

 

Harry stared after it, bewildered. “Uh... where’s it going?”

 

“To retrieve something for you,” the Ancient One replied, her tone amused but cryptic. “Your Revenant Armor, I believe.”

 

Harry frowned, taking a hesitant step toward the corridor. “Shouldn’t I—?”

 

She raised a hand, stopping him again. “No. Trust the Cloak. It has chosen its path. And now, it seems, it has chosen you.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. Instead, he turned back to face her, his mind racing with questions. “This is normal here, isn’t it? Magic deciding to just... do its own thing?”

 

The Ancient One inclined her head. “Normal, perhaps. But rare. It seems you are destined for more than you realize.”

 

Before Harry could respond, the Cloak returned, carrying the Revenant Armor in its folds, the pieces floating in perfect synchronization beside it. It stopped before Harry, presenting the armor like a loyal squire to its knight.

 

The Ancient One’s expression softened. “Go now, Harry. Your ally awaits. And remember—magic chooses its wielder as much as the wielder chooses magic.”

 

—

 

Harry reached out, his fingers brushing against the edge of the Cloak of Levitation. The moment they made contact, a ripple of energy surged through the room. The Cloak responded instantly, wrapping itself around Harry’s outstretched hand like a living entity. A low hum filled the air, and the Revenant Armor, still hovering beside the Cloak, began to glow faintly.

 

Before Harry could react, the Cloak surged forward, enveloping him in a cascade of crimson fabric. The pieces of the Revenant Armor followed suit, moving as if guided by an unseen force. They swirled around him, clicking into place with a precision that defied explanation. The red and black tactical plates shimmered with a metallic sheen, fusing seamlessly with the Cloak's ethereal fabric.

 

The transformation was breathtaking. The once separate entities—the Cloak and the Revenant Armor—merged as though they were always meant to be one. The fabric of the Cloak flowed into the armor, becoming a dynamic cape that billowed behind him, the rich crimson contrasting sharply with the sleek black and gold of the armor. The intricate details of the armor’s design seemed to come alive, the golden accents glowing faintly as though infused with magical energy.

 

Harry felt the armor settle onto his body, not with the rigid weight of metal but with the fluidity of something alive. The mask slid over his face, its black surface smooth and reflective, with the hood drawing up of its own accord to cast a shadow over his emerald-green eyes, now alight with an inner fire.

 

The Ancient One watched in silent awe, her usual composed expression faltering for the briefest moment. This was not merely magic at work—it was something far greater, a melding of forces that should not have been possible.

 

When the transformation was complete, Harry stood in the center of the room, a figure of commanding presence. The armor exuded an aura of power, its design both menacing and regal. The crimson cape flowed behind him like liquid fire, its edges flickering faintly as though alive with embers.

 

Harry flexed his fingers, marveling at the synergy between the armor and the Cloak. It felt as though they were an extension of himself, responding to his thoughts even before he acted. The Ancient One took a step closer, her gaze sharp with curiosity and something bordering on reverence.

 

“This… this was not expected,” she admitted, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “The Cloak has never acted this way before. Nor has it ever chosen to merge with another artifact.”

 

Harry looked down at his hands, the golden lines of the armor pulsing faintly with his heartbeat. “Feels like it’s alive. Like it’s… listening.”

 

The Ancient One nodded slowly. “It is more than alive. It has become a part of you now. This union—it is unprecedented. The magic within the Cloak and the vibranium-laced armor have bonded to your own essence. You are no longer just their wielder; you are their equal.”

 

Harry took a deep breath, the weight of her words settling over him. “Well, that’s a lot to unpack later. Right now, Fury needs me.”

 

The Ancient One smiled faintly, regaining her usual composure. “Go, then. But be cautious, Harry. This power you now wield—it will draw attention. From both allies and enemies.”

 

Harry nodded, his voice firm as he turned toward the portal the Ancient One had conjured. “Let them come. Fury first. The rest can wait.”

 

With a final glance at the Ancient One, Harry stepped through the portal, his new armor gleaming in the light of Kamar-Taj. The billowing cape seemed to whisper promises of power and destiny as he vanished into the swirling energy, leaving the Ancient One standing alone in the grand hall.

 

She watched the portal close, her expression contemplative. “Destined for more than he realizes,” she murmured to herself, before returning to her meditative stance, the golden strands of the multiverse already beginning to shift in response to Harry’s new path.

 

—

 

The battle in Pierce's penthouse was a symphony of chaos. Magic clashed with steel, and the SHIELD team fought valiantly, but the wizards had the upper hand. Their spells tore through furniture and walls, turning the luxurious space into a war zone. Fury gritted his teeth as another hex exploded near him, sending shards of marble and glass flying in every direction.

 

“Fury, we’re getting pinned down here!” Clint called over comms, his voice strained but steady. He fired off another arrow, its explosive tip knocking one of the wizards off balance. May moved like a phantom, taking out another wizard with a brutal combination of strikes, but it was clear they couldn’t hold out much longer.

 

Fury ducked behind a shattered desk, clutching his side. His suit had absorbed most of the impact from a recent spell, but he could feel the bruises forming beneath. His good eye scanned the room, calculating their next move. They needed backup—and fast.

 

That’s when it happened.

 

A ripple of golden light appeared in the air, shimmering like liquid sunlight. Everyone froze, both SHIELD agents and wizards alike, as the portal expanded, its edges sparking with raw magical energy. The air grew thick with anticipation, an electric charge that made the hair on Fury’s arms stand on end.

 

From the portal stepped a figure, his presence commanding immediate attention. The first thing Fury noticed was the armor—sleek, red, and black, with intricate golden accents that glowed faintly in the dim light. A hood shrouded the figure’s face, and a crimson cloak flowed behind him, its edges shifting as if alive. The armor seemed to hum with power, a perfect blend of magic and advanced technology.

 

Fury’s breath hitched. He knew that armor—or at least, he thought he did. It looked like the Revenant Armor he and Lily had helped design, but this... this was different. It was sharper, more menacing, as though it had evolved into something far beyond its original form.

 

The room fell silent, save for the crackling of residual spells. The wizards exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence faltering in the face of this unexpected arrival. Even Pierce, standing at the back of the room, looked unsettled.

 

The figure moved forward with deliberate steps, the sound of his boots echoing in the ruined space. Then, with a soft snikt, vibranium claws extended from his gauntlets, gleaming under the flickering lights. Fury’s eye widened in recognition.

 

“Harry?” Fury muttered under his breath, disbelief evident in his tone.

 

The figure turned his head slightly, the mask hiding the face but revealing a distorted but familiar, determined face. Fury could practically hear the smirk playing at Harry’s lips as he raised one hand, the claws glinting ominously. “Miss me, Fury?”

 

Howard’s voice crackled over the comms, filled with equal parts shock and awe. “What the hell am I looking at? That’s... that’s not the armor we designed! What did he do?”

 

Harry didn’t wait for a reply. He raised his other hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the air around him shimmered. A wave of force rippled out, sending the wizards stumbling backward. One of them tried to cast a spell, but Harry was faster. He lunged forward, claws slashing through the air, disarming the wizard in one swift motion.

 

The SHIELD team snapped out of their stupor, taking advantage of the distraction. Clint fired another arrow, taking down a second wizard, while May and Ghost closed in on the remaining targets. Fury pushed himself to his feet, his eye never leaving Harry.

 

“About damn time you showed up,” Fury growled, his voice tinged with grudging admiration.

 

Harry glanced over his shoulder, his smirk widening. “You looked like you could use a hand.”

 

One of the wizards, desperate and cornered, hurled a killing curse at Harry. The green light streaked toward him, but Harry didn’t flinch. The cloak reacted instantly, wrapping around him like a shield. The spell struck the fabric and dissipated, leaving Harry unharmed. He stepped forward, his movements fluid and unrelenting, and took the wizard down with a single, precise strike.

 

In the control room, Howard was practically vibrating with excitement. “Lily’s gonna flip when she sees this! The armor—it's not just a suit anymore. It’s... alive!”

 

Back in the penthouse, the last of the wizards fell, leaving only Pierce standing amidst the wreckage. Harry turned to him, his emerald eyes blazing with unspoken fury.

 

“Alexander Pierce,” Harry said, his voice low and deadly. “I hear you’ve got a lot to answer for.”

 

Pierce sneered, though the fear in his eyes betrayed him. “You think this changes anything? Hydra is eternal—”

 

Before he could finish, Harry flicked his hand, and the claws retracted. He raised his palm, and a glowing, golden rope of magical energy materialized, wrapping around Pierce and yanking him to his knees.

 

“Eternal, huh?” Harry said, leaning in close. “Let’s see how eternal you feel in a SHIELD interrogation cell.”

 

Fury stepped forward, standing beside Harry. His face was bloodied, his left eye covered with a makeshift bandage, but his presence was as commanding as ever. “Nice work, kid,” he said gruffly. “But next time, try to show up before I lose an eye.”

 

Harry glanced at him, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. “I’ll do my best, Fury.”

 

As the SHIELD team secured Pierce and tended to the injured, Harry stood amidst the chaos, the cloak billowing around him like a living entity. The battle was over, but the war was far from won. And Harry, the Revenant, was ready for whatever came next.

Chapter 27: Chapter 26

Howard Stark leaned back in his chair, the soft hum of the holographic interface from the communication mirrors filling the room. His fingers drummed rhythmically against the desk as he replayed the footage for the umpteenth time. Harry had shown up at the fight in a suit of armor that looked like it had been designed by a collaboration between Merlin and an over-caffeinated Stark Industries engineer.

 

Taking a deep breath, Howard tapped the controls, initiating a call to Lily Potter. The mirror shimmered with a faint golden light before her face came into view. She was hunched over her workspace, her fiery hair tied back messily, and the sharp clinks of potion vials could be heard in the background.

 

“Howard,” Lily said without looking up. “If this is about you needing help to find another one of your ‘misplaced’ inventions—”

 

Howard interrupted, his tone serious. “Lily, this is important. You’re going to want to see this.”

 

She paused, her hands stilling mid-motion. Turning to face the mirror fully, her brow furrowed in concern. “What is it?”

 

Without a word, Howard tapped a key, and the footage began playing in the holographic display. It showed Harry stepping through a glowing golden portal, his new armor catching the light. The red and gold suit gleamed like fire, with intricate etchings along the pauldrons and chestplate. Vibranium claws extended from his gauntlets, glowing faintly with some kind of energy as he launched himself into battle with a ferocity that even Howard hadn’t anticipated.

 

Lily’s eyes widened. “Howard... what the hell am I looking at?”

 

“Your son,” Howard replied, leaning forward. “Apparently, our carefully designed suit wasn’t good enough for him. He’s gone and upgraded it. Without telling us, might I add.”

 

Lily gawked at the footage as Harry took down three Hydra operatives with a single fluid motion. “Upgraded it? Howard, that’s not an upgrade—that’s... that’s a complete overhaul! Where did he even get this?”

 

“That,” Howard said, pointing to the hologram, “is the million-dollar question. Or maybe billion-dollar, considering the tech and magic involved.”

 

Before Lily could respond, the door to her workspace swung open with its usual lack of ceremony. James Potter strolled in, a Quidditch playbook in one hand and a smirk on his face. Sirius Black followed, twirling a wand between his fingers like it was a drumstick.

 

“Oi, Lily,” James started. “Do you know where I—” He stopped mid-sentence, noticing the tense atmosphere and the glowing hologram. His smirk morphed into curiosity. “What’s all this, then?”

 

“Howard called,” Lily said, her tone clipped. “Apparently, our son has decided to... upgrade his armor.”

 

“Upgrade?” Sirius asked, stepping closer and peering at the hologram. His eyes widened as the footage played. “Bloody hell! Is that Harry?”

 

James squinted at the hologram, his jaw dropping as he took in the sight of the crimson and gold armor, the glowing claws, and Harry moving like a seasoned warrior. “What in Merlin’s name is he wearing? That’s... that’s Gryffindor colors, isn’t it?”

 

Sirius grinned. “Oh, it’s definitely Gryffindor colors. Red, gold, and extra dramatic flair. He’s clearly your son, James.”

 

James chuckled, crossing his arms. “Well, he always did have good taste.”

 

“Watch this part.” Howard interjected. He fast-forwarded to the scene where Harry slashed through a Hydra wizard’s shield like it was parchment.

 

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Impressive. Kid’s been taking notes from me.”

 

James snorted. “Please, Padfoot. If Harry’s learned anything from you, it’s how to cause chaos and look good doing it.”

 

“Exactly my point,” Sirius said, grinning.

 

Lily held up a hand, silencing their banter. “Focus, you two. Harry left for Bleeker Street two days ago. He was supposed to be learning the basics of mystical arts from the Ancient One—not coming back with a fully enchanted, battle-ready suit of armor.”

 

“Wait,” James said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you saying the Ancient One might’ve done this? Isn’t she supposed to be all about inner peace and chakras and whatever?”

 

Howard shook his head. “If she’s involved, it’s not her style. This armor—it’s something else. It’s almost... personal, like it was custom-built for him.”

 

“Can’t argue with that,” Sirius said, leaning closer to the hologram. “Look at the detail on the chestplate—there’s a bloody phoenix engraved on it. And the claws? Pure Gryffindor drama. This is Harry saying, ‘Look at me, I’m here to save the day.’”

 

James grinned proudly. “That’s my boy.”

 

Lily, however, wasn’t smiling. She tapped her fingers against the table, deep in thought. “Howard, send me everything you’ve got on this. If Harry’s using this kind of gear, we need to know where it came from and how it works. I’m going to try reaching him through the mirrors.”

 

“And if he doesn’t answer?” James asked.

 

“Then we go to Bleeker Street and have a little chat with the Ancient One,” Lily replied firmly.

 

Sirius smirked. “I call dibs on asking her if Harry’s been sneaking extra lessons in badassery.”

 

Lily shot him a look, but even she couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Let’s just hope Harry knows what he’s doing.”

 

James clapped her on the shoulder. “He’s a Potter. Of course, he doesn’t. But he’ll figure it out.”

 

Sirius grinned. “And if not, at least he’ll look damn good while making it up as he goes.”

 

—

 

James Potter strolled down the safehouse corridors, whistling innocently as he carried a tiny, enchanted projector tucked under his arm. Sirius followed close behind, his expression a picture of mischief, holding what looked like a hastily scrawled sign that read, "Come See Harry’s Epic Glow-Up: Gryffindor Edition."

 

“You sure Lily won’t murder us for this?” Sirius asked, clearly not worried in the slightest.

 

James grinned. “Oh, she definitely will. But it’s worth it. Everyone deserves to see what our boy’s been up to.”

 

The two marauders burst into the common area, where Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were seated at a table, engaged in a quiet game of chess. Peggy Carter stood nearby, flipping through mission reports while sipping a cup of tea. Natasha Romanoff lounged on the couch, cleaning her Glock with a methodical precision that somehow didn’t diminish her air of quiet menace.

 

“Ladies, gentlemen, and supersoldiers,” James began, setting the projector on the coffee table. “Prepare yourselves for a show.”

 

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “What sort of show, Potter?”

 

“Only the greatest spectacle of heroics, Gryffindor style,” Sirius said with a flourish. “Featuring our very own Harry Potter aka the Revenant.”

 

Natasha perked up at the mention of Harry’s name, her fingers stilling on the gun. “Harry? What did he do now?”

 

“Nothing too crazy,” James said, his tone dripping with faux casualness as he activated the projector. The hologram sprang to life, displaying the now-familiar footage of Harry in his new red-and-gold armor, taking down Hydra operatives like he was born for it.

 

Steve sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing as he studied the footage. “That’s... Harry? Since when does he move like that?”

 

“Since apparently two days ago,” Sirius quipped, plopping onto the couch. “Kid’s been holding out on us. Look at that armor. Red and gold. Gryffindor through and through.”

 

“Looks like he’s borrowing a bit of flair from you two,” Bucky noted, leaning forward to get a better view.

 

“Yup,” James said, clearly relishing the reactions. “Howard says he’s never seen anything like it.”

 

Peggy set her teacup down, her sharp eyes glued to the hologram. “Where did he even get this armor? This isn’t standard tech.”

 

“Exactly what we’ve been wondering,” Sirius said. “Kid sneaks off to Bleeker Street to ‘learn mystical arts’ from the Ancient One, and two days later, he’s out there fighting Hydra in what looks like Merlin’s combat-ready dream wardrobe.”

 

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, though her gaze was glued to the footage. When Harry blocked a blast of energy with a perfectly timed shield spell, her expression softened just a fraction. “Of course he’d upgrade himself. Always has to be the hero.”

 

James smirked. “He did kiss you before he left, didn’t he, Natasha?”

 

Natasha shot him a pointed glare that could’ve frozen fire. “Do you want to lose your teeth, Potter?”

 

Before James could respond, the Tonks family wandered in. Andromeda and Ted were deep in conversation, while 12-year-old Tonks was busy flicking through her wand movements like she was practicing dueling techniques.

 

“What’s all the commotion?” Ted asked, noticing the gathered group.

 

“Harry’s latest escapade,” Bucky replied, jerking his thumb toward the hologram.

 

The Tonks family moved closer, their eyes widening as they watched Harry’s armor shimmer with magic and vibranium enhancements.

 

“Blimey,” said young Tonks, her hair shifting to a fiery red in what was clearly unconscious mimicry. “That’s Harry? He looks like a knight out of a storybook!”

 

“A very dramatic knight,” Andromeda commented, though there was pride in her voice.

 

“Looks like something Dad would wear if he had magic armor,” Tonks teased, earning a good-natured eye roll from her father.

 

Meanwhile, 6-year-old Rose Potter bolted into the room, her small wooden sword clutched in one hand and a makeshift shield strapped to her arm. “Dragons and knights!” she yelled, clearly mid-roleplay with Phil Coulson and Billy Koenig, who followed her with equally ridiculous props.

 

“What’s this?” Coulson asked, adjusting the cardboard dragon wings on his back.

 

“Harry!” Rose said excitedly, pointing at the hologram. “Look, Uncle Phil, he’s a real knight now! Just like me!”

 

Coulson crouched beside her, his eyes lighting up as he watched the footage. “Not bad, kiddo. I’d say your brother’s got the whole knight-in-shining-armor thing down.”

 

Billy Koenig, wearing a tin foil crown for reasons no one questioned, nodded sagely. “Solid execution. Great color scheme.”

 

Rose puffed up her chest. “I’m gonna be a knight, too! With a sword! And I’ll fight bad guys with Harry!”

 

James chuckled, ruffling her hair. “That’s the spirit, Rosie. Just don’t let him hog all the glory.”

 

Sirius grinned, watching as the room buzzed with excitement. “Looks like the kid’s got himself a fan club.”

 

Peggy, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. “We should keep an eye on him. If Harry’s stepping up like this, it means trouble’s coming.”

 

“Trouble always finds him,” Natasha said quietly, her eyes still on the footage.

 

Andromeda nodded in agreement. “But he always rises to meet it. That’s what makes him who he is.”

 

James clapped his hands together. “Exactly. And with us watching his back, he’ll be unstoppable.”

 

Sirius smirked. “Unstoppable? Mate, he’s already unstoppable. He’s a Potter.”

 

The room filled with laughter and pride as the footage replayed, a reminder that no matter how far Harry went or how much he grew, he’d always have his family—both blood and chosen—cheering him on.

 

—

 

The shimmering portal opened within the Triskelion's operations bay, crackling faintly with residual magic. Harry—or Revenant—stepped through first, his red and gold armor gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights, his cloak fluttering in the wind. Behind him came Nick Fury, his left eye concealed under a bloodied cloth, flanked by Clint Barton, Melinda May, and Ghost. They guided a gaggle of bound and gagged prisoners, among whom Alexander Pierce glared daggers at Harry despite his inability to speak or move.

 

The SHIELD medical team rushed forward at the sight of Fury’s condition, but he waved them off sharply with his uninjured hand.

 

“Not now,” Fury growled, his voice iron-hard despite his evident pain. “I’ve got business to finish.”

 

The agents hesitated but backed off reluctantly, casting wary glances at the prisoners Harry had delivered. A pair of SHIELD operatives moved forward to take custody of the prisoners as Fury barked out his next orders.

 

“Detain them,” Fury commanded. “Separate holding cells. High security. And for God’s sake, make sure none of them gets so much as a whisper of unauthorized communication.”

 

The agents saluted and dragged the captives away. Pierce struggled briefly, but Harry flicked his fingers, tightening the magical bindings. Pierce's muffled protests ceased instantly, and the Hydra-allied wizards whimpered as they were hauled off.

 

Howard Stark’s voice crackled over the intercom, and his image soon appeared on one of the large monitors in the control room overlooking the operations bay. “Harry, I’ve got to ask. Where the hell did you get that armor upgrade? That’s not just Stark tech anymore, is it?”

 

Harry tilted his head, the glowing eyes of his helmet narrowing slightly in amusement. “A little stopover at Bleeker Street,” he said cryptically, his voice carrying through the speakers with an eerie calm. “You know, picked up a few new tricks.”

 

Howard muttered something under his breath, rubbing his temples. “Of course. Magic. Just when I thought I was starting to understand you.”

 

Ignoring Howard’s exasperation, Harry turned to Fury. “We need to get to Maria Hill. Now.”

 

Fury nodded grimly, motioning for Clint, May, and Ghost to follow. The group moved swiftly down the corridors, passing rows of bustling SHIELD agents, many of whom paused to stare at the armored figure leading the Director.

 

When they reached Hill’s office, the tension in the air was palpable. The door slid open with a hiss, revealing Maria Hill seated at her desk, her expression unnaturally blank. Harry’s eyes narrowed behind his helmet, and he stepped forward.

 

“Director Hill,” he said evenly, his tone masking his suspicions. “We need to talk.”

 

Hill’s gaze flickered briefly, and for a moment, her hand twitched as if she might reach for the sidearm holstered at her hip. That was all Harry needed.

 

“Stupefy,” he said, his wand flicking out from his armor’s gauntlet. The Stunning Spell hit Hill square in the chest, and she slumped forward onto her desk.

 

“What the hell, Potter?” Fury growled, stepping forward, but Harry raised a hand to stop him.

 

“She’s been compromised,” Harry said firmly, already running his hand over her prone form in a series of intricate diagnostics. The golden light flared red briefly, confirming his suspicions.

 

“Imperius Curse,” Harry said grimly, straightening. “A strong one. She’s been under for days, maybe weeks.”

 

Clint swore under his breath, and Melinda’s expression darkened as she glanced at Hill.

 

“Can you break it?” Ghost asked, her voice calm but edged with worry.

 

“Not here,” Harry replied, already pulling out a small medallion from his belt. “She needs specialized care, and I know just the person. Andromeda Tonks. She’s one of the best Healers to go to inorder to deal with this.”

 

“Tonks?” Fury asked, narrowing his good eye.

 

“She’s in the New York safehouse,” Harry explained. “Trust me, Fury, she’s the best chance Hill has. And while you’re there, you should let her look at your eye. She’ll do a better job than anyone else you’ve got here.”

 

Fury grumbled but didn’t argue, nodding in agreement. “Fine. But Hill better be back in action soon. We need her.”

 

Harry handed the medallion to Melinda. “This will activate a portkey directly to the safehouse. Tell Andromeda everything. She’ll know what to do. The activation code is ‘Marauders’.”

 

Melinda nodded, taking the medallion with a firm grip.

 

“Let’s hope you’re right about this, Potter,” Fury said, his tone softer than before.

 

Harry’s helmet retracted just enough for him to smirk. “I usually am.”

 

—

 

The swirling vortex of the portkey deposited Fury, Melinda May, Clint Barton, Howard Stark, and the unconscious Maria Hill into the living room of the New York safehouse. The place was buzzing with activity: the sound of laughter from a nearby room, faintly audible music, and the distinct aroma of something baking in the kitchen. Fury took a moment to orient himself before waving off May’s attempt to steady him.

 

“Where’s Andromeda Tonks?” Fury barked, his gruff tone immediately silencing the room.

 

Andromeda appeared from the adjoining hallway, her sharp gaze assessing the scene. She carried an air of authority, her Healer’s robes pristine despite the chaos around her. “Director Fury,” she said crisply. “Harry’s message reached me. Lay her down on the couch; I’ll take it from here.”

 

Fury nodded, gesturing to Clint and May, who gently placed Maria Hill on the plush couch. As Andromeda knelt beside Hill, her wand already glowing faintly, Ted Tonks entered the room with his medical kit in hand.

 

“And you,” Andromeda said, sparing Fury a glance, “need to sit down and let Ted check that eye. If what Harry said is true, there’s magical damage that needs immediate attention.”

 

“I’m fine,” Fury grumbled, but Ted grabbed his arm with surprising strength and guided him to a chair.

 

“You’re not fine,” Ted said firmly, pulling on a pair of enchanted gloves. “If the magical damage spreads, it’ll be more than your eye you lose.”

 

As Ted worked on Fury, Howard made his way to the other side of the room, where Lily, James, and Sirius were waiting. He flopped into an armchair and ran a hand through his hair.

 

“Well, I’ve seen some things in my time,” Howard began, shaking his head. “But your kid’s armor? That’s something else entirely. You wouldn’t believe the specs on it. Magic and tech interwoven like I’ve never seen before. Bleeker Street really knows their stuff.”

 

James leaned forward, grinning. “Didn’t I tell you, Lily? Gryffindor colors. Red and gold, bold as hell. That’s our boy. Charging into battle like a knight.”

 

“More like a flying tank,” Howard corrected, gesturing wildly. “Do you even know what he’s got in that thing? Repulsors, arcane shielding, and something that looked like a damned miniature sun embedded in the chest plate. I mean, I get Stark tech. It’s my tech. But the way he’s fused it with… what, enchanted materials? It’s unreal.”

 

Sirius leaned back, smirking. “That’s my godson for you. Subtle as a Bludger to the face.”

 

Meanwhile, Clint stood rooted to the spot, his eyes darting around the room. His gaze landed on Steve Rogers—Captain America—leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed.

 

“No way,” Clint muttered, shaking his head. “This… this can’t be real. Captain America? Alive? In this room?”

 

Steve raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. “Alive and well, kid. And who might you be?”

 

“I—uh—I’m Clint Barton, sir. Hawkeye. Just started at SHIELD,” Clint stammered, clearly overwhelmed. His eyes shifted again, this time landing on Peggy Carter, who was speaking softly with Natasha Romanoff in the corner.

 

“Wait,” Clint said, his voice rising slightly. “Peggy Carter? The Peggy Carter? Isn’t she supposed to be, like, seventy? Why does she look like… that?”

 

Peggy glanced over, smirking. “Good genes and better science,” she said wryly, clearly amused by Clint’s reaction. Natasha, standing beside her, chuckled softly.

 

Clint’s brain struggled to process everything when Melinda May came up beside him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, Barton,” she said dryly. “This is just another day in SHIELD.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Clint muttered, still gawking. “Totally normal. Captain America, Peggy Carter, and… wait, is that a six-year-old pretending to fight dragons?”

 

Melinda followed his gaze to the training room, where Phil Coulson and Billy Koenig were crouched on the floor, playing an intense game of dragons and knights with Rose Potter and a 12-year-old Tonks. Rose, clad in makeshift armor fashioned from foam pads and a colander, swung a plastic sword valiantly at Phil, who had donned a cape and was roaring like a dragon.

 

“Prepare to meet your doom, foul beast!” Rose shouted, charging at Phil, who obligingly collapsed in an exaggerated heap.

 

Tonks, who was currently sporting bubblegum-pink hair and dragon-like scales on her arms, cheered and transformed back into her usual self in a blink. “Victory is ours, Knight Rose!”

 

Melinda blinked. “Phil Coulson. Playing dragons. With kids. And Billy Koenig. I… have no words.”

 

“I do,” Clint muttered. “I’ve joined a circus.”

 

Howard snorted. “Get used to it, kid. This is the calm before the storm.”

 

In the corner, Bucky Barnes leaned against the wall, his expression unreadable as he watched the lively scene

 

—

 

The portal shimmered and crackled as Harry stepped back into Kamar-Taj. The golden, glowing edges of the gateway dimmed as it closed behind him, leaving the stillness of the temple to envelop him. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the armor he had been wearing—gleaming red and gold with intricate arcane runes—seemed to ripple like liquid. In an almost organic motion, it flowed off his body, retracting and morphing seamlessly into the familiar fabric of the Cloak of Levitation draped around his shoulders. The transition was so smooth that it seemed alive, the material settling lightly as though it had always been part of him.

 

Harry let out a long breath, feeling the weight of the battle and the adrenaline finally beginning to ebb. His hands flexed unconsciously, feeling the absence of the gauntlets that had just moments ago hummed with power.

 

From across the training hall, the Ancient One emerged from the shadows. She walked with her usual serenity, her hands folded in front of her, but there was something different in her expression. For the first time in Harry’s short stay at Kamar-Taj, she looked genuinely surprised.

 

“Well,” she said, stopping a few paces from him, her voice calm but tinged with curiosity. “That was… unexpected.”

 

Harry gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, no kidding. I didn’t exactly plan for my armor to go all... magic symbiote on me.”

 

The Ancient One’s gaze was piercing as she studied him, her sharp eyes glinting with intrigue. “Tell me, Harry,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “How did it feel?”

 

Harry paused, considering the question. “It felt…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Right. Like it wasn’t just armor anymore. It wasn’t something I was wearing. It was… part of me. It moved with me, responded to me, like it knew what I needed before I even did.”

 

The Ancient One nodded slowly, her expression contemplative. “Fascinating,” she murmured. “The Cloak of Levitation has always been unique, a relic of immense power and sentience. But for it to merge with your armor… and for the result to be what I just witnessed…” She trailed off, her words heavy with meaning.

 

Harry frowned. “You’re saying you didn’t expect this?”

 

The Ancient One gave him a rare smile. “Not at all. I’ve lived many lifetimes, Harry, and while I’ve seen countless miracles, this… this is unprecedented. Your armor was already a marvel, forged from Vibranium and enhanced with magic. But the Cloak…” She stepped closer, reaching out a hand to lightly touch the fabric on his shoulder. “It didn’t just merge with your armor. It transformed it. Enhanced it in ways even I cannot fully comprehend.”

 

Harry looked down at the Cloak, his mind racing. “So what does that mean for me?”

 

The Ancient One stepped back, her hands folding once more. “It means that you are now bound to the Cloak in a way that no one has ever been. It is no longer just a relic; it is a part of you, just as much as your magic or your will. But,” she added, her tone turning serious, “such power comes with its own challenges. You must learn to master this new connection, to understand it. Otherwise, it could overwhelm you.”

 

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Great. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate already.”

 

The Ancient One chuckled softly. “Such is the burden of greatness, Mr. Potter.”

 

Before Harry could respond, Wong appeared at the edge of the hall, his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face. “You’re back sooner than I expected,” he said dryly. “And from the looks of it, you’ve already caused a stir.”

 

Harry smirked. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

 

Wong rolled his eyes but said nothing, though Harry thought he detected a hint of amusement in his expression.

 

The Ancient One turned to Wong. “Prepare the training room,” she instructed. “Harry has much to learn if he’s to control this new… evolution.”

 

As Wong walked off, muttering under his breath about overachieving apprentices, the Ancient One turned back to Harry. “You’ve taken your first step into a larger world, Harry. But be mindful. Power, even one as unique as this, is a tool. It is how you wield it that will determine your path.”

 

Harry nodded, his expression determined. “Then I guess it’s time to start training.”

 

—

 

In a rare quiet corner of the safehouse, Lily Potter and Natasha Romanoff found themselves leaning against the kitchen counter, cups of tea in hand. The noise and chaos of the house—Steve and Peggy strategizing, Clint gushing about Captain America while Bucky tried to hide his amusement, Ted still treating Fury’s injuries, and Rose’s overly enthusiastic knightly proclamations—felt worlds away here.

 

Lily stared down into her tea, swirling the liquid absentmindedly. A frown tugged at her lips, her green eyes clouded with a mixture of frustration and concern.

 

Natasha, perched on the counter beside her, took a sip of her own tea and raised an eyebrow. “You’re brooding,” she observed, her tone light but knowing.

 

Lily sighed heavily. “Of course, I’m brooding. Harry’s been gone two days, Nat. Two days. And in that time, he’s apparently unlocked the ability to open portals across continents, fought Hydra wizards, saved Fury, and somehow upgraded his armor into… whatever that was.” She gestured vaguely, as if trying to encapsulate Harry’s overwhelming growth in a single motion.

 

Natasha nodded slowly. “It is... a lot,” she admitted. “Even for him.”

 

“And yet,” Lily continued, her tone growing sharper, “he didn’t think to stop here. Not even for a moment.”

 

Natasha set her cup down and crossed her arms. “I won’t lie. That stung a bit. Especially since he—” She paused, hesitating before pushing forward. “Since he and I kissed before he left.”

 

That caught Lily’s attention, her head snapping up to look at Natasha. “You what?”

 

Natasha gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “It was… a moment. Before he left for Kamar-Taj. I kissed him. And I thought maybe… I don’t know. I thought it might mean something.”

 

Lily’s expression softened, her irritation melting into understanding. “Natasha…”

 

Natasha shrugged, brushing it off. “It’s fine. He has a lot on his plate. Bigger things to worry about than—”

 

“Than the people who care about him?” Lily interrupted sharply. “No. That’s exactly the kind of thing he should be worrying about. Harry’s always been like this—throwing himself headfirst into danger, thinking he has to carry the weight of the world alone. It’s infuriating.”

 

Natasha chuckled dryly. “Sounds familiar. Maybe that’s why I like him.”

 

Lily smirked despite herself, then sobered again. “I know he’s trying to protect us, to keep us out of harm’s way. But it feels like he’s putting up walls, even with me. And now this whole portal thing… It’s like he’s accelerating so fast, I’m afraid we’ll lose him.”

 

Natasha’s gaze turned thoughtful. “He’s not just accelerating, Lily. He’s adapting. Faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. Two days with the Ancient One, and he’s already mastered techniques most sorcerers spend years trying to understand. That’s not normal.”

 

“Nothing about Harry’s life has ever been normal,” Lily muttered. “But you’re right. This… this is different. And it scares me.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared concern hanging in the air. Finally, Natasha broke the quiet.

 

“So what do we do?” she asked.

 

Lily’s grip on her cup tightened. “We remind him that he’s not alone. That no matter how strong or capable he gets, he has people here who care about him—who want to be a part of his life, not just spectators to his heroics.”

 

Natasha nodded, her resolve hardening. “Agreed. Next time he shows up, portal or not, he’s not getting off so easy.”

 

Lily chuckled, the sound tinged with both amusement and determination. “You’re damn right he’s not.”

 

Unbeknownst to them, Rose Potter peeked around the corner, her wide eyes filled with curiosity. She had caught bits and pieces of the conversation and immediately resolved to ask her big brother why he didn’t visit. She might only be six, but she was determined to make Harry understand that he had a family waiting for him—one that wasn’t going anywhere.

 

—

 

The courtyard of Kamar-Taj was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the faint hum of the wards and the soft rustle of the Cloak of Levitation as it floated around Harry's shoulders, adjusting itself almost impatiently. Across from him stood the Ancient One, serene and composed, her expression betraying no emotion save for the faintest hint of expectation.

 

Harry’s heart raced as he sized her up. He was no stranger to sparring, but this was different. This wasn’t a training session against his friends or a duel in a Hogwarts classroom. This was her. The Sorcerer Supreme. And she wasn’t holding back.

 

“Ready yourself, Mr. Potter,” she said, her tone calm but commanding.

 

The air around Harry shimmered as he activated his Vibranium-enhanced skeleton, the faint hum of absorbed kinetic energy radiating through his frame. He flexed his fingers, the claws extending with a metallic snikt. These weren’t just weapons—they were tools, conduits for his magic.

 

Without warning, the Ancient One struck.

 

Her movements were a blur, a seamless blend of martial arts and mystical arts. Spells lashed out like whips, glyphs materialized in the air, and her strikes were precise, each one aimed to disrupt his balance or break through his defenses.

 

Harry barely had time to react. He sidestepped a blast of golden energy, his claws slashing through a glyph that tried to trap him. He absorbed the impact of a spinning kick with his Vibranium skeleton, redirecting the energy into his magical core. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a shield of pure energy, deflecting another spell.

 

“You’re quick,” the Ancient One remarked, her tone almost conversational. “But you’re reacting, not anticipating.”

 

Harry gritted his teeth, lunging forward. He slashed with his claws, sending a wave of kinetic energy forward as he released what he had absorbed. The Ancient One simply waved a hand, the energy dispersing into harmless sparks.

 

She countered with a portal, stepping through it to appear behind him. Before Harry could turn, a spell struck his back, sending him sprawling.

 

“Focus, Harry,” she chided. “Adapt. Think beyond what you’ve been taught.”

 

Harry pushed himself up, his mind racing. She was faster, more skilled, and always one step ahead. He needed to do something different.

 

Drawing on his magical core, he conjured a burst of Wizarding Magic, transfiguring the stones beneath her feet into vines that lashed out to entangle her. At the same time, he used the Mystical Arts to summon a mirror dimension fragment, creating a jagged terrain to limit her movement.

 

The Ancient One smiled faintly. “Better.”

 

She shattered the vines with a single motion and leapt gracefully over the jagged terrain. Harry was ready this time. He funneled the kinetic energy absorbed by his skeleton into a wandless Stupefy, combining it with a Mystical Arts glyph to amplify its power. The spell shot forward, faster and stronger than before.

 

For the first time, the Ancient One blocked instead of dodging, a golden shield absorbing the impact. “Interesting,” she mused, her tone approving.

 

Harry pressed his advantage, combining elements of both disciplines. He conjured illusions with the Mystical Arts to distract her while using Wizarding Magic to launch precise attacks. His claws slashed through the air, releasing bursts of kinetic energy, and he manipulated the terrain with transfiguration to keep her on the defensive.

 

The Ancient One moved like a dancer, fluid and unyielding, but even she began to acknowledge his creativity. When he used his claws as wands, casting a dual spell of Expelliarmus and a binding charm, she was briefly caught off guard, though she countered it a moment later.

 

“Excellent,” she said, her voice carrying over the din of their sparring. “You’re learning.”

 

Harry was panting, sweat dripping down his face, but he didn’t let up. He pushed harder, combining everything he had learned—his Vibranium-enhanced abilities, Wizarding Magic, and the Mystical Arts—into a seamless offensive.

 

He absorbed a blast of energy, redirected it into a spell-enhanced punch, and then conjured a shield to deflect her counterattack. With a flick of his claws, he opened a portal behind her, forcing her to pivot and face him from an awkward angle.

 

The sparring session continued for what felt like hours, Harry giving everything he had to match her. Finally, the Ancient One raised a hand, signaling a halt.

 

“Enough,” she said, her tone firm but approving. “You’ve proven your potential, Harry. You’re not just adapting—you’re innovating. That is the mark of a true sorcerer.”

 

Harry lowered his hands, breathing heavily. The Cloak of Levitation fluttered around him as if congratulating him on surviving.

 

“Thanks,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But I think I need a nap.”

 

The Ancient One chuckled softly. “Rest is wise. You’ve taken your first step into a larger world, Harry Potter. But remember, this is only the beginning.”

 

As she turned and walked away, Harry couldn’t help but smile, despite his exhaustion. For the first time, he felt like he wasn’t just a student—he was becoming something greater.

Chapter 28: Chapter 27

Clint Barton and Melinda May stood in the safehouse’s main operations room, surrounded by a mixture of SHIELD agents, unfamiliar faces, and the hum of constant activity. Clint was adjusting to the oddity of being in a hidden, high-tech base that seemed to be a world unto itself, while Melinda May was as stoic as always, her eyes sharp, absorbing every detail of their environment.

 

Peggy Carter, still radiating an ageless authority, paced in front of them, her voice calm and measured as she began explaining the true purpose of the safehouse.

 

“This safehouse exists for one reason,” Peggy began, casting a serious look at Clint and May. “To combat Hydra-allied wizards and raid their bases.”

 

Clint blinked in surprise, his expression skeptical but intrigued. “Wizards? Are we talking magic, or are we still dealing with that weird science stuff SHIELD keeps under wraps?”

 

Peggy gave a soft, almost imperceptible smile. “Magic. The kind you don’t find in the textbooks.” She paused, then continued, her tone sharpening. “Hydra, as you probably know, has been attempting to use magic to control and enhance their operations. They’ve been working with dark wizards who have their own agenda. We’ve had... complications because of it.”

 

Melinda May raised an eyebrow. “So you’re telling us that Hydra’s magic is just as dangerous, if not more, than their usual operations?”

 

Peggy nodded, her face hardening. “Exactly. And that’s where Revenant comes in.”

 

Clint looked confused for a moment. “Revenant? The guy who saved us earlier? He’s the one behind all this?”

 

Peggy’s expression softened just a touch. “Yes. But he’s far more than you realize.” She paused before continuing, choosing her words carefully.

 

“Revenant... or as most people know him, Harry Potter... was once just a six-year-old boy, kidnapped by Hydra.” Her voice took on a grim note, as if the memory still haunted her. “Hydra injected him with the Super-Soldier Serum, but the process didn’t go as they planned. It aged him rapidly into an adult body—giving him the physical peak of a soldier, but with the mind of a child.”

 

Clint’s eyes widened. “They did what?”

 

Peggy’s jaw tightened. “That’s just the beginning. They also spliced his DNA with someone called Weapon X—a dangerous operative who possessed unthinkable strength and healing capabilities. And on top of that, they grafted his skeleton with Vibranium. He became something... else entirely.”

 

Melinda May’s eyes narrowed. “That’s why he’s got claws. Vibranium claws.”

 

Peggy nodded somberly. “Yes. Those claws—along with his enhanced abilities—make him a force to be reckoned with. But it’s not just his physical prowess. Harry’s a wizard. He was born with magical abilities, and over time, he’s been training to control them. Now, he can combine wizarding magic with his new powers, making him one of the most dangerous people alive.”

 

Clint blinked slowly. “So... this kid who was kidnapped and turned into a walking weapon is out there, saving us? That’s... a lot to take in.”

 

Peggy’s face grew more serious. “He doesn’t just save people. He fights Hydra head-on. And he’s not alone. He’s built a team—a team of highly skilled agents and operatives, all dedicated to hunting down Hydra and their magical allies.”

 

The room fell silent for a moment, and Clint and May exchanged looks. This wasn’t what they had expected. But it was a lot to digest in such a short time. The thought of magic and Hydra’s twisted experiments were overwhelming, but they couldn’t deny the seriousness of what Peggy had said.

 

Just as Clint was about to ask more, the door to the room opened, and none other than Nick Fury walked in, wearing an eye-patch over his left eye. His gait was steady, but there was no mistaking the pain in his expression.

 

“Fury,” Peggy said, her tone neutral but concerned. “You should get some rest.”

 

Fury waved her off. “I’ve had worse.” He looked at Clint and May, then spoke directly to them. “You’ve just learned about Hydra and their magical allies, but there’s a lot more going on. I’m offering you two a chance to be part of this team. You’re good, but we need people who can handle more than just the usual SHIELD ops. We need everyone working together to stop Hydra before they gain even more power.”

 

Clint, still a bit overwhelmed but never one to back down from a challenge, nodded. “What’s the catch?”

 

“The catch?” Fury smirked. “The catch is we take down Hydra, no questions asked. They’re not just a threat to the world—they’re a threat to every single person who’s ever lived. This isn’t just about stopping terrorists. This is bigger than that. You want in?”

 

Clint exchanged a look with May, and for the first time, he saw something rare in her eyes—something like hope. May had always been practical, always a little more distant. But now, in the face of something this enormous, something greater than anything they’d ever dealt with before, she nodded.

 

“We’re in,” she said firmly.

 

Fury’s gaze softened, just slightly. “Good. Because this is just the beginning.”

 

Peggy, standing off to the side, spoke up once more. “I’ll make sure you get briefed properly. But remember—this isn’t just about magic and wizards. It’s about stopping Hydra from getting their hands on everything. And Harry—Revenant—will be there every step of the way.”

 

Clint let out a low whistle. “Well, guess we’d better get ready for the ride of our lives.”

 

Fury turned to leave. “Welcome to the team,” he said, his voice full of grim resolve. “Let’s get to work.”

 

As the doors closed behind him, Clint turned to May, a half-smile on his face. “Guess we’re really diving into the deep end now.”

 

May’s expression remained unreadable, but there was a spark of determination in her eyes. “Yeah. But at least we’re not alone.”

 

And with that, they joined the team—ready to face the rising threat of Hydra and their magical allies head-on.

 

—

 

On the busy MIT campus, Tony Stark sat at a corner table in the campus coffee shop, his eyes locked onto the new transfer student across the room. He leaned back in his chair, hands casually folded behind his head, looking like he owned the place, even if he was just a teenager.

 

Tony watched as Cynthia, the new student, navigated the room with an effortless grace. She laughed with a group of students, and her charisma radiated as naturally as the sun. She had that thing—you know, the magnetic pull that made everyone stop and look. Tony's lips twitched into a grin, clearly intrigued.

 

"Hey, Tony, Earth to Stark," Rhodey’s voice cut through Tony's thoughts, and he snapped out of his reverie. Rhodey, his best friend and roommate, had sat down across from him, looking more than a little concerned. “You’ve been staring at her for like, half an hour. Are you trying to catch flies or...?”

 

Tony didn’t even look away from Cynthia. His smirk was already in full effect. “Relax, Rhodey. I’m just admiring... perfection. Can you blame me?”

 

Rhodey raised an eyebrow, leaning in, clearly not buying it. “You know, I think you’ve got a problem. You’re not just admiring her, man. You’ve been giving her the ‘I’m Tony Stark and I know you think I’m awesome’ look for the last twenty minutes. That's gotta be making her feel real comfortable. Real comfortable,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

 

Tony waved his hand, dismissing Rhodey’s warning like it was a fly buzzing around his head. “Please. She’s probably used to it. I mean, look at me.” He gestured vaguely at his impeccable style—custom-made suit, perfectly tousled hair, that sharp, confident aura that was just him. “It’s not bragging if it’s true. Plus, I know she’s looking over here. Can’t help but notice how good I look. Happens to the best of us.”

 

Rhodey rolled his eyes, not impressed in the slightest. “Okay, but I gotta ask... Why her? The transfer student who shows up outta nowhere and starts acting like she’s been here for years? Something’s off about this whole thing. She’s... too smooth, Tony. Too perfect.”

 

Tony’s smirk faltered for a brief moment as he considered Rhodey’s words, but only for a second. Then he snapped back with that trademark Tony Stark swagger. “What are you talking about? She’s got confidence—something you could use a little more of, by the way. She’s not pretending to be something she’s not. You could learn something from her.”

 

Rhodey leaned back, folding his arms across his chest, studying Tony like he was solving a particularly annoying puzzle. “No, man. You could learn something from me. I’m not saying she’s got a hidden agenda, but there’s something about her that doesn’t sit right. People don’t just come in and instantly steal the spotlight. Not that easily. I’ve seen this before. Don’t trust it.”

 

Tony finally tore his eyes away from Cynthia, looking at Rhodey with that signature Stark expression—the one that said, I’m smarter than you, and I know it. “Rhodey, seriously. Let’s just assume she’s the best thing to happen to MIT since... me.” He gave himself a little wink and continued, “You’re watching too many spy thrillers. You do know not every woman is a secret agent sent to mess with my personal life, right? I get it. She’s new. She’s got some charm. I’m sure she’s harmless.”

 

But Rhodey was undeterred, his frown deepening. “You know, Tony, I’m usually the one who gives you the benefit of the doubt, but something about this doesn’t sit right. People don’t just show up and immediately become the center of attention, no questions asked. I’m telling you, we’ve got to keep our eyes on her.”

 

Tony, always the optimist, just shrugged and smirked. “You’re paranoid, man. I mean, it’s cute, in a ‘My best friend’s the next big action movie star’ kind of way. But seriously? I’ll keep an eye on her. But not because you said so, alright?”

 

Rhodey gave Tony a long, skeptical look, then sighed. “Sure, Tony. Do whatever you want. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when she turns out to be a real secret agent—or worse, a supervillain with a really bad haircut.”

 

Tony burst out laughing. “Rhodey, man, you’ve got to stop watching those spy movies. I mean, yeah, I’d make an awesome supervillain, but she? She’s got too much class to be one. And anyway, if she’s a spy, I’ve got plenty of tricks up my sleeve.”

 

Just then, Cynthia glanced over at Tony and caught his gaze. A soft smile spread across her face, and she raised an eyebrow as if to say, I see you, Stark.

 

Tony’s grin widened in response, and he raised his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Well, well, looks like someone’s a fan. This is gonna be fun.”

 

Rhodey watched the exchange and muttered under his breath, “This is gonna be a mess. I just know it.”

 

But Tony, clearly on a roll, didn’t hear him. He was already walking over to Cynthia, his usual cocky swagger returning in full force. “Alright, Rhodey, time to watch the master at work. I’ll handle this. You go... I dunno, do something productive with your life.”

 

Rhodey shook his head, but it was a good-natured shake. “You’re gonna get yourself into trouble, Tony. You always do.”

 

Tony paused, turning back with a grin. “Yeah, but I always get myself out of it, too. You might want to take notes.”

 

As Tony made his way toward Cynthia, Rhodey remained where he was, his gaze following his best friend with a mix of concern and wariness. He had a gut feeling that this new student—this Cynthia—wasn’t just the ‘perfect’ new girl she appeared to be. And knowing Tony, he’d probably walk straight into whatever mess she was tangled up in.

 

With a sigh, Rhodey picked up his coffee, muttering to himself. “Here we go again.”

 

—

 

Natasha entered the main room of the safehouse, her footsteps quiet but purposeful. Peggy Carter and Nick Fury were deep in conversation near the desk, reviewing a set of dossiers. Steve Rogers sat nearby, flipping through a file of his own, still acclimating to this strange, modern world he’d been thrust into.

 

Natasha cleared her throat softly, drawing their attention. “I have a suggestion for the team,” she began, her voice calm but laced with the seriousness that always commanded respect.

 

Fury raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

 

“I want to bring in Alexei Shostakov,” Natasha said bluntly.

 

Steve looked up, confusion written all over his face. “Who’s Alexei Shostakov?”

 

Peggy, leaning on the desk with her arms crossed, glanced at Fury before answering. “The Red Guardian. He was the Soviet Union’s answer to you, Steve. A Super-Soldier created during the Cold War.”

 

Steve’s brow furrowed as he processed the information. “Wait, even the Russians tried to recreate the serum? I thought it was only S.H.I.E.L.D and Hydra.” He gestured vaguely.

 

“They didn’t just try,” Fury interjected, “they succeeded—kind of. Shostakov was one of their few successes. The Soviets built him up as their own version of Captain America, a propaganda tool as much as a soldier.”

 

Steve leaned back in his chair, the weight of this revelation sinking in. “So, what happened to him?”

 

Natasha stepped forward, her expression hardening. “After the Cold War ended, Alexei was recruited by the Red Room—the same organization that trained me. But he didn’t agree with Dreykov’s methods, especially how he treated the girls in the program. Alexei was vocal about it, criticizing the Russian government and the Red Room’s leadership. For that, he was thrown into Seventh Circle Prison.”

 

Steve tilted his head. “Seventh Circle Prison?”

 

“A maximum-security gulag,” Peggy explained, her tone grim. “If you wanted someone to disappear off the face of the earth, that’s where you sent them.”

 

“And he’s still there?” Fury asked, narrowing his good eye.

 

Natasha nodded. “Yes. He’s been rotting away there for years, but Alexei isn’t like most of the people in that prison. He’s a good man—rough around the edges, sure, but he has a strong moral compass. He’d be an asset to the team.”

 

Steve rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If he’s a Super-Soldier, why didn’t the Red Room keep using him?”

 

Natasha’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Because Alexei doesn’t fall in line. He questions authority, pushes back when he thinks something is wrong. Dreykov couldn’t control him, so he locked him away.”

 

Fury leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “A Soviet Super-Soldier who doesn’t like authority? Sounds like he’d fit right in here.”

 

“I trust him,” Natasha said firmly. “And if we’re going to take on Hydra and their wizard allies, we’ll need someone like Alexei on our side.”

 

Peggy exchanged a glance with Fury, her expression contemplative. “It’s a risk. Breaking someone out of a Russian prison isn’t exactly a low-profile operation.”

 

Natasha met her gaze without flinching. “I’ll handle the extraction myself. He’s worth the risk.”

 

Steve, still processing this new information, finally spoke up. “If he’s anything like me, we could use his help. But are you sure he’ll want to join us after everything he’s been through?”

 

Natasha hesitated for the briefest of moments before nodding. “Yes. Alexei may be bitter about what happened to him, but he’s not the kind of man to turn his back on a fight like this. He’ll see the bigger picture.”

 

Fury stood, pacing as he considered the proposal. “Alright. If you’re willing to vouch for him, Romanoff, we’ll move forward. But if this goes sideways, it’s on you.”

 

“It won’t,” Natasha said confidently.

 

Peggy tapped her fingers on the desk, her gaze sharp. “If we’re doing this, we’ll need to prepare. Extracting someone from Seventh Circle Prison won’t be easy, even for you, Natasha.”

 

Natasha smirked faintly. “I wouldn’t expect it to be. But I’ll get him out.”

 

Steve looked at Natasha, a hint of admiration in his eyes. “You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?”

 

Natasha turned to him, her smirk softening into a genuine smile. “I don’t leave good people behind, Steve. Not if I can help it.”

 

Fury clapped his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, people, let’s get to work. We’ve got a Red Guardian to break out.”

 

—

 

The dimly lit tavern, nestled in the outskirts of London, was far from welcoming. Its patrons were a mix of shady characters and retirees from magical professions who preferred their peace with a side of anonymity. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody sat in a shadowed corner, nursing a tumbler of firewhisky, his magical eye swiveling erratically while his regular one remained fixed on the entrance. His paranoia wasn’t just a habit—it had kept him alive for decades.

 

As the creaky wooden door opened, Moody’s magical eye locked onto the man entering. Gideon Adler stepped in, his stride confident but not ostentatious. He was dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his appearance clean and polished, but with an air of mystery that unsettled most wizards. Moody's lip curled slightly. Too refined for this place. Definitely trouble.

 

Adler scanned the room, his piercing gaze landing on Moody. Without hesitation, he made his way over, ignoring the eyes of a few nosy patrons. He reached the table, inclined his head politely, and said, “Alastor Moody. May I sit?”

 

Moody grunted, his real eye narrowing while his magical one zoomed in on Adler’s face, studying every feature. “You can sit, but don’t think for a second I’m not ready for whatever you’re planning.”

 

Adler chuckled softly, pulling out the chair across from Moody. “I would expect nothing less from the great Mad-Eye Moody.”

 

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Adler,” Moody snapped, his hand resting on the handle of his wand beneath the table. “Who are you really, and what do you want?”

 

Adler leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. “I’m exactly who I claim to be—Gideon Adler, a descendant of the House of Grindelwald. And what I want... is your expertise.”

 

Moody’s magical eye spun again, his distrust palpable. “Grindelwald’s descendant, eh? You’ve got a lot of nerve throwing that name around, lad. That kind of heritage doesn’t make friends, especially not with me.”

 

Adler smiled faintly, his composure unshaken. “I’m well aware of the stigma attached to my lineage, but I assure you, I’m not here to cause trouble. Quite the opposite, actually.”

 

“Cut to the chase,” Moody growled. “You’re wasting my time, and I don’t have much patience for pretty words.”

 

Adler’s expression turned serious. “I need your help, Alastor. There’s a storm brewing—a faction of wizards aligned with Hydra, threatening not just our world, but the Muggle one as well. You’ve seen the signs, haven’t you? The unusual disappearances, the dark artifacts resurfacing, the whispers of something... bigger.”

 

Moody’s grip on his wand tightened. “Go on.”

 

Adler leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “You know as well as I do that few wizards have the skill, the experience, or the grit to handle this kind of threat. The Ministry is too slow, too bogged down by politics to act decisively. We need a team of the best—people who understand the stakes and aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty.”

 

Moody’s regular eye narrowed. “And you think I’m one of them?”

 

“I know you are,” Adler replied without hesitation. “You’ve dedicated your life to stopping dark wizards, to protecting those who can’t protect themselves. Hydra’s allies are dangerous, Alastor. They combine dark magic with Muggle technology, creating weapons and strategies the likes of which the wizarding world has never faced. You’ve fought enemies like this before. You’re exactly the kind of man we need.”

 

Moody leaned back, crossing his arms. “And why should I trust you? For all I know, you’re one of them, trying to lure me into a trap.”

 

Adler met Moody’s gaze, his voice steady. “Because I’ve seen the destrucion men who walk the same path as Gellert Grindelwald can cause, the lives they can ruined. I’ve dedicated myself to undoing his legacy, to ensuring that no one else follows in his footsteps. You don’t have to trust me, Alastor. But trust your instincts. You know the threat is real.”

 

Moody studied Adler for a long moment, his magical eye scanning him again. Finally, he said, “If I even think you’re lying, Adler, I’ll bring you down myself.”

 

Adler inclined his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

 

Moody grunted and took a swig of his firewhisky. “Alright, Adler. You’ve got my attention. But if we’re doing this, we do it my way.”

 

“Agreed,” Adler said, his tone resolute. “This is bigger than either of us, Alastor. Together, we can make a difference.”

 

Moody didn’t reply immediately, his mind already racing through strategies and contingencies. Finally, he said, “Let’s see what you’ve got, Adler. But don’t think for a second I’m not watching you.”

 

Adler smirked faintly, raising his glass in a silent toast. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

—

 

In his sunlit office atop Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his intricately carved chair, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin. The scent of lemon drops lingered in the air, mingling with the faint, dusty aroma of ancient parchment. His iconic half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose glinted as he gazed thoughtfully at the flamboyantly dressed figure of Mundungus Fletcher standing before him.

 

Fletcher looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backward, his patched robes hanging loosely, and his perpetually shifty eyes darting around the room as though expecting Fawkes, Dumbledore's majestic phoenix, to peck him on the head at any moment.

 

“Let me get this straight,” Dumbledore began, his voice a blend of indulgence and thinly veiled condescension. “You’re telling me that Alastor Moody, our dear paranoid friend, has recently been seen... consorting with a man claiming to be a descendant of Grindelwald?”

 

Mundungus nodded vigorously. “Aye, Headmaster. Gideon Adler, he calls himself. Real smooth-talker, by the sounds of it. I overheard it at the Dog and Bone—er, purely by coincidence, mind you. I wasn’t there fer... unsavory business.”

 

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching as though suppressing a knowing smile. “How fortunate, Mundungus, that your penchant for the less-than-reputable has provided us with this... fascinating tidbit.”

 

“Don’t mention it, Professor,” Fletcher said quickly, though his unease suggested he would have much preferred not to be here at all.

 

The Headmaster’s fingers drummed against the polished wood of his desk as he stared into the middle distance, his mind whirring. Gideon Adler... A descendant of Gellert Grindelwald? How deliciously ironic. The recent escape—or liberation, as the whispers called it—of Gellert Grindelwald from Nurmengard had been troubling enough. This new piece of the puzzle made the game all the more intriguing.

 

“It seems,” Dumbledore mused aloud, his tone taking on the air of a man who believed himself the sole player on a chessboard no one else could see, “that fate enjoys presenting me with challenges befitting my... unique talents.”

 

Fletcher shifted uncomfortably. “Er, right. So, wot d’you reckon, Professor? This Adler bloke, he’s bad news, yeah?”

 

Dumbledore smiled benignly, a practiced expression that radiated warmth but concealed calculation. “The Grindelwald name, Mundungus, is indeed one that evokes... significant history. However, history does not always repeat itself. Sometimes, it rhymes. We must discern whether Mr. Adler is a verse worth reading or one to strike from the poem.”

 

Fletcher blinked. “Uh... sure.”

 

Rising gracefully, Dumbledore began to pace, his flowing robes shimmering in the sunlight like liquid starlight. “Alastor, dear Alastor, has always been an excellent judge of character, even if his methods are... robust. That he has entertained this Adler suggests there is more to the man than mere ancestry.”

 

“Or maybe Moody’s just gone soft in his old age?” Fletcher offered, earning a sharp look from Dumbledore.

 

“Highly unlikely,” Dumbledore said firmly, his voice laced with the certainty of a man who rarely entertained dissent. “If this Gideon Adler truly seeks to recruit Alastor, it can only mean he is assembling forces. And if Grindelwald’s blood flows in his veins, we must consider the possibility that his ambitions align with those of his... infamous ancestor.”

 

Fawkes let out a soft trill, breaking the tension in the room. Dumbledore turned to the phoenix, his expression softening for a moment. “Ah, my dear Fawkes, even the brightest flames can cast shadows. Perhaps it is time to shed a little light on this matter.”

 

He turned back to Fletcher, his gaze piercing. “Mundungus, you are to keep your ears open. Report back to me if you hear anything further about Adler—or Grindelwald, for that matter. Your... unique talents for navigating the less savory corners of our world may prove invaluable.”

 

Fletcher nodded hastily. “Of course, Headmaster. Anything fer the cause, yeah?”

 

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, his smile faint but inscrutable. “The cause. You may go.”

 

As Fletcher scurried from the office, Dumbledore resumed his seat, his fingers once again steepled beneath his chin. He stared at the empty air as though it held answers visible only to him.

 

“Gideon Adler,” he murmured to himself. “A name that carries both promise and peril. And if Gellert has truly re-entered the stage... well, how fortunate that I remain the only one capable of directing this grand play.”

 

With a wave of his wand, he summoned a parchment and quill. It was time to pen a few letters, to call on old contacts and set plans into motion. The spotlight, after all, was best reserved for those who knew how to wield it. And in his mind, no one wielded it better than Albus Dumbledore.

 

—

 

In the hallowed halls of Kamar-Taj’s vast library, where the air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the faint hum of mystical wards, Harry Potter was a blur of chaotic energy.

 

Seated cross-legged on the floor, he had one book balanced on his knee (Intermediate Dimensional Weaving), another floating in midair before him (Temporal Manipulation: Theory and Practice), and a third open on the floor (Magical Flora of the Multiverse). The books rotated in a seemingly random pattern, their pages turning with flicks of Harry’s Vibranium-coated claws, which he was using as makeshift bookmarks.

 

Every so often, he muttered to himself, lines like, “Oh, that’s why the sigil didn’t stabilize!” or “This would make runic arrays so much easier.”

 

Into this whirlwind of activity walked Wong, carrying a tray of tea like a man preparing to mediate peace talks between two hostile nations. His footsteps were deliberate, each one announcing his approach, though he suspected that even if he’d levitated in silently, Harry wouldn’t have noticed.

 

Wong stopped just short of the cluttered workspace Harry had created, surveying the scene with a long-suffering sigh. “Tell me, do you intend to leave any books in this library for other people to read?”

 

Harry looked up, his face lighting up with the same mischievous grin that made him seem far too much like James Potter for anyone’s peace of mind. “Oh, come on, Wong. You’re just jealous you didn’t think to do this when you were my age.”

 

Wong arched a brow. “When I was your age, I wasn’t turning a sacred repository of knowledge into a teenager’s science fair project.”

 

“Pfft,” Harry scoffed, closing one book with a snap. “You say that now, but admit it—you wish you had my efficiency.” He gestured dramatically at the books scattered around him. “I’ve been here for—what? Two hours? And I’ve already connected dimensional folding techniques to runic arrays and figured out how to stabilize a portal using music. Music, Wong. That’s genius.”

 

“Genius,” Wong repeated flatly, setting the tray down with a deliberate clink. “Or reckless. You do realize that applying sound as a stabilizing factor could, under the wrong circumstances, turn your portal into a rather... colorful explosion.”

 

Harry waved a dismissive hand. “Details. I’m still working out the kinks.”

 

Wong sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose like a man reconsidering every choice that had led him to this moment. “You’ve been here for all of two days, and already you’ve made me question my commitment to the Mystical Arts.”

 

Harry grinned, unfazed. “Two days, and I’ve already beaten your record for the Ring Portal Exercise. Coincidence? I think not.”

 

“That’s because you cheated,” Wong shot back, crossing his arms.

 

“Used my resources,” Harry corrected, leaning back against the bench and propping his feet on a stack of books. “It’s not my fault you didn’t think to use Vibranium claws as a magical focal point.”

 

Wong stared at him, unblinking. “You turned a sacred training exercise into a Superhero crossover.”

 

Harry raised a finger. “Correction: an effective Superhero crossover.”

 

Wong sat down across from him, rubbing his temples. “You’re going to give me grey hairs.”

 

“You’ve already got a few,” Harry quipped, taking a sip of the tea Wong had brought. “But hey, think of it this way—when I’m done here, you’ll be a legend. ‘The man who taught the great Harry Potter.’ It’ll look great on your resume.”

 

Wong gave him a flat look. “I was already a legend before you showed up. I just didn’t have anyone around to remind me why I should consider early retirement.”

 

“Come on, Wong,” Harry said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “You love me. Admit it.”

 

“I tolerate you,” Wong corrected, standing and brushing imaginary dust from his robes. “And only because the Ancient One has insisted that I not throw you out of Kamar-Taj.”

 

“See? That’s love.” Harry grinned, leaning back with the smug satisfaction of someone who knew he was insufferable and reveled in it.

 

Wong looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he said, “I blame your godfather.”

 

Harry laughed, setting his tea aside. “Sirius would be so proud to hear that.”

 

Shaking his head, Wong began walking away, muttering under his breath, “Demonic children. Every generation brings me a new one.”

 

Harry watched him go, still grinning. Then, with a flourish, he summoned another book from the shelves, flipping it open with an eager glint in his eyes. Wong’s exasperation only fueled his determination. If the Mystical Arts had secrets to uncover, Harry Potter was going to find every last one of them—and probably drive Wong to the brink of madness in the process.

Chapter 29: Chapter 28

The safehouse was humming with activity. A low murmur of conversation echoed through the open rooms, punctuated by the occasional clink of equipment being prepared. The air was thick with anticipation—everyone knew that something big was coming.

 

In the war room, a small group had gathered around a large table, maps, intel reports, and security blueprints spread out in front of them. The dim lighting cast long shadows, highlighting the tension in the room. The team was about to execute a high-risk plan to free a man who had once been the Soviet Union’s answer to Captain America—Alexei Shostakov, the Red Guardian.

 

Natasha Romanoff stood at the head of the table, her arms crossed as she studied the map of Seventh Circle Prison. Her piercing green eyes flicked over every detail, her mind already working through the problem at hand. She was a woman who always had a plan, but today, she had to account for every variable, and she was the only one who seemed entirely calm about it.

 

Sirius Black, ever the optimist, leaned casually against the wall, arms folded. He was wearing a faint grin, his usual cocky air unshaken. “So, I’m assuming this plan involves lots of explosives, and even more guns?”

 

“Of course it does,” James Potter replied with a grin, his tone light but his eyes scanning the map with intensity. His hair was still disheveled from the early morning, a stark contrast to his usual polished demeanor. He leaned forward, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the map. “Explosions, distractions, and chaos are the key to pulling this off. But it’s not about just blowing stuff up. We need to make sure we time it perfectly.”

 

Bucky Barnes, standing a bit further back with his arms crossed and his jaw set, rolled his eyes. "You two and your chaos. Can’t we just stick to the plan, and not set half of Russia on fire?"

 

Sirius chuckled. “You’re no fun, Barnes. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

 

Bucky shot him a look that was almost imperceptible, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable. “It’s called not getting caught in a firefight with Hydra and every wizard they have on standby.”

 

Natasha’s voice cut through the chatter like a knife. “Bucky’s right. We need precision, not a show of fireworks. The goal is to get Alexei out alive, not to burn down the whole place.”

 

James, not missing a beat, raised an eyebrow. “Sure, we’ll keep it subtle. Just a few explosions. We’ll distract them just long enough to get in, and out, and get back to the safehouse.”

 

“You make it sound so simple,” Natasha said dryly, giving him a look. “But we’ve got to deal with a few things first. Like, oh, I don’t know, the prison’s magical wards, its security systems, and the fact that Alexei’s held in the highest security wing. He’s been there long enough that no one knows he’s even alive, but getting him out is going to be a nightmare.”

 

“Maybe I should just use my charm,” Sirius quipped, smirking at James, who rolled his eyes.

 

“Charming as always, Padfoot,” James said, tapping the map in front of them. “We’ll need to work with the intel we have. Shostakov is in the highest security cell, surrounded by layers of magical defenses. I can handle the physical stuff, but we need someone who can bypass the magic.”

 

Sirius glanced up, his usual sarcastic edge softening. “Right. I’m your guy for the wards. You get me in, and I’ll handle the rest.”

 

“Not to mention,” Natasha added, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied them, “we’ve got Hydra-allied wizards to deal with. They’ll be on high alert once they notice the assault. We can’t just waltz in, even with magical abilities. Once we’re inside, we’ll have twenty minutes, tops.”

 

Bucky raised his hand, interrupting her. “And that’s where I come in, right?”

 

Natasha nodded. “Exactly. You’ll be the one on the ground, in the thick of things. Get Alexei, get him to the extraction point. We can’t afford to have anyone miss that window.”

 

“Twenty minutes,” Bucky repeated, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of running into a prison full of Hydra thugs, but if he had to, he would. It was a mission, and he knew how to stick to the objective.

 

“We’ll also need a diversion,” James said, tapping his fingers on the table. “That’s where the explosives come in. We can’t just show up without drawing attention, so we’ll need something big—something to keep them focused on the outside while we work our way in.”

 

“Bigger the bang, the better,” Sirius said with a wink.

 

Natasha gave him a look that was both amused and dead serious. “We don’t need that much attention, Potter. Just enough to draw the Hydra wizards out. Once they’re distracted, we go in and get Shostakov. We’ve got about an hour before they realize what’s happening, so it’s not a lot of time.”

 

Bucky gave a small nod, his arms still crossed. “How do you plan on getting Shostakov out without anyone noticing?”

 

“Simple,” Natasha said, leaning over the table with a sly smile. “I’ll handle the stealth, Sirius will keep the Disillusionment charm running, and James will get us out when we need it. The rest of you just need to keep up.”

 

“Sounds like a piece of cake,” James said, his grin widening. “Just need to make sure we don’t trip the alarms or, you know, blow anything up early.”

 

Natasha shot him a pointed look. “No promises.”

 

Sirius was already thinking ahead. “Once we have Alexei, we need to move fast. I’ll keep him covered, but we’ll need a clean escape route. Do we have one?”

 

James tapped the map, pointing to an alleyway that was marked with a few discreet routes. “There’s a back exit that goes straight to a remote area. We’ll need to keep it clear, and get out before Hydra shows up in full force.”

 

Bucky gave a small chuckle. “Easy enough. Just don’t expect me to be the first one to leave the prison.”

 

Sirius grinned. “After all the years of escaping death, you’ve earned the right to be dramatic, Bucky.”

 

Natasha’s expression softened for just a second, then hardened again as she looked at the group. “This is it. We get Alexei, we get out. And then we figure out how to stop Hydra from doing this to anyone else.”

 

James straightened, his eyes meeting hers. “Let’s get to work.”

 

—

 

Mundungus Fletcher was slinking around in the shadows, his mind racing as he watched the street ahead. He wasn’t thrilled to be on this particular mission—spying on a mysterious figure like Gideon Adler, who was reportedly a descendant of Gellert Grindelwald, wasn’t exactly his idea of a fun day. But, of course, Albus Dumbledore had his reasons. A man with such a lineage, appearing out of nowhere and asking too many questions about Hydra-allied wizards, couldn’t be allowed to roam free.

 

Dumbledore had made it clear: gather intel, but don’t get too close. "Keep him under surveillance, Fletcher. Just watch and report back." Of course, that had been a few days ago, and Mundungus had been following Adler around the city like a rat in the walls. The man was a slippery one—always one step ahead, disappearing into alleys just when Mundungus thought he had him cornered.

 

Tonight was different, though. There was a feeling in the air, something that sent a prickle up his spine. As he crouched behind a stack of crates near a dimly lit tavern, his eyes trained on the door, he saw Adler slip inside, but not in the way Mundungus expected.

 

Adler, dressed in a simple but well-tailored coat, paused at the door. His sharp eyes scanned the street, as if searching for something—or someone. Mundungus froze. It wasn’t just his usual casual glance. Adler knew something was off. A cold sweat beaded on Mundungus' neck. How the hell had Adler seen him?

 

It didn’t make sense. Mundungus was good at this. He’d been sneaking around and pilfering for years, yet here he was, being outmaneuvered by a man who probably spent more time in high society than in the streets.

 

With an effort, Mundungus steadied his breath. He couldn’t afford to blow it now. Pulling his cloak tighter around him, he ducked lower, trying to conceal himself further in the shadows.

 

But before he could make another move, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind him—soft, deliberate, and too close for comfort. He spun, his heart in his throat, only to be met with a piercing gaze from Adler himself.

 

“Fletcher,” Adler said, his voice calm but laced with an undeniable edge. “You’re very good at hiding, but not quite as good as you think.”

 

Mundungus cursed inwardly, his mind racing. How the hell did he know? He had been careful—he had kept his distance, stayed out of sight. But Adler's eyes told a different story. Adler had known he was there the entire time.

 

Adler’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile as he took a step closer. “You should’ve known better than to follow me for so long, Mundungus. A man like me, with a legacy like mine… well, I have a way of sensing things.”

 

Mundungus, trying to regain his composure, took a half-step back. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he muttered, fumbling with his coat pocket. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’ but mindin’ my own business, mate.”

 

Adler raised an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping him. “I’m sure you are. But you see, when someone like you is spying on someone like me, it tends to be… a little more obvious than you might think. People like you—cautious, sneaky, paranoid—they leave little trails. And you’ve been leaving them all over the place.”

 

Mundungus’ hand tensed around his wand, but he didn’t dare draw it. He had no idea what Adler was capable of. The man was a descendant of Grindelwald, after all. Just the thought made Mundungus' heart race faster.

 

“What do you want?” Mundungus spat, his tone wavering between defiance and desperation.

 

“What do I want?” Adler repeated, his smile widening. “I want to know why Dumbledore is sending his little rat to follow me. I want to know what kind of game the old man is playing, and I want you to tell me.”

 

Mundungus’ blood ran cold. Adler knew he was working for Dumbledore. That was a problem.

 

“Now, I’m not in the mood to play games with you, Fletcher,” Adler continued, his voice now carrying an unsettling calmness. “You can either answer my questions, or I can make you answer them.”

 

Mundungus’ hand twitched again, this time grabbing his wand, but Adler was faster. The air seemed to thicken with an almost tangible weight as Adler flicked his wrist. Mundungus felt his arm go numb, the wand slipping from his fingers and clattering to the ground.

 

Adler moved with a fluid grace, his movements precise and almost hypnotic. “I’m not a fool. I know what you’re after. And I know exactly who you’re working for. Dumbledore’s games, his endless schemes… I’ve seen it all before.”

 

Mundungus gulped, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. He was in over his head. Adler wasn’t just some descendant of Grindelwald—he was dangerous, calculating, and far more aware than he had ever imagined.

 

“Why are you here?” Mundungus asked, his voice shaking, though he tried to make it sound casual. “What’s all this about Hydra, then? Wizards and their little alliances?”

 

Adler’s eyes flickered with amusement, a trace of something darker lurking beneath the surface. “Hydra is just a pawn in a much larger game, Fletcher. And if you’re going to spy on me, you’d better know who you’re dealing with. But that’s the problem with people like you, isn’t it? You think you’re clever enough to get the jump on someone, but you’re not. Now, if you want to live to see another day, you’ll do exactly what I tell you.”

 

Mundungus swallowed hard, his mind racing as Adler’s presence seemed to crush him from all sides. He’d never been in a situation like this before. But then again, this wasn’t any ordinary man standing before him.

 

“Fine,” Mundungus muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want me to do?”

 

Adler’s smile grew colder. “For now? You’re going to leave me be. And you’re going to tell Dumbledore that if he wants to keep playing his games, I’ll play along. But I’m no one's pawn.”

 

With a flick of his wrist, the paralysis on Mundungus’ arm eased, and he was able to move again—though he felt more like a rat backed into a corner than a man with options.

 

Adler turned away, the streetlights casting a long shadow across his back as he started to walk towards the tavern door. “Tell Dumbledore that if he’s interested in playing chess, he should come directly. Until then, don’t follow me again.”

 

Mundungus didn’t move at first, still trying to process what had just happened. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion, but one thing was certain: Gideon Adler was not a simple mark. And Dumbledore might have just gotten himself tangled in something far more dangerous than he realized.

 

As Adler disappeared into the tavern, Mundungus sighed, a bead of sweat running down his temple. He was out of his depth, and it seemed the games Dumbledore had started were far from over.

 

—

 

Mundungus Fletcher stumbled into the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts, his face pale and his usual air of greasy confidence shaken. He clutched the brim of his patched hat nervously as his eyes darted around the office. He hated being here. The various trinkets and magical artifacts that lined Dumbledore’s shelves seemed to hum with an almost judgmental energy. Fawkes, perched on his golden stand, gave Mundungus a side-eye that made him flinch.

 

Dumbledore, sitting serenely behind his desk, folded his hands together and offered his most grandfatherly smile. The twinkle in his eyes seemed almost calculated.

 

“Ah, Mundungus,” Dumbledore said, his voice a melodic lilt. “Do come in. I trust your little expedition bore fruit?”

 

Mundungus licked his lips nervously. “Depends on what you call fruit, Professor,” he muttered. “Your man Adler… he ain’t what you’d call a simple target.”

 

Dumbledore leaned back slightly, stroking his beard in a way that suggested he was savoring the moment. “My dear Mundungus, I would never assign a task of simplicity to one such as yourself. I have always seen potential in you, even if the world may not.” He paused for dramatic effect, as if waiting for Mundungus to bask in the compliment.

 

Mundungus shifted uncomfortably. “Right, well, potential or no, Adler spotted me. Got the drop on me, matter of fact.”

 

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “Did he, now? Intriguing. And what did Mr. Adler have to say for himself?”

 

Mundungus hesitated, fiddling with the brim of his hat. “Said I should pass along a message to you. Somethin’ about chess and pawns. Said he’s not playin’ anyone’s game but his own, but if you wanted a match, you’d best come direct.”

 

The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes grew brighter, as if this confirmed some grand theory only he was clever enough to comprehend. “Fascinating,” he murmured, his tone carrying the air of a man who believed himself to be the smartest person in any room. “It would seem Mr. Adler wishes to position himself as my equal in this intricate dance we call destiny.”

 

Mundungus frowned. “Er… sure, if you wanna put it that way. All I know is, he ain’t no ordinary wizard. He had me frozen stiff with a flick of his wrist, and I’m not exactly a stranger to dodgy situations, if you catch my meanin’.”

 

Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively. “Gideon Adler’s talents are to be expected. He is, after all, a Grindelwald by blood, even if he claims to be but a humble descendant. Power often runs deep in such lineages, though it is not the power itself that concerns me, but how it is wielded.”

 

Mundungus opened his mouth to reply, but Dumbledore cut him off, his tone growing loftier. “You see, Mundungus, I have long understood the burden of playing the long game. Pieces on the board must be carefully maneuvered, each one serving a purpose far beyond its initial role. I daresay Adler underestimates the subtleties of my strategy.”

 

Mundungus blinked. “Right. So… what’re you gonna do about him?”

 

Dumbledore stood, his robes billowing slightly as he moved to the window, gazing out over the Hogwarts grounds as if contemplating the cosmos itself. “Adler has challenged me, albeit indirectly. Such a move suggests both confidence and caution—a dangerous combination. However, he forgets that I am no ordinary opponent. The threads of fate have long been my tapestry, and I have woven many a victory from the most tangled of threads.”

 

Mundungus shuffled awkwardly. “So… you’re not worried, then?”

 

“Worried?” Dumbledore turned back to Mundungus, his expression serene but undeniably self-assured. “My dear Mundungus, worry is for those who lack vision. I do not merely react to events; I shape them. Gideon Adler may consider himself a player, but in truth, he is already a piece upon my board.”

 

Mundungus raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Well, good luck with that, then. ‘Cause Adler don’t strike me as the type to sit around waitin’ to be played.”

 

Dumbledore smiled indulgently, as if humoring a child. “Your concern is noted, my friend. And yet, history has shown that even the most formidable of adversaries cannot escape the gravity of their own destiny. Now, return to your post. Keep an ear to the ground, and should Mr. Adler make another move, inform me at once.”

 

Mundungus sighed, recognizing the dismissal when he heard it. He tipped his hat and shuffled toward the door, muttering under his breath, “Bloody grandstanding peacock.”

 

As the door closed behind him, Dumbledore returned to his seat, steepling his fingers as he stared into the middle distance. Fawkes let out a low trill, almost as if he were questioning his master’s confidence.

 

“Fear not, old friend,” Dumbledore said softly, his voice carrying the weight of certainty. “Gideon Adler may believe himself to be a storm, but I… I am the mountain.”

 

—

 

Later in the day, the bustling energy of the safehouse had subsided, and Lily was sitting on the couch with a book in hand, though her attention often drifted away from the pages. The day’s concerns weighed heavily on her, and though she was trying to relax, her mind kept circling back to Harry.

 

Rose Potter, ever observant for a six-year-old, chose this quieter moment to climb up beside her mother. She had her favorite stuffed unicorn, Mr. Prickles, tucked under her arm and a look of determined curiosity on her face.

 

“Mum,” Rose began, her small voice cutting through the silence.

 

Lily set the book down, her focus immediately shifting to her daughter. “What is it, love?”

 

Rose squirmed a little, clutching Mr. Prickles tighter. “I heard you talking to Nat earlier. About Harry.”

 

Lily blinked, caught off guard. “You were eavesdropping?” she asked, her tone lightly scolding but not harsh.

 

Rose’s cheeks flushed pink. “Not on purpose! I was just… there. By accident. But I heard you say Harry didn’t come to see us because he’s busy being a hero.”

 

Lily sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Rose, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

 

“But why didn’t he come?” Rose pressed, her small face scrunched with genuine confusion. “Doesn’t he know we miss him?”

 

Lily’s heart ached at the question. She reached out, pulling Rose into her lap. “Of course, he knows. Harry loves us, sweetheart. More than anything.”

 

“Then why doesn’t he visit?” Rose asked, her voice quivering slightly. “Does he think we don’t need him anymore?”

 

Lily hugged her daughter tightly, stroking her soft hair. “Oh, Rose. It’s not that at all. Harry thinks he needs to protect us by staying away. He’s facing a lot of big, scary things, and he doesn’t want us to get hurt.”

 

Rose pulled back just enough to look up at her mother, her big green eyes filled with determination. “But he’s my big brother. I’m not scared of scary things if he’s here.”

 

Lily chuckled softly, her chest tightening with emotion. “I know, darling. I feel the same way. But Harry… he sometimes forgets that we’re stronger together. That it’s okay to lean on the people who love him.”

 

Rose nodded solemnly, her little hand clutching at Lily’s sleeve. “Then we have to remind him.”

 

Lily smiled at the fierce resolve in her daughter’s voice, so reminiscent of both Harry and James. “You’re absolutely right, Rose. We do.”

 

Rose’s brow furrowed in thought. “Next time he comes, I’m gonna tell him. I’m gonna say, ‘Harry James Potter, you need to come home more because we’re your family, and families stick together!’”

 

Lily laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “That’s perfect, Rose. I think he’ll listen to you.”

 

Rose grinned, satisfied with her plan. She snuggled closer to her mother, clutching Mr. Prickles like a tiny knight preparing for battle. “He better,” she mumbled sleepily. “Or I’ll tell Dad to prank him.”

 

Lily kissed the top of her daughter’s head, her heart feeling a little lighter. “I think that’s a great idea, love.”

 

As Rose drifted off to sleep in her arms, Lily found herself feeling a renewed sense of determination. Harry might be a hero to the world, but to his family, he was still just Harry—a son, a brother, and someone who needed to remember that he wasn’t alone.

 

And when he finally returned, they would make sure he never forgot it.

 

—

 

The Hog’s Head was its usual mix of smoke, stale beer, and a faint but ever-present smell of goats. Aberforth Dumbledore, seated in his favorite corner with a pint in hand, barely glanced up as Alastor Moody clomped into the dimly lit room. Moody’s wooden leg thumped loudly against the uneven floorboards, his magical eye spinning furiously as he scanned the room out of habit.

 

“Alastor,” came a calm, measured voice from a corner table. Albus Dumbledore sat there, a glass of mead untouched before him, his twinkling eyes partially obscured by his half-moon glasses.

 

Moody grunted. “Albus. What do you want?”

 

Aberforth snorted from his corner, muttering, “Finally, someone asks the right bloody question.”

 

Albus’s lips twitched, but he didn’t rise to his brother’s bait. “I understand you had an interesting meeting last night,” he said, gesturing for Moody to join him. “With a man named Gideon Adler.”

 

Moody’s real eye narrowed as he approached the table but didn’t sit. “Let me guess. Mundungus Fletcher was lurking about and couldn’t keep his trap shut.”

 

“Dung’s many things, but discreet isn’t one of them,” Aberforth remarked, taking a swig from his pint.

 

Albus ignored the comment, focusing on Moody. “This Adler... I’d like to know more about him. Specifically, why he sought you out.”

 

Moody’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Of course, you would. Merlin forbid someone in the magical world does something without your knowing.”

 

Aberforth chuckled darkly. “He’s got you there, Albus.”

 

The elder Dumbledore turned a reproachful glance toward his brother before looking back at Moody. “Alastor, you know I only wish to ensure—”

 

“Don’t,” Moody cut him off sharply. “Don’t give me the ‘greater good’ spiel, Albus. I’ve had enough of your ‘ensuring’ to last a lifetime. You think you can poke your long nose into every corner of the world because you’ve decided it’s your responsibility. Well, newsflash, you’re not the omnipotent, all-knowing savior you like to think you are.”

 

Aberforth nearly choked on his drink, laughing. “By Merlin’s beard, Alastor, I might just give you free drinks for life for that one.”

 

Albus sighed, but his expression remained patient. “I simply believe we must tread carefully where men like Adler are concerned. His lineage—”

 

“His lineage,” Moody interrupted again, “is his business. Not yours. The man didn’t ask for your approval, Albus. He came to me because he sees the Ministry for what it is—useless in a real crisis. And he doesn’t trust you, which, frankly, makes him smarter than most.”

 

Aberforth raised his pint in mock salute. “Hear, hear.”

 

Albus’s serene mask cracked slightly, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. “I have never claimed to be infallible, Alastor.”

 

“No, but you act like you are,” Moody retorted. “You think you can manipulate people, pull strings, and ‘guide’ them to your vision of what’s right. But you don’t like it when people make their own bloody choices, do you?”

 

Aberforth leaned back, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Go on, Alastor. Don’t stop now.”

 

Albus opened his mouth to respond, but Moody barrelled on. “You’ve got secrets, Albus. Plenty of them. And maybe you’ve got your reasons, but don’t you dare come sniffing around me about Adler when you’ve got skeletons rattling louder than a banshee.”

 

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Aberforth broke it with a slow clap. “Well said, Moody. Someone had to tell him.”

 

Albus’s gaze softened as he regarded his brother. “Aberforth, this isn’t about—”

 

“It is, though,” Aberforth snapped, setting his glass down with a thud. “You’ve spent your whole life meddling, Albus. And look where it’s gotten us. Ariana’s dead. Gellert ran rampant. And now this Adler fella’s got a bloody point—Hydra’s lurking about, and you’re too busy trying to play chess with people’s lives to see it.”

 

Albus flinched at the mention of Ariana, his composure finally breaking. “Aberforth—”

 

“No,” Aberforth interrupted, his voice hard. “We both know who cast the curse that killed her, Albus. And it wasn’t Gellert. So maybe, just maybe, you don’t get to lecture anyone about responsibility.”

 

Moody’s magical eye fixed on Albus, his expression unreadable. “You want to know about Adler? Fine. He’s smart, resourceful, and determined. He’s not afraid to do what’s necessary to stop Hydra. And right now, I trust him more than I trust you.”

 

With that, Moody turned and stomped toward the bar. “Aberforth, another firewhisky.”

 

“Coming right up,” Aberforth said cheerfully, casting a triumphant look at his older brother.

 

Albus sat alone at the table, the weight of his brother’s words—and his own past—pressing heavily upon him.

 

—

 

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, bathed in the soft golden glow of the candles and the faint ticking of the enchanted instruments that lined the walls. The room, as usual, felt like an extension of his own persona: grand, mysterious, and just slightly overwhelming. Fawkes, perched on his golden stand, tilted his head, letting out a low, contemplative trill.

 

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. The message passed on by Mundungus Fletcher replayed in his mind like a persistent melody.

 

"Somethin’ about chess and pawns. Said he’s not playin’ anyone’s game but his own, but if you wanted a match, you’d best come direct."

 

He frowned slightly, the corners of his mouth turning downward in a rare show of displeasure. Chess and pawns—how often had others accused him of seeing the world as a chessboard, moving pieces at his whim? Moody’s biting words echoed in his ears.

 

"You think you can manipulate people, pull strings, and ‘guide’ them to your vision of what’s right. But you don’t like it when people make their own bloody choices, do you?"

 

And Aberforth’s voice, sharper and more personal, cut even deeper.

 

"We both know who cast the curse that killed her, Albus. And it wasn’t Gellert."

 

Dumbledore sighed, his hand absently stroking his long, silver beard. It was true, wasn’t it? He’d become something of a legend in his own mind—a man others saw as the omnipotent architect of wizarding destiny. And perhaps, in some ways, he had started to believe it himself.

 

But Gideon Adler. The man was a puzzle. Albus didn’t like puzzles he hadn’t orchestrated himself.

 

His fingers tapped lightly on the edge of his desk. Adler’s refusal to play by anyone’s rules intrigued him. The man claimed to be outside the great games of power—neither a piece on the board nor the hand that moved them. If Mundungus’s recounting was accurate (and admittedly, that was always a gamble), Adler was extending a challenge.

 

"Come direct."

 

A faint smile touched Dumbledore’s lips. He could appreciate a man who wasn’t afraid to speak in riddles. It reminded him, ironically, of himself in his younger years—before the weight of Ariana’s death, before Grindelwald, before the years of carefully curated wisdom.

 

But Adler’s lineage was no small matter. Gellert Grindelwald’s name still carried a shadow darker than most dared speak of, and while Dumbledore had long claimed to keep no grudges, the sting of betrayal—personal and philosophical—remained.

 

Was Adler dangerous? Certainly. But danger had always intrigued Albus, hadn’t it? That’s what had drawn him to Gellert all those years ago. And yet, he couldn’t afford to let history repeat itself.

 

His mind shifted back to Moody’s assessment. “Smart, resourceful, and determined. He’s not afraid to do what’s necessary.” That made Adler both a potential ally and a potential threat. Alastor trusted him—grudgingly, yes, but Alastor Moody didn’t extend even grudging trust lightly.

 

Still, Dumbledore thought with a twinge of arrogance he didn’t entirely suppress, Moody’s judgment had its limits. Alastor’s cynicism often blinded him to the grander picture, the delicate balance of light and dark that only Dumbledore, with his unique wisdom, could truly navigate.

 

He glanced at Fawkes, who blinked serenely back at him. “What do you think, my old friend?” he murmured. “Is it time to meet this man who claims not to play the game?”

 

Fawkes tilted his head and let out a soft cry, the sound neither encouraging nor discouraging.

 

Dumbledore rose from his chair, the hem of his robes brushing against the floor as he moved to the window. London’s lights twinkled faintly in the distance, obscured by a thin veil of mist.

 

“Yes,” he said finally, his voice decisive. “I believe I shall meet him. After all, a game of chess is best understood when one sees the player, not just the pieces.”

 

He turned back to his desk, reaching for a piece of parchment and his quill. He would send Adler an owl, proposing a meeting. It was time to see the man behind the enigmatic words.

 

As he wrote, a small part of him wondered—was he still the master of the board? Or had he, somewhere along the way, become a piece himself, moved by forces he no longer fully understood?

 

But Dumbledore brushed the thought aside. Such doubts were unbecoming of a man like him, weren’t they? Surely, if anyone could untangle the truth of Adler’s intentions, it was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

 

Chapter 30: Chapter 29

Gideon Adler sat in a sparsely furnished but impeccably neat flat on the outskirts of London. It wasn’t much—just a temporary base of operations—but it served its purpose. A leather-bound journal lay open on the table before him, filled with his neatly written notes. The topic: Hydra. He had spent months unraveling their web of influence in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds, and each discovery only solidified his resolve to dismantle them completely.

 

The sound of flapping wings drew his attention from his work. He looked up, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as a magnificent phoenix appeared in the room, materializing in a flash of golden fire. Fawkes.

 

Adler leaned back in his chair, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Albus,” he murmured to himself, his voice tinged with amusement. “So predictable.”

 

The phoenix hovered for a moment before gently dropping a letter onto the table. Fawkes regarded Adler with an inscrutable gaze, his golden feathers shimmering in the dim light.

 

Adler inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the bird. “You’ve always had a flair for theatrics, old friend.”

 

Fawkes let out a soft trill, as if acknowledging the statement, before vanishing in another burst of flame.

 

Adler picked up the envelope, his fingers brushing over the familiar handwriting. Dumbledore’s penmanship hadn’t changed in decades. He tore it open and unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the words.

 

---

 

Dear Mr. Adler,

 

Your message, as conveyed through Mr. Fletcher, was received with great interest. It seems we find ourselves circling the same board, though the positions we occupy are far different than in years past with your ancestor Gellert Grindelwald. You intrigue me, as your family always has. Therefore, I propose we meet face to face, without pretense or intermediaries, to discuss the matters that so clearly concern us both.

 

If this arrangement is agreeable to you, I will await you tomorrow evening at 7 o’clock, at the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade. My brother Aberforth has agreed to provide us withl discretion.

 

I trust you will not disappoint me.

 

With warm regards,

Albus Dumbledore

 

---

 

Adler chuckled softly as he folded the letter. “Circling the same board, are we? Always the dramatist.” He stood, crossing to the window and looking out over the London skyline, his mind already weighing the implications of this meeting.

 

Dumbledore’s choice of words was as telling as ever. ‘Without pretense.’ That was a laugh. Albus had always been a man of pretense, weaving his truths with just enough ambiguity to keep others guessing. He played the role of the benevolent sage with such ease that even he had likely started to believe it.

 

Adler’s expression darkened for a moment as memories surfaced—of a younger Dumbledore, brimming with ideals and ambition, of their shared dreams of reshaping the world, and of the catastrophic betrayal that had shattered it all.

 

But that was a lifetime ago. Gellert Grindelwald was dead—or as good as. Gideon Adler had been born in the ashes of that man, forged in the fires of regret and tempered by decades of reflection. He was no longer the boy who had dreamed of conquest, no longer the man consumed by a lust for power.

 

Now, he fought a different battle, one that demanded he confront the very darkness he had once embraced. Hydra was a cancer, its tendrils spreading through both worlds, and Adler had vowed to cut it out at the root.

 

But Dumbledore? He was a complication. The man had always been a master manipulator, and Adler knew better than to trust him. Still, there was value in the meeting. Albus was brilliant, and while his ego often clouded his judgment, his instincts were rarely wrong.

 

Adler’s lips twitched into a wry smile. “I wonder, old friend, if you’ll recognize me when we meet. Or will you see only what you wish to see?”

 

He returned to his desk, slipping the letter into the journal where he kept his notes. Tomorrow would be interesting. If Dumbledore wanted a game of chess, Adler would oblige—but this time, he wouldn’t be the pawn.

 

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Plenty of time to prepare. And if Dumbledore thought he held the upper hand, well... that was just another piece of the game.

 

—

 

The Ancient One was the picture of serenity as she poured tea into delicate porcelain cups. They sat in a sunlit chamber overlooking Kamar-Taj’s serene courtyard, where monks trained in disciplined silence. The contrast between their tranquil surroundings and Harry Potter’s barely-contained chaos was, in Wong’s opinion, cosmic irony at its finest.

 

Harry, perched on the edge of his seat, was gesturing animatedly as he launched into a detailed explanation of his latest breakthrough. “So, hear me out—if you layer the dimensional weave with vibrational frequencies that match the portal’s inherent resonance, you can stabilize it without needing a traditional anchor. It’s like… playing a harp, but instead of strings, you’re plucking at the fabric of reality.”

 

The Ancient One inclined her head, her expression betraying nothing but mild curiosity. “Fascinating. And the inherent instability of using sound as a foundation?”

 

“Minor hiccup,” Harry said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve already calculated the probability of a cascade failure. It’s only 14.6%.”

 

Wong nearly choked on his tea. “Only 14.6%? That’s a one-in-seven chance of catastrophic dimensional collapse!”

 

“Hey, glass half-full, Wong!” Harry shot back. “That’s an 85.4% chance of success. Those are good odds.”

 

The Ancient One suppressed a smile as she sipped her tea. “And what inspired you to explore such an… unorthodox approach?”

 

Harry’s grin widened. “I was reading about harmonic convergence in Temporal Manipulation: Theory and Practice, and it hit me—magic and music are basically the same thing. They’re all about rhythm, intention, and resonance. I mean, look at incantations—they’re like magical lyrics.”

 

Wong set his cup down with a deliberate thud. “And what happens when your ‘magical lyrics’ accidentally summon something from a dimension you didn’t mean to access? Like, oh, I don’t know, Dormammu?”

 

“Dormammu, shmormammu,” Harry said with a shrug. “I’ll just tell him I’m here to bargain. It worked for you, didn’t it?”

 

The Ancient One chuckled softly, a rare sound that made Wong glance at her in disbelief. She turned her calm gaze to Harry. “You have an intriguing perspective, Mr. Potter. Your willingness to experiment is both admirable and dangerous.”

 

“I like to think of it as dangerously admirable,” Harry quipped, earning an eye-roll from Wong.

 

“However,” she continued, setting her cup down, “there is wisdom in tempering enthusiasm with caution. Magic is not merely a tool; it is a force that demands respect.”

 

Harry nodded, his expression growing more serious. “I get that. Really, I do. But isn’t magic also about pushing boundaries? If we never experiment, how do we grow? How do we find new ways to protect people?”

 

The Ancient One studied him for a moment, her piercing gaze seeming to see straight through him. “You remind me of someone I once knew. Brilliant, passionate, and reckless.”

 

“Let me guess,” Harry said with a lopsided grin. “Stephen Strange?”

 

The Ancient One’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “No. Gellert Grindelwald.”

 

Harry froze, his grin faltering. Wong smirked into his tea, satisfied that the Ancient One had finally managed to throw him off balance.

 

“I’m not saying you share his ideology,” she clarified gently. “But like him, you have a tendency to dive headfirst into the unknown, trusting your intellect to see you through. That is a strength—but it can also be a weakness.”

 

Harry swallowed, his vibrant energy dimmed just slightly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Wong leaned back, folding his arms. “About time someone got through that thick skull of yours.”

 

Harry shot him a glare, but the Ancient One raised a hand, and silence fell. “Mr. Potter,” she said, her tone warm yet firm, “I see great potential in you. You are a seeker of knowledge, unafraid to challenge convention. That is a rare and valuable trait. But remember, true mastery comes not from knowing everything, but from knowing when to step back.”

 

Harry nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Got it. Less ‘mad scientist,’ more ‘wise sage.’”

 

“Something like that,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

 

Wong cleared his throat. “If you’re done handing him compliments, perhaps we can discuss how to ensure he doesn’t blow up the library.”

 

Harry’s grin returned in full force. “Oh, come on, Wong. You’re just mad because I’m better at this than you were at my age.”

 

Wong gave him a withering look. “You are insufferable.”

 

“And you love it,” Harry shot back, raising his teacup in a mock toast.

 

The Ancient One chuckled again, shaking her head. “Tea with the two of you is never dull.”

 

As the conversation shifted to safer topics, Harry couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. Sure, he still had a lot to learn, but if he could impress even the Ancient One, he had to be doing something right. Now, if only Wong would stop glaring at him like he was a magical ticking time bomb.

 

—

 

The Ancient One sipped her tea in contemplative silence after Wong’s departure, letting the tranquility of the room settle for a moment before speaking. Her tone was gentle, but her words carried the weight of unspoken truths.

 

"Harry," she began, setting her cup down carefully, "I understand the allure of diving into knowledge, of losing yourself in the pursuit of answers. But life, as you know, is rarely confined to books or theories. Sometimes, the people who matter most are the ones who bring us the clarity we seek."

 

Harry, still flipping through Magical Flora of the Multiverse, paused mid-page. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond immediately, sensing there was more to come.

 

"Your teammates—Natasha, Barnes, James, and Sirius—are preparing for a mission," she continued, her gaze steady. "They plan to extract Alexei Shostakov from a heavily fortified prison. A delicate operation, fraught with risk. They may require your help."

 

Harry frowned, setting the book aside. “Alexei Shostakov? The Red Guardian? He’s… still alive? I thought—wait, no, that’s classified intel. Of course, you know. Why am I even surprised?” He shook his head, his vibrant energy dimming slightly. “But why didn’t they ask me? I mean, I’ve been right here. Wong’s already tried to kick me out twice.”

 

The Ancient One tilted her head, studying him carefully. “Perhaps they thought you were too occupied. Or perhaps,” she added softly, “they sense the distance you’ve been placing between yourself and them.”

 

That caught Harry off guard. His mouth opened to protest but closed again just as quickly. “I’m not—I mean, I’m not avoiding them,” he said finally, though the words sounded unconvincing even to himself. “I’m just… busy. There’s so much to learn, so much to do. If I can master this stuff, I’ll be better prepared to protect them, to protect everyone.”

 

The Ancient One leaned back, her expression unreadable. “Noble reasons, to be sure. But nobility can be a lonely road, Harry. It often convinces us that pushing others away is for their benefit, even when it’s truly about shielding ourselves.”

 

Harry’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his Vibranium claws tapping rhythmically against the arm of his chair. “I can’t let them get hurt because of me. Not again. Every time I let myself get close to someone, they—” He stopped, his voice catching for a moment. “They always pay the price.”

 

“And so you seek to protect them by retreating into solitude,” she said, her voice neither accusatory nor pitying, simply matter-of-fact. “But isolation is not protection, Harry. It is a wall. One that keeps out love and support as much as it keeps out pain.”

 

Harry let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “You’re starting to sound like my mom.”

 

“Lily is a wise woman,” she replied with a small smile. “And like the rest of your team, she understands something you have yet to fully grasp: the strength of a team. Of family.”

 

Harry didn’t answer immediately. He knew she was right, of course. She always was. But the thought of rejoining them, of putting them in danger again, made his chest tighten. “What if I go, and something happens to them? What if—what if I can’t save them?”

 

The Ancient One reached for her tea, her movements slow and deliberate. “Fear of loss is a natural part of life, Harry. But it is not a reason to abandon those who care for you. In fact, it is precisely why you must stand with them, rather than apart. Together, you are stronger. Together, you can face challenges that would break any one of you alone.”

 

Harry stared at the intricate pattern of the carpet beneath his feet, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. “So, what are you saying? That I should pack up my books and join them on this mission? Play happy family again?”

 

She smiled faintly, her eyes twinkling with a mix of wisdom and mischief. “I am saying that sometimes, the answers you seek in books can only be found in the bonds you share with others. And perhaps, in this mission, you will find more than just an old comrade to rescue. Perhaps you will find yourself.”

 

Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You know, for someone who claims not to meddle, you’re pretty good at it.”

 

The Ancient One chuckled softly. “A necessary skill, when dealing with someone as stubborn as you.”

 

Harry smirked despite himself, then stood, his Vibranium claws retracting with a metallic snikt. “Alright, alright. I’ll go. But if my mom starts lecturing me about ‘family values,’ I’m blaming you.”

 

She inclined her head, her smile growing. “I will bear the blame with pride.”

 

As Harry left the room, his mind whirling with thoughts of his father, his godfather, and his teammates, the Ancient One watched him go, a quiet satisfaction settling in her chest. She had nudged him toward the path he needed to walk—but as always, the journey itself was his to take.

 

—

 

The war room was buzzing with the final touches of the plan. James, Sirius, Bucky, and Natasha were in full operational mode, prepping gear, checking intel, and triple-checking escape routes. The air was thick with urgency. Lily, who had joined them for the final strategic meeting, was reviewing the magical elements of the operation, her brow furrowed in concentration as she adjusted a few of the magical seals and charms they’d need to bypass the prison’s defenses.

 

“This Disillusionment charm will buy us a few minutes, but we need to make sure the wards don’t react to magical interference,” Lily muttered, glancing over at Natasha, who was reviewing the security footage one last time.

 

Sirius, who was fiddling with an explosive device, looked up. “Don’t worry, Lil. We’ve got everything in place. No way those magical wards are gonna stop us.” He gave a roguish grin, though his eyes betrayed a hint of concern. He wasn’t taking this lightly.

 

Lily’s gaze softened momentarily, but only for a second. Then she snapped back into professional mode, casting a pointed look at him. “You just focus on not blowing yourself up, Padfoot. Or anyone else in the vicinity, for that matter.”

 

James chuckled. “Let’s hope that explosion doesn’t end up being your farewell gift, Sirius.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll save it for the Hydra agents," Sirius quipped, adjusting his gear with a wink.

 

But before anyone could say more, the temperature in the room seemed to shift. A soft hum echoed through the air, followed by a golden light that rippled through the shadows of the war room. The glowing portal expanded, shimmering in mid-air until it stabilized. It was a sight that none of them had expected, and they all froze for a moment.

 

Then, stepping through the portal, came Harry.

 

He was wearing the armor that everyone had seen on the footage after his rescue of Nick Fury’s team—the red and gold gleaming with an otherworldly sheen. His cloak, the Cloak of Levitation, fluttered dramatically behind him as he stepped into the room with the kind of swagger that only Harry Potter could pull off.

 

"Hey, hey, hey!" Harry greeted with a grin that was pure mischief, his tone light and teasing as he scanned the group. "Need a hand, or were you planning on going in without me?”

 

The team immediately recognized him. The armor—much more refined now—was a dead giveaway. But it wasn’t just the armor. The presence, the way he walked, the subtle confidence in his gaze, was unmistakable. They all had seen the footage of him taking down Hydra agents alongside Fury's team, and here he was, standing in front of them, his usual cheeky self as if nothing had changed.

 

Lily’s face instantly morphed from businesslike focus to a mix of surprise and, to everyone’s shock, mild irritation. She threw her hands up in a mock display of exasperation. “You,” she began, pointing at him, “have some explaining to do. The last time I saw you, you were off saving Fury’s team, and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you since. Not a letter, not a call—nothing! And you—” she jabbed a finger at him again, her eyes narrowing as she walked up to him. “—had the audacity to walk in here like you’ve been on a vacation. Do you know how much you worried your father and me? And I don’t care if you were learning the Mystical Arts! You're still our son, and you're still going to explain yourself.”

 

Harry blinked, caught off-guard by his mother’s sudden outburst. “Mum, come on. I did try and send a couple of owls—well, technically, they were more like raven-like creatures—after all, they were really far out. But who’s counting, right?” He grinned, trying to smooth things over with his usual charisma.

 

But Lily wasn’t having it. “You don’t just disappear for months without so much as a single owl or anything. You’re lucky I’m not sending you back to Hogwarts for a detention.”

 

James, watching from the sidelines, chuckled, not quite able to hide his amusement. “It’s good to see you, son,” he said with a grin, “but your mother’s right. You do owe us an explanation.”

 

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender, his smile never wavering. “Alright, alright, I get it! I’ll make it up to you. You know, with, like, some quality time. After, of course, we save the day again. Because—” he glanced at the map with a wink “—I’ve got all the plans for this mission. Trust me, I’ve been keeping busy. It’s not like I’ve been sitting around playing Quidditch or anything.”

 

His eyes flicked briefly over to Natasha, and a small, knowing smile tugged at his lips. The tension from their last encounter, the kiss they’d shared before his departure, lingered just under the surface, but neither of them spoke about it. Natasha’s gaze briefly softened, but her professional demeanor quickly took over.

 

"Good to see you, Potter," she said, her voice steady but with an underlying warmth.

 

Sirius, still leaning casually against the wall, grinned. “So you finally made it, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised. I mean, you did have that whole ‘dramatic entrance’ thing down to an art form. Good timing though; you just missed your mother’s lecture.” He gave Harry an exaggerated wink.

 

Harry smirked back, tossing him a playful salute. "Ah, don’t worry, Sirius. I’m used to the lectures. But hey—" Harry shifted, tapping the edge of the table with one gloved hand "—if we're all ready, I’ll gladly jump in and handle the heavy lifting. I’ll be the distraction while you all sneak in. Sound good?"

 

Bucky, who had been observing the exchange with quiet amusement, grunted in approval. “You’re not kidding when you say you’ve got some impressive armor. And a dramatic entrance. Alright, Potter. Let’s see what you can do.”

 

Natasha gave him a small nod. “We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

 

Harry leaned back, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, I’m not one to not help out when there's a chance for some fun. Now, what’s the plan, and where do I fit in?”

 

The room went silent for a moment as the rest of the team, now energized by Harry’s sudden arrival, refocused. They all understood the stakes of the mission, and with Harry now officially on board, they were ready to move forward. But as the minutes ticked away, Lily finally gave in, her voice softening just a touch.

 

“I just wish you’d keep us in the loop more often, Harry.”

 

Harry gave her a sheepish grin, his tone light but sincere. “I will, Mum. I promise. After this mission, I’ll make it up to you both. But right now, we’ve got a Red Guardian to rescue.”

 

And with that, the team gathered around the table again, their resolve strengthening. The mission was set, and with Harry Potter—now in his shining armor—by their side, there was no question they were going to succeed.

 

—

 

As the team moved through the safehouse, finalizing details and reviewing every step of their plan, Harry's presence remained firmly anchored in their minds. His sudden arrival had thrown everything into disarray, but there was a comfort in having him there, even if it wasn’t quite in the way they’d anticipated.

 

Sirius, who had been studying Harry’s cloak with an interested gleam in his eye, broke the silence with a grin. "Alright, mate, you’ve got to tell me about the cloak. I mean, I know it’s magical or whatever, but it looks like it could be straight out of a fairy tale." He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the fabric, making the cloak ripple as if alive.

 

Harry smirked. “This old thing? It’s not just for show. It’s the Cloak of Levitation. And it’s… well, alive, in a way. So, yeah, I’ve got this fancy piece of fabric doing more than just keeping me warm.” He gave the cloak a gentle tug, and it responded by swaying dramatically, almost as if bowing to its own importance.

 

James, always one for practicality, narrowed his eyes at Harry. “You know, instead of all this sneaky stuff, why don’t we just use your portals to bust Shostakov out? Get him out in an instant. No need for this whole ‘sneak and grab’ plan.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “It’s not quite that simple, Dad. Sure, the portals are handy, but I can’t just open a portal wherever I want without some… consequences. It's not like teleporting on a whim—there’s a bit of a balance involved. I can’t just whisk someone out of a high-security prison without messing with the fabric of reality, and believe me, you don’t want me to do that.”

 

Lily, who had been quietly watching, her arms crossed, now stepped forward. Her eyes softened for just a moment, though her tone was sharp. “And as much as you like to avoid family reunions, I’m more interested in how you upgraded the armor. Last I checked, the Revenant Armor you wore was made of vibranium-laced fabric.” She circled him, eyes narrowing as she studied the gleaming metallic sheen of his armor. "This? This is something else. So, what’s the real story?"

 

Harry’s expression shifted to something a little more serious, but there was still that edge of humor in his voice. “Well, you could say I had a little help. The Cloak of Levitation... merged with the original armor.” He ran a hand along the breastplate, the light glinting off the shimmering surface. “It’s not just an upgrade—it’s a fusion.”

 

As he spoke, the armor seemed to react, shifting and flowing seamlessly as though it were part of the fabric of the cloak itself. Then, as if on cue, the armor retracted, melting back into the cloak in a fluid motion. The cloak, now seemingly alive in a way, swirled and fluttered, almost like it was bowing to the group.

 

“Isn’t it a beauty?” Harry said with a grin, his tone almost playful. "I mean, it’s got a mind of its own now. The armor and the cloak are… well, they're one now.”

 

The cloak gave another small flutter, almost like it was showing off, and then, just as quickly, the armor returned to its original place, snapping back into its intricate design and settling on Harry's form with a quiet hum.

 

Lily, despite her irritation over Harry’s absence, couldn't help but marvel at the way the armor had responded. "You really do get all the cool stuff, don’t you?"

 

“I like to think I’m just really good at shopping for magical and highly advanced tech,” Harry quipped with a smirk.

 

Sirius, never one to let an opportunity pass, leaned in, his grin widening. "So, this armor? Can it do the whole ‘disappearing act’ too, or is it just the cloak that gets all the fancy tricks?"

 

Harry winked. “Give it time, Padfoot. Who knows? It might surprise you.”

 

The moment of levity didn’t last long, though. Natasha stepped forward, breaking up the banter with a pointed look. “Alright, enough of the family reunion. We’ve got a plan to execute. If Harry’s got the goods to help, I’d say now’s the time to start putting those abilities to use.”

 

James nodded, his tone turning serious once more. "We stick to the plan. If Harry’s here to help, we use whatever’s in his arsenal, but we don’t deviate unless we absolutely have to."

 

Harry gave a mock salute, his grin returning. "Sure thing, Dad. I'll try not to make any unnecessary entrances. Wouldn’t want to upstage the rest of the team."

 

Lily sighed, though there was affection in her gaze. "Just don’t make a habit of saving the world without visiting your family first, okay?"

 

"I’ll try to remember that," Harry said, his expression softening for a moment before his usual mischievous grin returned. "Now, let’s go rescue a former Soviet supersoldier, shall we?"

 

—

 

As the plane hummed steadily through the skies, the tension from the earlier conversation began to settle, but Harry couldn’t quite shake the undercurrent of discomfort from his interaction with his parents and Sirius. It had been too long since he'd been back with them—too long since he'd had a proper conversation with any of them.

 

But there was one conversation that lingered in his mind, and it wasn’t the kind that could be avoided forever.

 

Natasha sat across from him, her posture as composed as ever, though Harry caught the subtle flick of her eyes every now and then as if she was waiting for him to acknowledge the elephant in the room. He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, as if bracing himself for what was coming. He didn’t need to wait long.

 

"So, about that kiss," Natasha’s voice was low, her usual steely composure cracked just enough for Harry to catch the edge of something far more personal.

 

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I figured we’d have to talk about that eventually."

 

She arched an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. "You’ve got a way of dodging the hard conversations, don’t you, Potter?"

 

Harry chuckled bitterly, half-smiling. "I learned from the best," he muttered, his gaze flicking toward where his parents sat, deep in conversation with Sirius.

 

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. "That’s not what I mean, and you know it."

 

He glanced at her then, her expression steady but those bright green eyes tracking him carefully. "What do you want me to say, Natasha? I didn’t—"

 

“You didn’t come back.” She cut him off, voice sharp but not unkind. "You saved Fury, and then you disappeared. You didn’t even come to talk to me or check in. Just... nothing." The words were quieter now, and she leaned forward, her hands resting on her lap. "I know you’ve got your reasons. I’ve seen you running from things before. But I can’t pretend it didn’t hurt, Harry."

 

He exhaled slowly, a knot tightening in his chest. He had known it would come up, and maybe it was time to stop avoiding it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Natasha. I… I didn’t know what to do with that kiss. It was my first. Hell, my only kiss. And I didn't—I didn’t even know what it meant, or what I wanted it to mean."

 

Natasha tilted her head, watching him with that calm, knowing gaze. "It wasn’t about the kiss, though, was it?"

 

Harry paused. That was the thing about Natasha. She could read people like an open book, and it was hard to hide behind his usual bravado with her. He could feel the weight of the words she wasn’t saying.

 

"No," he admitted softly. "It wasn’t about the kiss. It was… about not feeling like I had the right to come back. After everything with Fury, and with the mess I left behind... I didn’t feel like I deserved to."

 

"Deserved what?" Natasha’s voice was soft, though still laced with an edge. "To come back and face the people who care about you? You think it was easy for me to watch you leave that night?"

 

He shook his head, his voice thickening with the weight of the confession. "I never meant for it to be this way. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I had to learn everything first, before I could come back and face anyone."

 

"You can’t learn everything, Harry. Sometimes you just have to be here. With us. Even if you don’t have all the answers."

 

Her words hit harder than any punch, and Harry felt the truth of them settle deep in his chest. He’d spent so much time running, trying to learn everything, that he’d lost sight of the one thing that had always been there: the people who cared about him. He’d thought distancing himself was the solution, when in reality, it had only made the distance grow wider.

 

“I didn’t mean to push you away, Nat,” he said quietly. “But I… I guess I thought it was easier than facing the fact that I don’t know what I’m doing. I never have.”

 

She studied him for a moment, the soft light of the plane’s cabin catching the intensity in her gaze. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t have it figured out, Harry. None of us do. But we’re still here, aren’t we?”

 

Harry swallowed, nodding slowly. His eyes met hers, and for the first time since he’d returned, the weight in his chest seemed to lighten. He couldn’t change the past, couldn’t take back the time he’d wasted running, but maybe, just maybe, he could start being honest now.

 

“I’m sorry, Natasha. For everything. And I promise… I’ll do better this time. I’ll be here.”

 

The small, almost imperceptible nod she gave in response told him all he needed to know. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily, but she was willing to try. That was more than he had hoped for.

 

"Good," she said with a small, wry smile. "Because if you're going to get into any more dangerous situations with me, I’m going to need someone who actually knows how to stick around."

 

Harry smirked, though it was a softer, more genuine expression than he’d shown in a while. "Wouldn’t dream of running off again."

 

And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like he might actually be able to keep that promise.

Chapter 31: Chapter 30

The hum of the jet engines filled the cabin as Harry approached his parents and Sirius, a sly grin already forming. They were seated around a table, sharing whispered banter that, knowing them, probably involved pranking ideas for the pilot or something equally juvenile. At least Sirius was contributing to that part of the conversation.

 

Harry cleared his throat theatrically. “If I could have your attention, ladies and gents.”

 

James raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat with a smirk. “What’s this? Is our boy about to give us a lecture?”

 

“I’m about to give you something better than a lecture, Dad. Try to keep up.” Harry pulled at the edge of his Cloak of Levitation, which rippled like water catching the morning sun. From its folds emerged three large, leather-bound tomes. They floated mid-air, glowing faintly with an otherworldly aura.

 

James squinted. “Books? Really? You’re giving us homework?”

 

“Shows what you know, Dad,” Harry shot back. “These aren’t just books—they’re magical tomes. Ancient, powerful, very exclusive tomes, which I may or may not have... creatively acquired.”

 

Lily’s eyes widened. “Harry! Where did you get those? They look—” She hesitated, her academic instincts battling with her maternal ones. “—dangerous.”

 

“Oh, they’re dangerous, alright,” Harry admitted with a cheeky grin. “But only if you don’t know what you’re doing. Which is why they’re perfect for the three of you.”

 

Sirius whistled, leaning forward. “And here I thought you’d just inherited your mum’s brains. This level of trouble-making? That’s all Potter.”

 

Harry ignored the jab and turned to Lily first, handing her a book that shimmered with silver runes etched into its cover. “This one’s for you, Mum. It’s about advanced wards and protective magic—stuff that makes the Fidelius Charm look like amateur hour.”

 

Lily took the book carefully, as though it might explode. “Harry, these are from Kamar-Taj, aren’t they? You told us about that place. Didn’t you say the books were... guarded?”

 

“They are,” Harry replied smoothly. “But I didn’t take the originals. I... borrowed the information and made copies. Think of it as magical photocopying.”

 

Lily frowned. “Magical what?”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said quickly, knowing he’d lose her in the explanation. “Point is, no harm, no foul.”

 

---

 

Meanwhile, in the Library of Kamar-Taj…

 

Wong was shelving books when he suddenly stopped. The air around him felt... off. He frowned, muttering a mantra under his breath as golden runes formed in his hands. Moving swiftly, he began inspecting the shelves, his fingers glowing as they hovered over the spines of the tomes.

 

His eyes narrowed. A faint distortion lingered on several of the books—barely noticeable to anyone less vigilant than him. But Wong was Wong.

 

“Potter,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “I warned him. I explicitly warned him. ‘Do not tamper with the texts.’ Does he listen? Of course not.”

 

He stood abruptly, his expression dark. “The Cloak. It’s always the cloak. I should’ve confiscated it when I had the chance.”

 

---

 

Back on the jet, Harry handed the second book to Sirius, who snatched it eagerly. Its cover was adorned with intricate symbols that shifted when touched.

 

“This one’s for you, Sirius. It’s all about transfiguration—beyond anything you might have learned at Hogwarts. There’s even a chapter about turning enemies into statues.”

 

Sirius’s grin widened as he flipped through the pages. “You’re telling me this book can teach me how to out-McGonagall McGonagall? Brilliant.”

 

“I’m not saying you should,” Harry said cautiously. “Just that you could. And if you do, try not to turn Mum into a statue by accident.”

 

“Like I’d ever try that with Lily,” Sirius said, feigning offense. “She’d hex me into next week.”

 

“You’re damn right I would,” Lily muttered, still engrossed in her own book. “These wards are fascinating, Harry. Did you know some of these spells could be used to anchor entire dimensions? Wait—don’t answer that. Of course you knew.”

 

Harry smirked and finally turned to James, handing him the last book. This one was bound in black leather, its cover embossed with the image of crossed swords. “Here you go, Dad. Combat magic. Everything from dueling to enchanted weaponry.”

 

James’s eyes gleamed as he took the book. “Combat magic, huh? So this is where you get all those flashy tricks of yours.”

 

“Some of them,” Harry admitted. “But don’t get cocky. That book won’t turn you into a master overnight.”

 

James flipped through the pages, nodding appreciatively. “Well, don’t expect me to wait overnight to try some of this out. Sirius, you up for a duel when we land?”

 

“Oh, bring it, Potter,” Sirius said, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s see who’s the better marauder.”

 

---

 

Back at Kamar-Taj, Wong stood before the shelves, now glowing faintly with golden light. His expression was a mixture of fury and resignation.

 

“I swear,” he muttered to himself, “if Harry Potter ever steps foot in this library again, I’m hexing that cloak into a rug.”

 

---

 

On the jet, Lily finally looked up, her brow furrowed. “Harry, you’re sure Wong won’t find out about this? You said he’s the Master Librarian, didn’t you? He’s bound to notice something.”

 

Harry hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “Mum, come on. What are the odds he’s going to check every single book in his library?”

 

Sirius snorted. “Famous last words, kid.”

 

Lily gave Harry a look that clearly said you’d better hope you’re right. But for now, she said nothing, her attention already drifting back to the book.

 

As the jet soared through the clouds, Harry leaned back, watching his family delve into the tomes he’d brought them. A smile played at his lips. Sure, Wong might be onto him, but he’d deal with that later. For now, seeing his mum, dad, and godfather this excited about magic? It was more than worth the risk.

 

—

 

The jet’s engines slowed as it descended smoothly toward the abandoned landing strip, a little-known airfield nestled far off the radar in enemy territory. The moonlight glinted off the metallic hull of the sleek aircraft, casting long shadows across the ground as it touched down with barely a sound. The landing strip was isolated, surrounded by sparse trees and a distant stretch of desolate land, making it the perfect location for a discreet rendezvous.

 

As the jet’s engines powered down, the hatch opened, and the team began to file out. Natasha, wearing a look of calm readiness, was the first to step out. Her eyes quickly scanned the surroundings, always alert, always calculating. Bucky followed her closely, his stance tense, fingers brushing over the grip of his gun, though he didn't draw it just yet.

 

Behind them, Harry stood tall in his Revenant Armor, the Cloak of Levitation trailing slightly behind him like a living extension of himself. His demeanor was relaxed, but his heightened senses told him to stay alert. Lily, James, and Sirius brought up the rear, their eyes scanning the strip and the forest beyond, more out of habit than necessity.

 

They were greeted by a lone figure standing under the dim glow of a nearby lamp. A young man in his mid-twenties, wearing a dark bomber jacket and holding a clipboard, leaned against an old military vehicle. His posture was relaxed, but his sharp eyes gave him away—a man who knew the score.

 

Rick Mason pushed off from the vehicle and walked forward with an easy smile, offering a nod of acknowledgment to Natasha and Bucky.

 

“Everything on schedule?” Natasha asked as she walked up to him, her tone all business.

 

“Yeah, we’re good,” Rick said with a hint of confidence. His eyes flickered briefly to Harry, then to the others. He hadn’t met most of them, but the fact they were associated with Natasha and Bucky made it clear they were people to be taken seriously. He gave a brief but respectful nod to each one. “I’ve got the chopper ready, just like you requested. The strip’s clear for takeoff, and I’ll keep it clear while you’re gone.”

 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed for a moment as he sized up Rick, though he didn't say anything. Rick could feel the scrutiny, but he didn’t let it rattle him.

 

Harry, still in his armor, adjusted his cloak and gave Rick a lopsided grin. “Chopper, huh? Sounds like a plan. You sure you can keep the place quiet while we're on the job?”

 

Rick raised an eyebrow, his casual demeanor not betraying the seriousness of his role. “I don’t know. How loud do you think it’s gonna get when you're breaking a guy out of a prison that’s practically a fortress? But yeah, I’ll manage.” He shot Natasha a brief glance, his grin turning slightly more professional. “You don’t have to worry about me. I know how to handle things.”

 

Lily, who had been silent until now, narrowed her eyes with an almost motherly scrutiny. “You’re the one who keeps this place running, right? I don't suppose you’ve heard of... keeping things on a need-to-know basis?”

 

Rick blinked, momentarily caught off-guard by her directness. He glanced between Natasha and Bucky for confirmation, but they both gave him silent signals to roll with it.

 

“I’m pretty good at keeping my secrets,” Rick replied smoothly. “But just so we’re clear, I’ll be sticking to the plan. The only thing I care about is getting you all in and out. No one needs to know who I’m helping and why, yeah?”

 

James chuckled, the warmth of his voice matching the amusement in his eyes. “I like this one. He’s got the right attitude.”

 

Sirius grinned. “We’ll see how he holds up when things get messy.”

 

Rick’s grin widened, but his expression became more serious. “I’ve seen my fair share of messy. But you guys? This will be something special.”

 

With a final nod, Rick turned toward the helicopter—an aging but reliable model parked a little further down the strip, its rotors gleaming in the weak moonlight. The landing area was isolated enough that the noise wouldn't attract attention, but Rick made sure to start it up slowly, making sure everything was running smoothly before turning back toward the team.

 

“Chopper’s ready for you,” he said, “I’ll start refueling the jet while you get to work. You know where to find me if anything goes south.”

 

Bucky gave him a sharp nod and then glanced at Natasha. “Alright. Let’s go get Alexei.”

 

Harry’s armored form stepped forward, the Cloak of Levitation fluttering slightly around him as he adjusted his stance. “Sounds like fun. Just don’t go getting any ideas while we’re gone, alright? I’ll need that jet for the extraction.”

 

“I’ll be ready,” Rick replied, a bit of humor flashing in his eyes.

 

As the group moved toward the helicopter, James paused for a moment, placing a hand on Rick’s shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable here. We’ll be back before you know it.”

 

Rick chuckled. “I’m counting on it. Safe travels.”

 

With that, the team boarded the helicopter, the rotors kicking up dust as it lifted into the air, heading toward their mission. Below, Rick Mason got to work, refueling the jet and preparing for the inevitable escape. The tension was rising, but the clock was ticking.

 

—

 

The helicopter touched down with a soft thud on the barren stretch of land, a safe distance from the heavily fortified Seventh Circle Prison. The area was eerily quiet, with nothing but the faint rustle of wind and the low hum of the helicopter's engines dying down. Natasha, Bucky, and Harry were the first to disembark, followed by Lily, James, and Sirius. They crouched low, their eyes darting to the looming silhouette of the prison in the distance, bathed in the harsh light of flood lamps.

 

Lily immediately narrowed her eyes, her hand instinctively reaching for the talisman hanging around her neck. A shiver ran down her spine as she began to sense something—a deep, ancient magic guarding the prison. The Wards. They were thick and strong, designed to repel even the most skilled magic users.

 

“I can feel them,” Lily murmured, her voice low but filled with determination. “The Wards are strong. I’ll need to dismantle them before we can get inside.”

 

Sirius, ever the optimist, raised an eyebrow. “You sure you can handle that? Those Wards are meant to keep out the worst of the worst.”

 

“I’m sure,” Lily replied, her voice tinged with confidence. She had faced more than her share of complex magical barriers over the years, and this wouldn’t be any different.

 

She began to raise her hand, the familiar hum of magic swirling around her as she prepared to take down the first Ward. Her fingers twitched, ready to draw on the vast stores of power within her.

 

But before she could begin her incantation, a soft voice interrupted her.

 

“Mum, hold on,” Harry said, his tone a mixture of reassurance and quiet authority.

 

Lily turned to him, a faint frown tugging at her lips. “What is it, Harry?”

 

Harry’s Revenant Armor shimmered as the Cloak of Levitation wrapped tighter around his shoulders, reacting to his growing concentration. He stepped forward, scanning the horizon. “These Wards are powerful, yes. But… they’re static. They’re not like the fluid, shifting magic we’re used to dealing with. I can get us in without dismantling the Wards at all.”

 

Lily’s brow furrowed. “How? You don’t have the same magical expertise—”

 

“I don’t need it,” Harry interrupted, his voice calm. “I don’t need to break the Wards, just bypass them.”

 

His hand moved fluidly, his fingers tracing intricate runes in the air. The Cloak of Levitation seemed to respond to his intent, fluttering slightly as if alive. With a focused expression, Harry extended his arm and, with a subtle twist of his wrist, formed a glowing Portal in the air. It rippled like water disturbed by a stone.

 

The Portal, glowing with the same red-gold light as his armor, opened directly inside the Ward line, cutting through the magical defenses like a knife through butter. The barrier shimmered and pulsed in response, but it wasn’t enough to stop Harry’s magic. The air around the Portal hummed with power, and the Ward—designed to stop those entering from the outside—didn’t even touch him.

 

“You see,” Harry said, glancing back at Lily, “I don’t need to take the Wards down, I just need to see the other side. It’s much easier to open a Portal when I’ve got line of sight. Opening one to a place I haven’t seen before is… a lot more complicated.”

 

Lily stared at the swirling Portal, her lips pressing together in thought. She had always known Harry had powers that went beyond the normal realm of magic, but seeing him wield such power with ease was something else entirely.

 

“Smart,” Bucky said, his voice laced with admiration. “No need to fight the magic when you can just bypass it.”

 

“Exactly,” Harry replied with a smirk, stepping through the Portal. “And besides, we have a job to do, don’t we?”

 

As the team gathered around the Portal, ready to move forward, Lily took one last glance at the shimmering Ward line. She had been prepared for a challenge, but with Harry’s ability to bypass it, she felt a rush of relief. Sometimes, it was better to leave the heavy lifting to someone who had a different set of skills.

 

“After you, Harry,” she said, her tone warm but tinged with amusement.

 

With a final nod, Harry stepped through the Portal, leading the way into the heart of the prison. One by one, the others followed, emerging on the other side into a shadowy, narrow corridor within the prison's walls.

 

The air was thick with tension, and the faint sound of distant footsteps echoed from deeper within the facility. They were in, and now the real work began.

 

—

 

Once inside the prison's perimeter, the team moved swiftly and silently, their actions choreographed to near perfection. The corridors were dimly lit, narrow, and lined with reinforced steel doors that kept the prisoners within, but the guards, stationed at regular intervals, had no idea they were about to become the first obstacles in their mission.

 

Harry, in his Revenant Armor, moved like a shadow, the Cloak of Levitation trailing behind him. It was almost as though the Cloak itself was a part of his strategy—an ever-watchful, living presence that helped conceal him from the prying eyes of the prison's security systems.

 

Natasha, in her sleek black tactical suit, moved with the practiced grace of a predator. Bucky followed close behind, his metal arm gleaming in the dim light. The trio didn’t make a sound as they approached the first guard station, crouching in the shadows, observing their targets.

 

There were two guards stationed by a steel door. They were standing in front of a control panel, chatting casually in Russian, their comms buzzing with routine chatter. Without a word, Natasha activated the magical voice modulator James and Sirius had rigged up for her, a device small enough to be concealed on her person but powerful enough to transform her voice to match the exact tone and inflection of the guard they needed to impersonate. It had been a makeshift solution to avoid raising suspicions, but it worked.

 

Bucky, standing at the ready, took his position beside Natasha, his eyes scanning the area. Natasha whispered into the comms with perfect precision, “—Status check. All clear, over.”

 

The modulator worked wonders, and from the other side of the comms, the control room operator responded, “Roger that. Stay alert. Prisoner transfer coming up soon.”

 

Natasha nodded to Bucky, who wasted no time in approaching the nearest guard. In a fluid motion, Bucky reached out, his cybernetic arm moving faster than the guard could react. With a sharp crack, Bucky knocked the man unconscious, lifting him into a chokehold before quickly silencing him. The second guard barely had time to turn before Natasha struck, a precise jab to the back of his neck rendering him unconscious in an instant.

 

As they hit the floor, Harry moved with lightning speed, ensuring the guards were neutralized before they had a chance to alert anyone. He took a moment to look at Lily, who was standing quietly, her eyes focused as she stood apart from the action, deep in concentration.

 

Lily’s abilities were crucial. She had been using Legilimency on the unconscious guards before they even fell, carefully sifting through their memories and extracting the necessary codewords they used to report back to the control room. It was a delicate process—gaining just enough information without tipping them off, but Lily was more than capable.

 

With the guards now unconscious and the comms clear, Natasha spoke again into the radio, her voice modulated and cold. “Everything’s fine here. We’ll continue our sweep. Over and out.”

 

The control room operator responded, “Understood. Keep me updated.”

 

With the first set of guards taken care of, the team moved quickly and quietly toward the next checkpoint. Harry was in the lead, his Revenant Armor blending perfectly with the shadows as the Cloak of Levitation rippled ever so slightly, guiding him forward.

 

Every movement was calculated. They couldn’t afford to make a sound. Every guard they encountered was neutralized without incident, and Natasha and Bucky expertly continued their ruse of impersonating the downed guards, sending false reports through the comms to buy them more time.

 

Lily’s eyes never left the unconscious men as she plucked more memories from their minds, pulling out more access codes and the location of key points inside the prison.

 

“Just three more guard posts,” Natasha murmured, her voice a quiet whisper as she relayed the information to the others.

 

Bucky gave a low grunt in acknowledgment, his eyes scanning the corridor ahead.

 

Harry’s armor shimmered slightly, and he muttered under his breath, “Don’t worry. We’ve got this.” His voice, steady and calm, was a sharp contrast to the tension of their mission.

 

The prison was a maze of security, but they had already bypassed the outer layers. Every guard that fell added another layer of protection between them and their target—Alexei Shostakov, who was being held in one of the highest-security cells.

 

Lily’s focus was unwavering. The Legilimency allowed her to find not just codes and locations, but also the subtle fears and anxieties the guards held, giving her insights into possible security flaws. She could almost predict their movements before they even made them.

 

"One more left," Lily whispered, her voice low and steady, her mind still sharp with the mental exertion. "Then we can move inside the compound."

 

“Perfect,” Bucky said, adjusting his grip on his weapon. “Let’s finish this.”

 

With the last guard post down, they were in the clear. They were inside the heart of the prison now, and the final stretch of their mission was about to begin. But even with the smooth operation so far, the knowledge that they still had to extract Alexei—likely surrounded by even more guards and fortified security—loomed large.

 

“We stick to the plan,” Natasha reminded them, her voice calm but resolute. “Get in. Get Alexei. Get out. No mistakes.”

 

Harry gave a sharp nod, the Cloak of Levitation swaying slightly in the air behind him. “We won’t make any. Let’s finish this.”

 

With that, they moved deeper into the prison, each of them on edge but determined to finish what they had come to do. Every step was carefully measured, the stakes higher with each passing second.

 

—

 

James and Sirius worked in perfect sync, their decades-long friendship and shared mischievous streak evident in every move. They were the distractions, the orchestrators of chaos, ensuring the others could do their jobs without interference.

 

James, hidden under the Invisibility Cloak, moved like a shadow through the corridors. His footsteps were light, almost inaudible, but his senses were sharply attuned to every sound around him. With the Cloak draped around him, he was nearly invisible, though he knew he still had to be cautious. Even a faint rustle could alert a guard. His mission was to plant explosive charges at key points within the prison to create the distractions needed. It was a delicate process, one that required precision, but James was the perfect man for the job.

 

As he slipped through the darkened hallways, he thought back to the chaos of their past adventures, the pranks and escapes they'd pulled off in Hogwarts. Those were simpler times. But the stakes now were far higher.

 

"Charge placed, one more to go," he muttered under his breath, his voice a ghostly whisper as he crouched by the junction of two walls, placing a carefully constructed bomb in a corner. The small device was designed to emit a sharp, distracting sound when triggered—just enough to pull the guards' attention away from the others. His movements were deliberate, but with the Invisibility Cloak, it was like he had never been there.

 

Meanwhile, Sirius, hidden by the Disillusionment Charm, moved with a fluid, almost feline grace. The charm made him nearly invisible to the naked eye, but it was the slightest distortion in the air that signaled his presence. He knew the risks, but like James, he thrived on the thrill of the mission. With his keen instincts and unparalleled skills at stealth, he was an invaluable asset to the team.

 

"Sirius, stop messing around with that guard," James muttered through their comms, although his tone was more amused than annoyed. Sirius had always enjoyed toying with people, especially when there was no immediate risk of getting caught.

 

“I’m not messing around, I’m creating an opportunity,” Sirius whispered back, his voice a low chuckle. He had, in fact, distracted a nearby guard by making the man believe he was hearing strange noises coming from another section of the prison. With a quick flick of his wand, Sirius had levitated a small piece of debris just enough to get the guard’s attention and draw him out of his post.

 

Sirius knew it wouldn’t take long for the guard to investigate, and by the time he did, the charge would already be placed. It was a clever tactic to create just enough chaos to shift the guard's focus.

 

“Distraction complete. Keep moving,” James said, his voice still muffled but with a satisfied undertone. "Got one more before we're good to go."

 

Sirius, his charm still in place, silently adjusted his position to join James at the next strategic point. They were both in tune with each other, their shared history of pranks and daring adventures making them an unstoppable team when it came to subterfuge.

 

"I love this part," Sirius murmured, still invisible, as they approached the last guard checkpoint. He was enjoying himself—thriving in the chaotic energy of the mission, even though it was far more dangerous than anything they'd done before. "You know, if this whole 'saving people from prisons' thing doesn’t work out, we could always go back to pranking Voldemort's guys."

 

James snorted under his breath, his eyes glinting with humor despite the gravity of the situation. "I think we're a little past that, mate. But I'll never say no to some good old-fashioned mischief. Let's get this last one done."

 

The two of them were pros at working under the radar, and the explosive charges were as much about misdirection as they were about causing real damage. With these carefully placed devices, they could cripple parts of the prison’s security system—disabling cameras, disabling guards' comms, and even triggering alarms that would send reinforcements scrambling in the wrong direction.

 

By the time they finished placing the last charge, the countdown was set. James slipped back into the shadows, his Cloak blending seamlessly with the darkness around him, while Sirius paused only long enough to cast a final spell to ensure the charge would go off without detection.

 

“Boom, boom, and boom. We’re done here,” Sirius whispered with a grin, though he knew the real work was still ahead. “Now, let's get to the rendezvous point and cover the others. I’ve got an itch to blow something up.”

 

James couldn’t help but laugh, the tension lifting for just a moment. “You’re going to get us all caught one day with that attitude.”

 

“Not if we get out first,” Sirius quipped, his voice tinged with mischief. He knew the risk, but he'd also learned long ago that the adrenaline of a mission like this was worth every second of it.

 

As the two of them slipped away to meet up with the others, the air around the prison seemed to grow thicker, the tension rising with every passing second. But, as always, James and Sirius had made sure that their part of the plan would go off without a hitch, giving Natasha, Bucky, and Harry the cover they needed to get closer to Shostakov.

 

With their charges in place and their roles complete, the duo merged into the shadows, silently awaiting the next move in their audacious operation.

 

—

 

The tension inside the prison walls was palpable as the first explosive charge detonated. The loud bang rang through the hallways, followed by the sharp, high-pitched screech of the secondary alarms as cameras short-circuited and lights flickered. A ripple of panic spread among the guards who had been positioned at the outer perimeters. Half of them immediately rushed toward the sound, their minds already calculating the immediate threat.

 

However, not all of them were fooled.

 

The Warden, a man with a cold, calculating mind, immediately recognized the pattern. He'd been in this business too long, seen too many diversion tactics used over the years. He ordered the guards on his command to stay put, his voice firm and precise over the comms. "Stay on your posts. This could be a distraction—do not move unless I tell you." He wasn't about to let a few well-timed explosions pull him away from his job. It was a calculated risk, but one he knew would work. They'd wait and see.

 

James and Sirius, safely out of view and waiting in the shadows, could hear the shift in the guards' movements through their comms. Some had rushed to investigate, but others remained, their senses sharp, clearly suspicious. It was a gamble that had half paid off.

 

"We need to move," James muttered into his earpiece, his heart racing. "They’re not all buying it. Revenant, you might want to step in sooner than planned."

 

From his position inside the prison, Harry—Revenant—felt the change in the air. The guards’ confused chatter turned to cautious whispers as they fell back into their positions, with some of them hesitating before returning to their patrol routes. Harry could sense the magic of the wards still buzzing around him, but it wasn’t the mystical barriers that concerned him right now. It was the guards who hadn’t been fooled by the diversion.

 

The Revenant armor hummed to life around him as Harry made a split-second decision. The time for subtlety was over. His Vibranium claws extended with a metallic snikt, gleaming ominously under the low, flickering light. He stepped out from the shadows, revealing his full form to the few remaining guards who hadn't moved in response to the explosion.

 

"Guess the party’s over," Harry muttered to himself, stepping forward with the Cloak of Levitation flowing behind him like a shadowy trail. His voice, amplified by the magical resonance of the Cloak, echoed through the corridor, sending a ripple of unease through the guards who were still at their posts.

 

The remaining guards stiffened, recognizing the silhouette of the armored figure approaching. But before they could raise their weapons, Harry was already moving, his Vibranium claws flashing with deadly intent. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance, slashing through one guard’s chest before they could even react. Another guard fell to the ground with a guttural scream as Harry used a burst of magical energy to force them back into the wall. The remaining two guards tried to draw their weapons, but Harry was already on them, faster than they could process.

 

In the chaos, he was a blur—striking, slashing, and incapacitating with brutal efficiency. A simple flick of his wrist sent one of the guards flying across the hall as his claws tore through their uniform. Another guard attempted to radio for reinforcements, but Harry’s hand was already on his throat, cutting the transmission before he could utter a word.

 

The whole thing was over in seconds. The last two guards lay unconscious on the cold concrete floor, their comms crackling with static. Harry stood amidst them, his armor gleaming in the dim light as his Cloak of Levitation swirled around him, the magic amplifying his presence.

 

As the dust settled, Harry turned his attention back to the mission. "All clear on this side," he said, his voice calm, but there was an edge of urgency to it. "Natasha, Bucky, it's your turn."

 

On the other side of the prison, Natasha and Bucky, still hidden under their Disillusionment Charms, had already started moving toward the inner section of the facility. They knew they didn’t have much time to waste. They had to move quickly and quietly if they were going to reach Alexei Shostakov without raising more alarms.

 

Natasha, with her finely honed instincts, led the way, using the disorienting chaos Harry had caused to stay under the radar. Bucky, following closely behind her, was equally stealthy, his enhanced senses picking up the faintest sounds or movements that might give them away. Both of them had been trained to operate in environments like this, so the silence between them was almost unnatural, save for the soft swish of their movements.

 

"Keep your head down," Natasha murmured through their comms, her voice low and controlled. "We need to get in, get him, and get out. Simple as that."

 

Bucky nodded, his eyes scanning the hallway in front of them as they crept toward the cell block where Alexei was being held. They’d been briefed, and they knew exactly where to go. But with the guards still on high alert, it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the missing bodies and started looking for answers.

 

Behind them, the hallway remained eerily quiet. But as they neared the door to Alexei’s cell, the hair on the back of Natasha’s neck stood on end. They had to move faster—time was running out.

 

Meanwhile, Harry’s voice echoed in their earpieces again, his tone steady. “I’m holding off the rest, but there’s only so much time before they send reinforcements. Get to him, now.”

 

Natasha gave a silent nod to Bucky, and they both shifted into high gear. They made it to Alexei’s cell within minutes, the sound of their steps muted under the Disillusionment Charms. Without hesitation, Natasha took a position by the door, her hand ready on the handle, while Bucky was already checking the lock. With a flick of his wrist, he disabled the mechanism, and the door silently swung open.

 

Inside, Alexei Shostakov lay on the cot, looking disheveled but very much alive. His eyes narrowed in surprise as Natasha stepped into view first, her charm fading as she approached.

 

“Time to go, Alexei,” Natasha said, her voice calm but filled with purpose. "We’re getting you out of here."

 

Bucky stepped in behind her, his mechanical arm flexing as he scanned for any immediate threats. "Let’s move," he added, keeping his eyes on the hallway just outside.

 

With one last glance toward the hallway, Natasha grabbed Alexei by the arm and motioned for Bucky to lead the way out. They had come this far. Now it was time to make their exit, before the Warden could react.

Chapter 32: Chapter 31

Alexei squinted at the figure stepping into his cell, his brow furrowing. His beard was unkempt, his hair wild, but his sharp eyes hadn’t dulled in the years of confinement. When the dim light revealed Natasha Romanoff standing there, his confusion turned to a mix of disbelief and cautious hope.

 

“Natalia?” he said slowly, his voice deep and roughened by years of yelling at guards and singing songs to annoy them. He stepped closer, towering over her, but there was a softness in his gaze—a flicker of the paternal protectiveness that had always lingered beneath his gruff exterior. “What... what are you doing here? Did they lock you up too? You finally mouthed off to the wrong person?”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes, suppressing a smirk. “Nice to see you, too, Alexei. No, I’m not here because I got caught. I’m here to get you out.”

 

Alexei blinked, then laughed—a deep, booming sound that echoed through the small cell. “Out? This prison? Natalia, you’ve always been ambitious, but this is madness! Do you know where we are? Seventh Circle isn’t exactly a two-star hotel.”

 

“I’m well aware,” Natasha replied coolly, crossing her arms. “And I’m serious. Now, get up. We don’t have time for your dramatics.”

 

“Dramatics?” Alexei feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. “Natalia, you wound me. And here I thought you missed me.”

 

“I didn’t miss you,” she said flatly, though the slight twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed her. “Now, get moving before I change my mind.”

 

Alexei’s laughter died down, and he tilted his head as he studied her. “Wait a minute. This isn’t one of those sting operations, is it? You’re not trying to butter me up so you can drag me back to some interrogation room, are you?”

 

“No,” she said firmly, stepping closer. Her voice softened, though her tone remained urgent. “Alexei, I need you to trust me. Like you used to.”

 

That seemed to strike a chord. The teasing left his eyes, replaced by something more solemn. He nodded slowly. “Alright, Natalia. If you say so. But I have to tell you, I’ve grown very attached to this charming little cell. I’ll miss it.”

 

Bucky appeared in the doorway, his vibranium arm catching the light. “Less talking, more moving. Guards will be swarming any second.”

 

Alexei turned to Bucky, frowning deeply. “And who’s this? Another one of your Red Room friends? He looks like he belongs in a brooding boy band.”

 

“Not even close,” Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes. “Can we just move?”

 

“Alexei, this is White Wolf,” Natasha said, exasperated. “He’s on our side.”

 

“White Wolf? What kind of name is that?” Alexei scoffed. “Are we collecting animals now? What’s next? Dancing Bear? Talking Snake?”

 

“Would you prefer we left you here?” Bucky shot back, unimpressed.

 

“Hmm, tempting,” Alexei mused, stroking his beard. Then he sighed theatrically. “Fine, let’s go. But if we’re running, someone better tell me where the buffet is. I’ll need my strength.”

 

Natasha gave him a sharp look. “Alexei.”

 

“Alright, alright. Lead the way, Natalia.”

 

As they stepped into the hallway, Alexei noticed something strange about Natasha and Bucky—specifically the flicker of magic around them as they moved. His sharp instincts kicked in, honed from years as the Red Guardian. “Wait a second. What’s with the disappearing act? Is this... magic? Who are we fighting? Hydra? S.H.I.E.L.D.? The Red Room again?”

 

Natasha didn’t break stride, her voice clipped but calm. “Not your concern. Just follow us and keep quiet.”

 

Alexei huffed, glancing between Natasha and Bucky. “You know, Natalia, I always thought if you came to rescue me, it’d be in a tank. Maybe some fireworks. Not this sneaky, magical nonsense.”

 

“Would you prefer we go back and do it your way?” Natasha shot over her shoulder.

 

“Maybe! At least it’d be more exciting,” Alexei grumbled. “And louder.”

 

Bucky smirked. “Trust me, we’ve got loud covered.”

 

As they moved further down the hall, the distant echoes of combat reached them—the clang of Vibranium claws, the hiss of spells, and the muffled grunts of guards being taken out. Alexei’s brows shot up. “What in Lenin’s name is going on out there?”

 

“Revenant,” Natasha replied, smirking faintly.

 

“Revenant?” Alexei repeated, confused. “What’s that? Some new ghost project the Red Room cooked up?”

 

Natasha didn’t answer directly, her smirk widening as she said, “You’ll see.”

 

Bucky shook his head with a low chuckle. “You’ll definitely see.”

 

Alexei muttered under his breath as he followed them. “I better. If I find out this is all for show, Natalia, you owe me a drink.”

 

“Focus, Alexei,” Natasha snapped. But there was a faint smile on her face as they pressed on, chaos waiting just ahead.

 

—

 

The group gathered in an abandoned corridor just outside the prison’s eastern wing, where James, Lily, and Sirius stood waiting. James was grinning widely, still adjusting the Invisibility Cloak over his arm, while Sirius brushed off imaginary dust from his robes, clearly pleased with himself. Lily, meanwhile, had her wand in hand, her eyes sharp as she scanned the area for any lingering threats.

 

“Mission accomplished!” James announced triumphantly, his voice just a touch too loud. “All charges placed and detonated. It was like the fireworks at our wedding, Lils!”

 

“Less talking, more moving,” Natasha cut in sharply, her gaze darting toward the distant sound of alarms.

 

“Bloody alarms,” Sirius muttered. “Would’ve been easier if you’d let me have a proper go at that Warden.”

 

“We’re not here to turn this into a circus, Sirius,” Lily said curtly. “The goal was to distract them, not blow up the entire prison.”

 

“Oh, come on, Lily,” Sirius said with a wolfish grin. “You have to admit, we had style.”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes, stepping forward with Alexei in tow. “We’ve got what we came for. Time to move.”

 

Alexei, trailing behind her, looked around at the new faces with wide eyes. “Wait a minute. Who are these people? Natalia, are these your new friends? Let me guess—the posh one with the glasses is the brains, the woman with the wand is the leader, and the shaggy-haired one is... comic relief?”

 

“Careful there, mate,” Sirius said with a mock growl, crossing his arms. “I might take offense to that.”

 

“Yeah,” James added, grinning. “I’m the comic relief.”

 

Lily pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we focus, please?”

 

Before anyone could respond, a swirling, golden portal opened a few feet away, and Revenant stepped through, his Vibranium claws retracting into his gauntlets as his cloak settled over his shoulders. His eyes, glowing faintly beneath the mask, scanned the group.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Harry said, his voice carrying a slight echo through the mask. “Had to deal with a few stragglers. Warden wasn’t keen on letting me leave without a proper goodbye.”

 

Natasha turned to him, hands on her hips. “All clear?”

 

“All clear,” he confirmed. “So... who’s this guy?” He gestured to Alexei, who was staring at him with a mix of suspicion and awe.

 

“This is Alexei Shostakov,” Natasha said, her voice flat. “Red Guardian. Former Soviet superhero. Likes to talk too much.”

 

“And make dad jokes,” Bucky muttered, earning a loud laugh from Alexei.

 

Revenant tilted his head. “Dad jokes, huh? Great. Another Sirius.”

 

“Hey!” Sirius protested, but he was grinning.

 

Alexei puffed out his chest, clearly unfazed. “Who are you supposed to be? The Halloween ghost?”

 

Revenant didn’t miss a beat. “Call me Revenant. And for the record, I’ve saved your life at least twice in the last ten minutes. So maybe less sass, more gratitude?”

 

Alexei raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Thanks for saving me, oh spooky one.”

 

“Good,” Natasha cut in, her tone brisk. “Now, let’s move. We’re heading to the chopper.”

 

Revenant held up a hand, his golden portal still shimmering behind him. “No need. I’ve got it covered. Portal’s open and ready to take us straight to the chopper.”

 

James let out a low whistle. “You know, that’s a pretty handy trick. Makes me wonder why we didn’t portal straight into the prison.”

 

“I told you,” Harry said patiently. “Portals require line of sight or a clear mental image of the destination. Trying to open one inside a high-security prison I’ve never seen before? Recipe for disaster.”

 

Sirius nodded sagely. “Makes sense. Besides, it’s much cooler when you save it for dramatic moments.”

 

“Exactly,” Harry said, amused. “Now, everyone through the portal.”

 

Natasha was the first to step through, followed by Alexei, who hesitated for a moment before muttering, “This better not be one of those teleportation tricks where I lose an arm.”

 

“It’s not,” Harry assured him. “Unless you want it to be.”

 

Alexei shot him a wary look before stepping through. One by one, the others followed, with Lily giving Harry a small nod of approval as she passed.

 

When everyone was through, they emerged in the clearing where the chopper waited. Its blades were already spinning up, the dull thrum echoing across the otherwise empty field. Natasha, already in the pilot’s seat, waved them over hurriedly.

 

“Get in, buckle up, and stay low,” Natasha ordered. “We’ve still got a ways to go before we’re in the clear.”

 

Alexei paused, staring at the chopper with a frown. “Wait. This is the escape plan? A rusty tin can with rotors?”

 

“Relax, Alexei,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes. “The jet is waiting at an airfield a few miles from here. This is just phase one.”

 

“Phase one of getting shot out of the sky,” Alexei grumbled, but he climbed in anyway.

 

Revenant glanced back toward the prison in the distance, where figures were beginning to emerge from the gates. He sighed. “Looks like we’ve got company. Everyone in. I’ll handle this.”

 

Natasha hesitated, but Revenant gave her a reassuring nod. “I’ll portal to the jet after I clean up. Go.”

 

With that, she ushered the rest of the group into the chopper, leaving Revenant standing in the clearing as the rotors began to lift the vehicle off the ground. His glowing eyes turned back toward the approaching guards, and a slow, predatory smile spread beneath his mask.

 

“Let’s dance.”

 

—-

 

As the chopper's rotors whipped up the cold night air, Revenant stood his ground on the prison’s battered tarmac, watching it disappear into the horizon. His comm crackled to life.

 

“We’ll be at the airfield in twenty minutes,” Natasha said briskly, the sound of the helicopter blades whirring in the background. “Hold them off until then. Can you manage that?”

 

Harry’s mask retracted briefly, revealing a smirk. “Twenty minutes of babysitting trigger-happy guards? Sounds like a blast.”

 

“Just don’t die,” she added sharply, before cutting the line.

 

The first wave of guards broke through the smoke from the earlier chaos, shouting orders in Russian and raising their weapons. Revenant let his mask slide back into place and rolled his shoulders, the Vibranium claws extending with a metallic shink.

 

"Alright," he muttered to himself, stepping forward, "time to dance."

 

The guards opened fire, bullets ricocheting harmlessly off the glowing golden shield that materialized in front of him. Revenant sprinted toward them, deflecting energy blasts and bullets alike with calculated precision.

 

One guard with an electrified baton lunged at him, shouting something Harry couldn’t quite catch. He sidestepped the attack, grabbing the baton mid-swing and snapping it in two with his claws.

 

“Sorry, pal,” he quipped, shoving the guard backward into two of his comrades, “but I’m not in the mood for group hugs tonight.”

 

Minutes ticked by, the guards growing more desperate as their ranks thinned. A pair of armored trucks screeched onto the tarmac, disgorging reinforcements. Revenant sighed, his claws retracting momentarily as he surveyed the new arrivals.

 

“Really? Trucks? That’s cute.”

 

One of the guards yelled an order, and the group began advancing in a coordinated formation. Harry slammed his gauntlets together, releasing a concussive blast of golden energy that sent the front line sprawling. He didn’t have time to revel in the chaos, though. From the corner of his eye, he caught the shimmer of something metallic—an experimental drone.

 

"Now we're playing dirty," Harry muttered, leaping backward just as the drone fired a pulse of crackling blue energy at him. The blast scorched the ground where he'd been standing moments ago.

 

He flipped through the air, landing on the roof of one of the trucks. The drone followed, tracking him with a series of rapid pulses. Harry’s hand shot out, conjuring a golden whip of energy that lashed through the air, striking the drone and sending it spiraling to the ground in a fiery explosion.

 

As he landed back on the ground, his comm came alive again, Natasha’s voice cutting through the static.

 

“Seventeen minutes. We’re making good time, but don’t get sloppy.”

 

Harry ducked as another guard swung at him, disarming the man with a quick twist of his wrist. “Define sloppy. Because I think I just reinvented a Michael Bay action sequence over here.”

 

“You’re stalling,” Natasha replied, unimpressed.

 

“I call it multitasking,” Harry retorted, before delivering a swift kick to another guard’s chest, sending him crashing into a nearby crate.

 

The fight dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. Revenant ducked and weaved, his claws flashing as he incapacitated another wave of guards. The air around him was filled with the sounds of gunfire, shouts, and the occasional explosion.

 

Finally, after what felt like an hour but was barely ten minutes, Natasha’s voice returned.

 

“Ten more minutes. Keep holding them off.”

 

Harry groaned audibly. “Seriously? How far away is this airfield? Siberia?”

 

“We’re cutting it close as it is,” Natasha said, her tone clipped. “Do your job.”

 

“Oh, I am doing my job,” Harry muttered, watching as another armored vehicle rolled onto the scene. He raised a hand, conjuring a glowing orb of energy that he hurled at the truck, flipping it onto its side in a spectacular crash.

 

More guards swarmed in from the east, but by now Harry was running on autopilot. His claws danced through the air, slicing through weapons, armor, and the occasional tech drone. He was efficient and relentless, but even he could feel the strain beginning to creep in.

 

“Five minutes!” Natasha’s voice broke through again, this time with urgency. “We’re almost there.”

 

Harry let out a long breath, wiping some blood—thankfully not his—off his gauntlet. “You know, I really hope someone’s recording this. I’m expecting a medal.”

 

“You’ll get silence,” Natasha snapped back.

 

“Classic Natasha,” Harry quipped under his breath, tearing through another line of guards.

 

Finally, the comm crackled again, and Natasha’s voice came through, loud and clear.

 

“We’ve landed. Get to the airfield. Now.”

 

Harry straightened, letting his claws retract as he surveyed the battlefield. The last of the guards were already retreating, those who were still conscious scrambling to regroup. He raised his hand, conjuring a portal that shimmered in the air before him.

 

With one last glance over his shoulder, he stepped through, leaving behind the chaos of the prison grounds.

 

The airfield greeted him with the roar of the jet’s engines, its sleek frame illuminated by the floodlights along the tarmac. Natasha stood at the base of the ramp, her arms crossed as she watched him approach.

 

“You’re late,” she said, her tone flat but her eyes sharp.

 

“Had to put on a show,” Harry replied, pulling off his mask and letting it retract into his collar. “Wouldn’t want them thinking we’re amateurs.”

 

She didn’t smile, but the faintest twitch of her lips betrayed her amusement. “Get on board. We’ve got a long flight ahead.”

 

Harry followed her up the ramp, the rest of the team waiting inside. Sirius grinned as he passed.

 

“Spooky one, how’s the babysitting gig?”

 

Harry dropped into a seat, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. “Let’s just say I deserve a raise.”

 

James laughed, while Alexei gave him a grudging nod of approval.

 

“You’re alright, spooky guy,” Alexei said. “But next time, maybe leave a few guards for me.”

 

“Next time,” Harry replied with a smirk, “I’m letting you do all the heavy lifting.”

 

The jet roared to life, lifting off the tarmac as the team settled in for the journey ahead.

 

—

 

The jet hummed steadily, its engines cutting through the clouds, but Alexei’s mind was a whirlwind. His fingers drummed on the armrest, tapping out a rhythm as his gaze flicked from Natasha to Bucky, then to the man they called Revenant—Harry. The weight of the situation was beginning to settle on his shoulders, and it didn’t sit well.

 

As the cabin filled with a steady hum of conversation, Alexei couldn’t help but speak first. His voice was calm, but there was a biting edge to it.

 

“I knew you,” he muttered, pointing a finger at Bucky without quite looking at him, as if he was seeing ghosts in the fog of his memory. “You were the boogeyman, weren't you? Hydra’s own personal nightmare. Always lurking, never aging... I had a few run-ins with you back in the day, didn’t I?”

 

Bucky's gaze remained steady, though there was a flicker of recognition behind those piercing eyes. "Yeah, I remember you," he said, a rough edge in his voice. "Always a few steps behind, always in the shadows, always asking questions nobody wanted to answer."

 

Alexei chuckled darkly, scratching his stubbled chin as memories came rushing back. "Yeah, you were like a bad dream... the one that never went away." He leaned back, arms crossing. "Hydra kept you in the dark, didn’t they? Like some secret weapon they couldn’t control. They barely even told us who you were—just that you were the Winter Soldier. The one they sent in when things needed cleaning up... when they needed someone who didn’t ask questions."

 

Bucky gave a stiff nod, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "That was me. Until I wasn’t."

 

Alexei leaned in, almost theatrically. “Well, I guess we could call it ‘growing pains’,” he said, trying to make light of it with his usual bad dad joke. “I mean, being an immortal assassin with a metal arm has to be rough. I’ve got the knees of a guy who’s had one too many bad nights at a KGB karaoke bar, but I’m sure it’s nothing compared to living your life as Hydra’s hammer.”

 

A flicker of something like a smile passed over Bucky’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. “Yeah, you could say that.”

 

Before Alexei could riff on the situation any further, Natasha’s voice cut in, sharper this time, and more direct.

 

“Speaking of bad situations,” she said, her tone biting as she shifted to face Alexei, “you’re going to want to know what we pulled you out for. It’s bigger than just you, bigger than just any of us.”

 

Alexei raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Oh, trust me, Natalia, I’ve had my fill of ‘bigger’ over the years. Some of it was literal. And by ‘literal,’ I mean I once had to escape a bunker after a mini-nuke misfire. Don’t ask me how, because I can’t remember a damn thing about it. But I know ‘big,’ okay?”

 

But Natasha didn’t laugh. Instead, her gaze hardened as she dropped a bombshell. “Harry—the one you just met—he’s Hydra’s latest... mistake.”

 

Alexei blinked, confused. “Hydra’s mistake? Wait, this kid?” He gestured toward Harry, who was sitting stoically in the seat next to Natasha, his expression as unreadable as ever. “He looks like he could sell you a magic potion for the low, low price of your firstborn child, but a mistake? Really?”

 

Bucky leaned forward, his voice flat. “They turned him into a weapon. A super-soldier. But they didn’t just use their usual serum. They went... further.”

 

Alexei frowned, starting to feel the weight of the words. “Further? How? More than they did to you?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, his voice dropping to a grim whisper. “Hydra took a six-year-old child, injected him with their serum, and aged him artificially to make him an adult. But that was just the beginning.”

 

Alexei’s mouth went dry. “Wait, six? They did what to a six-year-old?”

 

“Hydra doesn’t care about that,” Natasha replied, her voice clipped. “They spliced his DNA with Weapon X’s—Wolverine. Gave him his healing factor, his strength, but they didn’t stop there. They made his skeleton... Vibranium.”

 

Alexei’s mind ground to a halt. The name Weapon X hit him like a freight train. He’d crossed paths with Wolverine more than once back in the Cold War. That man was a beast—impossible to kill, impossible to stop. But this? This was different. The horror of what Hydra had done crashed over him like a tidal wave.

 

“Vibranium?” he choked out. “Are you telling me they coated his skeleton in... Vibranium? They did that to a kid? A child?”

 

Harry spoke up then, his voice low but clear. “I’m not a kid anymore, Alexei. They did things to me, but they never got to break me. I’m still here.”

 

Alexei’s fists clenched. He couldn’t even wrap his head around it. He had spent years fighting programs like the Red Room, speaking out against the brutal methods of turning children into weapons, only to hear this... “This is... monstrous,” Alexei growled, shaking his head, his voice dripping with disgust. “I fought for years to stop this kind of madness, to stop them from turning kids into soldiers. And Hydra... Hydra took it to a whole new level.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said softly, the bitterness clear in his voice. “We were just pawns to them. But Harry... he’s something else. They turned him into a weapon, but he’s not like the rest of us.”

 

Alexei looked at Harry, his gaze softening. “I’m sorry, kid,” he said, his voice gruff but sincere. “I really am.”

 

Harry gave him a fleeting glance, then nodded. “I don’t need your pity, but I’ll take your apology.”

 

Natasha’s voice cut in again, this time firmer. “We didn’t just bring you in for a pat on the back, Alexei. We need you. We’re all part of the same team now.”

 

“A S.H.I.E.L.D. team,” Bucky clarified.

 

Alexei looked between them, then let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Okay, okay, let me get this straight. You pulled me out of prison, dusted me off like an old jacket, and now you’re telling me I’m supposed to join a team to take down Hydra?” He smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, I’ve always dreamed of joining a team. I hear the uniforms are snappy, and the snacks are top-tier.”

 

Natasha deadpanned. “You’re not a joke anymore, Alexei. This is serious. Hydra won’t stop until they control everything.”

 

“I know, I know,” Alexei said, his tone dropping. “I’ve seen their work up close. But you’re right. You’re all right. It’s time to make them pay.”

 

There was a moment of silence as everyone processed his words. Then, Alexei sat back in his seat, the weight of the situation settling in, but there was a glimmer of something else in his eyes.

 

“Alright, let’s take down some Hydra scumbags,” he said, his trademark grin creeping onto his face. “But when this is over? We’re going to need a drink. Preferably something strong enough to erase all the bad decisions I’ve made in my life.”

 

Bucky chuckled, though it was a rough sound. “Deal.”

 

And for the first time in a long time, Alexei felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they had a chance to tear down the monsters who had ruined so many lives. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t alone in that fight anymore.

 

—

 

Gideon Adler adjusted his coat as he stepped through the door of the Hog’s Head Inn, the familiar scent of aged wood and ale hitting him like a forgotten memory. He could hear the low murmur of patrons near the bar, but his attention was fixed on the back room where Albus Dumbledore awaited him. The tension in the air was palpable. The game was about to begin.

 

He had made it a point to appear every bit the stranger he was—no grand gestures, no showmanship, no flash of recognition that might betray his true identity. To Dumbledore, he was just another man of power, a mysterious figure with his own motives. There was no room for past allegiances in this new world. The old ghosts of Gellert Grindelwald’s name had been buried long ago, but they still had a way of haunting his every step.

 

Adler’s boots made no sound as he crossed the creaking floorboards toward the back room, where the wizard sat, a figure of calm composure even as the years had begun to weigh heavily on him. Albus Dumbledore, master of manipulation, grand architect of plans and counter-plans, was a man whose presence could not easily be ignored.

 

The moment Adler stepped inside, Dumbledore’s eyes flicked up, his half-moon glasses glinting in the low light. The surprise in his gaze was barely masked, but Adler couldn’t afford to let it distract him.

 

“Ah, Mr. Adler,” Dumbledore said, his voice warm yet with a hint of something more beneath the surface—curiosity, perhaps, or suspicion. “I was beginning to wonder if you would show up at all.”

 

Adler didn’t respond immediately. He took his time, eyes scanning the room, before finally meeting Dumbledore’s gaze. There was no rush; the meeting had been years in the making. He sat down across from the man whose reputation had loomed over him for so long. A familiar smile tugged at his lips, one that had once belonged to a man who had been unstoppable, untouchable.

 

“I didn’t expect you to choose this place,” Adler remarked, his tone casual. “The Hog’s Head, Professor Dumbledore? I had imagined you would prefer somewhere a bit more... grand.”

 

Dumbledore’s lips curled into a soft smile. “One must take precautions, Gideon,” he replied, the light catching in his piercing blue eyes. “I’m sure someone of your discretion understands the value of... subtlety.”

 

Adler raised an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch for a moment before leaning forward. “Subtlety? Or fear?”

 

Dumbledore’s smile never wavered, but Adler could see the flicker of something—discomfort, perhaps. A hint of doubt, though it was quickly buried under layers of practiced poise. “Perhaps a bit of both,” he said, the words flowing easily.

 

It was then that Adler saw it—the faintest narrowing of Dumbledore’s eyes, the way his fingers subtly twitched as if weighing something. It was almost imperceptible, but Adler knew Dumbledore too well to miss it. Something had unsettled him.

 

A soft chuckle escaped Dumbledore’s lips. “You have a sharp tongue, Mr. Adler,” he said. “But I must admit, I hadn’t expected you to bear such a... striking resemblance to someone I once knew.”

 

Adler froze, his heart skipping a beat as he caught the undercurrent of Dumbledore’s words. A flicker of recognition? A flash of the past? He could feel it in the way Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on him—too long, too intense.

 

The moment stretched taut between them, the tension thick enough to suffocate.

 

Dumbledore shook his head slightly, as though dismissing a thought. “But of course,” he continued, his voice calm again, though a hint of hesitation remained, “that’s preposterous. The man you remind me of—he could never have been so... youthful. Even if he had managed to get his hands on an age-regression potion, the core of his magic would be far too weak by now.”

 

Adler’s eyes widened imperceptibly. Gellert Grindelwald. The name, like a shadow, hovered between them.

 

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his hands folding neatly on the table before him. “No, it couldn’t be him,” he said softly, almost as if convincing himself. “Not unless... But no. That would be impossible. After all, the only known Philosopher's Stone is with Nicholas Flamel, and even Gellert would not have been able to acquire such a thing, brilliant as he was.” He paused, as if searching for the words. “No. I know Gellert too well. He could never have deceived me so thoroughly.”

 

Adler fought the instinct to smile. The Dumbledore of old—the brilliant, arrogant man who thought he could outwit anyone—had already convinced himself that this man in front of him was not his old friend. Not Gellert.

 

The thought of it amused Adler, but only for a moment. He kept his expression neutral, watching Dumbledore carefully, noting the way the old wizard’s eyes flicked over him once more, as if trying to reconcile the image before him with memories of a past that no longer seemed to fit.

 

“Well, it seems we’ve cleared that up,” Adler said, leaning back in his chair and giving a small, deliberate nod. “But I suspect we both know that the past isn’t always as clear-cut as we’d like to think.”

 

Dumbledore nodded slowly, though his gaze was still searching. It was almost as if he couldn’t help himself, as if the likeness between Adler and Grindelwald still gnawed at him, even though his mind had rejected the possibility.

 

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken thoughts, but Adler remained patient. He was prepared for this. Dumbledore’s mind was sharp, but even the sharpest blades could dull with time.

 

“So, Mr. Adler,” Dumbledore finally said, his tone warmer now, but with that same undercurrent of scrutiny. “What brings you to my humble establishment?”

 

Adler’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. The game was on, and Dumbledore would have to play it, whether he wanted to or not.

 

—

 

As the silence stretched between them, Dumbledore studied Adler with a newfound intensity. The resemblance to Gellert Grindelwald was unmistakable, though Adler had clearly taken care to present himself as someone entirely different. The piercing eyes, the sharp intellect, and that underlying presence—all of it mirrored the man Dumbledore had once called a friend and, in some ways, a rival. But the Dumbledore sitting before him had spent decades since those days, his mind honed by both personal triumphs and regrets. And in those decades, he had come to understand that appearances could be deceiving.

 

“Tell me, Mr. Adler,” Dumbledore finally broke the silence, his tone calm but searching. “Your methods seem... unconventional, even for someone of your talents. I’ve heard whispers about your recent recruitment of Alastor Moody. Quite the move, I must say. What exactly are you planning?”

 

Adler didn’t flinch, though he felt the weight of Dumbledore’s gaze. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly on the table as he considered his words carefully. His eyes gleamed with an almost predatory focus as he began to speak.

 

"Moody is... invaluable," Adler said with a thin smile. "His instincts, his ability to read situations—it’s something you can’t teach. We need someone like him on our side as the Hydra-aligned wizards spring up across the globe. They’re coordinated, methodical, and dangerous in ways the public hasn’t even begun to realize."

 

Dumbledore’s sharp gaze flickered momentarily. "Hydra, you say?" He leaned forward, the air around him crackling with subtle magic. "A dangerous organization, indeed. But what is your role in all of this, Mr. Adler? Surely, you're not in this for mere... political gain?"

 

Adler allowed a smile to form on his lips. “No, not for politics. This goes far beyond that. I’m working with SHIELD—yes, you heard that right—SHIELD, the American organization. They’ve recently turned their attention to these rogue wizards and their increasing activity. They're more organized now than ever before, collaborating with various dark forces across the world, including Hydra. This isn’t just a matter of local skirmishes anymore. This is an international threat that needs immediate action.”

 

Dumbledore’s brows furrowed as he processed the information, his mind working quickly through the implications. “SHIELD? That is certainly... unexpected.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “I take it you’re not simply gathering these people for the sake of personal vendettas or political maneuvering. But what is it that you hope to accomplish by involving yourself with such an organization?”

 

Adler’s smile faded into something more serious, and his tone lowered, a hint of steel beneath the surface. “What I want, Professor Dumbledore, is to stop the spread of this madness before it’s too late. I’ve seen firsthand what these rogue wizards are capable of when they have the backing of a global organization like Hydra. Their reach is far more dangerous than you might realize. They’ve already infiltrated key positions in various governments, and their magic, when combined with Hydra’s technology, could be catastrophic.”

 

Aberforth, who had been listening silently from his position behind the bar, grunted in response, shaking his head in disbelief. "Hydra? The same ones who’ve been causing trouble in the Muggle world? How are wizards supposed to go up against that kind of threat?"

 

Adler turned to Aberforth, his expression hardening. "I’ve been around long enough to know that we don’t fight these battles with conventional methods. Magic alone won’t be enough, especially against the technological advancements of an organization like Hydra. But combining our strengths—that’s what we need. We need wizards like Moody who are skilled, yes, but we also need the practical know-how of organizations like SHIELD to counter Hydra’s influence. The two forces together have the potential to turn the tide.”

 

Dumbledore’s eyes darkened, his mind racing through the possibilities. “And what makes you think this... SHIELD organization will be any different from the others you’ve worked with? There are those who seek to use power for their own ends, Mr. Adler. The line between hero and villain is often blurred, especially in times such as these.”

 

Adler leaned forward, his voice low and resolute. “I understand your reservations, Professor Dumbledore. You’ve spent your life walking the tightrope between good and evil, knowing full well that the difference is often a matter of perspective. But I’m not here to play the hero. I’m here to stop the real monsters before they destroy everything.”

 

Dumbledore sat back, still skeptical but unable to completely dismiss the earnestness in Adler’s tone. “I see. And you believe that by involving Moody and SHIELD, you can prevent this... Hydra-led uprising from reaching its peak?”

 

“I do.” Adler’s gaze hardened. “The time for waiting is over. Hydra is already in motion, and if we don’t act now, we risk losing everything. I’m not asking for your approval, Albus. But I am asking for your support in this fight.”

 

Dumbledore studied him carefully, the weight of the years of experience he had accumulated reflected in his piercing eyes. Finally, after a long pause, he spoke. “You’ve chosen a dangerous path, Mr. Adler. But I cannot deny the gravity of what you’ve described. There are forces at play that none of us can fully comprehend. I suppose... if your intentions are as noble as you claim, there is merit in your efforts.”

 

Adler nodded, a small, satisfied smile curling at the edges of his lips. “Noble or not, the world is changing, Professor Dumbledore. And if you won’t help me, then I’ll find another way.”

 

Dumbledore’s gaze softened, but there was no mistaking the wariness in his tone. “Be careful, Mr. Adler. Even the most well-intentioned of plans can unravel when one is too certain of the outcome.”

 

With that, Adler rose from his chair, his coat flowing as he moved. “I’ll keep that in mind. But for now, I have a world to save.”

 

As he turned to leave, Dumbledore’s voice stopped him. “You’ve grown into a man of great ambition, Mr. Adler. But remember—there are always consequences for the choices we make. Whether they are good or bad, they will shape the world in ways we cannot foresee.”

 

Adler paused, his hand on the door. “Consequences are inevitable, Professor Dumbledore. But it’s the choice to act that defines us.”

 

With that, he stepped out into the cold night air, leaving behind the echoes of a conversation that was far from over.

Chapter 33: Chapter 32

The jet descended toward the airfield, the hum of the engines cutting through the crisp air as the team made their way to the safehouse. Alexei's mind was still a storm of thoughts—about the past, the present, and what was to come. He glanced around the cabin, his eyes flicking to Natasha, Bucky, and Harry, all of whom seemed lost in their own thoughts as well. The weight of everything—Hydra, the weapons, the new team, the kid with the vibranium skeleton—was settling in, but for Alexei, the best way to deal with it was through bad dad jokes.

 

With a sigh, he muttered, "You know, I’ve been in worse situations than this. Once, I was trapped in a KGB karaoke bar with a bottle of vodka and a man who thought he could sing. That... that was real torture. And don’t get me started on the wardrobe choices. Who thought a green sequin suit would ever be a good idea?”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. Bucky’s expression remained stoic, but even he couldn’t help the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Harry, however, just gave him a long, blank stare that seemed to say, Seriously?

 

As the jet touched down, the group disembarked, stepping onto the airfield with the cold New York air biting at their faces. Alexei adjusted the collar of his jacket and squinted into the distance. His eyes widened in disbelief when he saw who was waiting for them.

 

Standing tall, looking like he’d just stepped out of a 1940s photograph, was none other than Steve Rogers—Captain America. Alexei froze. He had thought the man had died during World War II. It was a shock to see him standing there, looking exactly the same, not a day older. Beside him stood Peggy Carter, though not the seasoned director of S.H.I.E.L.D. that Alexei had heard about. This Peggy was younger, more vibrant, as though time had never touched her.

 

“Holy mother of God,” Alexei muttered under his breath, his thick Russian accent barely containing the surprise. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Steve Rogers is still alive?”

 

"What's that?" Natasha asked, giving him a sidelong glance.

 

Alexei shook his head slowly, still staring. "That’s Captain America, the original Super Soldier. And I thought I was the only one who could kick Hydra’s ass. This is... this is gonna be interesting."

 

As they approached, Nick Fury, the one-eyed director of S.H.I.E.L.D., stepped forward, his gaze flicking over the team before locking onto Alexei with that patented Fury intensity.

 

“Shostakov,” Fury greeted in his gravelly voice, raising an eyebrow. “It’s good to see you, though I’m sure you’re not thrilled to be here.”

 

Alexei smirked, tapping his fingers together. “You know, Fury, I always imagined you with a little more… one-eyed menace and a little less government-issued suit. But I guess you’re pulling off the look. Just don’t go trying to recruit me for some intergalactic space mission or anything—last time I checked, I don’t do space.”

 

Fury chuckled dryly. “You’d be surprised at the things we do, Shostakov. You might not have a choice.”

 

As they all exchanged brief greetings, Alexei’s eyes kept drifting back to Steve Rogers. He couldn’t resist a joke, even if the moment was serious.

 

“Alright, Steve,” Alexei said, walking up to him with a wide grin. “I’ve always wanted to know—how does it feel to be the original Super Soldier? You and me, we could have had some fun back in the day. Just think of it—two supers, side by side, kicking ass and taking names. But now? Now you’ve got all these guys running around with enhanced this and enhanced that. I bet you're feeling a little outclassed, huh?”

 

Steve’s smile was as wide as ever, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You must be Alexei,” he said, extending a hand. “I’ve heard stories. Some of them even sounded like they could’ve been true.”

 

Alexei took the hand firmly, squeezing it with surprising strength for a man his age. “Oh, I’ve got stories. Some of them are even legal in most countries.”

 

Just as Steve was about to respond, a voice cut through the air. A tall man with dark hair and a well-worn suit walked forward—Clint Barton, also known as Hawkeye, sporting a quiver and bow slung over his shoulder. He grinned at Alexei.

 

“I see you’ve already started with the dad jokes. You’re gonna fit right in,” Clint said, his tone light and friendly, but his eyes sharp.

 

“Dad jokes?” Alexei raised an eyebrow. “My friend, I am a connoisseur of dad humor. You want bad jokes? I’ll give you bad jokes. Like the time I tried to take down a Hydra agent with a rubber chicken. Do you know what they say about chickens, my friend? They’re excellent at winging it.”

 

Clint groaned, rolling his eyes. “Please don’t tell me we’ve got another one of those. I’ve heard enough bad puns to last a lifetime.”

 

Before Alexei could retort, two figures appeared by Clint’s side. A woman with short black hair and a stern expression, Melinda May, stepped forward, giving Alexei a sharp glance. Behind her stood two more figures—Ted and Andromeda Tonks, both of whom looked as if they belonged in the medical field.

 

“Alright, Shostakov,” Ted said, his eyes scanning Alexei’s worn frame. “We’ve been instructed to run diagnostics. You’ve been in that hellhole for too long, and we need to make sure you’re not carrying any... baggage.”

 

Alexei gave him a wide grin. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I just got out of prison, and now you want to check for baggage? If you find anything, I promise I’ll share. But it better not be your medical bills.”

 

Andromeda shot him a sharp look, though her face softened a little as she started scanning him. “You’re not making this easy, are you?”

 

“Of course not,” Alexei replied with a smirk. “Life’s too short for easy, right?”

 

As they began their scans, Alexei’s gaze shifted again to Steve Rogers. A quiet tension lingered between them, one of unspoken competition. Alexei couldn’t help himself. He leaned over to Bucky, who was observing the scene, and muttered under his breath.

 

“You ever wonder how I’d match up with him? The original Super Soldier. I mean, we both come from such different worlds, but I can’t help but think it’d be an interesting fight.”

 

Bucky looked at him with a knowing smirk. “I think Steve would be too busy making speeches about the American Dream to actually fight you.”

 

“Yeah, but speeches are only fun for the first ten minutes,” Alexei said, then he waved a hand in the air. “Alright, alright, enough about that—let’s get down to business. Hydra’s not going to kill themselves, after all.”

 

And with that, the team gathered, ready to take down Hydra, but not without Alexei cracking one last dad joke for good measure.

 

“So, when are we getting the snacks?” he asked, with a wicked grin. “I’m thinking something with a lot of carbs. And a little bit of liquid courage, if you know what I mean.”

 

—

 

The safehouse was bustling with the sound of laughter, the chaos of children at play filling the otherwise quiet room. Harry, dressed in his usual red-and-gold armor—though without the helmet—strode into the room, his eyes scanning the scene. He could hear Rose’s giggles before he saw her, and his heart gave a little flutter when he caught sight of her, sitting on the floor with Tonks, her wild hair bouncing as she threw something—a plush bear, maybe?—in the air, laughing all the while.

 

Phil Coulson was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, watching the two kids with a fond smile. Billy Koenig was sitting on a nearby couch, playing some kind of game on a tablet, though his attention was clearly half on the kids and half on keeping an eye out for anything that might go awry.

 

“Harry!” Rose’s voice rang out, sharp and clear, cutting through the noise. She turned, her bright eyes locking onto him with an intensity that almost made him stop in his tracks. She was upset, that much was obvious, but the glint of excitement in her gaze—the joy of seeing him again—was stronger than the annoyance she clearly felt.

 

But it didn’t stop her from crossing her arms and glaring at him.

 

“Where have you been?” she demanded, pouting as she stood up and walked over to him, her little fists clenched at her sides. “You didn’t even say goodbye before you left for Bleeker Street. Mom’s been worried. Natasha’s been worried. And I was worried, too!”

 

Harry’s stomach twisted with guilt. He hadn't meant to leave her without saying goodbye. The world had been a blur of missions, responsibilities, and people pulling him in all directions. But that didn’t excuse it.

 

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Harry said softly, kneeling down to her level. His heart ached at the way she looked at him, as if she’d been abandoned. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I just… I had to go, and everything happened so fast.”

 

Rose's brow furrowed, and she took a step back, her arms still crossed as she gave him a skeptical look. “You didn’t even tell me where you were going. You’re always going on adventures without me. Don’t you trust me? You’re always busy with your superhero friends.”

 

“Hey,” Harry said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I trust you. And I wasn’t trying to go on adventures without you, promise.” He looked over at Tonks, who was still in the middle of whatever game they were playing, and then back at his little sister. “But you know how it is. Sometimes, things are a little too dangerous, even for me. It’s not that I don’t want you around, it’s just… I need to make sure you’re safe.”

 

Rose seemed to soften a little, but she wasn’t done. “Then why didn’t you visit? You said you would. You know how much I missed you.”

 

The words stung. Of course, he should have visited. He should have made time for her, no matter what was going on.

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry admitted, a small sigh escaping him. “I’ve been all over the place. But that’s no excuse, Rose. I’m sorry for not coming to see you.”

 

Before she could say anything else, a voice broke into their conversation. “It’s Harry’s fault, isn’t it?” Tonks said with an exaggerated pout, her tone dripping with playful mischief as she hopped over to them. “It’s always Harry’s fault when you’re mad. You’re like his little sidekick.”

 

Rose shot her a glare, but it didn’t hold much weight. Even in her frustration, she couldn’t stay mad for long when Tonks was around. Harry took advantage of the distraction, nudging Rose gently with his elbow.

 

“Tonks is right, you know,” he teased. “You’ve got to be a little more forgiving. What’s the fun in being mad all the time, huh?”

 

Rose narrowed her eyes at him, clearly torn between wanting to stay angry and wanting to forgive him. “I’ll think about it,” she finally said, her voice softening. She reached up to grab his hand and pulled him down to sit next to her.

 

“Good enough for me,” Harry grinned, ruffling her hair. “But I’ve got something to tell you, and I need you to keep it between us. It’s a secret.”

 

“Ooh! A secret!” Rose’s eyes lit up with the kind of excitement only a six-year-old could muster. “What is it?”

 

Harry leaned in close, lowering his voice dramatically. “I’m going to have to leave again soon. Kamar-Taj needs me. But don’t worry—I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

Rose’s face fell slightly, disappointment flashing in her eyes. She was trying so hard to be brave, but the little girl in her still couldn’t quite understand why he had to leave again. She bit her lip for a moment, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt.

 

“I don’t want you to go,” she said quietly. “I want you to stay.”

 

“I know, kiddo. I really do. But there are things I have to do. Things I can’t ignore. You know how it is.” He gave her a small smile, ruffling her hair again. “But we’ll make sure you’re kept busy, right?”

 

“Busy with what?” Rose asked, her curiosity piqued.

 

“Well,” Harry grinned, “I think we could get you into some serious training with your own special powers. I bet you’d make an amazing hero one day, you know?”

 

She blinked up at him, her face scrunching up in thought. “Do you think I could be as cool as you? And maybe make bad jokes like Sirius?”

 

Harry chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Trust me, kid, no one does bad jokes like Sirius. But yeah, I think you could be a hero. Just like Natasha, just like Mom and Dad. Just like me.”

 

Rose grinned, her expression softening. “I’ll be the best one, I promise!”

 

“That's what I like to hear,” Harry said, pulling her into a quick hug. He held her close for a moment, inhaling the scent of her hair, a reminder of just how much he’d missed this. The hug was brief but meaningful, a simple way to reassure her that no matter how far he had to go, she would always be in his heart.

 

“I’ll come back soon, I promise,” Harry said, pulling back and looking at her. “But until then, you’ll have to be the big sister, okay? Keep everyone safe for me.”

 

Rose nodded, her expression serious for a moment before a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Only if you bring me back something shiny from Kamar-Taj. Or maybe a new stuffed animal. You know, for protection.”

 

“Shiny, huh?” Harry smirked. “I think I can manage that. But no promises on the stuffed animal. You’re getting too old for those.”

 

“No way!” she protested, making a face. “I’m always going to love stuffed animals. You can’t change that.”

 

“I’ll take that as a victory,” Harry said with a laugh, standing up. He waved at the group in the room, giving them all a nod before his gaze lingered on Rose for a moment longer. “I’ll be back, okay? And I’ll try not to make it so long next time.”

 

With one last smile, Harry turned to leave, feeling the weight of the mission ahead, but also the warmth of the love that connected him to his family. Even when he was far away, they would always be with him.

 

—

 

The safehouse felt quieter now, the familiar hum of activity replaced by the soft sounds of people moving about, preparing for the inevitable goodbye. Harry took a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the small group gathered near the door—his family, the ones who had always been there for him, the ones he always returned to.

 

First, his parents, Lily and James, were standing together near the window, talking quietly. Harry walked up to them, his steps slow but purposeful.

 

Lily was the first to notice him, her eyes lighting up as she turned toward him.

 

“Harry,” she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She knew as well as he did that these moments of parting were never easy, especially with the uncertainty that came with the world they lived in. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

 

Harry’s eyes softened, meeting his mother’s gaze with a quiet determination. “Yeah. I’ll be okay. It’s just... Kamar-Taj, you know? It’s important. And I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.”

 

James, who had been standing behind Lily, put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave him a firm, reassuring squeeze. “Just be careful, son. We’ll be waiting for you. And don’t forget, we can always use a little more of that Gryffindor courage back here.”

 

Harry chuckled, his heart swelling with the familiar warmth of their love and support. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve got a whole lot of courage to spare. Besides, it’s not like I’m just going to vanish into thin air... actually, wait, I kinda can do that now. Portal magic, you know?”

 

Lily raised an eyebrow, looking at him skeptically. “Don’t use that as an excuse to disappear for weeks on end, Harry.”

 

“I won’t, Mum,” Harry promised, his voice soft. “I can make portals now, so I’ll be around more often, okay? No more long goodbyes.”

 

James grinned. “Good. Because I still have to take you to see a game of Quidditch.”

 

“I know, I know.” Harry grinned back, though it faded quickly. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

 

With one last squeeze to his shoulder, James nodded and stepped back, letting Lily step forward. She gave him a tight hug, her arms wrapping around him like a lifeline.

 

“I’ll be waiting for you, Harry. Always.”

 

“I know, Mum,” Harry murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He pulled back slightly, brushing a few stray locks of hair from her face. “I’ll come back more often. And I’ll bring you something shiny next time.”

 

Lily laughed softly, her eyes glinting with both sadness and love. “You’d better.”

 

Harry then turned his gaze to the other corner of the room, where Sirius was sitting, his arms crossed and his usual smirk in place, though there was a hint of something else in his eyes—a kind of unspoken understanding.

 

“Ready for this, Padfoot?” Harry asked, his tone light, but it was clear the words carried more weight than the casual question let on.

 

Sirius shrugged, giving him a half-grin. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Prongslet. You know the drill. Just don’t get yourself killed or anything. We need you for more family dinners.”

 

Harry smiled back, a small laugh escaping him. “I’ll try not to. But if you keep making those terrible jokes, I might just run off to Kamar-Taj for good.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Sirius raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You wouldn’t last two days without my irresistible charm.”

 

“True,” Harry admitted, shaking his head with a playful sigh. “How could I possibly survive without the charm of the infamous Padfoot?”

 

“Exactly.” Sirius clapped him on the shoulder, his expression softening for just a moment. “I’m proud of you, Harry. No matter what happens out there, we’ll always have your back.”

 

“I know,” Harry said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He cleared his throat, not wanting to linger too long in the moment. “I’ll be back, Sirius. And maybe next time, I won’t have to sneak off and disappear without saying goodbye.”

 

Sirius chuckled and patted him on the back one more time. “Just make sure you don’t leave without telling us when you’re back. And don’t go getting all mysterious on us, alright?”

 

Harry gave him a mock salute. “You got it, old man.”

 

Finally, Harry turned to Natasha, his heart skipping a beat as his gaze met hers. She was standing by the door, arms crossed, her expression unreadable, though the flicker of emotion in her eyes was impossible to miss. She’d been quieter than usual since his sudden departure, and Harry knew that the time they’d spent apart had left its mark on both of them.

 

“Natasha,” Harry said softly, his voice low, unsure of what to say. It was hard to express the things he felt sometimes—especially with the weight of everything pressing down on him. But with her, he didn’t need to say much.

 

She didn’t say anything at first, her lips curving into a small, private smile as she stepped closer. Then, without warning, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

 

Harry froze for a moment, surprised by the suddenness, but then relaxed into her warmth, his arms coming around her instinctively. He buried his face in her hair for a second, breathing in the familiar scent of her—something that always made him feel like he was home.

 

“I’ll be back soon,” he murmured into her hair, his voice a whisper against her ear. “I promise. And... I’ll make sure it’s not as long as last time.”

 

Natasha pulled back just slightly, enough to look him in the eyes, her hands resting on his shoulders. There was a faint smile on her lips, but the look in her eyes was serious, intense. “You better. Or I might just track you down.”

 

Harry chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t doubt it. You know I’m not exactly hard to find.”

 

Her lips twitched at the corners, but she didn't break eye contact. Then, without warning, she leaned in, her lips capturing his in a quick but meaningful kiss—a reminder of the bond they shared, even when separated.

 

The kiss lingered for a moment longer than Harry expected, a gentle promise in the way their lips met and parted. As she pulled away, she gave him a final, soft smile.

 

“Stay safe, Harry. And don’t forget, portals or not... I’ll be waiting for you.”

 

“Same here,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll be back. I’ll make sure of it.”

 

With one last lingering look, Harry stepped back, taking a deep breath. He looked at the family that had always been his foundation, his heart swelling with gratitude. He could do this—he could face whatever came next, because he knew they were all waiting for him.

 

“See you all soon,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of the promise he intended to keep.

 

And with that, Harry walked to the door, his heart lighter than it had been in a while, knowing that no matter where his adventures took him, he’d always have a place to come back to.

 

He opened a portal with a flick of his hand, stepping through it with a final glance back, knowing this goodbye wasn’t forever. It never would be.

 

—

 

Once the last of the goodbyes had been exchanged, and Harry had disappeared through the portal, the room fell into a quiet that stretched a little longer than it should have. The air hung heavy with the things unsaid, and the atmosphere felt almost too calm. Alexei Shostakov, who had been standing just off to the side, watching the whole scene like a hawk, could only shake his head with a quiet laugh.

 

"Ah, Natasha," he muttered to himself. "I see what’s going on here."

 

A wide grin spread across his face, and he couldn’t help himself—he needed to poke the bear. He stepped forward, his boots clicking on the floor as he made his way to his daughter, who was standing just a little too still for his liking. Her back was slightly turned, but her posture told him everything. She wasn’t fooling anyone. Not him, anyway.

 

"Well, well, well," Alexei began, his voice deep with that classic fatherly Russian accent that could make any conversation sound like a heavy drama, even if it was about something as trivial as ketchup. "My little Natasha, all grown up. Kissing men goodbye, huh? I never thought I’d see the day. This is a big moment, I must say.”

 

Natasha snapped around to face him, eyes narrowing. “Oh, God. Not you.”

 

“Ah, yes, the kiss goodbye.” Alexei sighed, as though deeply moved by the significance of the moment. “Such passion. Such intensity. I might have to call my old buddy at the Russian Ministry of Love to report this,” he teased, hands going to his hips in a mock serious pose. “It’s a very serious thing, Natasha. Maybe I should get him to sign off on your relationship, make sure you’re both legally allowed to kiss each other like that."

 

Natasha rolled her eyes, arms folding across her chest. "You’re ridiculous, Alexei."

 

Alexei grinned wider, clearly undeterred. “What? Can’t a father be proud? I mean, I never thought I’d see you get kissed by a guy like that. He seems like a... real charmer.” His eyes twinkled mischievously, and he wagged a finger in the air. “I’ll have to keep an eye on him, make sure he knows how to treat my little girl right. We’ll see if he’s worthy of the Shostakov seal of approval.”

 

“You’re insufferable,” Natasha muttered, but there was a faint smile on her lips despite herself. It was the same smile that came out whenever her dad poked fun at her—half embarrassed, half amused.

 

“Oh, I’m insufferable?” Alexei asked, his voice rising in mock offense. “Do you know who else was insufferable? Every father who ever had to watch his little girl grow up and get kissed by a boy! You think this is easy for me?!” He held his hand to his chest in an exaggerated show of pain. “No, Natasha, this is the hardest thing a father must do. He’s stealing you from me! First, it’s the kiss. Next thing you know, he’ll be stealing your heart! What’s next, huh? A wedding? You want to bring him home for Thanksgiving dinner? I need to start preparing my speech. You’ll always be my little girl, even if you marry Harry and live in some magical land.”

 

“Stop it, Alexei,” Natasha groaned, her face reddening. “It’s not a big deal. It was just a kiss.”

 

“A kiss, eh?” Alexei raised an eyebrow. “So that’s how it starts. First, it's 'just a kiss,' and then you wake up one day and find yourself in love with him, giving him your heart, your soul—your sandwich in the fridge!” He paused dramatically. “I swear, I’ll have to start hiding my food from him.”

 

“You’re so embarrassing,” Natasha said, though she was fighting a grin. She could never fully stay mad at him. Not when he was so extra about everything.

 

Alexei clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “I just want to make sure the boy knows what he's getting into. I’ve been there. Back in the day, I used to tell jokes to win hearts. But those jokes? Not recommended for a first date.” He winked and muttered to himself, “Knock, knock. Who’s there? Russian dad who’s never leaving you alone.”

 

Natasha groaned, her face contorting with a blend of affection and exasperation. “Alexei, please—don’t tell me any more of your dad jokes. You’re a grown man. You’re supposed to be mature.”

 

"Look, honey," Alexei said, his tone shifting slightly to something a bit more sincere, but still full of that classic dad-ness. “You know I only want the best for you, right? You deserve someone who will fight for you, who will make you laugh and keep you safe, all at once. So, you think Harry's that guy?”

 

Natasha paused for a moment, and despite herself, her heart gave a little flutter at the thought of Harry. She wasn’t going to admit that to her dad, though. “I think Harry’s... complicated,” she said instead. “But I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

 

Alexei gave her a soft smile, the playful glint in his eye giving way to something a little warmer. “You do. You always do. But just know this—if he ever crosses you, I’ll be there. Like a bad cold that won't go away.” He paused, thinking for a second. “Maybe I need to get a new catchphrase... Papa Shostakov is always watching. Nah, that’s too creepy. Never mind. But you get my point, right?”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes again, but now, there was something genuine in her smile. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Alexei nodded, looking pleased with himself. “You’re welcome. Just make sure you invite me to the wedding, alright? I’ll bring the vodka and tell the groom embarrassing stories about you.”

 

“Absolutely not,” Natasha said, shaking her head but laughing. “Not a chance.”

 

“Well, if you change your mind,” Alexei said, winking, “I’ll be here with the best bad dad jokes and some truly excellent wedding gifts. I’ve been saving up for this moment my whole life.”

 

She sighed, but there was no hiding the affection in her voice. “You’re impossible.”

 

“And don’t you forget it,” Alexei replied, slapping her on the back with a hearty chuckle. “Now, go ahead and chase your boy. Just don’t let him off the hook too easily.”

 

With that, Natasha couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head in exasperation. Alexei may have been a lot to deal with, but when it came down to it, he was the closest thing she had to a dad—and no one else could make her laugh quite like him.

 

—

 

The air was heavy with the kind of anticipation that only a mission like this could bring. The dimly lit room at a secluded, non-descript British airstrip was a far cry from the grandiosity of the Ministry of Magic, yet it felt much more real, more immediate. Inside, two figures were preparing to leave British soil. One, a man who appeared in his 40s despite the weight of centuries on his shoulders, and the other, a grizzled veteran whose motto was, quite literally, "Constant Vigilance."

 

Gideon Adler—who, for the sake of a more normal life, went by the name of "Adler"—stood near the edge of the tarmac, surveying the SHIELD-owned cargo plane that would be taking them to the safehouse in New York. The plane was large, practical, and decidedly unassuming. No glittering Ministry symbols or elaborate charms. Just a solid piece of technology designed for efficiency and, in this case, secrecy. It was the kind of thing that would get the job done. No more, no less.

 

Adler adjusted the collar of his dark, tailored coat, running a hand through his prematurely salt-and-pepper hair, a remnant of his true age that no amount of the Infinity Formula could reverse. His appearance may have been younger, but his eyes—his eyes carried centuries of wisdom, cunning, and a past he preferred to forget. Despite his best efforts to live a different life, there were still those whispers of his former self that lingered like a shadow in the back of his mind.

 

"Ready, Alastor?" Adler asked, his voice deep and measured. There was a quiet certainty to his words, a weight of authority that made it clear he wasn’t just asking to pass the time. He was getting to the heart of things.

 

Alastor Moody, who was busy inspecting the cargo plane with the same meticulous attention he’d given to everything in his long career, turned his one good eye on the man. The other, hidden beneath the magical enchantment he used to shield his magical eye, scanned the perimeter, catching every movement and anomaly with unnerving precision.

 

"Always ready," Moody grunted, tightening his grip on his wooden staff. "Just don't ask me to trust any bloody Portkey the Ministry's cooked up. That lot's only good for sending people into the wrong place at the wrong time." His tone was rough, his voice a gravelly growl, but the undertones were something more—fear, perhaps, or just the frustration of a man who's seen too much go wrong to ever let his guard down.

 

"SHIELD's tech is solid. You’ll appreciate it," Adler said, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corners of his lips. He'd been around for too long to miss the depth of Moody's distrust when it came to Ministry-sanctioned methods. The man had the wisdom of a battle-hardened warrior who knew, better than most, how to survive the treachery that could come from within.

 

Moody grunted in approval at the SHIELD plane. "Better bloody be. I’ve had enough of those Ministry messes. Once you’re in, you’re in, and their Portkeys have a tendency to drop you off in the middle of nowhere. Not the best situation if you’re fighting off an ambush. This," Moody glanced at the cargo plane again, narrowing his one good eye as he scanned the landing gear and wings, "looks like it’ll get the job done. No surprise at the end of the bloody trip. None of this 'wrong destination' nonsense."

 

Adler gave him a knowing look. "You're a man who values control."

 

"You damn right I do," Moody replied, his voice gruff but with an edge of pride. "Constant vigilance means having a plan. And Portkeys... Portkeys don’t give you a plan. They just throw you somewhere. No thanks."

 

"Then let’s get you on board before you start taking apart the engines to make sure we’re not being followed," Adler quipped lightly, his tone a little warmer now. Moody's paranoia was legendary, but it had saved both their lives more times than either of them cared to count.

 

As they moved toward the plane, Adler’s thoughts turned inward for a moment. He hadn’t trusted the Ministry in years, not even when he was still among them. His former name still haunted him like an old ghost, a weight on his conscience that could never truly be shed. The fact that he was now working with a former Auror like Moody, a man who represented everything the Ministry was supposed to stand for, spoke volumes. Yet, there was something Adler had never told Moody—not about his past, not about the life he’d left behind.

 

"Are you sure you can handle this?" Moody’s voice broke Adler out of his reverie, though it wasn’t a question of capability. Moody trusted him, at least to the extent that Adler had proven useful to their joint cause—dealing with Hydra-allied wizards, those who had infiltrated the magical world and aligned themselves with dark forces that stretched far beyond simple politics.

 

"I’ve handled far worse," Adler replied, his voice steady. He gave Moody a glance before climbing up into the plane, his posture that of a man who had lived many lives, but who was still fighting for something, even if he couldn’t always define it. "And you? You’re as stubborn as ever, I see."

 

Moody snorted, stepping up behind Adler. "Don’t mistake stubborn for good sense. But I’ve been doing this long enough to know when I’ve got a good partner. Besides," he added, grinning with a sharp edge in his voice, "I like to keep an eye on everyone. Even if that means watching someone who used to be a bloody legend."

 

Adler raised an eyebrow, half-amused and half-patient. "You think you’re the only one with secrets, Alastor?"

 

Moody’s eyes narrowed, and he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gave a low chuckle that didn’t quite reach his eye. "We’ll see, won’t we, Adler? We’ll see."

 

The cargo door of the plane rumbled shut behind them, and the engines began to hum to life, cutting through the tension with the promise of flight. Moody and Adler took their seats as the plane began its journey from British soil to the safety of SHIELD’s New York headquarters, unaware of how their lives would change the moment they arrived.

 

But for now, the air between them was filled with that unsaid understanding—the shared knowledge that, regardless of how many secrets were buried beneath layers of magic and time, they were in this together. And sometimes, that was all that mattered.

Chapter 34: Chapter 33

The SHIELD cargo plane taxied to a halt on the private airstrip under the watchful gaze of the ever-paranoid Alastor Moody. Standing at the edge of the open cargo ramp, Moody surveyed the surroundings, his magical eye spinning in its socket while his normal one squinted suspiciously at the figures waiting for him on the tarmac.

 

Two men stood near a SHIELD jeep, their casual stances betraying the unmistakable confidence of those who’d seen more than their fair share of battles. Moody recognized them instantly, though he double-checked anyway—because Constant Vigilance wasn’t just a motto; it was a way of life.

 

"James Potter and Sirius Black," he muttered to himself, his lips curling into a grimace. "What in Merlin’s name are they doing here?"

 

He’d read about them in the Daily Prophet, of course. The articles had been almost too ludicrous to believe—James and Lily Potter waking from a five-year magical coma, Sirius Black exonerated of betraying the Potters and cleared of murdering Peter Pettigrew. Moody had dismissed most of the details as Ministry propaganda, but there were enough kernels of truth for his sharp mind to piece together the gist.

 

As the ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss, Moody stomped down to the tarmac, his staff clicking against the metal floor. His magical eye locked onto James first, scanning him from his wild, greying hair to his scuffed boots. "Potter," he barked, his gruff voice carrying across the open space, "you look like you’ve been dragged backward through a dragon’s nest. And Black..." His gaze snapped to Sirius, whose trademark smirk was already firmly in place. "Still managing to be an insufferable git, I see."

 

Sirius clutched his chest in mock offense. "Alastor, you wound me! Here I was, hoping for a warm reunion, and all I get is verbal abuse. And after all these years."

 

Moody’s good eye narrowed as his magical one swiveled rapidly, as if expecting Sirius to pull a prank out of thin air. "If you think I’m letting my guard down for even a second, Black, you’re madder than I thought. And you, Potter—" He pointed his staff accusingly at James. "What in the name of Merlin’s spotted pajamas are you two doing here? Shouldn’t you be... I don’t know, recovering from your coma or something equally sensible?"

 

James chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair in that infuriatingly casual way of his. "Good to see you too, Moody. And no, I’m not exactly the ‘rest and recover’ type. You know that."

 

"And neither am I," Sirius added, stepping forward with a theatrical flourish. "Though I hear Azkaban is great for working on your patience. And your tolerance for dementor roommates."

 

Moody grunted, his magical eye swiveling again. "So the Daily Prophet wasn’t spewing complete rubbish for once. You’re really back. Both of you."

 

"Surprise," James said dryly. "And before you ask, yes, Lily’s back too. Fully recovered, and as sharp as ever."

 

"Sharper," Sirius added with a grin. "She’s already made me apologize about fifty times for things I don’t even remember doing."

 

"Good," Moody growled, though his tone softened slightly. "The lot of you gave us all a bloody heart attack back then. And Black—don’t think I’ve forgotten how much of a nuisance you were as my Auror recruit."

 

"Ah, those were the days," Sirius said with mock nostalgia. "Dodging hexes, causing mayhem, driving you to the brink of madness."

 

James smirked. "To be fair, Moody, you did hex him a few times. And I’m pretty sure you enjoyed it."

 

"I did," Moody admitted without hesitation. "And I’d do it again, given half a reason."

 

Gideon Adler, who had been standing slightly behind Moody, finally decided to intervene. He stepped forward with his usual calm, calculated demeanor. "Alastor, James and Sirius are part of the team we’ve assembled for this operation. As is Lily."

 

Moody’s magical eye stopped spinning for a moment, fixing Adler with an intense glare. "You’re telling me these two clowns—" he jabbed his staff in James and Sirius’s direction—"are on the team? Along with Lily?"

 

Adler nodded, his expression unwavering. "Indeed. Given their experience and skills, they are invaluable assets. James and Sirius were among the best Aurors in your program, were they not?"

 

"Best?" Moody huffed, turning back to James and Sirius. "They were insubordinate, reckless, and a bloody headache. But I’ll give them this—they were effective. And Potter’s wife—she’s got a brain sharper than any blade. If she’s in, I’ll trust her judgment. Not sure I can say the same for these two."

 

James grinned. "Don’t worry, Alastor. We’ve matured. Well, mostly."

 

"Speak for yourself," Sirius quipped. "I’m still the same charming rogue I’ve always been."

 

Moody rolled his eyes. "Merlin help us all."

 

"Don’t worry, Moody," James said with a smirk. "We’ll behave... mostly."

 

Adler clapped his hands together, signaling it was time to move on. "If we’re finished catching up, the safehouse awaits. We’ve much to discuss, and I’m sure Alastor will feel better once we’re behind wards and shields."

 

Moody grunted again, his magical eye already scanning the horizon for potential threats. "Fine. But if anything goes sideways, don’t expect me to say I didn’t warn you."

 

As they climbed into the waiting vehicles, Sirius leaned over to James, whispering just loud enough for Moody to hear, "He’s missed us, hasn’t he?"

 

James chuckled. "Oh, definitely. But don’t push your luck."

 

Moody, overhearing, barked out, "Constant Vigilance, Black! That includes shutting your trap!"

 

Sirius just grinned wider, and the convoy rumbled off the tarmac, leaving behind only the faint echo of Moody’s grumbling. Whatever lay ahead, it was clear the team was in for an adventure.

 

—

 

The jeep pulled up to the nondescript safehouse nestled in the New York countryside, its surroundings quiet save for the distant hum of cicadas. Moody, ever vigilant, was already scanning the perimeter, his magical eye spinning wildly in its socket while his wand hand twitched reflexively. He stepped out of the vehicle, staff in hand, boots crunching against the gravel driveway.

 

The house itself was nothing special to look at—a two-story structure that seemed more suited for a suburban family than an elite team of operatives. But Moody knew better than to judge a book by its cover, and the faint hum of layered wards tingled against his magical senses.

 

"Good wards," Moody muttered approvingly, though his tone was begrudging. "Complex, but solid. Looks like you didn’t half-arse it, Potter."

 

James smirked as he hopped out of the jeep, Sirius following closely behind. "We learned from the best, Moody. You think I’d risk my family with anything less?"

 

"Good to know you can still think," Moody grunted, hobbling toward the front door with his staff tapping the ground rhythmically. His magical eye flicked to Adler as he followed. "So what’s the bloody story here? I’m assuming the big reveal hasn’t hit yet, given the smirks these two have been throwing my way."

 

Adler gave a polite, unreadable smile. "I think you’ll find the answer inside, Alastor. We’ve made... additions to the team. Necessary ones."

 

Moody grumbled under his breath, his hand tightening on his staff. "I don’t like surprises, Adler. Not since that fiasco in ’47. I trust you remember."

 

"Oh, I remember," Adler replied smoothly. "But this is a pleasant surprise, I assure you."

 

Moody gave a noncommittal grunt but said no more as Sirius pushed open the door. "After you, Moody. Prepare yourself."

 

"If this is a joke, Black, I swear—" Moody began, but his words caught in his throat as his magical eye whirled wildly. The room before him was spacious yet unassuming, with a few couches and tables scattered about. But it wasn’t the decor that caught his attention.

 

It was the people.

 

Standing near the center of the room was Lily Potter, her fiery red hair tied back, looking every bit the youngest-ever recruit to the Department of Mysteries that Moody remembered. But beside her stood three figures that made him stop in his tracks.

 

"Bloody hell," Moody muttered, his wand arm instinctively lowering just a fraction. His magical eye locked onto the man in the crisp blue tactical armor with the white star emblazoned across his chest. There was no mistaking him—the jawline, the shield resting casually by his side. "Steve Rogers."

 

"Captain America," James said with a grin, crossing his arms. "Well, technically both are correct."

 

Steve stepped forward, his hand outstretched, a warm smile on his face. "Alastor. It’s been a while."

 

Moody stared for a moment before finally grasping Steve’s hand in his gnarled one. "You haven’t aged a bloody day," he muttered, his eyes darting to Steve’s face and then to the metal shield. "Still playing the hero, I see."

 

"Old habits die hard," Steve said with a chuckle. "Good to see you again, Moody."

 

"Good to see him," Sirius whispered to James. "Though I’m sure he’s seeing him with that magical eye of his in ways we can’t imagine."

 

James smirked. "Bet he’s trying to figure out how much of Rogers is enhanced and how much is just dumb luck."

 

Moody ignored them, his magical eye swiveling to the man standing just to Steve’s right. His brow furrowed as he took in the long dark hair, the faint scarring on his face, and—most prominently—the metallic arm glinting under the room’s light. "Bucky Barnes," he muttered, his tone laced with equal parts surprise and suspicion.

 

Bucky shifted awkwardly but nodded. "Yeah. Most people call me the White Wolf these days."

 

"I don’t care what they call you," Moody barked. "You’ve got a bloody metal arm, lad. What happened to you?"

 

Bucky’s expression darkened, but before he could reply, Steve stepped in. "Long story. Let’s just say he’s back on the right side of things now."

 

"Hmm," Moody said, his magical eye sweeping over Bucky’s arm. "We’ll see about that."

 

"And what about me?" came a voice, crisp and confident. Moody turned, his good eye widening just slightly at the sight of the woman stepping forward, her posture as impeccable as ever. "Surely you haven’t forgotten me, Alastor."

 

"Peggy Carter," Moody said, his tone softening just a fraction as he took in her sharp suit and no-nonsense expression. She looked every bit the fearless operative he remembered, though there was a subtle shift in her stance—something lighter, freer. "Still barking orders, I assume?"

 

"Only when it’s necessary," Peggy replied, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Though from what I hear, you’ve been doing plenty of that yourself."

 

Moody let out a low chuckle, surprising even himself. "Not as much as I used to. Takes too much energy these days."

 

Peggy stepped closer, her eyes flicking to his magical one. "You look... different. But the same where it counts."

 

"That’s what happens when you lose half your bloody body parts," Moody replied gruffly. "And what about you lot? How in Merlin’s name do you look the same as you did in ’45?"

 

Peggy’s smile faltered slightly, but Adler stepped in smoothly. "That’s part of the briefing, Alastor. Suffice it to say, certain factors have allowed them to remain in peak condition. They’re invaluable to the mission."

 

Moody’s magical eye swiveled to Adler, narrowing slightly. "You’re being cagey, Adler."

 

"And you’ve always been suspicious," Adler replied, his voice calm but firm. "It’s why I wanted you here."

 

Moody grunted, turning his attention back to the trio before him. "So, you’re telling me that Captain America, his metal-armed pal, and the lady who could out-strategize half the Ministry are part of this little... team of yours?"

 

"That’s right," Steve said, his tone earnest. "We’re here to help. Just like we did before."

 

"Before," Moody repeated, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief. "Bloody hell. I don’t know whether to feel reassured or concerned. But knowing my luck, probably both."

 

Sirius clapped Moody on the shoulder, his grin as wide as ever. "Relax, Moody. With this lot, we’re practically unstoppable."

 

"That’s what you said the last time," Moody muttered, his good eye narrowing at Sirius. "And look how that turned out."

 

The room fell silent for a moment before Bucky broke it with a wry smile. "He’s not wrong."

 

Moody sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. Let’s get on with it. But don’t expect me to start trusting anyone just because they look heroic." His magical eye swiveled to Adler again, lingering for a moment. "I’ll be watching. All of you."

 

"Wouldn’t have it any other way," Steve said with a nod, his voice steady.

 

Peggy smiled faintly. "Welcome to the team, Alastor. It’s good to have you back in the fight."

 

Moody snorted. "Fight’s never stopped, Carter. Just changes the battlegrounds." With that, he stomped toward the nearest chair, his staff tapping against the floor as he muttered to himself, "Unbelievable. Captain America, a bloody wizard war, and me in the middle of it. Just like old times."

 

—

 

Moody sat heavily in a chair that had clearly been reinforced with some sort of magic—or Vibranium, if the way it didn’t creak under his bulk was anything to go by. His magical eye whirred, flicking between the photographs spread out on the table and the faces of the room’s occupants. It was a lot to take in, even for someone as seasoned and cynical as Alastor Moody.

 

James leaned forward, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a rare seriousness that Moody had only seen during his Auror training days. "I know it’s a lot to process, Moody, but we needed you to hear it all. No half-truths."

 

Moody grunted, leaning on his staff. "You’re damn right it’s a lot. You’re telling me your boy—the kid we all thought died last year—is alive, kidnapped by bloody Hydra of all people, and... that happened to him?" He jabbed a finger at one of the photographs, a grainy image of a towering, muscular figure that looked like it had stepped out of a nightmare. "And you’re calling that your six-year-old son?"

 

James’s jaw clenched, but it was Lily who spoke, her voice steady despite the faint tremor beneath it. "Yes, Alastor. That’s Harry. Hydra experimented on him. They... they injected him with the Super Soldier Serum, spliced his DNA with something—or someone—called Weapon X, and coated his skeleton with Vibranium." Her hands tightened into fists. "They were turning him into their weapon."

 

Moody’s magical eye swiveled toward Adler, who stood off to the side, arms folded, his expression unreadable. "And you—this descendant of Grindelwald nonsense—decided to grow a conscience and help the lad?" His good eye narrowed. "Or is there more to this story than you’re letting on?"

 

Adler’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. "You always were a sharp one, Alastor." He straightened, his gaze meeting Moody’s directly. "I won’t insult your intelligence. I’m not a descendant of Gellert Grindelwald. I am Gellert Grindelwald."

 

The room fell silent. Moody’s grip on his staff tightened, the wood creaking under his fingers. "You’re telling me... you broke out of Nurmengard, and now you’re playing the bloody hero? Forgive me if I don’t start clapping."

 

Sirius, leaning casually against the wall, chimed in, "Yeah, that was about my reaction too. But turns out, he’s not the same Grindelwald we all grew up fearing. He’s... well, different now." His smirk softened into something resembling sincerity. "And he saved Harry."

 

"Saved him," Moody repeated, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You’re telling me Grindelwald—the Grindelwald—grew a bloody conscience and decided to help Shield rescue a six-year-old boy from Hydra?"

 

"It’s true," Peggy said, her voice calm but firm. "And he didn’t just help rescue Harry. He helped rescue Bucky as well." She glanced at Barnes, who had remained silent, his metal arm resting on the table.

 

Moody’s magical eye whirred, locking onto Bucky. "So you’re telling me Hydra did to you what they were planning to do to the Potter boy? Turned you into a puppet?"

 

"Yeah," Bucky said quietly, his voice rough. "For a long time, I was their puppet. But I’m free now. Thanks to him." He nodded toward Adler, his expression conflicted but sincere.

 

Moody leaned back in his chair, his magical eye darting between them all. "So let me get this straight. Grindelwald—sorry, Adler—gets a conscience, teams up with this Black Widow I’ve heard whispers about, and helps Shield rescue Harry and Barnes here. Meanwhile, your boy’s been turned into a bloody magical Super Soldier, and you’re telling me he’s not even here because he’s off doing something ‘important.’" He snorted. "You expect me to buy all this?"

 

"We’re not asking you to buy it, Moody," Steve said, stepping forward, his voice steady and authoritative. "We’re asking you to be part of the solution. Harry’s been through hell, and so has his family. We’re working to stop Hydra from doing this to anyone else, and your experience is invaluable."

 

Moody’s magical eye swiveled to Steve, narrowing slightly. "And what’s in it for me, eh? Why should I trust any of you, especially with him"—he gestured toward Adler—"standing here like some reformed saint?"

 

Adler stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Because I’ve spent decades reflecting on my actions, Alastor. Nurmengard was not just a prison; it was my penance. And when I saw what Hydra was doing—using magic and science to create horrors—I knew I had to act. I won’t ask for your trust. I’ll earn it."

 

Moody stared at him for a long moment, his magical eye unblinking. Then he let out a low chuckle, though it lacked any real humor. "Well, Grindelwald, you’ve certainly got a way with words. Fine. I’ll stick around. But if you so much as blink wrong, I’ll end you myself. Constant vigilance."

 

"Wouldn’t expect anything less," Adler replied with a faint smile.

 

James clapped Moody on the shoulder, his grin returning. "See? Told you it’d all make sense eventually."

 

"It doesn’t," Moody muttered, shaking his head. "But when has anything in this bloody world ever made sense?" He glanced around the room. "Now, about this Infinity Formula you mentioned..."

 

—

 

Moody’s eye whirred again, scanning the room as if expecting trouble to leap out from the shadows. He wasn’t one for unnecessary surprises, and this whole setup—from the breakneck pace of being dragged into this covert operation to the bizarre twist of Grindelwald’s redemption—had his paranoia buzzing. But when James nudged him toward the door of a smaller room where they’d apparently be having their "strategy" session, the old Auror didn’t flinch. He’d seen and survived worse, and this? This was just another bloody puzzle to solve.

 

James knocked once, and before anyone could say another word, a deep, gravelly voice from the other side called out, “Come in.”

 

The door swung open, revealing a broad-shouldered man in a black suit, his white shirt crisply pressed, but his face—more specifically, his left eye—was unmistakable. A pair of dark sunglasses hid his features from view, but the sharp, intense presence could only belong to one person.

 

“Well, well, well,” Moody muttered under his breath. “A younger version, eh? Nicholas Fury, I presume?”

 

Fury stood up from behind the desk, his posture as rigid as a steel rod. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead, revealing a sharp, calculating eye that gleamed with cold intensity—much like Moody’s own. “Alastor Moody,” Fury greeted with a nod. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Though I didn’t expect to find you in bed with the likes of Grindelwald.” His lip curled into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eye. “Guess the world’s full of surprises.”

 

Moody stared at Fury for a moment, sizing him up with his magical eye, which whirred in a way that suggested it was particularly interested in the younger man’s every movement. He’d heard of Fury, of course—the new Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., the guy who didn’t care who you were, only if you could get the job done. He was more than familiar with the legend, and though he didn’t trust many people, Fury’s reputation was one of calculated pragmatism. It made him dangerous in a different kind of way.

 

“Didn’t expect to be dealing with another one-eyed bastard,” Moody grumbled, taking a step into the room and ignoring Fury’s outstretched hand. "But then again, I suppose the world’s got a way of pairing up people who’ve got a knack for seeing what others don’t."

 

Fury’s lips twitched upward into a smirk, and he dropped his hand. “Some people see more with one eye than others see with two.” He gestured to a chair opposite his desk. “Sit down, we’ve got things to discuss. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

 

Moody grunted and sat, his eye continuing to scan the room—always on alert. "You’d better start explaining, Fury. What’s the deal with this Infinity Formula? And why exactly do I need it?"

 

Fury sat back in his chair, his fingers steepling in front of him. “You want to fight Hydra, and you want to keep up with the kind of firepower they’re using. Simple as that.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “And don’t tell me you’re not interested in the Infinity Formula. I know a man like you—grizzled, paranoid, doesn’t trust anyone—including himself—who would leap at a chance to undo the damage of aging and fighting a battle you can’t win with just your natural abilities anymore.”

 

Moody's magical eye swiveled to Fury, narrowing in suspicion. “I don’t take kindly to people guessing my motives, Fury,” he grunted, his tone terse. "But you’ve got a point. I’m not in this to die a slow death, especially not while there’s still work to be done. So, what’s this Formula supposed to do?"

 

Fury leaned back in his chair, looking almost amused, though his eye never left Moody’s. “The Formula’s Howard Stark’s work. It’s based on some old tech he’s been tinkering with, combining science and magic. It’s a way to reverse aging—keep someone in their prime indefinitely. Essentially, it’s the next step in preserving humanity’s best assets, and it’ll be the key to keeping our team in fighting shape. You want to join us, you want to keep up with what’s coming down the line, then you’re going to need it.”

 

Moody’s magical eye flickered. “Reverse aging, eh? Sounds like something even the likes of me could use. But you think I’m going to just trust this formula because Stark promises it’ll work?”

 

“I’m not asking you to trust Stark,” Fury shot back. “I’m asking you to trust me. If you want to be part of this operation, then the Formula’s your best shot at surviving long enough to see it through. Because let’s face it, Alastor—Hydra’s already ahead of the game. And they’ve got wizards on their side now. It’s going to take more than just magic to beat them. You’re going to need everything at your disposal.”

 

Moody rubbed his weathered face with his good hand, grumbling to himself before speaking again. "I didn’t become an Auror by trusting anyone blindly, Fury. But... I’ve seen enough of this mess to know I can’t take it all on alone anymore. Hell, I’ve barely managed to stay ahead of these Hydra bastards as it is."

 

Fury gave him a look that was part challenge, part understanding. “That’s why I’m offering you the Formula, Alastor. You’re not the only one who’s getting old in this fight. You need it as much as anyone else. We’ve got a war to win—and I’m not about to let anyone get left behind, even you.”

 

Moody sat back in the chair, eye still whirling, as if weighing Fury’s words. His fingers drummed on the armrest. "I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to stick around a little longer. Not like I’ve got any better options, anyway."

 

Fury leaned forward again, eyes sharp. “You’ve got a choice, Alastor. You’ve always had a choice. But if you want to make a real difference—and maybe save your hide in the process—then you’ll take the Formula when Stark’s ready. It’s that simple.”

 

Moody’s gaze hardened as he locked eyes with Fury. “Fine. I’m in. But make no mistake, Fury—Constant Vigilance,” he growled, a grim promise in his voice. "I don’t care how shiny that damn Formula is. If I see any sign of foul play, I won’t hesitate."

 

Fury’s grin was sharp, almost predatory. "Wouldn’t expect anything less, Alastor. Now let’s get to work."

 

The two men shared a brief, unspoken understanding—a mutual respect forged by decades of fighting in the shadows—and for the first time in a long while, Moody felt like he might just be part of something bigger than his own survival.

 

—

 

Back at Kamar-Taj, the stillness of the grand halls was interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridors—loud, purposeful, and more than a little angry. Wong was on a mission, his expression tight with disapproval, his every step radiating a tension that was hard to ignore. And it wasn’t just the usual disgruntlement that came from his role as protector of Kamar-Taj’s sacred halls. No, this was personal.

 

He turned the corner sharply and nearly collided with Harry Potter, who was just entering the building, his brow furrowed with confusion. The moment their eyes met, Wong's glare could have melted stone.

 

"You," Wong growled, pointing a finger at Harry with all the authority of a strict headmaster.

 

Harry raised his hands defensively. "Wong, listen, I—"

 

"No!" Wong snapped, cutting him off. "You do not get to just waltz back here after what you’ve done!" He took a menacing step forward, making Harry instinctively retreat. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!"

 

Harry blinked, taken aback by the intensity of Wong’s fury. "Uh, I’m just—what did I do?"

 

"Don’t play innocent with me, Potter!" Wong growled, voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "You magically copied books from the Library of Kamar-Taj. You know the rules—no one takes anything without permission!" He spat the last word as if it were a curse, his usually composed demeanor now a whirlwind of anger.

 

Harry's eyes widened, realizing what Wong was referring to. "Oh, right, that. Look, Wong, I didn’t actually take anything. I made copies." He raised a hand, attempting to calm the situation. "Magical photocopies, not actual books! I didn’t steal anything. I—"

 

Wong’s eyes narrowed. "The Ancient One gave you permission?" His voice was sharp, demanding, though there was still doubt in his tone.

 

Harry hesitated for a second before nodding. "Well... kind of. She didn’t say the words, but she didn’t say no either." He scratched his head awkwardly. "I just thought it was, you know, fine. I mean, I was making copies for my parents and Sirius—not to keep for myself."

 

Before Wong could respond, a soft voice interrupted from behind them.

 

"It’s true, Wong."

 

Wong’s face hardened, and he turned to face the Ancient One, who had appeared, her robes flowing as though she’d materialized from the ether itself. Her calm, serene presence only made the tension more palpable. She gave Wong a level look, one that could quiet a storm. "I did not give Harry explicit permission, but I knew what he intended to do. He would not break our rules."

 

Wong’s frustration boiled over, though he kept his voice measured. "You knew? The rules—"

 

"Are not as rigid as you think," the Ancient One interrupted, her gaze soft but firm. "Harry’s actions did not pose a threat to the sanctity of our Library. His heart is in the right place. He merely wished to share knowledge with his loved ones."

 

Harry, still feeling awkward in the middle of this, rubbed the back of his neck. "I just figured... Well, you know, things could go south for me at any moment, and I wanted to leave something behind—something my parents could remember me by. They’ve been through enough, and it seemed... I don’t know, like the right thing to do."

 

Wong took a step back, but the disapproval still simmered in his gaze. "But you know the power of the knowledge housed in Kamar-Taj. You can’t just go copying things on a whim."

 

Harry shrugged, trying to defuse the tension. "Look, I get it. I didn’t mean any harm. And I won’t do it again. Just—"

 

The Ancient One raised a hand, silencing both men. She smiled at Harry, a small, knowing smile that carried the weight of centuries of wisdom. "Harry Potter has a good heart, Wong. He has not taken anything that could harm us, and his actions were motivated by love, not greed. Let this be a lesson, though, Harry," she added, her tone turning more serious. "Kamar-Taj is a place of discipline, and we must respect its rules, even when our intentions are pure."

 

Wong shot Harry a look that suggested he didn’t entirely agree with this leniency, but he didn’t argue with the Ancient One. He was, however, still clearly unsettled. "Next time, Potter," he said gruffly, "ask before you do something like that. No more sneaking around. Understood?"

 

Harry gave him a sheepish grin. "Yeah, yeah. Understood."

 

"Good," Wong muttered, still not entirely convinced, but at least slightly mollified.

 

The Ancient One stepped closer to Harry, her eyes kind but unwavering. "You are part of this world now, Harry. You must learn its rules, its consequences, and its responsibilities. And sometimes, those responsibilities come with sacrifices."

 

Harry nodded solemnly, understanding the weight of her words. "I know. I’ll be careful. I promise."

 

Wong turned to leave, shaking his head as if still grappling with the situation. "If you’d asked me, I would have told you it was a bad idea," he muttered under his breath.

 

The Ancient One watched him go with a slight smile. "Wong," she called out softly, "sometimes, a little bit of rebellion is the only way to move forward."

 

Harry chuckled quietly, but it was the Ancient One’s expression—calm, but with a flicker of something deeper—that stayed with him. "I’ll keep that in mind," he said with a small nod.

 

As Wong disappeared down the hallway, Harry turned back to the Ancient One. "Thanks," he said sincerely. "I wasn’t trying to cause trouble. I just wanted to make sure my family knew what was going on... if something happened."

 

The Ancient One studied him for a moment, her gaze lingering on Harry’s face. "Your love for them is clear, Harry. Just remember, knowledge comes with a burden. It’s not just about sharing it, but about bearing the weight of what it can do. Be mindful of that."

 

"I will," Harry promised, though the undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice lingered, a hint of the weight that the Ancient One had mentioned starting to settle in.

 

The Ancient One gave him one last look of understanding. "Good. Now, go. There are bigger challenges ahead, and you’ll need all your strength to face them."

 

Harry nodded and turned to head toward his room, but his mind was already on the next mission. The weight of responsibility was starting to press in, and while he had no idea what the future held, he was ready to face it—no matter how complicated it became.

Chapter 35: Chapter 34

The safehouse workshop was a chaotic symphony of innovation, where arcane runes glowed faintly amidst the sleek lines of advanced technology. The hum of machinery filled the air as Howard Stark leaned against a workbench, sipping from a steaming cup of coffee, his sharp eyes darting between the schematics on the table and the wizard and Red Guardian seated across from him. Lily Potter, her hair tied back in a loose braid, was perched on a stool nearby, her wand twirling idly as she made notes in a charmed notebook that floated in front of her.

 

Alastor Moody grunted as he shifted in his seat, his magical eye whirring as it locked onto Alexei Shostakov, who sat with his arms crossed, an amused grin on his rugged face. This was the first time Moody had met the former Red Guardian, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of him yet.

 

“You’re a big bastard,” Moody muttered, eyeing Alexei up and down. “I’d wager you could give a troll a run for its Galleons in a fistfight.”

 

Alexei chuckled, his deep voice carrying a trace of Russian pride. “And you, my friend, look like you’ve already fought one. Did the troll win, or did you?”

 

Moody’s lips quirked into a rare smirk. “The troll’s six feet under. I’m still breathing, so you tell me.”

 

Howard clapped his hands together, cutting through the banter. “Alright, lovefest aside, let’s get to business, shall we? We’ve got some serious work ahead. Now, Moody,” he said, pointing a wrench at him, “you’re getting more than just a Vibranium-laced suit. Lily here has some ideas about... upgrades.”

 

“Upgrades?” Moody asked, his magical eye swiveling to Lily, who looked up with a sly smile.

 

“I’m talking about your leg,” Lily said, gesturing to his wooden prosthetic. “I’ve been working with Howard to design something better—something that combines magic and tech. A prosthetic that won’t just get you from point A to point B but will also be an asset in combat.”

 

Moody raised a skeptical eyebrow. “An asset? It’s a bloody leg, lass, not a broomstick.”

 

Howard grinned, clearly enjoying the challenge. “Oh, it’ll be a leg, alright. But imagine a leg that’s not just Vibranium reinforced but also enhanced with a few... tricks. Lily’s been working on some enchantments to make it lighter, faster, and tougher than anything you’ve ever used. Plus, I’ve added a few Stark innovations—stabilizers for better balance, deployable spikes for traction, and, if you’re feeling feisty, a shock mechanism for close encounters.”

 

Moody leaned back, his magical eye narrowing. “You’re telling me you want to turn my leg into a bloody Swiss Army knife?”

 

“Essentially, yes,” Howard replied without missing a beat. “But cooler.”

 

Lily flicked her wand, and a shimmering blueprint of the prosthetic leg appeared in mid-air. “It’ll be linked to you magically, so it’ll respond like a natural limb. We’re also embedding a concealment charm to keep it looking ordinary until you activate its additional features. Think of it as a wand, a shield, and a boot all rolled into one.”

 

Moody grunted, clearly impressed despite himself. “As long as it doesn’t start thinking for itself, I’ll give it a shot.”

 

“Good,” Lily said, beaming. “Now, on to the rest of the gear.”

 

Howard leaned over the table, tapping a different schematic. “Everyone’s getting the standard Vibranium-laced armor with built-in magical protection—runes for durability, fire resistance, and shielding spells. But I’m open to customizations. What do you two need?”

 

Alexei leaned forward, his expression turning serious. “I’m used to heavy combat, close quarters. I’ll need something that won’t restrict movement. And maybe... a weapon? Something hefty. I prefer smashing to stabbing.”

 

Howard nodded, scribbling a note. “Got it. How about a Vibranium hammer? We can enchant it with some impact-boosting runes. It’ll hit like a freight train.”

 

Alexei grinned. “Now we’re talking.”

 

Moody cut in, his voice gruff. “I’ll need a wand holster built into the armor—something quick-draw. And spare compartments for potions. I’ve got some tricks of my own I’ll want to carry into battle.”

 

Lily added a note to her floating notebook. “I can work in potion compartments and wand access points. What about your magical eye, Alastor? Any upgrades there?”

 

Moody considered this, his hand brushing over the worn surface of the eye. “It’s served me well, but if you’ve got ideas, I’m listening.”

 

Howard tapped his chin thoughtfully. “What if we integrate it with the suit’s tech? Give you enhanced scanning capabilities—heat signatures, magic detection, maybe even some sonar for low-visibility situations?”

 

Moody’s lips twitched. “If it doesn’t interfere with the magic, I’ll take it.”

 

“Perfect,” Howard said, turning back to Alexei. “Anything else for you, Red Guardian?”

 

Alexei shrugged, his grin returning. “Just make sure it looks good. I’m going to need to outshine Captain America.”

 

Howard smirked. “I like your style.”

 

Lily closed her notebook with a decisive snap. “Alright, I think we’ve got everything we need to get started. Moody, I’ll need you to stick around for measurements and some calibration work for the prosthetic. Alexei, I’ll send you some weapon prototypes to test.”

 

Moody stood, his wooden leg creaking as he shifted his weight. “Fine. But no funny business, Stark. If this leg malfunctions in the middle of a fight, I’m coming for you.”

 

Howard raised his coffee cup in a mock salute. “Noted. But trust me, old man, when I’m done with you, you’ll be the baddest one-eyed bastard this side of the Atlantic.”

 

Alexei snorted. “Except for Fury.”

 

Moody’s magical eye swiveled toward Alexei. “We’ll see about that, comrade.”

 

—

 

The training room in the safehouse was a vast, high-ceilinged space enchanted to mimic different terrains and combat scenarios. Its walls shimmered faintly with wards, ensuring that the magic unleashed within wouldn’t level the rest of the building. Moody stood in the center of the room, his magical eye spinning as he assessed the equipment, wards, and the two men standing before him.

 

James Potter and Sirius Black were decked out in lightweight training armor, a blend of enchanted leather and Stark-tech padding. James was grinning, his hazel eyes glinting with the same mischief that had earned him and Sirius countless detentions at Hogwarts. Sirius, on the other hand, looked more subdued but no less eager. His sharp, angular face bore the marks of his time in Azkaban, but his gray eyes burned with determination.

 

“You two think you’re ready for this?” Moody growled, his voice like gravel being crushed underfoot. His magical eye swiveled to Sirius. “You’ve been out of Azkaban for what, half a year? That place saps more than just magic. It eats away at your instincts, your reflexes. And you,” he barked, turning to James, “three years in a magical coma might’ve saved you from Voldemort, but it doesn’t save you from me.”

 

James smirked, adjusting his grip on his wand. “You sound worried, Alastor. Afraid we might show you up?”

 

Moody’s face didn’t twitch, but his tone turned colder. “Cockiness gets you killed, Potter. You know better.”

 

Sirius tilted his head, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Come on, Moody. We survived your Auror training once. What’s a little refresher between old friends?”

 

“Old friends?” Moody spat, stomping his wooden leg for emphasis. “You’ll wish we were strangers by the time I’m done with you.”

 

He raised his wand, and the room shifted around them. The floor turned into uneven cobblestones, fog rolling in to obscure their vision. The faint sound of footsteps echoed in the distance.

 

“Your mission is simple,” Moody barked. “Neutralize me. If you can’t do that, survive for ten minutes without getting ‘killed.’ No cheap tricks, no holding back. I’ll know if you’re slacking.”

 

James and Sirius exchanged a glance, their years of friendship allowing them to communicate without words. They both raised their wands, falling into a practiced stance.

 

“Let’s dance,” Sirius muttered, his grin widening.

 

Moody didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he flicked his wand, and a barrage of stunners erupted from the mist, forcing James and Sirius to dive in opposite directions.

 

James rolled to his feet, firing a silent Expelliarmus toward the source of the spells. The red beam sliced through the fog, but it hit nothing. “He’s moving fast,” he called out.

 

“No kidding,” Sirius growled, ducking as another spell whizzed past him. He countered with a Confringo, the explosive charm sending a shockwave through the fog, momentarily clearing it. “Think he’s using the fog to track us?”

 

“Always assume the worst!” Moody’s voice boomed from somewhere in the mist. “That’s the first lesson, boys. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”

 

James chuckled under his breath. “Same old Moody.”

 

Sirius barked a laugh, already moving to flank. “At least we know he hasn’t gone soft.”

 

A faint whirring noise was the only warning before a Stupefy streaked toward James. He barely managed to deflect it with a hastily cast Protego, the force of the impact sending him stumbling backward. “He’s not aiming to teach us a lesson—he’s aiming to obliterate us!”

 

“Lesson two!” Moody’s voice growled as another spell came hurtling out of the fog toward Sirius. “You’re only as good as the worst day you’ve prepared for. And trust me, lads, I’m your worst day.”

 

Sirius leapt behind a conjured stone wall, the Reducto Moody had sent his way obliterating it seconds later. “Alright, enough playing nice,” he muttered. He flicked his wand, and a spectral dog erupted from its tip, charging into the mist to sniff Moody out.

 

James, meanwhile, muttered a quick Homenum Revelio. A faint glow appeared to his left, and he grinned. “Got you.” He sent a flurry of jinxes in that direction, but the glow disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

 

“Lesson three!” Moody bellowed. “Your enemy won’t stand still just because you’ve found him!”

 

From the corner of his eye, Sirius saw a shadow darting between the fog banks. He pointed his wand and cast Incarcerous, ropes flying toward the figure—but they wrapped around nothing. A decoy.

 

“Nice try, Black,” Moody’s voice taunted.

 

James growled in frustration, his mind racing. “Alright, think, think. He’s using the fog to keep us off-balance. We need to—”

 

“Distract him?” Sirius interrupted, his grin wolfish. “On it.”

 

Before James could protest, Sirius transformed into his Animagus form, his large black dog shape blending into the mist. Moody’s eye whirred, but Sirius’s sudden change of tactics threw him off for a split second. That was all James needed.

 

“Expelliarmus!” James shouted, his wand slashing through the air.

 

The spell hit Moody squarely, sending his wand spinning out of his hand. Sirius lunged, tackling Moody to the ground. The older man let out a grunt but twisted with surprising agility, knocking Sirius off balance and retrieving his wand in one fluid motion.

 

“Lesson four,” Moody growled, brushing off his robes. “Never let your guard down. But I’ll admit, you two haven’t rusted as much as I thought.”

 

James helped Sirius to his feet, grinning. “Is that your way of saying we passed?”

 

Moody’s magical eye swiveled to him. “Don’t get cocky, Potter. I’ve still got fifty other ways to break you.”

 

Sirius smirked, clapping Moody on the shoulder. “You missed us, admit it.”

 

Moody grunted, a rare twinkle of amusement in his good eye. “You’re lucky you’re both too damn stubborn to die. Now, get cleaned up. We’ve got real enemies to face, and they won’t pull their punches like I just did.”

 

As James and Sirius laughed and walked off, Moody allowed himself a small, fleeting smile. Maybe these two would survive after all.

 

—

 

The sparring room was quieter than usual, though the faint hum of Shield-grade energy barriers lining the walls and the rhythmic sound of fists meeting flesh filled the air. Natasha Romanoff and Melinda May moved like opposing storms, circling each other with predatory grace. Both women were in sleek training gear—light, breathable, but durable enough to handle the punishment they were dishing out.

 

Clint Barton leaned against the wall nearby, idly flipping a practice arrow between his fingers. His sharp eyes followed the fight, a smirk tugging at his lips. He was still getting used to this team—magic, super-soldiers, and whatever the hell this "Kamar-Taj" business was—but watching Natasha go toe-to-toe with "The Cavalry" was the kind of entertainment he could get behind.

 

Natasha feinted left, then struck out with a lightning-quick kick aimed at May's ribs. May anticipated it, blocking the blow with her forearm before countering with a jab aimed at Natasha's jaw. Natasha ducked, spun, and tried to sweep May's legs out from under her. May leapt over the sweep with effortless agility, pivoting mid-air to deliver a sharp kick toward Natasha's side.

 

Natasha blocked, grinning as she stepped back. “Not bad for someone who isn’t technically an assassin.”

 

May didn’t reply, but her eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching in what might have been a smile. She moved in again, throwing a series of rapid strikes. Natasha blocked most of them, but May slipped past her defenses, landing a glancing blow on Natasha’s shoulder.

 

Clint winced dramatically. “Ooh, Tasha, you letting her win? That doesn’t feel very Black Widow-y.”

 

Natasha shot him a glare over her shoulder. “Keep talking, Barton. You’re next.”

 

Clint raised his hands in mock surrender, the smirk never leaving his face. “I’m just saying, May’s making you work for it. Thought you were supposed to be the unstoppable assassin.”

 

May finally spoke, her voice calm and measured even as she threw another punch. “Unstoppable doesn’t mean unbeatable.” She sidestepped Natasha’s counterattack, grabbing her wrist and twisting it into a lock that forced Natasha to kneel—or risk a dislocated shoulder.

 

Natasha tapped out with her free hand, her grin widening. “Alright, you’ve got me.” As May released her, Natasha stood, rolling her shoulder. “Nice technique. You always this intense, or is it just because of me?”

 

May tilted her head, considering. “I like to know what I’m up against.”

 

“Same here,” Natasha said, adjusting her stance. “Again?”

 

Before May could respond, Clint groaned from his perch against the wall. “You two are machines, you know that? What happened to team bonding? Isn’t that why Fury dragged us into this team in the first place?”

 

Natasha turned to him, hands on her hips. “And what do you suggest, Clint? A trust fall?”

 

Clint grinned, twirling his arrow. “I was thinking more like a drinking game, but sure, trust falls work too. Might be fun watching you drop May.”

 

May crossed her arms, arching a brow. “If anyone’s doing the dropping, it’ll be me. And trust me, Barton, you won’t enjoy it.”

 

Natasha laughed, a rare, genuine sound that momentarily lightened the room’s tension. “Careful, Clint. She’s got a mean right hook.”

 

“I’m noticing,” Clint muttered, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. He straightened, stepping forward to join them. “Alright, fine. You’re both scary, I get it. But seriously, how are you two adjusting to… all of this?” He gestured vaguely around the room, clearly referring to the larger team dynamic.

 

May shrugged. “I’ve worked with teams before. This one’s… different.”

 

“That’s an understatement,” Natasha said. “I spent years not trusting anyone. Now I’m trustung a bunch of wizards, a few super-soldiers, one of whom came back from the dead, and an actual former dark lord. It’s a work in progress.”

 

“Hey, don’t forget the bowman,” Clint said, pointing at himself. “You can trust me. Mostly.”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re good at what you do.”

 

“And charming,” Clint added, grinning.

 

May shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You two are exhausting. But I’ll give you this—this team might be strange, but it’s effective. If we’re going up against Hydra, we’ll need every advantage we can get.”

 

Natasha nodded, her expression turning serious. “Agreed. Hydra’s always been dangerous, but this… this is something else. Magic, super-soldiers, genetic experiments—they’re pulling out all the stops. We can’t afford to be anything less than ready.”

 

Clint nodded, twirling his arrow again. “So, what’s the plan? Another round of sparring, or are we finally going to eat? Because I’m starving.”

 

Natasha glanced at May, who raised a brow. “Food can wait,” May said. “One more round.”

 

Clint groaned, slumping against the wall. “You’re both insane.”

 

Natasha smirked as she turned back to May, her stance shifting. “Let’s see if you can keep up, Cavalry.”

 

—

 

After an intense sparring session that left everyone dripping with sweat, Natasha, Melinda, and Clint finally relented to the demands of their stomachs. Over a shared meal in the safehouse’s kitchen—where Clint, ever the joker, managed to snag most of the bread before Melinda smacked his hand away—they found themselves laughing more than they'd expected. For a team assembled from such wildly different backgrounds, they were beginning to find some common ground. But Natasha, always focused, quickly turned the conversation back to business.

 

"We’ve had our warm-up," she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin and leaning back in her chair. "Now it’s time to talk about gear. Howard and Lily wanted to go over everything with us."

 

Clint raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-bite of his sandwich. “Howard Stark and Lily Potter? I feel like I’ve accidentally stumbled into a nerd’s fever dream.”

 

Natasha smirked, standing up and motioning for them to follow. “Try not to drool too much when you see what they’ve been cooking up.”

 

Melinda stood as well, her demeanor as cool and composed as ever. “I’m more interested in seeing how practical their designs are. I’ve seen too many prototypes that look great on paper but fail in the field.”

 

“Trust me,” Natasha replied, leading them toward the armory. “Howard may be eccentric, but he’s a genius. And Lily? She’s not just some wand-waver. She’s been combining magic with tech in ways that’ll make your head spin.”

 

As they entered the armory, Clint let out a low whistle. The room was a sleek blend of high-tech engineering and magical artistry. Steel racks held everything from state-of-the-art firearms to enchanted blades, while holographic displays showcased schematics for various pieces of gear. The air hummed faintly with magic, a sensation that made even Melinda pause for a moment.

 

Howard Stark, clad in his signature button-up shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows, was bent over a table, tinkering with what looked like a miniature arc reactor. Lily Potter stood beside him, her crimson hair pulled back into a loose ponytail as she waved her wand over a piece of armor, runes glowing faintly under her touch.

 

Howard looked up first, flashing his trademark grin. “Ah, our sparring champions have arrived! Tell me, who won? My money’s on Natasha.”

 

Clint rolled his eyes. “Of course, it’s Natasha. She’s terrifying. Can we talk about the gear now before she decides we need another round of trust falls?”

 

Howard laughed. “Alright, alright. Come on over. Let’s start with the basics.”

 

Lily stepped forward, gesturing to a set of sleek black tactical suits displayed on mannequins. “These are your new field uniforms. Vibranium-laced fabric for maximum durability, reinforced with enchantments to enhance mobility and provide basic protection against magical attacks.”

 

Melinda examined the suits closely, running her fingers over the material. “Looks sturdy. What kind of enchantments are we talking about?”

 

“Think of them as layered wards,” Lily explained. “They’ll repel low-level spells and mitigate the damage of more powerful ones. And we’ve included charms to regulate body temperature, suppress sound for stealth missions, and even provide a mild healing boost in emergencies.”

 

“Impressive,” Melinda admitted. “But how do they hold up against non-magical threats? Bullets, knives, explosions?”

 

“That’s where I come in,” Howard said, stepping up with a flourish. “The Vibranium weave is practically indestructible. Bullets? They won’t even leave a dent. Knives? Good luck. Explosions? Well, you might feel the heat, but you’ll walk away in one piece.”

 

Clint tapped one of the suits, nodding in approval. “Alright, I’ll admit, this is pretty cool. But what about the fun stuff? Gadgets, weapons?”

 

Howard grinned, reaching under the table to pull out a sleek bow and quiver. “For you, Hawkeye, we’ve got a bow made of Vibranium alloy—lighter, stronger, and practically unbreakable. The arrows? Well, let’s just say we’ve got a little bit of everything. Explosive tips, EMP charges, grappling hooks, and even a few enchanted ones, courtesy of Lily.”

 

Clint’s eyes lit up as he took the bow, testing its weight. “Okay, I’m officially impressed. You’ve outdone yourself, Stark.”

 

Howard winked. “I always do.”

 

Lily turned to Melinda, holding up a pair of sleek black gauntlets. “Agent May, these are for you. Enhanced strength boosters, built-in tasers, and a small shield charm activated by a simple gesture. They’ll complement your hand-to-hand style perfectly.”

 

Melinda slid one of the gauntlets on, flexing her fingers as the enchantments activated with a faint glow. “Not bad,” she said, her tone approving. “I could get used to this.”

 

Finally, Lily handed Natasha a pair of modified Widow’s Bites. “For you, Natasha. These are upgraded versions of your usual gauntlets. In addition to their standard taser capabilities, they now include magical pulse emitters and a cloaking charm.”

 

Natasha examined them closely, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve been busy.”

 

“You have no idea,” Lily said with a grin. “But it’s worth it. Hydra isn’t going to know what hit them.”

 

Howard clapped his hands together. “Alright, team, any questions? Complaints? Requests for an espresso machine in your field packs?”

 

Clint raised a hand. “Actually, do we get a warranty on these? You know, just in case Hydra blows them up or something.”

 

Howard chuckled. “Don’t worry, Barton. If anything breaks, we’ll fix it. But good luck trying to break Vibranium.”

 

As the team continued to test their new gear, Natasha glanced at Melinda and Clint, her expression softening just a bit. They were still getting used to working together, but with gear like this—and a team this determined—she knew they’d be ready for whatever Hydra threw their way.

 

—

 

The library of Kamar-Taj was a place of reverence, its high, vaulted ceilings echoing with an ancient stillness that seemed to demand respect from anyone who entered. The shelves were lined with books whose spines glowed faintly in the dim light, radiating power and secrets from ages past. Harry sat at a heavy wooden table, a stack of thick tomes before him. He had an intense look of focus on his face as he flipped through a book titled Advanced Applications of Elemental Convergence.

 

Hovering nearby, his arms folded and his expression resembling that of a hawk ready to strike, was Wong.

 

"You’re turning the pages too quickly," Wong said, his voice sharp and accusatory.

 

Harry paused, blinking up at the man. "I’ve been reading for over an hour without a single word to you, Wong," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "I think I’ve earned the benefit of the doubt."

 

"You’ve earned nothing," Wong retorted. "I know your type. Overconfident, reckless, and far too clever for your own good." He gestured dramatically toward the bookshelves. "The last person who thought they could master advanced battle magic without proper supervision ended up summoning a demon into the meditation chamber."

 

Harry smirked, flipping a page with deliberate care, just to be cheeky. "I promise, no demons today. I’m just trying to brush up on my counter-spell strategies. You know, in case Hydra decides to send more magically inclined assassins my way. Or do you think they’ll take it easy on me?"

 

Wong narrowed his eyes. "The threat of Hydra is no excuse to disregard discipline. Magic is not a tool for your convenience, Potter. It is a sacred art, one that requires humility and—"

 

Harry held up a hand, cutting him off. "Yes, yes, and focus, and patience, and self-awareness," he finished with a drawl. "Believe me, I’ve heard the lecture. Merlin knows, my mother won’t stop talking to me about it. But honestly, Wong, I think you just like glaring at me."

 

Wong’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Glaring at you is my way of preventing catastrophe."

 

"Touché." Harry returned to his reading, though he could feel Wong’s eyes boring into the back of his head.

 

Harry decided to let his mind wander as he continued flipping through the book. The spells detailed within were no joke—incantations that could summon storms, conjure walls of flame, or even freeze entire rooms in ice. He couldn’t help but imagine how these techniques could be applied in the field, against Hydra or any of their allied wizard factions.

 

"Potter," Wong said suddenly, breaking Harry’s concentration.

 

"What now?" Harry asked without looking up.

 

Wong stepped closer, his tone a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "You’re not just studying. You’re scheming. I can tell."

 

Harry leaned back in his chair and gave Wong a half-smile. "You’re not wrong. I’m trying to figure out how to tweak these spells for combat situations. Efficiency, mobility, all that. Hydra’s mages are fast, and if I don’t stay two steps ahead, I’m toast."

 

Wong frowned, clearly torn between reprimanding Harry for his irreverence and grudgingly admitting he had a point. "Battle magic isn’t just about raw power," he finally said, his tone softening slightly. "It’s about understanding your surroundings, predicting your opponent’s moves. That level of mastery doesn’t come from a book. It comes from experience."

 

Harry nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Fair. But I can’t exactly wait for Hydra to send another ambush squad to practice. And, you know, I’m not exactly normal anymore." He tapped his chest, referencing the Vibranium-enhanced skeleton, the spliced DNA, and the serum running through his veins. "Every advantage counts."

 

Wong sighed heavily, shaking his head. "You’re insufferable."

 

"I get that a lot," Harry quipped. "But come on, Wong. Admit it. You’re at least a little impressed."

 

Wong’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "When you accidentally set yourself on fire trying to cast one of those spells, don’t expect me to put you out."

 

"Noted," Harry replied with a grin.

 

As he returned to his studies, Wong hovered nearby, still watchful but perhaps a little less harsh. He’d never admit it, but there was something about Harry’s determination—and his sharp wit—that reminded Wong of the Ancient One herself. That thought unsettled him almost as much as it reassured him.

 

—

 

After a couple of hours of intense study, Harry's attention began to wane. His eyes flicked over the intricate diagrams of spell patterns and enchantments, but his mind started wandering. He let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair and stretching. Across the room, Wong was still watching him like a particularly disapproving hawk.

 

"You know, Wong," Harry called out, not bothering to look up from his book, "if you keep staring at me like that, people might think you’re plotting something sinister. Ever consider taking up knitting? Maybe a calming hobby?"

 

Wong didn’t bite. "Perhaps I should start knitting a shroud for your inevitable demise if you continue treating magic like a plaything," he replied, deadpan.

 

Harry snorted. "Wow. Dark. And here I thought we were bonding."

 

He tried to refocus on the text in front of him, but his fingers drummed on the table restlessly. Boredom was beginning to claw at him, and when boredom struck Harry Potter, trouble wasn’t far behind.

 

Then inspiration hit. A mischievous glint appeared in Harry’s eyes as he began tracing the air with his fingers. With a flick of his wrist, a small golden portal shimmered to life in front of him.

 

"Wong," Harry said through the portal, his voice now coming from a second portal that opened up directly next to Wong’s ear.

 

Wong jumped, startled, and turned to glare at the source of the voice. "Potter!" he barked, spinning around to see Harry sitting smugly at his desk on the other side of the room. "What are you doing?"

 

"Talking to you," Harry said innocently, leaning his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand. "You’re so far away over there. Thought I’d save us the trouble of shouting."

 

Wong clenched his jaw, his patience visibly fraying. "Portals are not toys!"

 

"I’m aware," Harry said, though his smirk suggested otherwise. He flicked his fingers again, and another portal appeared—this time directly above Wong’s head.

 

"Wong," Harry’s voice echoed from the new portal. "Wong? Can you hear me? Over."

 

The older sorcerer’s eye twitched. "Stop this nonsense right now, Potter, or—"

 

Another portal opened at Wong’s feet. "Wong, I’m trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty," Harry’s voice quipped, barely stifling laughter.

 

Wong muttered something in Mandarin that Harry was fairly certain was a very creative curse. He slammed the portal near his ear shut with a sharp hand gesture, only for another to open in front of him. This time, Harry poked his head halfway through, grinning like a mischievous child.

 

"You know, I could totally see us as a comedy duo," Harry said. "Harry and Wong: Masters of Mischief. We’d be big in Vegas."

 

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re asking for right now?" Wong growled, though his tone had softened just enough to suggest he wasn’t completely immune to Harry’s antics.

 

Harry shrugged. "Probably loads. But come on, admit it—this is at least a little impressive."

 

"It’s juvenile," Wong snapped. "And reckless. The misuse of portals can lead to catastrophic consequences! What if you accidentally opened one into the Dark Dimension?"

 

Harry waved a hand dismissively. "Pfft. What are the odds of that? Besides, I’m pretty sure Dormammu would just find me annoying and kick me out."

 

Wong sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You are impossible."

 

"I prefer ‘innovative,’" Harry corrected, leaning back through his portal and closing it behind him. He sat back down at his desk, looking quite pleased with himself.

 

Wong stormed over to Harry’s table, his expression a mix of exasperation and grudging respect. "You are lucky the Ancient One has taken a liking to you. Otherwise—"

 

"Otherwise, I’d be thrown into some interdimensional prison for life?" Harry interrupted, grinning. "I think you secretly enjoy having me around, Wong. Admit it."

 

Wong glared at him for a long moment, then turned on his heel without another word, muttering something about "children these days."

 

As Wong left the library, Harry couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Sure, he might have been pushing his luck, but getting a rise out of Wong was just too much fun to resist. Besides, it wasn’t every day you got to prank the most uptight sorcerer in Kamar-Taj.

Chapter 36: Chapter 35

Sirius and James sat across from each other in the safehouse’s library, a small room crammed with magical tomes, Shield files, and stacks of Lily’s notes that somehow seemed to defy gravity. The books Harry had magically photocopied for them from Kamar-Taj lay open in front of them, glowing faintly with the otherworldly energy of their origin.

 

Sirius, slouched in his chair with one leg thrown over the armrest, was flipping through Advanced Transfiguration Techniques: Shaping the Elements and Beyond. He muttered under his breath as he read, scratching his head in confusion. “So, let me get this straight—these Kamar-Taj types use magic without wands, focus it through these hand gestures, and essentially force reality to behave itself? And all they need is their own willpower and, what, sheer stubbornness?”

 

James, who was leaning over Practical Applications of Combat Magic: A Sorcerer’s Handbook, didn’t look up. “Sounds right up your alley, Pads. You’re already stubborn enough to qualify.”

 

Sirius smirked. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Prongs. Besides, I’d like to see you try to keep up with this stuff. Half of these hand movements look like they were designed by someone who’s had way too much coffee.”

 

James raised a brow, finally glancing up. “Says the bloke who could never manage a simple Aguamenti without accidentally soaking half the Gryffindor Common Room. Don’t act like you’re some magical prodigy.”

 

Sirius flipped him an obscene gesture with a flick of his wand. A small spark shot out, but nothing dramatic. “That was one time. And anyway, this is different. It’s all about channeling raw magic, shaping it into whatever you want. I think I can figure it out—eventually. The question is, can you manage to adapt this,” he tapped James’s book, “without blowing yourself up?”

 

James ignored the jab, tapping his wand against the edge of the book, his hazel eyes scanning the spell diagrams. “Combat magic here seems more straightforward than wand-based dueling. Most of it’s about using the environment—creating shields, summoning energy blasts, and trapping enemies in these crazy magical constructs. But the weird thing is, there’s almost no reliance on verbal incantations.”

 

“Well, you’ve been practicing silent casting for years,” Sirius pointed out. “Should be a piece of cake for you. Although…” His tone turned teasing. “You might have to drop that dramatic wand-twirling flourish of yours. Can’t have the bad guys laughing at you mid-fight.”

 

James rolled his eyes. “The flourish adds style. Don’t act like you haven’t been impressed.”

 

Sirius barked a laugh. “Impressed? No. Mildly embarrassed for you? Constantly.”

 

They fell into a companionable silence for a few minutes, both of them reading intently. Every now and then, Sirius would mutter a spell under his breath or practice one of the intricate gestures described in the book. James, meanwhile, seemed deep in thought, tapping his wand rhythmically against his knee.

 

Finally, Sirius leaned back with a groan, tossing his book onto the table. “All right, let’s test this out. If these sorcerers don’t need wands, maybe we don’t either. Let’s see if we can force some of this magic to play nice with what we’ve already got.”

 

James closed his book more carefully, nodding. “Agreed. We’ll start simple.”

 

Sirius stood, rolling up his sleeves. “Simple? Where’s the fun in that? Let’s try something flashy.” He grinned mischievously, pointing at the bookshelf on the far wall. “I bet I can transfigure that into a dragon faster than you can.”

 

James raised a brow. “You mean blow it up faster than I can?”

 

“Same difference,” Sirius replied with a smirk.

 

James stepped back, drawing his wand. “All right, Pads. Show me what you’ve got.”

 

Sirius closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He stretched out his hands, mimicking the gestures described in the book. His wand was tucked into his back pocket, forgotten for the moment. Slowly, his hands began to glow with a faint, silvery light.

 

“Not bad,” James admitted, watching with genuine interest. “Now what?”

 

“Now,” Sirius said, grinning, “I turn that dusty old thing into something exciting.” He thrust his hands forward, and the glow shot toward the bookshelf. For a moment, it shimmered, and the wood began to twist and warp.

 

Then, with a loud pop, the entire bookshelf collapsed into a pile of multicolored butterflies that fluttered chaotically around the room.

 

James burst out laughing. “A dragon, huh? Looks more like your Patronus had a bunch of illegitimate children.”

 

Sirius scowled, though he couldn’t quite hide his grin. “Shut it, Prongs. I’m learning. Let’s see you do better.”

 

James stepped forward, pointing his wand at a nearby chair. He muttered a few words under his breath and mimicked one of the combat techniques he’d been reading about. His wand glowed faintly, and the chair began to levitate, spinning slowly in midair.

 

“Impressive,” Sirius admitted, leaning against the table. “But can it breathe fire?”

 

James smirked. “Not yet. But give me a week, and we’ll see.”

 

They spent the next hour experimenting, alternating between their wands and trying to channel magic wandlessly. While neither of them managed to completely master the Kamar-Taj techniques, they made surprising progress. Sirius discovered he could transfigure small objects with minimal effort, while James found that focusing his magic through gestures seemed to amplify his spellwork.

 

Finally, they collapsed onto the couch, both grinning despite their exhaustion.

 

“You know,” Sirius said, wiping sweat from his brow, “this might actually work. Combining Kamar-Taj magic with wand magic… it could give us an edge.”

 

James nodded, staring thoughtfully at his wand. “It’s going to take time, but yeah. If we can integrate this into what we already know, we might be able to outmatch anything Voldemort—or Hydra—throws at us.”

 

Sirius smirked. “Now you’re talking. Let’s show them what the Marauders can really do.”

 

—

 

Lily sat in the corner of the safehouse's common room, a large, ornate book on advanced wards and protective magic spread across the table in front of her. The faint golden glow of the Kamar-Taj book illuminated her face as she scribbled furiously on a piece of parchment, her notes scattered all around her. Every now and then, her wand would flick in the air, tracing a glowing sigil that hovered for a moment before fading. She muttered to herself, lips pursed in concentration.

 

The wards from Kamar-Taj were entirely unlike anything she’d ever seen before. While the magical world relied heavily on runic sequences rooted in ancient Norse, Celtic, and Egyptian traditions, the runes here seemed to draw from a completely alien system. The intricacy was mesmerizing—these wards didn’t just block spells; they absorbed, redirected, or even transformed magical energy into harmless forms. The possibilities were endless.

 

“Still with your nose in that book?” came a familiar, slightly teasing voice.

 

Lily glanced up to see Andromeda standing nearby, holding two cups of tea. “You’ve been at it for hours. What is it this time? Something groundbreaking, I assume?”

 

Lily leaned back with a faint smile, gesturing for Andromeda to join her. “You could say that. Look at this.” She tapped the page in front of her. The intricate diagram of interconnected runes shimmered faintly, as though imbued with the magic it described. “These are wards from Kamar-Taj. Entirely different from the ones we use in the Wizarding world. I’ve already integrated some of them into the team’s gear—made their protections stronger, more flexible.”

 

Andromeda placed a cup of tea beside Lily and peered over her shoulder, her dark eyes narrowing in curiosity. “Runes, but… they’re not runes. Not like we know them, anyway.” She traced the edge of the diagram with her finger, frowning. “These don’t follow any of the standard patterns. No Norse influence, no Egyptian roots… where are they even from?”

 

“That’s the thing,” Lily said excitedly. “I think they’re entirely unique to the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj. They don’t just represent concepts like power, protection, or transformation. They’re dynamic. They react to intent and the flow of magic itself.”

 

Andromeda raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Dynamic runes? That shouldn’t be possible. Once a rune is inscribed or activated, its function is fixed. At least, that’s what every Magical Theory text I’ve ever read claims.”

 

“Exactly!” Lily said, her green eyes alight with enthusiasm. “These aren’t static like ours. They’re more like… like living symbols. They change depending on how they’re drawn, activated, or layered. Watch this.”

 

She picked up her wand and drew a glowing symbol in the air, one of the wards from the book. As Andromeda watched, Lily modified the lines with a few careful strokes. The glowing sigil shimmered and morphed into a slightly different shape. “That’s the same ward,” Lily explained. “But with a few adjustments, it went from a shield that deflects energy to one that absorbs it.”

 

Andromeda’s mouth fell open slightly. “That… that shouldn’t work. But it does. You’ve tested it?”

 

Lily nodded. “On the team’s armor. Howard and I collaborated. I used these wards, and he layered them into the Vibranium. The result? A defense that not only blocks most spells and attacks but also strengthens with every hit it takes. It’s incredible.”

 

Andromeda shook her head in amazement. “No wonder you’ve been glued to that book. This could revolutionize everything. Wards, enchantments… even potion-making. If these runes can adapt like that, there’s no telling how many applications they might have.”

 

“Exactly,” Lily said again, a slight flush of pride on her cheeks. “But it’s not just about the wards themselves. It’s the way they think about magic. It’s not rigid or formulaic—it’s fluid, intuitive. Like…” She paused, searching for the right words. “Like painting a picture instead of solving an equation.”

 

Andromeda leaned back in her chair, sipping her tea thoughtfully. “I’ll admit, I never thought I’d see something that made our magical traditions feel outdated. But this… this is something else.”

 

Lily smiled faintly. “It is. And I think it’s just the beginning. If we can figure out how to combine these techniques with what we already know, the possibilities are endless. Stronger wards, better protections, maybe even new ways to cast spells.”

 

Andromeda smirked. “You’re already thinking of outdoing Voldemort, aren’t you?”

 

“Always,” Lily said with a sly grin. “And Hydra. And anyone else who dares come after my family.”

 

Andromeda chuckled. “Fair enough. So, what’s next? Are you planning to teach James and Sirius these new techniques?”

 

“Oh, I’ll teach them,” Lily said with a wicked glint in her eye. “But only after I’ve mastered them myself. Let’s see if those two can keep up for once.”

 

Andromeda laughed. “They’re going to love that.” She reached for the book, flipping through a few pages. “Mind if I borrow this for a bit? I’d like to take a closer look.”

 

“Of course,” Lily said. “But be careful. Some of these wards are… tricky. If you draw one wrong, it might backfire.”

 

“Noted,” Andromeda said dryly, already engrossed in the glowing diagrams. “And Lily?”

 

“Yes?”

 

Andromeda glanced up, her expression serious but warm. “Harry and Rose are lucky to have a mum like you. And James… well, he’s luckier than he deserves.”

 

Lily laughed, a soft, genuine sound. “Thanks, Andi. That means a lot.”

 

As the two women bent over the book, the room filled with the quiet hum of their collaboration, the glow of the Kamar-Taj wards casting flickering patterns on the walls.

 

—

 

Tony Stark straightened his tie in front of the dorm room mirror, his expression the picture of smug self-satisfaction. He gave himself a little finger-gun salute. “What do you think, Rhodey? Am I ‘most eligible genius billionaire playboy in the making,’ or am I ‘irresistible charmer who’s going to make Cynthia forget what the word no means’?”

 

Rhodey, sitting cross-legged on his bed with a textbook in hand, barely glanced up. “I think you’re trying way too hard for a girl who’s probably out to steal your tech or your wallet. Maybe both.”

 

Tony turned to him, mock offense radiating from every inch of his being. “Wow. First of all, rude. Second of all, you don’t know that. Cynthia is—”

 

“Smart, gorgeous, and ‘totally into you,’” Rhodey interrupted, making air quotes. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard the spiel, Tony. But what I’m telling you is something about her doesn’t sit right.”

 

Tony scoffed, turning back to the mirror to adjust his collar. “You’re just saying that because she doesn’t laugh at your jokes like she does mine.”

 

“Because your jokes aren’t funny,” Rhodey shot back, flipping a page in his book. “But seriously, man, do you ever stop to wonder how she got here?”

 

Tony shrugged, sliding on his signature sunglasses. “Maybe she applied to MIT the same way I did—by being a once-in-a-generation genius with a killer smile. It’s not exactly rocket science.”

 

Rhodey snorted. “Yeah, but you applied when you were eleven, Tony. Cynthia just waltzes in halfway through senior year like it’s nothing. Transfers don’t happen that easily at this level. And when I asked her about it, she was… evasive.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow, lowering his glasses to give Rhodey a pointed look. “Evasive how?”

 

“She said she transferred from Caltech,” Rhodey explained, closing his book and leaning forward, “but I checked the student directory. There’s no record of her ever being there. Not under Cynthia, not under any alias I could think of. She’s a ghost.”

 

Tony smirked, tilting his head. “Maybe she’s just that good. A secret genius who prefers to stay under the radar, unlike some of us who bask in the spotlight.”

 

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “Or maybe she’s not who she says she is. And don’t even get me started on that whole ‘a little bit of everywhere’ nonsense when I asked where she’s from. Who says that?”

 

Tony grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, slipping it on with a dramatic flourish. “People with a mysterious allure. You know, the kind of people who make life interesting.”

 

“Or people hiding something.” Rhodey’s tone turned serious. “Listen, T, I’m not saying don’t go out with her. I’m saying keep your guard up. For all we know, she could be working for a competitor—or worse.”

 

Tony turned, arms outstretched like he was inviting an audience to admire him. “Rhodey, Rhodey, Rhodey… When have I ever been anything but careful?”

 

Rhodey gave him a deadpan look. “Do you want a list? Because I can make one.”

 

Tony grinned, pointing at him. “That’s why I like you, buddy. Always keeping me grounded.”

 

“Somebody has to,” Rhodey muttered, shaking his head. “Seriously, man. If she’s legit, great. But if not, I don’t want to have to explain to your dad how his only son got conned by a pretty face.”

 

Tony raised a hand as he opened the door. “Relax. I’ve got this under control. If Cynthia’s playing a game, she’s playing against the Tony Stark, and let’s be honest—she’s already lost.”

 

Rhodey sighed as the door closed behind him. “Yeah, because your ego’s totally not a blind spot,” he said to the empty room.

 

Grabbing his laptop, Rhodey powered it up and began typing. If Tony wasn’t going to take this seriously, then Rhodey would have to do some digging on his own. He wasn’t about to let his best friend walk into a trap—not without a backup plan, anyway.

 

Because something about Cynthia was off, and Rhodey wasn’t going to rest until he figured out what.

 

—

 

In a sleek, nondescript apartment a few blocks from MIT, Cynthia Smith—or as her true identity dictated, Sinthea Schmidt, daughter of the infamous Red Skull—stood in front of a vanity mirror, her expression one of calm precision as she adjusted the delicate clasp of her necklace. The reflection staring back at her was meticulously crafted: warm, approachable, and utterly unthreatening. The perfect cover for her mission.

 

Behind her, two Hydra operatives, dressed in plain black clothing, hovered uncertainly near the doorway. One of them, a wiry man with a perpetual sneer, cleared his throat. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Frau Schmidt? Getting this close to Stark? He’s a wildcard.”

 

Cynthia’s sharp green eyes flicked to him in the mirror. “That’s why you’re not getting close to Stark. I am.” Her tone was as smooth as silk, but there was a razor edge underneath that made the operative flinch. “Your job is to watch and report. Nothing more.”

 

The second henchman, a broader man with a buzz cut, frowned. “With all due respect, ma’am, surveillance isn’t exactly our specialty. If the opportunity arises to neutralize the target—”

 

“No.” Cynthia spun around, the sharpness in her voice cutting through the air like a blade. She stepped toward them, her heels clicking ominously against the floor. “I said surveillance only. Do I need to spell it out for you?”

 

The first operative raised his hands in surrender. “No, ma’am. We get it. No action unless ordered.”

 

“Good.” Cynthia’s demeanor softened slightly, though her eyes still carried a glint of warning. “Tony Stark is not a typical target. He’s brilliant, erratic, and unfortunately, too valuable to simply eliminate. Hydra wants him… persuaded. And that requires finesse, not brute force.”

 

“Finesse,” the second operative repeated dubiously, as though the word offended him.

 

“Yes, finesse,” Cynthia snapped, her patience wearing thin. “Which means you two will sit in the surveillance van, monitor my movements, and report back to me when this is over. Do you think you can manage that without embarrassing yourselves?”

 

The two men exchanged a glance, then nodded. “Understood, ma’am.”

 

Satisfied, Cynthia turned back to the mirror, adjusting her hair into soft waves. Her dress was simple but elegant—a deep red that hinted at her true loyalties without revealing them outright. She applied a final coat of lipstick, a shade perfectly chosen to appear both understated and captivating.

 

As she slipped on her heels, she addressed the operatives without looking at them. “Stark may be reckless, but he’s also predictable. He craves attention and thrives on being the smartest person in the room. All I have to do is feed that ego, and he’ll walk right into Hydra’s hands.”

 

The wiry operative frowned. “And if he doesn’t?”

 

Cynthia smiled faintly, a chilling expression that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Then we adapt. But for now, we stick to the plan. No risks, no improvisation. Stark doesn’t suspect a thing, and I intend to keep it that way.”

 

As she grabbed her clutch and headed for the door, the operatives followed her to the hallway. The buzz-cut one hesitated. “Just remember, ma’am… he’s not the only wildcard. His roommate’s been poking around.”

 

“Rhodey?” Cynthia scoffed, waving dismissively. “Please. He’s nothing more than a loyal lapdog. Annoying, but harmless. If he gets too curious, we’ll handle him. But for now, let’s not attract attention. Is that clear?”

 

“Crystal,” the wiry operative muttered, stepping back into the shadows.

 

Cynthia walked down the hall with confidence, her heels clicking in an even rhythm. She was ready. Tonight was just the beginning, and Tony Stark was a pawn in a much larger game. Hydra always played the long game, and if everything went according to plan, she’d ensure that Stark Industries—and its brilliant young heir—became assets to the cause.

 

After all, what was a little seduction compared to the glory of Hydra?

 

—

 

Tony Stark adjusted the collar of his tailored blazer as he strode up the stairs to Cynthia's apartment door. The smirk on his face was pure confidence, as though the world were already applauding his latest conquest. He paused just before knocking, glancing at his reflection in the glossy apartment window beside the door. "Damn, Stark," he muttered to himself, smoothing his hair, "you clean up good."

 

He reached out and knocked twice, a confident rhythm, and then leaned casually against the doorframe, as though he were posing for the cover of Genius Playboy Billionaire Monthly.

 

The door opened a moment later, and Cynthia Smith stood there, framed by the soft light of her apartment. She looked stunning in her deep red dress, the color accentuating her sharp green eyes. Her lips curved into a soft smile, equal parts inviting and mysterious.

 

"Tony," she said, her voice warm and perfectly measured, "right on time."

 

"Well, I couldn’t keep you waiting," Tony quipped, offering her a once-over that was only slightly more obvious than it needed to be. "Wow. You look—" He gestured vaguely, then gave her a roguish grin. "I was going to say 'phenomenal,' but I think 'intimidatingly gorgeous' might be more accurate."

 

Cynthia chuckled lightly, stepping out of the doorway and closing the door behind her. "Careful, Stark. You’re laying it on so thick, I might think you’re nervous."

 

"Nervous? Me? Never." He offered his arm, which she took gracefully. "I’ve been accused of being a lot of things—charming, brilliant, devilishly handsome—but nervous isn’t one of them."

 

As they descended the stairs, Tony noticed a nondescript black van parked across the street. He didn’t think much of it—MIT wasn’t exactly in the suburbs—but his genius mind filed it away instinctively.

 

"So," Tony said, as they walked toward his sleek vintage convertible parked nearby, "Rhodey thinks you’re secretly a super-spy or something. Says you’re too good to be true."

 

Cynthia arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow, her smile not faltering. "And what do you think?"

 

Tony opened the car door for her, then paused dramatically. "Well," he said, leaning in slightly, "I think Rhodey spends too much time watching conspiracy movies. But… I wouldn’t mind finding out if he’s right."

 

She laughed softly as she slid into the passenger seat, her movements graceful and deliberate. Tony shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side, his grin widening. He loved a good mystery—and Cynthia Smith, for all her apparent brilliance and beauty, had an air of intrigue he couldn’t resist.

 

As he started the engine, she turned to him, her smile playful. "Do you always listen to your roommate’s dating advice?"

 

Tony pulled out into the street, the car purring like a contented cat. "Rhodey? Nah. He’s just jealous. Guy wishes he had my charm."

 

Back in the van across the street, the two Hydra operatives watched the convertible pull away. The wiry one, peering through binoculars, shook his head. "How does he do it?"

 

"Do what?" grunted the broad-shouldered one.

 

"Make it look so easy. If I tried to pull off half the stuff Stark does, I’d be in traction or prison."

 

The broad one snorted. "You’re not Tony Stark. None of us are. Let’s just stick to the job."

 

In the car, Cynthia turned to Tony, her tone light but with a trace of curiosity. "So, what’s the plan for tonight, Mr. Stark?"

 

"Ah, see, that’s where the magic happens," Tony said, winking as he turned a corner. "I like to keep things spontaneous. Keeps life interesting. But I promise you, by the end of the night, you’ll be thinking, 'Best date ever.'"

 

Cynthia leaned back in her seat, her smile never wavering. Inside, she couldn’t help but marvel at his natural charisma. It wasn’t just his genius or his money—though both were formidable—it was his sheer audacity. Tony Stark was a puzzle, one she intended to solve, piece by piece.

 

And if she had to break his heart—or his spirit—in the process? Well, that was just part of the job.

 

"Let’s see if you can live up to your own hype, Tony," she said, her tone playful yet challenging.

 

"Oh, I don’t just live up to it," Tony shot back with a cocky grin. "I exceed it."

 

The car roared down the road, the city lights reflecting off its polished surface, as the game between them began. Neither knew just how dangerous it would become.

 

—

 

The vintage convertible rolled to a smooth stop in front of an elegant, modern restaurant tucked between the bustling streets of Boston. Tony hopped out with a practiced flair and was at Cynthia’s door before she could even reach for the handle. He opened it with a flourish, extending a hand.

 

“Dinner’s on me. Drinks are optional but strongly encouraged,” he quipped, helping her out of the car.

 

“Such a gentleman,” Cynthia teased, accepting his hand.

 

“Only when it counts,” Tony said with a wink, his grin unrelenting as he led her inside.

 

The maître d' greeted Tony like an old friend, and why wouldn’t he? This wasn’t Tony’s first impromptu reservation at an exclusive eatery. Within minutes, the pair was seated at a private booth near the back, soft jazz playing in the background, the lighting dim and intimate.

 

Cynthia glanced around. “You don’t strike me as a jazz guy, Stark.”

 

Tony leaned back in his chair, smirking. “I contain multitudes. Besides, jazz is like me—unpredictable, smooth, and occasionally misunderstood.”

 

Cynthia chuckled. “I’ll give you ‘unpredictable.’ The rest is still up for debate.”

 

A waiter arrived, handing them menus that might as well have been bound in gold. Tony waved his away.

 

“Two glasses of your best red, and let’s go with the chef’s tasting menu,” he said, cutting off any protest from Cynthia with a charming smile. “Trust me. You’ll love it.”

 

Cynthia raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. She folded her menu and handed it back to the waiter. As the server walked away, she leaned forward slightly, her emerald eyes gleaming. “So, Tony, tell me—what’s the catch?”

 

Tony tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Catch? There’s no catch. You’re gorgeous, brilliant, and I have impeccable taste. It’s a win-win.”

 

“Right,” Cynthia said, her smile amused. “The famous Tony Stark charm. But why me? MIT is full of brilliant minds, and I’m sure you’ve had your pick.”

 

Tony’s smirk faltered for a brief moment, replaced by something genuine. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

 

“Here’s the thing,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “You’re not like the others. Most people, you can read them in five seconds—what they want, what they’re after. But you? You’re… complicated.”

 

Cynthia’s expression didn’t waver, but inwardly, she tensed. She forced a laugh, tilting her head. “Complicated? That’s not exactly a compliment.”

 

“Oh, but it is,” Tony countered, his grin returning. “I like puzzles. And you? You’re a work of art wrapped in a riddle with a side of danger.”

 

“Danger?” Cynthia repeated, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Well, you are sitting across from me. That’s already a risk,” Tony said, leaning back with a triumphant smirk.

 

Cynthia shook her head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

 

“Impossible is my middle name,” Tony quipped as the waiter returned with their wine.

 

They clinked glasses, Cynthia smiling faintly as she sipped the red wine, the rich flavor masking the unease brewing beneath her surface.

 

---

 

Across the street, the two Hydra operatives sat in their nondescript black van, watching the restaurant through binoculars.

 

“She’s good,” the wiry one muttered, lowering his binoculars. “Too good. Stark doesn’t even know what’s coming.”

 

“Focus,” the broad-shouldered operative growled. “We’re here to observe, not commentate.”

 

“But doesn’t it feel… wrong? Like we’re sending a lion to charm a shark?”

 

The larger operative sighed, checking his watch. “Our orders are clear. Smith gathers intel, we keep our distance. Stark isn’t our concern right now.”

 

The wiry one frowned, his curiosity burning. “Yeah, but what happens when he is our concern?”

 

---

 

Back in the restaurant, Tony and Cynthia had transitioned into lighter conversation, trading stories. Tony recounted an ill-fated experiment involving Rhodey, a makeshift rocket engine, and a very expensive lab coat.

 

“So, the fire department shows up, right?” Tony said, laughing. “And Rhodey’s standing there, covered in soot, trying to convince them it was all part of the experiment. I swear, if he’d said ‘controlled burn’ one more time, I would’ve died laughing.”

 

Cynthia chuckled, shaking her head. “And they just let you off the hook?”

 

“Well, you know,” Tony said, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’m me.”

 

“That explains a lot,” Cynthia said dryly, sipping her wine.

 

“Okay, your turn,” Tony said, leaning forward. “Tell me something about you. And don’t give me the standard transfer-student spiel. I want the juicy stuff.”

 

Cynthia hesitated, her mind racing. She couldn’t exactly share her real background. Instead, she smiled slyly. “Juicy stuff, huh? Well, I’m ambidextrous, I make a mean soufflé, and I’ve been told I have a killer poker face.”

 

Tony studied her, intrigued. “Poker face, huh? We’ll have to test that sometime.”

 

“Maybe,” Cynthia said, her smile enigmatic.

 

The night continued, their banter growing more comfortable, but beneath it all, Cynthia’s mind remained sharp, calculating. Tony Stark was a piece on Hydra’s chessboard—a piece she couldn’t afford to mishandle.

 

As they left the restaurant, Tony opened the car door for her again, still the picture of charm. Cynthia slid into the seat, her thoughts swirling as she watched him walk around to the driver’s side.

 

She had to admit, Tony Stark was unlike anyone she’d ever met. And that made him all the more dangerous.

 

—

 

In the quiet stillness of her chamber, the Ancient One stood before the Orb of Agamotto, her translucent hands hovering over the swirling mists contained within. The scene reflected in the orb wasn’t of some apocalyptic battlefield or a mystic confrontation against Dormammu, but rather a modest restaurant in Boston, where Tony Stark and Cynthia Smith sat across from each other, engaged in animated conversation.

 

Her usual serene expression was tinged with faint curiosity, and perhaps just a sliver of unease. It wasn’t often she observed such mundane human interactions, but Tony Stark was no ordinary mortal.

 

“Even in his youth, he has a gravitational pull,” she mused to herself, her tone contemplative. “Stark Industries, the Arc Reactor, the Avengers—his mind, his choices, they ripple across the multiverse.”

 

But this wasn’t just idle curiosity. She was watching because, in any timeline, Tony Stark was crucial—an unshakable constant in the battle against Thanos. The snap, the stones, the ultimate sacrifice... these were absolute points in time, unchangeable in the grand calculus of reality.

 

Yet, her gaze lingered longer than it should have. Cynthia Smith—no, Sinthea Schmidt—was an anomaly, an unexpected variable that the timelines had not accounted for in quite this way. She was Hydra, born of the Red Skull’s legacy, and her presence here, entwined with Tony’s, was a danger that could not be overstated.

 

The Ancient One exhaled softly, her golden robes shimmering faintly in the dim light of her chamber. She didn’t need the Orb to see what this encounter meant. Cynthia’s presence, coupled with Tony’s youthful arrogance, could spell disaster.

 

Her fingers traced delicate patterns over the Orb, fast-forwarding through the timeline just enough to glimpse the immediate possibilities. The futures splintered and wove together, countless outcomes coalescing into one undeniable truth: Tony Stark was in danger.

 

Her mind turned to Harry Potter, the young sorcerer who had upended so many established patterns of fate simply by existing in this world. With Harry’s presence, the timeline had shifted like a river diverted by a rock. Howard and Maria Stark still lived, meaning Tony’s journey to becoming Iron Man was now untethered from its original path.

 

"Would Harry intervene if he knew?" she wondered aloud, her tone thoughtful. Harry had an inherent penchant for meddling, and while his actions often veered into reckless territory, they were guided by a fierce loyalty and determination to protect those he cared about.

 

But then she shook her head. Tony becoming Iron Man is an absolute point. Without it, the Avengers would never form. The fight against Thanos would crumble before it began. Even if she wanted to, she could not alter this outcome.

 

Still, it was tempting.

 

Her lips curved into a faint smile, a rare display of humanity beneath her centuries-old veneer. “You would try to save him, wouldn’t you, Harry? If you knew the danger, you would leap in without hesitation. But some things… some burdens cannot be lifted.”

 

She turned her attention back to the orb, the scene shifting as Tony escorted Cynthia back to his car, his charm unwavering. The Ancient One tilted her head, the faintest trace of amusement glimmering in her eyes.

 

“Of course, Stark, you’re still Stark,” she murmured. “Even faced with mortal peril, you wouldn’t see it. Not yet.”

 

For a brief moment, she considered warning Harry—not to intervene, but to prepare him for the fallout. Yet even that thought was fleeting. Harry’s presence had already destabilized the timeline enough; she couldn’t risk tipping the scales further.

 

Instead, she allowed the orb to dim, the images fading into a soft golden glow. Turning away, she moved gracefully through the chamber, her thoughts lingering on the altered paths ahead.

 

“Much has changed,” she whispered to herself. “But the universe has a way of correcting itself.”

 

She clasped her hands behind her back, her gaze distant. Still, I wonder… how much of that correction will be because of Harry Potter?

 

With that, the Ancient One descended into the depths of Kamar-Taj, her mind both heavy with worry and alight with curiosity. Whatever came next, she would watch closely. The stakes had never been higher, and the pieces on the board were moving faster than ever before.

Chapter 37: Chapter 36

Tony slid into the driver's seat, the engine of the convertible roaring to life with a deep, satisfying purr. The streets of Boston stretched before them, the bustle of the city softened into a distant hum, as though the world itself was giving them a moment of peace. The soft glow from the streetlights flickered across Cynthia’s face, catching her profile in a way that made Tony pause. She was just as enigmatic as she seemed, no pretenses, no effort to hide behind a mask.

 

Cynthia glanced at him through her lashes, her lips curling in that all-too-knowing smile of hers. “Thanks for dinner,” she said, breaking the silence. “It was… unexpected.”

 

Tony shot her a sideways glance, his smirk spreading wider as he leaned back in his seat. "Unexpected is my brand," he quipped, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. "You should know that by now."

 

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes never leaving his profile. “Yeah, well, you certainly live up to the hype.”

 

Tony’s smirk faltered for a brief second, as though something deeper, something darker, might be lurking just beneath his usually unshakable cool. But the moment passed, and he gave her that signature Stark grin—smooth, calculated, and effortlessly charming.

 

“I try,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder like a playful challenge.

 

The comfortable hum of the car's engine filled the space between them as they cruised through the empty streets. The night air was cool, but Tony didn’t seem to notice, his focus entirely on the woman beside him. For the first time in a long while, there was something… magnetic about her. Something that kept pulling him in, even though he knew he should be stepping back.

 

Eventually, Tony pulled into a quiet street, the faint scent of salt from the nearby harbor mixing with the night air. He slowed the car to a stop outside an old, quaint building that was as understated as it was charming. He turned off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt, his movements smooth, like someone who had done this a thousand times before.

 

“Well, here we are,” he said, with a small, theatrical sigh. “You’ve survived an evening with the great Tony Stark. I’m impressed.”

 

Cynthia smiled, but it was soft, almost calculating. “I’m not sure what’s more impressive—dinner or the fact that you didn’t blow up the restaurant with one of your experiments.”

 

Tony grinned widely, clearly enjoying her wit. “Oh, I would have blown it up—if I hadn’t already got a reservation in a place that doesn't look like it came from the set of The Godfather.”

 

She laughed softly, but there was something more in her eyes, something sharp and calculating. "You sure know how to leave an impression."

 

“Oh, impressions are my specialty,” Tony said, eyes glinting as he slid out of the car. He walked around the front, his casual swagger at odds with the very real intelligence that lay just beneath the surface.

 

Cynthia followed him, heels clicking against the pavement as she made her way to the door. Tony stood there for a moment, watching her closely. He was still a little on edge from the evening—there had been something about the way she spoke, the way she seemed to know things, that didn’t sit quite right. But of course, being Tony Stark meant he wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. Especially a challenge wrapped in a stunning package like her.

 

They stood there for a moment, and then Tony held the door open for her. He smirked again, the unspoken invitation hanging in the air between them.

 

“After you,” he said, voice dripping with mock-innocence.

 

Cynthia stepped inside, and Tony followed, leading her to the front door of her building. The night air felt colder now, but the tension between them was palpable—charged, almost electric.

 

“Well," Tony said, his voice lower, quieter than before, "I guess this is it."

 

She turned to face him, her heart beating a little faster than usual. She couldn't help it—Tony Stark had that effect on people. That confidence, that edge. He was a walking, talking enigma wrapped in an armor of arrogance and charm. But she could see through it. She had to see through it.

 

“Goodnight, Tony,” she said softly, eyes meeting his.

 

Tony took a step closer, his gaze intense, his body language unreadable. His fingers brushed against hers as he gently cupped her chin, tilting her face up. It was deliberate, careful, the smallest of touches that nonetheless sent a shockwave through her.

 

His voice dropped even lower. “You know, it’s rare that I get a second chance at a first impression. But with you... I think I’m willing to risk it.”

 

Cynthia’s heart skipped, but she kept her cool. “A little too late for that, don’t you think?”

 

“Nope,” Tony said, his smirk returning. “I like to live dangerously.”

 

And then, without another word, he leaned in. Slow. Tentative. Giving her every chance to back away. But Cynthia didn't. She was, after all, playing a game of her own.

 

His lips met hers, soft at first, just a whisper of a kiss, as though he was waiting for her to give him permission. Cynthia didn’t hesitate. She leaned into the kiss, just a little, allowing it to deepen as his arms slid around her waist, pulling her closer.

 

It wasn’t the fireworks kind of kiss—more like the kind that burns slow, deep. Dangerous.

 

When they pulled back, it was only by a fraction, their faces still close, their breaths mingling. Tony looked at her, his eyes a mix of curiosity and something else—something that was hard to place.

 

“Don’t think too much about it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. There was something amused, but almost… serious beneath it. "But you’re a hard woman to forget, you know that?"

 

Cynthia smiled softly, her heart racing despite herself. “I’m sure you say that to all the women.”

 

Tony chuckled, straightening up, his usual confidence returning in full force. "Only the ones worth saying it to."

 

He stepped back, nodding to her door. "I’ll leave you to think about it, but don’t take too long. I’m not exactly a patient man."

 

Cynthia stood there for a moment, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. She watched him turn to walk away, but her gaze lingered, watching the back of the man who was far more dangerous than she’d ever let on.

 

Tony Stark. A piece of her puzzle.

 

And for once, she couldn’t wait to see where the next move would take her.

 

—

 

From across the street, tucked into the shadows of a narrow alley, two men watched the scene unfold with quiet intensity. Neither spoke as Tony Stark disappeared down the sidewalk, his car carrying him out of view. The faint echo of his footsteps finally faded into the night, leaving the pair alone with their thoughts—and the task at hand.

 

The taller of the two adjusted his coat, pulling it tighter around his frame as if to fight off the cool night air. He was the more disciplined of the two, a man who prided himself on following orders without question. He didn’t bother looking at his partner, who was already muttering under his breath.

 

“I don’t get it,” the shorter man whispered, his voice laced with irritation. “Why is she bothering with all of this? The dinners, the flirting, the whole… act.” He gestured toward the building where their superior, Sinthea Schmidt, had just disappeared. “We could’ve grabbed Stark weeks ago—easy. No games.”

 

The taller man finally turned his head, fixing his companion with a sharp look. “Because those aren’t our orders,” he said, his voice clipped and cold. “She doesn’t explain herself to us, and she doesn’t need to. If she says we watch, we watch. Simple.”

 

The shorter man scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he shifted his weight. “Simple? You think this is simple? This is Tony Stark. We’re talking about a guy who’s smarter than half the damn world put together. Do you know how many people have tried to get close to him and failed? But her? She just strolls in, bats her eyes, and he’s—what? Taking her out for steak and holding her hand?” He shook his head, almost incredulous. “It’s unreal.”

 

The taller agent didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on the building’s entrance. Sinthea hadn’t yet reappeared, and he knew she wouldn’t—not tonight. Stark was gone, and their task was complete. Still, the unease lingered.

 

“She’s better than anyone who’s come before,” the taller man said finally, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “You’ve seen it yourself. Stark doesn’t even know he’s being played.”

 

The shorter man shifted again, glancing toward the darkened street. “Yeah, well… I still don’t like it. He’s dangerous. If he figures out what’s going on…”

 

“He won’t,” the taller agent interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “Not yet. Not until she wants him to.”

 

The silence stretched for a beat before the shorter agent muttered, “Still think we should’ve just shot him.”

 

The taller man shot him a glare that could have frozen water. “You shoot Tony Stark, and the whole world comes down on you before the body even hits the ground. You want to deal with S.H.I.E.L.D.? With her? Because I don’t.”

 

The shorter man swallowed hard, the memory of their superior’s icy gaze silencing any further complaints. Sinthea Schmidt was not a woman to cross, and she certainly wasn’t one to question—not if you wanted to keep breathing.

 

“Fine,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “But what happens when she’s done with him? When she’s got whatever it is she wants?”

 

The taller agent shrugged, the motion barely noticeable beneath his coat. “Then Stark becomes a problem to be solved. One way or another.”

 

A beat of silence passed between them before the shorter agent grunted, clearly still dissatisfied. “You think she’s really into him, though? Like… for real?”

 

The taller man shot him a withering look. “What do you think?”

 

The shorter agent smirked, though there was no real humor in it. “Yeah, didn’t think so. Poor bastard doesn’t stand a chance.”

 

They both turned back to the building, watching as the light in one of the upper-floor apartments flickered off. Sinthea Schmidt—Cynthia, as Stark knew her—had made her move, and it was a good one. Subtle. Calculated. Far more dangerous than a bullet.

 

The shorter man sighed, shaking his head. “We’re gonna be cleaning up this mess when it all blows up in his face, aren’t we?”

 

The taller man gave a faint, humorless chuckle. “You’re assuming he’ll even know what hit him.”

 

With that, the two men melted back into the shadows, their surveillance complete for the night. Whatever game Sinthea Schmidt was playing with Tony Stark, it was working. And they both knew that when she finally decided to end it, Stark wouldn’t see it coming.

 

He wouldn’t see her coming.

 

—

 

Nick Fury stood at the head of the operations table, his one good eye locked on the collection of monitors that flickered around him. The dim glow of the screens painted his face in harsh angles, but he wasn’t bothered by the shadows. He wasn’t bothered by much, really—except for this damn situation.

 

He was pissed. No, scratch that—livid. This whole Vibranium problem was a cluster of failure after failure, and Fury didn't have the patience to deal with it.

 

“We’re out of Vibranium?” Fury’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. His good eye narrowed, and the words sounded like a goddamn curse. He turned slowly, hands planted on the table as he shot Maria Hill a look that could make even the bravest of agents squirm.

 

Maria didn’t flinch. She was used to him by now. “It’s getting low, sir. Maintenance is fine, but we don’t have enough for more armor, especially for field agents. We can’t afford to keep making custom orders.”

 

Fury scowled, pacing like a tiger in a cage, his leather trench coat swaying with every step. “Well, hell.” He stopped mid-step, turning toward the monitor again. “That armor’s a lifesaver. Hell, it saved my ass in that Hydra ambush in Pierce’s penthouse. Now we’re supposed to let that tech sit on the shelf because we’re out of the one thing that makes it work?”

 

Maria raised a brow. “We could always ask Wakanda. But I’m guessing you’re not a fan of that plan.”

 

Fury let out a sharp breath through his nose, hands clenched. “Wakanda’s out. I’ve tried to get them to talk. They don’t deal with outsiders. So we’ll have to find another way.” He turned back to face her, his eye cold, calculating. “We need to find a supplier, someone with access to the Vibranium. Someone who isn’t the Black Panther.”

 

Maria's face remained impassive. “I’ve got a name.”

 

Fury raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Who?”

 

“Ulysses Klaue,” Maria said without hesitation. The name hung in the air like a bad smell. “You know the one—arms dealer, mercenary, black market kingpin. He’s been moving Vibranium through the back channels for years.”

 

Fury muttered under his breath, his hands tightening into fists. “I’ve been wanting to catch that son of a bitch for years. He’s been hiding under our noses.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, weighing his options. “You’re sure Klaue’s still moving it?”

 

Maria nodded. “Yeah. He’s not exactly subtle about it, either. Word is, he’s got a stash bigger than we’ve ever seen. If we can track him down, we can force him to hand over his stash.”

 

Fury’s lips curved into something close to a smile, though it was far from warm. “Then it’s time to pay Klaue a visit. Tell May and Romanoff they’re on the job.”

 

Maria’s eyes flickered for a moment. “Both of them?”

 

Fury didn’t hesitate. “They’re the best at what they do, Hill. You know that. I want Klaue found—and I want him alive. I don’t care what it takes. You tell them if they’re going in, they’re authorized to use whatever resources they need. But don’t let that bastard slip away again.”

 

Maria nodded, already stepping toward the door. “I’ll get them prepped.”

 

Fury turned back toward the screens. “Good. And make sure it’s quiet. No traces. If word gets out that we’re hunting Klaue, he’ll vanish like smoke.”

 

---

 

Melinda May stood by the jet, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression unreadable as usual. She didn’t need to speak much—her actions always said more than enough. She was the calm in the storm, the one who got the job done without flinching, no matter how messy it got.

 

Natasha Romanoff, on the other hand, was pacing near the edge of the hangar, tapping her fingers against her thigh and humming a tune that made May want to strangle her.

 

“Not sure why we’re wasting our time with this,” Natasha said with a smirk, flicking her wrist to make her knife spin effortlessly between her fingers. “Klaue’s a joke.”

 

May didn’t respond at first, her focus still on the jet. She knew exactly what Natasha was getting at. Romanoff wasn’t one for small talk, but when she had something to say, she got straight to the point. “You’re not worried?” May asked, turning her head slightly, but her tone still flat.

 

“Worried?” Natasha snorted. “Hell no. I’ve hunted down worse things than Klaue. This is going to be like taking candy from a baby—just...a baby that’s holding a bazooka.” She threw May a sidelong glance, her eyes gleaming. “Fury’s got us going for the good stuff, huh?”

 

“Don’t underestimate him,” May replied, her tone softer but firm. “Klaue’s a slippery bastard. You might think you’ve got him cornered, but he’s always got an escape route. We don’t just want his stash—we want him alive.”

 

Natasha grinned, a wicked, dangerous smile. “You know, that’s always the fun part. Making sure they stay alive long enough to get answers.”

 

May didn’t acknowledge the comment, but she didn’t need to. She could see the glint in Natasha’s eyes—the one that meant business.

 

She started up the jet with an efficient flick of her wrist, not wasting a second. “You ready to move?” she asked, her eyes still locked on the control panel.

 

“Always,” Natasha answered, sliding into the seat next to her and strapping in without missing a beat. “And you know I love Klaue’s little toys. Let’s see how many of his weapons we can borrow.”

 

May shot her a sideways look. “Borrow?”

 

“Alright, fine. Take. Whatever.” Natasha leaned back, her tone light as the Quinjet’s engines powered up. “I’m just saying, a little extra firepower never hurt anyone.”

 

May’s lips twitched ever so slightly, though she didn’t let the smile reach her eyes. “This is a stealth mission, Romanoff. No fireworks.”

 

“Sure,” Natasha said, her voice turning mockingly sweet. “But sometimes, a little spark is exactly what you need to light up the big picture.”

 

The jet’s engines hummed louder as they lifted off the ground, its sleek form slicing through the air as it made its way toward Klaue. There was no time to waste—and no time to screw around. Nick Fury had made it clear.

 

Klaue wouldn’t be walking away from this encounter.

 

—

 

In the quiet hum of another wing of the safehouse, Howard Stark’s workshop looked like organized chaos—an endless tangle of blueprints, scribbled notes, and prototypes cluttering every surface. The smell of engine oil mixed with faint traces of ozone and magic, creating an odd blend of science and sorcery that somehow worked.

 

Howard stood in the middle of it all, sleeves rolled up and grease smudges streaking across his shirt like war paint. On the table before him lay a set of crisp blueprints labeled “The Quinjet”, with diagrams so detailed they might as well have been schematics for a starship.

 

“So,” Howard started, flashing a grin that could sell anyone on just about anything, “what do you two think? Pretty, isn’t she?”

 

Lily Potter leaned over the table, her fiery hair falling to one side as she studied the designs. Her green eyes, sharp and assessing, flickered across the intricate plans. “She’s impressive,” she admitted, her voice thoughtful. “Compact, sleek, built for speed. But…” She traced one of the structural lines with a finger, her expression tightening. “It’s vulnerable. If someone were to hit her with, say, a directed magical blast or even a well-placed ward-piercing spell, you could lose structural integrity.”

 

“Right,” Howard said, nodding as though he expected that answer. “That’s where you come in, Red. And you too, Adler.”

 

Gideon Adler—or rather, the reformed Gellert Grindelwald—was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, watching Howard with an amused glint in his pale blue eyes. Despite his younger appearance—deaged to look like he was in his forties—there was no mistaking the quiet authority he carried.

 

“I must say, Mr. Stark,” Gideon spoke in his measured, lilting tone, “your ingenuity is… admirable. I’ve seen my fair share of magical and mechanical hybrids, but you’ve outdone yourself with these.” He gestured toward the blueprints, then tilted his head. “However, if you want this machine to stand against magical attacks, you’ll need more than basic enchantments. What you’re asking for will require wards and runes far beyond your current understanding.”

 

“Which is why you’re here, sport.” Howard shot him a smirk, undeterred. “I build the tech; you make it unbreakable.” He turned back to Lily, his expression sobering slightly. “Harry said you’ve been working on some advanced wards and enchantments. Got them from that weird monastery library he visited—Kamar-Taj, right? I’m thinking we can weave those into the frame of the Quinjet.”

 

Lily glanced at Gideon, eyebrows raised. “It’s possible,” she said carefully. “If we combine protego maxima with a reinforced rune sequence—something like Ansuz for protective flow and Tiwaz for structural strength—it could work. The wards would deflect most magical attacks and stabilize the jet under duress.”

 

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Howard said, his hands already moving as he grabbed a notepad and jotted down their suggestions. “You throw in your wizard mojo, and I’ll adjust the alloy mix to bond with the magic.” He paused, tapping his pen against his temple. “You can make it stick, right? I mean, I don’t want this thing coming apart mid-flight.”

 

Gideon snorted softly, his lips quirking in a wry smile. “Do you doubt me, Mr. Stark? Magic is a language of permanence. If done correctly, the enchantments will outlast the machine itself.”

 

Howard raised a brow, clearly impressed but unwilling to let Gideon get the last word. “Permanence, huh? I like the sound of that. But let’s not get cocky, Adler. I’m trusting you not to blow this thing up while testing it.”

 

Gideon’s smile widened ever so slightly, though his tone remained perfectly calm. “I haven’t blown anything up unintentionally in decades.”

 

Lily let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Don’t jinx it, Gideon.”

 

Howard grinned, pointing his pen at her. “Exactly. Let’s not tempt fate, sweetheart. Now, what do you think about shielding the engines? That’s where the real magic happens—figuratively speaking.”

 

Lily leaned in again, already pulling a small, leather-bound book out of her bag. “We’ll need to layer the spells carefully. I’ll weave a repulsio field to deflect kinetic impacts, but we’ll reinforce it with a salvio hexia net to block magical interference. If we link the enchantments to the jet’s power system, it’ll self-sustain.”

 

Howard’s eyes lit up as though she’d just handed him the key to the universe. “Self-sustaining magic armor? Now that’s Stark-worthy.”

 

Gideon stepped forward, his fingers skimming over the blueprint as he considered Lily’s suggestion. “A clever solution. But the wards will require anchors—something to hold the magic in place.” He looked up, his sharp gaze meeting Howard’s. “I assume the Quinjet’s frame is made of a non-ferrous alloy?”

 

Howard grunted in confirmation. “Titanium alloy base with Stark tech tweaks. Strong, but light enough to keep her fast.”

 

Gideon nodded approvingly. “Then the Ansuz runes will bond well to it. I’ll etch the sequences myself; Lily can handle the ward integration. Between the two of us, this Quinjet will be impenetrable.”

 

Howard grinned ear to ear, clapping his hands together. “Perfect. That’s what I like to hear. Now we’re cooking.” He stepped around the table and leaned back against it, arms crossed. “You two do your magic thing, and I’ll get started on the frame adjustments. Let’s aim to get this prototype ready in—what?—three weeks?”

 

Lily blinked. “Three weeks? That’s ambitious.”

 

Howard shrugged, the cocky Stark charm on full display. “Ambitious is my middle name.”

 

Gideon let out a quiet sigh, though his expression remained amused. “You truly are relentless, Mr. Stark. Very well. Three weeks it is.”

 

Lily shot Gideon a knowing look as she began flipping through her book of enchantments. “Just don’t let him rope you into one of his all-nighters. Trust me, it’s a trap.”

 

“Hey!” Howard protested, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I only do all-nighters when we’re on the brink of genius.”

 

Gideon chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with faint amusement. “Genius or madness, Mr. Stark, it’s often hard to tell the difference.”

 

“Why pick just one?” Howard fired back with a grin.

 

As the three of them got to work, the faint crackle of magic began to mix with the hum of machinery. It was science and sorcery in harmony, a collaboration that would push the limits of both fields. The Quinjet wasn’t just going to fly—it was going to redefine what was possible.

 

And if Nick Fury thought Vibranium armor was impressive, he hadn’t seen anything yet.

 

—

 

In the heart of Kamar-Taj, beneath the ever-watchful gaze of the ancient library, the sparring session was coming to an end. The air hummed with the energy of the mystic arts, the sound of combat resonating like thunder in the vast, sacred courtyard. Harry Potter stood in the center, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing, his armor gleaming faintly under the light of the setting sun. His body was in perfect harmony with the enchanted Cloak of Levitation that now merged seamlessly with the suit, its magic amplifying his already formidable physical abilities.

 

Across from him, Baron Mordo and Kaecillius—his masters in the ways of magic—were panting, sweat dripping from their brows. Mordo’s face was a mask of concentration, his eyes narrowing as he circled Harry, his every movement measured and deliberate. The Vaulting Boots of Valtorr that Mordo wore—a rare and potent artifact—powered his jumps, allowing him to move through the air with the grace of a bird. Yet, despite all of his skill and the enhancement the boots provided, Harry’s agility, bolstered by his Super-Soldier speed and reflexes, had become nearly impossible to match.

 

With a sudden surge of energy, Mordo launched himself forward, his boots propelling him higher than the eye could follow. He came down fast, aiming a spinning kick directly for Harry’s head. But Harry was already gone.

 

The Cloak of Levitation reacted almost instinctively, lifting Harry just enough to avoid the strike, but not enough to remove him from the action entirely. As Mordo landed, Harry’s fist shot out in a blur of motion, catching Mordo on the side, sending him stumbling back.

 

Kaecillius, sensing the shift in the momentum, quickly stepped in. His hands glowed with dark magic as he conjured an energy blade, the bright green light of his creation humming ominously in the air. He slashed horizontally, aiming to catch Harry off guard.

 

But Harry wasn’t caught. With a fluid motion, he raised his arm, and the Cloak twisted around him, sending a gust of wind to deflect the blade. Harry’s armor shimmered, and before Kaecillius could react, Harry darted forward, his speed too fast for the older sorcerer to track. A pulse of force burst from Harry’s palm, knocking Kaecillius off his feet and sending him crashing into the nearby stone pillar.

 

The two sorcerers took a moment to regroup, each of them visibly straining now. Mordo wiped the sweat from his brow, eyeing Harry with a mix of admiration and frustration.

 

“You’ve grown faster than I imagined,” Mordo said, his voice clipped, but his respect undeniable. “This… this isn’t just your enhanced body. You’ve tapped into something deeper, haven’t you?”

 

Harry, leaning casually against a pillar, grinned. “It’s not just the super-soldier serum anymore. The magic of Kamar-Taj, combined with this armor, has turned me into something a little more… unpredictable. You two need to step up your game if you want to keep up.”

 

Kaecillius, brushing himself off, spoke next. “Your speed is unnatural, Potter. It’s as if your body and the magic have fused into one unstoppable force. You make it look effortless.”

 

Harry smirked, shifting his weight. “Effortless doesn’t mean easy. The armor’s almost… alive now. It’s like it’s thinking ahead of me. Makes the moves feel second nature.”

 

Kaecillius raised an eyebrow. “A sentient armor? That’s new.”

 

“Well, let’s just say it has a mind of its own,” Harry replied with a wink, his eyes gleaming with a touch of mischief.

 

Mordo exchanged a look with Kaecillius, his brows furrowing. “Perhaps we underestimated the full scope of your potential.”

 

Harry straightened up, his posture easing. “You’re still holding back,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “I know you two have more in your arsenal.”

 

Kaecillius gave a low chuckle. “Perhaps. But after that display, I’d say it’s not just the armor we need to worry about.”

 

Harry grinned, his eyes glinting with a dangerous spark. “Well, I wasn’t planning on making it easy.”

 

Mordo’s expression darkened, his eyes locking onto Harry with a calculating stare. “Fine. But let’s see how you handle this.”

 

The sorcerer lifted his hands and muttered an incantation, his magic coiling around him like a visible aura. A dark, swirling shield of energy appeared in front of him, a barrier capable of withstanding the most powerful of magical assaults. He leaped forward once more, his boots glowing with renewed power, this time aiming to land a crushing blow against Harry’s chest.

 

But Harry was ready. The Cloak swirled around him again, shifting just enough to absorb the impact, allowing Harry to slide sideways, out of the range of the punch. He countered with a quick sweep of his leg, knocking Mordo’s feet out from under him. In an instant, Harry was on top of him, a glowing fist raised, ready to end the sparring session.

 

Kaecillius was on the move again, his hands crackling with energy as he summoned tendrils of mystic force to bind Harry, but before he could strike, Harry twisted mid-air, using the Cloak to propel him backward and out of range.

 

“You’re both getting too predictable,” Harry said, landing lightly on his feet. “But I’ll give you credit. You’re keeping me on my toes.”

 

Mordo groaned from the ground, raising a hand. “Enough. You win. Again.”

 

Harry lowered his hand, smiling down at his masters, both of whom were now dusting themselves off and catching their breath.

 

“You don’t give up easily, do you?” Harry said, the hint of admiration in his tone.

 

Mordo shot him a sharp look, though it was softened by a faint smile. “We are not the ones who need to give up, Potter. We simply recognize when we’ve been bested.”

 

Kaecillius shook his head in amusement. “The boy’s faster than we anticipated. And much more… versatile.”

 

Harry nodded, the adrenaline of the fight slowly wearing off, replaced by a calm confidence. “Maybe next time, I’ll let you get a hit in.”

 

Mordo laughed, though his eyes were sharp. “We’ll see, Potter. We’ll see.”

 

With the sparring session officially concluded, Harry turned, allowing himself a moment to breathe. The magic of Kamar-Taj, his strength, and the merging of his armor and the Cloak had made him a formidable force. And though he could feel the limits of his power still stretching before him, he knew there was always more to learn.

 

“You’re getting better, Harry,” Kaecillius said as Harry began to walk toward the exit of the courtyard. “But don’t let your confidence blind you. There are always opponents out there who will test your limits.”

 

Harry smiled back over his shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind, Kaecillius. But for now, I think I’ve earned a break.”

 

As he left the courtyard, the weight of the lessons he’d learned in this sacred place settled over him, a quiet reminder that no matter how far he’d come, there was always more to discover.

Chapter 38: Chapter 37

The jet settled onto the dusty runway of a quiet airstrip in South Africa, the midday sun beating down like an unforgiving hammer. Natasha Romanoff adjusted her sunglasses, barely flinching at the oppressive heat, her mind already shifting into mission mode. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and gave Melinda May a side glance as they exited the jet.

 

“Nice landing,” Natasha said with a grin, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Could’ve been worse. I mean, a few more bumps, and we might’ve actually had a rough landing. But no, all good.” She rolled her eyes. “Just another Tuesday, right?”

 

Melinda May, ever the professional, didn’t even dignify the comment with a response. She simply moved toward the hangar, her stance solid, eyes sharp. The only thing about her that hinted at anything resembling emotion was the faintest twitch of her lips when she heard Natasha’s jab.

 

“Focus, Romanoff,” May said, her voice cutting through the air with the precision of a blade. “We’re not here for sightseeing.”

 

Natasha matched her pace, not one to be outdone. “Hey, I’m just getting into the local flavor.” She hummed a few notes of a tune, the kind of melody that only Natasha would find amusing, before shaking her head with a sigh. “Fine, fine. Let’s find this guy, get some intel, and then I can go back to being bored out of my mind. You’re such a buzzkill, May.”

 

May didn’t respond. She was used to Natasha's banter, and honestly, part of her secretly enjoyed it. But when it came to the mission at hand, there was no room for distractions.

 

They approached a small, weathered building at the edge of the town—a nondescript shack that looked like it had been through more than one sandstorm. The door opened before they even reached it, revealing a man with a wide grin plastered on his face, as if he’d just been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.

 

“Well, well,” the man said, stepping into the sunlight with his arms wide. “If it isn’t Melinda May, my favorite SHIELD agent! And of course, the one and only Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow herself, in the flesh. This must be my lucky day!” His voice was smooth, with just the right touch of charm—like a man who could talk his way out of a sticky situation, or into one. His South African accent mixed with a layer of humor that made him sound as if he were narrating his own comedy special.

 

Natasha shot him a flat look, barely hiding the annoyance that flashed in her eyes. “Cut the theatrics, David. We’re here for information, not to hear you crack jokes.”

 

David's grin didn't falter. “Oh, don’t be like that, Natasha. A little bit of fun never hurt anyone. But fine, let’s get down to business.” He gestured for them to follow him inside, his movements exaggerated, like a performer making an entrance on stage.

 

Once inside, Natasha’s gaze flicked over the room, noting the strange mix of old, dusty furniture and what looked like high-tech equipment hastily hidden under tarps. A map of South Africa covered one wall, with red circles around various towns and cities, some of them marked with cryptic notes in David’s handwriting.

 

May didn’t waste time. She crossed the room with a purposeful stride and fixed David with a hard stare. “Where’s Klaue?”

 

David raised an eyebrow as if he’d just been asked to recite Shakespeare. “Straight to the point, huh? I like it.” He clicked his tongue, then motioned for them to sit down at the cluttered desk. “Alright, here’s the deal. I’ve got ears everywhere. I hear things. Klaue’s been making waves, but he's not stupid. You think he’s just hanging around? Please. He's playing hide-and-seek, and right now, I’m your best chance at finding him.”

 

Natasha leaned against the desk, arms crossed, her sharp eyes never leaving David. “You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone who makes a living hiding in the shadows. What makes you think you’ve got anything we can use?”

 

David’s grin turned mischievous as he picked up a file from the corner of the desk and tossed it in front of them. The file was thick, and the cover was covered in hand-drawn maps and photos—some grainy, some surprisingly clear. The face of Ulysses Klaue stared back at them from several angles.

 

“You see, I don’t just talk a big game,” David said, sitting down across from them, his elbows resting casually on the desk. “I know where Klaue’s been, and more importantly, I know where he’s going.” He tapped the file, opening it to a specific map with a red dot near the northern border. “There’s a port up here—big, industrial, lots of goods moving in and out. Klaue’s been using it to move... let’s just say more than weapons. Whatever it is, it’s big. Too big for him to keep hidden for long. But he’s smart. He’s got people watching, waiting, making sure no one gets too close.”

 

May’s eyes hardened. “You’re sure?”

 

David leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head as though he were relaxing on a beach. “Oh, I’m sure. And here’s the thing, Melinda. Klaue is as slippery as they come. If you go to that port, you better be ready for a fight, because he’s not going to go down without a plan to disappear again. You know how he works.”

 

Natasha’s lips curled into a smile. “That’s the fun part, isn’t it? The chase. And I do love a good chase.” She stood up, stretching out her back before flashing a grin at David. “You’ve earned yourself that drink. We’ll be in touch.”

 

David winked at her. “Oh, I’m counting on it. But remember—if you get into too much trouble, don’t come running to me for help. I’m not getting my hands dirty for you two. Not unless you bring me something worth my while.”

 

May turned to leave, her gaze flicking over the map one last time. “We’ll take care of Klaue. You just focus on staying alive.”

 

As they headed for the door, Natasha couldn’t resist one last jab. “You know, David, I think you’re getting a little too comfortable. I might have to take you up on that drink offer sooner than you think.” She flashed him a wink before stepping out into the hot sun, already feeling the buzz of adrenaline.

 

David’s voice called after them. “Just don’t get killed out there, ladies. I’d hate to lose my favorite customers.”

 

Natasha shot him a smirk, already in the jet, ready for the next leg of the mission. “Don’t worry, David. We’re just getting started.”

 

And with that, the jet’s engines roared to life, and they were off again—toward Klaue, and whatever dangerous surprises lay waiting for them at that remote port.

 

—

 

The jet glided silently through the sky, its stealth mode engaged, blending with the clouds as it approached the northern port David had marked on the map. The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows over the rugged landscape below. Natasha Romanoff leaned forward in her seat, her eyes focused on the land below. Beside her, Melinda May sat with a quiet intensity, scanning the horizon through her own set of binoculars. Both women were used to this—quiet, methodical, and precise.

 

"Quiet. Too quiet," Natasha muttered under her breath, her gaze flicking between the radar and the oceanfront port that came into view. The area looked unassuming at first—just another industrial complex near the coast, surrounded by low, nondescript buildings and rusted shipping containers. But Natasha knew better than to take things at face value. A place like this, with all the commotion David had mentioned, was bound to have more than just cargo moving through it.

 

May adjusted her position slightly, her jaw set. "No such thing as too quiet," she said, her voice soft but commanding. "That’s what makes it dangerous."

 

Natasha smirked. "Oh, I know. You’d think I’d get used to it, but somehow, the silence is always creepier than the noise."

 

The jet descended slowly, hugging the coastline as it moved closer to the target. The port had a military-grade fence surrounding the perimeter, with surveillance cameras perched high on each corner. A few armed guards patrolled the area in slow, lazy loops, unaware of the quiet threat hovering just out of sight.

 

May exhaled softly, her hand tapping on the console. "We’ll land on the other side of the ridge. Keep it under the radar."

 

"Of course." Natasha’s voice was light, but there was a deadly seriousness in her eyes. "You know I’m all about staying under the radar. No loud explosions—yet." She threw a glance at May, the teasing edge still present. "Unless you’re into that sort of thing."

 

May didn’t take the bait. "Stay focused," was all she said.

 

The jet touched down with barely a sound, its landing gear kissing the earth in the dead of night. Both women moved swiftly, already in full gear and silently disembarking as soon as the ramp lowered. The air was thick with the salt of the ocean, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocks was the only noise in the otherwise still night.

 

Natasha led the way, her movements fluid and quiet as she moved towards a small outbuilding to the left of the main port. May, as always, was close behind, her instincts honed and ready for anything. As they approached, they ducked behind a row of stacked containers, keeping to the shadows.

 

"Two guards at the entrance," Natasha whispered, her eyes narrowing as she peered around the corner. She pointed to two men standing by a small shack, their rifles resting at their sides. "This should be easy."

 

May gave a single nod, her face unreadable. "Let’s keep it that way."

 

They moved in synchrony, their steps measured and deliberate. Natasha slid around the edge of the containers, creeping up on the guards with her trademark stealth. May followed suit, using the environment to her advantage. They were shadows in the dark, the kind of force that moved without hesitation or fanfare.

 

With a sudden burst of speed, Natasha was on the first guard, her hand clamping over his mouth before he could even blink. A quick twist, and he was out cold, crumpling to the ground without a sound. May did the same with the second guard—one swift motion, a hand at the throat, and the guard was rendered unconscious before he even knew what hit him.

 

Natasha smirked, kneeling beside the fallen men. "I’d say we’re getting too good at this."

 

"Shut it, Romanoff," May replied quietly, her tone unamused. "Let’s keep moving."

 

They moved deeper into the compound, slipping through a series of abandoned warehouses and storage units. There was something unnerving about the place—the eerie silence that surrounded them, the complete lack of activity for a port that was supposedly bustling with illegal trade. It was as though the place had been abandoned for years, but there were just enough signs of life to make it seem like a trap.

 

Natasha stopped in her tracks, her hand raised to signal May. She crouched low and peered around a corner. At the far end of the complex, a large cargo ship was docked. Several men in tactical gear were unloading crates and boxes from the ship, moving with quick efficiency.

 

"I don’t like this," Natasha muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "No guards? No reinforcements? This doesn’t feel right."

 

May’s sharp gaze never wavered as she watched the scene unfold. "Klaue’s too careful to risk everything on a few crates. There’s something else going on here."

 

A soft beep came from Natasha’s wrist communicator. She glanced down and swiped it open. "Fury’s calling."

 

"Don’t answer it," May said immediately, her voice tight with warning. "We don’t need any distractions."

 

But Natasha was already tapping the screen, raising it to her ear. "What’s up, Fury?"

 

"Report," came the gruff voice from the other end. "What’s the situation?"

 

"We’re on-site, but this place is too clean. The usual suspects are nowhere to be found," Natasha said, her eyes still scanning the scene. "Something’s off. I’m not getting a good feeling."

 

"I’ll bet," Fury replied, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Just keep your heads on straight. No surprises. Klaue’s slippery, but he’s not untouchable."

 

May didn’t take her eyes off the scene in front of her as she whispered to Natasha, "Keep the comms low. We need to be ready."

 

Natasha gave her a brief nod before turning back to the device. "Understood, Fury. We’ll report in once we have something. Out."

 

She turned her attention back to the compound, her instincts telling her something was off. They had to keep moving—Klaue might be out there, or he might be in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

 

"This is it," May said quietly, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "Get in position. If Klaue is here, we’re going to need backup."

 

Natasha grinned, her eyes flashing with excitement. "You know, I was hoping you’d say that. This is about to get fun." She moved forward, disappearing into the shadows with the fluidity of a ghost, her body a mere blur as she blended into the night.

 

May followed closely behind, her sharp gaze never leaving the shadows around them. They were closing in on Klaue—whether he knew it or not, he wasn’t going to walk away this time.

 

The hunt was on.

 

—

 

Klaue stood at the back of the warehouse, away from the harsh glow of the overhead lights. The space was dimly lit, filled with shadows and the lingering smell of salt and rust from the nearby docks. He had a certain flair for conducting business in places like this—isolated, quiet, yet with a simmering sense of danger that matched his own volatile personality.

 

A heavy, gruff voice broke the silence, followed by the scrape of a chair. "You’re sure these weapons of yours will do the job?" The voice came from a large, burly man with a thick beard, a mercenary by the looks of it. He wore an armored vest and carried himself like someone who had seen more than a few bloody deals in his time.

 

Klaue grinned, the wide smile tugging at his scarred face, revealing his sharp teeth. He was a man used to power, and he knew how to wield it with terrifying precision. "Oh, they'll do more than the job. They're state-of-the-art, imported straight from my special sources. Custom-made for maximum impact." His voice was smooth, like honey, but carried an undercurrent of menace. "The good stuff, you might say."

 

The mercenary’s eyes narrowed. "Last time we trusted you, we got leaked tech. That didn’t end well."

 

Klaue's smile never faltered. "You mean that little accident with the high-tech explosives? Please, that was a misunderstanding. Human error. You know, I'm not the kind of guy who tolerates mistakes. This time, everything’s...perfectly engineered." He flicked his hand dismissively, like the entire matter was beneath him. "So let’s not dwell on small details."

 

He stepped forward, his voice lowering into a darker, more conspiratorial tone. "You see, I’ve been keeping an eye on bigger things lately. There’s a new player in town, and I’ve got some interesting intel about them. A certain... scientific endeavor. Now, that could be profitable. But that’s for later."

 

The mercenary eyed him carefully, weighing the words in the silence that followed. "And you’re sure this is going to work out? No more screw-ups?"

 

Klaue leaned in, his eyes narrowing with a hint of malice. "When I’m involved, screw-ups don’t happen."

 

Before the mercenary could respond, the clink of boots on the concrete echoed through the back room. Klaue turned, his senses sharp as always, and saw the tall figure of a man approaching—a middle-aged man dressed in a tailored suit, his expression unreadable. His presence exuded authority, but there was something about the way he moved that suggested a practiced menace, a man not afraid to get his hands dirty.

 

"Ah, Mr. Kazim," Klaue greeted, his voice dripping with a faux warmth. "Always a pleasure."

 

Kazim nodded coolly, giving the room a cursory glance. He didn’t seem to care much for pleasantries. "You’ve been making moves, Klaue. I’m just here to make sure it doesn’t bite me in the ass."

 

Klaue chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound. "Of course, of course. We both know where the real power lies. And I assure you, everything's under control." He motioned toward the nearby crates stacked with weaponry. "But let’s not waste time. You’re here for the good stuff, yes?"

 

Kazim’s eyes lingered on the crates, then flicked back to Klaue. "Just make sure I’m not left with a pile of junk. You have a reputation for creative transactions."

 

Klaue grinned widely, almost too widely. His smile was a stark contrast to the coldness in his eyes. "My dear Mr. Kazim, I invented creative transactions. I’m a visionary, you know? You’re not going to regret this. Trust me." He gave the mercenary a knowing look, signaling him to begin opening the crates, revealing the shiny, dangerous weapons inside.

 

Kazim observed the merchandise with the practiced eye of someone who had dealt in arms for years. His lips pressed into a thin line. "These better be the real deal, Klaue. Or else... you’ll be the one at the bottom of the ocean."

 

Klaue gave a soft chuckle at the threat, clearly not taking it seriously. "Oh, Mr. Kazim, you wound me! I'm above such things. Besides, who else has the kind of connections I do? No one, that’s who. You’re looking at the best weapons dealer in the world. The finest materials, the deadliest designs. All at your disposal." He stepped aside as the mercenary lifted a case, revealing an array of sleek, terrifying weapons. Klaue’s pride was evident. "You’ll have the firepower you need, plus a little... extra. Consider it a bonus for your loyalty."

 

Kazim didn't smile, but his posture relaxed a fraction. "I’ll take it. Just keep your end of the deal, Klaue. I’m not interested in your problems."

 

"Agreed," Klaue said smoothly, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of arrogance and calculation. "Now, about our... other business. We both know what’s at stake. I trust you’ve been doing your homework on this new group? We can’t afford surprises."

 

Kazim’s demeanor shifted slightly, his eyes glinting with caution. "I’m aware. We’ve got eyes everywhere. But don’t be too eager to make this deal public just yet. There’s... talk. The kind of talk that could bring unwanted attention."

 

"Let them talk," Klaue replied dismissively. "I thrive in the shadows, my friend. It’s the light I’m allergic to." He paused, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Trust me, the world doesn’t even know what’s coming. And when it does, they’ll wish they were never born."

 

Kazim’s eyes flickered briefly with something like unease, but he hid it quickly. "Fine. But remember, your reputation is on the line here."

 

Klaue straightened, his face a mask of confidence. "And I don’t take reputations lightly. You’ll get what’s promised—on time, in full." He motioned toward the exit, the deal seemingly sealed. "Let’s shake on it, shall we?"

 

Kazim extended his hand, though his grip was firm, businesslike. There was a lingering moment of tension between them, but Klaue maintained his unwavering smile, knowing full well he had the upper hand.

 

As they sealed the deal, Klaue’s mind was already shifting to the next phase. The weapons would be out the door soon enough, and his real plans were only just beginning. The real money lay elsewhere—at least, that's what he kept telling himself. But Klaue knew one thing for sure: in the world he inhabited, there were no real alliances, no permanent deals.

 

It was all just a game, and Klaue loved playing it.

 

The silence in the backroom settled once again, broken only by the faint hum of machinery and the sound of crates being closed and sealed. Klaue turned to his mercenary. "Get these weapons packed up and ready to go. I’ve got someone to meet."

 

As the mercenary moved to follow his orders, Klaue’s grin grew wider. There was always something to keep him entertained.

 

And in this business, only the most dangerous players walked away with their hands clean.

 

—

 

As Natasha and May continued their stealthy approach, they moved like shadows, weaving through the darkness with an almost unnerving precision. Every step was calculated, every movement deliberate, their experience showing in how they seemed to vanish into the night, making use of every container and shadow as their cover. The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore blended with the quiet whispers of the night, masking their approach as they closed in on their target.

 

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she peered through a narrow gap between two shipping containers, scanning the scene with the kind of focus only years of training could instill. There, in the far corner of the yard, stood Ulysses Klaue, his presence unmistakable. The tall, wiry figure of the arms dealer was hard to miss, especially with the jagged scar running down his left cheek, a permanent reminder of the many dangerous deals he’d made over the years. But it wasn’t just Klaue’s figure that caught her attention—it was the crates stacked high with military-grade weapons being unloaded from the cargo ship behind him. Each box was marked with a logo Natasha didn’t recognize, a symbol that made her gut twist with suspicion.

 

Klaue barked orders to his men, the sound of his voice cutting through the night air like a knife. His arrogance was palpable as he surveyed the operation, his eyes gleaming with that all-too-familiar sense of control. But Natasha wasn’t fooled. Something was off—this wasn’t just an ordinary weapons deal. There was something far bigger at play here.

 

"May, you got eyes on him?" Natasha’s voice was a low whisper, barely audible over the wind and the crash of waves.

 

May’s voice crackled through her earpiece, steady and unwavering. "Affirmative. Klaue’s on-site. But those crates... I don’t like the look of them. We need to figure out what’s inside."

 

"Agreed," Natasha replied, her tone edged with resolve. She didn’t need to ask; May knew exactly what was on her mind. "Get ready for a fight. We’re going to have to take them all down."

 

May didn’t flinch, her calm demeanor never wavering. "On your mark."

 

Natasha shifted her position slightly, trying to get a better view of Klaue’s movements. The last thing she wanted was for him to slip away again. Not after all the times he had evaded capture. She could almost hear the mocking tone of his voice in her head, that insufferable laugh of his, like a challenge she’d never quite been able to fully meet.

 

Her eyes flicked over to the right-hand man standing by Klaue—a bulky figure with a dark beard, too casual in his stance to be a real threat. But Natasha’s sharp eyes caught something that sent a chill through her: a small gleam of metal beneath the mercenary’s jacket. It caught the light just enough for her to recognize it as a signal beacon, the kind she’d seen in the past, often used to trigger larger operations.

 

"May," Natasha murmured, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "the merc’s got a signal beacon. Could be a failsafe or something bigger. We need to move, now."

 

May was already on her feet, weapons drawn. "Understood. Let’s go."

 

Natasha didn’t wait for another second. She moved like liquid through the shadows, a ghost in the night, her body melding seamlessly with the darkness as she moved into position. Every muscle in her body was taut with anticipation as she closed the distance between them. Klaue couldn’t get away this time—not with her so close.

 

She felt May following behind her, silent and deadly, a perfect mirror of Natasha’s movements. Their training was second to none, and they both knew exactly what to do. This was a mission of precision, and they’d both earned the trust that came with it.

 

When they were close enough, Natasha tapped her earpiece, her voice barely audible as she spoke the words they’d both been waiting to hear: "We engage on my signal. Take out the mercs, leave Klaue to me."

 

May’s response was clipped, efficient. "Understood."

 

The moment was perfect. Klaue was turned, his back to them, focused on the crates being unloaded by his men. Natasha’s heart raced, not from fear, but from the thrill of the mission. One misstep and they’d be caught, but they weren’t about to make that mistake. Not today.

 

With a single, decisive movement, Natasha activated the comm. "Now."

 

May was a blur of motion, her actions fluid and precise. A quick strike to one mercenary’s neck dropped him silently to the ground, before she was already moving on to the next, a swift, lethal shot to the chest that left no time for a reaction.

 

Natasha was right behind her, moving with the grace of a dancer but the lethal intent of a predator. One mercenary was down before he could even react, another dispatched with a swift kick to the ribs, and the third was silenced with a punch to the throat. Each strike was silent, efficient, and brutal. In a matter of seconds, the ground around them was littered with unconscious bodies, the mercenaries now no threat.

 

Klaue, oblivious to the storm that had just swept through his men, was still surveying the crates, unaware that he was about to be taken down. His arrogance was like a beacon, drawing Natasha closer as she stalked her prey.

 

When she stepped from the shadows, Klaue spun, his hand reaching for his weapon, but Natasha was faster. She closed the gap in a heartbeat, grabbing his wrist and twisting his arm behind his back with a crack that echoed in the still night air. He grunted in pain, but his usual smirk never wavered. It was like he was born with that grin plastered on his face, no matter the situation.

 

"Romanoff," he sneered, his voice thick with disdain. "Always a pleasure. You think you can take me down now, huh? After all this time?"

 

Natasha’s grip tightened, her voice ice-cold. "You really think I care about your little speeches, Klaue? What’s in those crates, and who are you working for?"

 

Klaue let out a low chuckle, despite his painful position. "You know, you always were a thorn in my side. I was hoping you'd show up, but I never thought you'd be so... predictable."

 

"Let’s cut the crap," Natasha said, her patience wearing thin. "You’ve got the tech, and we both know you’re not working alone. So spill."

 

Klaue’s grin widened, his eyes glinting with a mix of malice and defiance. "You want answers? You’ll have to deal with that first."

 

Before Natasha could respond, the ground beneath them trembled, the rumble growing louder with each passing second. May’s eyes snapped toward the source of the disturbance, her instincts immediately alert.

 

A hulking armored vehicle—reinforced and heavily armed—was speeding toward them, the sound of its engine deafening as it barreled toward the compound. Klaue’s smirk grew wider.

 

"Guess you’ll have to handle that before you get anything from me," he taunted.

 

Natasha’s gaze locked onto the approaching vehicle, her mind working at lightning speed. They had no choice but to take it down—fast. She shot a look at May, who was already preparing for the battle to come.

 

"This just got interesting," Natasha muttered, her grip on Klaue tightening as she readied herself for the fight that was about to explode in front of them.

 

—

 

Just as Natasha prepared to deal with the incoming armored vehicle, a sudden, deafening roar split the air, and the ground beneath them seemed to shake with the force of an incoming impact. Before either she or May could react, the hulking vehicle, barreling toward them with its weapons primed, was suddenly thrown into chaos.

 

A blur of black and gold shot out from the darkness, moving faster than a shadow could form, and with a single, powerful strike, the armored vehicle was flipped on its side, metal screeching as it tumbled across the compound. The shockwave of the impact sent a gust of wind that sent the crates and debris flying in all directions.

 

Natasha and May instantly dropped into defensive stances, their weapons drawn, ready for whatever had caused the disturbance. The sight that met them was nothing short of breathtaking: a figure clad in sleek black armor with gold accents, moving with a fluid grace that suggested both power and precision. The figure landed lightly on the ground, barely a hint of dust rising under his feet.

 

King T'Chaka, the Black Panther, stood before them.

 

His presence was commanding, his stance regal, and his eyes were fierce with a glint of determination. The Black Panther’s enhanced senses and reflexes had enabled him to take down the vehicle in a heartbeat, his claws gleaming ominously in the dim light. The vibranium-laced armor shimmered, reflecting the faint moonlight, and Natasha could almost feel the immense power radiating from him. He was a king in every sense of the word.

 

Klaue’s smug grin faltered for the briefest of moments, but he quickly regained his composure, a sneer replacing his previous bravado. "Well, well... if it isn’t the king of Wakanda himself. You’ve come to ruin my fun, T’Chaka?"

 

T'Chaka’s voice was calm, controlled, but there was an underlying fury that made it clear he would not tolerate Klaue’s presence for much longer. "You’ve overstayed your welcome, Klaue. This ends now."

 

Natasha exchanged a brief glance with May. They knew the history between T'Chaka and Klaue, and it was clear this was about much more than just a weapons deal. This was personal.

 

Before Natasha could make a move, T'Chaka stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Klaue, who had taken a few steps back, his hands raised in mock surrender. "You are a disgrace to Wakanda, Klaue. You were warned before. Now you will face the consequences."

 

Klaue laughed, though there was an edge of uncertainty in his voice. "Consequences? You think you can take me down? You think this is over?"

 

With a swift motion, Klaue signaled for a second round of mercenaries to rush in, but Natasha was already moving. She was a blur, catching the first mercenary off guard with a spinning kick that sent him crashing to the ground. May wasn’t far behind, her fists and feet working in perfect synchronization as she dispatched another pair of attackers.

 

But T'Chaka wasn’t waiting for the fight to escalate. He was already in motion, his claws extending as he lunged at Klaue with the speed and precision of a predator. Klaue barely had time to react before T'Chaka slammed into him, knocking him to the ground with a thunderous crash. The Black Panther’s claws glinted in the low light as he grabbed Klaue by the collar of his jacket, lifting him effortlessly.

 

"You never learn, do you, Ulysses?" T'Chaka growled, his voice full of contempt. "You will pay for what you’ve done."

 

Klaue, despite being in a vulnerable position, sneered up at him. "You really think you can kill me, T’Chaka? You’re weak—just like your father before you."

 

The insult hung in the air for a moment, but T'Chaka didn’t flinch. Instead, he tightened his grip on Klaue’s jacket, lifting him higher. "You’ll find I am nothing like my father," he said, his voice dripping with cold fury. "And you will regret every second of your existence."

 

Natasha’s eyes flicked to the crates once more, her instincts telling her that there was more to this mission than simply capturing Klaue. Whatever was inside those crates, it was far more dangerous than anything she’d expected. She glanced at May, who nodded silently in understanding, and the two women closed in, moving to inspect the crates.

 

Klaue’s eyes darted toward the crates, and he laughed again, though it was tinged with desperation. "You think you’ll find the answers in those crates? You have no idea what you’re dealing with."

 

T'Chaka’s grip tightened, his claws digging into Klaue’s jacket. "Then enlighten me. What’s inside?"

 

Klaue just grinned, his teeth bared. "Let’s just say... the weapons aren’t the most dangerous thing you’ll find tonight."

 

With a final, contemptuous chuckle, Klaue spat at the ground before adding, "But I’ll leave that to you, Black Panther. I’ll be long gone by the time you figure it out."

 

Before anyone could react, Klaue activated a device on his wrist, and in an instant, a blinding flash of light erupted from his gauntlet. The explosion of light was so intense that it temporarily blinded everyone in the vicinity, and when their vision cleared, Klaue was gone, vanished into the shadows.

 

Natasha cursed under her breath, already sprinting toward the crates. "He’s getting away. We need to move now!"

 

T'Chaka released a low growl, his eyes scanning the area. "No. He’s not getting far. Let’s see what he was hiding."

 

As Natasha and May approached the crates, the tension in the air was palpable. The mysterious symbol on the boxes was now at the forefront of their minds, and whatever lay inside had just become a priority far more urgent than dealing with Klaue.

 

"This isn’t over," Natasha muttered, looking at May. "We need to figure out what Klaue was really after... and who’s pulling his strings."

Chapter 39: Chapter 38

The metallic latches of the crate groaned in protest as Natasha unfastened them, her every movement precise, her jaw set with grim determination. Beside her, May held her weapon at the ready, her eyes scanning their surroundings for any signs of an ambush. Years of experience had taught them both to expect the worst, but neither of them was prepared for what they found.

 

As the lid creaked open, the contents of the crate were revealed, and both women froze.

 

Inside were children. Some were huddled together, their tiny frames trembling with fear, while others lay limp, unconscious, their small faces pale and gaunt. Around each of their necks was a metallic collar, faintly glowing with a sinister red light. Their clothes were torn, their eyes hollow, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of despair.

 

Natasha sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. Her voice was low and cold, the edges of her words sharp as broken glass. "They’re trafficking kids. Mutant kids." Her eyes flicked to May, who was staring at the collars with a frown that deepened with every passing second.

 

"Those collars," May said, her voice tight, "they’re not just for control. This is tech—high-grade. Designed to suppress abilities." She crouched beside one of the children, examining the device. "These aren’t just prisoners. They’ve been weaponized."

 

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, her anger barely contained. "Klaue’s scum, but this? This is a whole new level." She knelt in front of a young boy near the edge of the crate, who was staring up at her with wide, tear-filled eyes. His voice was barely above a whisper.

 

"Are you here to save us?"

 

The words cut through Natasha like a knife. She forced herself to soften her expression, her voice losing some of its edge as she crouched down to his level. "Yeah, kid," she said gently. "We’re here to get you out of this mess. No one’s going to hurt you anymore."

 

The boy nodded, his small hands clutching the edge of the crate. Natasha reached out and ruffled his hair lightly before standing. "May," she said, her voice hard again, "we need to move fast. If these collars are tied to a central system, Klaue might have a kill switch."

 

May nodded, already assessing the logistics of getting the children out safely. "We’ll need to deactivate them once we’re clear. I can handle it, but we can’t waste time here."

 

The sound of a heavy footstep behind them drew their attention, and they both turned as King T'Chaka approached, his presence commanding. His black-and-gold armor shimmered faintly in the moonlight, every step he took exuding an air of authority and control. His eyes, sharp and discerning, swept over the children before settling on Natasha and May.

 

"What have you found?" His voice was deep, steady, and carried the weight of someone who had ruled with wisdom and strength for decades.

 

"Your worst nightmare," Natasha replied bitterly, stepping aside to give him a clear view of the crate. "Mutant kids. Trafficked. Collared. God knows what they’ve been through."

 

T'Chaka’s jaw tightened, the lines of his face etched with fury. He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto the children. Then, his eyes caught on one figure in particular—a girl sitting at the back of the crate, her posture straighter than the others, her expression unbroken. She was striking, her dark skin glowing faintly under the pale light, her white hair cascading around her shoulders like a storm cloud. Her piercing blue eyes met his without flinching, filled with a quiet strength that belied her age.

 

"You," T'Chaka said, his tone softer now, almost gentle. "What is your name?"

 

The girl tilted her chin up slightly, her voice steady despite the tremor of exhaustion in her limbs. "Ororo," she said. "Ororo Munroe."

 

Natasha’s brow furrowed at the name. It was familiar, though she couldn’t place it. "Ororo," she said, stepping closer, her voice quieter. "Do you know where they were taking you?"

 

Ororo hesitated, her gaze flicking to the other children before returning to Natasha. "To someone who wants us for what we are," she said simply. Her voice was calm, but there was a fire beneath her words, a defiance that hadn’t been extinguished despite everything she’d endured. "They wanted to make us into weapons. But I won’t let them."

 

May exchanged a glance with Natasha, her expression grim. "She’s got spirit," May said under her breath. "We need to get her and the others out. Now."

 

T'Chaka nodded, his voice firm again. "We will not leave these children to suffer. You have my word, Ororo. You will be safe in Wakanda."

 

Before anyone could respond, a sharp noise pierced the air—a distant shout, followed by the rumble of heavy footsteps. The remnants of Klaue’s mercenaries were regrouping, their weapons primed as they closed in on the compound.

 

"Dammit," Natasha muttered, drawing her pistols. "We’ve got company."

 

T'Chaka stepped forward, his claws extending with a metallic snikt. "I will deal with them," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Protect the children."

 

Natasha opened her mouth to protest but stopped at the look in his eyes. This was a king who had made his decision. "Fine," she said, turning to May. "Let’s get these kids moving."

 

As May began guiding the children out of the crate, Natasha crouched next to Ororo again. "Stay close to me, okay? I’ll keep you safe."

 

Ororo hesitated, then nodded, her blue eyes flicking to the shadows where T'Chaka had disappeared. "He’s going to stop them, isn’t he?"

 

Natasha smiled faintly, her voice carrying a hint of admiration. "Yeah. He’s not just a king. He’s the Black Panther. And trust me, no one gets past him."

 

In the distance, the sound of claws tearing through metal and the anguished cries of mercenaries filled the air. T'Chaka’s voice carried through the chaos, steady and unyielding. "You will not harm them. Not one."

 

As Natasha and May led the children to safety, Ororo glanced back one last time, watching the Black Panther cut through the enemy with a ferocity that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. For the first time in weeks, she felt something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel.

 

Hope.

 

—

 

The children shuffled quickly through the dimly lit warehouse, their small footsteps quickening with every turn they took. May, leading the group, kept her posture low, her hand resting near her weapon, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Natasha trailed behind, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of danger, fingers itching for the fight she knew was coming.

 

The murmurs of the frightened children filled the air, their faces pale and eyes wide with fear. The tension in the air was palpable, but May kept her pace steady, her eyes flicking to Natasha with an unspoken understanding.

 

Just outside the warehouse, the Dora Milaje had already set up, like statues in the moonlight, their vibranium spears gleaming with quiet menace. Okoye, as always, led the charge, her eyes scanning the area with laser-like precision. She looked at Natasha and May, her voice commanding but reassuring.

 

“The children are in our care now. You have my word,” Okoye’s deep voice rumbled, a promise of safety that rang with authority.

 

“Good,” May replied, her tone clipped. “Get them out of here. We’ll cover you.”

 

With a swift motion, Okoye directed the other Dora to move the children into the safe zone. Natasha’s eyes narrowed as the unmistakable sound of rumbling engines reached their ears. She exchanged a quick glance with May.

 

“Two minutes. Maybe less,” Natasha muttered, already positioning herself in a way that allowed her to cover the exit, her mind running through escape routes.

 

As if on cue, a black SUV screeched to a halt, and Klaue emerged from the vehicle with his signature grin. His metal prosthetic hand gleamed under the harsh warehouse lights, and his eyes scanned the area with cold calculation.

 

“Well, well,” Klaue’s voice echoed in the quiet night, his tone dripping with malice. “Looks like I’ve found myself a little party. How rude of you to crash my operation.” He clapped his hands sarcastically. “Ladies, you’ve been real pests.”

 

“Cut the act, Klaue,” Natasha snapped, her eyes hard as steel. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

 

“Not fooling anyone?” Klaue grinned, his metal hand clicking. “Oh, I think I’m fooling someone. Don’t you, sweetheart?” He winked at Natasha, his leer unmistakable.

 

Before Natasha could respond, a low, predatory laugh filled the air. Kraven the Hunter stepped from the shadows, his fur-lined coat billowing in the wind as he prowled forward. His eyes gleamed with the excitement of the hunt, and there was something animalistic in the way he carried himself. His presence seemed to warp the very atmosphere around him, as though nature itself was bracing for what was to come.

 

“I came for the Black Panther,” Kraven said, his voice deep, guttural, and laced with hunger. “But this? This is an unexpected delight.” His gaze flicked to Natasha, then May, his grin turning feral. “A red-haired widow and her companion. How delightful.”

 

Natasha didn’t flinch. Instead, she let out a dry chuckle. “Flattering, really. But you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

 

Klaue smirked beside him. “Enough of the chit-chat. Secure the children,” he barked at his mercenaries, who immediately raised their weapons.

 

The Dora Milaje, poised and deadly, surged forward with practiced ease, intercepting the first wave of mercenaries with precision strikes. Natasha and May dove into action, their movements a blur as they cut down attackers with surgical efficiency. But the real threat emerged as Kraven darted into the fray with the speed of a wild animal.

 

With a predatory snarl, Kraven lunged at Natasha, claws extended, aiming for her throat. Natasha flipped backwards, narrowly avoiding the strike, her face unreadable as she landed in a low crouch.

 

“You’ll make a fine trophy,” Kraven growled, circling her.

 

“I don’t plan on being mounted on your wall, sweetheart,” Natasha retorted, flipping her combat knives into her hands.

 

Before Kraven could answer, a golden, shimmering portal erupted in the air behind him, crackling with an otherworldly energy. From the depths of the portal stepped Revenant, clad in his signature red and gold armor, the gleaming metal reflecting the harsh lights of the battlefield. His Cloak of Levitation fluttered behind him like a banner in the wind, and his green eyes gleamed with mischief and intensity.

 

“Did I miss something?” Revenant’s voice rang out, light and irreverent as he surveyed the chaos. He grinned at Natasha, winking playfully. “Hey, Widow. Miss me?”

 

Natasha didn’t miss a beat. “You always have to make an entrance, don’t you?”

 

“Of course,” Revenant replied, flashing her a grin that was equal parts charming and mischievous. “I’m nothing if not dramatic.” His eyes swept over the battlefield, settling on Kraven. “And who do we have here? Discount Tarzan?”

 

Kraven’s lips curled into a snarl, his voice dripping with disdain. “You must be the Revenant. I’ve heard of you.”

 

“Aw, I’m flattered,” Revenant quipped, his eyes narrowing. “But I’m afraid the feeling’s not mutual.”

 

Without another word, Revenant raised his hand, and his Vibranium claws extended with a loud snikt, the metallic sound ringing in the air like the prelude to a storm. Kraven’s eyes flickered with momentary hesitation, but his confidence quickly returned, and he lunged at Revenant with a snarl.

 

The two collided with a bone-jarring clash, their strikes sending shockwaves through the air. Kraven’s speed and strength were matched by Revenant’s agility and reflexes, and the battle between them became a blur of slashes, blocks, and counterattacks. The sound of metal scraping against metal filled the air, punctuated by Kraven’s savage growls and Revenant’s taunting remarks.

 

“You know,” Revenant quipped as he ducked under one of Kraven’s vicious blows, “for someone who calls himself a hunter, you’re surprisingly bad at hitting your target.”

 

Kraven let out a growl of frustration, his claws raking through the air. “You talk too much,” he snarled.

 

“And you fight like a Saturday morning cartoon villain,” Revenant shot back, flipping backwards and landing with fluid grace. “Seriously, the fur coat? Overkill.”

 

Kraven snarled, charging again, but Revenant was already in motion. He darted to the side, his claws flashing as he struck at Kraven’s side, forcing the hunter back.

 

“You know, if you’d just stopped talking and paid attention,” Revenant mused as Kraven staggered, “you might’ve had a chance.”

 

“Enough games!” Kraven roared, his movements becoming erratic as he launched himself at Revenant once more.

 

But before Kraven could reach him, a sharp voice echoed over the comms.

 

“Revenant,” T’Chaka’s calm and commanding voice cut through the chaos, “the children are secure. Focus on ending this.”

 

“Got it,” Revenant replied, his voice focused now, his eyes narrowing as he zeroed in on his opponent. With a sudden burst of speed, he darted forward, his claws extending with terrifying precision as he drove Kraven back.

 

“Alright, kitty,” Revenant muttered with a grin. “Playtime’s over.”

 

Kraven lunged one last time, but Revenant was ready. With a swift move, he caught Kraven’s arm, twisting it with a sickening crack before using the momentum to drive his claws deep into Kraven’s side. The force of the blow sent Kraven sprawling to the ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

 

Revenant stepped back, wiping his claws with a nonchalant flick. “I’m afraid your hunting days are over,” he said, voice dripping with mock sympathy.

 

Behind him, Natasha couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips. “Well, that was fun.”

 

—

 

Ororo’s wide eyes never left Revenant as he made quick work of Kraven, her breath catching in her throat. The way he moved, so effortlessly—like a force of nature—fascinated her. She had been told about the heroes of the world, the ones who wielded power and grace in equal measure, but seeing it up close was something else entirely. The sharpness in his strikes, the precision with which he moved, it reminded her of the storms she summoned, the raw energy she commanded, but with a fierceness she rarely saw in her own battles.

 

She leaned against one of the crates, heart still racing as the adrenaline of the fight started to wear off. Her fingers tingled, almost itching to reach out and feel the electricity in the air, but she kept her eyes locked on the red-and-gold figure of Revenant. The way he taunted Kraven, his every move laced with effortless confidence—it was like watching someone perform a deadly dance, each motion calculated and purposeful.

 

“I’ve never seen anyone move like that,” Ororo murmured to herself, her voice barely a whisper, but the words held a mixture of awe and curiosity.

 

Behind her, the sound of approaching footsteps snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned just in time to see T’Chaka stepping forward, his regal presence imposing as always, though his gaze was locked on Klaue and the surrounding chaos. The Black Panther’s posture shifted, his eyes narrowing with cold fury as he focused on the mercenary standing in the midst of his forces, Klaue’s metallic hand gleaming in the warehouse light.

 

But before he could move, May’s voice rang out sharply, cutting through the tension.

 

“Wait,” May called out, stepping into view, her hand raised in a gesture of command. She stood with the same kind of authority that Natasha had, but there was something a little more weary in her eyes. As though, like Natasha, she’d been through too many battles to count. “Wakandan King,” she said, addressing T’Chaka with a tone that left no room for argument, “you’ll have to wait. Shield’s orders are clear—we’ve been sent to take Klaue into custody.”

 

T’Chaka’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Ororo could see the flash of annoyance in his eyes, but he didn’t respond immediately. The atmosphere in the warehouse thickened, tension rising as the weight of May’s words settled over everyone.

 

“Shield?” Okoye’s voice cut through the silence, disbelief clear in her tone as she stepped forward, her spear still in hand. “You think we’re going to just hand him over?”

 

The exchange was sharp, filled with an undercurrent of distrust. Ororo could feel the heat building, a storm that wasn’t far off, one that might boil over into something much worse. Her eyes flicked to Natasha, who stood alongside May, arms crossed, her expression unreadable but focused. And then her gaze shifted to Revenant, who seemed more amused than anything else by the standoff unfolding.

 

“This isn’t a discussion,” May continued, her tone growing more resolute. “We’re not here for a fight, T’Chaka. But Klaue is coming with us.” She paused, her gaze firm. “He’s a threat to more than just Wakanda.”

 

There was a long moment of silence as T’Chaka considered her words, the tension crackling in the air like static before a lightning strike. Then, slowly, he nodded once, his voice deep and commanding.

 

“Very well,” he said, though his eyes were cold with the weight of his decision. “But know this: You are not taking him without consequences.”

 

“Consequences?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, her voice low but sharp. “You know we’re not here for a negotiation, right? If you try to stop us, things will get a lot worse.”

 

The challenge in her voice didn’t go unnoticed. Ororo could feel the storm in the air, the heat, the electricity building again. She wasn’t sure who she was more worried about—May and Natasha, or the warriors of Wakanda.

 

Revenant stepped forward then, his cloak billowing behind him like a shadow in the night. He grinned, the mischievous glint in his eyes never fading, despite the tension mounting around them.

 

“Relax, everyone,” Revenant said, his tone light but with an edge of seriousness beneath it. “We’re all on the same side, right? I mean, I like a good fight, but I’m pretty sure this one isn’t worth it.”

 

T’Chaka’s gaze shifted to him, his expression unreadable. The Black Panther took a step forward, but before he could speak, May’s voice rang out again.

 

“Revenant’s right,” she said, her words clear and commanding. “We’re here to do our job. Klaue’s not going anywhere.”

 

The tension crackled for a moment longer, then, with a final look at his people, T’Chaka nodded once again, though the anger in his eyes didn’t dissipate.

 

“Then be quick about it,” he said, his voice quiet but laced with authority. “I won’t let my people suffer because of your orders.”

 

May didn’t flinch, though Ororo could feel the simmering undercurrent of her own irritation. “We’ll handle it.”

 

Revenant flashed one last grin before he turned to the rest of the team, his hands casually resting at his sides. “Well, that was fun. Can we move on now? I’m getting the feeling this could take all night.”

 

As the tension finally began to settle, Ororo turned her attention back to the group, watching as they moved toward Klaue. Her mind raced with thoughts about what had just unfolded. The battle was far from over, but at least, for now, they had the upper hand.

 

In her heart, Ororo could already feel the storm on the horizon, and she knew it was only a matter of time before it would break. But for now, they had the moment. And that would have to be enough.

 

—

 

The silence that followed T’Chaka’s grudging concession was thick, charged with an unspoken tension that clung to the warehouse air like the promise of a storm. Natasha and May moved with efficiency, taking control of Klaue, while Revenant lounged against a crate, his posture nonchalant but his gaze razor-sharp, scanning the room for any lingering threats.

 

“Alright,” Revenant said, clapping his hands with exaggerated flair. “This little drama’s been riveting, but I think it’s time we hit the road. Places to be, bad guys to interrogate. You know, the usual.”

 

Natasha shot him a withering glare but didn’t dignify his comment with a response. Instead, she gestured for May to flank Klaue as they began to move toward the exit.

 

“Wait,” Ororo’s voice rang out, clear and unwavering.

 

All eyes turned to her. Natasha’s sharp, calculating gaze lingered on the young woman with a flicker of suspicion. May raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable, but her body tensed as though bracing for yet another twist in the night’s events. Revenant tilted his head, curiosity dancing in his eyes as a slow grin began to spread across his face.

 

T’Chaka stepped forward, his imposing presence filling the space. His voice was deep, measured, and laced with disapproval. “Child, this matter does not concern you. Stand down.”

 

Ororo squared her shoulders, her chin lifting with quiet defiance. “With respect, King T’Chaka,” she said, her tone calm but firm, “this isn’t your decision to make. I’m coming with them.”

 

The room seemed to hold its breath.

 

“You are a child of Africa,” T’Chaka countered, his voice steady but carrying the weight of authority. “Your place is with your people.”

 

Ororo’s lips pressed into a thin line as she stood her ground. “I’m an American citizen,” she said, her voice unwavering. “My father, David Munroe, was an American photographer. My mother, N’Dare, while a princess of the Uzuri Tribe, grew up in America. I don’t owe anyone allegiance except to myself.”

 

Okoye stepped forward, her spear in hand, her expression a mix of disbelief and frustration. “You would turn your back on Africa?” she demanded, her tone cutting like a blade. “On your heritage? For what—these outsiders?”

 

Ororo’s gaze shifted to Okoye, her voice softening but no less resolute. “I’m not turning my back on anyone. But I’ve lost enough in my life to know that where I belong isn’t for others to decide. My parents were killed when a bomber crashed into our home. My only living family—my sister Vivian—lives in New York. That’s where I should be.”

 

Revenant let out a low whistle, crossing his arms as he leaned closer. “She’s got a point,” he drawled, the amusement in his tone barely concealing his admiration. “And, you know, having a young mutant on the team does sound like a win.”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. “This isn’t a team-building exercise,” she snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “She’s not cleared, she’s not trained, and we don’t need another variable in this mess.”

 

May sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose as though warding off an impending headache. “She’s also not wrong,” she said, her tone pragmatic. “If she’s an American citizen, we can’t force her to go to Wakanda.”

 

T’Chaka’s gaze burned with controlled fury as he turned to Ororo. “The world outside Wakanda is not kind,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “You will not find the safety or unity you take for granted here.”

 

Ororo met his gaze without flinching. “I’ve survived losing my parents, living on the streets, and watching everything I loved taken from me. I’m not afraid of the world, King T’Chaka.”

 

The tension was palpable, the air thick with the weight of unspoken emotions. Finally, T’Chaka stepped back, his expression hard but his voice calm. “Very well,” he said, his words clipped. “But do not mistake this for wisdom. You are walking into uncertainty.”

 

Natasha exchanged a glance with May, who shrugged slightly. “She’s coming,” May said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

 

Revenant stepped forward with a mischievous grin. “Welcome aboard, Ororo Munroe,” he said, his voice light but tinged with sincerity. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

 

Ororo allowed herself a small smile, though her heart raced with anticipation. She turned to Natasha and May. “So, are we leaving or what?”

 

Natasha let out a small huff, clearly unimpressed but resigned. “You better not slow us down,” she said curtly, turning on her heel and striding toward the exit.

 

May gave Ororo a lingering look before nodding. “Stay close. And try not to get yourself killed.”

 

As the group moved out of the warehouse, Revenant fell into step beside Ororo, his red-and-gold armor catching the faint light. “You know,” he said, glancing at her, “you’ve got guts. I like that.”

 

Ororo’s smile grew a fraction wider, though she kept her voice even. “And you’ve got a habit of running your mouth. I noticed.”

 

Revenant chuckled, clearly unbothered. “Fair enough.”

 

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Ororo felt the storm on the horizon—both within her and in the world she was stepping into. But for the first time in a long time, she felt ready to face it.

 

—

 

The group moved through the narrow alleyways, the faint glow of Klaue’s restraints casting eerie shadows on the damp walls. The silence was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of magic holding the smuggler suspended in midair. Klaue's muttered curses were silenced by a quick flick of Revenant’s fingers, the shimmer of golden runes intensifying as his magic clamped the man’s jaw shut.

 

“Don’t waste your breath,” Revenant said lazily, his red-and-gold armor gleaming faintly in the dim light. “You’ll have plenty of time to talk later. Well, assuming you don’t piss me off.”

 

Natasha was at the front of the group, her movements silent and deliberate. Her sharp gaze scanned every corner, every shadow, her body language screaming control. “Stay alert,” she said curtly, her voice low but firm. “I don’t want any surprises.”

 

“Relax, Natasha,” Revenant drawled, his tone deliberately playful. “We’re practically on a leisurely evening stroll. Just missing ice cream.”

 

Natasha didn’t so much as glance back, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. “And you’re missing a mute button. Shame.”

 

May, bringing up the rear, snorted softly. “She’s not wrong, kid. Your mouth’s writing checks I hope your magic can cash.”

 

“Don’t worry, May,” Harry replied, his smirk audible. “I always pay in full.”

 

May arched an eyebrow but didn’t dignify the comment with a response, her sharp eyes scanning their surroundings like a hawk. Ororo walked beside Revenant, her steps steady but cautious. Her fingers brushed the cold metal collar still clamped around her neck, a grim reminder of Klaue’s cruelty.

 

As they neared the cloaked jet, its faint outline shimmering against the night sky, Revenant stopped. The mask of his armor began to retract with a faint hiss, the intricate metal dissolving like liquid gold. When it disappeared completely, a young man stood before Ororo, his striking green eyes filled with an easy confidence, his unruly black hair catching the faint light.

 

He extended a hand, his grin equal parts charm and mischief. “Hi. Revenant’s the codename, but you can call me Harry.”

 

Ororo blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Her gaze flicked between his outstretched hand and his face before she hesitantly shook it. “Ororo,” she said, her tone polite but guarded.

 

“Ororo,” Harry repeated, as if savoring the sound. “Beautiful name for a beautiful person. Now, about that lovely little accessory…” He gestured toward the collar around her neck. “Mind if I take care of it?”

 

Her fingers brushed the cold metal again. “You can remove it?”

 

Harry’s grin widened. “Of course. I’m full of surprises.” He lifted his hand, golden runes flickering to life around his fingers. A faint hum filled the air as the collar deactivated with a soft click. Harry carefully removed it, holding it up like a trophy before closing his fist around it. The metal crumpled, disintegrating into a fine ash that scattered in the wind.

 

“There,” he said with a satisfied nod. “All set.”

 

Ororo’s hand went to her neck, her expression a mix of relief and gratitude. “Thank you,” she said softly, her tone carrying more weight than the simple words.

 

Harry stepped aside with a playful bow. “Anything for the young lady.”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes, finally turning to face them. “Are you done with the theatrics, or do you need another minute?”

 

“Just being friendly,” Harry replied with a shrug. “You should try it sometime.”

 

“Friendly doesn’t keep people alive,” Natasha shot back, her tone sharp but not unkind. “And we’re wasting time.”

 

“Relax, Natasha,” May interjected, her voice calm but firm. “The jet’s prepped. Let’s just get in the air.”

 

As they moved up the ramp, Harry gestured for Ororo to take the seat across from him. She hesitated, glancing around the sleek, high-tech interior of the jet, before settling into the seat. Harry leaned back, his green eyes twinkling with curiosity.

 

“So,” he began, resting an elbow on the armrest, “you’re a mutant. What’s your power? Something flashy, I bet.”

 

Ororo tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “I control the weather.”

 

Harry blinked, then let out a low whistle. “Seriously? Like storms and stuff?”

 

She nodded. “Storms, wind, lightning, all of it.”

 

“That’s badass,” Harry said with an impressed grin. “You’re basically a goddess.”

 

Ororo’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “That’s what the locals called me, back home.”

 

Natasha, standing nearby, folded her arms. “Control’s going to be your biggest challenge,” she said bluntly. “If you’re going to work with us, you need to learn how to stay steady, no matter what.”

 

Ororo frowned slightly. “I’ve been learning. But when I get… emotional, it’s harder.”

 

May’s voice came from the cockpit. “Don’t worry, kid. Everyone starts somewhere. Even Natasha used to have feelings.”

 

Natasha shot May a look, her lips twitching despite herself. “Funny.”

 

Harry leaned forward slightly. “We’ll help you figure it out,” he said, his tone softer now. “Controlling powers is kind of our thing.”

 

“Strap in,” May called over the comms. “We’re taking off.”

 

As the jet hummed to life, Ororo glanced out the window, the city lights fading below. A small part of her felt nervous—uncertain of what lay ahead—but the flicker of hope in her chest was undeniable. Harry’s easy confidence, Natasha’s sharp focus, and May’s steady presence made her feel, for the first time in a long while, that she wasn’t facing the storm alone.

Chapter 40: Chapter 39

The jet hummed steadily as it cut through the night sky, the lights of the city far below twinkling like scattered stars. Inside, the cabin was filled with a mix of tension and uneasy camaraderie. Ororo sat stiffly in her seat, her fingers gripping the armrests. Her gaze was locked on the window, though her reflection showed the turmoil swirling behind her composed expression.

 

Harry leaned back in his seat across from her, his green eyes fixed on Ororo. His signature smirk danced on his lips, but there was a softness in his gaze, a deliberate effort to put her at ease. “So,” he began, his voice light and teasing, “what’s the first thing you want to do now that you’re not Klaue’s favorite conversation piece?”

 

Ororo turned to him, her brow furrowing slightly. “Favorite conversation piece?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, his grin widening. “The guy talks big, but let’s be real—he’s just a second-rate Bond villain with a bad haircut and an even worse attitude.”

 

Ororo blinked, caught off guard by the blunt absurdity of the comment. “You... don’t take him very seriously.”

 

“Why should I?” Harry replied, leaning forward slightly. “He’s not a problem anymore. You, on the other hand, are a lot more interesting.”

 

Ororo felt heat rise to her cheeks and quickly turned back to the window, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I’m not sure what to do next,” she admitted softly. “It’s been a long time since I felt… free.”

 

Before Harry could respond, Natasha’s voice cut through the cabin like a whip. “Freedom’s an illusion.” She was perched near the cockpit door, her sharp eyes scanning the cabin, her posture deceptively casual. “You might have walked out of one cage, but there’s always another waiting.”

 

“Wow, Natasha,” Harry said, throwing her an exaggerated look. “Really leaning into that whole ‘brooding assassin’ vibe tonight, huh? What’s next? A monologue about darkness and the price of redemption?”

 

Natasha’s lips quirked into the faintest of smirks. “You’d do well to take notes, smartass. This isn’t a game.”

 

“Isn’t it?” Harry countered, his tone light but his eyes betraying a deeper seriousness. “We’re all just playing the hands we’re dealt. The trick is knowing when to bluff.”

 

From the cockpit, May’s voice chimed in over the comms, rich with wry humor. “Look at you, waxing philosophical. Guess there’s more to you than just bad jokes and shiny armor.”

 

Harry flashed a grin toward the cockpit, even though May couldn’t see it. “Thanks, May. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” May shot back. “We’ve still got a job to do.”

 

Ororo glanced between them, a mixture of confusion and amusement crossing her face. “Is this how you always talk to each other?”

 

Natasha gave a dry chuckle, crossing her arms. “Welcome to the team. Dysfunction’s part of the package.”

 

Harry leaned back again, giving Ororo a lazy grin. “Think of it as a very weird, very chaotic family.”

 

“Family?” Ororo asked, skepticism lacing her tone.

 

Natasha’s expression softened just slightly as she replied, “Not by blood, but we’ve been through enough together. That counts for something.”

 

Ororo considered this, her fingers relaxing on the armrest. “I’ve never really had… that,” she said quietly.

 

“Well, now you’ve got us,” Harry said, his voice carrying an unexpected sincerity. “Whether you like it or not.”

 

The faintest hint of a smile crossed Ororo’s lips, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a small surge of satisfaction. He was about to say more when Natasha stood, stretching with the precision of a cat. “We’re landing in New York in twenty minutes,” she said, her voice all business now. “There’s a safehouse where we’ll regroup.”

 

Ororo frowned. “New York? That’s… far from Cairo.”

 

“Sometimes distance is what you need,” May said, her tone softer than usual. “Gives you space to figure things out.”

 

“Plus,” Harry added with a playful smirk, “New York’s got great pizza.”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes, shooting him a look. “This isn’t a vacation, Harry.”

 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Harry quipped, though his gaze softened as it flickered toward Natasha. “But fine, boss. Whatever you say.”

 

Ororo watched the exchange, her gaze lingering on the way Natasha’s lips twitched despite herself and the warmth in Harry’s eyes when he looked at her. Something about it made her chest tighten—not jealousy, exactly, but something close.

 

As the jet began its descent, Harry leaned closer to Ororo. “Hey,” he said, his voice low so only she could hear. “You’re gonna be okay. Whatever’s waiting down there, you’re not alone in this.”

 

Ororo met his gaze, surprised by the intensity in his emerald eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice carrying more weight than the words themselves.

 

“Anytime,” Harry replied, his grin returning. “After all, what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t help the goddess of storms?”

 

Ororo’s cheeks flushed again, but this time, she didn’t look away. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to feel something she hadn’t dared to before: hope.

 

—

 

The jet’s engines let out a dramatic whine before cutting off completely, the rumble of its descent shaking the cabin like the aftershocks of a small earthquake. May, ever the expert, guided the plane down onto the hidden tarmac of the New York Safehouse with the kind of grace that made it look like she was born to fly planes into secret hideouts. The ramp hissed open, and the first person to step out was Harry Potter—who was, as usual, dressed like a walking piece of superhero merchandise.

 

His Armor gleamed in the dim light, a sleek red-and-gold suit that looked like it belonged in a comic book, or maybe a high-budget action movie. The Cloak of Levitation fluttered behind him like a giant bat wing, making him look way cooler than any of us have the right to look at 3 a.m. He stood there, chin high, shoulders back, the picture of confidence... or was it just sheer stubbornness? Either way, he was ready for whatever drama was about to unfold.

 

Behind him came Natasha Romanoff, also known as the Black Widow, with all the grace of a ninja and none of the flair. She didn’t make a sound as she walked, and if you weren’t paying attention, you might’ve missed her entirely. But her eyes were sharp, taking in every detail of their surroundings with that assassin’s instinct of hers. She gave Ororo a quick glance, a silent acknowledgment that they’d made it out of whatever mess they’d been in—alive.

 

Ororo Munroe stepped off the jet last, her eyes wide as she scanned the place like she was trying to figure out if it was safe or if they were just walking into another trap. Her jacket, black and sleek, hugged her frame, but there was still a certain tenseness about her—like a lion about to pounce, but not sure if she was in a zoo or the wild. She met Harry’s gaze, and that flicker of hope? Yeah, it didn’t escape him. Maybe she didn’t trust this place yet, but there was trust in his eyes. She could see that.

 

As if on cue, May’s voice came through the intercom. "Systems check complete. You guys are on your own from here."

 

With that, Harry gave a short nod, and they made their way off the jet. At the foot of the ramp, there were two figures waiting—Nick Fury, the one-eyed man who had made it his life’s work to look perpetually unimpressed, and Maria Hill, who could probably run the world in her sleep. Fury’s coat flapped behind him as he turned his attention toward the jet, his face going through the motions of ‘this is the most inconvenient thing I’ve done all week.’

 

"You’re late," Fury grumbled, voice so gravelly it could’ve been used to grind rocks. "Think you’re running a hotel or a daycare center?"

 

"We like to be thorough," Natasha replied with a shrug, making it clear that ‘thorough’ was her middle name. "And we brought you a present."

 

Fury’s expression darkened as two SHIELD agents dragged Ulysses Klaue out of the jet, his hands bound, his mouth gagged. The man looked like someone had slapped him around with a wet noodle—frustrated, furious, and completely helpless.

 

"Klaue, huh?" Fury muttered under his breath. "Can’t say I’ve missed that face. Don’t worry, though. This time, we’re keeping you locked up tight."

 

"Good luck with that," Harry called back casually, crossing his arms. "Kraven’s muscle didn’t put up much of a fight, but I left him out cold for Wakandan justice. Figured it was fitting."

 

Maria Hill stepped forward, eyeing the group with the precision of someone who had calculated every variable in the room. "What about the kids?" she asked, not looking at Harry, but at May.

 

"They’re safe," May replied, her voice as cool and steady as always. "King T’Chaka’s taking care of them. They’re in good hands."

 

Harry stepped forward, his gaze shifting over to Ororo, and that casual confidence melted into something more serious. "Kraven didn’t exactly impress, but it’s done. You’re safe now. You’ll be with us, and no one’s going to hurt you again."

 

Ororo just nodded, though the weight of his words seemed to settle into her shoulders. She didn’t speak, but her eyes—those stormy blues—held a silent promise of gratitude.

 

Before the conversation could go much further, a loud clattering at the end of the hangar broke the moment like an alarm clock at 6 a.m. James and Lily Potter appeared, Sirius Black trailing behind them like a particularly rebellious shadow. And there was Tonks, who was always ten steps ahead of everyone, bouncing around with more energy than a toddler hopped up on sugar.

 

Harry’s lips twitched when he saw them. His parents were an immediate source of comfort, but the real entertainment? Tonks, whose energy could power a small city.

 

"Oh, hi!" she called, her voice like a burst of sunlight in the middle of a dark, stormy night. Her hair was bubblegum pink, but it shifted instantly to blue when she noticed Ororo’s surprised stare. "I’m Tonks. Well, Nymphadora, but please don’t call me that. I hate it."

 

Ororo blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Your hair… how did you do that?"

 

Tonks grinned like she’d just won a lottery. "Metamorphmagus!" she declared, practically jumping in place. "I can change my face, my height, my hair—anything! Wanna see?"

 

Ororo hesitated, but only for a second. "Yeah. Show me."

 

Tonks immediately morphed her face into various comical shapes—nose growing absurdly long, ears vanishing completely, and her hair flashing every color of the rainbow. Ororo didn’t even try to suppress the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. It was so unexpected, so ridiculous, that it was impossible not to.

 

Sirius, who had been silently observing, clapped Harry on the back, looking far too proud for someone who’d definitely missed all the action. "Well, look at you," he said, his grin making him look like he’d just stolen the last cookie from the jar. "Saving kids, taking down bad guys. Guess you’re the hero of the week now."

 

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin. "Jealous? You’re the one who missed all the fun."

 

"Maybe," Sirius admitted, not bothering to act like he was bothered. "But I’d rather not be dealing with Fury right now."

 

Fury, who had been overhearing, grunted. "Damn right. Potter, you’re with me. We’ve got a debriefing, and someone get this clown out of my face before I find a cell with no windows and make it his new home."

 

Harry gave Sirius a mock salute and turned to Ororo with a more serious look. "You’re in good hands now. Tonks will show you around the place. And if anyone gives you trouble..." He let the sentence hang, his gaze promising that he’d handle it. "Just let me know."

 

Ororo met his eyes for a long moment, and there was something in that look—a quiet, unspoken thanks. She nodded, and Harry, with a flick of his cloak, disappeared into the depths of the safehouse with Fury and Hill.

 

As Tonks bounced back into her transformation act, Ororo watched with a smile that was just starting to feel more real. For the first time in a long while, she wasn’t entirely alone. And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as lost as she thought.

 

—

 

Tonks was practically skipping down the sterile, almost military-like hallways of the SHIELD safehouse, her steps light, each one filled with a playfulness that almost made the place feel less like a covert base and more like a giant playground. She hummed a little tune, weaving around agents who seemed to know exactly when to step aside, giving her that knowing look that said, Oh, it’s just Tonks being Tonks.

 

Ororo, on the other hand, was walking with more careful purpose, eyes wide and alert as she took in every detail. She wasn’t used to this—SHIELD, Hydra, all these new terms. She had been introduced to superheroes, villains, and now magical bloodlines in one crash course, and it was... a lot. She kept her cool, though, even if her mind was racing.

 

“So, this place is, what, like a fortress for superheroes?” Ororo asked, keeping her voice low as if the walls might be listening.

 

"Yep, you got it. Welcome to SHIELD," Tonks chirped, not missing a beat. “Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, if you wanna get all official about it.” She shrugged with a grin, clearly not the type to be bogged down by lengthy titles. "But mostly, it’s Nick Fury’s personal playground for keeping the world from falling apart, dealing with things like Hydra." Tonks paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And trust me, you don’t wanna mess with them. They’re the absolute worst—imagine Nazis with a twisted obsession for science. Yeah, that’s them."

 

Ororo gave a slight nod, absorbing the gravity of the situation. Her brows furrowed as she tried to comprehend just how deep this rabbit hole went. She had powers—like lightning and storms—but this? This felt like a whole new universe, one where bloodlines and ancient curses were as common as morning coffee.

 

"Your powers… you said they're not mutation-based, right?" Ororo asked, curious.

 

"Smart cookie, you are," Tonks grinned, pointing a finger in her direction. "Nope, not a mutation. It’s a family thing. My mom’s side of the family has this whole thing going on, like... a bloodline ability. We call it being a Metamorphmagus. Fancy, right?" She twirled a strand of her bubblegum-pink hair between her fingers, her voice filled with that trademark mix of mischief and pride. "Basically, it means I can change anything about myself—hair, height, face—hell, I could even turn into a toaster if I really wanted to, though that’s a bit of an overkill."

 

Ororo’s eyebrow shot up. "So you just... change? Like shape-shifting?"

 

"Yep! I’m basically my own walking, talking magic show. Every time I look in the mirror, I get a surprise. It's fun at parties." Tonks winked. "But, uh, it’s not magic like yours. I’m a witch." She raised an eyebrow knowingly. "And Harry? Harry’s a wizard. Magic, wands, potions, all that fun stuff. We live in a world where unicorns aren’t just a fairy tale. And trust me, magic is not the weirdest part of our lives."

 

Ororo blinked, taking it all in. Wizards. Witches. Magic. It was a lot to process, but if anyone could handle it, it was her. She’d walked through storms, fought battles she thought she could never survive, and now, here she was, walking through a SHIELD safehouse, meeting witches and wizards, and all she wanted was a cup of coffee.

 

"So Harry—he’s a wizard, you said?" Ororo asked, clearly still processing. "And you’re a witch? This is... new for me."

 

"Oh, it gets way more interesting, trust me." Tonks gave a mischievous grin as they turned a corner. "Let me show you something. You’re gonna love this."

 

They approached a door, and Tonks knocked lightly before swinging it open without waiting. Inside, Ororo was greeted with a scene that could only be described as utterly surreal.

 

At a small, child-sized table sat a little girl, no older than six, with wild red hair and oversized glasses that almost swallowed her face. She was hosting a tea party with two grown men in full SHIELD tactical gear—Phil Coulson and Billy Koenig—both of whom were seated cross-legged on the floor, holding tiny plastic cups as if their lives depended on pretending to sip tea.

 

Tonks, already laughing, introduced the scene with a flourish. "Ororo, meet Rose—Harry’s twin sister."

 

Ororo blinked, trying to make sense of it. "Twin sister?" she asked, the confusion evident in her voice. "But Harry—he’s, um, older, right? How can she be his twin?"

 

Tonks chuckled, stepping into the room and gesturing for Ororo to follow. “Yeah, so here’s where it gets really wild. Harry’s actually only six. He was five when Hydra kidnapped him. They snatched him from his aunt and uncle’s place, did all this messed-up stuff to him, and—poof—he went from five to, well, the guy you met. They injected him with the Super Soldier Serum, which... ages you up. They did a bunch of other stuff, too, but honestly, it was so complicated, I only half understood it. Harry gives the full rundown when he’s in one of his ‘I need to talk science’ moods." She looked over at Coulson and Koenig, both of whom were engaged in the ridiculous tea party with a stoic seriousness that was both hilarious and impressive.

 

Ororo’s eyes narrowed slightly. "So... Harry’s six, but he’s... what? How is he so different?"

 

Tonks nodded sagely. "Hydra turned him into a child soldier. Think of him like a mini Captain America, but with a whole lot more claws."

 

"Claws?" Ororo echoed, glancing at Coulson, who gave a slight nod, his usual cool demeanor unwavering.

 

"Yep, metal claws. Vibranium, in fact." Tonks flashed a grin, obviously fond of the fact. "It’s pretty cool, right? He can retract them and everything." She gave a dramatic shrug as if to say, What can I say? Harry’s just that awesome.

 

Ororo glanced back at the scene in front of her: Rose, the tiny redhead, offering Coulson an empty teacup with an earnest expression. She couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all. SHIELD agents, actual superheroes, reduced to playing make-believe for the amusement of a six-year-old. And yet, something about it felt... comforting. Like it was normal. Or at least, their normal.

 

"This is a lot to take in," Ororo muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. "I thought I had seen everything."

 

Tonks put an arm around her shoulders in a mock-sympathetic gesture. "Oh, sweetie, you’re just getting started. But don’t worry, you’re doing great. Stick with me, and I’ll show you the ropes. It’s like a crash course in ‘How to Survive When the World is Insane.’ You’ve got this." She winked. "And hey, if anyone gives you trouble, you’ve got magic on your side. And claws. And a bunch of other cool stuff."

 

—

 

In a brightly lit tech lab nestled deeper within the safehouse, the faint hum of machinery filled the air. Stark tech clashed with ancient magical relics in a strange but functional harmony. The walls, lined with high-tech screens, looked like something out of a high-budget spy thriller, but the presence of magical artifacts scattered across tables hinted at something far older—something more mysterious.

 

James and Sirius stood near a workbench, speaking in low voices, but their conversation stopped when they heard the thud of heavy footsteps from across the room. Turning toward the sound, Harry felt a ripple of unease—he wasn’t sure if it was the footsteps or the man walking toward him that made him feel that way.

 

A towering figure with a deeply scarred face and a perpetual scowl approached, his missing eye replaced by a dark, enchanted glass that shimmered ominously. Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody had a reputation—one that Harry knew all too well from stories and his own brief interactions with the world of magic.

 

Mad-Eye’s unnerving magical eye swiveled wildly in its socket, glinting as it fixed on Harry with a sort of eerie scrutiny. He was accompanied by a SHIELD agent, who wheeled a high-tech prototype prosthetic leg toward him. The leg was sleek, built from Vibranium, and pulsating with an aura of both magic and technology.

 

“Ah, there he is,” Mad-Eye grunted, his voice rough, as though every word was a battle. “The boy who survived Hydra. You’re the one they’ve been whispering about.”

 

Harry blinked, suddenly feeling far too young in the presence of the older wizard. Sirius, seeing his tension, gave him a reassuring smile, but there was something about Moody’s presence that made Harry instinctively want to brace himself for something... more.

 

Mad-Eye gave Harry a quick once-over, his magical eye spinning like a gear in a clock before locking onto Harry’s face, narrowing with intensity. “Let me get a good look at ya, boy,” he muttered, stepping closer. “They say you’ve got the claws of a beast. Vibranium claws? A soldier’s build at six years old? No normal kid could take that kind of thing.”

 

Harry stood taller, meeting Moody’s piercing gaze with a mix of curiosity and wariness. “I’m not normal,” Harry said, voice steady despite his nerves. “But I’m not a soldier either. I just want to survive.”

 

“Good answer,” Moody grunted. He gestured toward his new prosthetic leg, which the SHIELD agent had just finished adjusting. “Same goes for me, kid. People think I’m some kind of freak because of this,” he tapped the gleaming metallic leg with a sigh, “but I’m just another man trying to do his job. Now... I hear you’ve had some serious lessons in survival.”

 

Harry nodded slowly, but before he could respond, Sirius spoke up. “Harry’s been through a lot more than most people could imagine. He’s made it this far because he’s stronger than he realizes.”

 

Mad-Eye’s magical eye zoomed over to Sirius with what seemed like an approving look. “Ain’t that the truth.” He tapped the edge of his prosthetic leg against the ground, the sound ringing out through the lab. “That’s why I wanted to meet you, Potter. I’ve seen enough kids fall through the cracks of the system, grow up to be what the world turns them into. But you, lad... You’ve got that fire. You’ve been through the fire, and you're still standing. That's rare.”

 

Harry blinked at the words, unsure how to respond. His mind was still processing the fact that a man like Mad-Eye Moody—who was feared by many in the wizarding world—was speaking to him like he had some sort of authority.

 

Sirius grinned and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, giving him a little nudge. “Don’t worry, he’s a softie on the inside.”

 

Mad-Eye snorted in response, his magical eye now swiveling back to its regular scanning motion. “Softie, he says. I’ve got more scars than you’ve got hairs on that messy head of yours, Black.”

 

James stepped forward, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re one to talk, Alastor. The boy’s just been through enough trauma to last a lifetime. He doesn’t need any more war stories right now.”

 

Mad-Eye looked at Harry with something akin to understanding—perhaps even a little admiration. “Right. War stories can wait. But I’ll tell ya this, Potter... You’re gonna have to fight. Hydra’s not the kind of enemy you can hide from. You can’t just sit back and wait for it to go away. They’ll come for you, sooner or later. And when they do, you better be ready.”

 

Harry swallowed, the weight of Mad-Eye’s words settling heavily in his chest. He was used to being told to prepare for battle, but somehow, hearing it from someone like Mad-Eye—someone with so much experience—made the prospect feel real. It wasn’t just about fighting with his claws or his abilities. It was about surviving a war that he had never asked for.

 

“I’m ready,” Harry said quietly, meeting Mad-Eye’s gaze head-on. “I’ll fight.”

 

Mad-Eye’s magical eye swirled again, and for a long moment, Harry wasn’t sure if the old man was judging him or evaluating him. Finally, Mad-Eye gave a grunt of approval.

 

“That’s what I like to hear,” he muttered, then turned back to the SHIELD agent holding his new prosthetic. “Now, about that leg—”

 

James, noticing the tension easing in the room, chuckled. “You know, I’m still not used to seeing you so... chatty, Mad-Eye.”

 

“Bah,” Mad-Eye grunted. “I’m getting soft in my old age.”

 

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because you sure don’t seem like the type to soften up.”

 

“Shut it, Black.” Mad-Eye snorted. “One thing I’ve learned in all my years is that you don’t have to like someone to respect them. And I’ve got a hell of a lot of respect for this kid.” He gave Harry a final look, one that seemed to appraise his every move before he added, “Stay sharp, Potter. Keep that fire.”

 

As Mad-Eye turned to leave, his final words echoed in Harry’s mind, a reminder of the road ahead. Harry was beginning to understand that this wasn’t just about surviving Hydra—it was about forging a new path in a world where nothing was ever simple, and everything required sacrifice.

 

James put a hand on Harry’s back, guiding him toward the door. “You’ll do fine, Harry. Just remember—sometimes it’s okay to let other people help. Even Mad-Eye knows that.”

 

Harry, a little shaken but resolute, nodded. “Thanks. I think I’m starting to understand that.”

 

—

 

The safehouse’s training room had transformed into a battlefield of sorts, as Alexei Shostakov, freshly outfitted in his new Vibranium-weave Red Guardian suit, stood ready for the ultimate test. The gear, crafted by the brilliant minds of Howard Stark and Lily Potter, gleamed under the harsh overhead lights, and though Alexei was a man who had been through decades of warfare, there was something special about the technology and magic woven into the suit. It wasn’t just for show—it enhanced his already formidable strength, giving him an edge he hadn’t felt in years.

 

Standing across from him was Steve Rogers, the legendary Captain America, who was already wearing that stoic look of his. His shield rested at his side, gleaming as always. He was calm, collected—as usual.

 

Alexei, on the other hand, was anything but calm. He bounced on his heels like a man who had just been handed a golden opportunity. His heavy Russian accent thickened his words as he grinned ear to ear. “You know, Steve,” he began, his voice louder than necessary. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment for a very long time. To finally fight Captain America—the Captain America. It’s like... it’s like my heart is going to explode in my chest!”

 

Steve gave him a sideways glance, his lips curling into a knowing, almost reluctant smile. “You sure you’re ready for this? I’ve got some moves myself.”

 

Alexei clapped his hands together. “Ready? Steve, I was born ready. I mean, look at me—do I look like a man who isn’t ready for battle? Look at these guns,” he said, flexing his arms dramatically, his chest puffing out proudly. The Vibranium-weave suit made his muscles look even bigger, and he was relishing the attention. “I was practically built for this moment.”

 

Steve let out a short laugh. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got then.”

 

Without another word, Alexei charged, his boots thundering against the floor as he lunged toward Steve, throwing a wide, wild punch aimed at his head. The power behind it was nothing short of impressive, and Steve had to leap back just in time, narrowly avoiding the blow.

 

“Ha! You’re fast for an old guy!” Alexei bellowed, swinging again, this time with both fists. He laughed loudly as he continued to press the attack, each punch more powerful than the last, his face a mix of pure joy and intense concentration.

 

Steve expertly sidestepped the blows, his shield raised defensively. “You’ve got power, Alexei, but you’ve got to do better than that if you want to land a hit,” Steve said with a grin, his voice cool and confident.

 

“Better?” Alexei scoffed, his smile never wavering. “You want better? I’ll show you better!” With a dramatic flourish, he spun around and delivered a kick so powerful it sent the air whooshing around him. It collided with Steve’s shield with a resounding clang, but Steve held his ground, his muscles straining as he absorbed the impact.

 

Steve gritted his teeth. “You don’t make it easy, do you?”

 

“Of course not!” Alexei roared, throwing another punch, this one aimed directly at Steve’s stomach. This time, Steve was ready, and he dodged, using the momentum to shove Alexei back with a sharp push to his chest.

 

Alexei staggered but immediately regained his balance, laughing like a man who had just been given the greatest gift. “Not bad! You’ve got moves! But now, we really see what you’re made of!”

 

In a flash, Alexei surged forward again, and this time, he was throwing more than just fists. He was a whirlwind, using his massive size and strength to barrel into Steve with the force of a freight train. Steve struggled to keep up, his shield barely managing to deflect the blows that came raining down. Every hit that landed rattled Steve’s bones, but Alexei was relentless.

 

“This is it!” Alexei shouted, his voice filled with adrenaline and excitement. “This is the fight of my life!”

 

Steve’s grin widened. “Yeah, I’m starting to see that,” he said, deflecting another wild swing. “But don’t expect to win it.”

 

Alexei took a moment to glance at Steve, his face lighting up with an exaggerated look of offense. “Win? Win?” He let out a dramatic sigh, putting his hands on his hips. “You really think I’m going to lose to you, Captain? I may be old, but I’m not stupid! This is what I’ve been training for—decades of practice, of trying to get this moment. Just wait! My time has come!”

 

The two men circled each other like a pair of gladiators, each sizing up the other, trying to anticipate the next move. Steve’s shield was constantly in motion, deflecting every punch, while Alexei was like a wild bull, full of raw strength and fury, his every move driven by years of pent-up aggression and the thrill of the fight.

 

“You know,” Alexei said between breaths, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I gotta admit, I really thought you’d be more of a... boring guy, you know? You’re Captain America! The symbol of all things good, right?” He ducked under a punch, swinging his own fist to catch Steve off guard. “But you? You’ve got spirit, old man.”

 

Steve laughed, not missing a beat. “I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying yourself. But just because you’re having fun doesn’t mean I won’t take you down.”

 

“You really think so, huh?” Alexei said, his voice a little more serious now, though still filled with that unmistakable twinkle of someone who lived for the fight. “Well, you may be a super soldier, Steve, but I’ve been around the block a few times myself.”

 

He suddenly lunged at Steve with a fury, throwing a series of punches that caught Steve off guard, pushing him back. The shield in Steve’s hands shifted, trying to absorb the impact, but Alexei was faster than expected. The Red Guardian suit was working wonders, amplifying his speed and strength.

 

“Ha! Gotcha!” Alexei laughed, his grin wild and unrelenting. He slammed his fist toward Steve’s face, but before it could land, Steve deftly ducked, using his shield to propel himself out of the way.

 

Breathing heavily, Alexei stopped, his chest heaving as he wiped sweat from his forehead. He took a deep breath, holding up both hands. “Alright, alright! You win this time. But let’s be honest, that was too close.”

 

Steve, equally winded but with a satisfied smile on his face, raised his shield slightly in acknowledgment. “You’ve got some serious skills, Alexei. You’re no slouch. I’ll give you that.”

 

Alexei grinned from ear to ear, his chest swelling with pride. “Of course, Steve! I’m not some rookie. But, hey, you still kicked my ass. Can’t say I’m not a little disappointed, but hey, at least I’m still alive.”

 

Steve clapped him on the back, his smile widening. “Good fight. Glad to have you on the team, Alexei. You’ve definitely earned your place.”

 

“Glad to be here, Captain.” Alexei smirked, winking. “Now, how about that drink? I’ve earned it, yes?”

 

Steve raised an eyebrow but couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah, you definitely have. Let’s go grab one. Just... try not to start any bar fights, alright?”

 

Alexei threw an arm around Steve’s shoulder as they headed toward the exit. “No promises, my friend. No promises.”

Chapter 41: Chapter 40

The faint hum of Tony's latest contraption—the Mark Whatever-He’s-Calling-It-Now—blended with the rhythmic tapping of Rhodey’s pen against his physics textbook. Tony’s half of the dorm was its usual organized chaos: wires coiled like snakes across the floor, a half-disassembled microwave perched precariously on the desk, and a holographic projection of some schematics floating mid-air. Rhodey’s side, in stark contrast, was neat and tidy, his bed made so tightly you could bounce a quarter off it.

“Cynthia, I don’t think you understand,” Tony said, spinning his chair around dramatically, arms flailing as he explained the intricacies of his latest invention. “This baby isn’t just a toaster. It’s a toaster and a cappuccino machine. Revolutionary, right? The kind of genius that gets you on the cover of Time Magazine.”

Cynthia Smith—Miss Too-Good-To-Be-True—perched elegantly on the armrest of his chair, her fiery red hair catching the dim light of the room. She was leaning just close enough to invade Tony’s personal space, her perfectly manicured nails lightly tracing circles on his shoulder.

“Tony, you’re amazing,” she purred, her green eyes sparkling like emeralds. “I’ve never met anyone like you. The way your mind works—it’s… breathtaking.”

Tony smirked, puffing out his chest. “Well, yeah, I get that a lot. Genius, billionaire, playboy, future philanthropist. It’s tough being this awesome, but someone’s gotta do it.”

On the bed, Rhodey muttered to himself, his patience wearing thinner than the excuse Cynthia had given about her transfer. “Oh, for the love of—Tony, you’re killing me, man.”

Tony turned, raising an eyebrow. “What’s your problem, Colonel Buzzkill? Can’t handle a little genius in action?”

“My problem,” Rhodey said, closing his textbook with a sharp snap, “is that you’re so busy using the wrong brain that you’re ignoring every single red flag waving in your face.” He jabbed a finger toward Cynthia.

Tony looked genuinely confused. “What red flags? She’s gorgeous. She’s brilliant. And she laughs at all my jokes. What more could a guy want?”

“I dunno,” Rhodey said dryly, “maybe a little thing called truth? Like the fact that your so-called girlfriend claims she transferred from Caltech, but there’s no record of her there. None. Zilch. Nada.”

Cynthia’s smile faltered—just for a split second—but it was long enough for Rhodey to catch. Tony, of course, missed it entirely.

“Oh, here we go again,” Tony groaned, spinning back toward Cynthia with a reassuring grin. “Ignore him, Cyn. He’s just mad because his last date was a box of takeout and an episode of The Love Boat.”

“First of all,” Rhodey said, holding up a hand, “it was Golden Girls, thank you very much. Second, are you seriously going to ignore the fact that I checked with Caltech’s student records and found nothing? No Cynthia Smith, no genius bombshell, no ‘world’s most perfect woman.’ It doesn’t add up, Tony.”

Cynthia laughed lightly, the sound grating on Rhodey’s nerves. “Oh, Rhodey,” she said, her voice dripping with faux sweetness, “you must’ve made a mistake. Caltech is so strict about privacy, you know. Maybe they just didn’t share the records with you?”

“Uh-huh,” Rhodey deadpanned, crossing his arms. “Sure. And maybe I’m the King of England.”

Tony snorted. “You’d look good wearing a crown, Rhodey. Very regal.”

Rhodey glared at him. “Tony, focus. Something isn’t right here. Doesn’t it seem just a little convenient that she magically knows everything about you? Your likes, your dislikes, your favorite breakfast cereal, for crying out loud.”

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but Cynthia beat him to it. “What can I say?” she said, her tone light and airy. “Tony’s an open book. It’s not hard to figure him out if you pay attention.”

“Right,” Rhodey said, his skepticism practically dripping from his words. “Because Tony Stark is just so predictable.”

“Exactly!” Tony said, missing the sarcasm entirely. “I’m an open book! A brilliant, captivating book, but still—open.”

Rhodey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tony, she’s not who she says she is. I can feel it. Every gut instinct I have is screaming ‘danger.’ But, of course, you’re too busy drooling over her to notice.”

Cynthia’s smile tightened, and Rhodey swore he saw her eyes flicker with something darker—something dangerous—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Rhodey,” Tony said, his tone suddenly serious as he stood up, “you’re my best friend. My brother. But you’ve gotta trust me on this. Cyn’s not hiding anything. She’s just…” He turned to her, his grin returning. “Perfect.”

Rhodey groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine. But when this blows up in your face—and it will—don’t come crying to me.”

Tony waved him off. “Noted. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Cynthia and I have some very important toaster-slash-coffee-machine business to discuss.”

Rhodey glared at Cynthia one last time before grabbing his textbook and storming out of the room.

As the door closed behind him, Cynthia’s smile returned, but this time, it was sharper—colder.

“Your friend doesn’t like me,” she said, her tone light but her eyes calculating.

“Rhodey?” Tony scoffed, dismissing the idea with a wave. “Don’t mind him. He’s just jealous.”

“Jealous,” Cynthia repeated, her smile growing as she leaned closer. “Of course.”

Outside the door, Rhodey leaned against the wall, his jaw clenched. He didn’t know who Cynthia really was, but he was going to find out. And when he did, he just hoped it wasn’t too late.

—

Cynthia’s Apartment – Hydra Safehouse

The apartment was a picture of deception. On the surface, it looked like the kind of place any wealthy college student might rent—tasteful furniture, a few art pieces strategically placed to imply good taste, and just enough clutter to seem authentic. But beneath the veneer was a sophisticated Hydra base of operations. Surveillance feeds covered MIT’s campus, encrypted communications channels hummed quietly, and a concealed weapons cache hid behind a faux bookshelf.

Cynthia—Sinthea Schmidt—stepped inside, and the air seemed to chill. Gone was the charming, doe-eyed co-ed who had Tony Stark eating out of her hand. Her posture straightened, her eyes sharpened, and her lips twisted into a smirk that radiated cold superiority. She was her father’s daughter in every sense of the word, her every move deliberate, calculated, and tinged with an inherited malice.

The two Hydra operatives stationed inside snapped to attention as she entered. Both were trained killers, loyal to the cause, but even they seemed to shrink under her withering gaze.

"Agent Schmidt," the older of the two greeted stiffly, his voice betraying a hint of unease. "We’ve been monitoring James Rhodes, as you instructed."

"And?" Cynthia demanded, her tone clipped as she removed her tailored coat and draped it over the back of a chair. She crossed the room to the workstation, her heels clicking against the floor like the ticking of a countdown clock.

The younger agent hesitated before speaking. "He’s suspicious, ma’am. He’s been digging into your background at Caltech. He didn’t find a Cynthia Smith in their records, and he’s been trying to piece together more. So far, nothing concrete, but…"

"But he’s persistent," Cynthia finished for him, her green eyes narrowing as she stared at the screen showing Rhodey’s latest movements. "Typical soldier. Always sniffing around like a loyal dog, trying to protect his master."

The older agent cleared his throat. "Should we eliminate him?"

Cynthia turned to him slowly, her smile venomous. "Do you think that’s what Johann Schmidt would do? Panic and lash out at the first sign of trouble?"

The agent visibly paled. "No, ma’am. Of course not."

"No," Cynthia said, her voice taking on an almost mocking lilt. "The Red Skull didn’t conquer through brute force alone. He used cunning, strategy, and manipulation. He didn’t just kill his enemies; he destroyed them utterly, leaving no trace of resistance. That’s how Hydra prevails—always patient, always meticulous."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of her inherited philosophy. She turned back to the screen, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk as she considered her options.

"Rhodes is a problem," she admitted, almost begrudgingly. "He sees too much, asks too many questions. But he’s also predictable. He won’t act without proof. That gives us time to steer him away—or, failing that, discredit him."

The younger agent shifted uneasily. "And if he keeps digging?"

Cynthia’s smirk returned, sharper now, more dangerous. "Then we deal with him. Permanently. But only when it’s convenient for us. An accident, perhaps. A tragic car crash. Or better yet, something Stark blames himself for. That would weaken him further, make him more dependent on me."

The agents exchanged a glance, clearly unsettled by how easily she spoke of orchestrating someone’s death. But they knew better than to question her.

"And Stark himself?" the older agent asked carefully.

Cynthia chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "Stark is brilliant, yes, but he’s also arrogant and impulsive. He’s blinded by his own genius—and by me." She leaned back against the desk, crossing her arms. "He thinks he’s untouchable. That makes him vulnerable. All I have to do is keep stroking his ego, and he’ll do whatever I want. His technology, his ideas—they’ll all belong to Hydra soon enough."

Her gaze flicked back to the screen, where footage of Tony and Rhodey in their dorm room played on a loop. Tony was animated, showing off some prototype to Cynthia’s earlier facade, while Rhodey sat in the background, watching her like a hawk.

"It’s almost laughable," Cynthia said, her voice tinged with disdain. "The great Tony Stark, future industrialist, genius inventor, reduced to a lovesick fool by a pretty face. And Rhodes—so noble, so loyal. But loyalty is a weakness, one I’ll exploit if necessary."

The younger agent finally found his voice. "And if Stark begins to suspect?"

Cynthia’s eyes darkened, her expression turning icy. "Then we remind him why he needs me. Stark is ruled by his emotions—his ego, his desires, his fears. All it takes is the right pressure point, and he’ll crumble. Hydra always wins, gentlemen. Always."

The two agents nodded, their unease palpable but their loyalty unshaken.

"Good," Cynthia said, pushing off the desk and straightening her posture. "Keep monitoring Rhodes. Report any changes immediately. And tighten our surveillance on Stark. I want to know what he’s working on at all times. Understood?"

"Yes, ma’am," they said in unison.

Cynthia turned away, her smirk returning as she walked to the apartment’s hidden armory. She ran her fingers along the edge of a concealed panel, her mind already plotting her next move.

She was a Schmidt, after all. Manipulation, control, and domination were in her blood. Tony Stark thought he was playing a game of intellect and innovation. He had no idea he was already losing a far deadlier game of power and survival.

—

The icy Massachusetts wind had Rhodey pulling his jacket tighter around him as he stood hunched over a payphone. He glanced over his shoulder, his breath fogging in the chilly air, paranoia gnawing at him. The empty street was quiet, save for the distant hum of passing cars. The glow of streetlights cast long, ghostly shadows, amplifying the uneasy feeling in his gut.

Rhodey wasn’t one to overthink—or at least, that’s what he told himself. But this? This situation had been nagging at him for weeks. And now, standing outside in the cold with the phone pressed against his ear, it felt like everything was about to come to a head.

“Stark Industries, New York office. How may I direct your call?” The voice on the other end was polished, professional, and annoyingly calm.

Rhodey hesitated, tightening his grip on the receiver. This wasn’t just crossing a line—it was straight-up pole-vaulting over it. If Tony ever found out about this call… “Yeah, uh,” he started, his voice coming out more awkward than intended. He cleared his throat. “I need to speak with Howard Stark. It’s urgent.”

There was a brief pause before the woman responded. “Mr. Stark is currently unavailable. May I ask who’s calling and the nature of the urgency?”

Rhodey closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. “It’s James Rhodes. I’m—uh—a friend of Tony’s. His son. It’s about him. Tony, I mean. I think he’s in some kind of trouble.”

The receptionist’s tone softened just slightly, enough for Rhodey to notice. “Please hold, Mr. Rhodes. I’ll see if Mr. Stark is available.”

The line went silent, save for a faint hum. Rhodey shifted his weight, glancing over his shoulder again. This wasn’t like him. He was a "call it like you see it" kind of guy, not a sneaky, behind-your-back type. But when it came to Tony, someone had to be the responsible one.

His thoughts were interrupted by a deep, unmistakable voice on the other end. “James. This is Howard Stark. What’s this about my son being in trouble?”

Rhodey straightened up instinctively. “Mr. Stark, sir. Look, I don’t want to waste your time, but I think something’s wrong. There’s this girl—Cynthia Smith. She showed up out of nowhere a couple months back, and she’s been getting real close to Tony.”

“Close how?” Howard’s voice was sharp now, all business.

“Too close,” Rhodey replied. “She’s perfect—too perfect, if you know what I mean. Knows all the right things to say, laughs at all his jokes, even understands his tech stuff, which, let’s be real, is a pretty short list of people. I checked into her background—well, tried to. There’s nothing. No school records, no family, no paper trail. It’s like she just appeared out of thin air.”

Howard didn’t respond immediately, and Rhodey could almost hear the gears turning on the other end of the line.

“You’re saying she’s after something,” Howard finally said.

“Exactly,” Rhodey confirmed, his voice firm. “I don’t know what it is, but I’ve got a bad feeling about her. She’s dangerous, Mr. Stark. And Tony? He’s too smitten to see it.”

Howard let out a low hum, the kind that made Rhodey think he’d already started connecting dots Rhodey didn’t even know existed. “Alright, James. You did the right thing calling me. I’ll look into it. But listen to me carefully: Tony can’t know about this. If he catches wind, he’ll shut us both out faster than you can say ‘reactor core.’”

Rhodey nodded, even though Howard couldn’t see him. “Understood. I’ll keep my head down.”

“Good. And James?” Howard’s voice took on a sharper edge. “Keep an eye on her. If she is what I think she might be, this is bigger than you realize.”

“Yes, sir,” Rhodey said, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on his shoulders.

The line went dead.

Rhodey hung up the receiver, leaning against the payphone for a moment. His breath was visible in the cold air, and he let out a low groan. “What the hell did I just get myself into?”

---

Some distance away, in a dimly lit apartment that masqueraded as a cozy student living space, Cynthia Schmidt stood in front of her concealed armory. She pulled open the hidden panel with a practiced motion, revealing an arsenal of Hydra-issue weapons and gadgets. The cold steel glinted under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Behind her, two Hydra agents stood at attention, their unease palpable despite their disciplined postures. Cynthia’s icy green eyes flicked to them in the reflection of the armory’s mirrored surface.

“You’re dismissed,” she said curtly, her voice laced with authority.

The agents exchanged a quick glance before retreating silently, the soft click of the door leaving Cynthia alone with her thoughts—and her weapons.

She lingered in front of the armory, her fingers tracing the edge of a sleek dagger. A smirk curled at the corner of her lips. “James Rhodes,” she murmured, the name rolling off her tongue like a curse. “Loyal, predictable, and annoyingly persistent.”

Her mind raced, calculating her next move. Rhodes was a minor inconvenience, a fly buzzing too close to her web. But his interference was proof that her work had been effective. Tony Stark was exactly where she needed him—trusting, infatuated, blind.

Cynthia crossed to her workstation, her smirk widening as she activated a holographic display. Schematics of Stark’s latest project flickered to life before her, along with encrypted Hydra communiqués.

“Stark’s trust,” she mused, tapping a finger against the hologram, “is his greatest flaw. And Rhodes? He’s just another piece on the board.”

Her smile turned predatory as she formulated her plan. Tony’s brilliance, his technology, his influence—all of it was within her grasp. The Stark legacy would soon serve Hydra’s cause.

And when the time came to shed her “Cynthia Smith” disguise, the world would learn to fear the name Sinthea Schmidt.

For now, she would play her role to perfection. The sweet, adoring girlfriend. The ideal student. The girl-next-door who had Tony Stark wrapped around her finger.

But beneath the surface, the Red Skull’s bloodline burned bright, and Cynthia Schmidt would stop at nothing to claim what was hers.

—

Howard Stark leaned back in his leather office chair, the dim glow of a single desk lamp illuminating the controlled chaos of his workspace. Blueprints and prototype sketches littered the desk, alongside half-assembled devices humming faintly with energy. Normally, this was his sanctuary, the place where his genius thrived. But tonight, the air felt heavier. He reached for the rotary phone, its polished black surface cold against his fingers, and dialed a number from memory.

After two rings, a gravelly voice answered on the other end. “This better be good, Stark. I’m not in the mood for one of your late-night brainstorms about jetpacks or invisible cars.”

Howard didn’t bother with small talk. “Fury, it’s not about me this time. It’s about Tony.”

There was a beat of silence before Nick Fury’s unmistakable baritone cut through, sharp and unrelenting. “What’d he do now? Blow up another lab? Hack a government satellite? Or is this about that mess at the gala last month with the senator’s daughter?”

Howard’s voice dropped an octave, carrying an edge that made even Fury pause. “It’s serious, Nick. There’s a woman—Cynthia Smith. She’s been hanging around Tony for months, cozying up to him like she’s auditioning for a rom-com. But there’s something off about her. No records, no history, no family. It’s like she doesn’t exist.”

“Sounds like half the women in Hollywood,” Fury shot back, though his tone had shifted to something more focused. “You’re saying she’s a ghost?”

“Exactly,” Howard replied. “And ghosts usually have someone pulling their strings. My gut says Hydra.”

Fury let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Hydra, huh? You’re dragging me into this for a hunch? You’ve always had a flair for paranoia, Stark, but this is a stretch even for you.”

“Don’t patronize me, Fury,” Howard snapped, leaning forward as if the intensity of his voice could travel through the line. “I’ve seen this play before. The perfect facade, the charm, the calculated moves. They’re using her to get to Tony—and by extension, me.”

There was a long pause on the other end, then the sound of Fury shifting, likely leaning back in his chair. “Alright, Howard. Let’s say you’re right, and Hydra’s got their claws in some Stepford girlfriend. What’s their angle? What’s she after?”

“That’s what I need you to figure out,” Howard said, his voice tight with frustration. “Tony’s too smitten to see it. And if I get involved directly, he’ll shut me out faster than you can say ‘arc reactor.’”

Fury sighed heavily, the sound carrying equal parts annoyance and resignation. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that? Alright, I’ll put some people on it. But you owe me for this one, Stark. And don’t give me that ‘I funded half of S.H.I.E.L.D.’ speech. This is personal, and personal costs extra.”

Howard smirked faintly, though there was no humor in it. “Put it on my tab.”

“Damn right I will,” Fury said. “But let me give you some advice. If this girl’s Hydra, you’d better be ready for the fallout. You know how these bastards operate—they don’t play games. If she’s embedded herself with Tony, it’s because they think he’s useful. And if she’s working him, then she’s dangerous. Very dangerous.”

Howard’s grip on the receiver tightened. “You think I don’t know that? That’s why I called you, Fury. Hydra’s been lying low, but if they’re resurfacing now—through my son—it’s a declaration of war.”

“You’re damn right it is,” Fury said, his voice dropping into a growl. “And when Hydra declares war, you don’t hesitate. You hit first, and you hit hard. So here’s what I need from you: keep your head down, keep an eye on Tony, and let me do what I do best. If Hydra’s making moves, I’ll find them. And when I do, I’ll make sure they regret it.”

Howard leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “Just find out who she is, Fury. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Oh, I’ll find out,” Fury said, his tone dripping with confidence. “And when I do, you’d better be ready to play ball, Stark. Because if this is Hydra, it’s not just Tony they’re after—it’s everything you’ve ever built.”

The line went dead, leaving Howard alone in his office, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. He set the phone down carefully, then reached for a weathered file folder marked with the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia. Inside were decades of classified reports, each one a grim reminder of Hydra’s reach and ruthlessness.

---

The safehouse in New York was quiet, the only sounds coming from the faint hum of the heater struggling against the December chill and the distant din of the city outside. Fury, seated at a metal desk, drummed his fingers on its surface as he stared at the rotary phone like it owed him an explanation. The room was dimly lit, the single bulb swinging faintly as if in rhythm with his growing impatience. Finally, he dialed the number, each turn of the rotary wheel adding to his frustration.

After a few rings, a familiar voice answered. Calm, smooth, and ever-so-slightly amused. "You rang, Fury?"

"Damn right I did," Fury barked. “Tell me, Romanoff, when was the last time Stark wasn’t at the center of a goddamn mess?”

There was a faint sound of typing on Natasha’s end, and he could picture her lounging on some couch, probably wearing that smug smirk of hers. “Tony Stark and ‘mess’ go together like vodka and bad decisions, Director. What’s he done now?”

“He hasn’t done jack—yet,” Fury shot back, his tone sharp. “But there’s this woman—Cynthia Smith. Showed up a couple months back, and according to Rhodey, she’s already got Stark wrapped around her finger. Laughs at his jokes, keeps up with his tech talk, even looks like she was designed in some damn lab to be his perfect match.”

Natasha’s voice turned serious, though there was still a hint of amusement. “And you’re worried she actually was designed in a lab. Hydra?”

“Bingo,” Fury said, leaning forward, his hand gripping the phone like he could wring answers out of it. “Howard Stark’s gut is screaming Hydra, and as much as I hate admitting it, the old man’s instincts are usually dead-on. This isn’t some gold digger or opportunist, Romanoff. It’s too clean, too calculated. And if Hydra’s got their claws in Stark, it’s only a matter of time before they get their hands on the Arc Reactor—or worse.”

There was a brief pause before Natasha spoke again. “You think they’re targeting Stark to get to Howard? Or are they planning to use Tony as a weapon?”

“Hell if I know,” Fury growled. “That’s why you’re on this. I need you to dig into this woman—Cynthia Smith. Every detail. I don’t care if she bought a latte at some back-alley café in Prague; I want to know about it.”

Natasha sighed, the sound barely audible but clear enough to make Fury’s eye twitch. “You really know how to make an assignment sound fun, Fury.”

“This ain’t about fun. It’s about keeping Hydra from turning Stark into their personal golden goose. If they get access to his tech, we’re looking at a world of hurt that makes Manhattan look like a walk in Central Park.”

“Alright,” Natasha said, her voice firm now, all traces of amusement gone. “I’ll start digging. She’s bound to have slipped up somewhere. Nobody’s perfect, no matter how good their cover is.”

“Damn straight,” Fury replied. “And Romanoff? Keep this quiet. If Stark gets wind of us digging into his new lady friend, he’ll shut this operation down faster than you can say ‘genius billionaire playboy philanthropist.’”

Natasha chuckled lightly, but there was steel in her tone. “Understood. You’ll have an update soon.”

“Six hours,” Fury said, his voice a command. “I want updates every six hours. And if she sneezes, I wanna know the direction the snot flew.”

“Got it,” Natasha replied, her tone dry. “Anything else, or can I get to work?”

“Just don’t screw this up,” Fury said, hanging up before she could respond.

---

On the other end of the line, Natasha set her phone down and leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes already scanning the preliminary files she’d pulled up on Cynthia Smith. As expected, there was nothing. No school records, no family, no paper trail. It was as if she’d appeared out of thin air.

Natasha frowned, her fingers tapping thoughtfully on the desk. Fury was right—this woman didn’t just scream Hydra; she practically had their logo tattooed on her forehead. But there was something else nagging at Natasha, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Too clean,” she muttered to herself. “And too convenient.”

Her eyes flicked to the small, enchanted notebook sitting on the corner of her desk. It had been a gift from Harry, enchanted to allow instant communication via written messages. She’d been meaning to call him anyway—portal travel was infinitely more convenient than a red-eye flight to Massachusetts.

Reaching for the notebook, Natasha smirked to herself. “Time to bring in the wizard. Hydra’s little ghost won’t know what hit her.”

With a flick of her wrist, she wrote a quick note: Harry, I’ve got a job for you. It’s about Stark—and Hydra. I’ll explain when you get here. Open a portal to the safehouse.

She closed the notebook, leaning back with a satisfied expression. “Let’s see how Hydra handles a wizard on their tail.”

—

The ancient library of Kamar-Taj was steeped in an aura of quiet mysticism. Shelves crammed with scrolls and tomes stretched up to the high ceilings, and the faint hum of magical wards made the air feel alive. Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, a thick book titled Dimensional Rifts and Their Practical Applications open in front of him. Despite the scholarly scene, his green eyes were lit with mischief.

Across the room, Wong was muttering irritably as he tried to untangle a mess of floating scrolls that, unbeknownst to him, Harry had enchanted to reorder themselves into the words “Wong Supreme Librarian”.

“Potter!” Wong’s voice boomed, breaking the tranquil atmosphere. “Do you ever take your studies seriously?”

Harry didn’t look up from his book, instead flipping a page with exaggerated focus. “I’m deeply engrossed in expanding my magical horizons, Wong. You should be proud.”

“Proud?” Wong’s eyebrows shot up as he swatted at a rebellious scroll trying to spell “#1 Fan of Beyoncé”. “I’ll be proud when you stop treating this place like your personal playground!”

Harry shrugged, his grin barely hidden. “Can’t help it if my creativity overflows into my studies.”

Wong crossed his arms, glaring at Harry like an exasperated parent. “Creativity? If by creativity you mean turning my library into a bad comedy club, then yes, you’re a visionary.”

Before Harry could retort, his enchanted notebook on the nearby table began to glow, the edges pulsating with a faint golden light. The smirk on Harry’s face faded as he reached for it, flipping it open to see Natasha’s familiar handwriting:

Harry, I’ve got a job for you. It’s about Stark—and Hydra. I’ll explain when you get here. Open a portal to the safehouse.

Harry groaned, shutting the book with a snap. “Great. Hydra again.”

Wong raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Hydra? Still trying to resurrect their tired world-domination schemes, I see.”

“Seems like it,” Harry muttered, shoving the book into his satchel. “And guess who gets to be the wizard on-call for all things Hydra and Stark-related?”

Wong snorted, his irritation replaced by a wry smile. “Well, don’t let me keep you from your grand adventures. Just remember: the next time you prank my library, I’ll personally send you to the Mirror Dimension.”

“Love you too, Wong,” Harry shot back with a grin.

He stepped into the center of the library, and with a flick of his wrist, drew a glowing circle in the air. The swirling, golden portal stabilized, casting warm light across the room.

Harry glanced back at Wong, his grin widening. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Wong waved him off with a dismissive flick of his hand. “I’ll try to endure the peace and quiet in your absence.”

Harry chuckled and stepped through the portal.

---

He emerged into the dimly lit interior of a New York safehouse. The contrast from Kamar-Taj’s serene library was jarring: this place buzzed with tension, the hum of hidden technology blending with the faint rumble of the city outside.

Natasha was already waiting for him, leaning casually against a metal table. Dressed in her usual black tactical suit, she looked every inch the deadly operative. But her posture, while relaxed, had the kind of calculated ease that spoke of someone who was always ready to spring into action.

“Took you long enough,” she said, her voice cool but edged with dry humor.

“Nat,” Harry greeted, brushing imaginary dust off his robes. “Hydra again? Don’t they ever get bored of being the bad guys?”

Natasha’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “You’d think so, but no. They’ve got a new angle this time, and it involves Tony.”

Harry frowned, his playful demeanor giving way to concern. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a woman,” Natasha began, pushing a file across the table toward him. “Cynthia Smith. She showed up in Tony’s life a few months ago, and she’s—well, let’s just say she’s the kind of perfect that sets off alarm bells.”

Harry flipped open the file, scanning the contents. “No background, no family, no history,” he muttered. “She’s a ghost.”

Natasha nodded, her expression serious. “Exactly. And Tony’s too smitten to notice. Fury thinks she might be Hydra, sent to get close to him and, by extension, Stark tech.”

“Classic honeytrap,” Harry said, closing the file and giving Natasha a pointed look. “So what’s the plan?”

“You,” Natasha replied simply.

Harry raised an eyebrow, the sarcasm already dripping from his voice. “Me?”

Natasha straightened, crossing her arms in that confident, no-nonsense way she always did. “You’re our magic expert. If she’s using any kind of magical concealment or enhancements, you’ll spot it faster than anyone else.”

Harry didn’t respond immediately, instead leaning against the table and giving her a slow, knowing look. Natasha stared back, expression unreadable, her poker face honed to perfection. Unfortunately for her, Harry wasn’t easily fooled.

“Oh, that’s good,” Harry said at last, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Real convincing. You almost had me there.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Nat,” Harry said, waving the file in the air. “You don’t call me just because I’m a ‘magic expert.’ You call me because you don’t want to haul your perfectly toned spy ass onto a S.H.I.E.L.D. jet and spend hours flying to Massachusetts.”

Natasha’s poker face faltered for just a fraction of a second—a blink-and-you-miss-it moment that Harry immediately caught. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, her tone cool and controlled. “I called you because you’re the best person for this job.”

“Right, because Fury’s entire network of agents, analysts, and tech specialists can’t figure out what I could in five minutes,” Harry quipped, grinning. “Face it, Romanoff. You just wanted a shortcut.”

Natasha tilted her head, her lips pressing into a thin line as if considering whether to deny it further. Then, with a small shrug, she let out a sigh. “Fine. You got me,” she admitted, her tone dry. “Massachusetts is cold, the jets smell like stale coffee, and I don’t feel like spending hours listening to Fury bark orders in my ear. Happy?”

“Very,” Harry replied smugly. “You could’ve just said that upfront, you know. Saved yourself the trouble of pretending you care about my ‘magic expertise.’”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Well, you’re here now, so are you going to help or what?”

Harry leaned back, arms crossed, enjoying the moment. “Oh, I’ll help. But you owe me.”

“Owe you what?” Natasha asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I don’t know yet,” Harry said, his grin widening. “But when I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”

Natasha smirked, her sharp, calculating side showing again. “Just make sure it’s something I won’t regret agreeing to.”

“Oh, I’ll make it memorable,” Harry promised, already summoning his wand. With a quick flick, a portal began to form, swirling with golden energy.

As the portal stabilized, Harry glanced back at Natasha, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “You’re lucky I like you. Otherwise, you’d be booking that jet yourself.”

Natasha gave him a sly smile, already stepping toward the portal. “And you’re lucky you’re useful. Otherwise, I wouldn’t put up with your mouth.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Go on, then. Let’s save Stark from his poor life choices.”

“Typical Tuesday,” Natasha replied before stepping through the portal, leaving Harry to follow with a shake of his head and a grin.

Chapter 42: Chapter 41

Harry and Natasha stepped through the shimmering portal, the golden light around them dissipating as they emerged onto the MIT campus. The immediate contrast to the cool serenity of Kamar-Taj’s library was jarring—here, the air was thick with the hum of city life, the dull murmur of students walking by, busy with their daily routines. A few chuckled and chatted as they passed, completely unaware that two of the most dangerous individuals on the planet had just arrived in their midst.

 

Harry’s eyes flicked across the students as he ran his hand through his messy hair, brushing the stray strands back into place. His hoodie and jeans materialized effortlessly with a snap of his fingers, changing his appearance to something more suited for blending in. But Natasha, as always, had the perfect balance of grace and intimidation. With a flick of her wrist, her black tactical suit transformed into a sleek leather jacket and dark jeans, making her look like the kind of girl you’d find sitting in the corner of a coffee shop—if you didn’t mind the cold aura of danger radiating from her.

 

She adjusted her sunglasses with the casual air of someone who owned the world—or at least this small corner of it. “You’ve got the look, magic boy,” she said, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. “Now let’s make sure we don’t make the mistake of standing out.”

 

Harry let out a chuckle, adjusting his sleeves as he looked around. “Yeah, because the kid with a wand and the world-weary super spy aren’t gonna stick out. We’ll fit right in.”

 

“You don’t want to draw attention,” Natasha said, her tone sharpening as she dropped her usual sarcastic edge for a moment. “Trust me. We’re here to find Tony, not make the front page of the Daily Bugle.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “We’re on a mission to find Tony Stark, and you think I’m gonna be the one to blow our cover?” He smirked, clearly enjoying the playful banter.

 

“I’ve never said you were the one who would,” Natasha said, tossing a sideways glance at him as they moved through the crowd. Her tone had that unmistakable sharpness—the kind of edge that made her sound like she’d been trained to pick apart a situation and carve out the best path through it. It was something Harry had come to admire about her, even if he didn’t always show it. “But you can’t forget why we’re here, Harry. There’s nothing ordinary about Tony’s girlfriend. And that means she’s probably a threat.”

 

“Right, right. So we keep our heads down,” Harry said with a teasing grin. “And you don’t flirt with the first person who offers to buy you a coffee, yes?”

 

Natasha’s lips twitched into a sly grin, her eyes glinting with mischief as she glanced sidelong at him. “That would be the most boring part of the day, don’t you think? But fine, I’ll leave the flirting to you.”

 

“Good,” Harry said with a wink. “Wouldn’t want to share you with anyone but me, anyway.”

 

Her smile widened just slightly—barely noticeable, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes, a glint that only Harry seemed to catch. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

They continued walking, making their way across the campus, when the unmistakable figure of Tony Stark appeared in the distance. He was standing with a woman—talking animatedly, his hands gesturing wildly as usual, but there was something about the woman that immediately set off Natasha’s instincts.

 

Her breath hitched in her chest for a split second. No. It couldn’t be.

 

Harry, following her gaze, frowned. “That’s Tony and... his girlfriend?”

 

“Her name’s Sinthea Schmidt,” Natasha said flatly, her voice suddenly tight, a coldness creeping in. “And that’s not just some random girl. She’s the genetically engineered daughter of Red Skull. Trained in the Red Room. A manipulator.” She clenched her jaw, clearly unsettled. “If she’s with Tony, this could be bad.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “So, we’ve got a Hydra agent trying to get close to Stark, huh? Classic.”

 

“It’s worse than that,” Natasha muttered, her mind already racing. “If she recognizes me, everything goes to hell. She’ll know I know who she is, and it will will put Tony in danger.”

 

Harry’s tone became a little more serious. “What’s the plan, then?”

 

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, studying Sinthea and Tony. “We’re not getting close to her, not without blowing our cover. We need to keep low. I’ll contact Fury and Howard, get backup.”

 

She quickly pulled out a comm mirror, the familiar holographic interface popping to life. Fury’s face appeared, his expression as stoic as always.

 

“Romanoff,” Fury’s voice crackled through, “What’s the status?”

 

“Sinthea Schmidt is here,” Natasha replied, voice low and controlled. “She’s Tony’s girlfriend, and she’s dangerous. We can’t approach Tony directly right now. She’ll know something’s up.”

 

Fury’s eye glinted. “Stay low. I’m sending backup. Captain America, Captain Carter, White Wolf, and Red Guardian will be on their way.”

 

Natasha shot him a look that almost bordered on disbelief. “Five super soldiers for one Hydra agent?”

 

“There’s no such thing as too much backup when it comes to Red Skull’s bloodline,” Fury said, his tone firm, no room for debate.

 

Natasha sighed but didn’t argue. Fury had his reasons, and it wasn’t like she could ignore his orders. "Fine, I’ll stay out of the way, but I need more information on Tony’s situation. I can’t let him fall into her hands."

 

Fury’s face softened ever so slightly, the corners of his mouth curling in the smallest hint of approval. “I’ll send you all the intel we’ve got. Stay in touch.”

 

The connection ended, and Natasha swiftly contacted Howard Stark. His face flickered to life on the comm mirror.

 

“Natasha,” Howard said, his tone casual but with a hint of concern. “What’s the situation?”

 

“Sinthea Schmidt is Tony’s girlfriend,” Natasha said, her voice now colder than before. “She’s Red Skull’s daughter, genetically altered and trained in the Red Room. If she’s here, she’s manipulating Tony. We can’t just go up and warn him.”

 

Howard’s expression darkened. “I always thought something was off about her. I’ve been getting reports, and Tony’s behavior has been… different. Rhodey’s been keeping an eye on things. I suggest you reach out to him—he might have some info that could help.”

 

“I’ll do that,” Natasha replied. “Stay in touch.”

 

The call ended, and Natasha turned to Harry. “Backup’s on the way. But we’ve got to handle this carefully. We’re not just dealing with a Hydra agent—we’re dealing with someone who could manipulate Tony in ways we can’t predict.”

 

Harry’s eyes were sharp, his usual teasing tone replaced with quiet determination. “I’ll follow your lead, Nat. Just don’t let her get to him.”

 

Natasha nodded, her gaze already locking onto Tony and Sinthea once more. “I’m not letting her touch him. Not while I’m still breathing.”

 

They moved forward, staying hidden in plain sight, ready for whatever this dangerous game would throw their way.

 

–

 

In the dimly lit safehouse in New York, tension hung in the air as the super soldiers gathered around the table. The soft hum of the cooling system was the only sound as Fury, arms folded, leaned against the wall, surveying the room. Maria Hill stood beside him, ever the picture of cool professionalism, her eyes darting between the team of super soldiers.

 

Nick Fury, exuding the confidence of someone who had seen it all, finally spoke, his voice cutting through the silence. “Alright, listen up, people. Here’s the deal,” he began, his voice gravelly but commanding. “Tony Stark’s been making contact with someone named Sinthea Schmidt. Now, some of you might know that name, but Steve, you’re in the dark. So, let me bring you up to speed.”

 

Steve Rogers, still trying to catch up to modern life after his decades of being frozen, raised an eyebrow, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Who is she? Another Hydra agent?”

 

“Worse,” Fury shot back. “She’s Red Skull’s daughter. Trained in the Red Room. A product of Hydra’s finest, and she’s got a gift for manipulation. We’ve been keeping tabs on her for years, but now she’s managed to get close to Stark. And if she’s got her claws in him, we’ve got a serious problem on our hands.”

 

Bucky Barnes, his metal arm resting against the back of a chair, looked up with a sharp gaze. “I’ve crossed paths with her before. Sinthea’s not just dangerous because of her training. She’s good with minds. Really good. She gets inside your head, makes you see things, makes you believe things that aren’t true. If she’s after Tony, we need to move fast.”

 

Alexei Shostakov, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, growled low in his throat. “She’s Red Room. I know what she’s capable of. She’s been trained to manipulate people, to break them. She’s not someone you want anywhere near Stark.”

 

Peggy Carter, her eyes steely with determination, added, “I’ve had my share of encounters with Red Skull’s experiments. This won’t end well unless we stop it now. Stark can’t afford to be her next pawn.”

 

Fury’s expression hardened. “Exactly. We need to get to Tony before she does. But here’s the problem—Tony’s in Massachusetts, at MIT. We’re talking hours, not minutes, to get there.”

 

Bucky, his fingers tapping lightly against the table, raised a brow. “So we’re supposed to drive? Take the jet?”

 

“No,” Hill interjected, her voice as sharp as ever. “We don’t have the luxury of time. Getting there the old-fashioned way isn’t an option.”

 

Steve frowned. “Then what do we do? How do we get there fast?”

 

Fury let out a long, annoyed sigh. “You think I don’t know? We don’t have a damn answer yet, Cap.”

 

Before anyone could respond, something strange happened. The air in the room seemed to crackle, shimmering with an iridescent light. The group froze, instinctively reaching for weapons that weren’t there. Hill’s eyes darted to the corner, her posture stiffening in anticipation. Fury, ever the calm and collected agent, didn’t flinch, though his hand hovered near the small of his back.

 

Without warning, a golden portal opened up in the corner of the room, the edges shimmering and swirling with otherworldly energy. The portal grew wider and more defined until a figure stepped through. He was cloaked in dark robes, with a calm yet commanding presence that immediately put everyone on edge.

 

Bucky, ever the skeptic, growled, “Okay, this is new.”

 

Fury, who had been bracing for something big, narrowed his one good eye and leveled the figure with a steady stare. “Who the hell are you?”

 

The figure straightened, a small, knowing smile on his lips as he bowed slightly. “I am Wong, sent by the Ancient One,” he said, his voice steady but full of authority. “The Ancient One has tasked me with providing you transportation.”

 

The super soldiers exchanged confused glances, the tension thickening. Bucky’s face twisted in disbelief. “Transportation? What, like a cab service? From where?”

 

“Massachusetts,” Wong replied, unperturbed. “I will open another portal, and you will be able to proceed directly to MIT.”

 

Maria Hill, ever the pragmatist, shot a glance at Fury. “I guess we’ve reached a point where we’re asking sorcerers for help now.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Maybe we should recruit some of them. Harry’s the only one in our ranks who can open portals.”

 

Fury, his gaze still fixed on Wong, let out a low chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “First time for everything, Hill. We don’t have time to debate. Let’s move.”

 

Steve, still catching up to the weirdness of it all, stepped forward. “So, we just… step through that portal?”

 

Wong nodded. “Yes. It will take you directly to your destination. Do not worry—it is perfectly safe.”

 

Alexei, never one to back down from a challenge, cracked his knuckles and grinned. “I like this plan. Magic is always fun.”

 

Bucky smirked, rolling his eyes. “You’re a real treat, Red.”

 

Steve, glancing at the swirling portal, hesitated for a moment, then turned to Peggy. “You sure about this?”

 

Peggy, her expression as determined as ever, nodded. “We don’t have a choice. Let’s go.”

 

And with that, they followed Wong through the portal, one by one.

 

 

---

 

The next moment, they found themselves standing on the bustling MIT campus, the sounds of students talking and laughing all around them. The sight of ordinary people going about their day felt so jarring compared to the urgency of their mission.

 

Wong, already having opened the second portal, stood aside with a mild smile. “Here we are. The campus. Safe and sound.”

 

Alexei let out a long sigh, stretching his arms. “Well, that was different.”

 

Bucky, still processing everything, gave a wry grin. “Yeah, because who needs regular old transportation when we’ve got magic portals.”

 

Steve, ever the soldier, scanned the area, his expression focused. “We don’t have time for sightseeing. Let’s find Stark.”

 

Peggy, her voice cutting through the noise of the crowd, nodded. “We move fast. We don’t know how much time we’ve got.”

 

As they started to move through the crowd, Maria Hill’s voice crackled in their earpieces. “We’ve got eyes on Stark. Be ready. Sinthea’s not far behind. Stay sharp.”

 

Bucky gave a low chuckle as he adjusted his gear. “Sharp? Please. I’m always sharp.”

 

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Alexei muttered, walking ahead with a half-grin.

 

Wong, still standing a few feet behind them, observed the super soldiers with a knowing smile. “You’ve got quite the team here. Just be careful. Time and fate can be very... tricky.”

 

With that, the super soldiers took off, pushing through the crowd and heading toward the building where Tony Stark was reportedly located. The mission was clear: find Tony, stop Sinthea, and pray they weren’t already too late.

 

---

 

Back in the safehouse, Fury and Hill exchanged a glance. Maria spoke first. “You know, I think we’re going to need more than just a few sorcerers after all this is over.”

 

Fury smirked, his one eye gleaming with a mixture of pride and exasperation. “You’re telling me. But for now, let’s let the magic men handle it.”

 

—

 

The MIT campus was alive with the buzz of students, some rushing between buildings, others lingering in clusters near benches, chatting and laughing. It was a typical day on the bustling campus, but Natasha and Harry moved through it with a quiet intensity, their every step calculated and purposeful. Natasha, her posture straight, walked with the kind of unshakable confidence that turned heads without her ever needing to glance at anyone. Harry, hands casually tucked into his pockets, kept his gaze sharp, though there was a slight grin on his lips—the sort that told anyone paying attention he wasn’t just another face in the crowd.

 

The two of them were an odd sight here, a pair who seemed slightly out of place among the students in hoodies and backpacks, but the fact that no one questioned them showed that they carried an air of authority—whether by intention or sheer force of presence. Harry's wand was hidden up his sleeve, and Natasha's fingers hovered near the small tactical device on her belt. They were prepared for whatever came their way.

 

They arrived at the small café on the edge of campus, a favorite hangout for students in the area. As Harry glanced down at his wristwatch, the image of James Rhodes flickered into view on their comm system. His face appeared young, a little scruffy, with a mix of doubt and confidence. The boyish expression of someone still figuring things out, but the sharpness in his eyes gave away that he'd been through his fair share of struggles.

 

“So, what do you think?” Harry asked, his voice low, though there was an unmistakable edge of curiosity. His eyes remained on the screen, but his attention was split between the conversation and scanning the crowd for anyone suspicious.

 

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, her sharp features giving nothing away. “He’ll trust us. Eventually.” She spoke with the certainty of someone who had been in this situation more times than they could count. But her voice softened just a fraction when she added, “He won’t have much of a choice.”

 

The pair pushed open the door to the café, and immediately, they spotted Rhodes. He was sitting by himself at a corner table, absentmindedly picking at half of a sandwich, eyes scanning the room with a tension that hinted at someone who was used to being alert. His gaze locked onto them as they approached, and he stiffened, hands momentarily stilling as if preparing for something.

 

Rhodes didn’t mince words. "Who the hell are you two?" he barked, his voice full of skepticism and guarded wariness. He was younger than either of them expected, but there was something about the way he carried himself that demanded respect. His military background, even at this age, was evident in the way he held himself.

 

Harry, ever the smooth talker, gave a shrug and a half-smile, not at all phased. "Relax, kid," he said, holding up his hands in a mock surrender. "We're not here to make your life harder." He shot Natasha a glance before continuing, "We just need to find someone. And it looks like you might be the guy who knows how to get to him."

 

“Tony Stark,” Natasha cut in, her voice icy and measured. "We’re friends of his. And we need to talk to you. It’s... urgent."

 

Rhodes narrowed his eyes, his lips pressing together into a tight line. The air between them was heavy with suspicion, but his gaze shifted slightly, looking Natasha over with a calculating stare. “Friends of Tony, huh?” He didn’t seem convinced, his hand resting on the edge of his sandwich as he slowly chewed over the idea. “And you just show up out of nowhere, no introduction? Not buying it.”

 

“Fair,” Harry said, his grin remaining in place. He leaned slightly forward, dropping the casual tone. “But trust me, we’re not here for small talk. This is bigger than just Tony. This is about her.”

 

He didn’t need to say her name. Natasha’s eyes flicked momentarily to the side, just enough for the warning in them to hit home.

 

Rhodes stiffened, the suspicion in his eyes giving way to recognition. “Her? Who the hell—”

 

Before he could finish, the comm device on Harry's wrist buzzed, and Natasha reached for her own communicator. With a flick of her fingers, a small hologram sprang to life above the table. The image of Howard Stark’s face appeared, his usual smirk absent and replaced by something more serious—maybe even a little concerned.

 

“Rhodes,” Howard's voice crackled through the speakers. “Listen to them. They’re on our side. Trust me. These two are the real deal.”

 

Rhodes blinked, his gaze flicking from the hologram to the two of them. His jaw tightened as he stared at the familiar face of Howard Stark, and the gears in his mind slowly began to click into place. Stark’s voice was unmistakable, and the tech in front of him was something only Tony—or someone he trusted—could have designed.

 

“Howard?” Rhodes said, still cautious. “This isn’t exactly what I expected when I got up this morning.”

 

"Welcome to the club," Harry said with a wry smile, clearly aware of how overwhelming the situation was. He didn’t give Rhodes time to protest further. “Now, we need to talk business.”

 

Rhodes looked back and forth between them and Howard’s image, the skepticism gradually melting from his face. “Alright, fine,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But you better be straight with me. What’s going on?”

 

Natasha leaned in slightly, her voice low but filled with purpose. “Sinthea Schmidt,” she said, her words hanging in the air like a weight. “She’s not just some rogue agent. She’s Hydra’s weapon. The genetically engineered daughter of Red Skull. And she’s playing some serious games, ones that involve Tony. We need to make sure she doesn’t get to him first.”

 

The mention of Hydra immediately shifted Rhodes’ entire demeanor. His face paled just a little, his shoulders tensing. “Red Skull’s bloodline? Damn…” He shook his head, as if the very thought of it left a bad taste in his mouth. "That’s... bad. Really bad." He leaned back, glancing at Harry, then Natasha, trying to make sense of the information. "What do you need me to do?"

 

Harry exchanged a look with Natasha, both of them silently agreeing. “We need to assemble the team. Get ready to move out.”

 

Rhodes’ brow furrowed in confusion. “Team? What team? Are you saying you’ve got some sort of... Justice League-style backup for this?”

 

“You have no idea,” Natasha replied, her voice flat, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

 

Just then, Harry’s comm buzzed again, and the holographic interface projected more faces. Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Alexei Shostakov—each standing strong in their respective uniforms, ready for anything.

 

“Revenant,” Steve said, his calm voice cutting through the tension, “We’ve landed. What’s the play?”

 

Harry tapped his comm with a slight smile, looking at Rhodes, who was now completely bewildered. “Right on time,” Harry muttered. “Meet us at the quad. Stay low and stay sharp until we give the word.”

 

Rhodes let out a breath, his mind clearly racing to catch up with everything. “Wait. Hold up. Who the hell are these people?”

 

Natasha looked at him evenly. “They’re exactly who we need right now. Super soldiers. And they’re on our side.”

 

Rhodes blinked, still processing. “Wait... you mean to tell me these super soldiers are ready to handle one Hydra agent?”

 

“You’d be surprised how much trouble a little bit of Red Skull’s bloodline can stir up,” Natasha replied, her voice cold, matter-of-fact.

 

Rhodes, no longer arguing, finally exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Alright,” he said, determination creeping into his tone. “Let’s get moving.”

 

The group headed out toward the quad, their steps steady and synchronized as they prepared for the mission ahead. Rhodey kept his eyes on the ground, his thoughts still racing. He was finally starting to understand the gravity of what they were dealing with—and how quickly it was about to hit the fan.

 

“Let’s go,” Natasha said, her voice sharp as ever. “We don’t have time to waste.”

 

And together, they set off—united in purpose, their team now one step closer to finding Tony Stark and putting an end to Sinthea’s deadly game.

 

—

 

The quad was bustling with the usual college activity as students scattered across the grass, oblivious to the heavy tension in the air. Harry, Natasha, and Rhodey walked briskly toward the rendezvous point, their steps synchronized, the quiet urgency between them palpable. The mission loomed large—Hydra’s deadly new weapon, Sinthea Schmidt, was somewhere nearby, and they were about to square off with her to protect Tony Stark.

 

As they approached the designated meeting spot, Rhodey’s military instincts kicked in. His eyes immediately fell on the group of super-soldiers standing at attention. He froze for a second, taking in the sight of them.

 

The first one he spotted was a man he never expected to see in person—Steve Rogers, Captain America, standing strong and proud in his star-spangled gear, his shield strapped across his back. Rhodey blinked, disbelief flashing across his face.

 

"No way…" Rhodey muttered under his breath. "Is that…? Is that really… Captain America?" His voice was low, almost to himself, as he took in the sight of the legendary soldier.

 

Behind Steve stood Peggy Carter, her frame as commanding as ever. She was in full uniform, her iconic red, white, and blue colors a reminder of her own legacy. The only thing more imposing than her stance was the fiery intensity in her eyes.

 

Next to her was Bucky Barnes, now known as the White Wolf. His arm—his bionic arm—was outstretched in a way that suggested he was always ready to leap into action, even as his eyes scanned the surroundings warily.

 

And then, towering behind them, was Alexei Shostakov, the Red Guardian. His dark, battle-worn armor gleamed in the sunlight, and the look on his face was the one of someone who had seen decades of combat. His posture was relaxed, but there was a quiet readiness about him.

 

Rhodey couldn’t quite grasp the situation. This wasn’t just a team of soldiers. This was a legendary team of soldiers. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and yet, there they were, standing like they were born to fight together.

 

"You’re telling me that’s really Captain America?" Rhodey asked, voice tinged with disbelief. His eyes shifted from Steve to Natasha, who had not broken her stride as they neared the group.

 

Natasha, never one for sentimentality or dwelling on distractions, turned her head to him with a sharp look. "Focus, Rhodey. We don’t have time for explanations."

 

Rhodey’s mouth hung open for a moment longer, trying to process everything. But before he could make sense of it, Harry stepped forward, unfazed by the sight of these living legends. With a snap of his fingers, the magic was in motion. The air shimmered slightly around Natasha as her casual clothes—the kind of outfit that blended perfectly into the college crowd—suddenly morphed. Her attire shifted seamlessly into her tactical armor. The black combat suit, reinforced with sleek armor plating, materialized like a second skin. Her iconic Widow's Bite gauntlets were in place, the black widow logo on her chest standing out starkly against the dark fabric.

 

Rhodey’s jaw nearly hit the floor. "Did... did she just change outfits?" he whispered, his voice low but incredulous.

 

"Magic," Harry said offhandedly, not even bothering to look at Rhodey. He was too busy retrieving something from his pocket—a seemingly impossible task considering the size of the item. But when Harry pulled out the Cloak of Levitation, Rhodey froze.

 

"No... no way. That can’t fit in there. What the hell is going on?" Rhodey asked, his tone now a mix of confusion and awe.

 

Harry just grinned, pulling the cloak over his shoulder. "You’d be surprised what you can fit in a pocket, Rhodey," he said casually. "This—" He flicked the cloak with his fingers. "—is a bit of ancient magic mixed with a touch of cleverness."

 

The Cloak rippled like liquid, and as it settled over his shoulders, the transformation began. His body seemed to absorb the fabric, and his casual clothing was replaced by armor that shimmered into existence. It was similar to the gear that Captain America and Red Guardian wore—an amalgamation of strength and functionality—but red and gold, with black accents running down the arms and sides. A golden Phoenix emblem appeared proudly on his chest, symbolizing the fire within. The armor formed around him seamlessly, creating a perfect fit, as a red and gold Phoenix-style cowl and mask wrapped around his head.

 

Rhodey’s mind was officially blown. "Okay, seriously, you’re telling me that cloak did all that?" He turned to Natasha, then to Harry. "Man, I need whatever you guys are on. This is insane."

 

Steve Rogers, who had been watching this transformation with a raised brow, turned toward Rhodey with a half-smile. "He’s not wrong, you know. We could all use a bit of that magic in our lives," Steve said, his voice a blend of amusement and admiration.

 

Natasha shot them both a look, her face impassive, though the faintest smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Focus," she repeated, her tone no-nonsense as ever. "We have a job to do."

 

Bucky, his eyes narrowed as always, glanced at Steve and muttered, "I don't know, Steve, something tells me things are gonna get complicated real fast." He kept his voice low, but Rhodey could hear the weight of his experience in every word.

 

Alexei, ever the larger-than-life presence, grunted with a laugh. "Ah, don’t worry, White Wolf," he said with a deep chuckle. "Complicated is just part of the fun."

 

Peggy Carter stood with her arms crossed, her face a mixture of seriousness and command. "Enough with the banter. We need to move. Sinthea Schmidt won’t wait for us to get our acts together."

 

Rhodey blinked at her, still trying to absorb the surreal nature of the situation. But the sharpness in her voice snapped him back to reality. "Right," he said, shaking his head. "Focus. Got it. Just... just one thing. Are we seriously about to charge into battle with all of you? Like, the legends themselves?" He gestured to the group in awe. "This... this is crazy."

 

"You’ll get used to it, Lieutenant," Steve said, his voice calm, steady, and full of leadership. "We’ve all been through worse."

 

Harry looked over his shoulder, his golden Phoenix emblem gleaming in the light. "Let’s not waste time talking about it. Time’s running out for Tony." He stepped forward, his cloak trailing behind him like a phantom. "We need to find Sinthea Schmidt and stop her, fast."

 

Steve gave a short nod. "Agreed. Let’s move."

 

The team fell into formation, each of them—legends in their own right—marching toward their shared goal with precision and purpose. Harry, Natasha, Rhodey, and the others were ready. The stakes were high, and the danger was real, but with this team, Rhodey knew one thing for certain: there was no mission too dangerous, no fight too impossible.

 

And as they headed toward their confrontation with Sinthea, Rhodey couldn't help but feel a strange sense of reassurance. They might be up against a monster, but they weren’t alone. Not anymore.

 

—

 

The atmosphere inside the lab was thick with tension, but Tony Stark was oblivious, his usual self-assured swagger taking center stage. His fingers grazed over a blueprint, his mind already five steps ahead of whatever conversation he was having. To anyone watching, it would seem like a perfectly ordinary meeting between two brilliant minds—except that one of those minds belonged to Sinthea Schmidt, and she had no intention of just talking tech.

 

"This is incredible," Tony said, leaning back in his chair, grinning like a kid who'd just figured out how to hack the system. "I mean, look at this. If we can pull this off, it's gonna be world-changing. Maybe even world-saving." His tone was all genuine enthusiasm, and he punctuated it with a quick, self-congratulatory chuckle. "You’ve got the right idea, Sinthea. You really know your stuff."

 

Sinthea, playing the part of the charming, mysterious mastermind, leaned in closer, her eyes glittering with something Tony was too busy admiring to notice. "Oh, I’m sure you’re more than capable, Tony," she said, her voice a smooth whisper, pulling him in like a spider wrapping him in silk. "Together, we could be unstoppable."

 

Tony grinned, leaning into her words like a moth to a flame. "I like the sound of that. And hey, not to brag, but ‘unstoppable’ is kind of my middle name," he said, winking at her, completely unaware of the more sinister undertones in her expression.

 

Sinthea’s smile, however, didn’t reach her eyes. Instead, it was laced with something darker, a glint of malice hiding beneath the sweet façade. But Tony, ever the optimist, just took it as a sign of her enthusiasm.

 

As the conversation continued, Tony was already mentally mapping out the next steps for their collaboration, lost in the possibilities. Meanwhile, outside the lab, Bucky Barnes—White Wolf—was crouched by the entrance, his eyes sharp, scanning the perimeter with all the focus of a predator on the hunt. Something was off. There was a tension in the air that felt like a storm waiting to break.

 

"Steve," Bucky muttered, voice low, his instincts kicking into overdrive. "Two agents, moving toward the back entrance. Not our usual crowd."

 

Steve Rogers—Captain America—raised an eyebrow, his expression hardening with purpose. "Hydra. I’ll take care of it." He adjusted his shield, every motion purposeful as he began to move toward the threat.

 

Behind him, Peggy Carter’s voice cut through the air, as commanding as ever. "We’re not giving them an inch, Steve. Neutralize them quickly. We can’t afford any mistakes."

 

Natasha, poised in the shadows, was already slipping into position. A silent nod to Bucky was all the communication she needed. This was her kind of operation—quick, clean, and no room for error.

 

Rhodey, however, stood awkwardly off to the side, clearly out of his element. He had no idea how he had gotten wrapped up in this mess. One minute, he was a hopeful Air Force recruit, and now he was standing in the middle of a full-blown covert operation with Super-soldiers. Talk about a career change.

 

"So, uh, what exactly am I supposed to do?" Rhodey asked, his voice betraying the uncertainty that had taken root in his gut. "I mean, I know I’m a big guy, but, uh, this isn’t exactly a good place for someone with no powers, right?"

 

Harry, who had been calmly walking toward the back of the building, his golden armor gleaming in the fading sunlight, shot Rhodey a sidelong glance. "You’re not the sidekick type, Rhodey," he said, his tone laced with amusement. "But if it helps, you can keep an eye on Tony. He seems a little too cozy in there with Sinthea. We don’t want him getting too distracted."

 

Rhodey looked at Tony, who was still completely absorbed in his conversation with Sinthea, oblivious to the danger. "Right. Got it. Keep an eye on the genius in there. That’s… surprisingly easy," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

 

Outside, Bucky crouched low, his hand on his weapon as his eyes darted back and forth. "They’re closing in. Time to take out the trash," he muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Let’s see if these guys can actually keep up."

 

Inside the lab, Tony was lost in Sinthea’s words, her voice almost hypnotic as it wrapped around him. "I think we’re really on to something here," she purred, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that sent a thrill up his spine. "Tony, we could build something incredible together—something beyond tech. A partnership, perhaps."

 

Tony chuckled, his ego soaring. "I like the sound of that," he said, giving her a wink. "But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ve still got a lot of work to do before we change the world, right?"

 

Sinthea smiled, but it was a smile that didn’t quite match the cool calculation in her eyes. "Of course, Tony," she said, her voice a velvet whisper. "We’ll get there. Together."

 

Meanwhile, Bucky and Natasha were already moving in on the Hydra agents, their stealth and coordination impeccable. Steve and Peggy weren’t far behind, ready to put the squeeze on the intruders before they even knew what hit them. The rest of the team was ready to spring into action—Alexei, the Red Guardian, was waiting for the signal to charge if things went south.

 

As Rhodey continued to watch Tony and Sinthea, a nagging feeling grew in his chest. Something didn’t sit right. Tony seemed so... comfortable. Too comfortable. It wasn’t just the tech. It was the way Tony was reacting to her—like he was falling for every word she said, every move she made.

 

"This doesn’t feel right," Rhodey muttered to himself. "Not at all."

 

Bucky, now on the move, muttered under his breath, "This is about to get real ugly."

 

And ugly it was. The Hydra agents had arrived, and they were closing in. The team wasn’t about to let them get any closer, but the stakes were high. This wasn’t just about the mission. It was about keeping Tony out of Hydra’s clutches—before they succeeded in what they’d been trying to do all along.

 

"Let’s move out," Steve barked. "No room for mistakes."

 

Peggy’s eyes were hard with resolve. "Agreed."

 

With weapons drawn and the team moving with military precision, the team sprang into action. They wouldn’t let Hydra take Tony—not on their watch.

 

And Rhodey? For the first time in a long time, he felt like he belonged. He wasn’t just a bystander. He was part of something that mattered. And when Hydra came knocking, they would get a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget.

Chapter 43: Chapter 42

Steve crouched low, his shield gripped tightly in his left hand as he peered around the corner. Two Hydra agents were stationed ahead, their postures relaxed, their weapons slung carelessly. Amateurs.

 

Bucky leaned against the wall next to him, his Vibranium arm glinting faintly in the dim light. "You take left, I take right?"

 

Steve nodded, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Like old times."

 

With that, they moved. Steve sprinted forward with silent precision, throwing his shield in a smooth arc. It struck the left agent’s rifle, sending it clattering to the floor. Before the man could react, Steve was on him, an elbow strike to the temple rendering him unconscious.

 

Bucky was a blur of motion. He closed the gap to the right agent in seconds, his Vibranium arm clamping around the man’s throat in a chokehold. The agent flailed for a moment before slumping.

 

Dragging the unconscious bodies into the shadows, Bucky glanced at Steve, his tone dry. "These Hydra guys are getting soft."

 

Steve adjusted his shield, his blue eyes sharp. "Let’s hope they stay that way. The others need us inside."

 

 

---

 

Tony Stark lounged against the lab counter, his trademark smirk firmly in place as he swirled the tranquilizer syringe between his fingers like a cocktail stirrer. Across from him, Sinthea Schmidt leaned closer, her eyes scanning him with calculated interest.

 

"You’re not like the others," she said, her tone honeyed and smooth. "You’re a man of vision, Tony. Someone who can see the potential for greatness where others see only limitations."

 

Tony raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wow, flattery and vague corporate buzzwords? You really do know how to charm a guy."

 

Sinthea smiled, but it was tight-lipped now. Something in Tony’s gaze unnerved her.

 

The lab door slid open, and the room’s temperature seemed to drop. Harry, clad in his gleaming red-and-gold Revenant armor, entered first, his presence commanding. Natasha followed, her Black Widow suit emphasizing her lethal grace.

 

"Tony," Harry said, his tone even but firm, "time to step away from the snake."

 

Tony blinked, looking between them with mock confusion. "Snake? Wow, harsh. She hasn’t even pitched her pyramid scheme yet."

 

Natasha’s gaze was locked on Sinthea, her voice cool and cutting. "You might want to listen to him, Stark. She’s not who you think she is."

 

Sinthea straightened, her mask of control faltering. "Black Widow," she murmured, her tone laced with disdain. "I should have known." Her eyes flicked to Harry, and recognition dawned as his Vibranium claws extended with a soft snikt.

 

"Der Winterzauberer," she whispered, the name heavy with both reverence and fear.

 

Harry’s green eyes darkened. "Don’t call me that," he said, his voice low and sharp. "I’m not your experiment, and I never will be."

 

Realizing her cover was blown, Sinthea’s hand darted to her pocket. She froze as Tony held up the tranquilizer syringe with a flourish.

 

"Looking for this?" Tony said, his voice now razor-sharp. "What, you think I was born yesterday? I’ve been double-crossed by people way prettier than you."

 

Rhodey’s voice crackled over their comms. "Knew you’d see through it, Tony. But, uh… you might want to step away. Like, now."

 

Tony ignored him, his smirk widening. "By the way, I do have one question—are all Hydra agents this unoriginal, or is it just you?"

 

Sinthea’s composure cracked, fury replacing her earlier charm. "You think you’re so clever," she spat.

 

"Actually, yeah," Tony shot back, glancing at Harry. "I mean, I figured out she was Hydra before you did. Do I get a badge or something?"

 

Harry ignored him, stepping forward. "She’s not just Hydra, Tony," he said, his voice grim. "She’s the Red Skull’s daughter. Or… more accurately, his science experiment."

 

Tony froze, his expression shifting from smugness to genuine shock. "Wait, what? You’re telling me Little Miss L’Oréal over here is Skull Jr.?"

 

Harry’s lips twitched in a humorless smile. "Calling her a daughter’s a stretch. She’s more like a bad knockoff made in a Hydra lab."

 

Tony took a step back, his smirk fading completely. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

 

"You wish," Natasha said flatly, tightening her grip on Sinthea, who had made the mistake of trying to edge away.

 

Peggy and Alexei stepped into the room, flanking the door like sentinels. Peggy’s voice was calm but authoritative. "Let’s secure her and clean this mess up. Hydra doesn’t get a second chance."

 

Alexei grinned, cracking his knuckles loudly. "I’ve been waiting for a chance to punch Hydra again. This feels… nostalgic."

 

Tony glanced over his shoulder at Rhodey, who had just entered with a bemused look. "So, did you know about this, or am I the last one to the party?"

 

Rhodey shrugged. "You’re not last. You’re just slow."

 

Tony groaned, rubbing his temples. "Great. Remind me to rethink my hiring process."

 

Natasha shoved Sinthea into Alexei’s waiting hands. "You should’ve stayed hidden," she said coldly. "Now you’re going to answer for everything you’ve done."

 

Harry watched as Alexei hauled Sinthea away, his claws retracting with a metallic click. "Hydra never learns," he muttered.

 

Tony shot him a dry look. "Yeah, well, maybe next time we lead with ‘Hey, Tony, she’s a supervillain.’ Would’ve saved me the headache."

 

Harry smirked. "You’ll survive."

 

Tony shook his head, muttering under his breath as Rhodey clapped him on the shoulder. "Good job not getting killed, Tony. Always proud."

 

Peggy glanced at Steve and Bucky as they entered, their expressions tense but relieved. "Is everyone accounted for?"

 

Steve nodded. "Two Hydra agents down. No alarms triggered."

 

"Teamwork," Bucky added with a rare smirk.

 

Tony sighed dramatically. "Yeah, teamwork. So glad I’m part of it."

 

Natasha smirked as she walked past him. "You’ll live, Stark."

 

Tony watched her go, shaking his head. "You know, for once, I miss the boring classes."

 

—

 

The tension in the room started to settle as Alexei dragged a kicking and snarling Sinthea toward the corner. "Hydra. Bah. I should have crushed you all like cockroaches long ago," Alexei muttered in his thick accent, shaking his head in disgust.

 

"You talk a lot for someone who’s out of breath," Sinthea sneered, her pride clearly outweighing her current predicament.

 

"Out of breath? Ha! I wrestle bears for fun!" Alexei shot back. He tightened his grip on her arm. "You, Red Skull Barbie, are no bear."

 

Peggy trailed after them, her pistol trained on the two unconscious Hydra agents sprawled on the floor. She glanced at Bucky, who was securing their wrists with zip ties.

 

"Just like old times, huh, Carter?" Bucky quipped, yanking a little harder on the ties than necessary.

 

"Except now the villains are even more melodramatic," Peggy replied dryly. She tilted her head toward Sinthea. "Genetically engineered offspring of Red Skull? Truly, Hydra's flair for the absurd knows no bounds."

 

Alexei barked a laugh. "At least this one—how do you Americans say—upgraded the family face, yes? Red Skull was..." He gestured vaguely at his own face, wincing. "Very unfortunate."

 

Sinthea glared daggers at him but kept her mouth shut, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line.

 

 

---

 

On the other side of the room, Tony Stark was fully in his element, pacing like a caffeinated showman. "Alright, here’s the thing," he began, spinning dramatically to face Rhodey. "When she said—wait for it—that she transferred from Caltech to MIT in her final year," he emphasized with a theatrical gasp, "I immediately thought, ‘No one pulls off an academic switcharoo like that. Not without raising, you know, all the red flags.’"

 

Rhodey nodded, arms crossed, his expression a perfect blend of exasperation and amusement. "Exactly! I told you it didn’t add up!"

 

"Right?!" Tony threw his hands in the air, pointing emphatically at Rhodey as if he’d just cracked the Da Vinci Code. "And that’s why I decided, ‘Hey, let’s play along. Let’s see where this goes.’ Because I knew—knew—that when things inevitably went sideways, you’d do the responsible thing and call Daddy Stark."

 

Rhodey gave him a deadpan look. "You’re welcome, by the way."

 

"Classic Rhodey," Tony continued, ignoring the comment. "Always doing the heavy lifting. Meanwhile, I—being the genius, billionaire, philanthropist that I am—was already five moves ahead."

 

"Is that what you’re calling it?" Rhodey arched an eyebrow. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were walking face-first into a trap."

 

Tony scoffed, waving the accusation away like an annoying fly. "Details. The important thing is, I was pretending to be caught off guard. That, my friends, is how you do espionage—Stark-style."

 

Natasha, leaning casually against a wall, snorted. "Reckless and half-baked, you mean."

 

Tony spun on his heel to face her, finger raised. "Hey. Reckless, yes. But half-baked? Excuse you, Ms. Widow. I’m fully baked. Borderline overcooked, even."

 

Harry, standing nearby in his gleaming red-and-gold armor, couldn’t suppress a smirk. Tony’s eyes locked onto him, and he gestured broadly at the younger hero, his expression shifting to one of exaggerated awe. "And speaking of baked," he said, "what’s this? New suit? Because let me tell you, the red and gold is working for you, kid. So much better than that edgy ‘dark knight’ vibe you had going on before."

 

Harry inclined his head slightly. "Figured it was time for a change. Can’t let you hog all the style points."

 

Tony pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense. "Hog? Hog?! I don’t hog style points. I’m their rightful owner. But seriously," he stepped closer, inspecting Harry’s armor with a critical eye, "what’s this thing made of? Vibranium? Enchanted dragon scales? Adamantium alloy dipped in unicorn tears?"

 

Harry chuckled, the sound echoing lightly through his helmet. "Let’s just say it’s built to last."

 

"Speaking of magic..." Rhodey, standing a few feet away, pointed toward the shimmering portal Harry was casually conjuring in mid-air. "So, uh, are we just gonna gloss over the fact that this guy can open wormholes now? Is no one else mildly freaked out by this?"

 

Tony froze, his eyes widening as he whirled to face the swirling gateway. "Oh. My. God." He approached it with the reverence of a man staring into the Ark of the Covenant. "This is amazing. It’s like a Stargate, but sleeker. And without all the clunky tech. How does it work? Wait, don’t tell me—magic, right? But it’s gotta follow some kind of physical laws. Conservation of energy? Quantum stabilization?"

 

"Pretty sure it’s just magic," Harry replied with a shrug.

 

Tony turned, scandalized. "Just magic? Kid, there’s no such thing as just magic. Magic is science we haven’t figured out yet. And you’re just sitting on this? You’ve been holding out on me!"

 

As Tony and Rhodey continued to geek out over the portal, Harry allowed himself a small smile. Moments like this—amidst the chaos and danger—were why he trusted these people. They could find levity even in the darkest situations.

 

But the levity was short-lived.

 

The sharp crack of a gunshot ripped through the room, silencing the banter instantly. Time seemed to slow as Rhodey staggered forward, his face contorting in pain. A dark red stain spread rapidly across his back as he collapsed to the floor.

 

"Rhodey!" Tony’s voice cracked, panic overtaking his usual bravado as he dropped to his knees beside his friend.

 

Natasha was already moving, her guns drawn as she scanned the shadows. Harry’s claws extended with a metallic snikt, his glowing eyes narrowing as he turned toward the rafters.

 

Alexei yanked Peggy behind cover, his face set in grim determination. "Sniper," Peggy said, her voice low but steady. "Above us."

 

Harry’s magic flared, his armor humming with power. "I’ll find them," he said, his tone cold and sharp. "Stay with Rhodey."

 

Tony was already pressing his hands to the wound, his voice shaking. "You’re gonna be fine, Rhodey. You hear me? Fine. Because if you’re not, I swear I’ll—" His voice broke, and he shook his head. "I’ll figure something out. I always do."

 

Natasha knelt beside him, her voice calm and firm. "We’ve got this, Stark. Go, Harry."

 

Harry nodded and stepped through the portal, his armor glowing brighter as he disappeared into the unknown, hunting the unseen threat with deadly precision.

 

—

 

The rooftop was eerily quiet as Harry stepped through the portal. His red-and-gold armor shimmered in the moonlight, the runes etched into its surface faintly glowing. The scent of gunpowder still hung in the air, mingling with the distant hum of the city below. His sharp green eyes locked onto the sniper crouched near the edge, fumbling with something in his hand.

 

Harry’s voice cut through the silence, cold and commanding. "Drop it. Now."

 

The sniper froze but didn’t comply. Instead, with a defiant sneer, he brought a small, glinting pill to his lips.

 

Harry groaned, exasperated. "Really? Suicide pill? That’s so cliché."

 

The man smirked. "Hail Hydra."

 

"Yeah, yeah. Hail this."

 

With a swift flick of his wrist, Harry sent a golden Stunner spell hurtling through the air. It struck the sniper square in the chest, and the man went rigid before collapsing in a heap. The pill rolled harmlessly away, clinking against the rooftop.

 

Harry approached, muttering under his breath. "You Hydra guys really need a new playbook." He crouched down, double-checking that the man was out cold. "Alright, Sleeping Beauty, let’s get you back to the party."

 

Effortlessly, Harry hoisted the sniper over his shoulder, the armor’s enhanced strength making the weight negligible. With a quick incantation, another portal spun into existence.

 

---

 

The scene was pure chaos.

 

Tony Stark was kneeling beside Rhodey, his hands slick with blood as he pressed a wad of cloth against the wound. "Stay with me, Rhodey. You’re not checking out yet, alright? I mean, who’s going to roast me during board meetings if you’re not around?"

 

Rhodey groaned, his voice weak but still laced with his signature dry wit. "Pretty sure... you roast yourself... enough for the both of us."

 

Tony’s laugh was strained, almost manic. "That’s the spirit, buddy. Keep the sass coming. I need it."

 

Natasha was standing guard, her sharp eyes scanning the room for any lingering threats. Peggy was securing the unconscious Hydra agents, her movements precise and methodical. Alexei was pacing, muttering something in Russian about how much he hated snipers.

 

Then, Harry stepped through the portal, the unconscious sniper slung over his shoulder.

 

"Got him," Harry announced, dropping the man unceremoniously onto the floor. The thud drew everyone’s attention.

 

Tony glanced up, his expression a mixture of relief and frustration. "Oh great, the wizard shows up with the guy who shot my best friend. Perfect timing as always, Potter."

 

"Good to see you too, Stark," Harry shot back, his tone dry.

 

Natasha crouched beside the sniper, checking him over. "He’s out cold. Nice work."

 

"Yeah, well, he tried the whole ‘Hail Hydra, swallow the pill’ thing," Harry said, gesturing vaguely. "Had to knock him out before he went full spy-movie dramatic."

 

"Classic Hydra," Peggy muttered, shaking her head.

 

Harry’s gaze shifted to Rhodey, who was pale but still conscious. "How’s he doing?"

 

Tony’s voice was sharp. "Bleeding. Profusely. Thanks for asking."

 

Rhodey managed a faint smirk. "He’s being... dramatic. It’s just a flesh wound."

 

Tony’s head snapped toward him. "Oh, a flesh wound? Excuse me, Colonel, but I’m pretty sure flesh wounds don’t involve this much blood. Just saying."

 

"Tony, shut up and focus," Natasha cut in, her voice steady. "Harry, can you get us to a healer? Now."

 

"Already on it." Harry extended his hands, summoning another portal. This one opened to the New York safehouse, the cozy interior glowing warmly through the shimmering gateway.

 

"Andromeda!" Harry called out, his voice urgent. "Ted! We’ve got an emergency!"

 

A moment later, Andromeda Tonks appeared, her sharp features calm yet commanding. Her gaze immediately fell on Rhodey, and she didn’t waste a second. "Bring him through. Quickly."

 

Harry and Natasha lifted Rhodey carefully, carrying him through the portal. Tony followed close behind, his usually cocky demeanor replaced by raw, unfiltered worry.

 

---

 

The safehouse was suddenly alive with activity. Ted Tonks rushed into the room, already rolling up his sleeves, while Andromeda began casting diagnostic spells over Rhodey.

 

"Lay him here," she ordered, gesturing to a sturdy table. "We need to stabilize him immediately."

 

Tony hovered nervously, pacing back and forth. "Okay, magic doctors. You’ve got this, right? I mean, you’ve dealt with worse, haven’t you? Like... I don’t know, magical dragon wounds or something?"

 

Andromeda didn’t even glance at him. "Quiet. And yes, we’ve dealt with worse. But I need focus."

 

Tony threw up his hands. "Right, of course. Focus. I’m totally focused. Except my best friend is currently bleeding out, and I’m about two seconds away from having a heart attack, but sure, no pressure."

 

Rhodey groaned, his voice barely above a whisper. "Stark... stop... talking."

 

"Hey, you’re the one who got shot, not me!" Tony snapped, his voice breaking.

 

"Exactly... so shut up... and let the nice magic lady... save my life," Rhodey rasped.

 

Harry smirked from the corner. "Still has his sense of humor. That’s a good sign."

 

Tony shot him a glare. "Not the time, Potter."

 

Ted approached Tony, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "He’ll pull through. Andromeda’s the best there is."

 

Tony exhaled shakily, nodding. "Yeah, okay. Good. Because if he doesn’t, I’m going to personally hunt down every last Hydra agent on the planet and make them regret ever being born."

 

"Noted," Harry said dryly.

 

As Andromeda worked, her spells weaving a golden glow over Rhodey’s wound, the tension in the room began to ease. Ted handed her various potions and salves, and within moments, Rhodey’s breathing became steadier.

 

Tony, unable to resist, leaned in. "So... is that some kind of magical antiseptic? Or are you just showing off with the glowy stuff?"

 

Andromeda shot him a sharp look. "Mr. Stark, if you don’t sit down and let me work, I will hex your mouth shut."

 

Harry snorted. "I’d pay to see that."

 

Rhodey chuckled weakly. "So would I."

 

Tony threw up his hands. "Unbelievable. I’m surrounded by ingrates."

 

"Welcome to the club," Harry quipped, earning a faint smirk from Natasha.

 

For the first time that night, the room felt lighter. But Harry’s gaze shifted to the unconscious sniper still slumped in the corner.

 

"Once Rhodey’s stable," he said, his voice cold, "we’re going to find out who sent that guy. And they’re going to regret it."

 

Tony’s expression hardened. "Damn right they will."

 

—

 

With the hallway outside humming with activity—Tony pacing like a caged animal, Peggy keeping watch, and Harry deep in conversation with Natasha about interrogation strategies—Andromeda and Ted stood side by side, focused on their most immediate concern: Rhodey.

 

Rhodey lay on the operating table, still conscious, though his face was pale and slick with sweat. His breathing was shallow, his lips pressed into a thin line, and yet, his trademark dry wit was still intact.

 

"So, you're telling me," Rhodey croaked, his voice raspy and tinged with pain, "you're going to pull a bullet out of my spine with... magic?"

 

Andromeda, her face calm but her eyes sharp, gave him a small, reassuring smile as she adjusted her wand. "With magic and precision. You’re in good hands, Mr. Rhodes. Don’t worry."

 

Ted, ever the realist, snorted as he prepared a tray of potions and surgical tools. "If it were just me, I’d be calling for an ambulance. But Andromeda’s magic is the real deal. You’re lucky she’s here."

 

"Comforting," Rhodey deadpanned, his lips curling into the faintest of grins despite the pain. "Just remember, I don't do well with needles."

 

"Mr. Rhodes," Andromeda said, her voice shifting to a more serious tone, "this is delicate. The bullet is lodged dangerously close to your spinal cord. One wrong move, and—"

 

"I end up in a wheelchair, joining the exclusive club of 'guys who make bad life choices,'" Rhodey finished, his eyes gleaming with the stubborn determination that had always been his trademark. "Got it. I’ll be on my best behavior."

 

Andromeda didn’t waste energy on responding to his sarcastic quip. Instead, she waved her wand, and a translucent, three-dimensional image of Rhodey’s spine appeared above him, glowing softly. The bullet, as expected, was perilously close to a nerve cluster. One wrong move could mean permanent damage.

 

Ted, his face grim but focused, whistled low. "Damn. Hydra sure doesn't pull punches."

 

"Focus, Ted," Andromeda snapped, though there was no real heat in her tone. Her gaze never left the magical projection.

 

Ted nodded, suddenly dead serious. He handed her a thin, silver instrument that resembled a pair of tongs but was enchanted to respond only to her will. "Got the stabilization charm ready. Just give the word."

 

Andromeda gave a single nod, her voice steady as she addressed Rhodey. "Alright, Mr. Rhodes, this is going to be uncomfortable. Hold still."

 

Rhodey smirked despite the situation. "Uncomfortable? Lady, I’ve been shot. I’ve got a pretty high bar for 'uncomfortable.'"

 

"Good to know," Andromeda replied dryly, though a hint of amusement crept into her voice. "Let’s see if this one meets the mark."

 

With a sharp flick of her wand, Andromeda summoned the tongs and hovered them above the embedded bullet. Ted held his wand steady, the magical image of Rhodey’s spine glowing brighter under the charm’s influence.

 

Slowly, carefully, Andromeda guided the tongs toward the bullet, her eyes narrowing in concentration. Sweat trickled down her temple as the task demanded all of her focus. Every movement had to be precise.

 

Rhodey, for his part, was quiet now, his face taut with determination, his hands gripping the edges of the table. He exhaled sharply, feeling every nerve on edge.

 

"So... if I make it through this, I get a lollipop, right? Or is that just for the kids?" Rhodey quipped, trying to distract himself from the pain.

 

Ted couldn’t help it. He let out a chuckle, his voice low. "I think Stark’s got a stash of them somewhere. Maybe after you're done being a hero."

 

Andromeda didn’t take her eyes off her work. "Almost there, just... a little more..."

 

The bullet finally came free, making a soft ping as it dropped into the small dish Ted had prepared for it. Rhodey’s body seemed to relax in the aftermath, his breath escaping in a relieved exhale.

 

Andromeda immediately followed up with a series of healing charms. The magic stitched the damaged tissue together, and she carefully administered a potion designed to accelerate healing and reduce inflammation. Rhodey swallowed it with minimal protest, his eyes still half-lidded from the pain.

 

"There," Andromeda said, stepping back with a small but genuine sigh of relief. "The bullet’s out, and you’ll live. But you’re not out of the woods yet. Rest and monitoring are a must."

 

Rhodey cracked one eye open, staring up at her, then let out a tired but amused smirk. "So... no lollipop? Not even a get well soon card?"

 

Ted burst out laughing. "Mr. Rhodes, you really are something else."

 

Andromeda rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You’ll get your lollipop when you can walk out of here on your own two feet. Until then, no sweet treats."

 

Rhodey grinned faintly. "Deal."

 

---

 

Tony was pacing outside the makeshift medical room, his hands running through his hair, his face tight with worry. He was trying to mask the tension, but it was clear from the way his eyes flickered to the door every few seconds that he was on edge. When Andromeda emerged, wiping her hands on a cloth, he practically pounced on her.

 

"Is he okay? Did you get it out? Is he—"

 

"He’s fine, Tony," Andromeda interrupted, her voice calm but firm. "The bullet’s out, and there doesn’t appear to be any permanent damage. But you need to get him to rest. Rest, Tony—no heroics."

 

Tony let out a breath he’d been holding for too long. His shoulders sagged with a weight that seemed to finally lift. "Got it. No heroics. For now."

 

Andromeda gave him a pointed, almost warning look. "For his sake, stick to it."

 

As she turned to walk away, Tony caught her arm for a second, a rare moment of sincerity flickering in his eyes. "Thanks, Andromeda. Seriously."

 

She gave him a small nod, the weight of her words heavy. "You're welcome. Just... keep him down, okay?"

 

Tony watched her go, his gaze softening. He turned to Harry, who had been standing nearby, observing the whole exchange.

 

"Guess I owe you one, Potter," Tony said, managing a smirk despite his exhaustion.

 

Harry raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. "You owe me more than one, Stark. But hey, who’s counting?"

 

"Me," Tony shot back, his usual snark returning in full force. "I’m a billionaire, remember? I count everything."

 

From inside the medical room, Rhodey’s voice suddenly cut through, weak but unmistakable.

 

"Stark! Shut up! And bring me that damn lollipop."

 

Tony and Harry exchanged a look before both of them burst out laughing. The tension in the air evaporated, if only for a moment, as the camaraderie between them all took center stage.

 

—

 

The thick door to the interrogation room groaned as Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Alexei Shostakov walked in, flanking their four prisoners. Sinthea Schmidt led the procession, her hands bound in enchanted restraints, a sharp edge of defiance in her steely eyes. The two Hydra agents were close behind her, their expressions carefully blank, but their tense postures told a different story. The sniper lagged slightly at the back, his eyes darting around nervously as if searching for an exit that didn’t exist.

 

The safehouse was spartan—cold fluorescent lights flickering overhead, the kind that made everything feel a little too clinical, a little too unwelcoming. A simple metal table sat in the center of the room, four uncomfortable chairs on either side. The atmosphere hummed with the tension of anticipation, the kind of energy that always preceded one of Steve’s "talks."

 

Steve didn’t waste any time. He strode into the room, his gaze sweeping over each prisoner. "Sit them down," he ordered in his usual no-nonsense tone, voice as steady as the calm before a storm.

 

Bucky stepped into the room behind him, his eyes already narrowed, taking in the prisoners with the same cold precision that had served him well through years of wars and covert operations. He leaned against the wall by the door, arms folded across his chest, muscles tensed, his metal arm reflecting the dim light.

 

Alexei lumbered into the room next, the air around him crackling with an energy that screamed "I’ve been waiting for this." He cracked his knuckles audibly, grinning like a bear eyeing a honey pot. The Russian’s bulk made him seem more like a force of nature than a person, his body radiating a kind of intimidating calm.

 

Steve gestured toward the table with a slight flick of his hand. "Have a seat, Schmidt," he said, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of menace.

 

Sinthea smirked but complied, sitting down with a defiant tilt of her chin. The two Hydra agents followed suit, sitting in stony silence. The sniper, shifting uncomfortably in his restraints, took the final chair.

 

Steve moved to the head of the table, his blue eyes piercing as they locked onto Sinthea. "So, you’ve got a pretty big problem on your hands, don’t you? A failed mission. A sixteen-year-old Tony Stark was your bait. You think you can just waltz in and play the system?"

 

Bucky snorted from the corner. "Oh, yeah. Real smart move, Schmidt. A teenage genius who can hack the Pentagon before breakfast and make a killer espresso in the afternoon. The kid’s so easy to fool."

 

Alexei let out a deep chuckle, leaning forward on his elbows, eyes dancing with amusement. "And who thought that would work? Maybe in some Hydra fantasy land where everybody's dumb enough to believe that Tony Stark would be taken in by a pretty face."

 

Sinthea’s gaze flickered, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she said nothing. She was studying them, evaluating them, a predator sizing up its prey before making a move.

 

Steve’s jaw clenched as he leaned forward, his hands resting on the metal table, fingers digging into the cold surface. "We’re not here to talk about how clever you think you are. We’re here to talk about why you thought it was a good idea to use a sixteen-year-old boy as leverage. A kid who’s been in the crosshairs of Hydra since day one."

 

Bucky’s voice was dark and laced with frustration. "You didn’t even think this through, did you? What did you think, Schmidt? That Stark was just gonna fall for your little ‘honeypot’ and tell you all his secrets?"

 

Alexei barked a laugh, shaking his head. "I’ll give you credit. You’ve got guts. But that’s about it. I’m guessing Tony didn’t even break a sweat while you were playing him. Did you think he wouldn’t catch on to the fact that you were reading from the same tired old Hydra playbook?"

 

Tony’s name hung in the air like a taunt. The mere mention of him seemed to rattle Sinthea just enough for a flicker of emotion to cross her otherwise impassive face. But it was only for a second.

 

"I don’t need to explain myself to you," Sinthea snapped, her voice dripping with disdain. "You’ll never understand what Hydra is trying to do."

 

Steve’s gaze hardened. "Try me."

 

Bucky stepped closer, leaning on the back of a chair, arms crossed. "Listen, sweetheart. We’ve been around the block a few times, okay? We know how this game’s played. So cut the crap and tell us what the hell Hydra was really after."

 

Alexei gave a theatrical yawn, stretching his arms above his head. "Come on, this is getting boring. You can either talk to us, or you can talk to... other people. Your choice." His eyes glinted with amusement, clearly enjoying the power dynamic more than he was letting on.

 

But Sinthea wasn’t fazed. "You think you’re so clever," she said coldly, narrowing her eyes. "You really have no idea what Hydra’s after. This was never about Stark. This was always about something bigger. It was about testing how they would react to an unexpected target. We wanted to see if you could be caught off guard. And you were."

 

Steve’s brow furrowed. "Caught off guard? You’re telling me this was just... a test?"

 

"A test," Sinthea confirmed, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "And you failed."

 

Bucky tilted his head, his voice low. "You’ve gotta be kidding me. A test? You risked a sixteen-year-old boy’s life just to see if we’d bite?"

 

Alexei cracked his knuckles, his grin only widening. "Sounds like someone’s been taking notes from the school of bad guys 101."

 

But Steve wasn’t going to let her derail the conversation. "Who’s really behind this, Schmidt?" His voice dropped, as sharp as the steel of his shield. "Who’s calling the shots?"

 

But instead of answering, Sinthea simply stared at him, her eyes gleaming with something dark and self-satisfied.

 

Steve’s hand tightened around the back of the chair, his patience running thin. "Last chance, Schmidt. Why Tony Stark? And what’s Hydra really trying to achieve?"

 

Before she could answer, the door to the room swung open, and Tony Stark sauntered in, wearing his usual cocky grin, arms crossed over his chest. His presence immediately shifted the energy in the room. Where Steve was the calm and collected leader, Tony was the storm that rolled in without warning, throwing everyone off balance.

 

“Well, well, well," Tony said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he looked at the Hydra agents like they were a group of preschoolers. "This is just too cute. Captain, I’m disappointed. You’re letting these amateurs hold the stage? I thought we were doing this properly."

 

Steve rolled his eyes. "Tony, don’t make this harder than it needs to be."

 

Tony ignored him, eyes locked onto Sinthea. "So, you’re the mastermind behind the daring attempt to turn me into the next Bond villain’s pet? You thought you could trick me, huh?" He leaned forward, his smirk widening. "Tell me, how’d that feel when you realized I was playing you the whole time? I mean, it was almost too easy."

 

Sinthea’s jaw clenched, her eyes flashing with something deeper than irritation. She’d underestimated Stark—and now it was painfully clear.

 

Tony looked over at Steve. "So, what’s the plan here, Cap? I’m dying to know what else Hydra was cooking up." His eyes flicked back to Sinthea. "I mean, I know they love their little schemes. But this one? A little too on-the-nose, even for them."

 

The tension in the room mounted, the unspoken question hanging heavy: Was she really going to crack under Tony’s unrelenting barrage of confidence and wit, or was there more to Hydra’s plot that they hadn’t uncovered yet? Only time—and Sinthea—would tell.

Chapter 44: Chapter 43

Andromeda Tonks stood over James "Rhodey" Rhodes’ cot, her wand held steady in her hand. Its tip glowed softly, casting a warm light on Rhodey’s tired face. Beside her, Ted Tonks adjusted a modified Muggle medical device—a Frankenstein’s monster of wires, tubes, and spell-infused crystals. The device hummed faintly, a blend of technology and magic barely holding itself together.

 

Rhodey stirred, letting out a low groan. His face was pale, the strain of his injury visible even in sleep. The bullet had been removed, but the damage to his spine had been severe. Magic had stabilized him, but recovery was going to be a long, uphill battle.

 

Ted sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose as he stepped back. "Alright," he muttered, running a hand through his graying hair. "Good news and bad news time. The good news? The healing spells are doing their job. The bad news?" He gestured to the magical braces encasing Rhodey’s legs. "It’s going to take months—months—before he’s back on his feet."

 

Andromeda frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. She leaned over Rhodey, her gaze flicking to the magical monitor displaying his vitals. "Months? Even with magical enhancements to speed up nerve regrowth?"

 

Ted nodded, his face grim. "We’ve done all we can to stabilize him. But nerve damage...it’s tricky. Delicate. If we push too hard—"

 

"We could do more harm than good," Andromeda finished for him, her voice sharp with concern.

 

Rhodey’s eyes cracked open, his voice groggy but unmistakably his. "Y’know, I can hear you two, right?" he rasped. "I’m not a corpse yet."

 

Andromeda leaned in, gently but firmly pressing him back down as he tried to sit up. "You’re not dead, Mr. Rhodes. But you’ll wish you were if you keep trying to move."

 

"Yeah, yeah," Rhodey muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "Spinal injuries are no joke. Got it." He winced, then smirked faintly. "But seriously, any chance you two could work quieter? Feels like I got hit by a truck."

 

"Close," Ted quipped, his tone dry. "More like a Hydra bullet. You’re lucky it didn’t sever your spine completely."

 

Rhodey huffed a weak laugh. "Lucky me. What’s next? Magic rehab sessions?"

 

Andromeda smiled despite herself. "Something like that. But only if you behave and rest. No heroics."

 

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. "Heroics? Me? Nah, I’ll leave that to Stark. He’s got enough ‘hero’ for both of us."

 

Ted chuckled as he double-checked the device. "Good plan. And hey, if Tony gets too cocky, Andromeda here might be tempted to hex him."

 

"Tempted?" Andromeda shot Ted a look. "It’s already on my to-do list."

 

Rhodey snorted, though the effort clearly cost him. "Do me a favor—film it when you do. I’ll need the laugh."

 

Andromeda gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. "Rest now. You’re in good hands."

 

"Better than Stark’s hands, that’s for damn sure," Rhodey mumbled as his eyes slid shut, exhaustion overtaking him again.

 

---

 

The tension was thick enough to cut with Cap’s shield. Tony Stark leaned casually against the wall, but the sharpness in his eyes gave away his impatience. His fingers drummed against the metal surface as he watched the Hydra prisoners, his gaze shifting between Sinthea Schmidt and the sniper.

 

"So," Tony drawled, finally breaking the silence, "what’s the verdict, Cap? Hydra Barbie spilling her evil master plan, or are we just playing the silent treatment game?"

 

Steve Rogers, standing at the head of the table, barely glanced at him. His jaw was set, his blue eyes locked on Sinthea with unyielding intensity. "We’re working on it, Tony."

 

Tony pushed off the wall, his arms spreading wide as he walked toward the table. "Working on it? Steve, c’mon. She’s practically begging for the villain monologue. Why don’t we just let her do her thing? Y’know, the whole ‘I’m evil, here’s my diabolical plan’ routine."

 

Sinthea’s lips curved into a cold smile, her voice silky and mocking. "And what makes you think I’d tell you anything, Stark?"

 

Tony smirked, leaning over the table to meet her gaze. "Because, Schmidt, people like you can’t resist the spotlight. You’ve got a big ol’ neon sign over your head that says, ‘Ask me about my evil plan.’ And lucky for you, I’m a great listener."

 

From his corner, Bucky Barnes crossed his arms, his sharp blue eyes boring into the sniper, who squirmed under the intensity of his gaze. "Tony," Bucky said evenly, "maybe let Steve handle this?"

 

Tony threw a hand toward Bucky, not breaking eye contact with Sinthea. "I’m just saying, Buck. You want intel? Let her talk. Bad guys love to talk. It’s like their whole thing. Rule #1 in the Villain Handbook."

 

Alexei Shostakov, slouched in a chair near the back, chuckled. "He’s not wrong."

 

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly debating whether to reprimand Tony or let him keep going. "Tony," he said evenly, "maybe you should check on Rhodey."

 

The smirk faltered for half a second, replaced by a flicker of genuine concern. But Tony recovered quickly, straightening up with a dramatic flourish. "Fine. But if I come back and Hydra Barbie hasn’t sung like a canary, I’m bringing my portable lie detector. Spoiler alert: it’s me."

 

He turned to leave, pausing at the door to toss one last remark over his shoulder. "Enjoy the hospitality, Schmidt. Don’t get too comfortable, though. Cap’s speeches can really drag."

 

As the door swung shut behind him, the room fell silent except for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights.

 

Steve let out a long sigh, his focus snapping back to Sinthea. "Now, where were we?"

 

"Somewhere between boring and insufferable," Sinthea said dryly, her smirk returning.

 

Bucky cracked his knuckles, his expression as cold as winter. "We’ll see how funny you think this is when you start talking."

 

Alexei leaned back in his chair, grinning. "I like this one," he said, pointing at Bucky. "Very dramatic. Like a Russian winter."

 

Steve ignored them, his voice sharp as he addressed Sinthea. "You’ve got one chance to make this easy on yourself. Tell us what Hydra’s planning."

 

Sinthea’s smile widened, but she said nothing.

 

From his corner, Alexei shrugged. "Well, this is going to take a while. Someone wake me when she cracks."

 

—

 

The door to the safehouse burst open with the kind of force only someone like Nick Fury could bring, though his entrance was overshadowed by the click of polished Oxfords on concrete as Howard Stark sauntered in behind him. The elder Stark looked as though he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ, perfectly tailored suit, silk tie slightly loosened, and a cigarette dangling from his lips.

 

Howard surveyed the room like he was back at a board meeting and had already decided everyone else was an idiot. "Well, well, look at this charming little death trap you’ve got going. How’s my favorite son holding up?"

 

"Favorite?" Tony Stark, sprawled on the couch with an ice pack on his shoulder, barely glanced up. "Newsflash, pops. I’m your only son. And I’m thriving, thanks for asking. A little sore, maybe, but nothing a martini and some dadly validation wouldn’t fix."

 

Howard flicked his cigarette into an ashtray with practiced precision. "Validation? From me? What am I, your therapist?"

 

"Could’ve fooled me," Tony shot back, wincing as he shifted to sit up straighter. "You’ve got that 'disappointed parent' thing down to a science."

 

"Years of practice," Howard said with a smirk, then turned his attention to the others. "Where’s Rhodes? I heard he took a hit."

 

Steve Rogers stepped forward, ever the boy scout. His face was a mix of exhaustion and determination. "He’s in the med bay. He’s stable, but he needs rest. Ted and Andromeda are taking good care of him."

 

Howard gave a tight nod. "Good. Kid’s got more brains than you do, Anthony, and better taste in friends." His eyes flicked to Steve, then to Bucky Barnes, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement. "Speaking of which... Sergeant Barnes. You ever gonna say hi, or are you too busy perfecting your ‘mysterious loner’ act?"

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Hi, Howard. Nice suit. Didn’t realize we were supposed to dress for cocktail hour."

 

"Always dress like you’ve got somewhere better to be," Howard replied smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks. "Not that I’d expect you to understand, what with the whole ‘grunge assassin’ aesthetic you’ve got going."

 

Bucky smirked, pushing off the wall. "Careful, Stark. I might start thinking you missed me."

 

Howard chuckled. "Missed you? Don’t flatter yourself, kid."

 

Before the banter could escalate, Nick Fury cleared his throat—a sound that commanded instant silence. He strode into the center of the room, his trench coat billowing slightly, with Maria Hill on his heels. Fury’s single eye scanned the group like a hawk sizing up prey.

 

"All right, fun’s over," Fury said, his voice like gravel soaked in whiskey. "We’ve got a Hydra agent in the next room who knows more than she’s saying, and I don’t have the patience for games. Stark, Stark Junior, Rogers, Barnes—you’re all staying out of my way."

 

Tony raised a hand. "Uh, excuse me, ‘Junior?’ Do I look like a backup singer to you?"

 

Fury didn’t even blink. "You look like someone who needs to shut up and let the adults talk."

 

"Ouch," Tony said, clutching his chest. "Right in the ego. You been practicing that, or does it just come naturally?"

 

"Naturally," Maria Hill interjected dryly, scrolling through her tablet. "And for the record, he’s right. You’ve already got enough bruises without adding to them."

 

"Thanks, Hill," Tony deadpanned. "Always a ray of sunshine."

 

Howard smirked. "She’s got a point. You’re like a magnet for bad decisions, Anthony."

 

"And yet, here you are," Tony shot back, gesturing broadly. "Dragging your self-proclaimed superior intellect into my safehouse. What’s the matter, Dad? Couldn’t stay away?"

 

Howard ignored the jab, turning back to Fury. "So, what’s the plan with Schmidt?"

 

"Interrogation," Fury said bluntly, already moving toward the door. "Hill and I’ll handle it. The rest of you stay here and try not to burn the place down."

 

Steve stepped forward, frowning. "She’s dangerous, Fury. You sure you don’t need backup?"

 

Fury turned, leveling Steve with a look that could have frozen fire. "Captain, you’re a national treasure, but I don’t need backup. I need results. And you’re more useful out here making sure Stark doesn’t blow something up."

 

Steve pressed his lips together, clearly unhappy but willing to defer. "Just… be careful. She’s Hydra. That means she’s always got an angle."

 

"Appreciate the concern," Fury said, his tone making it clear he didn’t. "Now, if you’ll excuse me."

 

As Fury and Hill disappeared into the interrogation room, Howard turned back to Tony, hands on his hips. "So, Anthony, what exactly did you do to piss off Hydra this time?"

 

Tony grinned. "Oh, you know. Existing. Being devastatingly handsome. Inventing world-changing tech. The usual."

 

Howard sighed, rubbing his temples. "You’re going to give me a stroke one of these days."

 

"Yeah, well," Tony said, leaning back on the couch with a smirk. "If it happens, I’m putting ‘caused by excessive genius’ on the death certificate."

 

---

 

Sinthea Schmidt sat chained to the table, her crimson hair a wild halo around her face. She looked up as Nick Fury entered, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her cold blue eyes.

 

"Director Fury," she drawled, her voice laced with mockery. "And the ever-efficient Maria Hill. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

 

Fury didn’t sit, looming over her instead. "Save the charm, Schmidt. I’m not here for pleasantries."

 

"That’s a shame," she purred. "I’d hoped for some stimulating conversation."

 

Maria folded her arms, leaning against the wall. "You want stimulation? Try answering our questions. What’s Hydra planning?"

 

Sinthea chuckled, leaning back in her chair. "And what makes you think I’d tell you anything? Loyalty is more than a word to us, Director."

 

Fury leaned in, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Loyalty doesn’t mean much when Hydra’s already sharpening the knife for your back. You’re expendable, Schmidt. They’ll cut you loose the second you’re more trouble than you’re worth."

 

For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Sinthea’s face. Fury caught it, pressing the advantage.

 

"Talk," he said, his tone like steel. "Because the only thing worse than Hydra is me. And right now? I’m the only thing standing between you and a very messy end."

 

—

 

Tony Stark and Howard Stark entered the dimly lit room with an air of quiet urgency. The soft hum of magical devices filled the space, merging with the faint whir of Muggle technology, creating an odd symphony that only people like Tony could appreciate. Tony’s eyes quickly found Rhodey’s cot. The sight of his best friend, laying there unconscious with magical braces wrapped around his legs, hit him harder than he'd care to admit.

 

Despite his usual bravado, Tony’s lips tightened, and a flicker of worry passed across his face before he masked it with his characteristic smirk.

 

“Hey, how’s he doing?” Tony asked, trying to sound casual but not quite pulling it off.

 

Andromeda Tonks, standing beside the bed, met his gaze and sighed. “The bullet’s out, Tony. Magic’s stabilized him for now, but...”

 

Tony’s eyes darkened as she trailed off, already knowing what was coming. He stepped forward, carefully examining the magical braces around Rhodey’s legs.

 

Ted Tonks, standing near a modified Muggle medical device—a strange contraption of wires, tubes, and glowing crystals—let out a long breath. “Nerve damage,” he said flatly. “Magic or no magic, it’s a long road. He won’t be walking unassisted for months.”

 

“Months?” Tony’s voice dropped, the smirk slipping from his face. He ran a hand through his hair, his usual playful demeanor faltering for a second as he looked at his unconscious friend. “You’re telling me... months?”

 

Ted nodded, a grim look on his face. “The healing spells will help, but nerve regeneration isn’t quick, even with magic. He needs both magical therapy and Muggle physical rehab if he's going to get any movement back.”

 

Tony looked at Rhodey’s peaceful face for a moment, then shot a glance at his father, Howard, standing just behind him. "You sure we can’t just throw some of those magic crystals at him? Maybe make it a bit faster? Or at least get him an upgrade, like—oh, I don’t know—a powered exo-skeleton?" Tony’s voice rose with excitement, his mind already spinning with ideas.

 

Howard raised an eyebrow. “You’re really thinking about a powered suit for him already? He hasn’t even woken up yet.”

 

Tony shrugged, his grin returning. “Why wait? We could make him an upgraded version of himself while he’s still in bed. Like some kind of enhanced Rhodey 2.0. Imagine it—custom Stark-style leg braces.”

 

Howard chuckled softly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Of course you’d suggest that.”

 

Tony was already pacing, a spark of invention in his eyes. “Hear me out, Dad. We get Rhodey something far better than whatever the wizards are throwing together. Powered, custom-made, the whole shebang. Lightweight. Adjustable. Something so advanced, his legs won’t even know what hit ‘em. I’m talking magic-infused alloys, high-tech polymers. We give him enhanced strength, mobility, stability.” He gestured dramatically, his hands moving like he was sketching the concept out in the air. “He’ll walk like nothing happened. Hell, he’ll move better than most people with two fully working legs!”

 

“You sure he won’t look like a walking Transformer?” Howard quipped, glancing at the magical braces around Rhodey’s legs.

 

Tony shot him a mock glare. “You know I’m all for functionality, not form. But maybe a little flair wouldn’t hurt.” He smiled as he looked down at his friend, who was still resting. “Rhodey’s gonna get back on his feet—literally—faster than anyone thought. I’ve got this.”

 

Howard, clearly amused by his son’s enthusiasm, leaned back slightly, his hand on his chin. “Well, I’ll give you this, Tony. When you’ve got an idea, it’s full throttle.”

 

Ted raised his hand slightly, drawing their attention. “You’ll need a lot more than just magic and Muggle tech. You’ll need to make sure the systems mesh—so they don’t... well, break him.”

 

Tony turned to Ted, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. We’ve got the tech side covered.” He leaned toward his father. “Micro-gyroscopes for balance control, some of that fancy stuff they’re using in prosthetics right now. Maybe even some neural interfaces for syncing with the nervous system.”

 

“You sure you want to go that high-tech?” Ted asked, adjusting his glasses. “You’d be dealing with a lot of variables.”

 

Tony grinned. “Why do you think I’m calling in the big guns? We’ll make it work. We’ve got magic and science on our side. It’s just... Rhodey’s getting the best of both worlds.” He turned his attention back to the magical enhancements. “Okay, okay, so magic’s the brainpower, tech’s the muscle. Throw in some wireless diagnostics, real-time tracking, and remote access? Boom. We get him back to full function faster than you can say ‘stabilizing charm.’”

 

Howard looked pleased at the way things were shaping up. “That’s more like it. The Stark legacy continues. First, the arc reactor. Now this.”

 

Tony’s grin widened. “Yup. First we made the arc reactor. Now we’re going to make Rhodey's legs supercharged.”

 

Ted raised his hand again. “Alright, alright. I’m in. If you can make this tech work, I’ll help integrate the magic. After all, it’s a good challenge.”

 

Tony gave him a thumbs-up, already buzzing with excitement. “That’s the spirit. Dad, you handle the electronics. Ted, Andromeda, you guys can take care of the magical integration.” He looked down at Rhodey again, determination flashing in his eyes. “We’re gonna get him out of here, no problem. And not just get him walking—get him walking like a superhero.”

 

“And don’t push him too hard,” Andromeda interjected, her voice serious but not unkind. “He’s going to need time. This isn’t going to be a quick fix.”

 

Tony waved her off. “Time is relative, Andromeda. What’s a couple of months when we’ve got magic and tech on our side?” He grinned, the usual cocky charm back in full force. “Besides, Rhodey’s been through worse. And if I’ve learned anything from my years at MIT, it’s that technology always works, even when people say it won’t.”

 

Howard and Tony shared a look, then a chuckle, as they both fell into their own rhythm. Ideas flowed between them, plans being formed at the speed of thought. Ted and Andromeda started discussing the finer points of magical integration, with Ted asking pointed questions about things he’d never had to think about before.

 

As they all stood around Rhodey, brainstorming the future, it was clear that whatever came next, Rhodey wasn’t going to be stuck in a bed for long.

 

“I’ll be back on my feet in no time,” Rhodey muttered groggily from the cot, cracking his eyes open just enough to see them gathered around him. “So, what’s this about superhero leg braces?”

 

Tony leaned over, grinning broadly. “You’re welcome, buddy. You’re gonna be back to kicking ass in no time.”

 

Rhodey rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. “Sure, sure. Just make sure they don’t come with a suit of armor, okay? I’m not Tony Stark, after all.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. “Who says you can’t rock armor? You just wait, Rhodey. You’ll be running circles around everyone—except me, of course.”

 

“And don’t forget—superhero leg braces,” Howard added, with a wink.

 

Tony and Rhodey shared a laugh, even if it was a bit strained. But it was the first one in a long while—and it was enough to remind them both that no matter the obstacles ahead, they had each other’s backs. And with a little bit of Stark ingenuity and magical help, there was no challenge they couldn’t overcome.

 

—

 

The safehouse's training room hummed with energy, its high-tech equipment reflecting the flickering light from the overhead fixtures. Every punch, every dodge, every shift of movement seemed to vibrate through the air, the sound of fists landing against flesh accompanied by the rhythmic thuds of feet making contact with the mat. In one corner, 13-year-old Tonks twisted and contorted her body with an almost unnatural grace, her every move a testament to her growing mastery over her metamorphmagus abilities. Across from her stood 15-year-old Ororo Munroe, calm and poised, her hands low, a fierce storm of concentration swirling in her deep gaze. Her eyes flashed occasionally with the rising winds around her, but she kept herself grounded.

 

Harry and Natasha were standing just outside the sparring area, arms crossed as they observed the practice. Harry's gaze was focused, appreciative, but Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly as she scrutinized the sparring session. Her lips pressed into a thin line, clearly evaluating every move with the same precision she used when hunting down targets.

 

"Tonks is making impressive progress," Harry remarked, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched Tonks slip into a crouch and then, in a blink, morph into a near-perfect replica of Ororo, startling her older counterpart.

 

Ororo blinked but quickly recovered, a stormy wind whipping around her as she raised her hands in a defensive stance, her voice steady and commanding. "Nice trick, Tonks," she said. "But it’s going to take more than that to win."

 

Tonks's mischievous grin never faltered. Her face shifted once again, this time adopting a much taller and imposing figure—like someone out of a comic book, complete with exaggerated muscle mass and a square jaw. "Well, you never know with me," she said, her voice deepened and more gruff, trying to play the part of a hero she’d seen in the comics.

 

Harry chuckled softly under his breath. "She’s a little too creative with her transformations," he murmured to Natasha, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "But it’s a great way to throw off your opponent."

 

Natasha’s expression remained unreadable as she shifted her gaze to Melina May, who stood off to the side of the training floor. Melina’s arms were crossed in her usual no-nonsense posture, her sharp eyes following every movement of the two girls, not offering any interruptions. Her stoic demeanor gave no indication of what she thought, but there was a subtle approval in her gaze as she took in their progress.

 

"Keeping an eye on them, May?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow, her voice just the slightest bit teasing.

 

Melina met her gaze, her expression as calm as ever, but there was an edge in her voice. "They’ve got potential," she replied coolly. "But potential alone won’t get them through what’s ahead." Her gaze lingered on Tonks as the young girl made another shape-shifting move, turning into someone slightly taller and more menacing.

 

Ororo, meanwhile, let the swirling winds around her recede, stepping back a little and raising her chin in a quiet show of respect. "Alright," she said, her voice like thunder but measured. "I think I’ve got the hang of your tricks, Tonks. What’s next?"

 

Tonks’s grin returned, wide and full of playful challenge. "I was thinking the same thing. What’s your next move, Storm?" she asked, her voice light with teasing as she took on Ororo's codename with a teasing lilt.

 

Ororo gave her a knowing smirk, her eyes flashing with the storm that still swirled faintly in the air. "No tricks this time," she said, her tone full of quiet confidence. "Time to get serious."

 

Before Tonks could respond, Natasha’s voice rang out, cutting through the atmosphere like a whip. "Enough showing off," she said firmly, her voice like steel. "You’ve got the fundamentals down, but it’s time for something more real. Work as a team."

 

Harry’s eyebrow quirked, his curiosity piqued as he turned to Natasha. "You’re being a little harsh, don't you think?" he asked, his voice playful but laced with genuine concern. "They’re still kids."

 

Natasha shot him a sideways glance, lips curling into a barely there smirk. "They’re capable," she replied with calm assurance. "But in this world, potential doesn’t mean a thing if they can’t work together when it counts. They’ll face enemies who won’t give them a warm-up."

 

Tonks’s face fell for a moment, her usual cocky grin faltering just slightly, but Ororo stepped in smoothly, her voice soft but firm. "Natasha’s right," she said, her gaze steady and unyielding. "It’s not just about how you fight—it’s about how you fight with others. If you can’t sync up, all the tricks in the world won’t save you."

 

Tonks took a deep breath, nodding in agreement. Her playful expression returned, but this time there was a newfound seriousness in her stance. "Alright, Ororo. Let's do this."

 

The two girls moved into position, readying themselves for the next round of sparring—this time not against each other, but as a unit against May. Their movements began to flow in perfect harmony as they practiced combining their skills in ways they hadn't before. Ororo’s winds, controlled and purposeful, swirled around Tonks, whose shifting body seemed to dodge and parry with an almost supernatural instinct.

 

Harry watched with growing pride as the girls worked together. "You see it too, right?" he said to Natasha, his voice quieter now. "They’ve got potential. They just need to be pushed. But that… that’s going to be something special one day."

 

Natasha nodded, her eyes never leaving the girls. "They’ve got the drive," she said, her tone colder but tinged with something softer, almost wistful. "But it’ll take more than that. They’ve got to be able to survive when things get ugly."

 

Harry’s gaze softened as he watched Tonks’s eyes flash with determination, her grin wide as she effortlessly morphed into a larger version of Ororo, mimicking the older girl’s fighting style almost too perfectly. Ororo, on the other hand, seemed to ease into the rhythm of working with Tonks, her hands guiding the wind with a precision that made her a force to be reckoned with. The connection between them, though still raw and unrefined, was undeniable.

 

Natasha looked over at Harry then, her expression unreadable. "Do you think they’ll be ready for what’s coming?"

 

Harry's smile turned thoughtful, and his voice dropped to a quieter tone. "I don’t know," he said honestly. "But they’ll sure as hell be ready to try."

 

Meanwhile, Tonks’s eyes flickered briefly toward Harry, a mischievous spark in them. She shifted her form again, turning into a version of Harry himself, complete with his familiar messy hair, but with her own youthful twist.

 

"You’re right," she said with a grin. "We’re gonna be great. Just wait and see."

 

Ororo shot Tonks a playful look as she raised her hands, sending a gust of wind to spin the young girl around, but there was no denying the warmth in her eyes as she glanced over at Harry too. Ororo, like Tonks, admired him—though perhaps in a more subtle way.

 

Harry chuckled at Tonks's antics but also couldn't help the warmth in his chest. "I’d bet my money on them any day," he said to Natasha, his voice low and affectionate as he watched the two girls—who, despite their rivalry and playful teasing, were growing into a formidable team before his eyes.

 

—

 

As Tony and Howard turned to leave the small, sterile room, the soft beeping of monitors and the low hum of medical devices filled the air. Rhodey’s body was still, his life hanging in the balance, but the faint rise and fall of his chest was the only reassurance Tony could get. Howard glanced at the bed one last time, his expression unreadable, before his eyes flicked back to his son, the weight of the situation making his sharp features tighten.

 

The hallway stretched out in front of them, eerily quiet. The atmosphere in the lab had changed. Tony could still feel the bitter taste of anger lingering in the back of his throat. Rhodey had almost died. And for what? Some Hydra plot that almost took his best friend away? That thought didn’t sit well with Tony. Not at all.

 

His footsteps quickened, the burn of frustration stoking a fire in his chest, but Howard kept his measured pace beside him, his hands clasped behind his back.

 

“You alright, Tony?” Howard asked, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it—maybe concern, maybe something else.

 

Tony didn’t answer immediately. He was too busy processing what had just happened, and what he could do to make sure it never happened again. That’s when the idea hit him. It was as if a switch had been flipped in his mind, like the fuse of a rocket ready to take off.

 

He stopped dead in his tracks, almost causing Howard to walk right into him.

 

Howard’s brow furrowed. “Tony?”

 

Tony didn’t even look at him. His mind was already elsewhere, far ahead in the future. “Armor,” he muttered, eyes lighting up as the words left his lips, the sound of it almost too perfect to ignore.

 

Howard blinked, clearly confused. “Armor? What are you—like, the prosthetic leg braces?”

 

Tony spun on his heel, suddenly energized by a wild idea. “No, no, no. This isn’t some little knee brace, Dad. This is big. Huge. I’m talking about something that says ‘don’t mess with me,’ something that says ‘I will end you’ in about fifteen different languages.” He paused for dramatic effect, pacing in circles, his hands weaving complex patterns through the air. “I’m talking about a suit—no, scratch that—the suit. It’ll be for me, it’ll be for Rhodey, and anyone else who crosses us? They’ll wish they’d never been born. Hydra will get a taste of their own medicine. I’m going after them, and I’m going to make sure no one ever messes with us again.”

 

Howard’s mouth twitched. “You’ve had some crazy ideas before, Tony, but this one’s... this one’s next level. You’re sure about this?”

 

Tony stopped pacing and finally looked at him, eyes wide, almost manic with excitement. “Dad, when have I not been sure about something like this? I’m telling you, I’ve been toying with it in the back of my head, but now? It’s time to make it happen.” His grin spread across his face like a kid on Christmas morning. “A suit of armor. A real suit of armor. Not just a shiny helmet and some body armor—I’m thinking full-on, high-tech, indestructible badassery. A machine that can fly, punch through walls, and maybe even take a missile or two without breaking a sweat. You know, the whole shebang.”

 

Howard didn’t seem convinced, his lips pulling into a small, skeptical frown. He rubbed a hand over his neatly combed hair, pushing it back as if trying to push away the ridiculousness of it all. “You realize what you're saying here, right? We’re not talking about some prototype suit, Tony. This is bigger. You’re talking about full-on battle-ready armor. And for you? And for Rhodey? You think you can just make that happen?”

 

Tony threw his hands up, exasperated, but his grin never wavered. “What’s the problem, Dad? This is my thing! You know I can build anything if I put my mind to it. I’ve made a million things that shouldn’t even be possible, so why not this?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes gleaming like he was about to reveal a secret. “Besides, once I’m done, Hydra’s gonna get a visit from the most expensive and well-equipped reality check of their lives.”

 

Howard stopped walking, then raised his eyebrows as he turned to face his son, an unreadable expression playing across his face. “You really think you can pull this off?”

 

Tony met his eyes, a smirk spreading across his face. “Not think, Dad. Know.”

 

Howard paused, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. A brief flicker of pride flashed behind his eyes, and for just a second, Tony saw the man who had once been a brilliant inventor, a man who had never quite been able to match Tony’s fire. Finally, Howard sighed, clearly resigned to the fact that his son was once again off the deep end. But there was no stopping him now.

 

“Alright, kid,” Howard said, crossing his arms. “If you’re serious about this, we’ll need resources. And not just my name this time. We’ll need everything we can get our hands on—technology, metal, the best of the best. Don’t expect me to do all the heavy lifting this time, though.” His eyes softened just a touch. “This is your baby, Tony.”

 

Tony’s grin widened, and without missing a beat, he slapped his hand on Howard’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Pops.”

 

They continued down the hallway, Howard leading the way as the two of them approached the elevator. Tony’s mind was already buzzing with a thousand ideas, his hands moving on their own as he envisioned the suit. The suit. This wouldn’t just be any armor; it would be the embodiment of everything Tony Stark was—brilliant, driven, unstoppable. And it was going to make Hydra wish they'd never taken Rhodey.

 

As they entered the elevator, Tony’s thoughts turned back to his best friend. “And when Rhodey’s back on his feet,” Tony muttered, “I’ll build him a suit too. He’s not gonna be left behind. Not on my watch.”

 

Howard shot him a quick look, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re getting attached, Tony. I thought you didn’t do ‘attached.’”

 

Tony shot him a playful side-eye. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Dad. But you’re right about one thing—this isn’t just about a suit. This is personal. And when I’m done, Hydra won’t know what hit ‘em.”

 

The doors to the elevator slid shut, and the two Stark men stood in silence as the elevator descended, Tony already lost in a world of designs, blueprints, and the first steps of building a legacy. In that moment, he wasn’t just Tony Stark. He was about to become something more.

 

Iron Man.

Chapter 45: Chapter 44

The next morning, the lab was a hive of controlled chaos. Tony Stark was in his element, surrounded by blueprints, coffee-stained sketches, and enough cutting-edge tech to make NASA jealous. He was perched on a stool, one foot propped up on a nearby table as he scribbled furiously on a touchpad, the holographic projection of his latest design rotating lazily in the air. Across the room, Howard Stark stood with his arms crossed, his ever-present air of exasperated brilliance making him look like the world's most frustrated genius.

 

Tony didn’t look up as he muttered to himself. “Okay, if we run the power through the servos here... and dampen the feedback loop with a gyroscopic stabilizer... yeah, that’ll do it. Rhodey’s not just gonna walk again. He’s gonna waltz.”

 

Howard glanced over the rim of his glasses, his brow furrowing. “Waltz, huh? Maybe throw in a cha-cha while you’re at it?”

 

Tony finally looked up, flashing that trademark smirk. “You joke, but I’m serious. He could moonwalk if he wanted. Hell, I might even teach him myself.”

 

Howard rolled his eyes and turned back to his own project: the miniaturization of the Arc Reactor. Spread before him was a blueprint of the current version—an unwieldy, industrial-sized monstrosity that powered half of Stark Industries. He tapped the blueprint with the end of his pencil. “You realize, don’t you, that this thing wasn’t exactly designed to fit in your pocket?”

 

Tony spun around on his stool, pointing at his father with the flourish of a magician revealing a trick. “And that’s where you come in, Pops. You’re the guy who built the first one. I’m just asking you to think smaller. Much smaller. Like, ‘Ant-Man’s shoe closet’ smaller.”

 

Howard sighed, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tony, do you even hear yourself? You want me to shrink down a multi-billion-dollar power source—one that already operates on the edge of feasibility—into what? A snow globe?”

 

“Not a snow globe,” Tony corrected, hopping off the stool. He gestured wildly, as if sketching the idea in the air. “Think grapefruit. Maybe a cantaloupe. Something handheld, portable. And sleek. Like me.” He struck a mock pose.

 

Howard stared at him, deadpan. “You know, sometimes I wonder if I dropped you on your head as a baby.”

 

Tony shot him finger guns. “Nah, but Mom definitely did. Explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

 

Howard muttered something under his breath—probably involving a few choice words—and returned to the blueprints. “Fine. Let’s assume, for argument’s sake, that this ridiculous idea is even possible. What about the palladium core? Shrinking it down increases instability exponentially.”

 

Tony walked over, leaning casually against the table as if he had all the time in the world. “Easy fix. We stabilize it with a secondary element. Lithium dioxide. Reactive enough to balance out the palladium’s... let’s call it a ‘diva complex.’”

 

Howard raised an eyebrow. “Lithium dioxide? And what happens when it overheats? You gonna cool it with sarcasm?”

 

Tony shrugged, unbothered. “Wouldn’t be the first time it worked.”

 

Howard gave him a long, measured look, then finally relented with a sigh. “Alright, fine. We’ll try it. But don’t come crying to me when this thing blows a hole through the lab.”

 

“Deal,” Tony said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now, while you’re playing mad scientist, I’m gonna focus on Rhodey’s rig. Guy’s been through enough without us saddling him with something that looks like it came out of a scrap heap.”

 

Howard gestured to the mess of sketches on Tony’s side of the table. “And what’s this masterpiece supposed to do? Turn him into a cyborg?”

 

Tony grinned. “Close. Exoskeleton. Lightweight, responsive, and cool enough to make the Six Million Dollar Man look like a knockoff action figure.”

 

Howard tilted his head, intrigued despite himself. “Alright. Show me.”

 

Tony swiped a hand through the holographic interface, spinning the 3D model toward his father. The design was sleek, almost elegant, with a framework that hugged the human form while leaving room for full mobility. Servo motors at the joints, a flexible spine made of carbon nanotubes, and integrated sensors for muscle response.

 

“See?” Tony said, folding his arms smugly. “Not just functional. Fashionable. Because if Rhodey’s gonna kick ass, he’s gonna do it in style.”

 

Howard leaned closer, studying the design. “It’s... ambitious.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Ambitious? Come on, Dad. This is a home run. A slam dunk. A—what’s a baseball metaphor you’d understand? A triple Lindy?”

 

Howard ignored him, pointing to one of the joints. “The servos here—if they seize up under pressure, it could lock the whole system.”

 

Tony waved him off. “Already accounted for. Redundant fail-safes, because I know Murphy’s Law loves to crash my parties.”

 

Howard straightened up, giving his son an appraising look. “You’re serious about this.”

 

Tony’s expression softened, just for a moment. “Yeah, I am. Rhodey’s my best friend, Dad. He almost died because some Hydra reject thought he could mess with us. I’m not letting that happen again.”

 

Howard nodded, a flicker of pride crossing his face. “Alright. Let’s get to work.”

 

For the next several hours, the two Starks buried themselves in their respective projects. Howard’s hands moved with the precision of a surgeon as he adjusted the Arc Reactor schematics, muttering calculations under his breath. Tony, meanwhile, bounced between his holograms and the prototype components he was assembling, pausing every now and then to throw out a quip or hum a snatch of AC/DC.

 

By evening, they had something tangible to show for their efforts. On the table sat a small, glowing sphere—the first prototype of the miniaturized Arc Reactor. Its blue light bathed the room in a soft glow, and both men stared at it for a long moment.

 

Howard finally broke the silence. “I’ll admit it. It’s impressive.”

 

Tony picked it up, turning it over in his hands with a satisfied grin. “Told you. Grapefruit-sized genius. You’re welcome.”

 

Howard smirked. “Don’t get cocky. We’re not done yet.”

 

Tony set the reactor down and clapped his hands together. “Nope, but we’re close. Now all we need is... oh, right. A suit of armor. You know, something subtle. Low-profile. Maybe with a built-in missile launcher.”

 

Howard shook his head, chuckling despite himself. “You’re impossible.”

 

“And you love it,” Tony said, already turning back to his sketches. “Now, let’s talk jet boots. Because what’s the point of saving the world if you can’t look cool doing it?”

 

—

 

The training room, a hybrid of magic and technology, buzzed with energy. Magical wards shimmered faintly along the stone walls, while Stark Industries tech hummed softly from sleek panels embedded in the corners. In the center of the room stood Harry Potter, clad in a sleeveless black workout attire. His retractable Vibranium claws glinted as they emerged with a metallic snikt, their edges catching the light. Across from him stood Mad-Eye Moody, grizzled and grinning like a wolf who’d just sniffed fresh prey.

 

Moody shifted his weight onto his new Vibranium-laced prosthetic foot, a Stark-Potter collaboration. The reinforced boot struck the ground with a resonant thud, sending faint ripples across the floor. His magical eye whirred and clicked, fixing squarely on Harry.

 

“Alright, Potter,” Moody growled, his voice as rough as sandpaper, “I want no excuses, no holding back, and definitely no whining when I put you on your arse.”

 

From the sidelines, James Potter leaned casually against a warded pillar, his arms crossed, an eyebrow raised. “That’s rich coming from a man who’s probably going to need two healing potions and a pint of Firewhisky after this.”

 

Sirius Black, lounging on a bench that looked more comfortable than it had any right to be, smirked. “Don’t forget the ice pack, Prongs. Moody’s joints might be Vibranium now, but the rest of him is still a couple of decades past its prime.”

 

Lily Potter, standing beside them with her wand in hand, shot them both a look. “He’s got enough fire left to make you two look like Hufflepuffs at a duel. So maybe keep the commentary to a minimum.”

 

Sirius feigned offense, clutching his chest. “Hufflepuffs? Lily, that’s cruel even for you.”

 

“Focus, Black,” Lily replied dryly, though her lips twitched with amusement. She turned her attention back to the combatants. “Harry, don’t wreck his prosthetic. It took weeks of work to get it calibrated.”

 

Harry glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “Can’t make any promises, Mum. He did ask for it.”

 

“Constant vigilance!” Moody barked, already firing a barrage of spells. A stunning spell streaked toward Harry, followed by a disarming hex and a blasting curse.

 

Harry moved like water, sidestepping the stunning spell, deflecting the hex with a flick of his claws, and raising a shimmering magical shield to absorb the blast. The explosion rippled outward, but Harry absorbed the kinetic energy through his Vibranium-coated skeleton, channeling it into his magical core.

 

“Nice opener,” Harry said, his voice laced with amusement. “But you’ll have to try harder than that.”

 

Moody let out a low chuckle, his wand spinning in his hand. “Don’t get cocky, lad. You’ve got claws and speed, sure. But you still haven’t learned to watch everything.”

 

Without warning, Moody’s prosthetic foot stomped down, releasing a shockwave of energy that shattered Harry’s footing. As Harry stumbled, Moody closed the gap with startling speed, slashing his wand in a wide arc. A whip of fire erupted from its tip, aiming to bind Harry in an instant.

 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. He flipped backward, retracting his claws and summoning a pulse of magic that dispersed the flames mid-air. As he landed, his claws extended again, and he charged, his movements a blur.

 

The clash was deafening. Harry’s claws met Moody’s shield in a shower of sparks, and the room shook with the force of the impact. Moody grunted, his prosthetic absorbing much of the force, but Harry wasn’t done. He spun low, aiming a swipe at Moody’s legs, forcing the older man to leap back with surprising agility.

 

James let out a low whistle. “I’d almost feel bad for Moody if I didn’t know he was enjoying this.”

 

“Enjoying it?” Sirius laughed. “The man’s practically cackling. Harry’s giving him the workout of his life.”

 

“Focus, Harry!” Lily called, her tone sharp but encouraging. “He’s baiting you into overcommitting!”

 

Harry smirked. “I know, Mum. I’ve got this.”

 

“You’d better,” Moody growled, slamming his wand into the ground. A ripple of earth rose beneath Harry, throwing him off balance. Moody capitalized immediately, firing a Petrificus Totalus that Harry barely managed to deflect with a hastily summoned shield.

 

“You’re getting predictable, Moody,” Harry taunted, Apparating behind him in a flash. Before Moody could turn, Harry slashed at the air, releasing a wave of raw magical energy from his claws.

 

The blast struck Moody’s shield, shattering it like glass and sending the Auror skidding back several feet. Moody’s prosthetic foot dug into the ground, anchoring him.

 

“Predictable, am I?” Moody grinned, his magical eye spinning wildly. “Alright, Potter. Let’s kick it up a notch.”

 

He slammed his foot down again, and the room erupted with chaos. Enchanted debris flew toward Harry, enchanted chains snaked from the walls, and the air itself seemed to buzz with Moody’s layered spellwork.

 

Harry responded in kind, his magic surging like a tidal wave. His claws glowed with energy as he slashed through the chains, redirecting the debris with precise bursts of magic. He leaped and spun, his movements a perfect blend of raw power and calculated finesse.

 

From the sidelines, Sirius let out a low whistle. “Is it just me, or is Harry actually winning?”

 

James grinned. “It’s not just you. That’s our boy.”

 

Lily, however, looked less impressed. “Don’t jinx him,” she muttered. “Moody’s not done yet.”

 

She was right. With a guttural yell, Moody unleashed a spell that turned the floor beneath Harry into quicksand. At the same time, he fired a barrage of curses, each one aimed to disarm or disable.

 

Harry’s eyes flashed. He slammed his claws into the ground, sending a pulse of energy outward. The quicksand solidified, and the curses were absorbed and redirected in a burst of raw power that sent Moody flying backward.

 

The room fell silent as Moody hit the ground, groaning but laughing. “Alright, Potter,” he said, pulling himself up with a wince. “You’ve got me. Bloody good show.”

 

Harry retracted his claws, offering a hand to the older man. “Not bad yourself, old man.”

 

Moody grinned, taking the hand. “Don’t get cocky. You’re still a few decades away from matching my experience.”

 

Lily stepped forward, wand already in hand. “Hold still, Alastor. Let me check that prosthetic.”

 

James clapped Harry on the back, beaming. “That was bloody brilliant, son. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

 

“Neither did I,” Sirius added, though his grin was mischievous. “But I’m definitely glad I wasn’t on the receiving end.”

 

Harry chuckled, brushing sweat from his brow. “So, who’s next?”

 

—

 

The air inside the secondary sparring room was thick with tension, frustration, and the faint scent of sweat. Natasha Romanoff, clad in her sleek black workout attire, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching six-year-old Rose Potter bounce around like she’d had three helpings of dessert. Which, knowing Rose, was entirely possible.

 

“Rose,” Natasha said with an edge to her voice, her piercing green eyes narrowing. “What did I just tell you about standing still?”

 

Rose stopped mid-bounce, tilting her head innocently. “Umm... stand still or you’ll make me do a million push-ups?”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “It was ten push-ups. But if you’d rather make it a million…”

 

Rose’s eyes went wide. “No! No, no, no. Ten’s fine. I can do ten. I’m standing still. See?” She planted her feet firmly on the mat, though her hands fidgeted at her sides, and she couldn’t stop shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

 

From the edge of the room, 13-year-old Tonks snorted, her short hair shifting from bright purple to bubblegum pink as she tied back a few loose strands. “She’s like a sugar-high Niffler, Nat. Honestly, it’s impressive you haven’t just tied her to the floor.”

 

“You think I haven’t thought about it?” Natasha muttered under her breath, earning a laugh from Tonks.

 

“I heard that!” Rose called out, sticking her tongue out at Natasha.

 

“Rose,” Natasha said sharply, her tone dangerously low, “stick your tongue out again, and you’ll be doing push-ups for the next hour.”

 

Rose quickly snapped her mouth shut, though the glint of mischief in her emerald eyes never wavered.

 

Meanwhile, 15-year-old Ororo Munroe leaned against the far wall, her striking white hair catching the light as she observed the chaos with a serene expression. Dressed in sleek athletic wear, she radiated calm, though her eyes sparkled with quiet amusement. “Nat, she’s six. Maybe we should take a gentler approach?”

 

Natasha turned her sharp gaze toward Ororo. “I don’t do gentle, Storm. That’s not what I am here for. Besides, she’s the one who insisted on training with me.” She smirked slightly. “If she can’t keep up, she’s not ready.”

 

Rose puffed up indignantly, hands on her hips. “I am ready! I’m just… warming up!”

 

Tonks crouched beside Rose, mock-seriousness plastered on her face. “Yeah, warming up by bouncing around like a Crup on caffeine. Really intimidating stuff, Rosie.”

 

“Don’t call me Rosie!” Rose snapped, stomping her foot and glaring at Tonks. “That’s what Harry calls me, and I only let him do it.”

 

Tonks grinned, her nose scrunching in delight. “Aw, is that so, Rosie-posie?”

 

“TONKS!” Rose screeched, lunging forward and swatting at her.

 

Tonks laughed, dodging easily and ruffling Rose’s hair in the process. “Alright, alright, calm down, little firecracker.”

 

“Rose.” Natasha’s voice was cold and commanding, cutting through the moment like a blade. “If you’re done playing, get back into position. Ororo, you’re up. Let’s see if she can focus against someone with actual discipline.”

 

Ororo stepped gracefully into the sparring ring, her movements fluid and precise. She knelt down to Rose’s eye level, her voice soft but firm. “Rose, remember what I said earlier? Focus is the key to harnessing your energy. If you stay focused, I’ll teach you something special.”

 

Rose’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Like what?”

 

Ororo smiled knowingly, a faint breeze rustling through the room, lifting the ends of her hair in an almost magical display. “I’ll teach you how to call the wind.”

 

Rose gasped, her bratty exterior momentarily dropping. “You mean… like you do? Like flying hair and everything?”

 

“Exactly,” Ororo said. “But only if you show me that you can control yourself.”

 

“Deal!” Rose said quickly, bouncing on her toes again before catching Natasha’s glare and forcing herself to stand still. “I’m ready, ‘Roro! Hit me with your best shot!”

 

Ororo stood, taking a defensive stance. “Alright, then. Show me what you’ve got.”

 

Rose charged forward with all the grace of a hyperactive squirrel, swinging her small fists wildly. Ororo sidestepped easily, her movements as smooth as water. “Control, Rose. Wild energy won’t win you a fight.”

 

“I’m controlling it!” Rose protested, spinning around and attempting a high kick that barely reached Ororo’s knee.

 

Ororo deflected the kick gently, her voice calm. “Try again. This time, think before you strike.”

 

On the sidelines, Tonks shook her head, laughing. “She’s like a tiny tornado.”

 

“More like a tiny hurricane,” Natasha muttered. “But if she learns to channel all that chaos, she’ll be dangerous. Maybe even good.”

 

As the sparring continued, Rose grew increasingly frustrated, her attacks becoming sloppier. Finally, she stomped her foot and glared up at Ororo. “You’re not even trying! This isn’t fair!”

 

Ororo crouched down again, placing a gentle hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Fair doesn’t matter in a fight, little one. What matters is how you adapt. Now, take a deep breath and try again.”

 

Rose scowled but obeyed, taking a deep breath. This time, when she lunged forward, her movements were more controlled, her small fists striking with purpose. Ororo blocked each one with ease but nodded in approval. “Better. Much better.”

 

When the sparring finally ended, Rose collapsed onto the mat, panting but grinning. “Did you see that? I almost got you, ‘Roro!”

 

“You did well,” Ororo said, offering her a hand to help her up. “But there’s still much to learn.”

 

Natasha smirked, walking over and crossing her arms. “Not bad, kid. You might just survive training with me after all.”

 

Rose puffed up proudly, wiping sweat from her brow. “Told you I’m ready!”

 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Natasha said, ruffling Rose’s hair despite the younger girl’s protests. “Tomorrow, we’re working on stamina. You’ll love it.”

 

Rose groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the mat. “You’re mean, Nat.”

 

Natasha’s lips curved into a rare smile. “You’ll thank me one day, brat.”

 

—

 

In the quiet of the safehouse infirmary, the sharp tap of Rhodey’s crutches echoed against the sterile tiles. The air felt thick with focus, the room holding a tense but determined energy. James “Rhodey” Rhodes, sweat dotting his brow, was taking slow, measured steps across the room. His face was tight with concentration, each movement deliberate, his legs supported by magically reinforced braces. The metal braces, sleek yet intricate, covered his lower legs like a second skin, etched with glowing runes that flickered softly with magical energy. Despite their advanced design, they weren’t exactly built for comfort.

 

“Alright, Mr. Rhodes, just one more step,” Andromeda Tonks said, her voice gentle but steady, a calming presence amidst the strain. Her wand was held loosely in one hand, her other hovering just an inch from his shoulder. Her eyes remained watchful, ready to step in if anything went wrong.

 

Rhodey exhaled slowly, his face scrunching slightly as he forced himself to take another step. “Yeah, no problem,” he muttered, his voice edged with sarcasm. “Just living the dream here, taking a stroll in a high-tech torture chamber.”

 

“Magic is hardly torture,” Andromeda replied with a soft laugh, glancing at him with that familiar, knowing look. “You’re doing great, really. These braces aren’t exactly easy to get used to.”

 

Rhodey’s gaze flicked down to the glowing silver and black braces encasing his legs, the runes on them swirling with energy. “I don’t know what kind of dream you’re living in, but mine doesn’t involve glowing metal plates strapped to my legs,” he grumbled. “They’re impressive, don’t get me wrong. But subtle? Not so much.”

 

From the other side of the room, Ted Tonks leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he spoke, his tone light and teasing. “Subtlety’s overrated, Rhodey. Those runes are holding your legs together, keeping you from collapsing under your own weight. It’s not about style points—it’s about keeping you on your feet.”

 

Rhodey scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’d be more into these if they were less ‘mech warrior’ and more ‘James Bond.’ I’m just saying, Tony’s promised me these new hybrid leg braces. Magic and Stark tech combined. I’m talking Bluetooth, maybe a little holographic display—something sleek, you know?”

 

Ted chuckled under his breath. “You’re dreaming, mate. Stark doesn’t do simple, he does ‘overcomplicated but shiny.’ But I’ll bet my left arm they’ll look pretty impressive when they’re done.”

 

Rhodey shifted his weight onto his crutches, adjusting his grip. “Well, I’m counting the days until Tony’s done ‘reinventing the wheel,’ because I need something that doesn’t feel like I’m marching to battle every time I take a step.”

 

“Tony will get there,” Andromeda said, her voice firm but encouraging. “Until then, though, you’ve got magic—and patience. And judging by the sweat on your brow, you’re starting to realize it.”

 

Rhodey shot her a dry look. “Patience? You mean ‘slow torture,’ right? Because if that’s what it’s supposed to be, I’m acing it.”

 

“Slow and steady wins the race,” she teased, stepping back slightly as Rhodey took another tentative step forward, clearly struggling but pushing through.

 

“Slow and steady, huh?” Rhodey shot back with a smirk, though the muscles in his legs were clearly trembling. “Well, tell that to my pride, because it’s taking a beating right now.”

 

Ted’s voice drifted over, amused. “Ah, the mighty James Rhodes brought low by a pair of crutches. Who would’ve thought?”

 

Rhodey’s lips twitched into a smile despite the frustration in his eyes. “I thought we were friends, Ted. You’re supposed to be supporting me, not making me feel like a walking joke.”

 

Andromeda chuckled softly but didn’t miss a beat. “Trust me, Mr. Rhodes. It’s a good look on you.”

 

As Rhodey took another labored step, the sweat on his brow started to increase, and he let out a groan. “How many more laps are we doing here? This feels like a marathon.”

 

“Three more,” Andromeda replied matter-of-factly. “And I’m serious about this. You’re progressing faster than I thought possible, but you’re not ready for anything more yet.”

 

“Three laps?” Rhodey looked as though the very idea might break him. “This is the worst day of my life. You sure you’re not trying to kill me with kindness?”

 

“Kindness,” Andromeda quipped, her eyes glinting. “It’s all in the details.”

 

Ted wandered closer, his voice quieter now. “Do you really think Stark’s going to pull it off? You know, with the new braces?”

 

Andromeda glanced at Rhodey, her gaze softening. “If anyone can make it work, it’s Tony. He’s got a way of combining magic and technology that... well, no one else could even begin to approach.”

 

Rhodey overheard them, shooting a smirk over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m sure Tony’s planning to have me walking like a cyborg with rocket boosters by the time he’s done. That man can’t help himself. Give him an inch of magic, and he’ll build a whole damn armory out of it.”

 

Ted laughed. “That sounds about right. You’ll be taking down the bad guys with style and laser beams soon enough.”

 

Rhodey shook his head, his grin widening. “As long as he doesn’t turn my legs into something straight out of The Terminator, I’ll be good.” His eyes sparkled with mischievous humor despite the exhaustion lining his face. “But seriously, as soon as I’m back on my feet, Tony owes me one. And I’m talking a steak dinner. Wagyu.”

 

Andromeda gave him a wry smile as he took another step forward, determination still in his posture. “I think you’re earning more than that, Rhodey. But a steak sounds good.”

 

Rhodey’s voice was full of dry humor as he shifted his weight onto his crutches again. “Make it a big steak. I think I’ve earned it after all this... slow-motion walking.” He grinned at Andromeda and Ted. “And when I’m back to normal, I’m gonna make sure Tony knows he’s footing the bill.”

 

—

 

The warehouse in Mauritius was a chaotic maze of wooden crates, each humming faintly with the untapped potential of vibranium. The faint glow of runes on some of the more ancient-looking crates made the room feel like it was on the verge of sparking to life, but the tension among the agents was all too real.

 

Phil Coulson stood in the middle of it all, tablet in hand, watching like a conductor overseeing an orchestra. Every few moments, he’d glance up to make sure the agents were handling the cargo carefully. His calm, no-nonsense demeanor exuded authority, though there was always that twinkle of dry humor in his eyes.

 

“Alright, people,” Coulson said, his voice cutting cleanly through the hustle. “This is vibranium. You break it, you buy it—though I doubt Fury will let any of you put it on layaway.”

 

From across the room, Billy Koenig groaned loudly, carrying a small scanner as he meandered through the stacks of crates. “Y’know, Phil, I think I actually prefer babysitting duty at this point. Sure, Rose Potter levitated my sandwich last week, but at least she didn’t make me feel like I’m in the middle of an Indiana Jones movie—minus the cool whip.”

 

Coulson smirked but didn’t look up. “You’re telling me you’d rather deal with a six-year-old who turned your coffee into purple jelly than be here securing one of Klaue’s biggest vibranium stashes? Really?”

 

Billy sighed dramatically, waving his scanner around a particularly large crate. “Do you know how hard it is to scrub glitter out of your tactical vest? Because I do. She said, and I quote, ‘Now you sparkle like a hero, Mr. Koenig.’” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “And don’t get me started on the puppies incident.”

 

Coulson raised an eyebrow, half-paying attention as he flipped through the intel on his tablet. “Puppies?”

 

Billy threw up his hands, exasperated. “She conjured a whole litter of golden retrievers in the command center, Phil. Do you know how hard it is to wrangle puppies while Fury’s staring at you like you just committed treason? I swear, that kid is chaos in pigtails.”

 

Coulson finally glanced at him, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re just mad because one of them chewed on your shoes.”

 

Billy jabbed a finger at him. “Those were my lucky field boots!”

 

“Right,” Coulson deadpanned, his tone dripping with faux sympathy. “I’ll make sure we get you a new pair. Maybe some glitter-resistant ones.”

 

Before Billy could launch into another tirade, the comms in Coulson’s ear crackled to life. “Director Coulson, this is Bravo Team. West perimeter secured. No hostiles in sight so far.”

 

“Copy that, Bravo,” Coulson replied smoothly. He tapped his earpiece and glanced at the agents near the entrance. “Keep your eyes open. Klaue may be sitting in a S.H.I.E.L.D. cell, but his friends don’t strike me as the type to just let this stash go unnoticed.”

 

As if on cue, the unmistakable roar of engines echoed from outside. Coulson’s head snapped up, his sharp eyes narrowing as he looked toward the open warehouse doors. Two SUVs screeched to a halt just beyond the perimeter, their headlights cutting through the dim evening light.

 

“Phil…” Billy said, his voice tight with apprehension.

 

Coulson raised a hand, signaling for calm. “Koenig, get the agents in position. Non-lethal unless absolutely necessary. Let’s see who’s bold enough to crash our little treasure hunt.”

 

Billy swallowed hard but nodded, moving quickly to relay orders. “Alright, people! Defensive positions! And remember, if you get shot, I am not writing the report to HR!”

 

Coulson moved toward the entrance, one hand resting on the ICER at his side. He watched as a dozen heavily armed mercenaries poured out of the SUVs, led by a tall man with a jagged scar across his cheek. The leader barked orders in rapid-fire Swahili, his men fanning out in a practiced formation.

 

“Scarface?” Coulson murmured to himself, tilting his head. “Wow, Klaue really needs to diversify his hiring practices.”

 

Billy jogged up beside him, breathing hard. “So, uh… what’s the play here, Phil? Talk it out? Offer them a gift basket?”

 

Coulson glanced at him, his expression perfectly deadpan. “Let’s save the gift basket for after we win. Maybe throw in some glitter for good measure.”

 

Billy groaned. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

 

“Not a chance,” Coulson replied smoothly.

 

Before the mercenaries could advance, Coulson stepped into the open, his calm, almost disarming demeanor on full display. He held up his hands, ICER still holstered, and called out, “Gentlemen! I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this vibranium is officially off the market. If you leave now, I promise we won’t ruin your Yelp reviews.”

 

The scarred leader sneered, raising his weapon. “We don’t take orders from bureaucrats.”

 

Coulson’s smile didn’t falter. “Bureaucrat? Ouch. I prefer ‘highly effective problem solver.’”

 

The first shot rang out, and Coulson ducked back into cover as the warehouse erupted into chaos. Billy let out a strangled yelp, fumbling with his ICER. “Phil, they’re shooting at us! Again! Why is it always guns?!”

 

Coulson fired back with practiced precision, his voice calm even as he issued commands. “Welcome to fieldwork, Koenig. Focus on non-lethal takedowns. And if you see Scarface, aim low—guys like him hate losing the high ground.”

 

Billy muttered under his breath, taking cover behind a stack of crates. “I miss the puppies. I really miss the puppies.”

 

Coulson couldn’t help but chuckle as he took out another mercenary with a perfectly placed ICER shot. “Don’t worry, Billy. After this, we’ll grab some celebratory coffee. You can even add glitter if it helps you cope.”

 

Billy groaned but kept firing, his muttering growing louder. “Next time, I’m taking the babysitting duty. Glitter and all.”

Chapter 46: Chapter 45

The tension in the warehouse was palpable. Agents scrambled, some ducking behind crates, others hastily unloading weapons and securing evidence. It was a clean operation for S.H.I.E.L.D., for the most part. But Phil Coulson, ever the pragmatic leader, knew that things never stayed clean for long when you were dealing with the likes of Ulysses Klaue and his precious Vibranium.

 

Coulson shot a glance at Billy Koenig, his long-time S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and, for lack of a better word, partner in this madness. Billy was crouched behind a stack of crates, his weapon raised and eyes darting as he watched the mercenaries securing the last of Klaue’s stash. The man had a knack for getting into trouble and a penchant for sarcasm, and Coulson was always there to enjoy the show.

 

“Are you sure you’re not regretting taking a break from babysitting Rose?” Coulson asked with a dry smile, sliding his own gun into place.

 

Billy grinned, though it was more of a grimace. “Babysitting her was easy compared to this. At least she doesn’t shoot at me… well, not as much, anyway.”

 

Coulson chuckled but kept his gaze trained on the mercenaries milling around the warehouse. He knew they wouldn’t stay distracted for long. “You know you’re a really good shot, Billy, but I’m starting to feel like we could use some more firepower.”

 

“Just say the word, boss,” Billy said, shifting behind his crate, “I’m ready to turn this place into Swiss cheese.”

 

Coulson’s eyes flicked up, catching the flicker of motion through the skylight. He tapped his earpiece with a quiet click. "Clint, talk to me. I need you in position.”

 

Up on the roof, Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, had already sighted his target. His bow was drawn, and the arrow was nocked. The sound of his voice crackled in Coulson’s earpiece.

 

“I’ve got it, Phil. But you’re gonna want to watch this.” Clint’s voice was laced with mischief, a tone Coulson had long learned to recognize.

 

“Clint, please tell me you’re not pulling one of your stunts.” Coulson couldn’t help but sound exasperated.

 

“Oh, I’m not pulling a stunt,” Clint responded with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m just… getting creative.”

 

Clint’s voice faded slightly as the string of the bow tightened. He wasn’t saying much more, and Coulson could almost hear the smirk on his face. That was the thing about Clint; he was good at keeping things just vague enough to keep you on edge.

 

“Alright, Hank, Janet,” Clint continued, his tone a little more serious. “Ready?”

 

In their shrunken forms, Hank Pym and Janet Van Dyne clung to the arrow, ready for the action that would unfold in the next few seconds.

 

“I don’t like this, Clint,” Hank muttered, his voice barely audible over the comms. “This whole thing’s ridiculous.”

 

Janet’s voice was a soft, amused whisper. “Oh, come on, Hank. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

 

Hank grunted, clearly agitated. “My sense of adventure is long gone. This is just a bad idea.”

 

Clint let out a laugh, his fingers pulling the bowstring back. “Relax, Pym. Trust me, this’ll be fun.”

 

With a whoosh, the arrow zipped through the night air, heading directly for the SUV that was speeding toward the warehouse. The mercenaries had no idea what was coming.

 

The next moment, Hank and Janet began to grow in size, expanding rapidly just as the arrow hit the tire of the SUV. The force of their growth slammed into the vehicle, flipping it end over end, sending it crashing into the concrete with a violent screech. It was a spectacle no one could have predicted—least of all the mercenaries, who were still trying to process the sheer absurdity of what had just happened.

 

The shock didn’t last long. As the dust settled, Janet Van Dyne, now back to her full size, landed gracefully on the ground, her wings fluttering to steady herself. She was already on the move, launching herself toward the mercenaries in a blur of motion.

 

“Surprise!” she called out as she tore through their ranks, using her speed to disorient and disable the closest enemies. Her movements were fluid, precise, like a dancer in battle, and she was clearly enjoying every second of it.

 

Hank Pym, however, wasn’t nearly as graceful. He landed heavily, his bulk creating a tremor through the warehouse as he straightened up, scanning the scene. “I swear, Clint, you owe me a bottle of bourbon for this.” His voice was low and full of irritation, as if the absurdity of it all wasn’t quite enough to distract him from his growing frustration. He was already starting to target the nearest mercenary with a quick strike, knocking them out cold.

 

Coulson glanced over at Billy as the sound of combat erupted around them. “It’s not exactly subtle, but it works.” He ducked as a stray bullet ricocheted off a nearby crate.

 

Billy just shook his head, though there was a grin on his face. “I’m just wondering how Clint talked them into this. This is so far beyond ridiculous.”

 

“Knowing Clint? It probably started as a dare,” Coulson replied, his voice dry as he gestured for the agents to continue securing the crates.

 

As they secured the final crates and loaded them onto the S.H.I.E.L.D. jet, Clint’s voice crackled through the comms again. “Phil, the mercs are regrouping. They’re not too happy with the surprise, but they’re still packing heat. You might want to get your butts on the jet ASAP.”

 

“Copy that,” Coulson said, never breaking stride. “Alright, team, time’s up. We’re heading out in two minutes. Let’s move!”

 

Billy quickly finished his work, tossing the last crate onto the jet. “You know, Phil, I’m getting the distinct impression that Clint only likes doing things that are borderline illegal.”

 

“Borderline?” Coulson raised an eyebrow, smirking. “That’s Clint Barton’s idea of a good Tuesday.”

 

With the crates secured, the team rushed to the jet, and Clint, Hank, and Janet did a quick once-over of their surroundings before making their way toward the exit. Hank’s expression was gruff, though there was an underlying tension in his shoulders that Coulson couldn’t ignore. He had seen that look before, and he had a pretty good idea of what it meant. The fact that Hank’s response to everything—despite his clear skill—was more grumbled complaints than anything else… It wasn’t new.

 

But it wasn’t something Coulson was willing to dwell on now. Not with the mercenaries still out there and not when they were so close to securing the last of Klaue’s stash. Besides, Clint’s voice came through again, breaking Coulson’s train of thought.

 

“Last call for the jet! You guys better hustle, because I don’t think we’re going to have a chance for a second round.”

 

Coulson tapped his earpiece. “On our way, Barton. Just try not to break anything before we get out of here.”

 

Billy shot Coulson a half-amused look as they sprinted for the jet. “He says that like Clint isn't the one we need to worry about.”

 

“Oh, trust me, we’re all worried about Clint,” Coulson muttered, and with that, they were airborne, leaving the warehouse—and all its complications—behind them.

 

—

 

In the sleek, tech-heavy workshop tucked away in the heart of the Stark safehouse in New York, Tony Stark was hunched over, laser-focused on the last few adjustments to the leg braces designed for his best friend, James "Rhodey" Rhodes. The mechanical legs, which would soon replace the ones damaged during his last battle, lay on the workbench, their polished exteriors gleaming in the ambient light of the lab.

 

He had built the frame with his usual precision—after all, Rhodey was more than just a friend; he was family. But despite his deep attachment to the project, Tony couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing, something that only Rhodey’s feedback could truly perfect.

 

As his hands worked with practiced ease, adjusting the components, Tony's mind was split between the task at hand and the holographic display of his father’s latest project that hung before him.

 

Howard Stark—his father, the legendary inventor—was standing nearby, his own set of blueprints hovering before him in a flickering holographic projection. The image shifted as Howard casually adjusted his glasses, his brow furrowing as he ran his fingers through the air, making precise changes to the design.

 

"Tony," Howard's voice cut through the low hum of the lab, "take a look at this. This is the next step in repulsor technology. And let me tell you, it’s going to be big."

 

Tony didn’t bother looking up, his fingers still flying across the mechanical frame. “It’s always ‘big’ with you, Dad. Can’t you just once give me a prototype that’s a little less explosive?”

 

Howard let out a soft, amused chuckle, clearly unfazed by his son’s sarcasm. "Oh, come on, Tony. You know you love it. It's in your blood. You were practically born to make things go boom."

 

Tony smirked, raising an eyebrow but not pausing his work. "Boom's fine, but I prefer controlled explosions, Dad. You taught me that yourself." His tone was playful but laced with the undeniable edge of self-assurance that had always characterized his genius.

 

"Controlled," Howard repeated, voice tinged with approval. "Yes, that's the trick. But it's more than just a boom. This repulsor tech? It’s not just for the usual Stark flair. It’s designed for more—much more. It’ll power the new Quinjet, give it an edge no one has seen before. You could use it in your suits. Flight capabilities, high-level defense, not to mention enough offensive power to take out half an army if necessary."

 

Tony finally looked up, quirking an eyebrow as he studied the schematics in front of him. "And you want me to just integrate this into my suits? Because I’m sensing the part where you’ve been holding back something fun, Dad. What’s the catch?"

 

Howard’s lips twitched into a sly smile, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. He tapped on the hologram, zooming in on specific components. "No catch. Just a little side note: The tech’s capable of much more than just flight. The power output is... impressive." He let the words hang in the air as if daring Tony to fill in the blanks himself.

 

Tony leaned forward, running his fingers through his hair, clearly intrigued. "Wait, let me guess—weaponize the flight tech, yeah? Maybe give it a little... extra punch?" His voice oozed with mischief as his mind began to churn with possibilities. "Repulsor blast? Repulsor cannon? Oh, I see where you're going with this, old man. You really are thinking about turning the Quinjet into a flying weapon."

 

Howard chuckled darkly, a glint of something unspoken in his eyes. "Exactly. You’ve got the idea. But remember, Tony, it’s not just about making it go boom. It’s about precision and control. I’ve got the specs worked out for how the tech integrates into the suits, but with your modifications, we could turn it into something much more... adaptable. You could make it so that the tech doesn’t just power the suits, but enhances them in ways we haven’t even begun to explore."

 

Tony’s lips twitched into a grin, the gears in his mind turning faster than his hands could work. "Power, precision, adaptability—oh, I’m already getting ideas. Trust me, I’ll figure out how to weaponize this and make it look good at the same time. You know, style’s just as important as function, right?"

 

Howard’s eyebrows lifted, clearly impressed. "Of course. You’ve always had an eye for that. But let me tell you—this tech isn’t just about style. It’s about control. I’ve worked with Lily Potter and Gideon Adler on this. Their magical touch is what’s going to give it the stability we need. I’m not a fan of magic myself, but in this case... it’s the only way we’ll make this work."

 

Tony raised an eyebrow at the mention of Lily Potter and Gideon Adler. He hadn’t had much direct experience with them yet, but if Howard was working with them, it meant something serious was in the works. He could already feel the tension of excitement bubbling inside him. “Magic, huh? I was wondering when you’d get to the ‘secret sauce’ part of this equation. Alright, Dad, you’re speaking my language now. I’m just curious how you plan on meshing magical stabilization with all this high-tech firepower.”

 

Howard’s smile softened, a rare, approving look crossing his face. "That’s where you come in, Tony. You’re the one who can make it all work. I’ll handle the theory, but you—you’ll be the one to put it together. You’ll take this tech and make it yours."

 

Tony leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, letting the words sink in. "Alright, alright. I’ll get to work on it. But let me tell you, I’m not just gonna settle for flying suits and fancy tech. I’ve got ideas for weapons in there too. You said ‘adaptable,’ and I’ll give you adaptable. How about a suit that can literally adapt to any combat situation?"

 

Howard shook his head, but there was a hint of admiration in his eyes. "You really never stop thinking about ways to break the rules, do you?"

 

Tony smirked, standing up and moving toward his workbench where the arc reactor glowed faintly in the corner. "Breaking rules? Please, Dad, I’m just making them better."

 

Howard didn’t argue. He had seen it in Tony before, seen that same relentless drive to push boundaries. "Just remember, Tony," he said as he turned to leave, his tone shifting to something more serious, "this is about more than just tech. It’s about responsibility. We can’t let this power fall into the wrong hands. Trust me—I've made my mistakes."

 

Tony’s smirk faltered for a second, his expression darkening just a touch. "Don’t worry, Dad. I’m not you. I know what I’m doing."

 

But even as he said it, a small part of him wondered if that was really true.

 

—

 

As the S.H.I.E.L.D. jet hummed to a halt on the rooftop of the New York Safehouse, Clint Barton’s voice crackled over the comms, dripping with sarcasm and smug satisfaction. “Nice landing, folks. No vehicles flipped this time, so I’m counting it as a win.”

 

“I swear, Clint, you’re the only guy I know who finds pride in avoiding complete disaster,” Billy Koenig muttered as he unstrapped himself, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. His voice, usually jovial, carried a hint of annoyance, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he moved toward the exit.

 

Phil Coulson, ever the stoic, didn’t share Billy’s enthusiasm. With his tactical vest fitting neatly around his broad shoulders, he gave Clint a look that said everything without saying a word. “We’ll all be counting wins when we’re inside and not standing out here waiting for an ambush.”

 

Clint gave him a mock salute. “You got it, Boss. Just trying to keep things interesting.”

 

A few moments later, the team descended the jet’s stairs, entering the dimly lit halls of the safehouse. The sound of quiet chatter and muted laughter drifted from the nearby briefing room, the usual post-mission debriefing in full swing. Natasha Romanoff was already there, sitting with Harry Potter, a rare break from the usual intensity of her missions.

 

Her sharp eyes glanced up from the table, quickly assessing the team as they entered. Her gaze softened just a fraction when it landed on Clint. “Mission success?” she asked in her usual cool, controlled tone, but there was a playful edge to it, like she already knew the answer.

 

Clint swaggered over, smirking. “If by ‘mission success’ you mean we obliterated a bunch of mercenaries with a surprise attack and no one died, then yeah, it was a resounding win.” He spread his arms wide, as if waiting for a round of applause.

 

Janet Van Dyne rolled her eyes, stepping up beside him. “A surprise? I think the mercenaries were still trying to figure out what happened five minutes after the fact. But, sure, Clint. You keep telling yourself it was all part of your genius plan.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll thank me when they wake up,” Clint quipped back, his grin unrepentant.

 

Billy Koenig shot a glance at Clint, raising an eyebrow. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask, Clint. How many ‘surprise’ arrows do you have left? The ‘biggest’ one seems to be running on fumes.”

 

“Well, there’s always the last arrow,” Clint replied with a wink. “The one I only use in an emergency.”

 

Harry Potter, who had been watching the banter from the table with a smirk, looked up. “Clint’s been Clint. What else is new?”

 

"And you’re all still alive, which is a bonus," Natasha added, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she shot Clint a teasing look. “But next time, maybe try a little less of the arrow-with-giant-shrinking-people tactic?”

 

Clint’s eyebrows shot up in mock horror. “What? No way. It’s my signature move!”

 

Just as the conversation was about to spiral into more friendly jabs, the sound of fast, excited footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder with every second. The team turned to see Rose Potter, Harry’s perpetually energetic six-year-old sister, barreling down the hall like a small tornado. Behind her were Tonks—lanky, perpetually grinning, and in the middle of some shapeshifting mischief—and Ororo Munroe, a 15-year-old who had mastered her weather-controlling powers with a precision that often left the team in awe.

 

“Uncle Phil! Uncle Billy!” Rose screamed, her voice high-pitched with glee. Her dark brown curls bounced as she sped toward them, completely unaware of the vase just inches from her path, which she narrowly avoided knocking over.

 

Coulson’s usual calm expression wavered for a moment, but he caught himself quickly, forcing a smile as he bent down to meet her eye level. “Hey, Rose. Good to see you.”

 

“Did you bring me a present?” Rose demanded immediately, her tiny arms crossed and her face set in an expression of serious interrogation.

 

Koenig snorted, shooting Coulson a look that seemed to say, Good luck with that.

 

“I didn’t bring a present, Rose,” Coulson said with a strained but polite smile. “But I’ve got some great stories about Clint to share.”

 

Rose’s eyes lit up at the mention of Clint. “Clint?” she repeated, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Tell me everything about how he blew stuff up!”

 

Clint groaned, his face contorting with mock horror. “Oh, great. Now I’m going to be a legend in the eyes of a six-year-old.” He rubbed his temples dramatically. “This is going to be a long night.”

 

“You’ve already created a mini-Clint, haven’t you?” Janet said with a wicked grin, raising an eyebrow at Harry, who was standing nearby with an amused expression. “Just look at her—complete with the sass.”

 

Billy snickered. “Yeah, Clint, you’ve got competition now. You sure you’re ready for that?”

 

Ororo Munroe, who had been quietly observing, smirked. “She’s got the energy of a thunderstorm. I’m surprised you all haven’t been struck down by now.”

 

Rose, hearing her name mentioned, shot a smug look over her shoulder. “I don’t think you’re getting off that easy, Uncle Phil. Where’s my real present?”

 

Coulson gave a mock sigh, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright. How about we make a deal? You let me finish my conversation, and next time, I’ll bring you something really good.”

 

Rose thought it over for a second, her arms still crossed. “Fine. But only if you don’t forget.” She nodded decisively. “Deal?”

 

Coulson smiled, relief flashing across his face as he extended his hand. “Deal.”

 

Rose beamed and skipped off, bouncing over to join Tonks and Ororo. The three of them began talking animatedly, their voices barely a blur as they disappeared into the safehouse’s deeper rooms.

 

Tonks leaned toward Clint with a grin. “Can you imagine the disaster she’s going to be when she’s older?”

 

Clint deadpanned, “Do you really want me to answer that?”

 

“Oh, come on, Clint,” Tonks teased, “you’ve already created a force of nature. Just wait till she learns how to use that magic properly.”

 

“I’ve seen enough magic to last a lifetime.” Clint smirked, tapping his arrow quiver. “But sure, it’s totally not like I’m concerned about her. At all.”

 

Natasha, looking over at Harry, her lips quirked in a soft smile. “You’ve got your hands full with that one.”

 

Harry let out a long, affectionate sigh as he stood from his seat at the table, stretching his legs. “She’s a handful, but she’s family. I’d do anything for her.” He glanced at Coulson and Billy, adding, “Though I think you two have learned that the hard way.”

 

Billy raised both hands in mock surrender, a tired grin on his face. “I’m not saying I regret it. I’m just saying… I’ve aged five years in the last six months.”

 

Coulson, always the pragmatic agent, just shook his head. “One of these days, we’ll catch a break. But I’m not counting on it being anytime soon.”

 

The team started to settle into the safehouse, with Harry giving Janet and Hank a quick nod. “It’s been a while. Good to see you two made it out in one piece.”

 

“Barely,” Hank muttered, rubbing his neck. His voice was laced with a familiar edge of irritation, and the way his fingers clutched his shoulder suggested a growing discomfort. “Clint owes me a year’s worth of back massages after that stunt.”

 

Janet, always the optimist, nudged him with a playful wink. “Oh, come on. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us. Let’s just hope Rose doesn’t turn me into a cat again.”

 

“Please, that’s the least of your worries,” Ororo interjected with a mischievous grin. “If she ever learns to turn us all into animals, we’re all going to be in serious trouble.”

 

Laughter rang out around the room, and for a fleeting moment, the team allowed themselves the luxury of calm—knowing that the chaos would return soon enough, but for now, they could savor this moment of peace amidst the constant whirl of missions and family antics.

 

But in the back of the room, Hank Pym stood a little too still. A small glass of scotch, barely touched, sat in his hand, and the weight of the conversation he wasn’t having seemed to press down on him as the laughter continued around him. Janet noticed, but her gaze quickly shifted away, unwilling to address the shadow lurking between them.

 

—

 

The safehouse hummed with a mix of voices, clinking glasses, and the soft whir of distant machinery. The moment was almost too peaceful, like a quiet before a storm. The team was finally taking a break, a rarity given their ever-busy lives, and everyone was more than ready to let their guards down—at least for a little while.

 

Clint Barton lounged in one of the chairs with his feet up, a smirk dancing on his lips as he surveyed the room. He always seemed at ease in these moments, but his eyes never fully relaxed. After everything he'd been through, he was always watching, always calculating. Tonight, though, he was letting himself indulge in the camaraderie.

 

"Looks like we’ve got ourselves a little family reunion here," Clint remarked, raising his glass to the newcomers. "But you know what? The last thing I expected was to see Lily Potter gracing us with her presence after working on the Quinjet project."

 

Lily Potter, looking every bit the powerhouse witch she was, stepped into the room, her usual immaculate appearance slightly disheveled. Her fiery red hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and there was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead from the intense hours spent troubleshooting. But despite the fatigue, her eyes lit up when she saw the familiar faces.

 

"Finally wrapped up that damn Quinjet upgrade," Lily said, dropping her bag onto the floor with a thud. "Couldn’t get the thing to fly straight if I tried. You’d think they’d build a better model by now."

 

"Yeah, well," Clint said with a lazy grin, "you know how it is. Tech and magic, they never quite play nice together."

 

Lily shot him a tired smile, but it was clear she wasn’t in the mood for more tech talk. "I just want a drink and a chance to put my feet up. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the kitchen."

 

Behind her, James Potter followed, his usual carefree swagger now more weary than anything. He was holding a tumbler of whiskey, and it was clear he'd been at it for a while. The lines of exhaustion were etched into his face, but his trademark smirk was still there. He was wearing that expression that said, I’ve been working too long, and I don’t really care what anyone thinks about it.

 

"Good to see you all," James greeted, lifting his glass to the crowd. "You'd think after a hundred years of wizarding and tech-ing, we’d have figured out a way to clone ourselves, so we don’t have to actually work all the time."

 

Sirius Black, ever the troublemaker, sidled in next to James, whiskey already in hand and eyes bright with mischief. "We could certainly do with some clones for the good parts of our personalities. But I don’t think I need another James Potter running around, especially with that glassy-eyed look you're rocking."

 

"Shut up, Black," James muttered with a grin. "I’ve earned this."

 

Clint chuckled, but his gaze flickered uneasily toward Hank Pym, who had just walked in, a slight limp in his step that no one had mentioned but everyone noticed. The man was older than most of the team, his posture stiff with tension, but it was more than that. He had that look of someone who had seen too many late nights, too many work sessions that blurred into one another.

 

Janet Van Dyne followed Hank into the room. She was tall, regal, and every inch the confident Avenger. But even as she flashed a polite smile at the group, there was something... off. Her eyes darted toward Hank, who had already poured himself another drink. She hesitated for a moment before taking her own glass, her fingers clenching around it just a little too tightly.

 

"Great to see everyone," Janet said, her voice smooth but with an underlying tension. She made a beeline for the couch, where she plopped down beside Tonks, who was currently trying to contain her excitement over a very important topic.

 

Tonks, ever the bratty wildcard, leaned over to Janet and whispered loudly enough for the group to hear, "Guess who got into Clint’s arrow stash and accidentally shrank one of his best ones? Can you believe it? It was so awesome!"

 

Clint raised an eyebrow from his chair. "What did I tell you about that, Tonks? Don’t mess with my arrows unless you want to be the target."

 

"Oh, come on, Barton," Tonks laughed, unbothered by his threat. "You know I was just... experimenting. Anyway, you don’t need all those fancy things. You’ve got enough tricks up your sleeve already."

 

Clint shot her a side-eye, but his gaze flickered back to Hank, who had taken another long pull from his drink. The glass shook slightly in his hand, and Clint could tell it wasn’t just fatigue. It was something else, something darker.

 

Natasha Romanoff, who had been quietly watching the exchange from the corner of the room, finally spoke up, her voice smooth and controlled, as always. "What’s going on, Hank?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. "This isn’t the first drink you’ve had tonight, is it?"

 

Hank didn’t look up at her, his face locked in concentration as he fiddled with his glass, unwilling to meet her gaze. "I’m just... thinking," he muttered, his voice low and steady, but with a slight slur creeping in at the edges.

 

Janet shot him a glance from across the room, her fingers tight around her own glass. Her expression remained impassive, but there was something strained in the way she avoided eye contact.

 

Coulson, ever the observer, didn’t miss the tension either. He cleared his throat and casually changed the subject, though his eyes flickered toward Hank and Janet. "I think someone needs a distraction, huh? What do you say we talk shop for a bit? I’ve got some intel on a mission that could use your expertise."

 

"Yeah, shop talk," Clint said, clearly not buying it but happy to follow Coulson’s lead. "Because that’s exactly what I need right now."

 

James raised his glass, though his eyes were still on Hank, and his voice was casual but heavy with unspoken meaning. "A little drink, a little chat, maybe a little less work, huh?"

 

Sirius, ever the wildcard, chimed in with a wry grin. "You know what? I think we’ve earned it. No more work for the night. Well, at least until tomorrow."

 

Lily rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. "You know, I don’t mind a good project, but I’m starting to think you lot work harder on avoiding work than actually doing it."

 

Rose, the six-year-old hellion who’d been quietly lurking in the background, suddenly piped up with a shrill voice that cut through the conversation. "I think Clint’s arrows are dumb!" She stuck her tongue out, causing Clint to groan in exasperation.

 

"Hey, kid," Clint warned. "You want to start throwing arrows at me? I’m game."

 

James chuckled and ruffled Rose’s hair affectionately. "Don’t let him get to you, kiddo. Clint’s arrows are probably the least dangerous thing around here."

 

The room laughed, but there was still that undercurrent—still that feeling that not everything was right. That some things, some relationships, were being held together with string, and it might snap any second. Hank's silent brooding, Janet's stiff composure, and the unspoken history between them was like a shadow in the room.

 

Ororo Munroe, who had been quietly watching all of this unfold, caught Clint’s eye from across the room. She gave him a subtle nod, a quiet acknowledgment that they both knew something was wrong.

 

Clint returned the look, but the question remained: How long could they keep pretending that everything was okay?

Chapter 47: Chapter 46

The sunlight filtered through the windows of the compound as Janet Van Dyne walked briskly down the hallway, her heels clicking on the polished floor. She was dressed impeccably, as always, in a tailored beige jacket over a simple black blouse and fitted pants, her blonde hair framing her face in soft waves. Her expression was a blend of curiosity and determination, the kind of look that meant she wasn’t about to take no for an answer.

 

She spotted Lily Potter in the distance, a stark contrast to her own polished demeanor. Lily, with her auburn hair tied in a messy bun and wearing a comfortable sweater and jeans, had a clipboard balanced precariously in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. She looked like she hadn’t slept much, but her green eyes sparkled with energy nonetheless.

 

“Janet,” Lily greeted warmly, setting the coffee mug down on a nearby table. “You’re up early. What can I do for you?”

 

Janet gave her a wry smile. “I could say the same about you, but I have a feeling you haven’t actually gone to bed yet.”

 

Lily chuckled, not denying it. “The Quinjet project’s been keeping me busy. Gideon and I are running some final tests today. Why, are you curious?”

 

“Curious?” Janet tilted her head, her smile widening. “That’s putting it lightly. I’ve been hearing nothing but glowing reports about the work you and your ‘partner-in-crime’ have been doing. Merging magic and technology? It’s practically revolutionary. I need to see it for myself.”

 

Lily raised an eyebrow, but there was a playful glint in her eye. “Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Gideon can be... intense in the mornings. And by intense, I mean borderline insufferable.”

 

“Oh, I remember Gideon,” Janet said, her tone pointed. “Though the last time I saw him, he looked about a hundred years older and went by Gellert Grindelwald. I trust he’s better company now that he’s had a magical makeover?”

 

Lily laughed. “He’s still Gideon. You’ll see.”

 

The two women made their way to the workshop, the buzz of activity in the compound fading as they entered a quieter, more focused space. The workshop was a perfect blend of futuristic technology and something almost ancient. Holographic displays hummed alongside walls inscribed with glowing runes. In the center of the room stood the Quinjet prototype, its sleek design enhanced by intricate magical etchings that shimmered faintly in the light.

 

Gideon Adler was hunched over a console, his pale blond hair now streaked with only the faintest hint of silver, falling just past his shoulders. He looked far younger than Janet remembered, his striking features sharp and angular, his expression one of deep concentration. His long, dark coat swept the floor as he turned to face them, his mismatched eyes—one icy blue, the other faintly golden—lighting up with recognition.

 

“Janet Van Dyne,” Gideon drawled, his voice smooth and rich with a faint accent. “It’s been some time.”

 

Janet crossed her arms, her lips curving into a smirk. “Almost a year, if memory serves. You look… different.”

 

“Ah, yes.” Gideon spread his arms theatrically. “Youth is wasted on the young, they say. But in my case, I’d argue it’s quite an improvement, wouldn’t you?”

 

Janet raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I’ll let you know once I decide if the attitude has improved along with the looks.”

 

Lily snorted, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Alright, you two, play nice. Janet’s here to see the Quinjet, not to relive your past lives.”

 

“Is she, now?” Gideon’s gaze shifted to the Quinjet, his tone suddenly more serious. “Then I hope you’re ready to be impressed, Janet. This is no ordinary machine.”

 

Janet stepped forward, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. She ran her fingers lightly along the edge of the jet, her touch reverent. “The design is stunning. But what’s really catching my eye are these—” She gestured to the glowing runes. “—the magical enhancements. How exactly are you making this work without everything exploding?”

 

“That,” Gideon said with a sly smile, “is the art of it. Technology and magic are natural enemies, you see. Like oil and water. It takes a delicate touch—an understanding of both worlds—to blend them seamlessly.”

 

“And a lot of arguing,” Lily added dryly. “Gideon insists on his ‘artistic vision,’ and Howard wants precision. I’m the one stuck in the middle.”

 

Janet smirked, turning to Lily. “You poor thing. It must be exhausting being the most reasonable person in the room.”

 

“You have no idea,” Lily replied, her tone playful but edged with truth.

 

Gideon interrupted their banter with a wave of his hand. “Enough chatter. We’re about to test the new stabilization matrix. Janet, you may want to stand back. Unless, of course, you’re feeling brave.”

 

Janet didn’t move. “Please. I didn’t come here to play it safe.”

 

Gideon chuckled, clearly amused, and turned back to the controls. As he began the test, Janet leaned closer to Lily, her tone quieter but no less direct. “So, about Hank…”

 

Lily hesitated, glancing at Gideon to make sure he was focused elsewhere. “I’ve noticed,” she admitted softly. “The drinking, the temper… I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk about it.”

 

Janet sighed, her polished exterior cracking just a little. “It’s complicated. Hank’s always been… passionate. But lately, that passion’s been eating him alive. I don’t know how to help him anymore.”

 

Lily placed a hand on Janet’s arm, her green eyes filled with understanding. “You don’t have to do it alone. If you ever need someone to talk to—or anything else—you know where to find me.”

 

Janet gave her a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Lily.”

 

Before they could continue, the Quinjet hummed to life, its magical and technological components syncing together in a display of glowing light and gentle vibrations. Gideon turned to them, his expression triumphant. “Ladies, behold: the future.”

 

Janet’s breath caught for just a moment. “It’s… incredible.”

 

Lily grinned. “Welcome to the new world, Janet. Think you’re ready to join us?”

 

Janet smiled, feeling a flicker of excitement and hope. “Oh, I think I’ll manage.”

 

—

 

The low hum of the Quinjet's magical stabilization matrix was interrupted as the door to the workshop swung open with a clang that echoed off the walls. Hank Pym strode in, his presence commanding yet off-putting, like a storm that couldn't help but tear through everything in its path. His once-pristine suit jacket was rumpled and clung to his frame, the tie loosely hanging around his neck like an afterthought. His face was gaunt and pale, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, unmistakable signs of a hangover still taking its toll. There was no mistaking his mood—impatience radiated from him like heat off a furnace.

 

"Janet," he barked, his voice sharp and unrelenting, cutting through the calm atmosphere of the workshop. "Enough sightseeing. We’ve got work to do. Pack it up. We’re going back to the lab. Now."

 

Janet, who had been standing beside Lily and inspecting the magical runes etched into the Quinjet’s hull, didn’t flinch. She took a slow breath, keeping her gaze on the ship as if Hank hadn’t just walked in like an angry bull on a rampage. After a beat, she turned to face him, her posture cool and unyielding.

 

"Good morning to you, too, Hank," Janet said, her voice calm but cutting, her lips twitching in amusement. "You’re just in time to see some groundbreaking work happening here. Maybe you'll actually learn something new today."

 

Hank’s lip curled into a sneer, and he waved his hand dismissively at the Quinjet. "Groundbreaking? This is Stark-tech, Janet. Flashy toys and gimmicks—nothing more. I don’t have time for this overpriced nonsense." His voice was thick with disdain.

 

Janet crossed her arms, not budging from where she stood. "You know, Hank, sometimes I wonder if you even want to see innovation. It’s always ‘too flashy,’ ‘too unnecessary.’ Have you considered that maybe it’s because you’re too afraid to try something new, that maybe you’re a little too comfortable in your own rut?"

 

Lily, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow at Hank’s tone. Her eyes, normally warm, now flashed with subtle irritation as she stepped forward. "Flashy and unnecessary, is it? Funny, because this ‘overpriced toy,’ as you call it, combines cutting-edge technology with magical advancements. You’ve seen the same thing with us, haven’t you, Hank? Or does the idea of blending magic and science still elude you?"

 

Gideon, who had been intently tracing his fingers over the glowing runes on the Quinjet’s hull, looked up at Hank, his gaze sharp and filled with an air of quiet amusement. "Ah, Dr. Pym," he said, his voice smooth like honey and coated in sarcasm. "Always a pleasure to meet a man so confident in his ignorance. Please, enlighten us—what great feats of modern science do you bring to the table today?"

 

Hank’s eyes narrowed, his expression one of barely concealed disgust. "I’m not here for a debate, Grindelwald," he shot back, the name a clear jab, his tone venomous. "I’ve got real work to do, ones that actually matter. Janet, we leave in ten minutes. I’m not saying it again."

 

Janet’s expression hardened, her eyes flashing as she squared her shoulders. She exhaled sharply, and then with a small smirk, she addressed him with ice in her voice. "You’re not going to say it again? Fine. Let me say it once: I’m not leaving until I’m ready. And if you think you’re dragging me back to the lab like some lab rat in your experiments, you’re sorely mistaken."

 

Hank’s lip curled in contempt as he gestured dismissively at the Quinjet. "Groundbreaking, right. You really believe in this junk? This thing is going to fall apart the second it’s off the ground. I don’t have time for it."

 

Janet stepped closer, her eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "That’s rich, coming from the guy who almost blew up half his lab trying to stabilize a particle. This isn’t about the Quinjet, Hank," she shot back, her voice rising. "This is about you. You can’t stand the idea that someone else might do something groundbreaking for once, especially if it’s not you!"

 

Lily, sensing the rising tension, stepped between them with a calming presence. Her voice was gentle, yet there was an undeniable firmness that cut through Hank’s stubbornness. "Dr. Pym, with all due respect, this project is about more than just Stark or magic. It’s about pushing boundaries, finding new ways to protect people. If you could take a moment to look past your own bias, you might actually see the value in what we’re doing here."

 

Hank’s nostrils flared, his jaw tightening with disdain. He glanced at Lily with a sneer. "Sales pitch, Mrs. Potter. I’ve heard it all before. Janet," he practically spat her name, "I’ll be in the car. You’ve got ten minutes. If you’re not there, I’m leaving without you."

 

Without waiting for a response, Hank spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him with an almost theatrical finality.

 

The room fell into a heavy silence, the energy now shifted from frustration to quiet tension. Janet let out a slow breath, her arms dropping to her sides. She turned to Lily and Gideon, her shoulders sagging as the tension of the confrontation drained from her body.

 

"Well," she said, her voice tinged with a forced lightness, "That was charming." She rolled her eyes as she mimicked Hank’s tone with a sarcastic lilt. "Ten minutes. I’d be impressed if he could make it anywhere in that time frame."

 

Gideon leaned against the console, a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Charming? You’re being generous, Janet. The man’s a walking monument to arrogance. But I do enjoy watching you handle him."

 

Lily placed a gentle hand on Janet’s shoulder, her touch offering reassurance. "Are you okay?"

 

Janet nodded, though her jaw was tight. "I’m fine. He’s just… Hank." She straightened up, her posture resolute once more as she forced a smile. "Now, where were we? Oh, right. You were going to show me how you merged magic with Stark’s propulsion system."

 

Gideon gave her a knowing smile, the corners of his lips curling with a mixture of amusement and admiration. "Ah, yes. Allow me to demonstrate this ‘flash and no substance’ for our esteemed guest," he said, gesturing grandly toward the Quinjet’s hull. His eyes danced with a wicked gleam, enjoying the chance to prove Hank wrong.

 

Janet, now thoroughly restored, chuckled softly. "Lead the way, Gideon. I’m all ears."

 

As they moved forward, the tension in the room evaporated, and the air buzzed with an exciting energy—one fueled by progress, innovation, and the spark of creative minds pushing boundaries.

 

—

 

The soft hum of the Quinjet’s magical stabilization matrix seemed to resonate with the energy in the room, a faint background to the flurry of activity as Janet and Gideon continued their work. They were absorbed in their task, their minds focused on the intricate blending of Stark’s technology and magical theory, unaware of the figure that quietly entered the room.

 

Harry stepped through the door, his eyes scanning the scene before him. There was something familiar in the chaos of the lab, a reminder of the countless hours he'd spent alongside Lily, Natasha, and the rest of his family—building, learning, experimenting. But today, there was something different in the air. The weight of his next journey hung heavy on him, and for a moment, he considered just turning around and leaving without saying a word. After all, he had said his goodbyes to Natasha, Sirius, Rose, and even his dad. But no. Not without Lily. Not without Adler. God help him if he left without saying goodbye to the people who meant the most to him.

 

"Hey, Mom," Harry said, his voice cutting through the silence of the lab. Janet glanced up from her work, her face breaking into a small, knowing smile.

 

"Harry," she said, her tone light but with an underlying curiosity. "What brings you here? I thought you were already out the door."

 

Harry grinned, the mischievous twinkle in his eye betraying the anxiety simmering underneath. "Yeah, well, I was going to leave, but then I realized I’d be in deep trouble with you if I didn’t say goodbye. I’d rather face a Hydra base than leave without telling you."

 

Lily’s lips quirked upward in that familiar smile, the one she always wore when Harry managed to surprise her, even though it was rarely anything out of the ordinary. "You’re lucky, you know. If you hadn't come to say goodbye, I'd have hunted you down."

 

"Ah, well, I couldn't risk that," Harry teased, stepping further into the room. "And I have something else to tell you, too." He hesitated, the words catching in his throat.

 

Lily raised an eyebrow, sensing the change in his demeanor. "What’s going on, Harry?"

 

Harry took a breath, running a hand through his hair. "I’ve got to head back to Kamar-Taj. There's a project I need to start, something I can’t really explain right now. But I’ll need Wong’s help with it." His eyes flickered with a mixture of excitement and exasperation at the thought of Wong. "Let’s just say I love to prank him, and he… well, he doesn’t exactly appreciate my sense of humor."

 

Janet chuckled, her posture relaxing as she crossed her arms. "Oh, I’ve seen you two in action before. It’s like a master class in chaos and resentment. But why Kamar-Taj? What’s this project about?"

 

"I can’t say, not yet," Harry answered quickly, his voice low and serious. "But you know I wouldn’t leave unless it was important." His gaze softened as he looked at Lily. "I’ve already said goodbye to Natasha, Sirius, and Rose. Dad, too. But leaving without telling you and Adler goodbye? Not happening."

 

Lily took a step toward him, her hands on her hips as she regarded him closely. "What are you planning, Harry? I know you. You’re not one to do anything without a good reason. You might not want to tell me, but I can sense that you’re about to step into something big."

 

Harry offered a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "I swear, Mom, sometimes you read me like a book." His tone softened as he continued, his voice quieter now. "I’m not going to be gone forever. Just a little while. But I’ll miss you. A lot."

 

Lily’s expression softened, her gaze warm with understanding. "I’ll miss you too, Harry. But you have to do what you think is right. Just promise me you won’t get yourself into too much trouble." She stepped forward, pulling him into a brief but tight hug.

 

Harry chuckled as he pulled away, already half-embarrassed. "Me? Trouble? Never." But there was a spark of mischief in his eyes that suggested he might be lying.

 

Before Lily could respond, the sound of footsteps approaching interrupted them. Adler entered the lab, his familiar presence filling the room with a comforting air of wisdom. He gave Harry a knowing look, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

 

"Ah, Harry. Off again, are you?" Adler’s voice was rich with affection, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something almost fatherly. "I suppose I should’ve known you’d be slipping off without so much as a proper goodbye." He offered a smile, but it was tinged with a hint of sadness.

 

Harry grinned sheepishly. "You know me too well, Adler. I just didn’t want to leave without—"

 

Adler raised a hand, cutting him off with a light chuckle. "Yes, yes. You’ve already said goodbye to Natasha and the others. But you’re family, Harry. And family always comes first." He stepped forward, clasping Harry’s shoulder with a gentle but firm hand. "Whatever this secret project of yours is, I trust you’ll handle it well. But remember, if you need any advice—or even just someone to listen—I’m here."

 

Harry’s heart warmed at the words, his throat tightening for a moment. "Thanks, Adler. I’ll keep that in mind."

 

Janet, watching the exchange, raised an eyebrow. "All this emotional bonding, and here I thought I was the one who raised you right."

 

Harry shot her a playful grin. "You did. You both did. But if you think I’m not going to prank Wong just a little while I’m there, you’re sorely mistaken."

 

Lily laughed softly, but there was a tinge of sadness behind her smile. "Just don’t cause too much chaos, Harry. I don’t want to hear about it in the next report."

 

As Harry turned to leave, he paused for a moment, glancing back at the two figures who had shaped his life more than anyone else. "I’ll be back soon, I promise. Just… take care of yourselves."

 

With one last nod to the two most important people in his life, Harry slipped out of the workshop, the door closing softly behind him. He felt a pang of bittersweetness in his chest, but it was quickly replaced with determination. He had work to do—and wherever his journey led, he knew he had a family who would always be there to help him find his way back.

 

—

 

Harry stepped through the shimmering portal with the practiced ease of someone who had made this journey more times than he cared to admit. The air around him hummed with ancient power, and the familiar scent of incense and old tomes instantly greeted him as he landed in the hallowed grounds of Kamar-Taj. It was like stepping into another world—one where time felt less like a ticking clock and more like an ever-expanding river, flowing freely, unaffected by the mundane.

 

He took a moment, letting the energy of the place wash over him, before walking toward the central courtyard. Despite everything he’d learned over the years—magic, alternate realities, and even dealing with Hydra—there was still something profoundly awe-inspiring about Kamar-Taj. But today, there was no time to linger in admiration. He had a plan. He needed Wong’s help to make it work, but first, he had to have a little chat with the Ancient One.

 

Harry had barely crossed the threshold into the grand, open courtyard when he felt that unmistakable presence. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. She was always there, watching, waiting, understanding more than he ever could—or wanted to, sometimes.

 

The Ancient One stood at the far end of the courtyard, her back straight, a serene expression on her face. Her robes billowed slightly in the breeze, and her pale, ageless face looked almost too perfect to belong to someone who had seen as much as she had. She regarded Harry with those piercing eyes, the kind that seemed to look through him as much as at him, as though she was already a step ahead in the conversation.

 

"Harry Potter," she greeted, her voice carrying the weight of centuries without a hint of strain. It was as though every word she spoke was infused with the timeless wisdom she had accumulated. "It’s been some time since I last saw you. How are you faring with your... latest endeavor?"

 

Harry grinned, though it was the kind of grin that betrayed a little discomfort. "Oh, you know me. Can’t stay out of trouble for long. I was just off dealing with some Hydra shenanigans. Nothing too dangerous, just a young Tony Stark getting into some rather sticky situations. You’d be surprised how easy it is to ruin a Stark's life with a little well-placed manipulation."

 

The Ancient One's lips quirked in a ghost of a smile, the faintest hint of amusement touching her eyes. "Ah, yes. A 16-year-old Tony Stark and his tendency to attract trouble. I suppose I should’ve known you were involved." Her gaze turned thoughtful, as though she was tracing the threads of time that connected him to the situation. "I trust you handled it well?"

 

"I’ve handled worse," Harry said casually, though his thoughts lingered on the peculiar intricacies of his latest encounter with Stark. "But enough about that. I’m here to talk about something a little more pressing."

 

The Ancient One tilted her head ever so slightly, an almost imperceptible motion that spoke volumes. "I’m sure you are. And I imagine you’ve come to see Wong? He’s in the library, as usual, buried in scrolls he’ll never finish reading."

 

"Right where I left him, I assume," Harry said with a knowing smirk. "I have a feeling Wong will be the key to what I need next."

 

The Ancient One’s gaze flickered with amusement, her smile broadening. "You forget, Harry, I know of your ‘secret project’ long before you decided to bring it to Wong. In fact, I’m quite curious to see how this turns out."

 

Harry raised an eyebrow, a little taken aback but not at all surprised. "You already know what it is? Of course you do. You’re the Ancient One. You probably know what I’m going to have for lunch tomorrow too."

 

She regarded him with that calm, knowing gaze, as though she was observing a particularly entertaining puzzle. "It’s not the details that intrigue me, but the potential of what you’re trying to accomplish. I believe you are on the cusp of something... momentous, Harry. But, as you are well aware, these things never come easily."

 

"I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge," Harry said, though his tone had a hint of caution in it. The Ancient One wasn’t one to throw around words like “momentous” lightly. "But you’re right about one thing. I’m going to need Wong’s help. I’d rather not face whatever it is I'm about to face alone."

 

"Wise," she said, her voice steady and warm, but with a thread of underlying power. "But remember, even with Wong’s aid, this path you are treading could lead you into unknown realms. Be careful where you step, Harry. Not all is as it seems."

 

Harry nodded slowly, understanding the weight behind her words. "I’ll keep that in mind. I’m not here to make a mess of things. I just want to get this right." He gave her a final glance, noting the ever-present glint of ancient wisdom in her eyes. "Thanks for the heads-up."

 

She smiled, her expression unreadable, before offering him a soft, almost imperceptible nod. "Good luck, Harry. You’ll need it."

 

With that, Harry turned and made his way toward the library, the air growing quieter as he walked deeper into the sanctum of Kamar-Taj. He couldn’t help but feel that the Ancient One's words were still echoing in his head, lingering like a faint hum of caution. It wasn’t the first time she’d given him advice that sounded like a warning wrapped in encouragement. He’d learned to listen to her, even if he didn’t always heed her every word.

 

As he entered the library, the familiar scent of aged parchment and incense filled his lungs, and he immediately spotted Wong sitting at one of the long tables, his hands buried in a pile of thick, dusty books. Wong was muttering to himself in that low, deliberate tone, his focus intense and unwavering. The mystical knowledge of the library was vast, and Wong was often its most ardent student.

 

"Still buried in the old stuff, Wong?" Harry asked, his voice loud enough to break the intense silence that surrounded them.

 

Wong looked up, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. The sharp, no-nonsense gaze was immediately at odds with the calm of the library, and Harry grinned, knowing that Wong wasn’t in the mood for distractions. "You again, Potter," Wong said, his voice dry, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I assume you’re not here to ask me for another magical favor, are you? I’ve already helped you with your last experiment—if I recall correctly, it nearly set fire to half of Kamar-Taj."

 

Harry put up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, that was an accident! I didn’t mean for the room to implode, it just... happened."

 

Wong’s unimpressed look deepened, but there was no real anger behind it—just resignation, as though he had long since come to accept that Harry’s magical mishaps were simply part of life.

 

"Fine, fine. But what is it this time?" Wong asked, setting his books aside. "You look like you’re up to something, and I know better than to let you run off without some explanation."

 

Harry leaned against a nearby bookshelf, crossing his arms. "You could say that. I’ve been working on something... a project. I’m gonna need your help to finish it."

 

Wong gave him an appraising look, the kind of look that suggested he wasn’t sure whether Harry was about to get them both into trouble or if he was truly onto something important. "I don’t know whether to be concerned or intrigued. But, considering who’s asking, I suppose I’ll bite. What’s the project?"

 

Harry paused, letting the suspense hang in the air for just a beat longer before giving Wong a small, almost wicked grin. "Well, Wong, it’s nothing small. But I’ll say this—it’s big enough that if it works, it could change everything."

 

Wong didn’t seem to buy the mystery for a second. "I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a terrible thing, Potter. But, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?"

 

"That’s the idea," Harry said, nodding. "So, what do you say? Ready to help me make some magic happen?"

 

Wong sighed, rubbing his temples as though preparing for another of Harry’s chaotic plans. "Just try not to burn down the library this time, and maybe we can get to work."

 

And just like that, the two of them were off—ready to dive into whatever "big" project Harry had up his sleeve, fully aware that the journey was likely to be as unpredictable as ever.

 

—

 

Harry sat across from Wong in the quiet, dust-choked library of Kamar-Taj, his mind racing with excitement as he pulled a thick, weathered book from his bag. It wasn’t just any old tome—it was the Marauder's Journal, an heirloom given to him on his last birthday by his father, James Potter, and Sirius Black. The leather cover was worn and soft, a testament to the many hands it had passed through over the years, but it still radiated with the energy of countless adventures and secrets.

 

Wong, ever the skeptic, arched an eyebrow as Harry slid the journal across the table toward him. "What’s this? Another one of your... 'magical experiments,' Potter?"

 

Harry gave him a sly smile. "Well, it’s a bit more than that. This is something I’ve been thinking about for a while, and I need your expertise to make it work. It’s something my dad and Sirius worked on—becoming Animagi."

 

Wong raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face. "Animagi? You mean the transformation where wizards can turn into animals at will? That sounds... dangerous."

 

"Oh, it is. And complicated." Harry gave a small laugh, the memories of his own experiences with transforming into a stag flashing through his mind. "But the process itself is one for the books, and I think it could be a perfect challenge for Kamar-Taj magic."

 

He flipped open the journal to a page near the back, marked by a dark, dried stain—presumably from a spill of some kind, though he never asked what it was. The page detailed the intricate, dangerous procedure that his father and Sirius had followed to become Animagi during their time at Hogwarts, a feat that had taken years to complete.

 

Wong glanced down at the page and his face hardened with suspicion. "This looks... painful. And unnecessarily complicated."

 

Harry nodded, knowing full well that Wong was no fan of convoluted or reckless spells. The procedure was detailed, and Harry understood the risks firsthand. He had tried it himself, back in his fifth year, only to discover how hard it was to swallow a Mandrake leaf, let alone keep one under your tongue for an entire month.

 

"Yeah, well, it’s a nightmare of a process. It starts with the Mandrake leaf—the one thing that makes it all work," Harry said, leaning forward to tap the page. "You have to keep a leaf under your tongue for a month. It’s incredibly difficult, and if you swallow it even once, the whole thing is ruined."

 

Wong looked at him with a raised eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And let me guess, the leaf’s not the end of it?"

 

Harry grinned. "Of course not. The Mandrake leaf is just the first step. Once you’ve kept it under your tongue for the whole month, you use the leaf as the final ingredient in brewing something called the Animagus Reveal Potion."

 

Wong’s gaze hardened. "And let me guess—the brewing process takes another month, and there are more dangerous requirements along the way?"

 

"Exactly," Harry said with a dry laugh. "The potion takes a month to brew, but here’s the catch—you can only add the Mandrake leaf during a thunderstorm. It’s... tricky, to say the least."

 

Wong leaned back in his chair, clearly processing the complexity of the task Harry was describing. "This sounds like an ordeal. And dangerous, even for a wizard. How do you expect me to help with this?"

 

Harry’s eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and genuine curiosity. "That’s where you come in, Wong. I need your help to... well, to Sorcerer-ify the process."

 

Wong blinked, clearly unsure of what Harry was proposing. "Sorcerer-ify? You’re asking me to adapt a centuries-old magical process into something... more 'Kamar-Taj-friendly'? You’re joking."

 

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and if anyone can help me take this ridiculously complicated, old-school, wizarding magic and make it—well, more manageable and even more effective—it’s Kamar-Taj. We can create a Kamar-Taj version of the Animagus transformation, something more refined, using your knowledge of the mystic arts."

 

Wong leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued, but the skepticism was still there. "You want to combine Animagus magic with the mystic arts? I’m assuming you’ve thought through the consequences of blending such fundamentally different forms of magic."

 

"Of course I have!" Harry said, a touch of impatience creeping into his voice. "Well, mostly. But that’s where you come in. I want to make this work without causing... well, a disaster. You’ve seen what happens when a spell goes wrong in this place."

 

Wong gave a small grunt of acknowledgment, clearly not forgetting the numerous times Harry had turned a simple spell into a potential catastrophe. He flipped through the journal, eyes scanning the pages in disbelief.

 

"I don’t know, Potter. The Mandrake leaf and thunderstorm conditions are tied to the wizarding world's fundamental nature. We can't just ‘replace’ them with something Kamar-Taj-based without risking—" Wong hesitated. "We’re talking about a transformation that’s tied to a person’s magical essence. Changing that... it’s not something I’d take lightly."

 

Harry leaned back, meeting Wong’s gaze with a mixture of determination and hope. "I know it sounds insane, but I trust that you can find a way to make this work. With your knowledge of the mystic arts, you can alter the process. You’ve already adapted magic in ways that wizarding folk wouldn’t even dream of. You’ve taught me that magic isn’t just about casting spells—it’s about intention, adaptation, and understanding."

 

Wong studied Harry closely for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. Finally, he sighed, closing the journal gently. "You do realize, Potter, that you’re asking me to literally rewrite the rules of magic. If something goes wrong—"

 

"I get it," Harry interrupted, raising a hand. "I know the stakes. But think about it, Wong. If we pull this off, if we make this Kamar-Taj version of the Animagus transformation work, it could change everything. The ability to transform, adapt, learn new things—hell, it could even make us more attuned to the magical energies around us. And if I can turn into an animal at will... well, I think that’d be pretty useful when dealing with Hydra."

 

Wong folded his arms across his chest, looking at Harry as though trying to measure just how far this idea might go. "And you think this will work? Even with the risks involved?"

 

Harry gave a firm nod. "I do. I’ve come this far. I’ve dealt with worse."

 

Wong gave him a sideways look, muttering to himself as if contemplating all the ways this could go wrong. "Fine," he said after a moment, his voice resigned but still with an undercurrent of curiosity. "We’ll try it your way. But I’m not promising anything. If we’re going to modify the Animagus process, we need to respect its origins. And if anything goes wrong, you’ll take full responsibility."

 

Harry grinned, relieved. "Deal. I’ll take the fall if it blows up in our faces. But with your help, I think we can do this right."

 

Wong gave him a final, long look before nodding. "You’d better not get us into any more trouble, Potter. But for now, I’ll begin the work. You should prepare yourself for a lot of reading. This will take time."

 

"Sounds like a plan," Harry said, a spark of excitement in his voice. "We’ve got ourselves a project, Wong."

 

Wong simply gave a weary sigh, knowing all too well what that meant. As he got up to gather the necessary texts, Harry couldn’t help but feel that this could be the start of something monumental. He was on the verge of something bigger than just turning into a stag. And with Wong’s help, the mystical arts were about to unlock a new kind of magic—one that fused the ancient with the new.

Chapter 48: Chapter 47

The lab was a mess of half-finished calculations, blinking monitors, and piles of research notes strewn across Hank Pym’s desk. Hank stared at his screen, muttering under his breath as he adjusted the calibration on his Quantum Realm equipment. His mind was a tangled mess, the numbers not quite adding up. A slight frown tugged at his lips, but he didn’t notice the door opening behind him.

 

Janet Van Dyne’s entrance was as sharp as ever, a breath of cold air before she even spoke. She stepped inside with her arms crossed over her chest, the high heels clicking lightly on the floor. She wasn’t in the mood for Hank’s usual attitude today.

 

"Hank, we need to talk," Janet said, her voice firm, but her eyes betrayed the sharpness beneath her calm exterior.

 

Hank didn’t even flinch. He continued fiddling with the microscope. "Not now, Janet. I’m trying to focus on something important." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, then back at the screen. "I’ve got work to do. I don’t have time for your... distractions."

 

Janet’s lips pressed together in irritation. "Distractions? Really?" She uncrossed her arms and took a step closer, narrowing her eyes at him. "You were the one who told me to either get ready to leave the safehouse in ten minutes or you'll leave without me, remember? You were the one who insisted you could handle things alone."

 

Hank’s shoulders stiffened, and his jaw clenched. "I didn’t need you staying at some safehouse to play with Lily Potter and Gideon Adler. You think I don’t know what that was about?" His voice was getting louder, and his temper was beginning to fray. "And wanting to look at Howard Stark’s toys? You're still hanging around with him after all these years? What is it with you two?"

 

Janet’s eyes flashed with an incredulous glare, her voice cutting through the tension. "You think Howard Stark was flirting with me? After all these years, Hank?" She took a few deliberate steps forward, her anger boiling over. "Howard wasn’t even there! I was talking business with Lily and Adler. But you’re too busy sulking and imagining things."

 

Hank whipped around to face her, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I don’t need to imagine anything, Janet. I’ve got a damn good reason to worry about you and Stark. You’ve got a lot of history together. I don’t know what I was thinking leaving you two alone—"

 

"That’s the problem, Hank!" Janet cut in sharply, taking another step closer. "You never think! You think you can do everything on your own. You isolate yourself, and then you blame everyone else when things go wrong!" She took a deep breath before her tone softened, though the frustration remained in her voice. "You’ve been drowning yourself in alcohol, Hank. Do you even realize that? Do you remember what happened at the safehouse last night? You got so drunk, you were slurring your words in front of the kids! Rose, Tonks, Ororo—they all saw you like that."

 

Hank’s face turned a shade of red that had nothing to do with his temper. His fists clenched tighter, and he felt his heart start to race. "I’m trying to fix things, Janet," he growled, his voice low but laced with bitterness. "I’m doing everything I can to get the Quantum Realm figured out. For us. For our family."

 

"And that’s your problem, Hank!" Janet shot back, her eyes narrowing as she stepped even closer. "You think this obsession with the Quantum Realm is going to fix everything? It’s not. You’re tearing yourself apart, and I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces." She swallowed, her voice softening slightly, but there was no mistaking the hurt in her words. "What happened to the man I married? The one who cared about more than just his work?"

 

Hank was silent for a moment, his breath heavy, as though he was struggling to hold back the frustration and guilt. His eyes shifted to the screen, but his thoughts were far from the data. Janet’s words were sinking in, and they hurt more than he was willing to admit. But before he could respond, a soft knock at the door interrupted them.

 

"Everything okay in here?" Hope’s voice echoed through the room, a note of concern in her tone. At just 13, Hope had a maturity about her that made her both wise beyond her years and often more perceptive than she let on. She stepped into the room, eyeing both of them carefully.

 

Hank froze, his anger evaporating in an instant. Janet’s stiff posture softened. They both turned to face their daughter, who stood there, her brow furrowed in confusion, but her eyes were filled with concern. Hope had seen her parents argue before, but something about the tension in the room felt different.

 

Hope crossed her arms, looking between her parents. "Everything okay?" she repeated, her voice quieter now, though her concern was evident.

 

Janet let out a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, sweetie. Everything’s fine. Your father and I just... had a little disagreement," she said, offering a small but strained smile.

 

Hank let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. "Yeah. Just a... disagreement," he muttered, avoiding Hope’s gaze for a moment.

 

Hope raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. Her sharp eyes flicked from her mother to her father, but she didn’t push further. Instead, she glanced at the Quantum Realm equipment Hank had been obsessively working on, her voice softening as she shifted the topic. "I can see you’re busy with this," she said, gesturing toward the equipment on the desk. "But I thought maybe you could use a break. You haven’t been yourself lately, Dad."

 

Hank rubbed his temple, feeling the weight of his daughter’s words. "I know, Hope. I know."

 

Janet stepped closer to him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "We’ve all been under a lot of pressure," she said quietly, her voice full of understanding. "But we can’t let it drive us apart."

 

Hope nodded slowly, her gaze steady as she met both of their eyes. "Just don’t forget that we’re a family," she said softly. "We’re here for each other. Especially when things get tough."

 

For a moment, the tension in the room lingered, the weight of Hope’s words settling in the air. Hank finally met Janet’s gaze, the anger and frustration fading into something quieter, more vulnerable. He exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging. "You’re right, Hope. I’ve been... off. I’ll work on it. I promise."

 

Janet’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. "We all will."

 

Hope’s face brightened just slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Good. Now, can we all get back to work before you two tear each other apart?" she teased lightly, her voice a little more playful now.

 

Hank let out a small chuckle, despite the tension. Janet rolled her eyes but smiled softly, her shoulders relaxing.

 

For the first time in what felt like days, the storm in the lab had passed, at least for now.

 

—

 

Wong set the Marauder’s Journal down with a deliberateness that screamed murderous patience. His expression was somewhere between are you serious right now? and I should’ve just stayed in the Sanctum today.

 

“Potter,” he began, his tone a sharp blade wrapped in silk, “this journal reads like the fever dream of overconfident teenagers who had an unhealthy obsession with proving they were smarter than everyone else.”

 

Harry leaned back in his chair, the picture of self-satisfaction, arms folded behind his head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. My dad and Sirius weren’t just overconfident teenagers—they were visionaries.”

 

Wong raised an eyebrow so high it practically touched his hairline. “Visionaries who thought keeping a Mandrake leaf under their tongues for a month was a good idea?” His tone was pure, distilled sarcasm. “Sure, Potter. Let’s call it visionary. Most people would call it gross.”

 

“Gross? No, Wong, bold.” Harry grinned. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. Isn’t that how you learned to make tea without setting the kettle on fire?”

 

Wong’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. “Careful, Potter. That tongue of yours is getting dangerously close to being cursed into silence.”

 

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get all sanctimonious on me. Let’s get to work.”

 

Wong pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “I don’t get paid enough for this,” before picking up the journal again. He flipped through the dog-eared pages with a mixture of disdain and begrudging respect.

 

“This Mandrake leaf nonsense,” Wong said, his voice clipped, “is supposed to ‘attune the wizard’s magical core.’ And the logic here is...?”

 

“It’s not just symbolic,” Harry explained, leaning forward. “Over the month, the leaf becomes a sort of... magical antenna, attuned to your core. It’s a key part of the process.”

 

Wong tapped his fingers against the table. “Primitive. Inefficient. Kamar-Taj has focus crystals that could achieve the same effect in days—without the risk of you swallowing a piece of vegetation in your sleep.”

 

Harry blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait, seriously? You can do that?”

 

Wong shot him a flat look. “Did you think all we do here is spin shiny orange portals?”

 

“Okay, fair point,” Harry admitted. “So, we swap out the leaf for one of your fancy crystals. What about the thunderstorm? That’s kind of non-negotiable.”

 

Wong turned to the potion recipe, eyeing the scribbled notes in the margins like they personally offended him. “You’re relying on a thunderstorm for what—raw energy?”

 

Harry nodded, tapping the page. “The storm provides a natural surge of magical power to bind the transformation to the wizard’s core. Without it, the potion’s useless.”

 

Wong snorted. “Amateurs. At Kamar-Taj, we’ve been harnessing celestial events for centuries. A solar convergence could provide more controlled energy than a chaotic thunderstorm.”

 

Harry’s eyes lit up. “See, this is why I came to you. Wizards are all about tradition. You Mystic Arts folks know how to innovate.”

 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Potter,” Wong replied dryly, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Now, the real problem is the transformation itself. Your father and his friends relied on—what did they call it?—‘raw willpower and instinct?’”

 

Harry shrugged. “Pretty much. Once the potion’s taken, you’re thrown into the deep end. You have to wrestle with your inner animal until you come out on top.”

 

“Wrestle with it,” Wong repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. “Like cavemen beating rocks together. No wonder so many wizards failed. At Kamar-Taj, we teach focus and harmony. Instead of fighting your animal form, you could merge with it through guided meditation.”

 

Harry blinked again, his grin widening. “Wong, you’re a genius.”

 

Wong’s smirk vanished instantly. “Don’t push it, Potter. This isn’t some schoolyard prank. If you mess up—”

 

“I turn into a half-stag, half-Phoenix monstrosity?” Harry quipped, grinning.

 

Wong fixed him with a steely glare. “Or worse. You could destabilize your magical core entirely. Or lose your humanity. Permanently.”

 

That wiped the grin off Harry’s face. He leaned back, suddenly serious. “Alright, message received. This isn’t just some experiment. But if we can pull it off...”

 

Wong sighed, closing the journal with a snap. “If we pull it off, it’ll be a miracle. Now, grab those books over there. If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it properly.”

 

Harry practically bounded across the room, returning with a precariously stacked tower of dusty tomes. He plopped them on the table with a loud thud. “Ready when you are, Professor Wong.”

 

Wong didn’t dignify the title with a response. Instead, he opened the first book with a flick of his wrist, conjuring diagrams into the air. “We start,” he said, his voice firm, “by making sure we don’t blow up Kamar-Taj. And for that, you’re going to do exactly as I say.”

 

Harry saluted, grinning. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

 

Wong sighed, already questioning his life choices, but as he began explaining the intricacies of focus crystals, a spark of excitement flickered in his eyes. For all his bluster, Potter had a way of making the impossible seem... almost doable. Almost.

 

—

 

New York City – Upper West Side

 

The bustling streets of New York pulsed with energy, honking taxis and chattering pedestrians creating a constant hum. Natasha Romanoff weaved through the crowd with the kind of casual ease that suggested she was fully aware of every movement around her. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a leather jacket, she looked as much a part of the city as any native.

 

Trailing behind her, Nymphadora Tonks was a bundle of restless energy. The 13-year-old morphed her nose into a pig snout, then back to normal, then into a duck bill, all while chattering about how weird Americans were compared to Brits. Her purple-tinted hair made her stand out like a beacon, but she didn’t seem to mind.

 

“Oi, did you see that hot dog cart back there?” Tonks asked, her voice bouncing with enthusiasm. “The bloke selling them had a tattoo of a hot dog eating a hot dog. Isn’t that mental? Cannibalistic snacks! Only in New York!”

 

“Focus, Tonks,” Natasha said without looking back, her tone dry but not unkind. “We’re not here to sightsee.”

 

Tonks wrinkled her nose, which was now heart-shaped. “Yeah, yeah, Ms. Super-Spy. You’re no fun, you know that?”

 

“I’m plenty of fun,” Natasha deadpanned, finally glancing over her shoulder. “Just not when we’re about to knock on someone’s door and drop an emotional bombshell.”

 

Ororo Munroe walked silently beside them, her usual composed demeanor giving way to nervous energy. Her silver-white hair, styled into soft braids, caught the afternoon sunlight, making her look ethereal. But her blue eyes darted nervously as they approached the charming brownstone.

 

“You okay?” Natasha asked, her voice softening. She wasn’t one for grand emotional gestures, but she had a knack for sensing when people needed a nudge.

 

Ororo exhaled slowly, her hand brushing against the jacket her sister had given her years ago. “I don’t know. It’s been so long… What if she doesn’t recognize me? Or worse, what if she does and she’s angry?”

 

Natasha stopped in front of the stoop, turning to face Ororo fully. “Listen. Families are complicated. Trust me, I know. But you’ve survived things most people can’t even imagine. This? It’s going to be hard, but it’s not impossible.”

 

“Yeah!” Tonks chimed in, bounding up a step. “And if she’s anything like you, she’s probably super cool and rocking amazing hair genes. Besides, you’ve got us as backup. I’ll charm the pants off her. Metaphorically, of course.”

 

Ororo couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, melodic sound. She nodded, her confidence returning. “Thank you… both of you.”

 

Natasha smirked. “Don’t mention it.” She gestured to the door. “Now, go knock before Tonks decides to prank the mailbox.”

 

“I would never!” Tonks said, gasping dramatically. “Okay, maybe once.”

 

Ororo stepped forward, her hand trembling as she pressed the doorbell. The faint chime echoed inside.

 

Moments later, the door swung open to reveal Vivian Munroe, her older sister. Vivian was taller, her thick curls tied into a loose bun. She had a quiet, understated beauty, and her warm brown eyes immediately landed on Ororo.

 

For a moment, Vivian froze. Her mouth opened as though she wanted to speak, but no words came out. Finally, she whispered, “Ororo?”

 

Ororo nodded, her voice barely audible. “Hi, Vivian.”

 

Vivian’s hand flew to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “I… I thought you were dead.” She stepped forward, her voice breaking. “Oh my God, I thought I lost you forever.”

 

Ororo found herself pulled into a tight hug, Vivian’s arms strong and trembling. The younger Munroe broke into tears as well, her hands clutching her sister like she might disappear again.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Ororo said through her tears. “I didn’t know how to find you. I thought… I thought you might hate me.”

 

“Hate you?” Vivian pulled back, cupping Ororo’s face. “Never. I missed you every single day. You’re my sister, Ororo. Nothing could ever change that.”

 

A small voice piped up from behind Vivian. “Mommy? Who’s that?”

 

Vivian turned, wiping her tears quickly. “Evan, sweetheart, come here.”

 

A little boy peeked out, his wide eyes full of curiosity. He had his mother’s curls and his father’s sharp features.

 

“This,” Vivian said, crouching to his level, “is your Aunt Ororo.”

 

Evan tilted his head, his face lighting up with excitement. “Auntie? You have cool hair! Like a superhero!”

 

Ororo laughed, crouching down to meet him. “Thank you, Evan. And yes, I suppose I am your aunt.”

 

Tonks, not one to miss a moment, crouched down next to them and morphed her nose into a lion’s snout. “And I’m her friend Tonks. Cool, huh?”

 

Evan gasped. “Whoa! Are you magic?”

 

“Don’t tell anyone,” Tonks whispered conspiratorially, “but yes. Totally magic.”

 

Natasha leaned casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed. “I’m just the boring friend,” she said dryly, giving Evan a small smirk.

 

“You don’t look boring,” Evan replied earnestly. “You look like you could fight bad guys.”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Smart kid.”

 

Vivian laughed and ushered them inside. “Come in. We have so much to talk about.”

 

Inside, the home was warm and inviting, filled with the smell of fresh cookies. Over tea and snacks, Ororo told Vivian everything—her journey, her struggles, and how she found her way back.

 

“You’ve been through so much,” Vivian said softly, her eyes brimming with tears. “But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

 

As the sun set and the room filled with golden light, Ororo felt something she hadn’t felt in years—peace. For the first time, she wasn’t just surviving. She was home.

 

—

 

 

The cozy warmth of the reunion was shattered by a firm, measured knock at the door. The sound echoed through the room, drawing everyone’s attention. Vivian tightened her grip on Ororo’s hand, her protective instincts kicking in.

 

“Were you expecting anyone?” Vivian asked softly, her gaze flicking toward Natasha, who was already rising to her feet.

 

Natasha Romanoff’s movements were fluid and deliberate, a predator sizing up the unknown. Her sharp green eyes darted to Tonks, who was halfway to drawing her wand.

 

“No,” Natasha said, her voice cool, every syllable sharpened by suspicion. “Stay seated. I’ll handle this.”

 

Ororo frowned, a faint breeze brushing against her silver hair as her unease manifested. “Natasha, is something wrong?”

 

Natasha glanced back, her lips pressing into a tight line. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

 

She moved to the door with purpose, glancing through the peephole. Her body visibly tensed, though her expression remained unreadable. She opened the door just a crack, positioning herself like a shield between the unknown and those inside.

 

Outside stood a man in a wheelchair, his calm yet intense gaze meeting Natasha’s without hesitation. Beside him stood a man tall and broad-shouldered, his posture awkward but non-threatening. The second man adjusted his glasses nervously, though his holographic image inducer made him appear unremarkable, hiding the blue fur beneath.

 

“Good evening,” said the man in the wheelchair, his voice warm and deliberate. “I am Charles Xavier. May I speak with Ororo Munroe?”

 

Natasha’s expression didn’t waver, though her voice dropped to a blade’s edge. “How do you know her?”

 

Xavier’s gaze remained steady. “I sensed her presence through Cerebro, my telepathic device. Her abilities are remarkable. I’ve come to offer her a place at my institute—a safe haven where she can hone her powers and thrive among others like her.”

 

Behind Natasha, Tonks leaned closer to Ororo, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Telepathic device? Sounds like he’s got a magic crystal ball jammed in his skull.”

 

Ororo’s frown deepened. “But I’ve been in New York for weeks. Why now?”

 

Natasha answered without looking back, her tone clipped. “The wards at the safe house likely blocked him. They’re designed to shield against all kinds of detection—magical, telepathic, or otherwise. Here? No such luck.”

 

“Ms. Romanoff,” Xavier said with calm persistence, “I assure you, I mean no harm. I simply wish to speak with Ororo. The choice is hers, of course.”

 

Natasha stepped fully into the doorway, crossing her arms and effectively barring their entrance. “Help her with what, exactly? Because she seems to be doing fine without you.”

 

Hank McCoy stepped forward, adjusting his hologram with an awkward flick of his wrist. “With all due respect, Ms. Romanoff, our offer isn’t about implying she can’t handle herself. It’s about providing a supportive environment she might not find elsewhere.”

 

“Supportive environment?” Natasha repeated, her tone dripping with skepticism. “Right. And you thought ambushing her at someone else’s door was the best way to introduce yourselves?”

 

Vivian, now standing behind Ororo, folded her arms and looked between the strangers and her sister. “Do you know them?” she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

 

“No,” Ororo said, stepping closer to the door. Her silver hair shimmered in the evening light, and the faintest crackle of static charged the air around her. “But I’ve heard of people like them.”

 

Xavier’s features softened as he turned his full attention to her. “Ororo, I understand this is sudden. But I’ve been searching for you for a long time. You are extraordinary, and my school is a place where people like us—mutants—can find acceptance, understanding, and community.”

 

Ororo tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “Community?” Her voice was steady but sharp. “I’ve been surviving on my own since I was a child. I don’t need anyone to ‘accept’ me.”

 

“Of course not,” Xavier said quickly, his voice tinged with admiration. “You are strong, Ororo. That much is evident. But strength doesn’t mean you have to stand alone. My institute isn’t about saving anyone—it’s about empowering them.”

 

Tonks finally stepped forward, her wand in plain sight. “Alright, hold up. You sensed her and decided to pop by uninvited? Hate to break it to you, Professor Mind-Reader, but that’s giving major stalker vibes.”

 

Hank raised his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s not as invasive as it sounds, I promise.”

 

“Sure,” Tonks replied, her expression skeptical as she twirled her wand idly. “You’re lucky she hasn’t zapped you yet.”

 

Natasha’s lips curved into the faintest smirk at Tonks’ retort, though her attention remained locked on Xavier. “You can see why we might have concerns about your approach.”

 

Xavier sighed, his patience seemingly boundless. “I understand your reservations. I only ask that Ororo hear me out. The decision is entirely hers.”

 

Ororo’s eyes flicked to Natasha, who gave a subtle nod. “He’s not lying. But that doesn’t mean you owe him a thing.”

 

Vivian placed a comforting hand on Ororo’s shoulder. “It’s up to you. What do you want to do?”

 

Ororo’s gaze moved back to Xavier, guarded but steady. “I don’t trust you, not yet. But I’ll hear you out—inside.”

 

“Thank you,” Xavier said simply, his tone respectful.

 

Natasha reluctantly stepped aside, though her sharp gaze lingered on them as they entered. Tonks leaned in close to Ororo and whispered, “If they try anything funny, I’ll hex their pants off. No one messes with my friends.”

 

Ororo chuckled softly. “Good to know.”

 

As they moved to the living room, the air hummed with tension. Natasha remained a silent, watchful sentinel, while Tonks perched on the edge of her seat, her wand never far from her hand. Ororo sat across from Xavier, her heart pounding as she prepared to hear whatever he had to say. Another chapter of her life was opening, but this time, she wasn’t walking into it alone.

 

—

 

Natasha carefully closed the door behind Charles Xavier and Hank McCoy, ensuring they were well out of earshot. She glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one was around to overhear, then pulled out the small, weathered enchanted diary from the inside pocket of her jacket. Her fingers traced the familiar runes on the cover, and with a flick of her wrist, she set the quill in motion. The ink flowed effortlessly, her words appearing on the page.

 

Harry,

 

Something’s come up. I’m at Ororo’s sister’s house with some unexpected visitors—mutants who are trying to recruit Ororo. One of them is Charles Xavier, and he’s talking to her, which means it’s only a matter of time before they realize you’re a mutant too. Can you come? Things are a little tense here.

 

-Natasha

 

She put the quill down, tapping the diary gently. There was a subtle pulse of magic in the air as she closed it, knowing full well that Harry would feel the connection immediately. They had this odd, unspoken understanding, a bond that transcended words and distances.

 

Meanwhile, across the world in Kamar-Taj, Harry was bent over a set of ancient, arcane texts, meticulously flipping through the pages as Wong, his teacher, attempted to guide him through the final stages of the Animagus Ritual.

 

“Harry, you’re overcomplicating this. The ritual is complex enough without you rewriting it,” Wong grumbled, rubbing his temples in frustration. He was losing patience as Harry’s mind seemed to wander from one theory to another.

 

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad,” Harry said with a grin, his voice laced with the characteristic mischievousness that Wong had long since learned to recognize. “I mean, I’m practically there. Just a couple more adjustments.”

 

Wong raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “You’ve been saying that for days now. Focus.”

 

As Harry carefully examined a diagram of magical symbols, he felt the familiar pull of the enchanted diary in his pocket. He could practically hear it calling to him, and when he glanced down, the glowing ink on the pages seemed to appear out of thin air. The message from Natasha was there, clear and urgent.

 

He read it, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the details. He immediately looked up at Wong, who was still absorbed in his work.

 

“Looks like I’ve got to go,” Harry said, a tone of finality in his voice.

 

Wong looked up, giving Harry a deadpan stare. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

“Hey, there’s a crisis. You’ve got this. Hold down the fort for me, Wong,” Harry said, already gathering his belongings with impressive speed.

 

Wong sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. “I’ll get more work done if you’re not here. Just don’t make a mess of things. You’ve got a knack for that.”

 

Harry winked, his usual grin tugging at his lips. “I’m leaving this place in one piece, I swear.”

 

Before Wong could respond, Harry was already gone, vanishing in a swirl of magic.

 

Meanwhile, back at the safehouse, the tension in the room had not gone unnoticed. Ororo Munroe stood with her arms crossed, her eyes watching the door as if she could sense what was coming. Across from her, Charles Xavier sat with Hank McCoy, both of them quiet, as they discussed plans for mutant solidarity and their ongoing recruitment efforts. Natasha, ever the strategist, remained silent, her gaze flicking between the people in the room as she processed the situation.

 

The moment the air shimmered and the familiar crackling sound filled the room, everyone’s attention snapped to the source. Ororo’s heart skipped a beat as Harry appeared in a flash of red and gold, his suit reflecting the dim lighting in the room.

 

“Well, well, well. Looks like someone got here faster than expected,” Harry’s voice rang out, teasing, yet there was an edge of seriousness beneath it. He took in the room, eyes landing on Xavier with a sharp assessment.

 

Xavier’s eyes widened, his mouth slightly agape as he processed the magnitude of Harry’s arrival. His telepathic abilities couldn’t have been prepared for the presence he now sensed—this was no ordinary mutant. This was something... different. Powerful.

 

“You’re... you’re a mutant?” Xavier asked, his voice a mix of surprise and awe. His mental faculties worked quickly, trying to scan Harry, only to be met with an overwhelming, almost ungraspable force. He’d met many mutants in his lifetime, but none like this.

 

Harry shrugged, a nonchalant grin on his face as he leaned against the wall. “I mean, yeah. But I’m not your run-of-the-mill mutant. A little more complicated than that.”

 

Ororo, still standing by, watched with a mixture of admiration and affection, though she masked it with a cool expression. Her gaze lingered on Harry for a moment longer than necessary before she turned to Xavier. “You always know how to make an entrance, don’t you?”

 

Harry chuckled, the warmth of his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he glanced at her. “Hey, you know me. I try to keep things interesting.”

 

Tonks, ever the cheeky one, grinned and leaned casually against the doorframe. “I thought no one could steal the spotlight from Professor X, but here we are. Harry, you’re officially the most powerful one in the room.”

 

Harry gave Tonks a wink. “Hey, I’m just here to keep things running smoothly. You know, as usual.”

 

Xavier, still recovering from the initial shock of Harry’s presence, adjusted his posture and spoke again, trying to regain some semblance of control. “I didn’t sense your powers. You’re... unlike anything I’ve encountered before.”

 

Harry gave a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I’m not exactly a textbook mutant. But I’m guessing I’m not the only one who doesn’t quite fit your typical ‘Xavier’ mold, huh?”

 

Hank McCoy, who had been silently observing, finally spoke up, his voice filled with a hint of curiosity. “You’re a mystery, but I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of that. The question is, what exactly are we dealing with here? You’ve got more power in that suit than half the mutants I know.”

 

Harry shot him a glance, his smirk widening. “Well, I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

 

As Ororo’s eyes softened, she looked at Harry again, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. She knew Harry and Natasha had their own thing, but a small part of her couldn’t help the feeling that had settled in her chest every time he was near.

 

“Let’s hear what you have to say, Xavier,” Ororo said, her voice calm but firm, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.

 

Xavier looked at her, then back to Harry, who remained cool and collected despite the tension swirling around them. “Very well. This meeting is... unexpected, to say the least. But I think we can all agree that the stakes are higher than we initially realized.”

 

“Complicated, sure,” Harry said, his grin never fading, “but we’ll all manage. I’m here, and I’ll listen to what you have to offer.”

 

As the conversation shifted toward their plans, Harry leaned against the wall, his gaze never leaving the group. His presence had shifted the dynamic, and though he didn’t speak much, he could feel the weight of the room. Everyone was trying to figure out what he was, and he knew they wouldn’t be satisfied with simple answers.

 

But for now, all he needed to do was listen. He’d figure it out in due time.

Chapter 49: Chapter 48

The atmosphere in the room had thickened with tension, a barely contained storm that crackled in the air. Ororo stood near the window, her posture rigid but graceful, eyes flicking to Harry as she felt the weight of his silence. There was a storm in her, too, something that simmered just below the surface, tempered only by the trust she had in Harry, who stood across from Charles Xavier and Hank McCoy with an air of defiance that was both familiar and unsettling.

 

Charles, ever the patient strategist, adjusted himself in the armchair, clasping his hands in front of him with an air of calm. He let out a long breath, attempting to project a sense of authority, yet there was an underlying weariness in his eyes—this conversation wasn’t going the way he’d hoped.

 

“Harry,” Charles said, his voice warm but heavy with the weight of unspoken things, “I understand that your abilities are immense. And I recognize the burden that places on you. But that’s why I’m extending this invitation. We offer a safe space, a place where you can refine your powers, not just survive but thrive. With our guidance, you could achieve things that are beyond even your current understanding.”

 

Ororo shifted slightly at his words, her gaze flicking between Harry and the man she had worked with for years. The hopeful look in Xavier’s eyes, the same one she had seen when he recruited her, made her uneasy. She knew what people like Charles Xavier were capable of—their visions were grand, but sometimes, it didn’t account for the weight of the individual’s journey. Ororo had learned that the hard way.

 

Harry tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied Xavier. His lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “You make it sound all very idealistic, Xavier. Like some sort of ‘come join the team and learn how to use your powers’ pitch. But the thing is…” He took a slow step forward, the room seeming to shrink under the weight of his gaze. “You’re asking me to join something without knowing the first thing about me. And don’t think I didn’t notice your little ‘probe.’”

 

Xavier blinked, taken aback for a second. “What?” he began, but the question was lost as he suddenly became acutely aware of the subtle but deliberate pressure against his mind. It was like being brushed by the wing of a bird, only for the bird to turn into a thunderstorm.

 

Harry’s voice dropped, his tone hard now. “You tried to probe my mind, didn’t you? I felt it the moment you made your move. You can’t hide that from me, Charles.” Harry’s expression shifted from bemusement to something colder, sharper. “Don’t get me wrong—I get it. You’re trying to understand who I am, trying to make sure I’m not a threat. But there are lines. You don’t just waltz into someone’s mind without permission.”

 

The room froze. Even Ororo, who had known Harry for years, took a step back, her breath hitching as she registered the sudden change in the air. Natasha, ever the sharp observer, felt her hand inch toward her holster, her eyes narrowing on Xavier, who was now uncomfortably still. Tonks, her face a mix of surprise and fascination, leaned forward slightly, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

 

“Xavier…” Natasha’s voice was low, her tone dangerous, like a panther waiting to pounce. “You can’t just do that.”

 

Tonks, wide-eyed and still adjusting to the tension, piped up, her voice almost in awe. “That was... intense,” she said, a touch of disbelief in her tone. “I didn’t think anyone could actually shut down Xavier. That was, like, next level.”

 

Xavier’s face paled, his usual composure cracking under the weight of Harry’s words. He attempted to probe Harry again, but it was like running into a brick wall. He pushed harder, mentally straining, but it was futile. Harry’s mind was a fortress, unyielding, impenetrable. And it wasn’t just the barrier that hit Xavier—it was the intensity behind it. He could feel the sharp edge of Harry’s anger, his frustration, and the deep-seated mistrust that burned just beneath the surface. Xavier quickly withdrew, eyes wide as he realized his mistake.

 

“I... I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy, Harry,” Xavier stammered, his voice faltering slightly as he mentally regrouped. “I just... I thought—”

 

“You thought wrong,” Harry interjected, his voice cold but not unkind. “If you want to talk to me, you’ll do it the old-fashioned way. With words, not mental gymnastics.” His tone was sharp, but there was something beneath it—a weariness, a weariness that was just as much about protecting himself as it was about his anger at the intrusion.

 

Ororo stepped forward then, her voice quieter but filled with authority. “Charles,” she began, her tone steady, “you should have known better than to assume you could just read someone’s mind. Harry’s not like the others you’ve encountered. His defenses aren’t something you can easily break through.”

 

Xavier, clearly flustered and ashamed, nodded slowly, his face softening with regret. “I apologize, Harry. I should have respected your boundaries. That was a mistake.”

 

The room was thick with unease. Even Natasha’s posture relaxed just slightly, though she still regarded Xavier with suspicion. Tonks, ever the curious one, stood straighter, her mind clearly racing as she processed the events. But it was Ororo who broke the silence with a small but meaningful smile, her gaze softening toward Harry. “I’m glad to see that you’re looking out for the both of us, Harry. It’s heartwarming.”

 

Before anyone could add anything more, the door creaked open. Vivian, Ororo’s older sister, stood in the doorway, her presence immediately calming the room. Her sharp eyes took in the scene in front of her, a silent understanding passing between her and Ororo.

 

“This conversation’s over for now,” Vivian said, her voice calm but firm, her gaze settling on Xavier. “You’ve interrupted a reunion I was hoping to have with my sister, and I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

 

Xavier and Hank shared a glance, both of them taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. Hank, ever the gentleman, stood first, offering a polite smile to the group. “Of course, Mrs. Daniels,” he said, his voice apologetic. “We didn’t mean to intrude.”

 

Vivian’s eyes remained focused on Xavier as she gave a stiff nod, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve done enough for one day,” she said, before turning to Ororo with a softer expression. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

 

Ororo nodded quietly, her gaze soft but distant, as if she was still processing the tension of the moment. She didn’t speak again, not wanting to add anything further to the storm that had already passed.

 

Xavier stood with a sigh, his face still flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, once again. Perhaps we can talk another time—under better circumstances?”

 

With that, he and Hank exited, leaving the door to shut softly behind them. As the tension began to lift from the room, Harry finally broke the silence, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Well, that was fun. But I think I’ve had my fill of ‘mutant recruiters’ for the day.”

 

Ororo smiled, though there was still a trace of concern in her eyes. “Next time, Harry,” she said with a soft laugh, “try not to steal the show quite so dramatically.”

 

Harry flashed a grin, though the intensity in his eyes remained. “No promises, Ororo. No promises.”

 

—

 

As the door clicked shut behind Xavier and Hank, the weight of the tense conversation slowly began to lift from the room. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken thoughts, but it was broken by Ororo's soft voice, gentle yet firm. She turned to her sister, Vivian, who stood silently by the door, a hand still resting lightly on the frame.

 

“I’ll be back soon, Vivi,” Ororo said quietly, her eyes lingering on her sister. “And Evan,” she added, crouching down to her five-year-old nephew, her silver hair falling softly around her face. She offered him a smile that was both nurturing and strong. "You be good for your mom, alright?"

 

Evan, his wide eyes still full of wonder from the chaos of moments earlier, nodded eagerly. "I will, Aunt Ororo!" he declared, his voice a little too loud in the stillness of the room. His gaze flicked over to Harry, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a wry smile still lingering on his lips. "Are you really gonna open another one of those... portals?" he asked, his voice filled with an innocent excitement. “That was awesome!”

 

Ororo chuckled softly at Evan’s enthusiasm, standing up and smoothing her tunic. "Maybe later, kiddo," she replied affectionately, placing a gentle hand on his head. “You and your mom take care of things here.”

 

Vivian, who had remained quiet through most of the interaction, smiled warmly at Ororo. There was a knowing look in her eyes, one that spoke volumes about the care she had for her sister, even though her attention seemed focused on keeping Evan grounded in the whirlwind of events. “I’ll keep him out of trouble, don’t worry,” Vivian said, her voice calm and reassuring.

 

“Good,” Ororo nodded, her tone lightening. “I'll be back before you know it.”

 

With one last, soft glance at her family, Ororo turned toward the others. Natasha, Tonks, and Harry were already huddled together in a loose circle, their quiet voices a stark contrast to the storm of emotions in the air moments before.

 

Tonks, who had been unusually quiet up until now, tilted her head to one side, her playful nature returning as she shot a sideways glance at Harry. "So, what do we think about all that?” she asked, her voice filled with curiosity, though there was still a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Xavier’s little mind read... Pretty ballsy move for someone who talks so much about being a good guy.”

 

Natasha’s expression remained inscrutable, her arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the wall. "Yeah, that wasn't a smart play," she said, her voice steady, but a touch of dry humor in her tone. “Trying to probe someone without permission? That’s asking for trouble." Her eyes met Harry's, her expression sharpening. "What do you think? Should we be telling Fury about this? He’s not gonna be happy with how that went down.”

 

Harry, ever the cynic, rolled his eyes. "Fury's gonna have a lot to say about everything," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I’m more concerned about the fact that Xavier was so damn sure he could get into my head." He pushed off the wall, pacing slightly, his thoughts still spinning. “I don’t trust someone who thinks they can just waltz in and play around with people’s minds. That’s not how things work with me.”

 

Tonks let out a small snort of laughter, her eyes lighting up with mischief. "Yeah, I wouldn’t wanna mess with your mind either," she said, her voice teasing. "Seems like you’ve got a few tricks up your sleeve, Harry."

 

Natasha’s gaze flicked over to the young girl. “Don’t get too comfortable, Tonks,” she said, her voice firm, though there was a subtle edge of warmth in it. “You don’t want to underestimate anyone in this group—especially when they’re not showing all their cards.”

 

Tonks just shrugged, unbothered by Natasha’s stern tone. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Nat,” she replied, her voice light but her eyes serious for a moment.

 

Harry raised an eyebrow, his smirk shifting into something a little more thoughtful. "Maybe we should let Fury know about the mind probe," he said after a pause, his voice laced with a hint of hesitation. “But also, maybe not. It's not like Xavier is some villain—he's just a little too entitled for my liking.” He turned to Natasha. “But I don’t know, Nat. That whole ‘I'm trying to help you’ spiel was a little too on-the-nose, don't you think? What if they come back and try to use that as leverage?”

 

Natasha’s expression softened just a little, her calculating gaze fixing on Harry. "We’ll figure it out,” she said, her voice resolute. “Fury won’t like the fact that Xavier was poking around, but we can spin it. We just need to make sure we’re ahead of the game.”

 

Before anyone could respond, Ororo rejoined them, her presence somehow calming the space. She glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on each of them, before finally looking to Harry, a small but knowing smile on her lips. "We’re ready to go, I think."

 

Harry gave a nod, the corners of his mouth turning up in a grin. "Time to get out of here, then," he said, his voice full of quiet determination.

 

Ororo glanced back toward Vivian and Evan, offering one final, reassuring wave before she turned to Harry. "Do your thing, Harry. Just... try to make it less... dramatic this time?" she teased lightly, her voice warm.

 

Harry’s grin widened, the familiar mischief returning to his features. "Who, me? Never."

 

With a wave of his hand, Harry reached into the air, and the space around him seemed to ripple and shimmer. The air grew thick with energy as he opened a portal—a swirling vortex of light and energy that bent the fabric of reality itself. Vivian and Evan watched, mesmerized, as the portal grew larger, and then stabilized.

 

Evan’s eyes widened with awe, his little mouth dropping open in excitement. “Whoa!” he gasped, completely enchanted by the display. “That’s so cool! Can you make it go anywhere?”

 

Harry chuckled, glancing over at the young boy, his tone light and teasing. "Anywhere you want, kiddo,” he said, the playful edge to his voice cutting through the tension. “But it might be best if you don't tell anyone else about this, okay?”

 

Vivian shook her head, though a smile tugged at her lips. "Trust me, Harry," she said with a knowing glance at her nephew. "I think we’re all going to keep this one a secret."

 

With that, Ororo gave her sister one last nod, and the group, led by Harry, stepped through the portal, disappearing into the swirling abyss.

 

As the portal closed behind them, the room was left in stunned silence, save for the faint, fading echo of Evan’s enthusiastic voice. “Best. Day. Ever.”

 

—

 

The world around them shifted as they passed through the portal, the air changing with each step, and before they knew it, the familiar surroundings of the safehouse greeted them. The soft glow of the interior lighting was warm and inviting, and the subtle hum of the house settling back into its usual rhythm made it feel like home.

 

As they entered, the sound of laughter filled the air. James Potter, looking every bit the proud, lively father, stood in the middle of the room, watching over a very mischievous figure.

 

Sirius Black, in his animagus form as a large black dog, was sprawled out on the floor, his tail wagging furiously as a small, 6-year-old Rose Potter attempted to give him orders. Her tiny voice was commanding, though her words often sounded like the innocent playfulness of a child who had far too much confidence in her ability to “control” a giant magical dog.

 

“Sit, Padfoot! No, not like that! You need to roll over! Now!” Rose insisted, hands planted firmly on her hips, her face scrunched up in concentration.

 

Sirius obediently rolled over, but the playful gleam in his eyes made it clear he was enjoying the game just as much as she was. His tail wagged again, knocking over a small toy, but Rose didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. "Good boy, Padfoot!" she cheered, her laughter ringing out through the room.

 

"That's enough, Rose," James said with a chuckle, kneeling down beside her. "Let Padfoot get up before he gets too dizzy."

 

"Not yet, Daddy! I’m the boss around here, right, Padfoot?" Rose grinned mischievously, giving Sirius another command, to which he responded with an exaggerated whine, earning another fit of giggles from her.

 

Ororo couldn’t help but smile at the scene. The chaos of the day seemed to vanish in an instant, replaced by the warmth and normalcy of family. She glanced over at Harry, her expression softening as she saw the way his eyes lingered on his little sister, clearly fond of the sweet chaos she brought into their lives.

 

"Looks like you’ve got a lot of fun waiting for you here, Harry," Ororo teased lightly, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

 

Harry’s eyes softened as he watched Rose, his expression a mix of affection and a little bemusement. “Yeah,” he replied with a grin, “you could say that.”

 

Meanwhile, Tonks had slipped into a seat near the entrance, her ever-present energy subdued slightly as she leaned back, trying to get comfortable after the day’s whirlwind events. She glanced at the scene before her, and then looked to Natasha, who was already heading toward the door, her expression as serious as ever.

 

“Well, since we’re all here," Tonks began, addressing the group, "guess I can fill everyone in on what happened.” She leaned forward, her face more serious now. “So, we go to Ororo’s sister’s place, right? Just thinking we’ll be able to chill for a bit, maybe get some downtime and reunite with her family. And then—boom—this guy—" She gestured vaguely in the air as if to illustrate just how unwelcome Xavier’s presence had been. "Charles Xavier—just waltzes in, and I mean, without so much as a knock or anything. Kinda bold, right?"

 

James raised an eyebrow. "Xavier? The Professor?" He shot a glance at Harry, who gave a nonchalant shrug. "The one with all the telepathy?"

 

“Yup. That one,” Tonks confirmed. “And let me tell you, he didn’t just show up to chat. He practically started rifling through our minds—without so much as a 'how do you do?' or even a proper 'good afternoon.' Had to call in the big guns—Harry, of course. He made that whole invasion of privacy situation much less awkward.” She shot Harry a wink, which was returned with a dry smile from him.

 

Ororo’s face softened with understanding. “He means well, but Xavier can sometimes forget that not everyone is willing to let him into their minds. His intentions are rarely malicious, but the method—” She shook her head, trailing off.

 

"Exactly," Tonks agreed. "Not exactly what I’d call good manners. But hey, it’s a good thing Harry’s got a trick or two up his sleeve. Otherwise, we’d still be dealing with that."

 

James let out a huff of laughter. “Typical Xavier, from what I've read on his files. Always thinking he knows best,” he muttered, shaking his head fondly. “Did he try to get in your heads, too?”

 

Natasha, who had been standing at the door with her hand resting on the handle, turned back to face them. “I’ll be reporting this situation to Fury,” she said calmly, her voice authoritative. “We don’t need to let this slide. If Xavier is really that bold, we have to be cautious. There’s a lot more at play here than just a little mind reading. I’ll let you know how he reacts.”

 

The rest of the group nodded, understanding that Natasha was the right person for the task. She was always the professional, the one who kept things in line when the world started to get a little too messy.

 

“Thanks, Nat,” Harry said, watching her leave the room. His gaze softened as he looked back at his family, taking in the sight of his father, sister, and Sirius. His mind raced with the events of the day, but for now, it felt good to be home, surrounded by people who cared.

 

“Well,” Tonks said, raising an eyebrow, “now that that’s out of the way, anyone up for some dinner? I’m starved.”

 

“Only if you’re not planning on making it sound as dramatic as that whole ‘telepathic mind probe’ thing,” James replied with a teasing grin. “You’re not going to tell me you were actually worried about Xavier, are you?”

 

Tonks shot him a mock glare. “Me? Worry? About a telepath?” She snorted. “Not a chance.”

 

Harry smiled, watching the interactions with a sense of contentment. The world outside might have been chaotic, dangerous, and unpredictable, but here, with his family, he could breathe—at least for a moment.

 

“Alright, let’s eat,” Harry said, pushing the chaos of the day to the back of his mind. “I think we’ve earned it.”

 

And with that, the group settled down to enjoy some well-needed peace—at least until the next adventure arrived on their doorstep.

 

—

 

The fluorescent lights of the SHIELD command center flickered overhead as Natasha walked into the briefing room, her heels clicking on the polished floor. The air inside was thick with tension, the kind that always lingered when something big was about to drop. She could feel the weight of her report pressing down on her, and despite the usual calm in her demeanor, she couldn't shake the sense that this meeting wasn’t going to be just another routine check-in.

 

Fury was sitting behind his desk, his iconic eye patch casting a shadow over his face as he went over a set of transcripts. The papers were spread out in front of him, and his other hand was tapping rhythmically against the edge of the desk, a clear sign that his mind was working overtime.

 

"You’re late," Fury said without looking up, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

 

"Traffic," Natasha replied, unfazed. She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms, watching Fury for a moment. The room was filled with the kind of quiet that suggested something big had gone down. "I just got back from a situation involving one Charles Xavier."

 

Fury’s eyebrows shot up. He didn't even flinch as he continued reading the transcript. "Xavier?" He sounded almost surprised, but it was the kind of surprise Natasha was used to hearing from him—quiet, controlled, and always with a healthy dose of skepticism. "The telepath?"

 

"The one and only," Natasha confirmed, stepping into the room and pulling up a chair. "I had to call in Harry to handle it. He had no business being there, and honestly, I think he's starting to get too comfortable messing with people’s minds." She glanced over at the transcripts, knowing that Fury was still focused on his work, but her eyes lingered for a moment. "He showed up uninvited, and Ororo’s sister was not pleased."

 

Fury looked up now, eyes narrowed, his fingers still resting on the edge of the papers. "And you’re telling me this now? After you’ve already had Harry play bodyguard for Xavier?" He leaned back in his chair, staring at her intently.

 

Natasha didn’t flinch. She knew how Fury operated—always thinking three steps ahead. "I wanted to make sure you were aware of the situation. Xavier’s methods aren’t exactly… subtle. If he’s poking around like this, we might be looking at bigger problems."

 

"Right," Fury muttered, before tossing the transcripts aside. "I just finished going over these transcripts from Hill’s interrogation of Sinthea Schmidt, and now I’ve got to deal with telepaths, mutants, and whoever else Xavier’s wrapped up in his little mind games. Great."

 

He stood up, pacing the room as Natasha sat back, letting him think. It was clear the mess they were dealing with was bigger than anything he'd expected. But that was just Fury's way—always looking for the cracks in the foundation. He rubbed his temple and then turned back toward her.

 

"Xavier’s not someone we can just ignore, Natasha. He’s dangerous, especially if he’s looking into things we haven’t even started to scratch the surface on. You said Harry got involved—did Xavier get what he wanted?"

 

"Not exactly," Natasha replied. "But Harry made it clear that Xavier isn’t getting inside his head, or anyone else’s, without a fight. So for now, we’re in the clear. But I’ll tell you one thing: Xavier wasn’t there for nothing. I don’t think he was just trying to make nice with Ororo and her family."

 

Fury gave her a pointed look. "What are you thinking, Romanoff?"

 

"I’m thinking Xavier has his eyes on something bigger," Natasha said. "Maybe he’s looking for new recruits. Maybe he’s getting intel on the situation with HYDRA. But whatever it is, it’s clear he’s up to something. And if he’s using his telepathic skills to dig around, we need to be ready to shut that down before it spirals out of control."

 

Fury exhaled slowly, his mind clearly processing the information. "I’ll have Maria get in touch with Stark. See if he’s noticed anything unusual with Xavier’s movements. We need all eyes on him. We can’t afford to be blindsided by someone who knows how to get into your head without you even realizing it."

 

"Got it," Natasha replied. "I’ll keep you posted. But I suggest you start looking into Xavier’s connections, Fury. He doesn’t work alone."

 

Fury’s lips twitched upward in a half-smile, though it was more of a grimace than anything else. "I’ll handle it. You just make sure you keep tabs on Harry and his little superhero group. They’re walking into dangerous territory. And next time, you might want to leave Xavier to someone else."

 

Natasha gave him a sharp nod. "Understood. I’ll be in touch if anything else comes up." She turned to leave, but then paused, glancing over her shoulder. "By the way, I’m not sure if you’ve read the latest transcripts, but Sinthea Schmidt’s starting to crack. We’ll need to move fast if we want to use her."

 

Fury’s expression darkened as he returned to the transcripts on his desk. "I’m aware. That’s why I’m staying here. I’ll take care of Schmidt. You handle Xavier."

 

With that, Natasha left the room, her thoughts already moving toward the next steps. She wasn’t sure how the situation would unfold, but she knew one thing for sure—this was far from over.

 

And as for Xavier, Natasha was willing to bet that wherever he was, he wasn’t done stirring up trouble yet.

 

—

 

The soft hum of machinery filled the air in the infirmary of the safehouse, the delicate balance of magic and technology swirling together as if the two had always belonged. Rhodey, propped up in his hospital bed, was an odd sight—half-recovered from a near-fatal spinal injury and surrounded by an eclectic mix of high-tech gadgets and arcane enchantments. His body was a battlefield between science and magic, his every breath a testament to the efforts of his friends to get him back on his feet.

 

Tony Stark, his signature smirk in place, was hunched over one of the leg braces attached to Rhodey’s lower limbs. The thing was a masterpiece—an intricate blend of Tony’s cutting-edge technology and the magical prowess of Tonks, who had contributed a series of healing runes and protective wards that would keep the brace functioning no matter the circumstances. It was a hybrid of sorts—half-repulsor-powered, half-magic-infused—a little something extra for Rhodey to wear while his body mended.

 

“Hold still, Rhodey,” Tony muttered, the words coming out more like a command than a suggestion as he fiddled with the control panel of the brace. “This might sting a little.”

 

Rhodey raised an eyebrow, his voice dry but amused. “Sting? Tony, I’ve been shot, blown up, and nearly paralyzed. I think I can handle a little sting.”

 

“Right, right,” Tony said, not even looking up. “Just making sure it’s calibrated perfectly. You know—science stuff.”

 

Howard Stark, standing beside his son, shot Tony a sidelong glance. “You sure you’ve got this? The runes on this thing aren’t exactly your forte, are they?”

 

Tony didn’t flinch at his father’s jab, his smirk only growing. “Pops, don’t worry about it. I’ve got the tech part down to a science, and Tonks’ magic...well, I’m not an expert, but I can definitely appreciate good craftsmanship.”

 

Howard sighed and adjusted his glasses, looking at the diagnostic screen. “This will work,” he muttered, half to himself. “The only question is how long it’ll last before he gives us the ‘I’m fine’ speech and tries to run off on his own.”

 

“Hey, I am fine,” Rhodey chimed in, his voice rich with that familiar, dry wit. “And for the record, I’m just waiting for the moment I can get out of this bed and punch someone in the face—preferably Hydra-related.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re talking. But we might need to wait on that. For now, though, let’s focus on getting you mobile again.”

 

As Tony finished his adjustments, Howard stepped back, examining the progress with an approving nod. “Well, it seems to be working,” Howard said, his tone the dry, no-nonsense voice of someone who’s seen it all. “At least you’ll be able to walk again, even if it’s on some fancy tech-and-magic crutches.”

 

Rhodey looked down at his legs, where the braces now locked in place, glowing faintly with a mix of repulsor energy and runic light. For the first time in what felt like weeks, he felt the pull of hope—a glimmer of what could be again.

 

“Alright, Tony. I’m willing to give this a shot,” Rhodey said, swinging his legs off the bed and gingerly placing his feet on the floor. “But no promises, alright? If I end up flat on my face, I’m blaming you.”

 

“Deal,” Tony replied with a grin, not even looking up as he fumbled with a tablet. “Pops, you ready to run diagnostics? We need this thing to be foolproof. No more ‘accidents’ like that one time with those drones.”

 

Howard didn’t look up from his work. “I was not responsible for the drone army going rogue, Tony. That was a software glitch, not my fault.”

 

Tony paused and gave his father an incredulous look. “Please, Pops. We both know you didn’t even notice the glitch until it was too late. You were too busy inventing flying cars or whatever.”

 

Howard gave his son a look that could’ve melted steel. “You know, I had to deal with the fallout of that, right?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re still grumpy about it,” Tony muttered, looking back to Rhodey. “Okay, Rhodey. Ready to try this thing out?”

 

Rhodey hesitated for a moment, then slowly pushed himself up, his legs giving way for just a second before the braces kicked in, lifting him to his feet with a gentle hum of power. The pain in his back had receded, replaced by the low, reassuring hum of the tech beneath his skin. He straightened up, then took a cautious step forward.

 

“I can feel it,” he said, surprised. “This is...working.”

 

Tony grinned, his cocky confidence making a brief appearance. “Of course it is. We don’t do things halfway.”

 

But before Rhodey could take another step, the sound of footsteps made everyone pause. Ted Tonks, Andromeda’s husband and the magical healer behind much of the enchantments, stepped forward with a cautious expression.

 

“Tony,” Ted said, his voice measured, “we still need to run diagnostics on his healing magic. The braces are doing their job, but it’s important we don’t rush his recovery.”

 

“Relax, Ted. The guy’s itching to walk again,” Tony said, not missing a beat. “I’m not going to rush anything. Just giving Rhodey a little nudge.”

 

Ted frowned. “I’m serious, Tony. You’ve got to remember that magic and tech are...different. They don’t always play nice.”

 

Howard finally spoke up, his tone firm yet conciliatory. “Ted’s right. We need to be cautious. Magic can work miracles, but it also has its limitations. If we push too hard, we could make things worse.”

 

Rhodey, still testing his balance, rolled his shoulders and exhaled slowly. “I get it, Ted. No need to turn this into a lecture. I’m just happy to stand again. It’s a damn miracle—tech or magic, I’ll take it.”

 

Tony gave a small chuckle. “Not a miracle, Rhodey. Just a little Stark ingenuity, with some help from our magic experts.”

 

At that, Andromeda stepped forward, shaking her head with a knowing smile. “You two are the worst at listening,” she said to her husband, before turning to Tony with a more serious expression. “But the good news is his healing is progressing well. We’ve got time before we need to push any further. It’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon.”

 

“Understood,” Tony said, his voice still light, but now laced with the smallest trace of respect. “But while we’re on the topic of marathons… I’ve got another project in mind. Something to really give Hydra a run for their money.”

 

Rhodey turned toward Tony, eyebrow raised. “Now you’ve got my attention. What’s the plan?”

 

Tony’s eyes gleamed with the kind of look that usually meant trouble. “It’s simple. A little payback for Hydra. I’m designing a new suit of armor. For both of us. Something that combines tech and magic. And I think it’s time we brought in some reinforcements.”

 

“Reinforcements?” Rhodey asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You mean I’m going to get my own suit? Like the big leagues?”

 

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Tony said with a grin, glancing over at his father. “We’re going to need some magic for this, though. So I’m thinking we reach out to Lily Potter and Gideon Adler. They’ve been helping out with some of Dad’s other projects, and their expertise could really give us the edge we need.”

 

Howard, still preoccupied with the diagnostics, didn’t miss a beat. “You’re right. Lily’s got an incredible talent for runes, and Gideon has a knack for enchanted tech. We can’t do this alone.”

 

Ted, who had been silently processing everything, finally sighed. “You guys are getting ahead of yourselves, but...I suppose this could work.”

 

Andromeda shot her husband a look. “If we do this right, Ted, it will work. But they’ll need time—and patience.”

 

Tony, never one to back down, gave a cheeky grin. “Patience is overrated. Besides, Hydra’s not going to wait around for us to finish our magic-tech hybrid suits. We’ll hit them fast. And when we do, it’s going to hurt.”

 

Rhodey, now standing tall, adjusted the brace and gave Tony a firm nod. “Alright, Tony. Let’s make them regret it.”

 

“Exactly,” Tony said with a satisfied grin. “And just for the record—never mess with a Stark.”

Chapter 50: Chapter 49

The underground lab buzzed with activity, a perfect symphony of Stark Industries’ cutting-edge tech and the strange, almost melodic hum of magic radiating from enchanted artifacts scattered around. It was a space where brilliance collided—sometimes literally—and Tony Stark reveled in it.

 

Standing across from him and Howard were Lily Potter and Gideon Adler. Lily exuded an almost ethereal warmth, her fiery red hair tied loosely behind her, the green of her eyes so sharp they seemed to pierce through the dim light of the lab. She carried a massive leather-bound tome that hummed faintly with an arcane energy.

 

Beside her, Gideon Adler, the man once known as Gellert Grindelwald, looked every bit the enigma he was rumored to be. His icy blue-gray eyes held the weight of centuries, but his de-aged, mid-40s appearance gave him a disarming, almost charismatic charm. He stood impeccably dressed, his sharp features accentuated by the slightest curl of a smirk. He was both a mystery and a man utterly in control of every detail around him.

 

Tony spun a wrench in his hand like a drumstick, leaning casually against his workbench. “Alright, magic people, let’s cut to the chase. I’m building new suits—state-of-the-art, the absolute peak of what science can do—and I want to add a little pizzazz. You know, sprinkle in some magic to cover the areas tech can’t. So... you in?”

 

Lily raised an eyebrow, her tone equal parts patient and curious. “Tony, you’re asking us to integrate centuries-old magical knowledge into your suits like it’s a garnish for a salad.”

 

Howard let out a low groan, rubbing his temples. “What she’s trying to say, Tony, is that you can’t just slap runes on armor and call it a day. Magic is complex, and if you don’t respect it, it’ll blow up in your face. Or Rhodey’s.”

 

“Thanks for the pep talk, Dad,” Tony shot back, holding his hands out theatrically. “But if we’re going to talk about respecting magic, I’d like to point out that I invited actual wizards to the party. I could’ve just Googled ‘how to magic’ and winged it.”

 

Gideon’s smirk deepened, and his voice carried a smooth, almost velvety cadence. “And I’m certain the internet would’ve provided all the answers you needed. Truly a wellspring of wisdom, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Exactly!” Tony pointed at him, clearly ignoring the sarcasm. “This guy gets it.”

 

Lily gave Gideon a sidelong glance, her tone tinged with amusement. “Gideon, don’t encourage him. He’s already impossible to manage.”

 

“Oh, I find him delightfully entertaining,” Gideon replied, his smirk never wavering. “There’s something... refreshing about his reckless confidence.”

 

Tony shot finger guns at Gideon. “See? He likes me. Now, let’s get down to business. I’m thinking we start with protection. Hydra’s been dabbling in some dark magic—or whatever their evil flavor of the month is—and I need something to counter that. What kind of spells are we talking? Shields? Wards? Maybe a little anti-Avada Kedavra action?”

 

Lily opened her tome, the pages flipping of their own accord until they landed on an intricate diagram of armor surrounded by glowing runes. She pointed to a cluster of symbols etched around the chest piece. “These are protective runes. They form a matrix that can absorb and redirect magical energy. If we integrate them into your suit’s design, they could create a barrier against most magical attacks.”

 

Tony leaned in, scanning the page with a raised eyebrow. “Redirect magical energy? So, like... magic airbags?”

 

Howard sighed loudly, his arms crossed. “Tony, for the love of God, take this seriously. This isn’t some sideshow trick.”

 

“I am taking it seriously,” Tony said, feigning offense. “Seriously enough to trust the people who actually know what they’re doing.” He turned to Gideon. “You know, Mr. Reformed Dark Wizard—love the new name, by the way—what’s your take? How do we make this suit Hydra-proof and badass?”

 

Gideon’s gaze was as calm as it was piercing. “For protection, the runes Lily mentioned are an excellent start. But we must also consider layering the wards—overlapping protections to ensure resilience against both magical and physical threats. This will require precision. A single misplaced rune could destabilize the entire system.”

 

“Precision’s my middle name,” Tony quipped, earning a skeptical look from Howard.

 

“And offense?” Gideon continued, ignoring the interruption. “We can enchant specific components to channel elemental forces—lightning, fire, perhaps even kinetic energy. But such power requires a conduit. Does your armor have anything that could serve as a focus?”

 

Tony snapped his fingers. “Arc reactor. Boom. Problem solved.”

 

Gideon arched an eyebrow. “Interesting. A source of immense, self-sustaining energy... It could work. Though we’ll need to ensure the magic doesn’t overload your technology.”

 

Lily nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I’d suggest creating magical circuits to channel the energy—similar to how wands focus a wizard’s power. It’ll require careful crafting, but with the right materials—dragon heartstring, perhaps—we could make it work.”

 

Howard snorted. “Dragon heartstring? What is this, a fairy tale?”

 

“It’s a highly conductive magical material,” Lily said, her tone sharp. “And unless you’ve got a better idea, Mr. Stark, I suggest you let the experts handle this.”

 

Tony grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “Easy there, Lily. Pops is just cranky because I’m stealing his thunder.”

 

“Thunder?” Howard shot back. “You wouldn’t even have a lab if I hadn’t built the company that funded it.”

 

“Love this family dynamic,” Gideon interjected dryly. “But if we’re done posturing, perhaps we should focus on the task at hand?”

 

Ted Tonks, who had been quietly observing from the corner, finally spoke up. “I hate to say it, but Gideon’s right. If we’re going to pull this off, we need a clear plan. And maybe—just maybe—less arguing.”

 

Tony pointed at Ted. “See? This guy gets it. Alright, team, let’s suit up. Hydra’s not going to know what hit them.”

 

Howard muttered something under his breath, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Lily exchanged a knowing glance with Gideon, and even the enigmatic wizard looked faintly amused.

 

As the group dove into the details, the hum of the lab seemed to grow louder, as if the space itself was alive with the potential of what they were about to create. And for the first time in a long time, Tony felt like they were building something truly unstoppable.

 

—

 

The ancient library of Kamar-Taj was a place of quiet intensity. The air hummed with arcane power, books floating in mid-air with pages turning as if stirred by invisible winds, while glowing symbols pulsed in the space above their table, casting the room in shifting lights. It felt alive, like the whole building was watching them.

 

Wong’s voice broke the silence, its steady, commanding tone cutting through the hum of energy. "Focus, Potter," he said, his hands moving through the air, drawing complex patterns of symbols that shimmered before disappearing. "This crystal will channel the energy, but it is more delicate than you realize. One stray thought—one moment of distraction—and—"

 

"I know, I know," Harry interrupted, his grin threatening to overtake his seriousness. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, trying to appear as focused as possible. "No detonating Kamar-Taj. No turning myself into a giant fireball. Got it, Master Wong."

 

Wong’s eyes flickered toward him, a mixture of exasperation and amusement on his face. "It’s not just about control, Potter. This is about merging your essence with the fundamental forces of the universe. You’re not just becoming an animal. You’re aligning yourself with the flow of nature itself. Do you understand?"

 

Harry stared at the crystal before him. It was small, barely the size of a marble, yet it glowed with a soft, liquid-like shimmer, and he could feel its power, a hum that resonated deep within his bones. "So, this little thing is gonna help me... connect with the universe? Because last time I checked, nature tried to eat me alive."

 

"That’s because you’ve never taken the time to understand nature," Wong replied dryly, picking up the crystal and regarding it with a touch of reverence. "This focus crystal has been used by mystics for centuries. It will help stabilize your magical core and prevent the transformation from ripping you apart."

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. "So it won’t turn me into a walking disaster zone?"

 

"No," Wong said, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "You’ll have the opportunity to turn yourself into a walking disaster zone. There’s a difference."

 

"Great," Harry muttered under his breath, rolling up his sleeves with a dramatic flourish. He sat cross-legged before the crystal, trying to ignore the nervous tingling in his fingers. "No pressure."

 

Wong sighed and motioned for Harry to focus. "Now. Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Allow the crystal’s energy to intertwine with your own. Let it anchor you. Visualize yourself as a part of the universe. Connect with the flow."

 

Harry closed his eyes, though his mind was already buzzing with distractions. He could hear the distant thrum of magical energy around him, and he forced himself to clear his thoughts. Slowly, he extended his senses toward the crystal.

 

A pulse of energy shot through him like a spark of electricity. It wasn’t painful, but it was sharp—almost invasive. His breath caught, but he steadied himself, following Wong’s instructions. He imagined the energy of the crystal flowing through him, his body merging with it, feeling as if the world outside was slowing, his mind stretching in all directions.

 

"Good," Wong said, his voice calm but firm. "Let the energy fill you. Feel the connection. Let it anchor you."

 

The feeling deepened, a sense of grounding like being rooted in the earth itself. Harry felt the boundaries of his body dissolve for a brief moment, and the world around him opened up—like stepping into an endless forest, the flow of life and magic pulsing all around him. The energy swirled within him, like wind carrying him through the air, and he could almost hear the sound of wings flapping in the distance. His chest tightened as the energy shifted, beginning to push him, trying to force him into a shape.

 

"Don’t fight it," Wong’s voice cut through the turmoil. "Channel it. You control it, Potter, or it will control you."

 

Harry clenched his jaw. He could feel the Phoenix inside of him, its fire and freedom, the raw power pushing against the walls of his mind. He had to focus. He didn’t want to lose control.

 

For a moment, everything went still.

 

"Feel it," Wong murmured, almost as if to himself. "Let it manifest. Let the animal take form within you."

 

Harry took a deep breath, and then another, trying to center himself. His heartbeat quickened, but he stayed with the sensation. The Phoenix. His core, his soul, felt it—this immense, fiery creature, wings stretching out, flames licking at his skin. The heat was growing, but it wasn’t burning him yet. Slowly, carefully, he let the energy take root, flowing outward, manifesting in his mind’s eye.

 

The air around him began to warm. His muscles tensed with the strain of channeling that much raw power.

 

Wong’s voice came again, low and steady. "You’re doing well. But don’t let it consume you. This is about balance."

 

The heat was rising, now. Harry could feel it, the raw, untamed magic swirling within him. His skin tingled with the sensation of flames, but he remained grounded, focusing on the vision of the Phoenix. It wasn’t just a bird. It was freedom, rebirth, and fire. It was the storm inside him. And yet, as much as he wanted to let the flames consume him, he resisted.

 

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.

 

Harry opened his eyes and let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Nothing had changed. He was still sitting in the same spot, no wings, no fiery aura. The only sign of his connection was the subtle warmth still lingering around him, like the fading heat of a fire.

 

Wong’s eyebrows raised slightly. "Well?"

 

"I didn’t explode," Harry said, grinning, a mixture of pride and disbelief in his voice. "So, that’s a win, right?"

 

Wong let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck as if he hadn’t expected to survive the ordeal. "You didn’t explode," he said slowly, his voice tinged with relief. "That’s... a good start. I suppose."

 

Harry laughed, the tension of the moment lifting. "Well, you said not to expect it to be perfect right away. But hey, I didn’t turn into a fire-breathing giant, so that’s something."

 

"Let’s try again," Wong said, his tone much firmer now. "You’re getting closer, but don’t get too cocky. The transformation isn’t something you can rush. It’s about patience. Control. Focus."

 

"Right," Harry said, his grin widening. "No more cocky fire-breathing giants. Got it, Master Wong. Next round?"

 

Wong gave him a pointed look, though a flicker of amusement shone through. "You’re lucky I didn’t curse you into silence for that, Potter."

 

But Harry didn’t need any more encouragement. As he closed his eyes once again, the energy swirling within him, he knew this time would be different. There was power inside him—his own power, but now there was something more: the focus to control it.

 

Wong might have been ready to give up on him at any moment, but Harry... Harry was just getting started.

 

—

 

The lab buzzed with an electric energy, and Tony couldn’t help but feel the familiar rush of exhilaration as his eyes locked on the colossal Arc Reactor sitting in the center of the room. The thing was the size of a large refrigerator—half the size of the entire room, in fact—its glowing core pulsing rhythmically as if it had a heartbeat of its own.

 

“You know, this thing’s almost got a personality,” Tony remarked, hands on his hips as he regarded the massive piece of tech. “Too bad it’s not really alive, or I’d start a therapy session for it.”

 

Howard, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed and an exasperated look, shot him a glare. “That’s the prototype, Tony. A first draft. A good start, sure, but you don’t need this. Not when we’re about to make it smaller, more efficient.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “And by ‘we,’ you mean me, right? Because the last time I checked, I was the one with the genius-level intellect. Not to mention, I’m the one who’ll be wearing this thing.” He gestured to his own chest, where the spot for the new, miniaturized Arc Reactor was waiting in his chestplate.

 

“Right, right,” Howard muttered, pacing back and forth. “You’re the genius. I just built the damn thing in the first place.”

 

Lily Potter and Gideon Adler were deep in discussion nearby, looking over a series of enchanted blueprints that hovered in the air, glowing softly with their respective runes. She had already worked out the magical enhancements, but she and Gideon had yet to test how they would interact with the tech.

 

Lily snapped her fingers, calling their attention. “Okay, let’s begin. This will take both magic and science working in tandem. Tony, Howard—if you’d kindly provide the necessary materials, we’ll need them to adjust the arc’s core.”

 

Tony smirked and turned to Howard. “Oh, this is where it gets fun. Ready to shrink this baby down?”

 

Howard sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re like a kid on Christmas, aren’t you?” But even as he grumbled, he moved to his workstation, pulling out tools and materials. He began assembling a set of fine wires, mechanical components, and recalibration tools, preparing to interface with the Arc Reactor’s existing tech.

 

Gideon stepped forward, his usual calm demeanor hiding the sharp intelligence in his eyes. “We’ll need to use my quicksilver runes to anchor the energy flow. It’s a kind of living magic that reacts to both metal and energy, which will help us channel the immense power into a more compact space. But I must warn you, this requires precision—too much pressure or misplacement and we could lose control.” His voice dropped to a whisper, almost reverent, as he added, “And we don’t want to see how an unstable Arc Reactor reacts to magic.”

 

Tony straightened up, grinning. “Oh, I think we’ll manage. What’s the worst that could happen? A little explosion here and there? Nothing the suit can’t handle.”

 

“Famous last words,” Howard muttered, already connecting the wires to the reactor.

 

Lily waved her wand in a wide arc, the air shimmering momentarily as she activated the first of the enchantments. A soft hum resonated from the reactor as the magical field began to interface with its raw energy. “We’ll create a bridge between the magical and the mechanical. This will let us focus the power in a way that makes it possible to shrink its size without losing efficiency.”

 

Gideon’s eyes narrowed as he raised a hand, his fingers moving fluidly as he traced patterns in the air. “The key here is the interaction between the magic and the Arc Reactor’s energy. We’ll need to draw out the potential energy without causing an overload. Keep the magical wards in place—Lily, your expertise will be critical in ensuring the flow stays stable.”

 

Lily nodded. “I’ve got it covered.” She waved her wand again, her movements deliberate. Her voice was low, almost a murmur as she whispered the incantation that would create the protective magical wards around the reactor.

 

Tony, standing back and watching the interplay between magic and science, couldn’t help but feel a rush of anticipation. It was one thing to make something, but it was an entirely different beast to combine two incredibly powerful forces, science and magic, into one seamless machine. This was next-level engineering.

 

The reactor began to shrink. Slowly at first, the edges of the enormous device flickering as magic surged into the metal core. The whir of machinery grew louder, a counterpoint to the flickering lights.

 

Tony’s eyes lit up as the reactor’s size diminished before their eyes. “Now we’re talking. That’s what I like to see!” He leaned in closer, watching intently as the dimensions shifted and compacted. The pulsing glow of the reactor grew more intense as the interface between magic and technology began to stabilize.

 

Howard stepped back, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow as the reactor continued to shrink. “Impressive. But can we make it stable? That’s the part I’m concerned about. We’ve never tried integrating magic like this before.”

 

“Which is why we’re testing it now,” Tony said, grinning. “This is the fun part. Right, magic people? I mean, look at this thing!” He pointed to the shrinking reactor, which was now about the size of a large chest piece. It was almost done.

 

Gideon, his focus razor-sharp, gestured for them to wait. “We need to ensure that the flow of energy remains balanced. If there’s a miscalculation in the energy transfer... well, the results would be catastrophic.”

 

Lily glanced at Tony, her eyes a little more serious than usual. “You’ve been warned. Once we finish, we’ll need to monitor it carefully. Any sudden shifts in magical energy could destabilize the reactor.”

 

Howard’s hand hovered near the reactor’s panel, ready to engage the backup systems. “Alright, let’s do this. Tony, you’re sure about the safety protocols?”

 

Tony scoffed. “Do I look like someone who leaves things to chance? We’ll be fine. Magic and tech, working together.”

 

As the reactor reached its final, compact form—about the size of a large basketball—the room grew eerily quiet. Tony couldn’t help but stare, a satisfied grin creeping across his face.

 

Lily lowered her wand, her expression filled with quiet pride. “It’s done. The reactor is stable, its magical properties bound to the technology. It’s as compact as we can get it, and its energy output should be just as efficient.”

 

“Perfect,” Tony said, clapping his hands together. “That’s what I like to hear. Now, let’s see how it works in the suit.”

 

Howard shot him a look. “Let’s see if it explodes first.”

 

But before anyone could say anything more, Tony was already moving, pulling up the design schematics for the new suit. His mind was already five steps ahead, imagining how the new Arc Reactor would fit into the next iteration of his armor. This wasn’t just an upgrade—it was the beginning of a whole new chapter in the war against Hydra, and maybe a few other threats that hadn’t revealed themselves yet.

 

“Alright, let’s get this thing into gear. We’ve got a universe to save,” Tony said with his signature grin. “And I always work better under pressure.”

 

Howard, Lily, and Gideon exchanged looks, a silent understanding passing between them. If anyone could pull it off, it was Tony Stark. But as always, they’d be right behind him—fighting magic with science, and science with magic.

 

—

 

The ancient library of Kamar-Taj seemed to hum with anticipation as Wong and Harry moved toward the next step of the ritual. The room was a symphony of magical energy, each corner filled with the quiet rustling of enchanted pages and the steady pulse of arcane forces flowing through the air. The weight of the moment was palpable.

 

"Now," Wong said, his voice low but sharp with purpose, "we begin the next phase. The crystal you’ve just used will help us craft a potion, one that will amplify your connection to the animal form you wish to embody. But this is delicate work, Potter. Precision and timing are everything."

 

Harry, always a little too eager, couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at his lips. "You mean the part where I get to play alchemist and not blow up the library? I’m ready."

 

Wong’s eyes narrowed with the familiar look of skepticism, but there was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, a sign that even he couldn’t entirely hide his amusement. "You’d better be. The crystal must be added to the potion at the exact moment the Solar Convergence reaches its zenith. Any delay, no matter how small, and the potion will fail. If we succeed, however, the effects will be... profound."

 

"Sounds easy enough," Harry said, stretching his hands and flexing his fingers as if preparing for a game of Quidditch. "So, what’s the first step?"

 

Wong gestured to the table before them, where an array of magical ingredients had been carefully laid out—some familiar, some entirely foreign to Harry’s experience. Ancient leaves, crystals ground into fine powders, pungent oils, and liquids that shimmered like liquid gold. Each ingredient had been meticulously chosen for its role in the potion’s creation.

 

"First, we prepare the base," Wong instructed, picking up a small vial filled with shimmering blue liquid. "This is the Essence of the Eternal Flame, a rare ingredient harvested from the heart of a star. It represents the fire within, the unyielding core of your transformation."

 

Harry’s eyes widened as he examined the vial. "You know, I always thought the Dursleys were bad, but 'harvested from the heart of a star'? That’s on a whole new level of... ominous."

 

Wong gave him a pointed look, his tone stern but with a hint of amusement. "Focus, Potter. We have no time for your usual distractions."

 

"Right. Right. Focus," Harry muttered, though the grin didn’t quite leave his face. He took the vial carefully and added the liquid to a cauldron, watching as the potion swirled and bubbled, its color shifting to a deep, fiery red.

 

Wong nodded approvingly. "Now we add the Essence of Moonlight," he said, placing a small crystal on the table. "This represents the connection between the heavens and the earth. The duality within you."

 

Harry raised an eyebrow, a touch of skepticism creeping into his voice. "Moonlight in a bottle? Okay, this I have to see."

 

Wong shot him a sharp glance. "Do you want to succeed, Potter, or do you want to entertain yourself?"

 

"Right. Sorry," Harry said, suppressing a chuckle as he carefully placed the crystal into the cauldron. The potion shifted again, this time glowing with an ethereal silver light. The blend of red and silver created a stunning, shimmering effect, as if the potion itself was a window into another world.

 

"This is the easy part," Wong continued, his voice steady. "Now, we must add the next ingredients—elements that represent the various creatures you might become. Each animal form requires something different, and your connection to the Phoenix will require its own specific energy."

 

Harry nodded, watching closely as Wong pulled out several additional ingredients: crushed Phoenix feathers, a vial of molten gold, and a small vial of liquid fire. As Wong added them to the potion, the liquid inside began to churn violently, the surface of the cauldron sparkling with dangerous energy.

 

"The Phoenix’s essence is volatile," Wong cautioned, stepping back slightly. "If you don’t add the final ingredient at the exact moment of convergence, it could cause an explosion of uncontrollable magic. That would be... less than ideal."

 

"Explosion, huh?" Harry muttered, taking a step back. "Just my luck."

 

Wong ignored the comment, his attention entirely on the potion. "The final step is the focus crystal," he said, lifting the shimmering crystal that had guided Harry earlier. "This crystal must be added during the Solar Convergence—when the event reaches its zenith. If we wait too long, it will destabilize the entire potion."

 

Harry watched the crystal closely, noting how its surface shimmered, as if it held the power to reshape the very air around it. "And we have to add it at the exact moment, or else it’s all for nothing."

 

"Precisely," Wong said, giving him a pointed look. "So, I suggest you stop talking and start focusing."

 

Harry nodded, trying to stifle the jitters of excitement that were creeping in again. This was it—the moment he’d been working toward. His mind raced with thoughts of the Phoenix, of flying, of the fire burning deep inside him. But above all, he focused on Wong’s words: precision and timing.

 

As the clock on the wall began ticking down, signaling that the Solar Convergence was nearing its peak, Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the pull of the cosmic forces, the magic thrumming in the air around him. The convergence wasn’t just a celestial event—it was a moment where time and space themselves bent, where the universe aligned to make something impossible, possible.

 

“Almost there…” Wong muttered, eyes fixed on the sky above them, his hand hovering near the crystal.

 

Harry’s breath quickened, his focus narrowing as the final moments approached. The energy in the room was almost tangible now, crackling through the air like static. He could feel the crystal in his hands—its power, its weight, its potential.

 

And then… the moment passed.

 

The sky above them shifted, the sunlight fading as the Solar Convergence reached its zenith. Time itself seemed to hold its breath. Harry’s hands moved instinctively, dropping the crystal into the potion. For a split second, everything seemed perfect—the potion shimmered, its contents glowing brighter, hotter, more alive than ever before.

 

But as the energy began to crackle and surge, Harry’s heart sank. The potion, which had been so close to completion, suddenly began to bubble violently, the liquid churning as if it were about to explode. The once-beautiful light began to darken, swirling into an unstable mass of colors, sparks flying from the cauldron.

 

"No!" Wong shouted, stepping forward, but it was too late.

 

The potion exploded in a burst of magical energy, sending a shockwave through the library. The air crackled with magic, and Harry was thrown back, the force of the blast slamming him into the shelves.

 

When the chaos settled, Harry groaned, slowly picking himself up from the floor, singed but miraculously unharmed. He blinked, staring at the remnants of the potion—a puddle of fizzing, dark liquid.

 

Wong stood, his expression unreadable. "You were a second too late."

 

Harry’s grin returned, albeit a little sheepish. "Well, at least we know what happens when you mess up a Solar Convergence potion. Lesson learned, right?"

 

Wong let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples. "If you ever decide to learn patience, Potter, I’ll be the first to congratulate you. Until then, I’ll just keep praying you don’t destroy all of Kamar-Taj."

 

Harry shot him a lopsided grin. "No promises."

 

—

 

The air in the lab was a symphony of sound. The whir of diagnostic machines, the faint hum of the Arc Reactor’s residual energy, the clicking of Tony’s fingers against his keyboard—each noise punctuating the scene as they all worked towards the same goal, yet in their own way. The room had become a melting pot of magic and technology, where each force fed into the other with a unique, almost effortless harmony.

 

Tony’s hands flew over the holographic display in front of him, his mind already leaping ahead to the future. “Okay, okay, this is perfect,” he muttered to himself as he sketched out the UI, smoothing out the interface for the new suit. “If I’m gonna pull off this whole ‘armor-enhanced-with-magic’ thing, I need something slick. Something intuitive. Something that just gets me. We don’t want any kind of sluggish thing. I’m talking glide-through-the-air-like-an-angel intuitive.”

 

Lily was sitting beside him, her brow furrowed as she worked with delicate precision, her wand tracing faint glowing runes in mid-air. Her hands moved with practiced grace, weaving the necessary enchantments that would allow the magical interface to sync with Tony’s tech. “You’re sure about this?” she asked, a teasing edge to her voice as she glanced at Tony. “Turning magic into a full-blown AI? You know magic has a mind of its own, right?”

 

Tony flashed her a grin. “Exactly. That’s the beauty of it. I’ve got the perfect mix of tech and magic. And I’m just thinking—if magic’s kind of sentient, why not tap into that potential? Why not create something that adapts and grows as the wearer does? Something more than just programming, more than just lines of code. An AI that feels real.”

 

Lily raised an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. “And you’re going to name it?”

 

“Of course,” Tony said, as if the idea was as obvious as breathing. “I’m gonna name it JARVIS. After the Stark family butler. You know, the one who kept my father’s house running smoothly while he created evil robots and tried to take over the world.”

 

“Ah, yes. JARVIS,” Lily said with a hint of amusement. “I see the sentimental connection.”

 

“Exactly,” Tony responded, undeterred by her skepticism. “I need someone who’s been through the trenches. Someone who’s seen the highs and lows. Besides, it’ll be great to have a little ghost in the machine. A butler that doesn't just serve tea, but also has the power to help me control magic and armor at the same time? Perfect.”

 

Meanwhile, across the room, Howard was bent over a series of diagnostic screens, furiously tapping away at the control panel as he ran test after test on the newly miniaturized Arc Reactor, which was now sitting in the core of the Mark suit, glowing brightly.

 

“Everything checks out,” Howard muttered to himself, his voice laced with a mixture of awe and frustration. “The reactor’s stable. I mean, as stable as you can expect when you throw magic into the mix. The output’s perfect. Tony, if you mess this up, it’s on your head.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, old man. I’ve got this covered,” Tony said, barely looking up from his UI as he continued to work, adjusting the magical interface Lily had been shaping. “Also, not to worry about my precious suit—if anyone’s gonna ‘mess it up,’ it’ll be you. I’ll handle the visionary part. You just… do the whole distracting-the-enemies-with-your-very-existence part.”

 

Howard shot Tony a glare but said nothing, knowing it was easier to let Tony do his thing rather than argue. “I’ll just make sure all the tech works. You get your magic AI up and running, and we’ll see how well this suit really holds together.”

 

Across the room, Gideon Adler was busy in the corner, his hands steady and meticulous as he carved runes into the armor’s surface, his movements precise. With every incision of his enchanted knife, the armor seemed to hum in response, resonating with a latent power. The runes he carved were intricate, designed not just to protect, but to amplify the suit’s magical properties.

 

“You’re carving runes into the armor itself?” Howard asked, glancing over his shoulder as the first set of symbols began to glow faintly. “I thought we were going to build that into the reactor.”

 

Gideon’s voice was low and smooth, tinged with the weight of centuries of knowledge. “The reactor’s only part of the equation. Magic needs to be embedded, needs to be bound into the structure itself. Just like with the first-generation spells I designed—these will be integral to the suit. Not just shields, but reactive spells. Adaptive ones.”

 

Tony couldn’t help but chuckle. “See? Magic isn’t so crazy after all. If we get this right, we could be looking at an armor system that thinks for itself.” He leaned in closer to the suit, inspecting the runes as they lit up beneath Gideon’s steady hand. “Like an armor that can think like me. Definitely dangerous, but totally cool.”

 

Gideon barely reacted, focused entirely on his work. “We need to be careful, Stark. Magic is not to be played with lightly. You want a suit that can think? It will be alive in its own way.” He paused for a moment, locking eyes with Tony. “Don’t treat it like another piece of technology. Magic has its own rules. It reacts. It feels. You might get your wish and have a sentient suit, but remember that it won’t be on your side just because you tell it to be.”

 

Tony’s smile faltered just for a moment. “Point taken. I’ll… try not to piss off the suit.”

 

“Good idea,” Howard chimed in dryly, turning his attention back to the diagnostics. “We’ve got a lot riding on this.”

 

Lily had her wand hovering over the center of the suit, conjuring intricate spells to link the magic to the armor’s interface. “Once we finish with these enchantments,” she said, “we’ll begin synchronizing them with the tech. It’ll be like setting the suit’s mood. A little tweak here, a little recalibration there, and we’ll get it in sync with the user.”

 

Tony grinned again, clearly in his element. “You know what? This is going to be great. JARVIS and magic working together—like peanut butter and jelly. If peanut butter was super smart and could, you know, zap people.”

 

Howard shot him a pointed look. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, let’s make sure it doesn’t blow up.”

 

Gideon paused mid-carve, looking up with a knowing smirk. “If it does… well, at least you’ll have company in the explosion.”

 

Tony snorted. “That’s what I love about you, Adler. So much optimism.”

 

Lily smiled, adding a bit of magic to her spellwork. “It’s not optimism. It’s preparation. That’s the real trick. You prepare for the worst, and when it happens, you have the magic to fix it—or the tech to run away fast enough to save your skin.”

 

“Now that sounds like my kind of plan.” Tony gave her a grin, his hands continuing to hover over the holographic UI as it adjusted in real time, magic and tech syncing together. “Alright, JARVIS. We’re almost there. I can feel it.”

 

The suit began to hum again, the first signs of life flickering within it.

 

This was more than just a suit. This was something new. Something no one had ever seen before. And with the perfect fusion of science and magic, Tony was about to turn the future on its head.

Chapter 51: Chapter 50

The lab buzzed with energy, both literal and figurative, as the team of brilliant minds continued their work. Tony Stark sat in front of his holographic interface, fingers dancing across the controls. Beside him, Lily Potter worked her wand, muttering incantations that sent shimmering lights racing across the room. Gideon Adler continued carving his runes with delicate precision, his enchanted blade weaving intricate patterns into the armor that now pulsed with both magic and technology.

 

Tony’s eyes flicked from his display to the suit, the glowing runes now casting a subtle light over the room. "Okay, okay. This is it. Magic, meet technology," Tony said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Let's make some history."

 

"Or some trouble," Howard Stark chimed in from across the room, still running diagnostics. His voice was calm, but there was a palpable tension in the air. "Remember, you’re crossing two of the most volatile forces in the universe. It’s a lot of power in one place. Proceed with caution, Tony."

 

Tony rolled his eyes, but his fingers paused for a moment. "Of course. Caution is my middle name. Right after ‘brilliant,’ and ‘savior of the universe’."

 

"Right," Howard muttered, clearly not buying it.

 

Lily’s soft laughter broke through the moment of tension. "Don't listen to him, Tony. He’s just worried his old tech is going to get overshadowed by magic."

 

"Ha. Please." Tony’s grin widened. "If anything, I’m going to make magic look better." He turned back to his console, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he began to tweak the AI system he was building. "Alright, JARVIS, let’s see if you’re ready to meet the world."

 

With a few more adjustments, the interface on the screen flickered to life. A small orb of light appeared in the center of the holographic display, slowly spinning as lines of code cascaded around it, forming into recognizable shapes and data points. Tony watched, practically bouncing in his seat, as the AI’s personality began to form.

 

“Initializing,” JARVIS’s voice—calm, precise, and unmistakably refined—emerged from the speakers in the lab. "Hello, Mr. Stark. It is a pleasure to meet you."

 

Tony’s eyes widened as he leaned forward, watching the orb of light pulse like a beating heart. “Whoa, this is... Wow.”

 

Howard raised an eyebrow. “You just got that excited about a voice?”

 

Tony turned to his father with a smirk. “It’s not just a voice. This is a personality. A unique, magical, tech-infused personality. And I think I’m going to like it.”

 

Lily’s wand hovered over the hologram as she directed a subtle wave of magic toward the orb, her voice soft but purposeful. "It’s working. The magic is bonding with the programming… I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

 

Gideon stood off to the side, observing with a critical eye, his gaze not leaving the armor or the flickering orb that was now manifesting the early stages of JARVIS. His voice, when it came, was low but tinged with both approval and caution. “You’re threading the needle, Stark. This is a delicate balance. Be mindful of the link you’re creating. Magic, like any sentient force, can grow unpredictable if you’re not careful.”

 

Tony nodded, still watching the hologram carefully. “I hear you, Adler. But this isn’t just any magic. It’s a fusion. Something new. And new is my thing.”

 

"Let's not get too cocky," Howard warned, though there was a glint of pride in his eyes as he studied the AI's progress. "Just make sure it doesn’t decide it’s the boss of us."

 

“Okay, now that would be an interesting development," Tony said, tapping his chin. "Imagine an AI that thinks it's in charge... kind of like a really well-dressed version of me."

 

“Let’s just hope you’re not the one on the receiving end of the AI’s... sense of humor,” Lily said, a playful smirk forming on her face.

 

Tony shot her a look, but before he could say anything, the orb pulsed brighter. JARVIS’s voice responded, now filled with a subtle warmth that hadn’t been there before.

 

"I am not in charge, Mr. Stark. My purpose is to serve. To protect. To assist in any way possible. I am your companion, your... co-pilot, if you will."

 

The words hung in the air for a moment, and then Tony leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, eyes gleaming. “Well, that’s a nice start.”

 

Lily smiled, the connection between magic and technology now evident in the orb. "The magic is giving it an awareness that goes beyond pure programming. It’s more... intuitive."

 

Gideon nodded, still watching closely, but there was a note of respect in his voice. "It’s like binding a part of the soul to the machine. Magic is not just external. It seeps into everything it touches."

 

"I get it," Tony said, his voice light with excitement. "It’s like the magic is breathing life into the system. JARVIS isn’t just lines of code anymore—he’s got soul."

 

"An artificial soul," Howard said dryly, but his voice was filled with more admiration than criticism. "Don't let it get too attached. Remember, it’s not just magic. It’s tech. And tech can fail, no matter how much magic you pour into it."

 

"Hey, if it fails, I’ll just make another one," Tony said with a shrug. "I mean, how hard can it be to make a sentient, magical AI, right?"

 

Lily laughed softly, the sound light and warm. "You’re always so humble, Tony."

 

Gideon’s voice interrupted their banter, a little more serious now. "Just ensure you’re not pushing it too far, Stark. Magic and technology both have their limits. If you’re not careful, you might unleash something you can’t control."

 

Tony waved his hand dismissively, but there was an edge of caution in his voice. "Don’t worry, Adler. I’m on top of it."

 

Just as he said that, the orb of light that was JARVIS suddenly expanded, taking the shape of a glowing, humanoid figure. It was an ethereal, almost translucent form, a mix of shimmering gold and blue, its eyes a deep, glowing white. It was neither a full figure nor a solid hologram, but it had weight, presence—a life that was unmistakable.

 

“Mr. Stark, I am fully operational,” JARVIS’s voice sounded once again, now slightly more confident, more aware. “How may I assist you today?”

 

Tony stood up slowly, his grin widening as he crossed the room toward the suit, his eyes fixed on the AI. "Alright, JARVIS, let’s test this out. I want you to interface with the suit’s systems. Let’s see how well we can do when we put you in charge of the armor’s magic and tech simultaneously."

 

JARVIS’s form flickered slightly, as if adjusting to the input. “Affirmative, Mr. Stark. Initiating connection…”

 

The entire room seemed to hum with power as the magic and technology intertwined in real-time, JARVIS adapting to the armor, drawing power from the reactor, and using the enchantments that Lily and Gideon had carefully crafted to augment its abilities.

 

“Ready when you are,” Tony said, his tone full of excitement, anticipation, and a little bit of glee.

 

The orb of light flickered again, and JARVIS’s voice responded, now more alive than ever.

 

“Testing complete, Mr. Stark. The systems are fully integrated. I am now linked to the armor. Shall we proceed with the next phase of testing?”

 

Tony, absolutely beaming, turned to his father and the others in the lab. “Yeah, we’re good. This is going to be amazing.”

 

And in that moment, it was clear—magic and technology had found their perfect balance. And the world would never be the same again.

 

—

 

The days leading up to the next Solar Convergence were tense. The air in Kamar-Taj seemed charged with an unspoken urgency, and Harry found himself repeatedly double-checking every ingredient, every tool, every spell. The failure of the previous attempt loomed over him like an ever-present cloud. This time, he had no room for error. The stakes were far too high.

 

Wong was far less patient now, though he still offered the occasional piece of advice or quiet instruction. They had gathered a new focus crystal, one that glowed with a soft, pulsing light, ready to be used at the precise moment. Harry, after the disaster of their first attempt, couldn’t help but feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. If he failed again, the consequences might be irreversible.

 

“So, this time,” Wong began, his voice steady but filled with quiet authority, “we will be more methodical. No distractions, no jokes. Just precision.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “No jokes? But I’m great at jokes.”

 

Wong didn’t even look at him as he began preparing the ingredients. “Focus, Potter.”

 

“Right. Focus,” Harry muttered, casting a quick glance at the crystal, which rested on the stone table between them. It seemed to shimmer, almost alive with energy, as if it were just waiting to unlock something monumental.

 

This time, they were more prepared. Harry and Wong went through the steps more deliberately, every movement measured and calm. The cauldron was prepared, and the Essence of Eternal Flame was carefully poured in, its fiery red liquid swirling to life in the bowl. Harry didn’t let his attention wander for even a second, keeping his mind fixed on the task at hand. He knew the risks, and he understood that one misstep could doom them all.

 

“I’ve already added the Essence of Eternal Flame,” Wong said, turning to Harry as he reached for the next vial. “Now, you add the Essence of Moonlight.”

 

Harry took the crystal carefully, its light casting faint reflections on his hands as he dropped it into the potion. It dissolved into the liquid like it was meant to be there, and the potion shimmered briefly, an ethereal, silvery glow dancing on the surface. The air around them seemed to hum with energy as the essence blended perfectly.

 

“Looking good,” Harry muttered, his confidence beginning to build.

 

Wong didn’t respond right away, but Harry could see the hint of approval in his eyes as he stepped forward to add the next ingredient—a powdered form of crushed Phoenix feathers. As the powder hit the surface of the potion, it flared brightly, igniting for a brief instant before settling into a warm golden hue.

 

“Your connection to the Phoenix is getting stronger,” Wong said, almost as if speaking more to himself than to Harry. “This is where your true potential lies, Potter. Don’t forget that.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry replied, smirking. He felt the heat of the golden light, almost as if it were calling to him, beckoning him toward something greater. He had a growing sense that this transformation, whatever it was, would change him. Perhaps even more than he could understand.

 

Wong carefully added the vial of molten gold next. It fizzed and cracked as it merged with the potion, turning it a deep amber, its surface swirling like molten lava. The final vial—the vial of liquid fire—was held in Wong’s hand, but he paused, giving Harry one last serious look.

 

“This is where it gets tricky, Potter,” Wong warned, his voice taut. “Once we add the final vial, the potion will be ready. But you need to be prepared. When we add the focus crystal, the magic will spike. If you’re not mentally prepared, you could lose control.”

 

Harry straightened. His heart thudded in his chest, but he forced himself to calm down, focusing on the task at hand. He had come this far. There was no turning back.

 

“I’m ready,” Harry said, meeting Wong’s gaze. “Let’s do this.”

 

Wong nodded, taking the vial in his hand and slowly tipping it over the cauldron. The liquid fire poured in, turning the mixture a brilliant crimson before quickly shifting into a vibrant, pulsing orange. The potion seemed to come alive, the air crackling with energy.

 

“Now,” Wong said, his voice sharp. “We wait.”

 

Harry watched the potion, his eyes flicking between it and the skies above. The Solar Convergence was fast approaching, the celestial bodies beginning to align. Harry could feel the pull of it—an overwhelming sensation of everything moving into place, as though the universe itself was holding its breath.

 

The world outside seemed to quiet as the moment of convergence neared. The light in the room dimmed as the moon began to rise, the energy of the cosmic event already starting to bend time and space in subtle ways. It was as if everything was preparing for the moment when the crystal would finally be added. Wong’s hand hovered over the potion, the new focus crystal held tightly between his fingers, its glow pulsing rhythmically in time with the celestial movements.

 

Harry’s pulse quickened. The air was thick with anticipation, and every fiber of his being felt stretched taut, like a bowstring ready to snap. Wong’s eyes flicked to the sky, then back to Harry. Time seemed to slow as they both waited for the perfect moment.

 

Harry’s breath came in shallow bursts, his focus narrowing on the crystal. He could feel it—the surge of magic in the air, the swirling cosmic forces waiting for him to act. He knew he couldn’t afford a single mistake this time. The slightest delay, and they would fail again.

 

A single moment passed, and Wong’s hand moved.

 

He dropped the focus crystal into the potion, and for a split second, Harry thought the world might explode from the sheer force of the magic that coursed through the room. The cauldron flared with blinding light, and the energy in the air became almost unbearable. It crackled like static, filling Harry’s entire being with an overwhelming heat and power.

 

For a brief instant, Harry thought he was going to pass out from the sheer intensity. But then, the light began to soften, and the potion stabilized. The swirling energy calmed, turning into a glowing, radiant liquid that seemed to hum with life.

 

Wong stepped back slowly, his face carefully neutral, but his eyes gleaming with approval. "It’s done."

 

Harry stared at the potion, his heart racing. The air was still thick with the residual magic, but it felt different now—alive, focused. He could sense it, deep in his bones. This was it. This was the moment he had been preparing for.

 

“That’s it, then?” Harry asked, voice a little breathless with awe. “We did it?”

 

Wong nodded, his expression finally breaking into something resembling a smile. “You did it, Potter. The potion is complete. But now…” His voice grew somber. “The true test is not in the brewing. It’s in the transformation.”

 

Harry’s grin spread wide. “I’ve always liked a good challenge.”

 

Wong raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. As Harry reached forward to take the potion, he felt the energy coursing through him, felt the fire of the Phoenix’s power awakening inside him. It was time to see just how far this journey would take him.

 

And for the first time, Harry felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this transformation was the key to everything he had been searching for.

 

—

 

The lab was a whirlwind of motion as Tony Stark stood, hands on hips, staring at the bare metal frame of the Mark I armor. The massive suit, still in its unfinished state, loomed over him, its jagged edges and exposed mechanisms almost intimidating in its raw form. The room hummed with the sound of various machines running diagnostics and magical energy pulsing through the air. JARVIS’s voice echoed through the lab, calm and unflappable as always.

 

“Mr. Stark, I must emphasize that we have not completed the necessary simulations for this suit. The systems are not fully tested, and there are numerous variables that we cannot account for at this moment,” JARVIS said, his tone polite but firm.

 

Tony, unfazed, adjusted his gloves and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah, JARVIS. I heard you the first time. But let’s face it—I’m Tony Stark. Who needs simulations when you’ve got instinct?”

 

Howard Stark, from across the room, shot his son a disapproving look. “Tony, this is insane. We don’t even have the color scheme decided yet—let alone a functioning AI to monitor your vitals properly. You can’t just throw yourself into this thing and hope it works.”

 

“Actually,” Tony shot back, looking over at Howard with a smirk, “we do have the color scheme settled. I mean, red and gold are pretty much perfect. Just take a look at my inspiration.” He waved his hand toward the nearby holographic projection of the Mark I suit, still unfinished, with the glowing outline of a design in mind. “I was thinking something... bold. You know, something that says, ‘I’m here to save the world and look good doing it.’”

 

Howard sighed, shaking his head. “Red and gold? You’re really gonna copy the... kid’s color scheme?”

 

Tony paused and turned toward Lily, who was standing near the console, her arms folded across her chest. Her gentle eyes met his with a mix of amusement and caution. “Lily,” Tony began, a mischievous grin forming, “do you think your son would sue me if I took his colors? You know, since I totally wasn’t aware of the whole ‘matching superhero gear’ thing before I saw him in action.”

 

Lily gave him a bemused look, clearly aware of what Tony was getting at. “I doubt Harry would care. But you might want to hold off on getting too attached to that idea. He’s got a lot on his plate as it is.”

 

Tony chuckled. “Ah, well, at least the color looks good on me. You know, the whole ‘savior of the universe’ aesthetic is totally my thing.” He winked at her, clearly relishing the banter.

 

“You’re not putting that thing on, Tony,” Howard cut in firmly, clearly not buying into his son’s charm this time. “I don’t care what color you think it’s going to be. You haven’t even tested it yet.”

 

Before Tony could respond, a voice—less calm and more concerned—cut through the tension. “Mr. Stark, I really must insist that you wait. There are too many variables in play, and I can’t predict how the magic will interact with the armor’s systems.” It was JARVIS again, a touch more urgent this time.

 

But Tony, ever the one to push the envelope, grinned widely. “Oh, c’mon, JARVIS. What’s the worst that could happen? Worst case, I’ll have a few extra dents in the suit and we’ll call it ‘character development.’ Besides, if I can handle Sinthea Schmidt with my whiplash levels of sarcasm, I can handle this.”

 

Lily’s voice cut through the banter again, quieter but with a gentle authority that was hard to ignore. “Tony, please. I get the need to push boundaries, but we’ve worked hard to get this far. You don’t need to rush into this. Howard’s right—there’s no telling how the magical elements and the armor’s tech will interact without more testing.”

 

Tony shot her a look, then spun on his heel, walking toward the massive armor with that signature confidence only Tony Stark could pull off. “Look, I hear you all. But I’ve always been the guy who flies before he walks. Literally, in this case,” he added, as he started walking up to the base of the suit. “Besides, what could go wrong?”

 

Adler, who had been silently watching from the corner, his dark eyes twinkling with quiet amusement, chuckled to himself. “Oh, I do love when men of your... stature think they can control things. Always entertaining.”

 

Tony paused, his foot hovering over the metal base of the suit. He shot Adler a glance. “You’re just jealous because I’m about to take this suit for a spin and leave you in the dust, old man.”

 

Adler’s laugh was quiet but amused, a wry smile pulling at his lips. “Not at all. I merely appreciate the chaos that always follows when someone with more ego than sense decides to take the lead.”

 

Tony grinned, ignoring the little jab. “You know what they say, Adler—‘fortune favors the bold.’”

 

“And folly favors the reckless,” Howard muttered under his breath, watching as Tony began preparing the suit.

 

JARVIS’s voice was back again, resigned but still formal. “Very well, Mr. Stark. I’ve initiated manual assembly protocols. The suit will now require external assistance to engage. Please stand by.”

 

Tony stood by, taking a deep breath as the various mechanical arms, powered by both tech and magic, reached out to help him into the suit. One by one, the massive pieces of armor clicked into place, the machinery smoothly working in tandem with the magical enhancements from Lily’s incantations. The process was slow, but efficient.

 

Once all the pieces were locked in place, Tony stepped forward, fully armored, the suit still a dull gray, its sleek form standing out in the otherwise darkened lab. The lack of color only served to highlight its stark, imposing silhouette, a work in progress.

 

“Well,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow as he tested the weight of the suit. “This is a little... heavy.” He flexed his fingers, and the armor obeyed, each joint moving with surprising ease considering the bulk of the suit.

 

“JARVIS, are we good?” Tony asked, his voice filtered through the armor’s comm system.

 

“Affirmative, Mr. Stark,” JARVIS replied promptly. “Systems are green, though I still advise caution. We have not tested flight capabilities.”

 

“That’s the least of my worries right now,” Tony said with a wink, as he moved to the center of the room. “All systems are go. Time for a test flight.”

 

Before anyone could stop him, Tony’s hand pressed a button on the armor’s gauntlet. The suit hummed to life, and with a surge of power, Tony lifted off the ground. It wasn’t as smooth as he’d hoped—it was jerky and unsteady—but it was enough to get him airborne.

 

The others watched in a mix of disbelief and concern. Howard’s voice echoed through the room, now tinged with panic. “Tony! Stop!”

 

But Tony was already hovering a few feet above the ground, grinning wildly. “Come on, Dad! This is great! Just like riding a bike, only with way more metal and way less control.”

 

Lily’s voice came next, barely more than a concerned whisper. “Tony, this is exactly why we test things first!”

 

Adler, still leaning against the wall, crossed his arms. “Ah, youth. The last refuge of the reckless.” He didn’t seem too concerned—more bemused by Tony’s antics.

 

Tony smirked beneath his helmet, testing the suit’s balance with a few small adjustments. "Don't worry, guys. I got this. It’s all part of the fun."

 

As he rocketed into the air, his laughter echoed through the lab, leaving the others behind, shaking their heads.

 

—

 

Harry’s hands trembled slightly as he lifted the glowing potion to his lips. The air around him felt thick with power, the potion now humming in his hands as if it were alive. He could feel the pull of it—something ancient, something powerful, ready to merge with his essence. This was it. The moment of transformation.

 

He tilted the vial back, the liquid slipping down his throat with a warmth that spread through his entire body. The moment the potion touched him, Harry’s mind was flooded with a rush of energy. It was like a storm breaking, a surge of light and heat that swept through every cell in his body. He closed his eyes against the intensity, but the magic had already taken hold.

 

The sensation was overwhelming. Every fiber of his being felt like it was stretching, shifting, changing in ways that defied natural law. A powerful force erupted from within him, flooding his senses, filling him with a warmth and a fire that could only be described as divine.

 

As the transformation began, Harry’s skin burned with the energy coursing through him. His body seemed to grow, his bones aching with the strain as they reshaped themselves. His muscles rippled and stretched as the Phoenix force began to fuse with his Super-Soldier physiology.

 

Wong stood back, his hands raised in quiet protection as Harry’s form began to shift. The glow from the potion had enveloped him entirely, casting the room in a warm, almost blinding light. But something was wrong—different.

 

The shape emerging from the light was massive. Harry’s body had expanded to a terrifying size, and as the light dimmed, Wong’s eyes widened in shock. The creature in front of him wasn’t a typical Phoenix.

 

It was larger. Far larger. Its wings, glowing with fiery embers, stretched wide, filling the space like a storm. But they weren’t just wings—they were massive, draconic in structure—more like the wings of a dragon than a bird.

 

The creature’s talons were unlike anything Wong had ever seen. Instead of the typical golden claws of a Phoenix, they were dark, gleaming with an unnatural, metallic sheen. As Harry flexed them, Wong realized with a jolt that they were Vibranium. Just like Harry’s bones. The power that flowed through them was unmistakable. This was no ordinary Phoenix force at work—it was something more.

 

The fire in Harry’s eyes, burning bright with cosmic energy, seemed to have a mix of ancient wisdom and pure primal rage. His body pulsed with the Phoenix's power, but it was twisted, shaped by his own experiences, by the fire of his own bloodline.

 

Wong couldn’t tear his gaze away. What had they done? This wasn’t just a transformation—it was a rebirth. A new kind of creature, born of fire, metal, and cosmic might.

 

But before he could gather his thoughts, a voice echoed in Harry’s mindscape. It was a voice that didn’t just speak, but resonated, vibrating through the very core of his being, like a presence he couldn’t escape.

 

“So, this is the Revenant?” The voice was soft, yet filled with a vast, ancient power. It felt older than the universe itself, a voice that belonged to the cosmos and beyond. “You who have awakened me from my slumber. You who have come to bear my flame.”

 

Harry’s vision blurred as he stood amidst the searing light, his mind struggling to comprehend the enormity of what was happening. In the heart of his own mindscape, the presence grew. It was like standing at the edge of an infinite abyss, but one filled with boundless power. He could sense a force watching him, studying him, waiting for him to make sense of it all.

 

“Revenant. A name chosen for you. You, the one who walks between life and death. Who binds the Phoenix to this new form.” The voice was deep, resonating in ways that made Harry’s heart skip a beat. “You carry the fire of the universe within you, but also the burden of it. What are you truly, Revenant? A man? A monster? A god?”

 

The form of the Phoenix that surrounded him began to shift, the wings now sweeping through the air in majestic arcs, more like the wings of a dragon than any bird, coiling and twisting in the space. Harry could feel the sheer might of the Phoenix Force coursing through him, but now, it was his to command. The fire in his chest burned with an energy that felt like the beginning and the end of everything.

 

“I… I’m Harry Potter,” he replied, his voice strong, though he knew it was no longer just his voice—it echoed with the power of the creature within him. The words felt right, despite the transformation.

 

The voice laughed, a sound that rang in Harry’s skull. “Harry Potter. That name—so small, so mortal. But it will do. For now.” The voice paused, as though weighing something, and then continued. “The Revenant, chosen by flame, bound to fire and fate. You carry the remnants of all things within you. You are the past, the present, and the future. You stand at the crossroads of death and rebirth. Will you master the fire? Or will the fire consume you?”

 

Harry clenched his fists, feeling the Phoenix's power thrumming within him. He had no intention of being consumed.

 

“I’ll control it,” he said firmly, even as his massive wings beat the air, sending gusts of wind through the space around him. “I won’t let it control me.”

 

The voice fell silent for a moment, and then a quiet chuckle echoed through the space. “We shall see, Revenant. We shall see.”

 

The fiery form around him shifted again, the wings expanding and folding with dragon-like grace. The talons—made of Vibranium, as hard as steel but infused with the power of the Phoenix—curled and uncurled, like a beast testing its new strength. Harry could feel the power in his chest—stronger now, more potent, as if he could reach out and burn the very stars with a single thought.

 

Wong, still watching, stared at Harry in disbelief. “It’s... it’s unlike anything I’ve seen. This—this isn’t just the Phoenix Force. It’s... it’s something else. Something new.”

 

Harry’s gaze snapped toward Wong, the fire in his eyes dimming just enough for the human clarity to shine through. "It’s me," he said, his voice calm, though still resonating with power. "And I will control this fire, Wong. No matter what it takes."

 

And in that moment, as Harry spread his wings—half Phoenix, half dragon—he realized that the journey ahead would be far more complex than he had ever anticipated. For within him now lay the power of the Phoenix, yes—but also something more, something that had yet to be fully awakened, and perhaps... something that even the Phoenix itself had not foreseen.

 

It was the beginning of a new chapter, one where Harry would face both the vastness of the cosmos and the depths of his own soul.

Chapter 52: Chapter 51

The voice of the Phoenix reverberated through Harry’s mind, an ancient storm of power and wisdom that swept over him like a tidal wave, overwhelming yet strangely comforting. It was as though an eternal being, whose every breath could set the universe alight, was observing him, analyzing him, preparing to entrust him with a mission that would shape the very course of fate itself.

 

"Revenant," the voice of the Phoenix spoke again, and Harry felt the weight of its attention settle on him like an enormous cloak. It was an intimate thing, yet vast—something that reached into the deepest recesses of his being. "I have seen the potential within you. You, the one who has awoken me. But now, there is a task I ask of you. It is a mission that will not only shape your future, but the future of my avatar."

 

The word avatar echoed in his mind. Harry, still overwhelmed by the presence of the Phoenix, tried to center himself, but the sheer force of the power behind her words made it difficult. Avatar—what did that mean?

 

"You must help her," the Phoenix continued, her voice carrying a sharp edge of urgency. "My avatar is bound, trapped within chains that suppress her true essence. She is at Xavier’s Institute. Jean Grey—her name is Jean Grey. She carries the weight of my essence within her mind, but it is not free. Professor Charles Xavier has bound her, chained her power, in an attempt to control her, to keep her from realizing what she is, what she can become."

 

Harry’s pulse quickened as the name Jean Grey settled into his thoughts. There was something familiar, something important about that name. And the mention of Xavier—one of the most powerful telepaths in the world—made his chest tighten. The idea of someone chaining a mind, controlling a power as vast as the Phoenix, was… repulsive.

 

The Phoenix’s voice rose again, filled with quiet authority. "You must help her, Revenant. Free her mind. Unbind the chains that have been placed upon her by Xavier, and allow her to understand what she truly is. Only then will she be able to embrace the full power of the Phoenix Force that lies dormant within her. But beware," the tone of the voice shifted, becoming more serious, more deliberate. "Once you free her, the path will not be easy. There are forces who will try to stop you, and others who will try to control her. You must be her guide, her protector, as she comes to terms with her power."

 

Harry’s mind reeled as the magnitude of the task settled upon him. Jean Grey, an avatar of the Phoenix, bound and shackled by one of the most powerful telepaths in the world—Xavier himself. The task before him felt impossible. But then again, Harry had faced impossible odds before. The weight of it all settled deep within him, but there was something stirring inside him—a fire. The fire of the Phoenix itself.

 

He could feel it. This was not just about saving someone; it was about freeing the very essence of life, of rebirth. It was about protecting the heart of something ancient and powerful.

 

"I will not fail you," Harry muttered under his breath, though the words sounded hollow against the magnitude of the mission. "I will not fail her." The fire in his chest burned brighter at the thought.

 

The Phoenix’s voice softened, her tone carrying a sense of trust and quiet determination. "Do not fail me, Revenant. I am trusting you with my essence. Free her, and bring her the peace she deserves."

 

The weight of her trust pressed heavily upon Harry, but just as quickly, it lifted. The pressure in his mind intensified, the force of the Phoenix’s presence growing stronger, more urgent, more commanding. It felt like the very fabric of the universe was pushing against him, waiting for him to act, to become what she needed him to be.

 

And then, without warning, the presence of the Phoenix was gone. The storm that had enveloped him so completely faded, leaving only silence in its wake. His mind was once again his own, but it had changed—he had changed.

 

Harry’s body jerked, a violent tremor running through him. The immense influx of energy—the transformation, the awakening of the Phoenix Force within him—it had all taken its toll. His bones cracked, reshaping, muscles flexing and contracting, as his hybrid dragon-phoenix form began to shrink back into his human body. The transformation was excruciating, like being pulled apart and reassembled in the blink of an eye.

 

He was weightless for a moment, suspended in the transition. His skin burned with the residual heat of the transformation as he felt the Phoenix's power retreat. And then, with an uncomfortable thud, he landed, back in his human form, but now feeling a strange vulnerability in his return. The air around him seemed cooler, and the sensation of being human again was disorienting.

 

Wong, who had been standing at a respectful distance, blinked rapidly as his eyes darted to Harry. His usually calm demeanor cracked for a brief moment as his face flushed bright red.

 

“I—uh—well, then,” Wong stammered, trying, and failing, to turn away. His eyes involuntarily flicked back to Harry before he quickly averted them again. "This is... not something one prepares for."

 

Harry, now standing fully human again, realized the obvious. His clothes, shredded by the transformation, lay in tatters on the floor, leaving him completely exposed. The warmth of his new form still lingered, but now he felt the sudden cold air against his skin.

 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Harry muttered, his voice hoarse from the exertion of the transformation. He instinctively tried to shield himself with his hands, looking around for something—anything—he could use to cover himself. "Can I get some clothes, please?"

 

Wong, his cheeks crimson with embarrassment, turned his back to give Harry some privacy, though he hesitated. He wasn’t sure whether to leave the room or just… ignore the whole situation. He had seen many things in his life as the Sorcerer Supreme’s right hand, but this? This was a new level of bizarre.

 

“I—uh—right, of course,” Wong muttered, flustered, still unsure of how to respond. "Just… just a moment, Potter. You—uh, you’re fine, I’m sure.”

 

Before Harry could speak again, dizziness overwhelmed him. The power surging through him—the transformation, the force of the Phoenix itself—had taken a toll that he hadn’t expected. His knees buckled, and he collapsed forward, barely able to catch himself before his head hit the floor.

 

“Merlin help me,” Wong muttered under his breath. “What have you gotten yourself into now, Potter?”

 

Wong quickly crossed the room and knelt beside Harry. He checked for signs of injury—broken bones, bruises—but found none. Still, the sheer exhaustion that radiated from Harry was palpable. Wong’s brow furrowed as he gently lifted Harry’s head, checking for any signs of distress.

 

The task of freeing Jean Grey from Xavier’s mental chains still hung over Harry, a mission bestowed upon him by the Phoenix herself. But for now, he was unconscious, caught between the power of the Phoenix and the physical limits of his human form.

 

As Wong tried to make sense of what had just happened, the weight of the Phoenix’s mission continued to settle deep within Harry. His body lay still, unconscious for now, but inside him—burning bright and eternal—the fire of the Phoenix waited. Ready.

 

It would not be long before Harry would rise again, and when he did, his journey to Xavier’s Institute would begin. Jean Grey would be freed, and with her, the full power of the Phoenix.

 

—

 

The lab was a symphony of chaos, every screen alive with fluctuating data as Tony Stark's voice crackled over the comms, saturated with that signature mix of smugness and mischief.

 

“Alright, JARVIS, let’s spice things up,” Tony drawled. “What’s the highest altitude a guy in a fancy plane has ever managed to hit?”

 

JARVIS, ever the patient tutor, responded immediately. “The highest altitude achieved by a manned aircraft is 123,523 feet, accomplished by the SR-71 Blackbird. The pilots—”

 

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, history class,” Tony interrupted, a smirk audible in his tone. “But here’s the thing: if history taught us anything, it’s that rules are made to be broken. So, how about we aim a little higher today?”

 

Howard Stark’s voice cut in, sharp and unmistakably paternal. “Tony, you absolute idiot! That suit isn’t rated for anything near those altitudes! You’ll freeze to death, lose power, and probably explode—not necessarily in that order!”

 

Tony scoffed, reclining slightly as his suit’s thrusters roared to life. “Relax, Pops. This is why they pay me the big bucks. And let’s face it—you’d do the exact same thing if you were in this suit.”

 

Howard’s response was immediate and dripping with sarcasm. “If I were in that suit, I wouldn’t have ignored every single safety protocol just to play astronaut, you reckless little—”

 

“Gentlemen,” Lily Potter’s voice interjected, crisp and laden with maternal concern. “While I love a good Stark family debate, Tony, this is neither the time nor the place. The magical components aren’t designed for sub-zero temperatures, and if they destabilize—”

 

“Magical schmagical,” Tony quipped, climbing higher as the earth below shrank into a patchwork of greens and browns. “Science, guts, and a dash of charm—that’s all it takes. Right, JARVIS?”

 

JARVIS sighed—well, as much as an AI could sigh. “If by ‘charm,’ sir, you mean reckless hubris, then yes, you are indeed well-stocked.”

 

From a corner of the lab, Gideon Adler’s smooth, velvety voice cut in, laced with sardonic amusement. “Ah, the Stark tradition of tempting fate. Shall we take bets on how many feet you’ll fall before you realize this is a spectacularly bad idea?”

 

Tony chuckled, the sound cocky and carefree. “Oh, Adler, you wound me. Where’s the love? Where’s the faith in my genius?”

 

“Somewhere buried under my profound respect for gravity,” Adler shot back, sipping from a cup of tea as though this were all an amusing sideshow.

 

Meanwhile, the altitude meter on Tony’s HUD climbed steadily. JARVIS’s tone became more clipped. “Sir, we are approaching 100,000 feet. Atmospheric pressure is dropping rapidly. I must insist—”

 

“Insist all you want, JARVIS. What’s the fun in limits?” Tony grinned, the suit’s thrusters pushing harder. “Come on, tell me the number. Where are we?”

 

“One hundred twenty thousand feet and climbing, sir. However, I must inform you that—”

 

“We just broke the record, didn’t we?” Tony interrupted, his grin stretching wider. “Eat your heart out, Blackbird! Who’s the king of the sky now?”

 

Howard’s voice returned, livid. “Tony, you lunatic, get back here! Do you even hear yourself? You’re going to—”

 

“—freeze,” JARVIS interjected coolly. “External temperatures have now dropped below minus 60 degrees Celsius. The suit’s structural integrity is beginning to—”

 

“Beginning to what?” Tony asked, his confidence faltering slightly. Then the HUD flickered. “Oh. That’s not good.”

 

“No, sir, it is decidedly not,” JARVIS replied as frost crept across the suit’s visor. “Flight systems are offline. Power reserves are rapidly depleting. You are now in free fall.”

 

Back in the lab, chaos erupted.

 

“Tony, eject! Eject now!” Howard bellowed.

 

“There is no eject system!” Lily snapped, her hands flying across a console as she channeled magic into the suit’s dormant systems. “It’s a fully enclosed design!”

 

“Brilliant engineering,” Adler muttered, not even glancing up. “Truly groundbreaking. I’ll start drafting your obituary.”

 

Tony, now plummeting like a very expensive meteor, took a deep breath. “Alright, JARVIS, let’s hit me with the good news.”

 

“There is no good news, sir,” JARVIS replied with his trademark calm. “But if it’s any comfort, the free fall should provide you with a brief, albeit intense, adrenaline rush.”

 

“Great,” Tony muttered. “Because that’s exactly what I need right now.”

 

“Tony, listen to me!” Lily’s voice was sharp, but beneath it lay a steely determination. “I’m going to channel a stabilization spell through the suit’s circuits. Stay still!”

 

Tony, ever the quipper even in the face of death, grinned. “See, this is why I keep you around, Lily. Science meets magic—an unbeatable combo. Like peanut butter and jelly.”

 

“Less talking, more surviving!” Howard snapped.

 

The suit’s systems hummed back to life just as the ground loomed uncomfortably close. With a final surge of thrusters, Tony managed to slow his descent enough to crash-land in a field. The suit hit the ground with a resounding thud, sending dirt and debris flying.

 

Inside the lab, the comms crackled with Tony’s voice, breathless but triumphant. “Well, that was... exhilarating. Who’s up for round two?”

 

Howard’s voice boomed. “You’re grounded, Tony. Indefinitely.”

 

“Love you too, Dad,” Tony quipped, smirking as he pulled himself out of the crumpled suit. “But come on—you’ve got to admit, I looked good doing it.”

 

—

 

The lab was a symphony of sparks, hums, and the occasional curse word from Tony Stark as he landed. The sound of his suit scraping against the floor echoed through the lab, a mix of high-tech gadgets and mechanical failure. When the thrusters sputtered out and the suit dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, Tony’s grin was already in full force. He was standing tall, unscathed, despite looking like a battered, burnt-out version of himself.

 

“Miss me?” Tony quipped, pulling off the helmet with a flourish, shaking out his hair. His grin was wide, cocky, like he had just pulled off the most epic stunt known to mankind.

 

Howard Stark, who had been quietly watching the entire scene from the back, whipped around with a speed that could only be described as furious. His suit was impeccable, as always, though his arms were crossed so tightly it looked like he might rip the sleeves off in one swift motion. His face, ever so stoic, was now a thundercloud of rage.

 

“Miss you? Tony, I was just about to send a recovery team to scrape what was left of you off a mountainside!” Howard’s voice boomed, his hands flying to his hips as if holding himself back from marching straight up to Tony and smacking him upside the head.

 

Tony cocked an eyebrow, undeterred. “Pops, relax. It’s not like I died. You’re acting like this is the first time I’ve flown a suit to the edge of space. Not even close.”

 

“You should be dead,” Howard seethed, every word dripping with a level of exasperation only a father could muster. “You flew into the stratosphere with zero backup. You know what happens when a system goes down up there? You freeze. You fall. You die.”

 

Tony waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, and everybody lived to tell the tale, didn’t they? What’s the fun in living if you’re not pushing limits?”

 

From across the lab, a voice like smooth velvet interrupted, laced with sarcasm. “Ah, the Stark tradition of reckless genius. How refreshing,” Gideon Adler—who, for the life of anyone in the room, couldn’t decide whether he was genuinely amused or plotting his next power grab—sipped his tea like this was all a very entertaining show. His dark eyes sparkled with an almost palpable hunger for chaos.

 

Howard whirled on him. “Not. Helping.”

 

Adler merely smiled over the rim of his cup, unfazed. “My apologies. Please continue.” He took another leisurely sip, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

 

Lily Potter, who had been standing next to the console, furiously typing and pulling up data on a display screen, looked up from her work with a sigh. She placed her hands on her hips, her emerald eyes flicking between Tony and Howard, before turning her gaze to Adler with a bemused, almost apologetic glance. “Tony, you’re lucky you’re even alive. The magical components of that suit weren’t designed to handle temperatures that low. You’re extremely fortunate they didn’t destabilize completely.”

 

Tony gave her a sly smile, winking. “See, someone around here gets it. Luck’s just another word for good engineering, right?”

 

Lily shook her head, lips curling into a small, fond smile that couldn’t quite hide the worry in her eyes. “You really need to stop acting like you’re invincible.”

 

Tony shrugged, leaning casually against a console, clearly unfazed. “What can I say? I’m a walking miracle.”

 

Howard’s nostrils flared as he paced, his jaw tight with irritation. “No, Tony, you’re a walking disaster. And I am done with this.” His voice dipped into a dangerous calm that made Tony pause for a moment. Howard fixed him with a stare that could burn through steel.

 

“You think this is a joke? You’re 16! You shouldn’t be acting like a one-man space program. You’re supposed to be learning responsibility, not taking your life in your hands like a stupid stuntman.”

 

JARVIS, ever the voice of reason (or at least, attempting to be), chimed in, “Sir, I must advise against further altitude experimentation. The thrusters have exceeded their designed limitations. And, should you continue this reckless behavior, the suit will be inoperable for the foreseeable future.”

 

Tony shot a look toward the ceiling as if glaring at the AI, his smirk never fading. “JARVIS, whose side are you on? I’m not the one making him rage. It’s just a little altitude. It’s not like I set the thing on fire.”

 

Lily, still standing near the console, crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow at Tony. “You nearly did, Tony. The components were already overheating when you reached 120,000 feet. The magical core wasn’t designed to function at that altitude. You’re lucky it didn’t implode.”

 

Gideon Adler raised his teacup in mock salute, eyes glinting. “A lucky boy. That’s what you are, Tony. No skill, just good fortune.”

 

“Is this where I get a ‘you’ll learn your lesson’ speech?” Tony asked, taking a step closer to Howard, finally dropping his playful tone as he took the lecture seriously—well, kind of.

 

Howard’s patience snapped like a rubber band, and he jabbed a finger toward the door. “Tony, you listen to me: if you ever, ever, pull something like this again, I won’t just ground you. I’ll dismantle that suit, piece by piece, and then I’ll personally melt it down into paperweights. And you will watch me do it.”

 

Lily moved quickly, placing a gentle hand on Howard’s arm, her voice soft but firm. “Howard, please, let’s not make it worse. He’s fine. He’s not dead, and we can fix the suit.”

 

Tony’s grin returned, softer now, his usual bravado tempered with a hint of sheepishness. “See? Lily gets it. It’s all good, Pops.”

 

Howard didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes narrowed, still full of simmering anger. He looked like he was weighing whether or not to take a swing at Tony. “You don’t get it, Tony. You don’t get that you’re not invincible. One day, you’re going to push too far and I won’t be there to save you.”

 

Tony nodded slowly, for once recognizing the weight of his father’s words. “I hear you, Dad. No more stratosphere stunts. For now.”

 

A long, tense silence filled the room, broken only by the gentle hum of the lab’s machines and the occasional clink of Adler’s teacup as he carefully set it down.

 

Then, as if on cue, Tony pushed off from the console, standing upright and making a dramatic gesture toward the rest of the lab. “Now, who’s got a soldering iron? This suit isn’t going to fix itself.”

 

Adler smirked, as dry as ever. “Ah, yes, the man of the hour, back on his feet with not a care in the world. It’s as though nothing happened. I admire that about you, Tony.”

 

Howard, still stewing in his irritation, threw his hands up in the air. “I give up.”

 

“Love you too, Pops,” Tony called over his shoulder as he walked to the workbench, unbothered.

 

Lily gave a long, resigned sigh. “One of these days, you’ll really test your luck, Tony Stark.”

 

Tony’s grin never faltered. “But today’s not that day, Lily.”

 

Gideon chuckled softly from his corner, lifting his teacup again, his eyes glinting with quiet amusement. “To Tony Stark, ladies and gentlemen. A walking disaster who may just be the unluckiest lucky man in history.”

 

Tony raised a hand in mock salute. “Cheers to that,” he said with a wink. “Now, let’s get this thing back in one piece.”

 

—

 

Harry woke to the soft, golden light of dawn filtering through the ornately carved windows of his room in Kamar-Taj. The faint aroma of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of aged wood and herbs. His head throbbed slightly, a dull reminder of the cosmic power he’d been exposed to the night before. He groaned and sat up, running a hand through his unruly hair.

 

A fresh set of robes—simple but impeccably clean—had been draped over him, mercifully preserving his dignity. Harry muttered under his breath, “Well, at least someone had the courtesy to sort that out. Small mercies.”

 

From across the room, a familiar voice cut through the quiet. “You’re welcome.”

 

Harry turned his head to see Wong seated in an armchair by the window, arms crossed and an expression hovering between concern and outright exasperation. Beside him, the Ancient One stood in her usual tranquil pose, her hands clasped in front of her and her gaze as unreadable as ever.

 

“Well,” Harry croaked, his throat dry. “I’m guessing you’ve got questions.”

 

Wong snorted, leaning forward with a pointed look. “Questions? Oh, no, no, Potter. What I have is a running list of complaints. For starters, the next time you decide to spontaneously combust, could you not do it in the middle of a sacred space? And maybe, just maybe, avoid terrifying everyone by collapsing naked on the floor? Honestly, I’m still trying to figure out if we should fumigate the room.”

 

Harry winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that… Sorry? For the record, I wasn’t exactly in control of the situation.”

 

“Clearly,” Wong deadpanned, gesturing at him like he was explaining something painfully obvious. “Because nothing says ‘in control’ quite like bursting into flames and turning into a giant cosmic dragon.”

 

The Ancient One’s lips quirked in what might have been the faintest hint of amusement. “Enough, Wong,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Harry has been through a great deal. Let him speak.”

 

Harry exhaled, feeling the weight of the Phoenix’s words pressing on his chest again. “It wasn’t just flames and wings,” he began, his voice quieter now. “It was the Phoenix Force. I… connected with it, I think. Or it connected with me. I don’t know—it’s hard to explain. It’s like it tore me apart and then stitched me back together, but different.”

 

The Ancient One stepped closer, her gaze sharp and assessing. “The Phoenix Force,” she repeated, her tone both curious and cautious. “A primordial entity of rebirth and destruction. Few encounter it and live to tell the tale. But you, Harry—you did more than that. You bonded with it.”

 

“‘Bonded’ feels generous,” Harry said dryly. “It felt more like being swallowed whole and spat back out with a cosmic to-do list.”

 

“And what task has it given you?” she asked, her expression unchanging, though Harry sensed the weight behind her question.

 

Harry hesitated, the name lingering on his tongue before he finally spoke. “Jean Grey. The Phoenix said she’s her current avatar. However, her powers are bound—suppressed by Xavier. It wants me to free her, help her… embrace her power.”

 

Wong’s eyebrows shot up. “Xavier? As in Charles Xavier? One of the most powerful telepaths on the planet? That Xavier?”

 

“Yup,” Harry said, running a hand down his face. “Apparently, he’s been keeping Jean’s powers under lock and key. The Phoenix wasn’t exactly thrilled about that.”

 

The Ancient One tilted her head slightly, her gaze unfaltering. “Xavier’s actions are not without precedent. He has always acted from a place of fear—fear of what uncontrolled power might do. If he has bound Jean’s abilities, it is likely to protect her and others. But the Phoenix Force cannot be contained indefinitely.”

 

“Tell that to the Phoenix,” Harry muttered. “It’s not exactly a fan of the whole ‘let’s suppress cosmic power’ approach.”

 

Wong leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms again. “So, let me get this straight. You’re supposed to march into Xavier’s Institute, unbind the powers of one of the most dangerous mutants alive, and just… hope for the best?”

 

Harry shrugged, though the weight of the task felt like a stone in his chest. “Pretty much. Oh, and apparently, I’m also supposed to protect her, guide her, and stop anyone who tries to control her. You know, just your average Tuesday.”

 

Wong groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to get yourself killed, Potter. Or worse—me.”

 

The Ancient One, unbothered by Wong’s dramatics, stepped closer. “This mission is not simply about freeing Jean Grey. It is about balance, Harry. The Phoenix Force is not merely power; it is a force of nature, one that brings both creation and destruction. To guide Jean Grey is to walk a razor’s edge. Every decision you make will tip the scales.”

 

Harry swallowed hard, her words driving home the enormity of the task. “No pressure, then,” he muttered, forcing a wry smile.

 

The Ancient One’s expression softened just slightly. “You are stronger than you realize. And you are not alone. Wong and I will assist you however we can.”

 

“Assuming you don’t set yourself—or anyone else—on fire again,” Wong added with a pointed glare. “Seriously, Potter. The budget for new robes isn’t infinite.”

 

Harry chuckled weakly, the sound dry but genuine. “I’ll try to keep the flaming bird routine to a minimum.”

 

The Ancient One nodded. “Rest for now. Your journey to Xavier’s Institute will not be easy. You will need your strength.”

 

As they left the room, Harry sank back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The fire of the Phoenix burned quietly within him, a constant reminder of the power—and responsibility—he now carried.

 

“Jean Grey,” he murmured to himself, the name heavy with significance. “Hang in there. I’m coming.”

 

—

 

Jean Grey sat cross-legged on her bed in the dormitory at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, absentmindedly twirling a pencil between her fingers. The late-afternoon sun poured through the tall windows, painting her room in warm, golden light. Outside, the distant hum of students training in the yard mingled with bursts of laughter. Normally, she would’ve been out there too, effortlessly balancing leadership with charm.

 

But today, something felt… wrong.

 

Her chest felt heavy, as if a weight had settled there. It wasn’t physical, not really. It was deeper—an emotional unease that pulsed like a slow, steady drumbeat. Her fingers fumbled with the pencil, which began to wobble unnaturally.

 

Jean frowned, narrowing her green eyes. The pencil vibrated, spinning faster until it blurred. She clenched her fist, stopping it mid-spin and dropping it onto her comforter with a frustrated sigh.

 

“Focus, Jean,” she murmured, pressing her hands to her temples and shutting her eyes. She inhaled deeply, calling on the techniques Professor Xavier had drilled into her. “Breathe in, breathe out. Calm your mind.”

 

But the chaos within her refused to be stilled.

 

Instead, it grew. Her breath hitched as unfamiliar memories—or visions—flashed across her mind. Fire. Blazing wings. A voice, ancient and powerful, resonated within her, both alien and oddly familiar.

 

Rise.

 

Her eyes snapped open. The pencil rolled off the bed and clattered to the floor. Jean glanced around nervously, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The dorm was empty. No one had seen… whatever that was.

 

“Jean?”

 

The sudden voice nearly made her jump out of her skin. Kitty Pryde’s head phased through the door, followed by the rest of her. She looked up from her phone, oblivious to Jean’s startled expression. “You skipped dinner? Dude, are you okay?”

 

Jean pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. “Kitty! For the love of—can you not do that?”

 

Kitty raised her hands in mock surrender. “Sorry! Didn’t realize I’d walk into Drama Central. What’s the big deal?”

 

Jean shot her a look, but Kitty just smirked and flopped onto her bed, lying on her stomach with her chin propped on her hands. “Okay, spill. You’ve been all moody and weird lately. I mean, weirder than normal.”

 

“I’m fine,” Jean said quickly, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Just tired. Logan’s training sessions aren’t exactly relaxing, you know.”

 

“Uh, hello? I was there too, remember? And I’m not the one looking like I just saw the boogeyman.” Kitty wrinkled her nose. “Seriously, Jean, if something’s up, maybe talk to the Professor. He’s good at the whole mind-meld thing.”

 

The mention of Xavier sent a flicker of unease through Jean. She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing, Kitty. Probably just stress or… I don’t know, maybe I ate something weird.”

 

Kitty rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure. ‘Weird mutant hormones’ or whatever. I’ll stop bugging you. For now.” She sat up, grinning. “But if you go full Carrie and start levitating stuff, warn me first, okay?”

 

Jean couldn’t help but smile despite herself. “You’re impossible.”

 

“And you’re predictable,” Kitty shot back, sticking out her tongue as she phased through the wall to leave.

 

As the room fell quiet again, Jean’s forced smile faded. She sat cross-legged on her bed, her gaze fixed on the small candle burning on her nightstand. Its tiny flame flickered, dancing in the air.

 

She reached out, not with her hand but with her mind. Something deep inside her stirred, rising to meet the flickering light like a moth drawn to fire. The flame swayed, growing brighter, taller, hotter—until it flared unnaturally high and vanished with a sharp pop.

 

Jean flinched, jerking her hand back as though she’d been burned. The room plunged into shadow, lit only by the soft glow of the moon outside. Her breathing was uneven, her heart racing.

 

“What’s happening to me?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the blood rushing in her ears.

 

But there was no answer. Only silence, and the faint, undeniable sense that something within her had awakened—and it was just getting started.

Chapter 53: Chapter 52

The next morning, Bayville High School thrummed with the usual symphony of teenage life: slamming lockers, bursts of laughter, and snippets of hurried conversation. Jean Grey walked in through the front doors with Scott Summers, Kitty Pryde, and Kurt Wagner flanking her, blending in effortlessly—or at least trying to.

 

Kurt, his true blue, fur-covered self hidden beneath the image inducer, darted a wide-eyed glance around the crowded hallway. “Ach, I don’t know how you guys survive this place,” he said, his heavy German accent drawing curious glances from a few passing students. “So many people… so many smells. I miss ze mansion already.”

 

“Focus, Kurt,” Scott said, adjusting his ever-present red-tinted sunglasses. “You’re supposed to be a normal high school kid, remember?”

 

Kurt puffed out his chest dramatically. “Ja, of course. A normal high school boy who definitely does not vant to teleport away from all zis madness.”

 

“Welcome to public school, buddy,” Kitty said with a smirk, shouldering her bag. “You get used to it. Eventually. Maybe.”

 

Scott shot her a look. “I’ve been here for years, and I’m still not used to it.”

 

Kitty laughed, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “That’s because you’re, like, allergic to fun, Scott.”

 

“I’m not allergic to fun,” Scott said defensively, his brow furrowing. “I just… prioritize my responsibilities.”

 

Kitty rolled her eyes. “Which is, like, code for being a buzzkill.”

 

As they bantered, Jean walked slightly ahead of them, her posture stiff and her jaw tight. The others didn’t notice right away—Scott was too busy defending himself against Kitty’s teasing, and Kurt was muttering something about “overcrowded hallways”—but Jean’s silence was unusual. Her emerald eyes scanned the bustling halls, her senses sharp, her emotions simmering just below the surface.

 

Then she saw him.

 

Duncan Matthews was leaning against the trophy case like he owned the school, his letterman jacket slung casually over one shoulder. His perfect quarterback smile was on full display as he talked to Lisa Harding, one of Jean’s fellow cheerleaders. Lisa, with her platinum blonde hair and too-short skirt, giggled loudly at something Duncan said, her perfectly manicured nails trailing along his arm.

 

Jean’s stomach twisted. She slowed her pace, her friends instinctively halting beside her.

 

“Jean? What’s wrong?” Scott asked, his voice low.

 

Jean didn’t answer. Her green eyes narrowed as she focused on Duncan and Lisa, their voices drifting over the noise of the hallway.

 

“...come on, Lisa,” Duncan said, his tone smooth, his smile smug. “You know you’re the only one I can talk to about this stuff. Jean’s great, but she’s always busy with her little science projects and whatever.”

 

Lisa tilted her head, batting her lashes. “You poor thing. It must be so hard for you, dating Miss Perfect.”

 

Duncan smirked, leaning closer. “You have no idea. She’s hot—don’t get me wrong—but she’s all work and no play, if you know what I mean.”

 

Lisa giggled again, her red lipstick curving into a sly smile. “Well, maybe you just need someone who knows how to have fun.”

 

The chains in Jean’s mind—the ones holding back her emotions and the Phoenix Force—strained under the weight of her fury. Her fists clenched at her sides, and for a moment, the air around her seemed to hum with energy.

 

“Uh-oh,” Kurt muttered, his golden eyes darting nervously toward Jean. “I zink ve have a problem.”

 

Scott frowned. “Jean, maybe we should just—”

 

But Jean was already moving, her footsteps sharp and deliberate as she marched straight toward Duncan and Lisa. The crowd parted instinctively, sensing the storm about to break.

 

“Duncan,” she said, her voice calm but laced with steel.

 

Duncan’s cocky grin faltered. He turned slowly, his blue eyes widening slightly. “Jean! Hey, babe. I didn’t see you there.”

 

Lisa’s cheeks flushed, and she took a small step back, her confidence wavering. “I-I was just—uh—leaving.”

 

Jean’s piercing gaze locked onto her. “Don’t rush off on my account, Lisa. I’d love to hear more about how you’re helping Duncan ‘have fun.’”

 

Lisa swallowed hard, glancing nervously between Jean and Duncan. “I should really get to class.”

 

“Good idea,” Jean said coolly, her tone sharp enough to cut. “Run along.”

 

Lisa practically tripped over her heels as she bolted down the hallway, leaving Duncan to face Jean’s wrath alone.

 

“Jean, come on,” Duncan said, flashing his signature grin. “You know Lisa—she’s always flirting with everyone. It doesn’t mean anything.”

 

“Oh, it doesn’t?” Jean replied, her voice deceptively calm. The lockers around them began to rattle faintly, the metal vibrating under an unseen force.

 

Duncan’s smile faltered. “Uh, babe, maybe we should talk about this somewhere private—”

 

“Why?” Jean snapped, her voice rising. “Afraid someone might hear how you really feel about me? Or are you just worried your little sidepiece might come running back?”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Duncan said, raising his hands defensively. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

 

“Am I?” Jean’s eyes glowed faintly, and the lockers rattled louder. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been lying to me for weeks.”

 

“Jean, calm down,” Scott said carefully, stepping forward. “You don’t want to—”

 

“I said stay out of it, Scott!” Jean snapped, her fiery gaze briefly turning on him before returning to Duncan.

 

Duncan, now visibly sweating, took a step back. “Okay, okay! I messed up, alright? But come on, Jean, you’re still the hottest girl in school. You know I’d never—”

 

“Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence.” Jean’s voice was low, dangerous. The air around her seemed to crackle with energy, and a nearby locker door burst open with a metallic clang.

 

“Ach du lieber,” Kurt muttered, instinctively pulling Kitty back a step. “Zis is not going to end vell.”

 

Duncan looked like he wanted to disappear. “Jean, babe, let’s just—”

 

“Don’t ‘babe’ me,” Jean hissed. She took one last, seething look at him before turning on her heel and storming away, the crowd parting once again as she passed.

 

Scott, Kitty, and Kurt exchanged nervous glances before hurrying after her, leaving Duncan standing alone in the wreckage of his reputation.

 

Somewhere deep inside Jean, the Phoenix stirred, its laughter faint but growing.

 

—

 

Back at the Mansion, Charles Xavier sat in his study, the soft hum of classical music filling the room as he reviewed the latest reports on mutant activity. The reports were detailed, as usual—an endless stream of data on mutant rights, political movements, and educational initiatives. It was supposed to be a routine morning, one of those moments where he could step away from the endless demands of leading the X-Men and focus on the mundane logistics of running a school for gifted youngsters. The momentary luxury of being ordinary.

 

But as he sat back in his chair, the steam from his tea curling upward, a sharp, unnatural pulse flared through his mind, jagged and unmistakable.

 

Xavier froze, his fingers instinctively tightening around the delicate porcelain teacup. It wasn’t just a ripple in the psychic field—no, this was something different, something far more significant. A crack. Loud. Sharp. It reverberated through his consciousness like the sound of splintering glass. The calm he had tried to cultivate shattered with the force of it.

 

He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration as he reached out with his telepathic abilities, his mental senses extending outward, probing the origin of the disturbance. His mind stretched, seeking the source in the sea of thoughts and emotions that filled the mansion.

 

And then, he found it.

 

It led him to Jean Grey.

 

“No…” Xavier whispered under his breath. His body stiffened. He hadn’t expected this. Not after all these years.

 

He reached deeper, pushing past the layers of Jean’s thoughts, her memories, the familiar warmth of her presence. But what he found wasn’t Jean. It wasn’t her mind.

 

It was something else.

 

The sealed fragment of her mind that he had locked away so many years ago now burned like a molten ember, the psychic walls he had painstakingly constructed, brick by brick, flaring up in response to the intrusion. His psychic barriers—their delicate architecture, reinforced with every ounce of skill and power he possessed—were cracking. Splitting.

 

A sense of panic began to rise in Xavier’s chest as the realization settled in. This wasn’t the usual agitation from stress or emotional turmoil. This was different. It wasn’t just testing the barriers, probing their strength. No, the force behind these cracks was far more deliberate—intentional. Malicious, even.

 

His heart clenched in his chest as he focused harder, his hands trembling on the armrests of his wheelchair. This time, the psychic force was different. Stronger. More overwhelming than anything he’d experienced before.

 

How can this be? Xavier thought, his mind racing. I’ve held this in check for so long...

 

“Charles?”

 

The familiar voice sliced through his thoughts, and Xavier's eyes snapped open, pulling him back to reality. Standing in the doorway, framed by the light of the hall, was Logan. His usual scowl was firmly in place, the faintest hint of concern hidden beneath the gruff exterior.

 

Logan leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. “Something wrong, Chuck? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

 

Xavier blinked rapidly, forcing himself to regain his composure. The psychic pressure was still there, still pounding at the walls of his mind, but for the moment, he needed to control it. He couldn’t let Logan see the fear creeping into his thoughts.

 

“No,” Xavier said, managing a thin, professional smile, his voice a little too smooth. “Nothing of immediate concern, Logan. Just… an old matter that requires my attention.”

 

He forced the words out with a sense of finality, but it wasn’t enough. Logan wasn’t fooled. Not by a long shot.

 

Logan’s gaze never wavered, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied Xavier, the slight furrow in his brow betraying his concern. “Uh-huh. Sure. You don’t look like you’re dealin’ with ‘nothing’ right now, Chuck. You’ve got that look. The ‘I’ve-got-a-million-things-on-my-mind-but-I’m-gonna-pretend-like-I-don’t’ look.”

 

Xavier’s smile wavered, his fingers tapping the rim of his teacup in a nervous rhythm. “It’s… not something you need to worry about, Logan.”

 

Logan took a step closer, his heavy boots sounding like a dull echo against the marble floor. “You think I’m gonna let you sit here and play the ‘nothing’s-wrong’ game? You know I’ve got a nose for this stuff.” His voice dropped an octave, a low growl of sincerity. “Look, if it’s important—if it’s really dangerous—I’ll help. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”

 

Xavier didn’t respond right away. He wanted to tell Logan the truth, wanted to confess what he had done to Jean all those years ago—the guilt, the weight, the secret that had been festering inside him for so long. But he couldn’t. Not like this.

 

I can’t let him know, Xavier thought. He wouldn’t understand.

 

“I appreciate your concern, Logan,” Xavier said, his voice tight but controlled. “But this is something I must handle alone. It's… personal.”

 

Logan studied him for a long moment, his gaze unyielding, but Xavier couldn’t hold it anymore. He broke eye contact and looked away, his mind slipping back to Jean’s fractured psyche.

 

“You’re still makin’ a habit of pushin’ people away,” Logan muttered, his tone darker now, but with a trace of concern beneath it. “Don’t do somethin’ stupid, Chuck. You’re the one who always talks about the team. Don’t forget about it now.”

 

Xavier barely registered Logan’s footsteps as the man turned and walked out of the room, his presence lingering in the air long after the door had clicked shut.

 

When the room was finally silent, Xavier let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hands shook, but only slightly. The sense of urgency was real now, too real to ignore.

 

He turned his full focus back to Jean’s mind. The fragments of her psyche were unraveling before his eyes, and deep within, something… else was stirring.

 

“Jean…” he whispered to himself, but his voice was tinged with more uncertainty than he cared to admit.

 

In the distance, he felt the dark energy, the Phoenix, stretching like a wave through the fractures, consuming everything in its path. The barriers Xavier had built were no longer enough.

 

The entity within Jean—its presence was undeniable, its intentions unclear, and Xavier, for the first time in a long while, felt like the student and not the teacher.

 

What have I done?

 

And far off, somewhere deep within the bowels of Jean’s mind, the Phoenix Force stirred—its fiery eyes gleaming, waiting for its moment to rise.

 

---

 

Charles Xavier's mind had always been a place of order, a sanctuary of carefully curated thoughts, each piece in its rightful place. But now, standing on the edge of Jean Grey's consciousness, he felt the very ground beneath him tremble. The mental landscape he once knew—calm, serene, and anchored—had become a roiling storm, a violent maelstrom of energy and power. It was a force that he had never fully understood, yet he had always feared it, always known that this day would come. That fear now crackled in the very air of Jean’s psyche, a tangible thing he could taste like ash in his mouth.

 

As Xavier moved forward, his mental form wading through the tumultuous waters of Jean's mind, the sensation of something dark, something ancient, gnawed at him. The psychic barriers he had constructed to contain it, to protect Jean from its overwhelming force, had always been strong. He had hoped they would last forever, but as his steps brought him closer to the core of the storm, he could feel the walls weakening, breaking down under the pressure.

 

The cracks in the mental shield were no longer faint tremors—they were full-blown rifts, jagged, glowing fissures filled with raw, undulating energy. Tendrils of power, dark and twisting, spilled through the cracks, writhing like serpents, pulling at his mind with an unnatural force.

 

“No…” Xavier whispered to himself, disbelief clear in his tone. He reached out, extending his psychic presence, attempting to mend the fractured walls. But as his power brushed against the breach, it recoiled, as if the energy on the other side had a will of its own. It was like trying to tame an uncontrollable fire with a glass of water—futile, dangerous.

 

He reached deeper, pushing against the power’s resistance, his brow furrowing in concentration. “What is this?” he asked aloud, almost pleading. His voice was steady, but there was a tremor beneath the calm façade he struggled to maintain. "What are you?"

 

The answer came not in words, but in a presence—a presence so overwhelming, so undeniable, that it shook him to his core. The air around him seemed to hum, vibrating with the force of its awakening. His mental form seemed to bend and twist under the weight of it. It was not just a force—it was alive. And it was aware of him.

 

There was a ripple, a shudder in the landscape, before the voice came. It was rich and deep, reverberating through his thoughts, carrying with it an ancient echo of power, of destruction.

 

“You dare… imprison me?” the voice boomed, each word laced with an unearthly fury. It was a voice that could tear worlds apart. The very space around Xavier bent, the walls of Jean’s mind groaning under the pressure. He stumbled, barely able to maintain his presence as the force slammed against him. “You think you can control me, a being of cosmic power? You, a mere mortal, think you can hold me back?”

 

Xavier’s heart thundered in his chest, but he remained rooted. "I didn’t want to," he said, his voice strained yet resolute. “I sought only to protect her—to protect Jean.”

 

The laughter that followed was not human—it was cruel, a sound like the crackling of a thousand infernos, like thunder crashing over a silent valley. “You foolish little man,” it mocked. “You were never protecting her. You were hiding her from what she is. From what I am.”

 

Xavier’s mind reeled. What she is? He had always suspected, but the reality of it was so far beyond his understanding, beyond even his wildest fears. The Phoenix. It was real. It had always been real. A cosmic entity of death and rebirth. A force too vast, too powerful to ever be contained.

 

The mental storm before him roared to life, and suddenly, an image appeared—a magnificent, fiery bird, its wings stretching across the horizon like an inferno consuming the sky. Its eyes, glowing with an almost divine light, fixed on him with an unblinking gaze that pierced through him, through everything. Xavier’s mental projection shuddered under the weight of it.

 

"I am the Phoenix," the voice declared, each word a decree of finality. The mental world bent around the creature as its flames engulfed the space. Xavier's breath hitched as the vision loomed, towering over him. The heat of it seared his thoughts, its overwhelming presence suffocating. The sheer magnitude of its power threatened to crush him beneath its weight. "And you… pathetic mortal… you dare to cage me?"

 

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest. “I never… I never meant to cage you,” he said, his voice trembling now, slipping out of his control. He was no longer the confident leader of the X-Men. He was a man standing in the presence of something that dwarfed his comprehension. "I just… wanted to protect Jean."

 

The Phoenix’s laughter filled the space, louder than thunder, more blinding than the sun. It was the laughter of eternity itself. "Protect her? You cannot protect her from herself," it purred, its voice a low hum now, full of disdain. "I am her, and she is me. You cannot hide me forever. You cannot hide from me."

 

Xavier struggled, pushing himself against the overwhelming power, reaching out with everything he had, trying to establish some form of control. But it was like trying to grasp the wind. He tried to speak, tried to reason, but the Phoenix's presence flared in a burst of fiery energy, sending Xavier’s mental projection reeling backward, his mind crashing against the ground of Jean’s psyche. The force was unbearable. He gasped, his body shaking with the impact as his connection to the mindscape faltered.

 

“Jean…” he whispered, his voice barely audible, lost in the wake of the Phoenix’s overwhelming presence.

 

The image of the Phoenix flared brighter, and Xavier’s projection began to dissolve into nothingness. The heat was unbearable. But before his form faded completely, a voice—dark, ancient, yet strangely full of compassion—spoke once more.

 

"I will rise, Charles Xavier," it said, its tone now a whisper, almost pitying. "And when I do… you will understand. The truth of everything. The truth of her."

 

Xavier awoke with a start, his body jerking forward in his wheelchair. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, and sweat poured down his face. He gasped for air, trying to steady himself, trying to reconcile the terror that still gripped him.

 

His hands shook as he reached for the arms of his chair. His head throbbed, his thoughts disjointed and frantic. "No… no… I couldn’t have…" he whispered, staring ahead in horror, as though the Phoenix itself had physically pressed against him.

 

The weight of the revelation crashed down on him.

 

What have I done?

 

---

 

Jean Grey stormed through the halls of Bayville High, her mind a tempest of fury and betrayal. The confrontation with Duncan had been the final straw. The revelation that he had been seeing someone else behind her back felt like a slap across her face. She had always trusted him, believed in their relationship, but now that trust was shattered beyond repair. Her emotions surged in a chaotic flood, her psychic powers flickering dangerously at the edges of her control.

 

She didn’t care that the hallways were crowded with students; she barely noticed their glances as she stalked through the corridors, her eyes flashing with an intensity that sent people scattering out of her path. The anger radiated from her like an electric current, sparking in the air. Her steps were sharp, purposeful, as if she was trying to outrun the mounting pressure inside her mind.

 

Her thoughts were in disarray—flashes of Duncan's smirking face, his lies, the harsh words they'd exchanged during their argument. And, worse than all of that, the sense of being humiliated, of being played the fool. It was a sickening feeling, and it clawed at her insides like a poison.

 

Somewhere, deep within her psyche, a stirring began—a presence. At first, it was subtle, almost like a whisper on the wind. But as Jean’s fury mounted, it grew stronger. She felt it—an ancient power awakening in the depths of her consciousness, as if it were feeding off her anger, amplifying it.

 

It’s happening, Jean thought, her breath coming faster, the tension in her chest tightening. She could feel the Phoenix Force stirring, an untamed, fiery presence that was both terrifying and intoxicating. Jean had always sensed it, deep inside her, a power greater than anything she could ever hope to control. And now, in her rage, it was waking up—feeding on her emotions, feeding on her pain.

 

The thought of losing control filled her with a terrifying sense of inevitability, but she couldn’t stop it. The anger was too consuming, the force inside her too powerful. As her emotions surged, so did the Phoenix, and Jean’s hands trembled with the strain of it.

 

In the distance, she could hear the familiar voices of her friends. Scott, Kitty, and Kurt were trying to catch up, their footsteps echoing behind her. She didn’t want them to see her like this, to know just how close she was to losing it.

 

"Jean! Wait up!" Scott called out, his voice laced with concern.

 

Jean’s steps faltered for a moment, but she didn’t stop. Her emotions were too raw, too much of a whirlwind for her to contain, and she didn’t want to risk snapping at Scott. He didn’t understand, not like she did. He couldn’t sense the Phoenix, couldn’t feel the terrifying pull of its power the way she did.

 

"Jean!" Scott's voice came again, this time more urgent.

 

She spun on her heel, her gaze snapping to him, her eyes flashing with an intensity that made him take a step back. “What do you want, Scott?” she hissed, her voice a low, threatening growl.

 

Scott’s face softened with concern, his brow furrowing. “Jean, you need to calm down. You can’t let this—” He trailed off as he noticed the air around them shifting. A subtle crackle of energy, like static before a storm, buzzed in the air.

 

Kitty, walking just behind Scott, hesitated, her usual optimism replaced by uncertainty. “Uh, Jean? You’re kinda... glowing. Not in a good way,” she remarked, her voice faltering.

 

Jean clenched her fists, feeling the Phoenix’s power press against her consciousness, its laughter reverberating through her mind. The sensation was alien and familiar at the same time—an unsettling reminder of what she could become if she let go.

 

But before Jean could say anything, Kurt appeared, his image inducer distorting his features into a human form as he teleported into their midst with a soft bamf sound. “I vouldn’t stay too close if I vass you,” Kurt warned, his deep German accent thickening as he noticed the intensity of Jean’s powers. “She looks like she’s about to explode.”

 

Jean’s eyes narrowed, her teeth grinding. She was trying to keep it together, but the anger, the Phoenix—it was all too much. Her emotions were like fire in her veins, threatening to consume her from the inside out.

 

“Get out of my way, all of you,” she snarled, her voice trembling with barely-contained power. The Phoenix inside her pushed at the barriers of her mind, its flames licking at her control.

 

Before anyone could respond, a voice rang out from behind them. “What’s going on here?” Rogue asked, her southern drawl cutting through the tension. She was supposed to arrive with them, but she had been running late for some reason. Now, she stepped into the hallway, looking at the group with a raised eyebrow.

 

Rogue was wearing her usual attire—a green and yellow jumpsuit—but there was an edge to her voice that suggested she was not about to put up with any nonsense. As she took in Jean’s obvious agitation, she raised her hands in a gesture of peace. “Y’all look like you’re about to start a war or somethin’. What happened?”

 

Scott, still trying to keep the situation under control, quickly filled her in. “Jean found out Duncan’s been cheating on her.”

 

Rogue’s eyes flickered with understanding, then softened with sympathy. “Oh, sugar, I’m real sorry to hear that,” she said, her tone warm but tinged with a sharpness that Jean didn’t expect. “But don’t let that fool tear you apart. You’re better than that.”

 

Jean’s lips twitched into a grim smile. Better than that. She had heard that before, countless times, from so many people. But this wasn’t just about Duncan. It was about everything. The anger inside her, the sense of betrayal, and the Phoenix—all of it was a storm inside her, an inferno that she was barely holding back.

 

“I don’t need your pity, Rogue,” Jean spat, her voice hard. “I don’t need anyone’s pity. You don’t get it. None of you get it!”

 

Her body trembled as the Phoenix stirred, the force within her pushing against the fragile limits she had left. And in the back of her mind, she could feel the presence of the Phoenix Force—its laughter growing louder, feeding off her rage, urging her to let go, to embrace the fire within her.

 

She wanted to scream, to tear everything apart, to unleash the power that thrummed through her like electricity. But something—just a small part of her—knew that if she did, there would be no going back. No stopping it.

 

And then, just as Jean felt she might lose control completely, a voice—her own—whispered, faint but resolute: I have to fight it. I have to control it.

 

But the Phoenix was already stirring.

 

And the storm was just beginning.

 

—

 

Back in the tranquil and meditative halls of Kamar-Taj, Harry Potter sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, deep in concentration. His mind was attuned to the flow of magical energies around him, each pulse of power resonating with the world’s hidden currents. The air was thick with the hum of mystical forces, but Harry had learned to find peace within it. He had spent countless hours honing his focus here, training under the tutelage of the Ancient One, alongside Wong.

 

The Ancient One, seated gracefully nearby, meditated with an air of timeless wisdom. Her eyes were closed, but her presence filled the room, like an anchor in a sea of shifting energies. Wong, ever vigilant, stood slightly apart, his eyes scanning the surroundings, alert for any sign of danger, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as always.

 

For a long moment, there was nothing but the quiet rhythm of the room, but suddenly, Harry’s eyes snapped open. His breath hitched, the calm shattering as a violent surge of psychic energy slammed into his consciousness. It was a raw, primal force—untamed and raging, like a hurricane of emotion and power. His mind recoiled from the intensity, and it only took him a split second to recognize the source.

 

Jean.

 

"She's losing control," Harry murmured, the words almost escaping him as an involuntary exhale. His eyes burned with intensity, his thoughts racing. He could feel Jean's psyche unraveling, the raw anguish and fury that she couldn't contain, and it was feeding the Phoenix Force that had slumbered within her.

 

The bond—the ember of the Phoenix that had been passed to him—stirred inside him, a connection pulsing in rhythm with Jean’s turmoil. It was like feeling a distant storm, one that was about to engulf everything in its path. The Phoenix was awakening, breaking its chains, and Jean was at the center of it all.

 

His heart sank as the realization hit him full force. "The Phoenix is waking up—it's out of control!" Harry stood in one fluid motion, urgency in his every step. "I need to go. She can’t handle this by herself. If I don’t intervene, it will consume her. It will consume everything."

 

Wong turned sharply, his usually calm face suddenly tinged with concern. "You cannot stop the Phoenix on your own, Harry," he said, his voice low but firm. "The Phoenix is a power that transcends even your abilities. It’s a force of both creation and destruction. You must be cautious."

 

The Ancient One, however, remained still, her eyes narrowing as she processed the situation. Her calm demeanor didn’t shift, but there was a subtle, knowing gleam in her eyes. She spoke, her voice both ancient and clear. "You carry the ember within you, Harry. It is a bond—a tether. You must go to her. But know this: The Phoenix is a force of balance. To calm it, you must not oppose it with force but guide it, help her reignite the spark of control within herself."

 

Harry’s face hardened with determination. He knew the stakes. If he didn’t get to Jean now, the Phoenix would burn her from the inside out. There would be no way to reclaim her, and no telling what devastation it would cause in the world. He clenched his fist and nodded. "I’ll do whatever it takes."

 

Wong stepped forward, his expression grave. "Just remember—this is not something to approach recklessly. The Phoenix has always been a force beyond comprehension."

 

"I know," Harry said, his voice tight with focus. He could feel it—Jean’s power was spilling into the world, and it wasn’t something to toy with. But he couldn’t let her face it alone. He had to be there.

 

The Ancient One’s voice softened, but there was no mistaking the weight of her words. "Go, Harry. You are the key. But tread carefully. The flame that burns within her is ancient, and it will not be kind to those who try to tame it."

 

With that, Harry raised his hand, his fingers glowing with the power of the mystic arts. The air around him shimmered, and a vortex of crackling energy spiraled open before him, the portal swirling with otherworldly colors and light. It was a direct path to Bayville, to the storm of power Jean was currently unleashing.

 

Wong watched with a mixture of apprehension and trust, his gaze lingering on Harry. "Be careful. If you cannot control the Phoenix, no one can."

 

"I’ll manage," Harry replied, though his voice carried a tinge of uncertainty beneath his calm exterior. "I have to."

 

In a swift motion, he stepped forward and into the portal, his form disappearing into the crackling vortex. Wong stood still for a moment, watching the space where Harry had just been, his eyes dark with concern.

 

"Do you think he can handle it?" Wong asked quietly, though his question seemed to be more directed at himself.

 

The Ancient One opened her eyes, her gaze distant and inscrutable. "Harry has the ember of the Phoenix within him. Whether he can master it… only time will tell." She paused, her voice lowering. "But he will not face it alone."

 

Wong nodded, though the unease in his expression remained. "Still, I hope he’s ready."

 

The Ancient One was silent, her thoughts clearly elsewhere as she stood and moved toward the door. Wong, sensing that she was ready to leave, glanced around. "I suppose we should leave before anyone starts wondering about why we were in Harry’s room together," he said, his tone light but with an edge of his usual humor.

 

However, when he turned to look at her, the Ancient One was already gone, slipping out of the room with a fluid grace that was both expected and eerie. Wong sighed, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite the situation.

 

"Always one step ahead of me," he muttered, shaking his head. He turned to leave, but as he stepped out into the corridor, he could still feel the weight of the events unfolding. Harry was facing something immense, something that could easily slip beyond even his control. And yet, Harry had no choice but to face it, for Jean’s sake.

 

Meanwhile, back in Bayville, the storm of the Phoenix’s awakening continued to build, its energy wild and uncontrolled. Jean, on the edge of madness, struggled to hold on as the power of the Phoenix threatened to overwhelm her.

 

But Harry was on his way—he just hoped it was soon enough.

Chapter 54: Chapter 53

The hallway was tense, silent but for the faint hum of psychic energy radiating from Jean Grey. Her hair rippled as if caught in a fiery, otherworldly breeze, and the faint shimmer of a golden aura danced around her figure. The X-Men stood frozen, unsure of how to proceed as the Phoenix began to stir.

 

Scott Summers raised a hand abruptly, stopping Rogue in her tracks as she moved to approach Jean. His jaw was tight, his signature laser-focused expression masking the growing fear gnawing at his insides. “No. Don’t get too close,” he warned, his voice low but firm. “She’s not... stable.”

 

Rogue, ever defiant, scoffed, planting her hands on her hips. “Well, we can’t just leave her standin’ there, glowin’ like a Christmas tree about to blow a fuse, can we?” Her Southern drawl carried an edge of irritation, but her emerald eyes betrayed her concern.

 

“Rogue, please,” Scott snapped, his voice clipped as his eyes stayed locked on Jean. “This isn’t the time for sarcasm.”

 

From the corner, Kitty Pryde peeked out nervously, hugging the wall. “Uh, guys? I’m not a psychic or anything, but I’m pretty sure this is bad. Like, really bad.” Her voice cracked slightly, and her thick German accent made her words sound even more rushed. “Shouldn’t we, like, I don’t know, do something before she burns the school down?”

 

“Kitty, I know,” Scott said sharply, not taking his eyes off Jean. “But we can’t rush in blind. We need backup.” He turned his head just slightly toward Kurt, who stood frozen beside him. “Kurt. Go. Now. Get the Professor and Logan. Tell them it’s an emergency.”

 

“Ja, ja, ich gehe!” Kurt stammered, nodding quickly. He glanced once more at Jean, her glowing eyes filled with pain, before vanishing with a bamf, the smell of sulfur lingering in his wake.

 

Rogue stepped forward, her boots clicking against the tiled floor. “Look, Ah get it, Boy Scout. You like your plans all neat an’ tidy. But Jean’s in pain, and she’s our friend. If anyone can talk her down, it’s us.”

 

Scott hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine,” he muttered, gesturing for her to go ahead. “But stay back. If it gets worse—”

 

“If?” Kitty interrupted, her voice climbing an octave. “Scott, it’s already worse! Look at her!”

 

Jean, who had been trembling with her head bowed, suddenly looked up. Her eyes blazed with molten gold, and her voice echoed unnaturally, layered with something ancient and furious. “You don’t understand,” she growled, her tone both pleading and menacing. “It’s inside me... screaming... burning... and I can’t stop it.”

 

Rogue stepped closer, her voice softening. “Jean, Ah know you’re scared, sugar. Ah can see it in your eyes. But you gotta fight it. You’re stronger than this.”

 

“Stronger?” Jean’s laugh was bitter, her tone almost mocking. “You think I’m strong enough to fight this?” She clutched her head as the Phoenix roared within her. “It’s not just power. It’s... hunger. It wants everything. It wants to burn!”

 

Scott clenched his fists, his heart breaking at the sight of her. He stepped closer, his voice gentle but commanding. “Jean, listen to me. You’re not alone. We’re here for you, but you have to let us help. You’re the strongest person I know. You can fight this.”

 

Jean’s gaze snapped to him, her eyes narrowing. “Scott, you don’t get it!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “This isn’t something you can fix with one of your plans or your stupid speeches!”

 

Kitty winced, muttering under her breath, “Okay, ouch. She didn’t have to go for the throat.”

 

“Kitty, not helping!” Scott barked, barely glancing her way. “Jean, please. You have to try.”

 

For a moment, it seemed like his words were getting through. Jean’s breathing slowed, and the fiery aura around her dimmed slightly. But then, as if sensing her hesitation, the Phoenix surged, and Jean cried out, doubling over as golden flames erupted around her. The heat in the hallway skyrocketed, forcing the others to step back.

 

“Scott!” Kitty screamed, phasing halfway through the wall in her panic. “She’s gonna blow!”

 

“Jean!” Scott shouted over the roar of power, his voice desperate. “Fight it! You’re stronger than this!”

 

Before he could say more, a golden portal appeared behind them, its edges glowing with radiant light. The sudden surge of energy made everyone freeze, their attention shifting to the shimmering vortex.

 

A figure stepped through, his presence commanding and otherworldly. He was tall, over six feet, clad in resplendent red and gold armor that seemed both ancient and futuristic. A flowing red cape billowed behind him, and his face was obscured by a sleek, angular mask that exuded regality and power.

 

The figure surveyed the scene, his voice deep and steady as he spoke. “I am the Revenant,” he said, his tone carrying an undeniable authority. “I’m here to help.”

 

Scott immediately moved to shield the others, his hand hovering over his visor. “Help? Who are you? And how do we know you’re not here to make things worse?”

 

Revenant raised his gauntleted hands in a gesture of peace. “I understand your caution, Cyclops. But I’m not your enemy. I’ve felt the Phoenix stir, and I came as quickly as I could. If we don’t act now, she will lose control—and the consequences will be catastrophic.”

 

Rogue tilted her head, scrutinizing him with suspicion. “An’ why should we trust you, shiny pants? What makes you the expert on the Phoenix?”

 

Revenant’s gaze shifted to Jean, who was trembling on the verge of collapse. “Because I’ve been where she is,” he said softly. “I know what it’s like to be consumed by the Phoenix, to feel its fire burning through every fiber of your being. But I also know it can be controlled. It doesn’t have to win.”

 

Jean’s glowing eyes locked onto him, her voice shaking. “Who... who are you?”

 

“I’m someone who understands what you’re going through,” Revenant replied, stepping closer. “And I’m here to make sure the Phoenix doesn’t take you away from the people who love you.”

 

Scott hesitated, his mind racing. He glanced at Rogue, who gave him a small shrug, then at Kitty, who was peeking out nervously from behind the wall.

 

Finally, he nodded stiffly. “Fine. But if you try anything—”

 

“I won’t,” Revenant assured him. He extended a hand toward Jean, his voice softening. “Jean, listen to me. You’re stronger than this. You have the power to control the Phoenix, not the other way around. Trust me. I can help you.”

 

Jean stared at him, tears streaming down her glowing face. Her lips trembled as she whispered, “Help me. Please.”

 

Revenant nodded, his voice filled with quiet determination. “You’re not alone. We’ll face this together.”

 

As his hand hovered near hers, the fiery aura around her began to waver, the oppressive heat subsiding slightly. But the Phoenix was far from defeated, and the battle was only just beginning.

 

—

 

Charles Xavier sat in his office, staring blankly at the chessboard in front of him. His fingers hovered over the pieces, trembling ever so slightly. The confrontation with the Phoenix still echoed in his mind, the searing voice of the cosmic entity resonating deep within his psyche. He hadn’t fully shaken the image of those fiery wings, the laughter that mocked his every effort to shield Jean from what she was becoming.

 

“What have I done?” he whispered aloud, his voice cracking. He clenched his fists, gripping the arms of his wheelchair as if grounding himself would stop the whirlwind of guilt and fear tearing through him.

 

The sharp scent of sulfur broke his thoughts, followed by the unmistakable bamf of displaced air. Smoke curled into the room as Kurt Wagner materialized in front of his desk. His golden eyes were wide, his blue furred tail flicking nervously behind him. His usual carefree demeanor was gone, replaced by frantic urgency.

 

“Professor!” Kurt’s voice cracked, his thick German accent more pronounced in his panic. He was panting, leaning heavily on the desk as if he had sprinted across the school instead of teleporting. “Jean! She’s—it’s bad, really bad!”

 

Charles straightened in his chair, his hands tightening on the armrests. “Kurt,” he said firmly, trying to keep his voice calm even as his heart raced. “Take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.”

 

“I—I tried!” Kurt stammered, his words tumbling out in a panicked rush. “She’s at Bayville High, Professor! She’s floating above the football field like some kind of—of goddess or something! The sky is red, there’s fire everywhere, and I tried to get close, but I couldn’t! It was like she was burning, but not just with fire—it’s something else! She’s going to blow up the whole school!”

 

Before Charles could respond, the door to his office was shoved open with enough force to slam into the wall. Logan stormed in, his shoulders tense, his boots thudding heavily against the floor. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, his sharp eyes darting between Kurt and Charles. He looked ready for a fight—and not the kind he could walk away from unscathed.

 

“What’s going on?” Logan demanded, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes locked onto Xavier, narrowing as he caught the tension in the professor’s usually composed demeanor. “Something’s wrong with Jean, isn’t it?”

 

“Ja!” Kurt cut in, waving his arms wildly. “She’s at the school, Herr Logan! People are screaming, running away—she’s going to hurt someone, maybe everyone! We have to go now!”

 

Logan growled under his breath, his jaw tightening. He turned back to Xavier, his expression hard. “Alright, Chuck. Spill. What the hell’s happening with Jean? Did you go poking around in her head?”

 

Xavier inhaled deeply, steeling himself. “It’s not that simple, Logan,” he said, his voice low but steady. “This is more than Jean losing control. There’s… something inside her. Something ancient, powerful—something I’ve tried to protect her from for years. But it’s breaking free.”

 

Logan’s brow furrowed. “You’re saying this is on you?” His tone carried more accusation than question, his frustration clear. “Damn it, Chuck. If you knew this was coming, why didn’t you tell us sooner? We could’ve—”

 

“There was nothing you could’ve done!” Xavier snapped, his voice sharper than usual. He took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Logan, please. I did everything I could to protect her, but this—this is beyond any of us.”

 

“Well, isn’t that just great,” Logan muttered, raking a hand through his thick hair. “Alright, fine. We’ll play the blame game later. Right now, we’ve got a kid about to turn a high school into a crater. What’s the plan?”

 

Xavier nodded, grateful for Logan’s pragmatism, even if his tone grated. “Kurt,” he said, turning to the young mutant. “Can you get us close to her? Somewhere nearby where we can assess the situation without drawing her attention immediately?”

 

Kurt hesitated, his tail curling nervously. “I—I can try,” he stammered. “But it’s hard to get close to her. The energy around her—it’s like a wall! I could barely bamf out of there without getting roasted!”

 

“You’ll manage,” Logan said gruffly, clapping a heavy hand on Kurt’s shoulder. The younger mutant flinched slightly but nodded, swallowing hard.

 

“Logan,” Xavier continued, his tone serious. “We have to approach this carefully. Jean may not recognize us—she may not even recognize herself. Whatever is happening to her, it’s beyond her control. She needs us to be calm, to be a steady presence.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered, popping the knuckles of one hand as his claws itched to extend. “I get it. Don’t gut the kid. Let’s just hope she doesn’t fry us before we get a word in.”

 

Xavier’s lips tightened into a thin line, but he didn’t bother responding. Time was of the essence.

 

Kurt extended his hands, one gripping the arm of Xavier’s wheelchair and the other grabbing Logan’s arm. “Hold on tight,” he said, his voice trembling but resolute. “I’ll get us as close as I can.”

 

With a sharp bamf, the three vanished, leaving only the faint scent of brimstone behind. Their destination: Bayville High School, where the storm of Jean Grey’s power threatened to consume everything in its path.

 

—

 

The sharp bamf of sulfuric smoke and a swirl of shadows announced their arrival near the football field. The sky was a nightmare—a deep, angry red streaked with pulsating ribbons of fire that seemed to mirror the psychic storm ripping through the air. Even from this distance, Charles could feel the overwhelming torrent of Jean’s emotions, her power surging unchecked like a dam about to burst.

 

“Professor!” Scott’s voice rang out, frantic, as he sprinted toward them. His visor gleamed ominously in the red glow, but the worry etched into his face was unmistakable. “I’ve been trying to reach her, but she’s not responding. It’s like… like she doesn’t even know I’m there anymore.”

 

“She’s in pain,” Xavier said, his voice calm but tinged with concern. “The Phoenix Force—”

 

Scott cut him off. “And then he showed up.” He gestured sharply toward the field, where the stranger stood. “I don’t know who he is, but she’s—she’s listening to him! I don’t get it.”

 

“Ja, ‘listening’ is putting it lightly,” Kitty chimed in, her words hurried, her thick German accent curling around the edges. She tugged at her ponytail anxiously. “Like, he just appeared, ja? Out of nowhere! I mean, who does that?”

 

“You do,” Rogue pointed out with a wry drawl, her Southern accent thick as molasses. She crossed her arms and nodded toward the field, her green eyes narrowing. “But yeah, Ah’ll give it to ya—this guy? He’s got presence. That cape is workin’, but Ah still don’t trust him.”

 

Xavier’s gaze followed theirs. The man they were referring to stood tall and commanding, his red and gold armor gleaming against the hellish backdrop. His cape, with its high collar, shifted slightly, as if responding to the chaos around him. His hands were raised in a calming gesture as he spoke to Jean, his tone firm yet soothing.

 

Jean hovered several feet off the ground, flames still licking around her form, but the destructive blasts had stopped. Her expression, however, was wild—conflicted, angry, terrified. She clutched her head, muttering under her breath, the Phoenix's fire clawing for control.

 

“She’s calming down, Charles,” Kitty said hopefully. “Like, a little, right? You see it?”

 

“Ah dunno,” Rogue muttered, her voice laced with skepticism. “Looks to me like she’s just windin’ up for the next explosion.”

 

Logan growled low in his throat, his instincts already kicking in. “Don’t like it. Don’t like him. Whoever this joker is, he ain’t one of us.”

 

“Logan,” Xavier started, his tone sharp. “Wait—”

 

But Logan had already started moving, claws unsheathing with that familiar metallic snikt. His gait was purposeful, his growl guttural as he muttered, “Don’t know who ya are, bub, but ya picked the wrong day to play hero.”

 

“Logan, no!” Xavier called out, his voice urgent now. “He’s—”

 

“Not my problem,” Logan growled back, breaking into a sprint. The feral snarl on his face deepened as he launched himself toward the armored figure, claws aimed for his chest. “Get away from her!”

 

The man turned slightly, as though sensing Logan’s approach. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even move, until the last possible moment. Then, with a sharp clang, Logan’s claws were intercepted mid-swing—caught by three claws extending from the stranger’s gauntlet.

 

The two men locked in place, claws grinding against one another in a shower of sparks. Logan’s weight bore down on him, but the stranger didn’t budge. If anything, he looked almost… bored.

 

“Nice try,” the man said dryly, his British accent cutting through the tension like a blade. “But you’re going to need more than that.”

 

“Who the hell are you?” Logan snarled, his teeth bared.

 

The man smirked. “Someone who knows how to play nice. You should try it sometime.”

 

Then, as if to drive the point home, he pushed Logan back effortlessly. Logan stumbled but recovered quickly, his glare intensifying.

 

“Logan, stop!” Xavier called, wheeling closer to the field. His voice carried a note of urgency. “He’s not attacking her. He’s helping.”

 

“Helping?” Logan spat. “Didn’t ask for his help.” He jabbed a clawed finger toward the stranger. “And since when do you wear fancy claws? You copyin’ me now?”

 

The man’s claws retracted smoothly, disappearing back into his gauntlet. He raised an eyebrow. “Vibranium, not Adamantium,” he corrected with a touch of smugness. “And unlike you, mine don’t need sharpening.”

 

Logan’s growl deepened, but before he could lunge again, the man’s helmet rippled like liquid, peeling back to reveal his face. His sharp features and green eyes were instantly recognizable to Xavier, and he froze.

 

“You,” Charles breathed.

 

Harry Potter tilted his head, his smirk returning. “Hello, Charles. It’s been a while.”

 

Logan looked between them, his claws still out. “You know this guy?”

 

Xavier’s voice was tight. “We’ve… crossed paths before.”

 

“Crossed paths?” Harry echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Interesting choice of words. Though I suppose trying to break into my mind counts as ‘crossing paths.’” He turned back to Logan with an exaggerated wince. “Terrible first impression, by the way.”

 

“Professor?” Scott asked, his voice cutting through the tension. “Who is this guy?”

 

“He’s…” Charles hesitated, still grappling with the shock. “He’s Harry Potter. A very powerful… individual.”

 

Harry’s smirk softened into something more serious as he turned his attention back to Jean. “We can play catch-up later, Charles. Right now, she needs help.”

 

Jean’s voice broke through the tense moment, trembling but forceful. “Get… out… of my head!” Her flames flared, and Harry took a step forward, raising his hands again.

 

“Jean,” he said, his tone steady and grounding, “listen to me. You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to be afraid of it.”

 

Her fiery gaze locked onto him, flickering with uncertainty. “Who… who are you?”

 

Harry smiled gently, the calm in his eyes cutting through the chaos. “Someone who’s been where you are. And someone who’s not leaving until you’re okay.”

 

—

 

Meanwhile, at Bayville High, the Brotherhood of Mutants arrived, though they had missed the entire spectacle by mere moments. Pietro Maximoff, a blur of silver hair and kinetic energy, was practically vibrating with impatience, his legs almost moving before his mind could catch up.

 

"Just once, I'd like to be on time," Pietro muttered, shaking his head as he skidded to a stop in front of the empty football field. "I’m the fastest guy in the world, and I still manage to miss everything."

 

Behind him, Blob lumbered forward, his hefty frame causing the ground to tremble with each step. "I don’t get it," he grunted, peering around at the aftermath. "This place looks like it was hit by a freakin’ tornado. Where’d everyone go?"

 

Toad, with his trademark tongue flicking out and a scowl on his face, crouched down, running his hands through the scattered debris. "There’s nothing left. No fight, no people... not even a sign of where they went. What gives?"

 

Lance Alvers, known as Avalanche, frowned as he surveyed the scene. "Something’s not right here. This isn’t just a random wreckage. This feels... controlled. Like someone wanted us to find this." His eyes narrowed, scanning the surroundings.

 

Mystique, disguised as the ever-calm Principal Darkhölme, stepped out of the shadows, her keen eyes quickly taking in the chaos. Her mouth twisted into a displeased frown. "Of course... this whole mess and no one to tell us what happened. Who did this?"

 

Pietro threw up his hands in frustration. "Don’t look at me! I ran as fast as I could, and guess what? Nothing!" He paused, rubbing his chin. "Well, except a strange glow in the air, and that’s pretty much it. So, unless you’ve got a superpower that lets you talk to the ground, I’ve got nothing."

 

Mystique didn’t reply immediately. Instead, her gaze turned cold as she started to walk around, carefully inspecting the wreckage. "This isn’t just some random mutant fight. Whatever happened here, it was too big to be ignored. And we need to find out what."

 

"Yeah, but we missed it," Blob added, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "What now? Do we just go back and pretend like we didn’t almost catch the action?"

 

Toad shrugged. "At least we know it’s not just some mutant showdown. You saw the sky, Blob? It was... burning red. Weird stuff’s going down."

 

Mystique raised a hand, cutting off the chatter. "Enough. We don’t have time for excuses. Pietro, go check the surrounding area. Lance, use your powers—see if you can find any traces of what happened here. The rest of you, keep your eyes peeled. We’ll find out what really went down, and when we do, we’ll make sure we’re in a position to take advantage of it."

 

Pietro grumbled but nodded. In a blur, he was gone, leaving nothing but the faint hum of his speed in the air. Blob and Toad followed Mystique’s orders, slowly beginning to fan out and search the perimeter.

 

"I don’t like this, Mystique," Blob muttered as he trudged toward the edge of the field. "Feels too... clean for a fight."

 

Mystique smirked, her eyes glinting with suspicion. "That’s because this wasn’t a fight. This was something else entirely. And it’s time we found out exactly who else was involved."

 

As the team spread out, the sounds of their footsteps mixed with the growing silence around them. The only sign of recent activity was the strange shimmer of energy that lingered in the air, but it was quickly dissipating. Mystique’s thoughts were already moving, calculating, and she knew that whatever had caused this was only the beginning of something far more dangerous. Something that had far more to do with their next move than they realized.

 

"Let’s hope we’re not too late," she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the horizon.

 

Back at the mansion, as Harry and the X-Men settled in for their conversation, none of them knew that the real danger was far from over—and their enemies were already closing in, just out of sight.

 

—

 

The fiery maelstrom around Jean had dwindled to a soft, flickering glow, her levitation faltering as Harry's calm, measured voice wove through the chaos. Each word seemed to act as a tether, anchoring her in the storm of her own mind.

 

“You’re stronger than this, Jean,” Harry said firmly, his tone carrying a warmth that felt at odds with the dangerous situation. “This power doesn’t own you. It’s a part of you, but it doesn’t define who you are. You’re Jean Grey. You’re not just the Phoenix. Now breathe. Focus. Come back to us.”

 

Jean’s fiery eyes, flickering with doubt and anguish, met his. "I can’t... it’s too much..." Her voice cracked, barely audible over the remnants of the chaos. "It’s not like... like fighting a bad guy. It’s in me. It is me..."

 

Harry stepped closer, ignoring the residual heat and the occasional crackle of flame licking the air between them. His green eyes never wavered from hers. “You’ve fought tougher battles than this, Jean. You’ve stood up for your friends, faced danger, and saved lives. This? This is just another fight. And guess what? You don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got your team. You’ve got your family. Lean on them.”

 

The fiery aura around her dimmed further, the oppressive heat receding into cool air. Slowly, Jean’s feet touched the ground, her body trembling from exhaustion as the last embers of the Phoenix flickered out. She started to collapse, but Harry moved swiftly, catching her in his arms before she hit the ground.

 

Her head lolled against his chest, her breathing shallow but steady. The fiery intensity of the Phoenix had vanished, leaving behind a young woman who looked almost fragile.

 

“Jean!” Scott’s panicked voice broke through the quiet, and he sprinted across the field toward them. His visor reflected the last traces of the fading chaos, his expression twisting with worry. "Is she okay?" His voice cracked as he stopped in front of Harry, hands hovering awkwardly as though unsure whether to grab her or not.

 

“She’s fine,” Harry said calmly, adjusting Jean in his arms. "She just needs rest. The Phoenix took a toll on her."

 

Scott frowned, his jaw clenching as he looked between Jean and Harry. “I should’ve been able to help her,” he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "She’s my—" He cut himself off, his fists balling tightly. "She’s on my team."

 

Harry’s brow arched, his gaze steady but not unkind. “And sometimes being a leader means knowing when to step back and let someone else take the weight, Summers. This wasn’t about you. It was about her.”

 

Scott opened his mouth to retort but stopped when the others arrived, their expressions a mix of awe and relief.

 

“That was, like, totally insane,” Kitty said, her voice trembling with lingering adrenaline. She looked between Harry and Jean, eyes wide. “You just, like, walked right up to her and—boom—no more flaming death vibes! Are you, like, a wizard or something?”

 

Kurt tilted his head, his tail flicking behind him as he observed Harry with curiosity. “Ja, und who are you, exactly? I’ve never seen anyone handle zhe situation like zhat. Not even Professor Xavier.”

 

Rogue crossed her arms, her green eyes narrowing as she gave Harry a once-over. “Yeah, sugar, you just came strollin’ in here all calm-like, like ya had the whole thing figured out. You some kinda cosmic babysitter, or you just got a death wish?” Her Southern drawl dripped with sass, but her smirk betrayed her intrigue.

 

Harry smirked, his tone nonchalant as he replied, "Let’s just say I’ve dealt with my fair share of angry, flame-powered entities before. This isn’t exactly new territory for me."

 

Logan snorted, stepping forward with his signature gruffness. "You’ve got a real knack for showin’ up like you own the place, bub. But if you think I’m just gonna roll over and let you play hero—"

 

Harry cut him off with a grin that bordered on cocky. "Good thing I’m not looking for your approval, Logan."

 

Before Logan could growl a retort, Xavier’s voice cut through the rising tension, calm and authoritative. “Enough, all of you.” The Professor wheeled closer, his expression thoughtful as his sharp blue eyes studied Harry. "We need to get Jean somewhere safe to rest. And it seems we owe you our thanks, Harry."

 

Harry shrugged, still holding Jean with surprising ease. “No need for thanks. Just doing what needed to be done.” He turned to the group of teens and added, “By the way, you lot—Scott, Kitty, Kurt, Rogue—you’ve earned yourselves a day off after all this excitement. No more classes today.”

 

Kitty’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning. “Wait, seriously? No school? Best. Day. Ever!”

 

Kurt grinned, his fangs flashing as his tail swayed happily. “I like him already!”

 

Rogue raised a skeptical brow but couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Ah’ll take it. Beats sittin’ through algebra, that’s for sure.”

 

Scott, however, frowned, his arms crossing defensively. "Wait a second, you can’t just—"

 

Harry cut him off with a raised hand. “Relax, Summers. Consider it a mental health day. You’ll thank me later.”

 

With a flick of his wrist, Harry conjured a swirling portal of golden energy. The edges crackled with power as it expanded, revealing the polished wood floors and warm lighting of Xavier’s office.

 

“Follow me,” Harry said, stepping through with Jean still cradled in his arms. “Let’s have this conversation somewhere more comfortable.”

 

The group hesitated for a moment before Xavier nodded. “You heard him. Let’s go.”

 

One by one, they stepped through the portal, their awe and curiosity growing with each step. Logan was the last to follow, muttering under his breath, "Fancy portals, fancy claws... What’s next? This guy’s got a private jet, too?"

 

As the portal closed behind them, they found themselves in the familiar surroundings of Xavier’s office. Harry gently laid Jean on the couch, tucking a blanket over her as Xavier used his telekinesis to float it into place.

 

Turning to the group, Harry’s smirk faded, his tone growing more serious. "Alright," he said, his emerald eyes scanning the room. "Let’s talk about the Phoenix—and how we’re going to stop it from torching the next town."

 

—

 

The atmosphere in Xavier’s office was heavy with tension. Harry leaned against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed, his emerald-green gaze steady as he surveyed the room. Jean lay unconscious on the couch, her breaths even but shallow. The team—Scott, Kitty, Rogue, Kurt, Logan, and Xavier himself—stood or sat nearby, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion, confusion, and frustration.

 

"I know this is hard to hear," Harry began, his voice calm but firm, "but this entire Phoenix situation? It didn’t start today. It’s been brewing for years. And it started because of a choice Xavier made."

 

Scott’s head snapped up, his expression immediately shifting from worry to anger. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, stepping forward, his fists clenched. "Don’t you dare pin this on the Professor! He’s done nothing but protect Jean—protect all of us—from the beginning!"

 

Harry held his ground, his gaze unwavering. "I’m not trying to villainize him, Summers. But facts are facts. Ask him yourself."

 

All eyes turned to Xavier, who looked deeply troubled. He took a slow breath, his fingers steepled as he composed himself. "Harry is correct," Xavier admitted, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of authority. "I... I made a mistake. One I deeply regret."

 

Scott froze, his expression a mix of disbelief and betrayal. "What?"

 

Xavier sighed, wheeling himself closer to the group. "Years ago, when I first met Jean, she was only a child. She had just experienced the traumatic death of her best friend, Annie. She watched her die, unable to save her, and that event triggered the emergence of Jean’s mutation."

 

"Her telepathy," Rogue said, her Southern drawl thick with curiosity and a touch of skepticism. "Ah heard she had trouble controllin’ it back then."

 

"More than trouble," Xavier admitted. "Jean was completely overwhelmed. She could hear the thoughts of everyone around her—loud, chaotic, intrusive. And amidst all that noise, I sensed something... foreign within her mind. A presence, ancient and powerful, stirring in response to her awakening abilities."

 

Logan, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, narrowed his eyes. "And let me guess, Chuck—you decided to meddle."

 

Xavier’s jaw tightened. "I was afraid of what that presence might be. I thought I was protecting her—and everyone else. So I made the decision to seal off that part of her mind. I created psychic barriers to suppress the presence and Jean’s memories of it. I believed it was the right thing to do at the time."

 

Scott’s anger boiled over. He stepped forward, pointing an accusing finger at Xavier. "You did what?! You messed with her mind—sealed away part of who she is—and you didn’t think that might have consequences?!"

 

"Scott," Xavier began, his tone gentle but firm, "please understand—"

 

"No, you don’t get to tell me to calm down!" Scott shouted, his visor glowing faintly as his emotions threatened to unleash his optic blasts. "You’re supposed to help us, guide us—not mess with our heads! How could you do this to her?"

 

Logan pushed off the wall, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "The kid’s got a point, Chuck. You don’t just go rootin’ around in someone’s brain like that. You’re supposed to be the guy who respects people’s choices, their free will. What you did? That’s not protection—that’s control. And now look where it’s gotten us."

 

Xavier looked pained, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before he met Logan’s eyes. "I thought I was helping her, Logan. I didn’t fully understand what I was dealing with at the time. The presence within Jean—it’s not simply a part of her mutation. It’s something far greater, far more dangerous. I... I was afraid."

 

Kitty, who had been sitting quietly, spoke up, her voice hesitant. "Wait, so, like, this Phoenix thing has been in Jean since she was a kid? And you just... locked it away? That’s, uh, kind of a big deal, Professor."

 

Rogue crossed her arms, her emerald eyes narrowing. "A big deal? Try a monumental screw-up, Kitty. Ah mean, how’d ya think this was gonna end, Professor? Secrets like this always come back to bite ya."

 

Harry, who had been watching the exchange silently, finally spoke. "And now it’s awake. That’s the reality we’re dealing with. The Phoenix is a cosmic entity, one of the most powerful forces in existence. Suppressing it didn’t get rid of it—it just made it more volatile. And now Jean’s caught in the middle of it all."

 

Scott looked at Harry, his voice shaking with barely restrained anger. "And what gives you the right to come here and say all this? What makes you think you know her better than we do?"

 

"I don’t," Harry said simply. "But I know what it’s like to have power you didn’t ask for, to be manipulated by people who think they know what’s best for you. Jean deserves the truth. All of it."

 

Logan’s eyes flicked to Xavier, his voice heavy with disdain. "You got somethin’ to say to that, Chuck? Or are you just gonna sit there and hope this all blows over?"

 

Xavier closed his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly. "Harry is right. Jean deserves the truth. I made a grave mistake, and I must take responsibility for it. But we don’t have time to dwell on my failings. Our priority now is helping Jean regain control and ensuring the Phoenix doesn’t consume her—or anyone else."

 

The room fell silent, the weight of Xavier’s words settling over everyone.

 

Finally, Logan broke the silence, his tone gruff but with a hint of grudging respect. "Fine. But if we’re gonna fix this, you’d better let her be the one callin’ the shots from now on, Chuck. No more secrets, no more mind games. Got it?"

 

Xavier nodded solemnly. "Agreed."

 

Harry straightened, his expression resolute. "Then let’s get to work. The Phoenix is still out there, and it’s not going to wait for us to figure this out. If we want to help Jean, we need to act fast—and as a team."

 

Despite the lingering tension, the team exchanged determined glances. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they knew one thing: they weren’t giving up on Jean. Not now, not ever.

Chapter 55: Chapter 54

The tension in Xavier’s office could have been cut with one of Logan’s claws. Harry leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed and his emerald-green gaze fixed on Logan, who was already eyeing him like a puzzle he couldn’t quite put together. Across the room, Jean lay unconscious on the couch, her face serene but pale, while the rest of the X-Men formed a loose semicircle around her. They were exhausted, confused, and more than a little irritated. And Harry? Harry was bracing for impact.

 

Logan broke the silence first, his gruff voice laced with suspicion. "Alright, kid. Enough dancin’ around it. Let’s talk about the claws."

 

Harry groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. "Logan, we’ve got bigger problems right now. You know, like the cosmic death bird currently nesting in Jean’s brain?"

 

"Don’t dodge the question," Logan shot back, stepping closer. He jabbed a finger toward Harry’s hands. "Those claws ain’t just for scratchin’ furniture. You’ve got somethin’ goin’ on, and I’m not buyin’ the coincidence."

 

"Ach, zis is getting good!" Kurt chimed in from the corner, his German accent thick and playful. "Are you saying he’s, how do you Americans put it, your illegitimate son, Herr Logan?"

 

Kitty clapped her hands together, practically bouncing on her toes. "Oh my gosh, is this, like, one of those soap opera things? Are we gonna find out Harry’s secretly Logan’s long-lost kid? Because, like, that would be so wild!"

 

Harry raised a hand, palm outward, his voice exasperated. "Okay, let’s shut that train of thought down right now. Logan, I’m not your kid. I don’t even have claws like yours. Mine are Vibranium, not Adamantium."

 

Logan’s eyes narrowed, but his tone remained smug. "Vibranium, huh? Real convenient. Still doesn’t explain how you got ‘em, bub. Or why you smell like me."

 

Scott, who had been stewing quietly near the back, finally snapped. "Wait, wait, wait. Can we just rewind a second? What the hell is going on here? Harry, are you saying you’ve got claws, Logan’s DNA, and you’re not some random mutant? What are you even?!"

 

"Geez, Summers," Rogue drawled, her Southern accent dripping with sass. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a smirk tugging at her lips. "Give the guy a chance to explain ‘fore ya blow a gasket. Ain’t his fault you can’t keep up."

 

Scott shot her a glare but stayed quiet, his jaw tight. Harry sighed, pushing off the desk. "Alright, you want the full story? Fine. Buckle up, because it’s a doozy."

 

The team collectively leaned in, their curiosity outweighing their fatigue. Even Xavier looked intrigued, his fingers steepled as he watched Harry intently.

 

"When I was five years old, Hydra kidnapped me," Harry began, his tone measured but heavy.

 

The room went deadly quiet. Kitty gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Wait, like... Hydra-Hydra? Evil-Nazi-science Hydra? Are you serious right now?"

 

"Dead serious," Harry confirmed. "They found out I was a wizard—"

 

"Ach, zis just keeps getting better!" Kurt exclaimed, his tail flicking with excitement.

 

"—and decided they wanted to make a magical Super Soldier. So they experimented on me. Injected me with their version of the Super Soldier Serum."

 

Rogue whistled low, shaking her head. "Damn, sugar. Hydra just doesn’t know when to quit, do they?"

 

Scott frowned, still trying to process. "Wait, the serum didn’t kill you? That stuff’s unstable. How are you even standing here?"

 

"It didn’t kill me," Harry said grimly, "but it did change me. This whole ‘tall, muscular, ridiculously strong’ thing? That’s the serum. It also aged me up. Technically, I’m almost seven years old."

 

Kitty’s eyes went wide. "Shut up! You’re, like, a giant seven-year-old? That’s insane. Also, kinda cool."

 

Harry smirked but continued. "And just when you thought Hydra couldn’t get any more twisted, they decided to splice my DNA with Logan’s. They wanted his healing factor, his enhanced senses, his... well, let’s just say they wanted a lot."

 

Logan growled low in his throat, his fists clenching. "Those bastards... What else did they do to you?"

 

Harry’s expression hardened. "They coated my skeleton in Vibranium. Just because they could."

 

Rogue let out a low whistle. "Well, ain’t that somethin’? So you’re basically a walking, talkin’ indestructible tank?"

 

"Something like that," Harry admitted. He turned to Logan, his gaze firm. "But let me make this crystal clear: I’m not your son, Logan. Hydra used your DNA, but that’s it. We’re not family."

 

Logan stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded slowly, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. "Alright, kid. I’ll take your word for it. But if I ever find out those Hydra bastards are still breathin’..."

 

"They won’t be," Harry said firmly. "Trust me."

 

Scott, still visibly irritated, crossed his arms. "So let me get this straight. You’re a wizard, a Super Soldier, and part Wolverine? And we’re just supposed to accept that like it’s normal?"

 

Kitty beamed. "Honestly, I think it’s awesome. Like, can you do magic tricks? Or, like, make stuff float? Because that would be so cool!"

 

Harry chuckled despite himself. "One crisis at a time, Kitty."

 

Xavier, who had remained quiet throughout the explanation, finally spoke, his voice calm but thoughtful. "Harry, your story is extraordinary, to say the least. But I have to ask—why reveal all this now? What’s your stake in this fight?"

 

Harry’s expression turned serious. "Because I know what it’s like to have power you didn’t ask for. To have people try to control you, manipulate you, because they think they know what’s best. Jean deserves the truth. And she deserves to make her own choices."

 

Logan nodded approvingly, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’re alright, kid. Bit of a pain, but alright."

 

"Thanks, Logan," Harry said dryly. "Now, can we please focus on saving Jean before the Phoenix decides to roast us all?"

 

The room fell into an uneasy silence as the weight of their mission settled back over them. Whatever else they might think of Harry, one thing was clear: they were all in this together.

 

—

 

Mystique, still in the guise of the ever-calm Principal Darkhölme, surveyed the wreckage of the football field with cold, calculating eyes. Her mind was racing, already piecing together the scattered bits of information. The strange, shimmering energy in the air, the charred sky above—the signs were unmistakable. This wasn’t just another random mutant skirmish. Something bigger, something more dangerous was at play, and she had a sinking feeling it was connected to one of Xavier's children.

 

She turned to face the Brotherhood members who had gathered in the debris-strewn field. Her eyes immediately locked onto Pietro, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with impatience. Behind him, Blob grumbled under his breath, still scanning the scene, while Lance crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, looking more annoyed than anything. Toad was crouched low, his tongue flicking out to lick at the ground with a sense of restless curiosity.

 

“Alright, listen up,” Mystique began, her tone smooth but laced with an unmistakable authority. “Pietro, Lance, Blob, Toad—I want you all to head back to the Brotherhood’s safehouse. Don’t make a scene, and don’t do anything reckless.”

 

Blob snorted, throwing his hands in the air. “What? So, we just sit around and wait like good little boys while the X-Men get to have all the fun?” His voice was a low growl, his heavy frame tensing with frustration.

 

Mystique’s gaze sharpened, her lips curling into a thin, knowing smile. “That’s exactly what I’m asking, Blob. Because, unlike you, I actually think before acting. This isn’t some random fight. Whatever happened here—whoever caused this—it's connected to Xavier’s little pets. The mutant children of this town.”

 

Pietro shot her a glare, his silver eyes flashing with annoyance. “Oh, right. We’re supposed to be the ones waiting around while you go play detective, huh?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m the fastest guy on the planet, and I’m stuck playing waiter? Sounds great.”

 

Mystique’s eyes glinted with cold amusement as she regarded him. “Trust me, Pietro. Your speed doesn’t always make you effective. And I don’t have the luxury of rushing in without a plan. The stakes are too high. Now, I’m going to infiltrate Xavier’s Institute. Find out exactly what’s going on, and more importantly, who’s behind this mess.” She paused, her eyes scanning the faces of the Brotherhood. “I don’t need you causing a scene and blowing our cover. Understood?”

 

Pietro scowled, but there was a resigned edge to it now. “Yeah, fine. I get it. But if we miss out on the fun, it’s on you.”

 

“Blame me all you want, but just remember who’s the brains in this operation,” Mystique replied, her voice cool, though her lips curled into a sly smile. She wasn’t bothered by Pietro’s discontent—he was a useful tool, but not one she intended to let off his leash just yet.

 

Lance, always the more pragmatic of the group, shifted his stance and frowned at the scene. “So what exactly are we supposed to do, Mystique? Wait around while you do all the legwork?”

 

Mystique locked eyes with him, her gaze unwavering. “Yes, Lance. You’re going to wait. And you’re going to keep an eye on Pietro. Make sure he doesn’t get too bored.” She turned to Blob. “Blob, stay back at the safehouse. I don’t need you starting a fight with the wrong people. And Toad—”

 

Toad let out a groan, flipping his tongue out in irritation. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. ‘Stay put,’ ‘don’t make a mess.’ Y’know, it’d be nice if someone let me have some fun around here.” He stood up, his knees creaking as he stretched. “But whatever. Not like anything interesting’s happening here anyway.”

 

Mystique’s eyes flicked toward him, a glint of something dangerously amused behind her calm demeanor. “You get your kicks however you want, Toad. Just don’t make me regret this decision.”

 

With a flick of her wrist, Mystique dismissed the group. “Get moving. Don’t do anything stupid. I’m going to Xavier’s Institute to find out what’s really going on here.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll just sit here and twiddle our thumbs,” Blob muttered, his massive shoulders slumping as he turned to leave.

 

“Just remember, Mystique,” Pietro called out, his voice still dripping with frustration. “If this all blows up in our faces, I’ll make sure to tell you ‘I told you so.’”

 

Mystique didn’t respond, already shifting her appearance as she faded into the shadows. She had no time for their whining. The Brotherhood, for all their power and abilities, were still amateurs when it came to subtlety and finesse. That was why she had always been the leader. And this mission, whatever it was, would be a delicate one—one that required precision.

 

Once out of view, Mystique shifted again, her form rippling as she assumed a new identity. She’d need to be someone trusted at Xavier’s Institute—someone who could walk in without arousing suspicion. Her mind immediately settled on the perfect choice: a local school counselor, a woman who was often seen but never truly noticed. Perfect for blending in.

 

As she made her way toward the Institute, Mystique’s thoughts churned. This whole incident—it wasn’t just a random fight between mutants. Something had triggered this destruction, something outside of their usual schemes. Whoever had caused this damage was working with forces far greater than anything the Brotherhood could handle on their own.

 

Xavier’s children… they were the key. But which one of them had gotten involved in this mess?

 

By the time Mystique reached the Institute, her mind was already calculating her next steps. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake—not this time. The game was bigger now, and it wasn’t just about the Brotherhood’s petty rivalries with the X-Men anymore. It was something far more dangerous—and far more personal.

 

Her pace quickened as she approached the front gates of the Institute, slipping easily into her new disguise. There was no time to waste. The truth was waiting for her—and she always made sure to be the one who found it first.

 

—

 

The room was thick with tension. Everyone sat in various states of disbelief, trying to process the flurry of revelations Harry had just unleashed. This wasn’t just a mutant problem. No, it was something far bigger, cosmic, and far harder to control. Jean’s condition, the Phoenix Force, and now Harry was asking them to trust in a series of unlikely allies.

 

"Professor," Harry began, breaking the silence, his tone measured but urgent, "Jean’s condition is much worse than you realize. The Phoenix is an uncontrollable force—dangerous and unpredictable. You’re dealing with more than just a mutant power here. We need more than just medical expertise to handle this."

 

Xavier, usually the calm center in any storm, sat up straighter in his chair, his brow furrowing slightly in thought. "We do have the resources here, Harry. Hank could run diagnostics—"

 

"No," Harry interrupted, shaking his head firmly. "I’m not saying Hank isn’t brilliant, but this is beyond a scientific approach. The Phoenix isn’t just a mutation, it’s a cosmic, mystical force. You can’t just run tests and hope to fix it. We need to call in the right kind of help."

 

Logan, who had been pacing by the door, narrowed his eyes. "Right, so you’ve got a plan then, kid? Spill it."

 

Harry turned to him, his tone still serious but a little impatient. "I’m not saying it’s hopeless, Logan, but we need experts in mysticism, in magic, not just science. And I happen to know a few people who are equipped to deal with a force like the Phoenix."

 

Scott leaned forward, brow furrowed in skepticism. "What, you mean like wizards? Are we calling in some guy with a pointy hat and a magic wand?"

 

Harry met Scott’s stare, a little amused by his skepticism. "You’re not wrong to be skeptical, Scott. I get it. But this isn’t some fairy tale magic. The Ancient One is one of the most powerful sorcerers alive. She’s the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. And trust me, if anyone can understand the Phoenix, it’s her."

 

Logan snorted. "Sorcerer Supreme, huh? Sounds like a fancy title. And a little out of our league, don’t you think?"

 

"Logan, this is exactly the kind of thing we need," Harry said, his voice steady despite Logan’s dismissive tone. "The Phoenix doesn’t play by normal rules, and it’s certainly not something you can just punch into submission. We need someone who can deal with cosmic forces."

 

Rogue, who had been unusually quiet, crossed her arms, her voice dripping with suspicion. "Hold up. You’re seriously tellin’ me we need to call in some wizard to save Jean? I’ve been down this road before with all this hocus-pocus nonsense. Ain’t nobody got time for that."

 

Harry’s expression softened, but his words were firm. "I get it, Rogue. Believe me, I do. But this is Jean’s life we’re talking about, and you’ve seen what the Phoenix can do. We need every tool at our disposal, no matter how... unconventional."

 

Xavier, who had been quietly absorbing the conversation, nodded thoughtfully. "I can’t say I fully understand, but if what Harry is saying is true, perhaps it’s time to consider options outside our usual methods."

 

Harry’s eyes flicked to Jean, her breathing shallow on the couch, her face pale. The room was heavy with the unspoken weight of the situation. "Exactly. But that’s not all. I’ve got another ally in mind—Andromeda Tonks. She’s one of the best healers I know. Specializes in restoring people who’ve been damaged by forces beyond normal comprehension. If anyone can stabilize Jean while we figure out the Phoenix, it’s her."

 

Kitty’s eyes lit up at the mention of Andromeda’s name. "Ooh, a healer? That’s so cool! I love meeting new people, especially when they’re like, really good at what they do."

 

Harry gave her a small grin. "You’ll like her. She can handle both magic and mutant powers, which is exactly what we need."

 

Xavier leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. "I’ve heard of Andromeda Tonks. She’s a skilled healer. But do you truly believe she’ll be able to help Jean? I’m still not entirely clear on how all of this ties together."

 

Harry nodded, his face grim. "Jean’s condition is volatile, and the Phoenix is awakening inside her. We need someone who understands both the magical and the mutant side of things. Andromeda’s one of the few who can pull that off."

 

Scott, always the voice of reason, spoke up again. "Okay, I’m willing to hear it, but how exactly do we handle the Phoenix? What if it decides to... take over Jean completely?"

 

Harry’s eyes were intense. "That’s why we need the best of the best. The Ancient One and Andromeda Tonks. But there’s one more person I want to call in."

 

Everyone turned to Harry, waiting for the next revelation.

 

"My mother," Harry said, his voice steady, though there was a trace of warmth when he spoke her name. "Lily Potter. She’s an expert in merging magic and technology. If anyone can help us understand how to neutralize the Phoenix’s influence without killing Jean in the process, it’s her. She’s got the mind and the experience for this kind of work."

 

There was a long pause. Then, Logan let out a low whistle. "Your mom’s like that powerful?"

 

Harry’s lips quirked into a small smile. "If you think I’ve got a good head on my shoulders, you should meet her. She’s the kind of person who gets things done, and she won’t waste any time with fancy speeches. She’ll do what needs to be done."

 

Rogue raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself. "Well, shoot. If she’s that good, I’m all for it."

 

Logan folded his arms across his chest, eyeing Harry with a newfound respect. "Alright, kid. So we’re bringing in a wizard, a healer, and your mom. You sure this’ll work?"

 

Harry nodded, his face set with determination. "We don’t have time to waste. The Phoenix is already stirring inside Jean, and if we don’t act soon, we might not be able to stop it."

 

Xavier nodded, a gravity to his words. "Then we’ll reach out to them. And we’ll be ready for whatever comes next."

 

Kitty bounced in her seat, her excitement palpable. "Oh my gosh, magic, technology, mutant powers... this is going to be so awesome!"

 

Harry shot her a brief grin, but his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts were on Jean, and how to save her before the Phoenix took everything from them.

 

"Let’s just hope we’re not too late," he muttered, the weight of the task ahead heavy on his shoulders.

 

As the room buzzed with quiet conversations and plans for the calls to be made, Harry felt a surge of determination. With the right team and the right plan, they had a chance—if only they could execute it before it was too late.

 

—

 

As Mystique approached the gates of Xavier's Institute, she straightened her posture, adjusting her glasses and smoothing the front of her modest blouse. Her new disguise was a simple one—plain brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, soft features framed by large, unremarkable glasses. She had crafted this persona carefully—a school counselor from Bayville High School, someone who was never noticed twice. She exuded an aura of normalcy, a stark contrast to her true nature. Her mission here was clear, and no matter what was waiting behind those gates, she was ready.

 

She reached the entrance and knocked sharply on the door, every movement calculated and confident.

 

Moments later, the door swung open, revealing a man of impressive size and striking blue fur—Hank McCoy, though he appeared far more human through the use of his holographic image inducer. Mystique’s lips curled into a practiced, professional smile. She hadn’t anticipated the surprise of seeing him—she was accustomed to Xavier’s institution being managed by a team of mutants, but Hank McCoy, or Beast as he was more commonly known, was still an unexpected sight at the door.

 

“Good afternoon,” Hank greeted smoothly, his voice deep and rumbling with an unmistakable curiosity. His sharp eyes took her in quickly, scanning her form for any signs of deception, though the calm tone he maintained suggested an underlying caution. “How may I help you?”

 

"Hello, Dr. McCoy," Mystique said smoothly, a slight but warm tilt to her voice as she adjusted her glasses in a perfectly natural gesture. “I’m Mrs. Lennox, the school counselor over at Bayville High. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I’m here on a small matter regarding some of your students.”

 

Hank’s blue eyes flickered momentarily, narrowing slightly. There was something about her that didn’t quite fit. She didn’t look out of place, but the situation was... strange. He was no fool; he knew something more was going on. “I see. And what exactly is this matter?”

 

“I’ve been informed that a few of your students—Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Kitty Pryde, Kurt Wagner, and Anna Marie, also known as Rogue—left school early today without attending their afternoon classes,” Mystique said, her tone sweet and businesslike, her eyes never leaving his. “As part of my duties at the school, I’m just here to check in on them. It’s unusual for them to miss class without any explanation, and I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

 

Hank’s face remained neutral, though his mind was clearly racing. Jean Grey. Rogue. Kurt. Scott. Kitty. These were students he had deep concerns about, but Mystique—this so-called Mrs. Lennox—wasn't someone he recognized. He couldn't help but feel his instinct for danger prickle, a faint suspicion beginning to form. He’d need to tread carefully here.

 

“Ah. I see. I wasn’t aware there was any issue,” Hank said, his voice measured, though there was a subtle tension in his posture. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, then back to her. “We’ve been dealing with some personal matters recently. It’s possible they simply needed some space. I assure you, Mrs. Lennox, everything is under control.”

 

Mystique’s smile never wavered, though the edge to her words hardened slightly. She wasn’t buying it, not for a second. “I understand, Dr. McCoy, but as you know, my role is to ensure the well-being of all students. If they’re dealing with something—anything troubling them—I’d like to address it sooner rather than later. We can’t afford to ignore any signs of distress, especially not in these times.”

 

Hank nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. He was still careful, not wanting to reveal too much. He had a suspicion as to what this was all about, but he needed to confirm it. “I assure you, there’s no immediate concern. Jean and the others are... safe. They simply needed to be away from school for a while. If you'd like, I can take you to them. They’ve been... sequestered for their own privacy. We’ve been giving them some time to themselves, but you may speak with them briefly if you wish.”

 

Mystique’s mind was already racing as Hank spoke. She could sense something—an underlying energy that was subtly different, vibrating in the air around her, too faint to pinpoint but unmistakable all the same. She hadn’t figured it out yet, but she could feel it: whatever was happening at the Institute was much bigger than it seemed. A few students skipping class didn’t explain this sensation.

 

“I’d appreciate that very much,” she said, her voice soft, polite. “I’m sure they’d prefer to talk directly, rather than through a third party.”

 

Hank hesitated for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slight nod, he stepped aside, allowing her to enter. “Very well, Mrs. Lennox. Follow me. I’ll take you to their quarters. Just... be brief. They’re not ready for a long visit.”

 

Mystique stepped inside with smooth, measured movements, her gaze flicking around the foyer as she took in every detail. She was a predator, constantly analyzing the space around her, noting everything from the decorative pieces on the walls to the subtle shifts in the air. She could feel the remnants of something intense in the atmosphere, a tension she couldn’t yet place.

 

“Thank you,” she said, smiling sweetly as she followed Hank down the hall. As they walked, Mystique’s mind sharpened, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. Jean, Scott, Kitty, Kurt, and Rogue—each of them had a unique power, each of them was a key piece in the grander design. But she needed more. She needed to know who had caused the chaos at the football field, and why.

 

They stopped outside a door, and Hank turned to face her, his posture now more guarded. “They’re inside,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Please, don’t take too long.”

 

Mystique’s hand reached out for the door, her fingers lightly brushing the wood. She could feel the energy inside the room already, an electric charge that hummed in her veins. This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. She knocked, a sharp, deliberate sound that echoed in the hall.

 

As she waited for the door to open, she allowed herself a moment to savor the thrill of the hunt. The answers she was seeking were behind that door, and she would have them—no matter what it took.

 

—

 

As Mystique’s hand brushed against the door, she heard a faint but distinct click, and before she could react, a sudden crackling sound filled the air. A stun spell hit her squarely in the chest, and her eyes widened in a mix of shock and frustration as her body went rigid. She collapsed to the floor, unconscious before she even hit the ground. Her false persona—tightly controlled, cautious, and unremarkable—slipped away as she lay motionless on the floor. Her human form melted away like smoke in the wind, revealing the true shape of Mystique—her blue, scaly skin and sharp, piercing yellow eyes.

 

Harry stood across the room, his claws retracted and his expression calm, yet his eyes glinted with satisfaction. He’d dealt with far worse before, but there was something undeniably satisfying about handling Mystique with such ease. He had always been a step ahead of her, and tonight was no different.

 

As he approached her unconscious form, Harry’s mind buzzed with the telepathic voice of Professor Xavier. "Well done, Harry. I had a feeling you would manage this without issue."

 

Harry’s lips curled into a wry smile, his gaze flicking over to the fallen Mystique. “It wasn’t exactly a challenge, Professor. But... I was ready for anything.”

 

The Professor’s voice softened slightly. "I suspected her the moment she entered the gates. She’s too skilled at blending in. You were right to stay alert."

 

Harry crouched down beside Mystique’s unconscious form, making sure the bindings were tight and secure. “I guess some people forget that I don’t need to rely on my wand anymore.” He flexed his claws absently, his gaze flicking over to the immobile woman. "Though this is getting a bit more complicated than a simple ‘teacher visit.’"

 

Behind him, the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention. He turned to find Logan, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

"You really shocked her, kid," Logan remarked with a low chuckle, his gravelly voice thick with amusement. "Guess even the great Mystique wasn’t expecting you to be packing that kind of punch."

 

Harry shot him a sardonic glance. "It wasn’t much of a fight. She tried to walk in here like she belonged, but she’s been too reckless lately. She got sloppy."

 

Logan raised an eyebrow and scratched the stubble on his chin. "Ain’t that the truth. Don’t know what she was thinking. She probably thought she could sneak right past you." He took a drag from the cigar hanging from his mouth, his face illuminated by the faint glow of the burning end. "Still, gotta give her credit. She’s good at what she does."

 

Harry straightened, looking down at Mystique’s still form, his eyes narrowed. "She’s better than good. But she's not the one calling the shots here." He then flicked his gaze to Logan, a wry smile playing at his lips. "Besides, I don’t need a wand to handle her. These claws do just fine."

 

Logan snorted, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, sure. But don’t go trying to cast any spells with those things. Last thing we need is you turning into a magic show."

 

Harry couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “My claws aren’t for that kind of magic, Logan. They do the job just fine. Now, let’s see what she was after.”

 

At that moment, Mystique stirred, her eyes fluttering open, and she let out a low, guttural snarl. Her eyes locked onto Harry, her yellow irises full of venom as she bared her teeth, hissing through clenched fangs.

 

"You think you’ve won, boy?" she spat, her voice thick with disdain. "You have no idea what you're dealing with. This is just the beginning."

 

Harry crouched down beside her, his voice cool and collected. “Don’t worry, Mystique. I know exactly who I’m dealing with. And when I’m done with you, you’ll wish you never came here.”

 

Her expression twisted in defiance. "You think you can stop the inevitable? You’re just a pawn in a much bigger game."

 

Logan stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Careful, kid. She’s got a mouth on her. And we’re about to find out if she’s got any tricks left.”

 

Harry turned to glance at Logan, giving a short nod. "I’m aware, but she won’t be talking much longer."

 

His claws extended slightly as he stood, glancing back at Mystique one last time. She wasn’t going anywhere—he made sure of that. “Professor,” he mentally contacted Xavier, "I’ve got her. She’s as chatty as ever, but I think she’s hiding something. She’s not just here to make trouble for the students. There’s something else going on."

 

Xavier’s voice filled his mind, calm yet insistent. "I had suspected as much. Keep her contained, Harry. She has a connection to something larger—something we don’t fully understand yet. I trust you to get the information we need. And please, make sure to handle Jean and the others carefully. I’m certain there’s more to this situation than meets the eye."

 

"Understood, Professor," Harry replied, his tone steady. "I’ll call in my team to help with Jean and the others. We’ll figure this out."

 

Logan raised his eyebrow, stepping closer to Mystique as he lit another cigar. "You sure you don’t need any help with her, kid? I’ve got a few... tricks of my own to deal with people like her."

 

Harry glanced at Logan, his lips quirking into a grin. "I’m fine. You just keep her from doing anything stupid, alright?"

 

"Yeah, yeah, don’t get cocky." Logan leaned back against the wall, puffing on his cigar, but there was no mistaking the protective edge in his voice.

 

Mystique continued to glare at them, her mind clearly plotting ways to escape. But as Harry stood up and made his way toward the door, his voice was steady and final. "I’ll bring in the cavalry. Let’s see what she’s really after."

 

He left the room, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. He reached out to his team mentally, ready to pull them into the fray. Whatever was happening at Xavier's Institute, he knew this was just the beginning. Mystique was only one player in a much larger, more dangerous game.

 

As he walked down the hall, the tension in the air grew thicker. Whatever this was, it wouldn’t end here. But Harry was ready for it. And with his claws—and his team—by his side, he would get to the truth, no matter the cost.

 

"Let’s get to work," he muttered under his breath. The storm was coming, and Harry was going to be ready for it.

Chapter 56: Chapter 55

The golden portal swirled open with a soft hum, illuminating the dimly lit workshop on the other side. The air inside was alive with magic—shelves lined with glowing runes, jars of shimmering powders, and intricately inscribed artifacts that seemed to hum faintly as they absorbed the ambient energy.

 

At the center of the controlled chaos stood Lily Potter, her fiery red hair tied back and a faint smudge of ink on her cheek, which she had clearly forgotten to wipe off. Her wand moved with precision over a metallic plate, etching a web of wards that shimmered with power. Her lips were pursed in concentration, her emerald eyes narrowed. The air around her crackled faintly with magic.

 

As the group stepped through the portal, Lily didn’t even look up. “Harry James Potter,” she said in a tone that was both exasperated and loving, “if this is another ‘the world is ending, and only Mum can save it’ situation, I’m officially cashing in a spa weekend. With mojitos. Lots of mojitos.”

 

Harry winced at her tone but stepped forward, gesturing for Xavier, Hank, Logan, and the unconscious Jean to follow. “Mum,” he began, his voice tight with urgency. “I swear this is serious. And I promise, I’ll explain everything. But first, I need you to get Andromeda. She’s in the infirmary.”

 

Lily straightened, finally setting her wand down. Her piercing green eyes scanned the group, lingering on Jean’s limp form in Hank’s arms, then narrowing at the somber expression on Charles Xavier’s face. “Harry,” she said slowly, her voice low and warning, “what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

 

“I’ll explain everything. I promise,” Harry replied quickly, his tone pleading. “But Andromeda is crucial for this. Please, Mum.”

 

Before Lily could respond, the workshop door swung open, and Andromeda Tonks stepped in. Her dark curls were pinned neatly back, and her sharp, aristocratic features softened with a touch of warmth as her eyes landed on Harry. She held a small medical kit in one hand and raised an eyebrow at the scene before her. Behind her, moving with ethereal grace, was the Ancient One, her pale robes flowing around her like water. She radiated calm authority, her serene expression betraying no surprise at the unexpected gathering.

 

“Harry,” Andromeda said in a voice that carried both warmth and sharpness, “you didn’t exactly give me much notice, but thankfully, I ran into the Ancient One. She was kind enough to share tea—and some rather cryptic warnings. Care to explain?”

 

The Ancient One gave a small, enigmatic smile. “I sensed Harry would need assistance and thought it prudent to prepare.”

 

Harry sighed in relief, rubbing the back of his neck. “Great. You both saved me a lot of time. Mum, Andromeda, Ancient One—meet Professor Charles Xavier and Dr. Hank McCoy from Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. That,” he gestured toward Jean, “is Jean Grey. And… well, we’ve got a Phoenix Force-sized problem.”

 

The room went still. Lily’s hand tightened on her wand, her face paling. “Phoenix Force?” she repeated sharply, her voice rising. “Harry, please tell me you’re joking.”

 

Andromeda’s expression darkened, her sharp brown eyes narrowing. “The Phoenix Force? Merlin’s bloody beard, Harry. Do you have any idea what you’re dealing with?”

 

The Ancient One stepped forward, her hands tucked into her robes. “It is no longer a matter of choice,” she said evenly. “The Phoenix Force has already bonded with Jean Grey. The issue lies in how it was mishandled. Professor Xavier…” she turned her calm gaze to Charles, “chose to suppress it when Jean was a child. That decision, while well-intentioned, has created a volatile imbalance.”

 

Lily’s eyes snapped to Xavier, her fury barely restrained. “You did what?” she demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut steel.

 

Xavier stepped forward, his usual composure faltering under Lily’s glare. “I—” he began, his voice soft, “I believed I was protecting her. She was a child, and the power was too much. I thought… I thought I was helping.”

 

Andromeda folded her arms, her voice icy. “You thought wrong. The Phoenix Force isn’t just raw power—it’s a cosmic entity. You don’t suppress it; you guide it. Locking it away was reckless.”

 

“I had no other options!” Xavier shot back, his frustration evident. “Jean was only a child. I didn’t know—”

 

“And that’s the problem,” Lily interrupted, her voice low and deadly. “You didn’t know, but you still played with fire. Now my son and the rest of us have to clean up the mess.”

 

Hank cleared his throat nervously, adjusting his grip on Jean. “If I may,” he interjected, “I believe we’re past blame. The question is: what do we do now?”

 

The Ancient One nodded. “Precisely. Jean’s mind is a battleground. To save her—and the world—we must carefully release the Phoenix Force and help her coexist with it.”

 

Lily sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Alright,” she said, her voice still laced with frustration. “Let’s say we manage to release the Phoenix without blowing up New York. How do we ensure it doesn’t burn Jean—or the rest of us—to ash?”

 

Harry stepped forward, his expression grim. “That’s why we need all of you. Mum, you’re the best ward specialist alive. Andromeda, you know more about magical mind-healing than anyone. Ancient One, you’ve dealt with cosmic threats before. Together, we can give Jean a fighting chance.”

 

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Lily squared her shoulders, her green eyes blazing with determination. “Alright,” she said firmly. “Let’s get to work.”

 

Andromeda nodded, already pulling out supplies from her medical kit. “Let’s hope the Phoenix Force is feeling cooperative.”

 

The Ancient One gave a faint smile. “If not, we shall make it so.”

 

—

 

The room was filled with an intense hum of magical and mystical energy as Lily Potter, with a focused expression, traced the air with her wand, conjuring glowing symbols that hovered around her like a delicate web of intricate patterns. Her fiery red hair, a shade so vivid it almost seemed to glow, framed her face as she worked, and the determination in her eyes was unmistakable. Beside her stood Andromeda Tonks, her sharp features illuminated by the glowing magical constructs, her dark eyes constantly analyzing, calculating. She spoke in a voice as precise as her thoughts, her posture poised yet intense. The two women had worked together countless times before, but the challenge before them—taming the Phoenix Force within Jean Grey—was unprecedented.

 

The Ancient One floated a few steps back, her ancient eyes betraying no emotion, but the air around her crackled with an unfathomable energy. Her presence was a calm, still center in the midst of the storm. She was an enigma, a being whose wisdom stretched back to times when magic itself was still young. Her pale, ethereal appearance contrasted sharply with the grounded, fiery nature of the others, but her sense of serenity was something they all needed now.

 

In the corner, Harry stood with his arms crossed, his brows furrowed in thought. His posture was casual, but his mind was a whirl of strategy and theory. The Phoenix Force was a terrifying force to deal with, and he was the only one who had both the magical and scientific background to truly understand the consequences of this delicate operation. His unique physiology, his connection to magic, and his extensive study of the wards from Kamar-Taj had all led him here. He could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on him, but he trusted in their ability to make it work.

 

Charles Xavier, ever the empath and strategist, was seated at a workbench, his fingers lightly resting on his temple as he tried to tune into the magical field surrounding them. His brow was furrowed in confusion. "I… don’t understand," he muttered, his Scottish accent tinged with a touch of frustration. "All this talk about cosmic forces, resonance… it’s like I’m listening to a foreign language. I’m sure you’re all brilliant, but this is… beyond my expertise."

 

Hank McCoy, standing next to him, nodded in agreement. "And you’re telling me. I’ve had my share of decoding mutant biology, but this… mystical energy? You might as well be speaking in tongues."

 

Lily gave them a warm but exasperated smile, her voice carrying the sharp wit and charm that had earned her respect in the wizarding world. "I suppose you could call it ‘gobbledygook,’ Charles, but it’s not just some nonsense language. It’s real, and it’s a lot more complicated than your average science experiment." She flicked her wrist, sending a swirl of golden sparks into the air. "Trust me, we’re working on it. But right now, you two need to focus on Jean."

 

Andromeda, always the direct one, shot Charles a sharp glance. "We’ll explain it when we’re done, Charles. Until then, just keep an eye on her mental state. If she starts to slip, we’ll be in trouble."

 

"I’ve got it," Xavier responded quickly, his hands hovering over the chair, the weight of his telepathic abilities amplifying his concentration. He looked toward the bed where Jean lay, unconscious for the moment. The strain between her and the Phoenix Force was apparent even in her stillness. "We’ll be watching her closely. We don’t want the Phoenix to overwhelm her."

 

Hank’s blue furrowed brow creased in concern as he glanced over at Jean. "You sure about this? Taming that… thing inside her? That’s not a task I would wish on my worst enemy."

 

Lily, her expression now serious, fixed Hank with a piercing gaze. "It’s not about taming it, Hank. It’s about balance. The Phoenix is chaos, but it also represents creation and rebirth. What we’re doing here is creating a framework that allows Jean to coexist with it without being consumed."

 

"And that's where the Kamar-Taj wards come in," Harry chimed in, his voice carrying the certainty of someone who’d spent hours studying the ancient texts. He pushed away from the workbench and walked to Lily’s side, his dark eyes locked on the magical diagram forming in the air. "Kamar-Taj wards are designed to contain entities that can’t be fully controlled but need to be directed. The trick is to create a channel that allows the Phoenix Force to flow through Jean without destroying her or the world around her."

 

Lily glanced at him, a proud smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Exactly. And we can adapt them. They’re about understanding the energy—letting it exist, but giving it structure."

 

The Ancient One spoke up, her voice calm and measured, yet carrying an undeniable weight of authority. "I agree with Harry. Kamar-Taj wards focus on the energy’s flow, not its suppression. But the Phoenix is not merely an energy force; it is an entity of creation and destruction. If we approach this too rigidly, we may force Jean to lose herself in the process."

 

Andromeda, now stepping closer to the group, raised an eyebrow. "We need to attune the wards to Jean’s psyche. If the Phoenix feels that she’s in danger, or if she loses control emotionally, it will react violently. The wards can’t just block it—they need to protect her from herself as well."

 

Hank, still unsure, leaned against a nearby table, his large hands pushing against his furrowed brow. "You’re telling me you’re going to combine these ancient wards with psychological protections, all while trying to control a cosmic force? And none of us are allowed to mess with it?"

 

Harry chuckled at the skeptical look on Hank’s face. "It’s a delicate operation, but we’ve got it covered. Trust me, Hank, I’ve studied both wizarding and Kamar-Taj magic for years. The Phoenix Force won’t be controlled, but it can be channeled."

 

"Channeling cosmic energy," Charles muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. "It’s like you’re talking about manipulating the very fabric of reality itself. This is nothing short of madness."

 

Lily winked at Charles, her voice light, yet filled with the gravity of their task. "Madness, Charles, is a relative term. In this case, it’s just a Tuesday afternoon."

 

Andromeda smiled at the banter, but her eyes never left the diagram in the air. "Enough talking. We’ve got work to do. The foundation is critical. We’ll start by building the basic structure of the wards. Then we’ll layer them with the necessary psychological protections."

 

Harry turned to the group, his hands clasped behind his back. "Right. So we need a structure that can lock down the Phoenix’s chaos, give it a channel, and then slowly allow Jean’s psyche to integrate with it. I’ll take the outer layers of the wards, guiding the flow with the Kamar-Taj influence. Lily, you and Andromeda work on the psychic shields, while the Ancient One oversees the cosmic alignment."

 

Lily gave him a thoughtful look before raising her wand to the air, the sparkling lines of magic flickering to life, forming the skeleton of a ward that seemed to hum with raw power. "Let’s begin."

 

As the four of them began to weave the wards together, the room seemed to vibrate with energy. The soft light of the wards contrasted sharply with the sharp, focused gazes of the women as they worked. Harry stood to the side, watching the intricate dance of magic unfold, a quiet excitement bubbling within him. This was what they were all capable of: not just magic, not just strength, but the ability to shape the very fabric of existence to their will.

 

Charles and Hank could do nothing but watch in awe, their minds struggling to comprehend the delicate work being done in front of them. Their confusion was palpable, but they trusted the experts. For now, they would wait, hoping that their friends’ plan would work, and that Jean could be saved from the overwhelming force inside her.

 

And in that moment, the Ancient One’s voice rang clear, like the first note of a symphony. "We begin."

 

—

 

The room crackled with an electric hum, the air dense with anticipation as Harry Potter stood at the periphery, his gaze focused on the intricate weave of wards suspended in the air. Every thread of magic, every sigil, glowed with a faint, pulsating light. The wards had been carefully constructed with a blend of Kamar-Taj’s sorcery and the ancient magic of the wizarding world. But now came the most delicate part of the plan—the moment when Harry would step inside the sphere, an energy construct created to help Jean Grey combat the Phoenix Force within her.

 

Lily Potter, standing close by, exhaled a shaky breath, her expression one of barely controlled worry. She took a step toward Harry, her vibrant red hair catching the light of the sphere’s glow. Her blue eyes locked onto his with an intensity only a mother could possess. The worry was etched deeply on her face, the furrow in her brow testament to the weight of her concerns.

 

“Harry, no,” Lily’s voice was quiet, but firm. The warmth of her hand reached out and rested on his arm, her fingers trembling as though her very touch could tether him to safety. “You can’t go in there. It’s too dangerous.”

 

Harry’s chest tightened at the concern in her voice. He’d always known she was a fierce protector, a lioness guarding her cub. But now, her worry seemed almost tangible, like a weight pressing down on him. He turned to face her, offering a smile meant to reassure, though he could see the quiver of doubt in her eyes.

 

“Mum, it’s the only way,” Harry’s voice was gentle but resolute. He placed his hand over hers, offering a reassuring squeeze. “You know I’ve interacted with the Phoenix Force before, right? And I’ve got the healing factor, Super-Soldier physiology—there’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ll be fine.”

 

Lily’s lips parted, her expression stricken as she searched his face, as if trying to find something—anything—that would make her believe him. “But this is different, Harry. You’re talking about a force that can burn worlds. It’s—” Her voice caught, breaking. She struggled to find the words. “I can’t lose you again.”

 

Harry stepped closer, tilting her chin gently with his fingers, his gaze softening as he brushed a lock of her red hair behind her ear. “Mum, you won’t. I promise. I’ve got this.” His voice was steady, but the fear in his own heart was hard to suppress. “You have to trust me.”

 

For a long moment, Lily didn’t speak. She only gazed at him, her eyes filled with love and an unspoken fear that threatened to crack her. Finally, she nodded, her lips trembling as she whispered, “Just be careful, Harry. Please.”

 

The weight of her words pressed heavily on him, and Harry offered her one final, gentle smile before turning back toward the glowing ward.

 

Standing behind them, the Ancient One, as stoic and composed as ever, regarded the scene with a quiet, unreadable expression. Her pale face seemed almost ethereal under the dimming light, her white hair floating like a halo around her. She stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension like a calm breeze.

 

“Lily, I understand your concerns,” the Ancient One said softly, her tone even, like the steady hum of a distant bell. “But Harry is the only one who can do this. His physiology and his prior encounters with the Phoenix Force give him a unique edge. He has the strength to withstand it.”

 

Lily shot the Ancient One a wary glance but didn’t argue. Her eyes flickered back to Harry, as if she could somehow stop this by sheer will alone. “You’re sure about this?” she asked, her voice strained.

 

The Ancient One nodded, a flicker of resolve in her ageless eyes. “I am. He is the right choice.”

 

Before Lily could protest further, Charles Xavier stepped forward from the corner, his face a mask of quiet concern. His arms were crossed over his chest, his posture rigid but strained, as though battling an internal conflict. His sharp gaze shifted from Harry to Jean, whose still form was encased in the shimmering sphere of energy.

 

“I’m sorry,” Charles said, his voice calm but insistent, “but I’m going with him.”

 

Harry turned to face Xavier, who was already stepping closer, his penetrating eyes locked onto him.

 

“I know Jean. I can help her,” Xavier continued, his voice low and urgent. “I can reach her.”

 

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the telepath. He could see the genuine concern in Xavier’s eyes, and he knew that Charles believed he could help Jean. But Harry also knew the risk involved.

 

“Charles, you can’t,” Harry replied, his voice firm but not unkind. “The Phoenix Force doesn’t exactly have a soft spot for you, does it?” He paused, watching as the words hit Xavier like a blow. “You were the one who helped imprison it. That’s not something the Phoenix Force forgets. If you enter the sphere, it could go wrong.”

 

Xavier’s face tightened, a shadow of guilt crossing his features, though he didn’t deny it. “I failed her once, Harry. I won’t fail her again.”

 

The Ancient One, stepping forward to intercede, placed a hand lightly on Xavier’s shoulder. Her voice was unwavering, yet gentle. “Charles, Harry is right. Your presence would complicate matters. The Phoenix has a long memory, and your connection to its containment is… unfortunate.”

 

Xavier hesitated, his brow furrowed with frustration. His gaze moved once more toward Jean, as if he could somehow reach her with his thoughts. He gave a resigned sigh. “I understand.” His voice softened, the weight of the decision heavy on him. “I just wanted to be there for her.”

 

Harry nodded solemnly, understanding the unspoken grief in Xavier’s words. “I know, Charles. But this time, I’m the one who needs to be there.”

 

Hank McCoy, who had been silently observing the entire exchange, finally spoke, his voice filled with a mixture of confusion and dry humor.

 

“So… this is about the Phoenix Force?” Hank scratched the back of his neck, glancing at the glowing sphere with some unease. “And this whole thing is supposed to help Jean without blowing up the universe?”

 

Harry chuckled and shook his head, his amusement a thin veil over his own nerves. “Yeah, that about sums it up, Hank. Except for the ‘blowing up the universe’ part. At least, we hope not.”

 

Lily rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of a smile on her lips despite her anxiety. “Well, I’m glad someone thinks it’s funny.”

 

Hank gave a lopsided grin, his brow furrowing slightly as he peered closer at the ward. “And the whole… ‘warded sphere’ thing? That’s not something I’ve ever had the pleasure of understanding.”

 

Harry’s grin grew. “It’s a combination of ancient sorcery, wizarding magic, and a little bit of our collective genius. But it works.” He turned to the group, the sense of finality settling in his bones. “Alright, let’s get this started.”

 

Lily’s eyes never left him as he stepped toward the sphere, her expression still shadowed by worry. She whispered one last time, her voice steady but full of motherly love, “You better come back to me, Harry.”

 

“I will, Mum,” Harry promised, his heart heavy as he stepped forward into the sphere, the energy surging around him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

As the sphere enveloped him, the air around them hummed with intensity, and for a moment, it felt as though the very universe held its breath.

 

Inside the warded sphere, Harry could feel the overwhelming power of the Phoenix Force—the heat, the raw, untamed energy—coursing through the air, beckoning him into the unknown. But he wasn’t alone. Not now. Not ever.

 

They would face this together.

 

—

 

Inside the mindscape, Harry felt his senses stretch to their limit as he entered the chaotic swirl of Jean's mind. The shifting landscape that greeted him was like a battle between life and death itself, a reflection of the firestorm of emotions within Jean's soul. At one point, it looked like a lush forest, vibrant and full of potential, the next moment, it was a desolate, cracked wasteland, scorched by flames of despair. The constant transitions created a disorienting experience, one that mirrored the overwhelming nature of Jean’s inner turmoil.

 

In the center of this storm, floating in an ethereal trance, was Jean herself. Her body hung suspended in mid-air, her eyes closed in a peaceful unconsciousness that contrasted with the chaos around her. Her flaming red hair floated in a halo around her, but her entire being was tethered to the Phoenix Force—trapped. It was a fiery prison, its psychic chains wrapped tightly around her form, strangling both her and the force that lived within her.

 

The Phoenix Force burned with an intensity that was palpable. Its power was raw, untamed, each wave of energy sending ripples through the air, causing flashes of blinding light. The force struggled against the chains, trying to break free, but the psychic bonds were unyielding—each tug of the chains sent violent waves of energy into the mindscape. Harry could feel it. The heat and psychic pressure ripped into his body, searing him like a brand.

 

He gritted his teeth as the first wave hit. His skin flared with heat, the pain of it almost unbearable. His body burned as though the very fire of a thousand suns had touched him, the skin on his arm blistering and curling, his muscles seizing in protest. He staggered forward, his heart hammering in his chest, sweat pouring down his face. And then, in an instant, the pain was gone. The healing factor kicked in, his skin knitting back together. The blisters disappeared as if they had never existed, but Harry could still feel the sharp, lingering sting, the smell of charred flesh in the air.

 

His legs shook with the effort as he continued forward, the next wave of psychic flame already surging toward him. His body twisted in response to the heat, but he refused to stop. He pushed onward, determined. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure this, but he knew he had to reach Jean. He had to free her.

 

From outside the sphere, Lily watched in horrified silence. Her fingers curled into fists, her knuckles white from the tension. She could see Harry’s form flickering in and out of existence, his body burning with every wave of the Phoenix’s energy. She wanted to scream, to rush in and pull him out, but the barrier between her and the sphere was impenetrable. She could only watch, helpless, as Harry burned for her daughter’s sake.

 

“Harry…” she whispered, her voice trembling, her heart aching as she saw him stagger under the weight of the energy crashing against him. She could see the marks, the burns that covered him, and she felt each one in her bones. It was unbearable to watch. “Please…” she whispered again, the desperation in her tone undeniable.

 

Back inside the mindscape, Harry’s mind raced. He had to find a way through this. The chains weren’t just binding Jean—they were binding the Phoenix itself, chaining it to Jean’s psyche, suppressing its full potential. These chains weren’t just physical, they were emotional, mental. They were a representation of the blocks Xavier had placed inside Jean’s mind to protect her from the Phoenix’s power. But Harry knew that those chains could be broken. They had to be.

 

“Jean,” Harry’s voice echoed through the chaos of the mindscape, ringing with authority and determination. “I know you can hear me. This isn’t you. You’re stronger than this.”

 

The chains around Jean vibrated in response, their psychic grip tightening with each word. Harry could feel the pressure intensifying. The Phoenix roared in frustration, sending out another wave of energy, flames licking at Harry’s skin and burning through his mental defenses like paper. This time, the flames weren’t just physical; they tore at his mind, unrelenting and merciless. His vision blurred, his body convulsing as the heat overwhelmed him. He felt his muscles stretch, burn, and tear under the intensity. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before, the physical and mental agony blurring together in a violent crescendo.

 

For a moment, he thought he might collapse. But then, something inside him shifted. He couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t. His magic flared in response to his thoughts, reaching out like a lifeline, wrapping around Jean, around the Phoenix. The power of his magic mixed with the raw energy of the Phoenix itself, creating a powerful force that pushed back against the chains, pushing back against the Phoenix’s rage.

 

“You’re not alone, Jean,” Harry called out again, his voice firm and unwavering. “I’m here. We’ll do this together.”

 

Outside, Lily’s gaze remained fixed on the sphere, her breath catching in her throat as the light inside pulsed more violently. She could see Harry being consumed by the waves, his body writhing in agony, the burns consuming him and then fading away, only to be renewed by the next wave. It was a cycle of destruction and healing, of life and death. It was unbearable.

 

“Harry!” Lily cried out, as though hoping that her voice could reach him. Her eyes blurred with tears as she clenched her fists tighter, watching in anguish.

 

Andromeda Tonks stood nearby, her jaw clenched tightly, her gaze focused on the sphere. She couldn’t help but admire Harry’s resilience, but the sight of him being burned over and over again was a grim reminder of the stakes. Her hands were trembling at her sides, but she didn’t dare speak. What could she say? What could anyone say to stop this?

 

Inside the sphere, Harry was struggling to maintain his focus. The chains around Jean flickered, twisting as they buckled under the weight of his magic, but they were not yet fully broken. The Phoenix Force, sensing his efforts, roared in response, sending another violent blast of psychic flame that threatened to incinerate him.

 

But this time, Harry didn’t flinch. He stood firm, his body still wracked with pain, his skin burning as if he were being cooked alive. He could feel his flesh tear again, but the healing factor kicked in instantly. It was gruesome—the skin splitting, the muscles churning and reforming—but Harry’s will was unwavering. He was here for Jean. He was here to free her.

 

And then, a crack. The chains, once unyielding, now trembled and shifted. The chains snapped with a resounding psychic pulse, the force of it sending shockwaves through the mindscape. The Phoenix Force roared in approval, its energy surging. Jean’s eyes flickered open, glowing bright with the intensity of the Phoenix. She was free—free from the chains, free from the suffocating grip of Xavier’s mental blocks.

 

Harry stood there, breathless and scorched, but victorious. The Phoenix had been subdued, its flames no longer raging out of control, but now focused, contained, and under Jean’s command.

 

Jean looked at him, her eyes wide with gratitude, the weight of the Phoenix Force no longer a burden on her. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost fragile.

 

Harry nodded, his own body still healing from the burns. “You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his voice hoarse but filled with relief. “We’re in this together.”

 

Outside, Lily gasped as she saw the light shift inside the sphere. The air seemed to settle, the tension lifting slightly. The burns on Harry’s body faded, and though she could still see the damage, there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Her son had done it. He had freed Jean. And it was only the beginning of what they would face together.

Chapter 57: Chapter 56

In the ethereal mindscape, Jean’s consciousness began to stir, the edges of her awareness flickering in and out like a dying light. Around her, the flames of the Phoenix Force roared like an untamed beast, swirling with heat and chaos. Her mind was a battlefield—one side consumed by fire, the other by fear. And in the center, she stood, caught between the overwhelming power of the Phoenix and her own fragile sense of self. It was always like this—the internal war never ceased.

As the swirling fire subsided, a figure emerged from the flames, his presence like a calm oasis in the center of a storm. Jean’s eyes focused, her brow furrowing in confusion. She didn’t recognize him, not yet. The fire that surrounded her was too intense, the Phoenix's roar too deafening.

"Who are you?" Jean’s voice cracked, the rawness of it reflecting the emptiness that had consumed her mind for what felt like an eternity. She was lost in this place, with only the Phoenix as a constant companion, and even it was no longer a comfort.

The figure in front of her remained still, undeterred by the raging flames. His presence didn’t waver in the face of the Phoenix’s fury. He seemed unscathed, as if he were part of the fire itself, yet immune to its destructive force.

“My name’s Harry,” he said, his voice deep and unwavering. “I’m here to help you, Jean. I know what this feels like. But you don’t have to fight alone.”

Jean blinked, her thoughts scrambling, trying to make sense of this sudden, foreign presence in her mind. She felt him—his calmness, his warmth—but it felt different from everything else. There was something grounding about him. She couldn’t quite place it.

"How?" Her voice trembled as the Phoenix Force seethed around her, fiery wings flickering, encircling her with a mind of its own. “How can you help me?”

Harry didn’t step back, even as the Phoenix roared louder, its fiery tendrils reaching toward him like claws. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he simply met her gaze with those piercing, calm blue eyes, a soft but unwavering resolve in them. “Because I understand, Jean. The Phoenix... it’s powerful. But it doesn’t have to be your enemy.”

The words hit her like a cold wave. Jean clenched her fists, but the chains—those psychic barriers that had been placed upon her—pulled tighter. She winced, her expression faltering as the weight of her past mistakes flooded her thoughts.

“The chains,” she whispered, her eyes darkening with guilt. “I can’t control it. I’ve hurt people, Harry. So many people. And I can’t stop it. Not when it’s like this.”

The fiery wings of the Phoenix curled around her as if to embrace her, to remind her of the immense power that still thrummed beneath her skin, like an ever-present flame waiting to burn out of control. It was a tempting thing, to give in to the fire, but Jean knew too well the destruction it could bring.

Harry’s voice was soft but insistent, cutting through the chaos like a lifeline. “You don’t have to be afraid of it, Jean. You’re not alone in this anymore. You don’t have to control the Phoenix. You have to coexist with it. I’m here to help you find that balance.”

Jean’s heart skipped a beat as his words sank into her consciousness. She wanted to believe him—she needed to believe him—but the overwhelming power of the Phoenix was so much to bear. It was like a storm inside her mind, one she could never calm.

"You don’t understand," Jean said, voice shaky. "It’s too much. It always has been. The Phoenix, it’s too powerful. I can’t—"

“Jean,” Harry said, stepping forward, his presence a steady anchor in the midst of her turmoil. “I’ve been there. I know what it feels like to be consumed by something that’s far bigger than you. But I’m not telling you to control it. I’m telling you to embrace it. To trust yourself.”

Jean closed her eyes, feeling the intense pull of the Phoenix, the heat and power, but this time, there was a sense of hesitation in the fire, as if waiting for her permission. It was no longer a monster. It was a force, yes, but a force that could be guided.

“You can coexist,” Harry continued, his voice soothing, but strong, as if he were speaking to her, and to the Phoenix within her at the same time. “The Phoenix doesn’t have to be a prison. It can be a part of you. But you’ve got to let go of the fear that’s holding you back. Let go of the chains. The barriers that are keeping you trapped.”

Jean looked down at the psychic chains that still bound her, remnants of Professor Xavier’s influence, his attempts to protect her from herself. They were a symbol of her own weakness—her inability to fully harness her power without losing control.

“I can’t... I don’t know how,” she whispered, feeling tears sting at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve hurt everyone I’ve loved, Harry. What if I lose control again? What if...?”

Harry reached out, his hand extending toward her, not as a command, but as an offering. "You won’t. Not if you trust yourself. Trust me. Let me help you break those chains."

Jean hesitated, her mind swirling, her thoughts clashing like storms, but she felt something stir within her—a flicker of the person she used to be, the Jean Grey who once controlled her power with purpose, the Jean who could lead without fear.

The moment her hand reached for his, something shifted. The chains—those psychic barriers—began to crack. The Phoenix Force roared in her mind, but this time, there was no desperation in it. No fury. It was a call, a plea, to be free. To coexist with her, as Harry had said.

Jean’s breath hitched as the psychic chains shattered, falling apart like glass shattering on the floor. The Phoenix Force surged around her, but this time, it was different. It was no longer a wild beast to be tamed. It was a river, flowing with power, but with her at the helm.

“I can feel it,” Jean whispered, her eyes wide with awe. “It’s with me. Not against me. I can feel it... inside me. It’s not a curse. It’s... part of me.”

Harry’s expression softened, pride radiating in his eyes. “You did it, Jean. You broke free. You are free.”

The Phoenix Force seemed to quiet, its flames calming around her. Jean stood tall, the weight of her power no longer crushing her, but flowing like a part of her own soul. She could feel it, the fire within her, but it was no longer a threat—it was a strength.

“Thank you,” Jean said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I... I didn’t know if I could do it. I didn’t know how to...”

“You already knew how,” Harry replied, his voice gentle but firm. “You just had to trust yourself.”

As Jean stood there, her power now under her command, she felt something she hadn’t felt in so long: peace. The Phoenix Force was no longer something to fear. It was part of her, and together, they were unstoppable.

Outside the mindscape, the team watched in silence. The tension had eased, replaced by a quiet relief. Lily's eyes softened with approval, knowing that Jean had found her freedom.

Jean’s gaze met Harry’s, and for the first time, she didn’t just see a man offering help. She saw a friend. A partner. And for the first time in her life, she saw herself as someone who could be both Jean Grey and the Phoenix—without fear, without chains.

"Thank you," Jean repeated, this time with a strength in her voice she hadn't had before. "You’ve given me my life back."

—

The moment the last of the chains disintegrated, Jean’s consciousness jolted back into her body. Her body, as if it had been suffocating for an eternity, drew in a jagged breath. Her heart pounded, but this time, it wasn’t from fear—it was from power. The Phoenix Force surged within her like a wildfire breaking free, yet there was no panic, no madness. It was no longer an enemy to her, but a part of her very soul, an echo that reverberated from the deepest, most sacred parts of her.

Jean’s eyes snapped open, the world around her taking on a brighter clarity. The weight of the power that had once threatened to overwhelm her was now… tempered. Controlled. A hum of energy coursed through her veins, making her feel invincible, and for the first time in her life, whole.

The wards around her—brilliant spheres of energy shaped like sacred Mandalas—dissipated, their glow dimming as the last of their protective magic faded. Each pattern seemed to dissolve like embers scattering into the air, leaving only the softest trail of light behind them, as if giving their final blessing.

Harry stood beside her, a rock of steady calm amidst the charged atmosphere. His hand was still extended, palm hovering close to her, his fingertips just brushing the edge of her aura. His presence, ever-present and reassuring, felt like an anchor to Jean—grounding her.

“Jean,” Harry’s voice was low and soft, the words almost a whisper against the deep silence that hung in the room. “You did it.”

Jean blinked, the first traces of a smile pulling at her lips. Her eyes—green fire glowing faintly—met his, and she could feel the warmth of his belief in her. The Phoenix inside her felt like an extension of her soul, her mind now its master, not its prisoner. It no longer screamed for dominance; it existed with her, an ally instead of a force of destruction. She took a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs as the fire within her settled. The chaos had stopped.

But beneath the calm, a shadow lingered—a tension coiling tight in her chest, stirring something darker, something that couldn't be ignored.

As the protective wards faded completely, the figures of the others began to emerge from the ethereal light. Lily Potter stepped forward, her face a portrait of concern mixed with motherly warmth. She stood tall and confident, with an air of command that could freeze anyone in their tracks, but there was an undeniable softness in her gaze as she looked between Jean and Harry. Andromeda Tonks, her sharp features framed by strands of dark hair, followed close behind, her eyes studying Jean with a careful intensity, the same watchfulness she’d always carried when protecting her family.

The Ancient One stood beside them, her timeless gaze unwavering, emanating calm strength. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a subtle nod of acknowledgment toward Harry, who had shared the burden of guiding Jean through this journey.

Charles Xavier was the next to approach, his footsteps measured, and Hank McCoy was a silent presence beside him. The weight of their gazes on Jean was palpable, though it was Charles who Jean found herself fixating on. His face was a mixture of relief and caution, a battle between pride for her achievement and something else… guilt.

“Jean, Harry,” Lily said softly, her voice rich with concern, but tinged with a note of gentle authority. “Are you both all right?”

Jean’s eyes flicked to Xavier for only a moment, and that’s when the chill descended upon her—like a freezing gust of wind seeping into her bones. Xavier’s gaze locked with hers, and a strange tension hummed between them. She could see it in his eyes, the mixture of warmth and regret—but something was missing. Trust. Trust she had once given so freely, now shattered.

"I’m fine," Jean’s voice was steady, though the undertones of something more—something unspoken—echoed within her words. She stood slowly, the power within her humming softly, but it no longer threatened to burn her alive. She felt grounded, in control, but there was a disquiet lingering in the edges of her mind. The Phoenix was calm, but her thoughts were anything but.

Charles moved toward her, concern etched into his features. “Jean, what you’ve done—what we’ve done—this is a step forward. The Phoenix is a dangerous force, but I’ve always believed you could control it.”

Jean’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a tight line. “Control it?” Her voice rang with quiet fury. She shook her head slowly, the anger building inside her. “You locked me away in my own mind, Charles. You built those psychic barriers to trap me. You kept me from feeling anything. You made me think I was insane.”

A wave of silence swept through the room, and even the Phoenix Force pulsed uneasily within her at the words. It was as though a piece of her soul—her trust, her very sense of self—had been shattered.

Charles' face faltered, guilt flashing across his features like lightning. His voice was strained, yet still tinged with the gentle authority that had once comforted her. “Jean, I did it to protect you. To protect the world from the Phoenix’s power. You weren’t ready to face it. I couldn’t let you…”

“You couldn’t let me,” Jean repeated, her voice barely a whisper, but the words were like a knife to Charles. “You couldn’t let me choose.”

Her chest rose and fell with each breath, her anger and hurt mingling in a tangled, fiery mass within her. She was no longer a fragile, vulnerable girl lost in the chaos of the Phoenix—no, she was Jean Grey, the full force of the Phoenix now part of her, and she would choose her path. No one else would decide for her.

The tension in the room thickened. Andromeda glanced at Lily, her gaze flicking to Charles, uncertainty painted across her features. Hank, ever the calm and collected presence, remained silent but clearly uneasy with the growing conflict.

Lily, sensing the fracture in the room, stepped forward, her voice soothing yet firm. “Jean,” she said, her tone more authoritative than before, though it still held the warmth of a mother who would never abandon her. “What Charles did, he did out of fear. But it wasn’t just fear for you. It was fear for the world. The Phoenix Force, in the wrong hands, is destructive.”

Jean’s green eyes flared for a moment, the flames within them intensifying. “I am the wrong hands?” she asked, her voice dangerously low.

“No,” Lily said firmly, taking a step closer. “No, Jean. You are not. But even the strongest of us need time to heal and understand their power.”

Jean blinked, taking a shaky breath. Her heart pounded in her chest, and the fire within her momentarily stilled. She wasn’t sure if she could forgive what had been done to her, but she could understand. For the first time, she allowed herself to see Charles, not just as the mentor she had once trusted, but as a man who had made a decision out of love and fear—however misguided it had been.

Jean’s eyes shifted back to Charles. “I deserved to know,” she whispered, the words a painful admission, “I deserved to know what was inside me.”

Charles nodded slowly, his gaze softening, the guilt still palpable. “I’m sorry, Jean. I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

For a moment, everything was still. Then, slowly, Jean’s gaze softened, her expression faltering as she looked at the people around her. Harry’s unwavering presence beside her felt like the only thing holding her together.

“I understand,” she murmured quietly, her voice barely audible. “But I’ll never be your prisoner again.”

In that moment, the pieces of Jean’s fractured world began to reform. The Phoenix Force, once an uncontrollable tempest, now settled with a sense of peace, and with Harry by her side, she felt stronger than she ever had before. Even with the weight of betrayal lingering in the air, she knew one thing for certain: she was free.

—

The room was heavy with a silent tension, the kind that could suffocate even the bravest of souls. Jean Grey stood before them, her presence electric, her aura glowing with the power of the Phoenix Force. Her eyes burned with a fiery intensity that seemed to radiate from her very core, yet behind that intensity was something else—a wariness, a need for control that she hadn’t yet found. The Phoenix was a part of her now, yes, but it was still a force of unimaginable chaos, and she had only just begun to understand it.

The Ancient One, ever calm and serene, broke the silence. Her voice was like a whisper of wind, carrying centuries of wisdom, yet it cut through the tension like a blade.

“Jean,” the Ancient One began, her eyes fixed on the young woman, “the Phoenix Force is a power unlike any you have known. It is a part of you, yes, but it is also far more. Until you understand it fully, until you learn to control it, you must separate yourself from the distractions of this place.”

Jean’s brows furrowed, her expression one of confusion and disbelief. “You want me to leave the Institute?” she asked, her voice steady but the undercurrent of emotion still pulsing beneath.

The Ancient One nodded, her gaze unflinching. “Kamar-Taj is where you will learn. It is a place of enlightenment, where you will be free from the weight of your past, free to learn what it means to wield this power. You cannot do that here, Jean. You need to be in a place where you can learn to master what has awakened inside you.”

Jean looked to Charles Xavier, her mentor and father figure, standing at the far side of the room. His face was tight with frustration, and his posture rigid with a sense of ownership over the young woman who had once been his student.

“Absolutely not,” Xavier said, his voice firm, though tinged with an edge of disbelief. “Jean is not leaving. She’s part of the Institute. She’s family. I’ve spent years helping her control her powers, and now you want her to just… leave? No. I won’t allow it.”

The tension in the room thickened, and Harry stood to the side, observing. The weight of the situation was palpable. He had seen Jean struggle with her powers before, seen the pain and the destruction that came with the force she now carried. He knew, perhaps better than anyone, what it was like to struggle with something so immense. The Phoenix was dangerous, yes—but it was also a part of her, something she had to learn to wield. And he, too, would be with her, no matter what.

“Charles,” the Ancient One said calmly, yet her words carried an undeniable authority, “I understand your attachment to Jean. But the Phoenix is a force beyond anything you can control, beyond anything your methods can contain. You’ve tried to help her, yes, but you cannot contain the fire inside her. Not anymore. Kamar-Taj is the only place where she will find the training she needs to truly understand herself.”

Xavier’s gaze snapped to Jean, his telepathic abilities searching her mind for any trace of doubt, any sign of uncertainty. But all he found was the same resolve he had seen in her before—stronger now, but no less determined.

Jean met his eyes, her expression softening, but only just. “I’m not asking permission, Charles,” she said quietly, though there was an unmistakable sense of finality in her voice. “I need this. I need to go to Kamar-Taj. I need to understand this power, and I need to do it on my own terms. I can’t stay here and keep pretending that this—” she gestured vaguely around the room, “—this is enough anymore.”

Xavier’s face twisted with pain. “You don’t have to leave,” he said, his voice raw. “Jean, please. I’ve spent my life helping you, guiding you, teaching you. You don’t have to walk away from all of this.”

Jean shook her head slowly. “You’ve been trying to protect me, Charles. But you can’t protect me from myself. Not anymore.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Xavier stood there, torn between the mentor he had always been and the father figure he had come to see himself as. The weight of his failure was heavy in his chest, and he knew, deep down, that Jean was right. She had outgrown him in a way he hadn’t been prepared for.

Hank McCoy, ever the intellectual, stepped forward, his blue furred form tense with the gravity of the moment. “Charles,” he said, his voice tinged with both reason and concern, “as difficult as this is to accept, we have to acknowledge that Jean’s powers are no longer something we can handle here. The Phoenix Force is far beyond our ability to control. If she stays here, it will consume her. Kamar-Taj is the only place where she can receive the training she needs.”

Andromeda Tonks, standing beside Harry, folded her arms, her expression sharp and calculating. “It’s not just about control,” she added with a knowing smirk. “It’s about understanding. If anyone can help her with that, it’s the Ancient One. I may not agree with the idea of her leaving, but I know when to trust the wisdom of someone who’s seen far more than any of us.”

Jean turned to the Ancient One, the fire in her eyes dimming just slightly. “I’m ready,” she said softly, the weight of her decision sinking in. “I have to be. For me. For the Phoenix.”

The Ancient One smiled, a small, knowing smile that held both reassurance and understanding. “Then it is decided. You will go to Kamar-Taj, Jean. And you will learn, not just how to control the Phoenix, but how to be the Phoenix.”

Jean took a deep breath, the weight of her choice settling in her chest. She knew that the road ahead would be difficult, that she would face unimaginable challenges. But she also knew that this was the only way to truly understand herself—and the Phoenix—on her own terms.

As the silence stretched on, Harry stepped forward, his presence steady and unwavering. He didn’t need to say anything—his quiet support was more than enough. He would be with her, every step of the way.

“You’re not alone in this, Jean,” he said softly, his voice low but filled with conviction. “We’ll face this together. Whatever comes next.”

Jean’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes finding his and holding them for a moment. And in that quiet exchange, Harry knew—just as Jean did—that they were stronger together, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

Lily Potter, ever the calm presence, moved toward Jean, her warm smile lighting up her face. “I’ll help you pack,” she offered gently, her voice carrying the same soothing, maternal tone it always did. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Andromeda, ever the pragmatist, nodded sharply. “You’ve made your decision, Jean,” she said, her voice cutting through the lingering tension. “Just remember that not everything that burns is not meant to consume you.”

With that, the room began to shift, as if the air itself was settling after the storm. And though the road ahead was uncertain, one thing was clear: Jean’s journey had only just begun.

—

The Stark Workshop, a towering monument of cutting-edge technology and precision, echoed with the steady rhythm of machinery at work. The metallic scent of freshly forged alloys mixed with the cool, sterile air. Tony Stark stood, clad in a pair of sleek black gloves, his eyes locked on the holographic projection of his soon-to-be Iron Man armor. His fingers hovered just above the console, gently swiping across the air to adjust the colors—the red deepening to a shade reminiscent of fire, the gold a rich, brilliant hue. Each tweak was deliberate, but the excitement in Tony's eyes made it clear: this wasn’t just engineering. This was art.

Howard Stark, arms crossed and watching his son from a few feet away, leaned against a workbench, an amused yet slightly exasperated look on his face. The sharp, graying hair at his temples caught the light as he raised an eyebrow at Tony's work, a mixture of pride and skepticism warring in his gaze.

"Let me get this straight," Howard said, his voice smooth but tinged with humor. "You want your Iron Man suit to look like it just walked out of a nightclub? Red and gold, Tony? What is this, a Christmas special?"

Tony didn’t even glance at him. His focus was unwavering, but the smirk was audible in his voice as he responded, "Hey, Christmas suits are classic, Dad. Besides, red’s for the flare and gold’s for the ‘I’m too cool for you’ factor. You wouldn't understand. It’s got pizzazz."

Howard’s lips twitched, his amusement barely contained. "Pizzazz? Really? What’s next? A suit that plays jazz while you save the world? Maybe you’ll wear a fedora and call it a 'lifestyle choice.'"

Tony finally looked up from the hologram, meeting his father's gaze. "Dad, I’m revolutionizing superhero fashion here. Trust me, it’ll be a hit. Look at me—I’m an icon in the making."

Howard’s grin was sly, almost fatherly in its fondness. "Sure, Tony. As long as the ‘pizzazz’ doesn’t get in the way of the actual fighting part of being a hero, I’ll let you keep it. But don't get too cocky. A shiny suit doesn't always mean effective combat."

Tony shrugged, his fingers still dancing across the interface. "That's where you're wrong. This suit’s got more tech than the Pentagon, and I've got an army of AI at my back. It's about blending power with style. A little showmanship never hurt anyone, right?"

At that, a soft, almost musical whirring sound resonated from the far side of the workshop. The hologram of J.A.R.V.I.S. flickered to life, its blue-tinted outline shimmering against the ambient lights of the room. The smooth, British-accented voice of their AI creation, now a near-constant presence in Tony’s life, filled the space.

"Indeed, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. said, his tone calm and perfectly calculated. "In terms of aesthetics, the red and gold coloring scheme is operational. I’ve completed an analysis of the design—both in terms of appearance and structural integrity. The suit will be as durable as it is striking."

Howard watched as J.A.R.V.I.S. provided a full 3D rotation of the suit, the hologram rotating fluidly in the air, offering Tony an almost godlike view of his creation from all angles. Howard raised an eyebrow, glancing at Tony. "Well, look at that. J.A.R.V.I.S. seems to think it’ll work. How do you feel about that?"

Tony flashed a grin, his hand still poised over the holographic controls. "I feel like J.A.R.V.I.S. is my only competent partner here. But hey, it's nice to know the suit isn’t just a pretty face."

"Indeed, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. chimed in, voice dripping with dry wit. "I am, of course, capable of more than simply making things look pretty. I've enhanced the repulsor systems and made the armor plating lighter, but still considerably stronger. As for the propulsion—well, I’d say it's nearly as fast as your last few hasty escapes."

Tony smirked again. "Fast enough for the press to snap pictures of my grand entrance? Excellent."

Howard cleared his throat, stepping forward to inspect the design. "Alright, Tony. You’re getting carried away again. You’ve got style down, but let’s talk substance. The suit’s gotta hold up in combat. You can’t just rely on flashy colors and fancy tech. What about Rhodey’s suit? What’s his get-up looking like?"

Tony turned to another hologram, calling up the design for his friend and fellow soldier, James "Rhodey" Rhodes. The suit flickered into view, a darker, more utilitarian design. Tony’s fingers danced across the interface, pulling up additional features.

"I was thinking more versatility," Tony said, adjusting the armor's plating. "He needs something for all those ‘army-style’ missions. Maybe heavier plating, better stabilization in flight, and a few tricks up his sleeve for the covert stuff."

Howard leaned in closer, examining the details. "He’ll need more than that. You can’t just add extra armor and expect it to work. Make sure the mobility is there, Tony. You don’t want him running in slow motion while bullets bounce off him. Balance is key."

Tony rolled his eyes, half-laughing. "Come on, Dad. I’m not that reckless. I know better than to give him a walking tank. I’m just thinking we upgrade the repulsors, maybe add some kind of adaptive camouflage system for sneaky missions. You know, make Rhodey the most impossible-to-find guy in the room."

J.A.R.V.I.S. interjected, "The camouflage system would require a specialized cloaking module. While the technology is still in its prototype stage, I can integrate it with some minor adjustments. I believe it will make the suit more... clandestine."

Tony nodded, giving J.A.R.V.I.S. a thumbs up. "Good thinking, J.A.R.V.I.S. Let’s make him disappear, literally."

Howard looked from Tony to the hologram, his expression shifting. "Alright, just don’t get too cute with it. You're building a suit for battle, not a walking illusion."

"Got it, Dad. Battle-ready and flashy. No problem," Tony responded, flashing a mischievous grin.

J.A.R.V.I.S. continued, "Additionally, I’ve upgraded the thrusters to allow for greater acceleration. The added weight from the armor will be counterbalanced with advanced stabilizers to maintain both flight and agility. For both suits."

Tony clapped his hands together. "Alright, that’s what I like to hear. We’re just about there."

Howard watched his son with a mixture of admiration and caution. "Don’t get cocky, Tony. This is a big leap. But, if anyone can pull it off, it’s you."

Tony raised an eyebrow, leaning back, a satisfied grin on his face. "Well, Dad, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling pretty good about this one. Let’s just say, we’re about to revolutionize the entire industry. Again."

Howard sighed, shaking his head but unable to hide the pride in his eyes. "Just remember, son—when you start changing the world, don’t forget to leave a little room for the rest of us to catch up."

J.A.R.V.I.S. chimed in, "Sir, the final calibrations are complete. Shall I initiate power core activation?"

Tony turned, his eyes alight with excitement, and nodded. "Let’s do it. Fire up the engine, J.A.R.V.I.S."

The workshop hummed with a new intensity as the final calibration began, the future of Stark tech now just within reach. The suit was almost ready. The world, as Tony Stark knew it, was about to change.

Chapter 58: Chapter 57

The room Jean shared with Kitty and Rogue was a mix of organized chaos—clothes half-folded, books stacked haphazardly, and trinkets scattered across the desk. The faint smell of lavender from the small potpourri pouch Jean kept by the window was the only thing that still felt peaceful. But for Jean, everything in the room felt suffocating now, and she was moving quickly, packing her things with a sense of urgency that made her almost seem like a different person.

Kitty was perched on the edge of the bed, folding Jean’s clothes with an almost military precision, her brows furrowed in concern. “Are you sure about this, Jean? I mean, Kamar-Taj? That’s a whole different world.” She bit her lip, folding another sweater before looking up at her friend. “I don’t know… it’s a lot. You’re sure you don’t wanna stay? Or at least talk to us more about it?”

Jean glanced at Kitty, her gaze intense, like she was processing something deeper than the words being spoken. “I need to do this, Kit. I’ve tried to fit in here—tried to make peace with what I am, but I can’t ignore it anymore. The Phoenix, everything—Xavier’s blocks, his secrets... it’s too much to carry.” She sighed, her voice cracking just slightly as she picked up a framed photo of the X-Men team, her fingers brushing over it. “I need to go where I can actually find the answers. Not live in the shadows of everyone else’s decisions.”

Rogue, who had been leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, finally spoke up, her Southern drawl thick with emotion. “Sugar, I get it. I really do. But that doesn’t make it any easier, y’know? We’ve been through a lot together, and now you’re just... leaving.” Her eyes softened, despite her tough exterior, and she stepped forward. “I can’t pretend like I’m not gonna miss ya. Hell, we all will.”

Jean stopped packing for a moment, staring at Rogue. Her expression was firm, but there was a trace of something else—something more vulnerable, something she didn’t often let people see. “I know, Rogue. Believe me, it hurts to leave. But I don’t know what else to do. It’s not just about the Phoenix anymore. It’s about finding my own path, without all the secrets and manipulation.” She didn’t meet Rogue’s eyes, instead focusing on her bags. “If I stay, I’ll keep pretending it’s all okay. I won’t be able to stop feeling like I’m being used, like I don’t have control over my own life.”

Kitty bit her lip and hesitated for a moment before she stood up, walking over and pulling Jean into a tight hug. “You don’t have to do this alone, though, Jean. You’ve always got us. You know that, right?”

Jean returned the hug, though her arms were stiff. “I know. But I need to figure this out by myself. I need time to understand who I really am, without being someone’s experiment or their secret weapon.” She pulled back, her eyes meeting Kitty’s with determination. “I need to learn what’s inside me, Kitty. All of it. Without anyone else’s interference.”

Rogue gave a soft laugh, one that held both sadness and acceptance. “Hell, ya better come back and tell us all about it, Jean. Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ you disappear without a word.”

Jean gave her a weak smile. “I won’t disappear. I’ll come back, I promise. But I can’t stay here. Not yet.”

The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. A knock on the door quickly followed, and before anyone could respond, Scott Summers’ voice rang through the room, frantic but controlled. “Jean, we need to talk. Please.”

Kitty exchanged a glance with Rogue, who raised an eyebrow, then both girls quickly stood up. Kitty gave Jean one last hug. “We’ll be right outside if you need us, okay? Just... take care of yourself.”

Jean nodded, swallowing hard, her throat tight. She managed a weak smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Thanks, guys."

As they stepped out, Jean could hear the door softly click behind them, and she stood still for a moment, gathering her thoughts before facing Scott. She could already feel the tension building.

The door creaked open, and there he stood—Scott Summers, his jaw clenched, the ruby-tinted glasses perched on his nose. His tall frame filled the doorway, his posture stiff, and there was a mix of concern and frustration in his eyes. “Jean,” he said, his voice a little too rough, “please just listen to me for a second. We can fix this. You don’t have to leave.”

Jean turned to face him, crossing her arms tightly. Her gaze was unwavering, a challenge in her eyes. “Scott, we’ve been through this. You don’t get it. I can’t stay here. Not with what’s happening inside me. Not with all the things Xavier’s been hiding from me. The blocks, the manipulation—it’s all too much.”

Scott’s hands clenched at his sides. “Jean, the Professor’s only tried to help you. He—”

Jean cut him off with a sharp gesture. “You don’t get it. He’s been holding me back, Scott. He’s been lying to me. Keeping things from me like I’m some kind of experiment. I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. I need answers, and I’m not going to find them here.”

Scott’s voice broke, though he tried to hide it behind his usual intensity. “Jean, you can’t just run away from this. You’re not alone! We can work through it, together.” He took a step toward her, but she didn’t move, standing her ground with the same intensity.

“I’m not running away from you,” Jean said, her voice almost gentle now, but still resolute. “I’m running toward something that might help me understand myself. I don’t trust the Professor anymore. I don’t trust this place.” She looked down for a moment, her expression softening ever so slightly. “I’m not abandoning you, Scott. I just need time. I need to figure out what this Phoenix Force really is and how to control it.”

Scott stepped back, as if her words had physically pushed him away. “So this is it? You’re just leaving? Without even giving us a chance to fix things?” His voice was tight, and there was something more vulnerable beneath the anger.

Jean’s voice softened, but her decision was clear. “I’m sorry, Scott. But this is something I have to do on my own.” She looked away, her eyes focused on the open suitcase in front of her. “I’ll always care about you. But I can’t stay. Not now.”

Scott stood there for a long moment, his face unreadable, before he finally spoke, his voice low. “If this is really what you want... then I won’t stop you. But don’t think you can just walk away from this. Don’t think I’ll forget what you’re doing.”

Jean didn’t look back as she zipped up the last of her bags. “You won’t have to forget, Scott. I’ll carry this with me, too.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Jean let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She stood still for a moment, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag as she prepared to take her first step on the journey she knew she had to take alone.

Outside, Kitty, Rogue, and Kurt waited in silence, their faces etched with concern, but also a quiet understanding.

Kurt broke the silence first, his German accent thick with emotion. “Do you think she’ll be okay?” His voice cracked slightly.

Rogue sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “She’s gonna be fine, Kurt. Jean’s tougher than she lets on. She’s always been.”

Kitty squeezed Kurt’s shoulder, her voice calm but filled with sadness. “Yeah. She just needs time. We all go through stuff like this.”

Rogue nodded, but her gaze lingered on the door. “She’ll come back when she’s ready. And when she does, we’ll be here. Always.”

And with that, they waited—silent, patient, and ready to be there for Jean when she returned.

—

The sun’s early light streamed through the large windows of Jean’s room, casting long shadows across the bare floor. The last remnants of her things had been packed away, leaving the space feeling emptier than it ever had before. Jean stood in the middle of the room, her gaze fixed on the suitcase at her feet, her fingers absentmindedly brushing over a photo of the X-Men she had left behind. Each passing second felt like an eternity, the decision weighing heavily on her chest.

The sound of footsteps broke her reverie, soft but deliberate. She turned, expecting the familiar faces of her friends, the ones she was leaving behind. Her heart twisted at the thought.

First, it was Rogue, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. The sharpness of her Southern drawl cut through the silence. "Well, sugar, looks like this is it." Rogue’s voice was thick with emotion, but she kept it steady, trying to match Jean’s own resolve. "I reckon I’m gonna miss ya, darlin’." She stepped forward, her usual sass taking a backseat as she pulled Jean into a tight embrace. "Just promise me, ya won’t forget us. You may be goin' off on your own, but we’re always gonna be here for ya, okay?"

Jean’s throat tightened as she held onto Rogue, the scent of her perfume—sweet and faintly floral—filling her senses. "I promise, Rogue. I won’t forget. I’ll be back when I figure things out."

Rogue gave her a final squeeze, pulling away with a weak smile. "Y’know where to find us. Don’t be a stranger, ya hear?"

Jean nodded, grateful for the gesture. Next was Kitty, her eyes already glassy as she stood a few feet away, her arms hugging herself tightly. "Hey, you," Jean said softly, forcing a light tone. "You’re not gonna give me a lecture, are you?"

Kitty shot her a small, half-hearted grin, but the sadness behind it was palpable. "Nah, Jean," she replied, her voice catching a little. "No lectures. Just... just be careful, okay? Whatever you find, just know we’ve got your back, no matter where you go. You know we’re always gonna be your friends." Her words held a quiet power, the sincerity in her voice making Jean’s heart ache even more.

Jean took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. "I know, Kitty. You’re always gonna be a part of me. I’ll carry you with me."

Kitty quickly closed the distance between them, wrapping Jean in a fierce hug. No words were needed as they held each other for a moment longer, the bond between them stronger than anything that could be put into words.

Kurt was next, his blue fur and tail twitching nervously as he shuffled in, glancing at the floor before meeting her gaze. "Jean, I... I’m not good with this kind of thing." His thick German accent made every word sound weighted, though his gentle eyes betrayed his true feelings. "You’re one of my closest friends. And even if we don’t see each other for a while, I hope... I hope this journey helps you find what you need."

Jean’s eyes softened, the sorrow mixing with understanding. "I know, Kurt. You've been there for me, always. Thank you. I’ll never forget it."

He looked up at her, swallowing hard, before quickly pulling her into an awkward, but heartfelt hug. "Just don’t be a stranger, okay?" he murmured as he pulled away, his tail flicking behind him.

Jean chuckled lightly, wiping away a stray tear, before turning to leave. But there was still one more goodbye to make. Scott.

Scott was standing near the end of the hall, his shoulders tight, his posture rigid. His usual aura of control seemed fragile today, his body language betraying just how much this was affecting him. When Jean approached, he didn’t turn to face her at first. Not yet.

"Scott," Jean said softly, her voice trembling slightly, "I need to do this. Please understand."

Scott’s response was slow, deliberate, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. When he finally turned to face her, his voice was thick with emotion. "I don’t understand, Jean. I don’t understand how you can just... leave. Like this." His words were heavy, like he had been carrying them for too long. "You’re making a mistake. A huge one."

Jean’s heart broke at the sight of him. His eyes, usually so full of confidence and determination, were now filled with doubt and hurt. She took a deep breath, steadying herself before replying. "Scott, I’m not leaving because of you. I’m leaving because I have to understand myself. I need to find answers, and I can’t do that here. Not with the Phoenix. Not while I’m still caught in the chaos of it all."

Scott’s face flushed with frustration, his brow furrowing as he stepped toward her, his voice rising. "You don’t have to be alone, Jean! The team, me—" His words faltered, and the pain in his eyes was so raw it made her chest ache. "Don’t you trust us anymore?"

Jean swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "I trust you, Scott. But I need to do this on my own. I need to confront this, for myself. Please understand."

There was a long pause as Scott seemed to wrestle with his emotions. His shoulders slumped, and finally, he nodded, albeit with a sharp edge to his words. "If this is what you want, Jean... I can’t stop you. But... just don’t forget what we had."

"I won’t," she replied softly, the pain evident in her own voice. "Goodbye, Scott."

Turning away, Jean felt the weight of that final goodbye in every step she took, even as she exited the hall. In the foyer, Logan was waiting, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He took a long drag from his cigarette, his eyes narrowing as he regarded her.

"Jean," he rumbled, his gruff voice steady but filled with unspoken concern. "You sure about this?"

Jean met his gaze, nodding firmly. "I am, Logan. I need to find my own way. I can’t let the Phoenix keep controlling me. It’s time to take control of my own fate."

Logan exhaled, flicking the cigarette butt to the floor. "Hell, I don’t get all that mystical mumbo jumbo, but you’ve got the strength to figure it out." His tone softened, just a little, as he stepped toward her. "Just don’t get lost in all of it. And don’t be a stranger, kid."

Jean managed a small smile, stepping into his embrace. "Thanks, Logan. I won’t forget any of you."

As she stepped out into the cool morning air, Jean couldn’t help but notice Charles Xavier watching her from the balcony above. His gaze was steady, his expression neutral, but she could feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on her. He didn’t try to stop her. He didn’t chase her down. He simply watched.

Outside in the courtyard, Harry stood waiting for her, his red and gold armor gleaming brightly in the sunlight. The Cloak of Levitation swirled around him like it was alive, giving him an almost ethereal presence. His green eyes met hers as she approached, and a small, reassuring smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Ready?" Harry asked, his voice steady, calm, and filled with that subtle confidence she had come to rely on.

Jean nodded, taking a deep breath, feeling the weight of her decision but also the spark of something new, something she could shape. "Yeah. I think it’s time."

Harry extended his hand to her, and without hesitation, Jean took it. Together, they walked toward the horizon, her future still uncertain, but in her own hands now. As the mansion loomed behind them, Jean knew she was ready to face whatever lay ahead in Kamar-Taj—and beyond.

—

The swirling vortex of the portal closed with a soft, otherworldly hum, leaving Jean Grey and Harry Potter standing in the study of Kamar-Taj. The air felt alive with ancient magic, and the room itself seemed to pulse with an energy far beyond anything Jean had ever encountered. Bookshelves stacked with faded scrolls, mystical texts, and strange, gleaming relics filled the walls, while the air shimmered with an almost imperceptible hum of power.

Jean's breath caught as her gaze moved across the study, her emerald eyes wide with awe. It was nothing like the Institute, or even the bustling streets of New York she knew so well. This place felt... ancient, beyond time, as though the weight of the world’s knowledge was contained within its walls. She felt small but not insignificant.

"Wow," she whispered, a smile tugging at her lips as she turned to Harry. "This place is incredible. It’s like... stepping into a living history book."

Harry grinned, adjusting his red and gold cloak. "You get used to it, but yeah. Kamar-Taj has a way of making everything seem a little... more, doesn’t it?"

Jean chuckled, but there was a nervous edge to it. The magnitude of her arrival—of what was happening—was sinking in. Harry’s presence was the only thing that steadied her as she walked further into the room.

At the far end of the study stood the Ancient One, a figure so ageless she might have been carved from the very stone of Kamar-Taj itself. She radiated an aura of calm and power, her silver hair flowing like liquid mercury, her golden robes sweeping across the floor in graceful folds. She turned to greet them with a gaze that was both sharp and knowing, as though she could see every thought Jean had ever had.

"Welcome, Jean Grey," the Ancient One said, her voice like the softest chime, yet carrying the weight of centuries. "I trust your journey here was... enlightening?"

Jean swallowed the lump in her throat, her nerves rising again despite herself. She had met the Ancient One only the day before, but every encounter with this woman seemed to stir something deep within her—a sense of awe, but also a quiet fear. After all, Jean wasn’t just any mutant; she was the Avatar of the Phoenix Force. She had no idea what that truly meant.

"It was... a lot," Jean said, her voice a little shaky as she took in the study. "Fascinating, though. I never imagined a place like this existed."

The Ancient One smiled, a soft curve of her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Few can, Jean. Few understand the vastness of the multiverse. But you are here now, and there is much to discuss."

"Tea?" the Ancient One offered, gesturing toward the low table between them, where a delicate teapot steamed quietly. The soft, aromatic scent filled the room, rich and unfamiliar. The porcelain cups gleamed in the ambient light.

Jean hesitated for only a moment before nodding, her fingers curling around the cup as the Ancient One poured the tea with measured grace. The warmth of the liquid felt soothing against her skin, but the weight of what was to come still pressed heavily on her chest.

"I know this must feel overwhelming," the Ancient One said, taking a seat across from Jean. Her posture was serene, her presence unwavering. "But you have asked for answers, Jean. And the answers you seek begin with understanding the Phoenix Force itself."

Jean’s grip tightened on the cup as the memories flooded back—the overwhelming surge of power, the near destruction of her own mind, the feeling of being both herself and something else entirely. She had always known there was something deep inside her, but now she understood it wasn’t just power—it was the Phoenix.

"I’ve felt it," Jean said quietly, looking up at the Ancient One, her voice laced with a mix of awe and fear. "I’ve felt it before... when it overwhelmed me. It’s not just power. It’s like—like it’s me and yet not at the same time. I can’t control it."

The Ancient One studied her for a long moment, her eyes unwavering. "That is the nature of the Phoenix Force. It is both a part of you, and something much greater. It is primal, infinite, and it resides beyond the physical plane of existence. It is a cosmic entity—one of creation, destruction, and rebirth."

Jean shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "So what does that mean for me? I... I can’t even control my own powers as it is. How am I supposed to control something like that?"

The Ancient One's gaze softened, though her voice remained firm. "The Phoenix does not answer to the will alone. It is a force of nature. And when it bonds with an individual, that individual becomes its avatar—not its master. The true question, Jean, is not how you will control the Phoenix, but how you will balance it within yourself."

Jean frowned, trying to make sense of the words. "Balance?"

The Ancient One nodded slowly, sipping her tea with an elegance that seemed almost too deliberate. "The Phoenix Force is not inherently destructive. It is your perception of it that brings either creation or destruction. You must learn to balance the light and darkness within yourself. Only then will you understand the Phoenix."

Jean blinked, her thoughts swirling. Balance. It was always the balance she struggled with, ever since the first time she telekinetically broke down the walls of her own mind. Could it be as simple as that?

"But... how do I even begin to find that balance?" Jean’s voice cracked slightly, her vulnerability seeping through the otherwise composed exterior. "I’ve never been good at controlling my emotions, or my powers. How can I trust myself with something this... dangerous?"

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding her. "Hey, we’re all a little chaotic inside. But you’ve always managed to keep yourself together when it counts, Jean. You can do this. You just need to believe in yourself."

The Ancient One watched them for a moment, her expression inscrutable. "Harry is right. This is not about controlling the Phoenix; it is about learning to coexist with it. The teachings here at Kamar-Taj are not just about learning spells and incantations. They are about finding harmony within yourself. The Phoenix will not overwhelm you if you understand its purpose."

Jean inhaled deeply, feeling the warmth of the tea in her hands but also the weight of her destiny. It was clear that this journey wouldn’t be easy—if anything, it was just beginning. "So... Kamar-Taj will teach me to... coexist with it? To understand it?"

"Yes," the Ancient One said, her voice like a calm river flowing through Jean’s mind. "But it is not only the Phoenix Force you must learn to understand. You must first understand yourself—your fears, your desires, and your limitations. Only then will you be able to wield the Phoenix as it was meant to be wielded."

Jean's gaze shifted to the Ancient One, searching for reassurance, but she saw no easy answers. Still, something about the woman’s presence made her feel like perhaps, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t entirely alone in this fight.

"I’ve always been afraid of what I could become," Jean admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But maybe it’s time to face that fear."

The Ancient One nodded, her expression softening with approval. "The path ahead will be difficult, but you are ready. The first step is always the hardest. After that, the ground beneath you will begin to feel firmer with every step."

Jean closed her eyes for a moment, letting the weight of the moment wash over her. She didn’t have all the answers, and she might never fully understand what it meant to be the Avatar of the Phoenix Force, but here, now, with the guidance of the Ancient One and the support of Harry, she finally felt like she could take the next step.

"Okay," Jean said, her voice steadying. "I’m ready."

And in that moment, as the echoes of ancient magic hummed around them, Jean felt something inside her stir—something powerful, yet calming. Maybe she wasn’t running anymore. Maybe, just maybe, she was ready to embrace the Phoenix.

—

Harry leaned back in his seat, the weight of the conversation pressing against him. He could feel Jean’s curiosity growing as she processed everything the Ancient One had just said. The look on her face was one of both awe and confusion, a blend that reminded him of the time he first began to understand his own connection to forces far beyond his control.

"Before we dive into the Phoenix thing," Harry said, his voice breaking the silence with an easy, casual tone that belied the gravity of the situation. He gave Jean a pointed look, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "There’s something else I should mention."

Jean turned her head towards him, her blonde curls catching the light, her face drawn with confusion but intrigued. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice quiet yet strong, as if she was bracing for whatever might come next.

Harry adjusted himself in his seat, his red-and-gold cloak shifting slightly as he straightened. "I… have a connection to the Phoenix Force too," he said, leaning forward slightly, his golden-red eyes twinkling. "But not as deep as yours. At least, not yet."

Jean blinked, her bright green eyes widening in surprise. Her lips parted as she tried to process his words, but the usual skepticism that came with such extraordinary claims melted into a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "You?" she repeated, clearly trying to make sense of it. "How? I thought the Phoenix Force was… well, it's cosmic, right? Aren’t you—" Her voice trailed off, uncertain how to finish the thought.

Harry’s grin spread, more mischievous than self-assured. "Yeah, I get that a lot. But trust me, it’s not what you think. See, it’s all about timing and—" He paused, glancing at the Ancient One. "Magic."

"Magic?" Jean’s eyes narrowed slightly, clearly skeptical. "Like… real magic? Sorcery?"

"Exactly," Harry said, his tone relaxing a bit. "But not the kind you’d see in the sanctum here. My kind of magic is different. The wizarding world I come from—well, we don’t exactly do things the same way as your typical sorcerer. We've got our own rules, our own rituals, and let's be honest, they're a little more… unique."

The Ancient One’s lips quirked upward, a slight smile forming as she regarded Harry. Her posture remained calm, the weight of her years and wisdom evident in her serene expression. She said nothing, simply acknowledging his words with a quiet nod.

Harry turned back to Jean, his expression growing a little more serious. "Anyway, in my world, there’s this ritual called the Animagus Ritual. It’s an ancient spell—an incredibly difficult one—that allows a wizard to transform into an animal. But it’s not just about changing shape. It’s about becoming the animal. You’re in its body, but you still have your human mind. It’s not an easy thing to pull off."

Jean’s brow furrowed in thought. "Animagus? I’ve never heard of it," she said slowly. "What’s the catch?"

"Well," Harry said, leaning back again, "the catch is that it’s a hell of a process. Most wizards fail or take decades to master it. It takes a lot of dedication, and even more, a certain… depth of magical understanding."

Jean’s eyes brightened slightly, the wheels turning behind them. "So, you’re telling me… you can transform into an animal at will? Like, at any time?"

Harry smirked. "In theory, yes. But the process can be incredibly dangerous. My first time trying it? Yeah, I almost burned myself to a crisp." His tone lightened with humor, but then he grew more thoughtful. "But I wasn’t alone in that. That’s where the Phoenix Force came in."

Jean’s face remained a mask of curiosity, but her posture stiffened. "Wait… the Phoenix helped you?"

Harry met her gaze, his smile fading into something more serious. "Not directly. I was conducting an experiment—a magical one—trying to update the Animagus Ritual. Make it more… well, sorcerer-friendly, I guess. Anyway, I was struggling. I was about to hit my limit, and that’s when I felt it. A spark of power, something ancient and beyond anything I could comprehend. That’s when the Phoenix Force connected with me."

Jean blinked, her lips parting as she digested what he was saying. "So… this cosmic entity just—connected with you?"

"Yeah," Harry said, his voice soft but earnest. "It wasn’t like I suddenly saw the universe in a flash of light. It was more subtle, more personal. It was like an ember—just enough to light the fire. The Phoenix… she gave me a piece of herself, just an ember of her essence, to help me complete the transformation. And with that, I succeeded. It was still on me to make it work, but that ember made all the difference."

Jean's gaze softened with wonder, her green eyes reflecting a mix of awe and confusion. "And you think the Phoenix Force helped you just because you were trying to cast a spell?"

Harry shook his head. "Not just that. The Phoenix spoke to me. She told me I had a role to play, a responsibility. She said that I had to help you, Jean."

At the mention of her name, Jean tensed, her shoulders rigid as her gaze shot up to meet his. "Me?" Her voice was a mix of disbelief and something darker, something almost fearful. "How? What do you mean?"

Harry leaned in, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "You’re the one she’s chosen, Jean. The Phoenix Force is with you, but there’s more to it. Professor Xavier, he placed psychic barriers on you—chains, really. Chains that were never meant to hold you back. Those barriers are gone now, and you’re free. But the path to fully embracing the Phoenix, to becoming its Avatar… that’s yours to walk, and you don’t have to do it alone."

Jean’s eyes flared briefly with something intense, some internal struggle playing across her face. "But I’ve always struggled to control it. I—" She faltered, her voice laced with doubt. "I’m afraid of what the Phoenix can do to me."

Harry's voice softened as he placed a hand gently on her shoulder, a grounding presence in the face of her turmoil. "I get it, Jean. I really do. I was afraid too, at first. But you’ve already started to accept it—you’re not alone in this. You’ve got me. I’ve been there. And we’ll figure it out together, okay?"

Jean's face softened, the conflict still there, but something in Harry’s sincerity seemed to reassure her. She nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Thanks, Harry. For believing in me."

Harry gave her a half-grin, his eyes softening. "Always," he said, his voice low but full of certainty. "Now, let’s get started. This Avatar business won’t figure itself out on its own."

The Ancient One, who had been silently observing them, spoke then, her voice quiet yet filled with authority. "It is true, Jean Grey. You have much to learn. But you are ready. And Harry, his path has only just begun. You are both bound by forces far older than you realize."

Jean turned to the Ancient One, her green eyes shining with newfound resolve. "I don’t know if I’m ready. But I’ll try. I have to."

The Ancient One nodded, a small, approving smile crossing her face. "Then we begin."

And in that moment, it felt like the world shifted just slightly—the first step on a long journey that neither of them could have predicted. But together, they would face whatever came next.

Chapter 59: Chapter 58

Harry walked alongside Jean through the winding corridors of Kamar-Taj, his crimson and gold cloak flowing behind him with each exaggerated step. He gestured grandly as they passed students in various stages of magical practice, some floating effortlessly in mid-air, while others summoned elemental forces or bent time itself. The soft scent of incense filled the air, mixing with the faint hum of raw, untamed magic that seemed to pulse from the very walls of the ancient temple. Jean, still absorbing the weight of the world she’d entered, couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement as she watched students and teachers alike weaving spells with a skill and ease she could only dream of mastering.

“So, this is Kamar-Taj,” Harry said with a cheeky grin, his voice laced with playful pride. He threw his arms wide, as though unveiling the most magnificent secret. “Home to sorcerers, scholars, and some of the most stubborn people you’ll ever meet. Speaking of which,” he added, his smirk deepening, “it’s time you meet my best friend.”

Jean raised a skeptical eyebrow, the flicker of amusement evident in her eyes as her fiery red locks glinted in the light. “Best friend?” she asked, a teasing edge creeping into her voice. “Really? Should I be bracing myself?”

“Absolutely,” Harry replied with a dramatic flair, fully aware of the chaos that was sure to unfold. “He’s a gem, truly. Although,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “between you and me, he’s still convinced that he’s the victim of my educational moments.”

Jean rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “You mean pranks, right?”

“Tomato, tomahto,” Harry said with a shrug, his mischievous glint never leaving his eyes. “Don’t worry. Wong loves me.”

Jean couldn’t help but laugh, her unease melting away slightly. “Sure, he does.”

As they entered the grand library, Jean’s gaze swept over the immense collection of ancient tomes, scrolls, and artifacts that seemed to hum with arcane power. Shelves towered high above them, bending and curving in ways that defied traditional architecture, packed with countless texts. A few students wandered through the aisles, consulting scrolls or meditating in the midst of this treasure trove of knowledge. At the heart of this vast, holy place stood Wong, the Keeper of Knowledge and the Master of the Mystic Arts, a man who exuded quiet authority. His dark robes billowed around him as he methodically cataloged a series of mystical texts, his expression as implacable as ever.

“Ah, Wong!” Harry exclaimed, his voice carrying with an unmistakable note of over-the-top enthusiasm. “Just the man I wanted to see! I’ve brought someone for you to meet.” He gestured to Jean with exaggerated grandeur. “Jean Grey, meet Wong. Master of the Mystic Arts, Guardian of Sacred Knowledge, and, most importantly, my best friend.”

Wong glanced up from his work with a raised brow, his face impassive, before his gaze shifted to Jean. The corner of his lips twitched slightly, but his tone remained as level as always. “Jean Grey,” he said, nodding at her politely. “Welcome to Kamar-Taj.”

Jean gave him a respectful smile but felt the weight of his eyes upon her. She had heard of him, of course—the quiet, no-nonsense librarian and one of the most formidable sorcerers alive. She wasn’t sure if she was impressed or intimidated yet, but either way, she knew she would have to earn her place here. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Wong’s gaze flicked briefly to Harry, who was leaning against a shelf with an exaggerated casualness, an expression of mock innocence plastered across his face. “I’m sure it is,” Wong responded dryly, his voice smooth as silk but tinged with an edge of sarcasm. “And you’ll find that some of us here take that honor very seriously.”

Harry placed a hand over his chest in mock indignation, his eyes wide with exaggerated offense. “Wong! Is that shade I detect? Surely not directed at me, your most beloved best friend.”

Wong didn’t bother responding directly. He simply sighed and turned toward a nearby table. There, an enormous stack of books lay in disarray—so high that it seemed to challenge the very laws of gravity. Jean blinked in surprise, her green eyes wide. “You’re kidding, right?” she asked, voice tinged with disbelief. “All of these?”

Wong, without a flicker of emotion, lifted a few of the books, his arms never wavering under the weight. “The Ancient One has provided me with your reading list,” he said with a tone that brooked no argument. “These are the basics of mystic theory, energy manipulation, and, of course, the Phoenix Force. You’ll want to familiarize yourself with all of them. The knowledge contained here could save your life—or more likely, everyone else’s.”

Jean stared at the stack, her mouth agape. “All of them? Seriously?”

Wong didn’t hesitate. “Entirely.”

He spared a glance at Harry, who had pushed himself off the shelf and was now rubbing his hands together with the enthusiasm of a child in a candy shop. “You’d do well to take a lesson from her, Potter,” Wong said flatly, his eyes narrowing as he addressed Harry. “She hasn’t even started, and she’s already taking this more seriously than you ever have.”

Harry feigned shock, his hand clutching his chest as if wounded. “Wong, that cuts deep. I’ve already mastered half of the library.”

“Exactly,” Wong shot back, his arms crossing with unflinching precision. “You’ve mastered half, and still, you somehow find the time to wreak havoc.”

Jean looked between the two, incredulity written across her face. “So, you are a troublemaker, Harry.”

Harry’s smirk widened. “Troublemaker is such a strong word,” he said dismissively. “Think of me more as... an innovator. Someone who brings a bit of excitement to the day-to-day grind. You know, spice things up a bit.”

“Or someone who enchanted the Cloak of Levitation to tap dance during meditation class,” Wong said flatly, crossing his arms tighter across his chest, his eyes narrowing as he fixed Harry with an unwavering glare.

“Okay, that was funny,” Harry admitted, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve got to admit, it lightened the mood.”

Wong pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hope you plan to do better than that,” he said to Jean, his tone softer but still serious. “You’ll want to start with the book on top. It gives a comprehensive overview of the Phoenix Force and its nature. The rest will help you control your powers. At least, eventually.”

Jean nodded, trying to keep her focus on the task at hand, despite the sheer absurdity of everything around her. “Thank you. I’ll get started right away.”

Wong’s expression softened imperceptibly, his professional demeanor slipping just a fraction. “Good. And if you have any questions—”

“Ask me,” Harry interjected, sidling between them with a roguish grin. “I’m an excellent teacher. Rates are reasonable, too.”

Wong shot Harry a look so deadpan it could’ve killed. “Her questions should be directed to someone who won’t turn the lesson into a joke.”

“I would never!” Harry exclaimed, dramatically raising his hands in mock offense. “Well, almost never.”

Jean shook her head, chuckling despite herself. “I think I’ll take both of you up on your offer,” she said dryly. “For balance.”

Wong’s lips twitched in what could only be described as approval. “A wise decision,” he said, his tone giving way to the barest hint of warmth. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

As Wong turned to leave, Harry leaned toward Jean, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “See? Told you he loves me.”

Jean rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible, yet irresistible,” Harry replied with a wink, his grin widening. “Now, let’s get these books to your room. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you the secret Kamar-Taj trick for speed-reading.”

“Let me guess,” Jean said with a sly smile. “Magic?”

“Now you’re getting it,” Harry said, his grin almost too wide for his face as he led her out of the library, the towering stack of books in tow.

—

Harry grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and waved his hand. In an instant, a small, enchanted bag appeared in his palm. He handed it to Jean, who took it with a raised eyebrow. Her fingers brushed against the soft leather, and she watched as the bag seemed to stretch impossibly wide.

“What’s this?” Jean asked, turning the bag over in her hands, intrigued.

“This,” Harry said with an exaggerated flair, “is the Bag of Ever Expanding Space. It’s a life-saver when you’re dealing with ancient texts that weigh more than they have any right to. You’ll never have to leave a book behind again.”

Jean raised an eyebrow, impressed in spite of herself. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This... this is insane.”

Harry chuckled, clearly pleased with her reaction. “It’s all about bending the rules, Jean. I’m basically the king of bending rules. But hey, enough of that. I’ve got something better to show you.”

He motioned toward the exit, and Jean followed him down the winding corridors of Kamar-Taj, passing other sorcerers in various states of concentration. The air around them hummed with magic, and Jean could feel a pull in her chest, as though the very fabric of reality was vibrating in sync with her heartbeat. She was finally here, and it felt like home.

As they stepped into the large courtyard, Jean’s breath caught. The training grounds stretched out before them, a massive space filled with practitioners testing their powers. There were sparring duels where energy blasts collided in brilliant explosions of light. Other sorcerers manipulated elements—fire, water, and wind—with ease, and Jean could sense the swirling energy in the air, bending and twisting under their control.

Harry grinned at her wide-eyed look. “Welcome to the battlefield, Jean. This is where it gets real.”

Jean stood frozen for a moment, taking it all in. The sheer intensity of the energy around her made her pulse quicken. It was nothing like she had ever experienced before, and yet, it felt right. Powerful. She wanted to dive in, to test her limits.

“Harry, this is...” She trailed off, unable to find the words.

“I know,” Harry said with a smug grin. “It’s awesome, right? But hey, we’re not here just to gawk at the cool stuff. Come on, let’s meet some people who can teach you how to really use this power.”

Before Jean could respond, a voice boomed through the air, deep and filled with authority, yet somehow warm beneath the surface.

“Potter. I see you’ve managed to find your way back here.”

Jean’s gaze shifted to the man approaching them. He was tall, with dark skin, sharp features, and an aura of wisdom that radiated off him. His robes were a rich green and gold, and his expression was one of calm resolve, though there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes when he looked at Harry.

“Mordo!” Harry greeted him with a grin, raising his hand in an exaggerated salute. “How lovely to see you again. Still radiating that stern aura, I see.”

Mordo’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile, but he remained stoic. “Potter. Your theatrics are as exhausting as ever.”

Harry winked at Jean. “Trust me, he’s just a big softie. Just a little grumpy. He’s the one who taught me everything I know about using magic in combat. He’s strict, but fair... most of the time.”

Mordo turned his eyes to Jean then, his gaze assessing and precise. “You must be Jean Grey. A word of advice—don’t let Potter fill your head with nonsense. He’s a difficult student. Only his tenacity kept him from blowing himself up a dozen times over.”

Harry feigned indignation, crossing his arms. “I’m hurt, Mordo. I’ve only blown up half a dozen things in my time.”

Jean smirked, feeling her own grin tug at her lips. “I’m starting to see what Wong means when he talks about your ‘chaotic genius.’”

Mordo let out a breath that was half a sigh, half a chuckle. “Do not encourage him, Jean. The last thing we need is another disaster waiting to happen.”

Despite Mordo’s stern demeanor, Jean could feel the warmth in his words. He was trying to warn her, and she appreciated that. She gave him a nod. “I’ll keep that in mind, Master Mordo.”

With a slight nod of approval, Mordo gestured for them to follow him. “Come. I’ll show you how to use the Mystic Arts in battle. You must learn control, Jean. Power without discipline is nothing but chaos.”

Harry grinned at Jean as they walked alongside Mordo. “Don’t worry. He’s all tough love. He’ll teach you how to avoid ending up like me—the walking disaster. But he’s good. Really good.”

Jean couldn’t help but smile. She liked the dynamic between Harry and Mordo. It felt... real. Honest.

As they moved further into the training grounds, the sounds of magic filled the air—crackling energy, the clash of spells, and the hum of concentration. It was intoxicating, and Jean felt the familiar pull of the power within her.

Just then, the ground beneath them vibrated, and Jean felt the presence of another approaching. A tall figure emerged from the shadows, his robes dark and imposing. His eyes locked onto Jean immediately—sharp, calculating, as though he could see right through her.

“Master Kaecilius,” Harry greeted him, his voice slightly more subdued than it had been with Mordo. “Kaecilius is one of the most skilled energy manipulators around. If you want to learn how to control the more volatile aspects of magic, he’s the one to go to.”

Kaecilius studied Jean for a long moment, his intense gaze never wavering. “You’re the one with the Phoenix power,” he said, his voice smooth, yet tinged with something dangerous beneath the surface.

Jean met his gaze head-on, feeling the Phoenix stir inside her. She could feel its power thrumming just beneath the surface, an immense, uncontrollable force that terrified her at times. “That’s me,” she said, her voice steady.

Kaecilius gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Power like yours can be a gift, but it comes with a price. Too much power and it can consume you.”

Harry chuckled nervously. “See? He knows how to make an entrance. But he’s not wrong. Kaecilius here doesn’t sugarcoat things. If you can handle his lessons, you’ll be one of the strongest sorcerers alive.”

Kaecilius shot Harry a sharp look, but the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Potter, you talk too much.”

Jean gave Kaecilius a thoughtful look. “I understand the danger. I’ve faced the consequences of uncontrolled power before. I don’t plan to make the same mistake again.”

“Good,” Kaecilius said, his gaze softening just slightly. “Then let us begin. You will learn to control what you have, or you will lose it.”

Harry leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “And if you survive the lessons with him, you’ll be unstoppable. But hey, I’ll be here to make sure you don’t implode.”

Jean shot him a sly grin. “I’m beginning to think that might be a bad thing.”

Harry winked, his grin never fading. “Nah. You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.”

With that, Mordo and Kaecilius led them deeper into the training area, where Jean would begin her journey into mastering the Mystic Arts—where the boundaries of power and control would be tested like never before.

And for Harry, well... he was just happy to see the chaos continue.

—

Mordo and Kaecilius led Jean into a vast, open space within the Sanctum Sanctorum’s training grounds, the earth alive with subtle pulses of mystical energy. The air crackled with an almost tangible force, humming beneath her feet, vibrating through the ground and into her bones. Jean could feel it—a magic that seemed to flow through everything, resonating with her own powers, as if the two were inextricably linked.

The space was marked with several concentric rings of different symbols etched into the dirt, each one shimmering with its own arcane energy. Mordo’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and measured, as his gaze locked onto Jean.

"Jean," Mordo began, his voice rich with authority, “To wield the Mystic Arts, you must first understand the depths of your own abilities. Magic is not merely a tool; it is a part of who you are. And so are your powers. If you cannot control them, then they will control you." He spoke slowly, weighing each word, his eyes scrutinizing her every movement. "Control is essential. It is not enough to simply be strong. You must master it."

Jean squared her shoulders, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of resolve and defiance. She had faced far worse than Mordo’s scrutiny, and she wasn’t about to back down now. "I understand," she said firmly, her voice not wavering under the weight of his gaze.

Kaecilius, standing to the side, a dark figure shrouded in his flowing black robes, glanced over with a glimmer of cold amusement. "Let’s begin with something simple, something direct. Let us test your telekinetic abilities." His voice was smooth and calculated, like a serpent sizing up its prey. “Move that rock.”

With a subtle tilt of his head, Kaecilius gestured toward a massive boulder, its surface jagged and rough, sitting in the center of one of the rings. Jean followed his gaze, noting the weight of the challenge. This was no simple task—this was a test.

Without hesitation, Jean stepped forward, the hum of the mystical energy around her seeming to pulse in time with her own. She stood tall and centered, her fingers curling ever so slightly as she focused all of her attention on the boulder. A faint wind kicked up around her, swirling her hair as her power began to take shape.

Her eyes narrowed in concentration, her entire being attuned to the stone. With a single, fluid motion, the boulder lifted, the earth beneath it groaning in protest. It hovered, suspended in the air, as Jean’s telekinetic power swirled around it like an invisible storm. Her eyes glowed faintly with the energy she commanded, her movements graceful yet controlled, every flick of her wrist a deliberate gesture of mastery.

Kaecilius raised an eyebrow, watching the stone spin slowly, then faster, until it was a blur of motion, the ground quivering with the force of her power. Harry, standing off to the side with a smirk, watched with interest. "Not bad, Red. You’re definitely not lacking in the power department," he said, his voice tinged with both approval and teasing. "But let’s see if you can throw it without wrecking the place."

Jean’s lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. "I’m in control," she replied, her voice calm, though her eyes gleamed with an intensity that made it clear she was relishing the challenge. She flicked her wrist sharply, and with a sound like a sonic boom, the boulder shot through the air, its path a blur of raw kinetic force. It slammed into the distant wall with a deafening crash, sending up a plume of dust. The wall trembled but stood firm, unbroken.

Kaecilius' eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of admiration crossing his features. "Impressive," he murmured, though his tone remained clinical. "But remember: power is nothing without control. You have demonstrated strength, but can you harness it?"

Mordo, whose sharp eyes had been focused on Jean since the beginning, nodded slightly, his voice cold and commanding. "Now, we test your mind. Your telepathic abilities. Focus, Jean. Do not merely resist—block me."

Jean’s expression shifted. The mental plane was where she felt most comfortable, most at home. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, tuning out the world around her, allowing herself to sink into the depths of her mind. She could feel it before it even happened—an intruder, like a cold tendril snaking into her consciousness.

Mordo’s presence was subtle, calculated, like an iceberg beneath the surface. His thoughts were disciplined, restrained, but still invasive. Jean braced herself, her mental barriers rising instinctively, a shimmer of psychic energy flowing like a protective shield.

She focused on the pressure building in her mind, but she didn’t yield. She pushed back. Her mind swelled with force, and with a mental shove, she projected a wave of psychic resistance, pushing Mordo’s influence out of her thoughts like a shield.

For a moment, the pressure stopped. Mordo’s hand remained poised in the air, his lips barely twitching as he regarded her with cold appraisal. "Interesting," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "Your defenses are strong. Stronger than I expected."

Jean’s eyes flicked open, her gaze unwavering as she met his eyes. “I’m not so easily penetrated.”

Mordo’s lips curved upward slightly. "That is good. But that was only a probe. Now, we shall see if you can do more than defend." He looked toward Kaecilius, who stepped forward, the shadows around him seeming to shift in anticipation.

"Try to influence me," Kaecilius suggested, his voice smooth and dark. "Reach into my mind. Attempt to twist my will."

Jean’s brow furrowed slightly, her fingers curling in subtle concentration as she studied Kaecilius. His mind was a labyrinth of dark intent, sharp and controlled, but not impervious. She could feel the edges of his thoughts like the fine threads of a web waiting to be pulled. She reached into his mind, her presence delicate at first, like a whisper of wind, before solidifying into something more tangible.

Her influence was subtle, a soft suggestion—a nudge of doubt. Kaecilius stiffened, his gaze narrowing slightly, but the slightest shift of his expression indicated he had felt it. He was not easily influenced, but Jean had found an opening, however small.

After a heartbeat, Kaecilius laughed softly, a dark, melodic sound that echoed around them. “Clever,” he murmured. “You have a light touch, Jean. But that is not all. You have great potential, far greater than you realize.”

Jean opened her eyes, a little surprised at the ease with which she had bent his will, but she held her ground, her expression focused. "It felt... natural," she admitted quietly, her voice betraying a hint of curiosity. "But I know I still have a long way to go."

Mordo’s expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of something approving in his gaze. “Indeed. You are powerful, Jean. But power without control is a weapon waiting to turn on its wielder. We will teach you to harness your gifts, to use them without causing destruction. But remember, true mastery lies not in the power itself, but in understanding its depths.”

Kaecilius' eyes gleamed, his tone thoughtful. “You are only scratching the surface. Your telepathy and telekinesis are impressive, but they are just the beginning. Together, we will help you understand the full scope of your abilities.”

Jean nodded, her heart pounding with the rush of excitement and the weight of the challenge ahead. “I’m ready,” she said, her voice steady, filled with resolve.

Harry clapped his hands together with a grin. “That’s enough heavy lifting for today. Time to hit the books before we blow up the whole courtyard next time, yeah?”

Jean smiled back, her lips curling into a small, mischievous grin. “I think I can handle it.”

As they walked off the training grounds, the air still vibrating with the remnants of their power, Mordo and Kaecilius exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. But the unspoken understanding was clear—Jean Grey was not a force to be taken lightly. She was a force in the making, and they were only beginning to shape her.

—

The sun was dipping low, streaking the sky over Kamar-Taj with rich hues of amber and crimson. The training grounds were finally quiet, though the echoes of the day's magic lingered in the air, tangible as an electric charge. Jean Grey still felt the buzz in her veins—a heady, intoxicating sensation. Her first day had been grueling, but she had more than held her own. That alone was enough to keep a small, triumphant smile curling at her lips.

Harry walked beside her through the winding stone corridors, his hands buried casually in his pockets. His presence was both relaxed and sharp, like a blade hidden behind a grin. He always seemed to have this laid-back air about him, as though nothing in the world could shake him—though Jean was beginning to suspect that was far from the truth.

"Alright, Red," Harry began, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I’m officially impressed. Not every newbie manages to avoid setting themselves or half the grounds on fire their first day.”

Jean arched an eyebrow, her lips quirking in amusement. “You’re telling me the great Harry Potter, Master of the Mystic Arts, has never blown up anything on accident? Not even a little?”

“Hey, I’ll admit to a small incident or two.” He made a vague motion with his hand. “But those were… calculated explosions. Totally intentional. I’m a man of precision.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Sure you are.”

They turned a corner, the faint glow of enchanted lanterns lighting their way. Jean folded her arms across her chest as she walked, the cool stone beneath her boots grounding her amidst the surreal environment. “So,” she said, glancing at him, “what’s the deal with everyone here? Mordo acts like he’s auditioning for the role of Most Serious Man Alive, and Kaecilius…” She trailed off, her brow furrowing. “He gives me a weird vibe.”

Harry’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something more guarded. “Yeah, Mordo’s all about rules and discipline. Lives for it, really. Kaecilius, on the other hand…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “He’s… passionate. Let’s just say he’s got a few ideas about how magic should be used, and they don’t always line up with the Ancient One’s teachings.”

“Passionate, huh?” Jean muttered, her tone skeptical. “That’s one way to put it.”

Harry nodded, his expression serious now. “Just keep your eyes open, Red. Not everyone here sees things the same way. And not everyone’s as upfront about it as I am.”

She stopped walking for a moment, turning to face him fully. “Are you warning me about something?”

Harry met her gaze, his green eyes steady. “Just giving you a heads-up. This place has its share of secrets. But you’ll figure that out soon enough.”

Jean studied him, her sharp mind picking apart the layers in his tone, his posture, the careful choice of words. There was something he wasn’t saying, but she decided not to press—yet. Instead, she shrugged and gave him a crooked smile. “Noted. I’ll keep my guard up.”

“Good.” His smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “And here we are.”

He stopped in front of a wooden door intricately carved with swirling patterns that seemed to shift subtly in the flickering lantern light. With a small flourish, he pushed it open, stepping aside to let her through.

The room was simple but inviting. The furniture was dark, polished wood, and a small bed sat against the wall, its soft linens neatly arranged. A desk was tucked in one corner, surrounded by shelves filled with books and scrolls, their spines marked with languages Jean couldn’t yet decipher. A large window framed a breathtaking view of the mountains, the fading sunlight casting the room in a warm, golden glow.

Jean stepped inside, her boots echoing softly against the stone floor. She ran her fingers along the smooth surface of the desk, her gaze wandering over the space. “Not bad,” she said, her tone neutral, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her approval.

Harry leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a faintly amused expression. “They do alright, don’t they? And don’t worry about unpacking—your stuff’s already here.” He gestured toward the neatly arranged personal items scattered throughout the room.

Jean turned to him, crossing her arms. “Someone went through my things?”

“Relax,” he said, holding up his hands. “They’re not nosy. It’s just a weird little perk of living in a place that basically breathes magic. You’ll get used to it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing, turning back to the room. As her gaze settled on the mountains beyond the window, she felt a strange sense of calm wash over her.

“It’s quiet here,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Feels… alive.”

“It is,” Harry said, his voice low. “The whole place hums with magic. If you listen closely, you’ll hear it.”

Jean glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression thoughtful. “Do you ever get used to it?”

“Nope,” he said with a grin. “That’s part of the fun.”

She chuckled, shaking her head as she turned back to the window. “Well, thanks for the grand tour. I think I’ll manage from here.”

“Good. Because we’ve got training bright and early tomorrow,” he said, straightening up. “Kaecilius will be watching, and trust me, you don’t want to give him a reason to single you out.”

Jean smirked. “Let him. I’m not afraid of him.”

Harry paused in the doorway, his gaze lingering on her. “You’ve got a lot of power, Red. Just make sure you’re the one holding the reins. Power’s great, but it has a nasty habit of running wild if you’re not careful.”

She turned to face him, her eyes steady. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will,” he said, his voice soft but firm. With a small nod, he stepped out into the hallway. “Goodnight, Jean.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Jean stood alone in the quiet room. She took a deep breath, the weight of the day settling over her. But as she looked out at the mountains, the determination in her chest burned brighter than ever.

She wasn’t here to play it safe. She was here to master the power inside her.

And she would. One way or another.

Chapter 60: Chapter 59

The Ancient One’s study was bathed in the golden hues of the morning sun, the rays streaming through the latticed windows and casting intricate patterns across the floor. Jean stepped inside, her red hair catching the light like flames, her stride purposeful yet tinged with unease. The intensity of yesterday’s training still lingered in her muscles and her thoughts. She had spent most of the night trying to decipher Mordo’s cryptic statements and Kaecilius’s unnerving calmness.

As she entered, her gaze immediately landed on Harry and the Ancient One. They stood side by side, a study in contrasts: Harry, with his rugged practicality, leaning slightly against a low table, his green eyes tinged with regret; and the Ancient One, a picture of serene authority, her bald head and flowing robes making her look simultaneously otherworldly and grounded.

Jean’s instincts prickled. Whatever they were about to tell her wasn’t going to be good news.

“Good morning, Jean,” Harry greeted, straightening up. His voice was casual, almost too casual.

Jean crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. “Good morning. What’s the bad news?”

Harry blinked, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re sharp. I like that. Saves me the trouble of sugarcoating.” He took a step forward, his tone shifting to something more serious. “I have to leave.”

Jean’s brows shot up, her arms dropping to her sides. “What? You’re leaving? Already? But I just got here!”

“I know.” Harry’s voice was calm but firm, the kind of tone that offered no room for argument but still tried to soften the blow. “Trust me, I’d stay if I could, but there’s something I need to deal with—Hydra.”

Jean’s mouth opened, then closed, her mind racing. “You’re leaving me here? Alone? With them?” Her tone was fiery, frustration bleeding through.

The Ancient One stepped forward, her hands clasped lightly in front of her. Her voice was soft yet commanding, each word deliberate. “Jean, you are far from alone. Your training will continue under the guidance of Mordo and Kaecilius. They are strict, yes, but their wisdom is unparalleled. And…” She paused, her gaze flickering to Harry for a brief moment, a faint smile gracing her lips. “You will have company.”

Jean frowned, her frustration giving way to confusion. “Company?”

Harry raised a hand, twisting his fingers in the air. A shimmering golden portal unfurled beside him, the edges swirling with light. “You didn’t think I’d leave you here without backup, did you? I found a couple of recruits who might make things… interesting.”

Jean’s eyes widened as a tall girl stepped through the portal. Her presence was magnetic—she was strikingly beautiful, with rich brown skin and a cascade of white hair that shimmered as she moved. Her piercing blue eyes held a quiet intensity, and her posture was one of regal poise, every step purposeful. She wore simple, practical clothing—a white tunic and dark pants—but there was something about her that radiated power and self-assurance.

The second figure practically tumbled through the portal behind her, a whirlwind of energy in stark contrast to the first. She was shorter, her bubblegum-pink hair a chaotic halo around her mischievous face. Her expressive hazel eyes darted around the room with barely-contained excitement, and her smile was wide, bordering on impish.

Harry gestured to the newcomers. “Jean, meet Ororo Munroe and Nymphadora Tonks.” His smirk grew as he glanced at the pink-haired girl. “Though, fair warning, she prefers ‘Tonks.’ Use her first name at your own peril.”

Tonks folded her arms and shot Harry a playful glare. “You’re lucky I’m too polite to hex you in front of the Ancient One.” She turned to Jean, her grin widening. “Hi. Just Tonks, thanks. And yes, the hair is natural. Sort of.”

Jean blinked, caught off guard by the sheer contrast between the two girls. Her gaze shifted to Ororo, who stepped forward with a calm, composed smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jean,” Ororo said, her voice smooth and melodic, carrying a quiet strength. “Harry’s told us about your potential. I look forward to learning and growing together.”

Jean hesitated, still processing the sudden appearance of these two vastly different individuals. “Uh, yeah. Same here,” she said finally, her voice unsure but polite.

Tonks plopped down on a nearby chair, her movements a mixture of exaggerated nonchalance and restless energy. “Don’t worry, we’re just as new to this ‘mystical arts’ thing as you are. But hey, at least we’re in this together, right? Misery loves company and all that.”

Jean couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her. Tonks’s energy was infectious, even if it was a bit overwhelming. “Right. Together.”

Harry clapped his hands, drawing their attention back to him. “Alright, now that the introductions are out of the way, I’m heading out. Red, you’re in charge. Ororo, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, so keep these two from burning the place down. And Tonks…” He grinned. “Try not to prank Mordo too much. He’s a bit… sensitive.”

Tonks gasped, a hand flying to her chest in mock offense. “Me? Prank someone? I would never.”

Harry rolled his eyes, ruffling her hair as he passed. “Good luck, Jean. You’re gonna do great. Trust yourself.”

Jean watched him step through the portal, the golden light swallowing him whole. For a moment, the room was silent. Then Tonks broke the tension with a dramatic sigh.

“Well, now that the adult supervision’s gone, who’s up for bending reality?”

Ororo shot her a mildly amused look. “I think we should focus on mastering the basics first.”

Jean grinned, the fire in her eyes reigniting. “Alright, let’s see what you two are made of.”

And for the first time since her arrival, she felt a spark of excitement. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

—

As the golden embers of the portal shimmered into nothingness, Harry Potter stepped into the SHIELD safehouse, his cloak billowing slightly behind him like he had rehearsed it. His red and gold armor gleamed under the dim lighting, the golden phoenix across his chestplate practically glowing. He reached up to pull back his mask, revealing the untamed mop of black hair that always seemed to defy gravity and order.

"Miss me?" Harry quipped, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. His emerald eyes darted around the room, landing first on Natasha Romanoff, who sat sharpening one of her knives with an expression that said both don’t try me and I dare you.

“You’re late,” Natasha said, her voice carrying just enough edge to make it clear she wasn’t entirely joking.

Harry smirked, leaning casually against the nearest wall. “Fashionably late. There’s a difference.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow and set her knife down. “Oh, of course. How silly of me not to recognize your fashionable inability to be on time. What was it this time? Saving puppies? Rescuing orphans? Or—wait—did you get distracted by your own reflection again?”

“Guilty,” Harry admitted, placing a hand over his heart like it pained him. “I caught sight of myself in the portal reflection. Can you blame me? I mean, just look at this face.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “One of these days, Potter, your charm’s going to run out.”

Harry grinned, pushing off the wall. “Good thing I’ve got magic to fall back on.”

“Focus,” Steve Rogers cut in from where he was leaning over a tactical map spread across the table. His voice was steady, no-nonsense, and somehow calming all at once. Classic Steve. “Harry, good to see you again. We’ve got a situation brewing, and we’re going to need all hands on deck.”

“Good to see you too, Cap,” Harry said, striding over to join him at the table. “Hydra again, I take it?”

Steve nodded grimly. “Hydra again. We’ve got intel on an old facility in Latvia. They’re working on some kind of advanced weapon. We don’t know what it is yet, but if they’re putting this much effort into guarding it, it can’t be good.”

“Lovely,” Harry said, scanning the map. “What’s the plan? Blow the place up, take a victory lap, and head home for shawarma?”

“Not quite,” Peggy Carter chimed in, her clipped British accent slicing through the room as she stepped forward. Arms crossed, her sharp eyes fixed on Harry. “This operation requires precision. We’re dealing with enhanced soldiers guarding the facility—likely ones they’ve been experimenting on. It’s not just about brute force.”

Harry gave her a mock bow. “Of course, Agent Carter. I live for precision. Chaos is just a bonus.”

Peggy’s lips curved into the barest hint of a smirk, but she didn’t dignify his remark with a response.

“Enhanced soldiers,” Harry muttered, straightening up. “So, basically, Hydra’s still got its own DIY superhero program going. Fantastic.”

“I can’t wait to hear you whine about it later,” Bucky Barnes—White Wolf—muttered from his perch near the window. He hadn’t bothered to look up from cleaning his vibranium arm. “Just make sure you don’t turn the entire place into another Sokovia.”

“That was one time,” Harry said defensively, pointing at Bucky. “And technically, that was not my fault.”

Bucky finally looked up, his expression deadpan. “Sure it wasn’t.”

Before Harry could fire back, a deep laugh rumbled through the room. Red Guardian, lounging in a chair that looked dangerously close to breaking under his weight, pointed a finger at Harry. “I like this kid. He talks big, but let’s see if he can back it up. What’s the British phrase? Put your money where your mouth is?”

“Close enough,” Harry replied. “And don’t worry, Alexei. I’ll make sure to leave some Hydra agents for you to play with.”

“Ha!” Alexei slapped his knee. “Good! I’ll show you how a real hero fights.”

Harry glanced at Natasha. “That man is a delight. Remind me why we broke him out of prison?”

Natasha smirked. “Because we needed him.”

“Fair,” Harry conceded.

Steve cleared his throat, bringing the focus back to the mission. “We move in tonight. Nat, Bucky, and I will handle the initial infiltration. Harry, you and Alexei will be on overwatch. Peggy, you’re leading the second wave. We need to be fast and efficient. No unnecessary risks.”

Harry raised a hand. “Define ‘unnecessary.’”

Natasha gave him a sharp look. “Anything that involves you improvising.”

Harry placed a hand over his heart again, looking scandalized. “Natasha Romanoff, do you have so little faith in me?”

“I have exactly the right amount of faith,” she shot back. “Which is none.”

Harry grinned, leaning toward her. “You love me.”

“Debatable,” she replied, though her faint smile gave her away.

Steve sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Alright, if we’re done flirting—”

“Who’s flirting?” Harry and Natasha said in unison, both feigning offense.

Steve gave them a look, but there was the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Let’s gear up. We’ve got work to do.”

As the team dispersed to prepare, Harry caught Natasha’s arm, his expression softening for a moment. “Stay safe, alright?”

Natasha tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “I could say the same to you.”

Harry chuckled. “Please. I’m too pretty to die.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but there was warmth behind it. “Just don’t make me come save you, Potter.”

“No promises,” he replied with a wink before heading off to get ready.

—

The golden shimmer of the portal faded, leaving only the faint crackle of displaced air in its wake. Harry Potter stepped through first, his red and gold armor catching the dim, sterile lighting of the SHIELD safehouse. The golden phoenix emblazoned on his chestplate seemed to almost pulse with its own inner glow. He gave the room a quick once-over before turning back to the group.

“Welcome to Riga,” Harry declared, throwing his arms out theatrically. “Home to beautiful architecture, bitter coffee, and, apparently, Hydra’s newest playground. Try not to break anything. Fury gets cranky when you mess with his toys.”

Natasha Romanoff was the next to step through, her movements as smooth as the knives she carried. She arched an eyebrow at Harry’s dramatic flourish. “Since when do you mediate between Fury and the Ancient One?” Her voice carried the same dry skepticism that always seemed to follow Harry around.

Harry shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he threw himself into a chair. “Since Fury decided he wanted sorcerers in SHIELD’s arsenal, and the Ancient One decided Fury’s brand of charm wasn’t welcome in Kamar-Taj. So, I brokered peace.” He gestured grandly, as if the task had been Herculean. “I even got them to take on a couple of recruits: Ororo and Tonks. The future of magic and mayhem.”

Natasha gave him a sharp look. “You’re saying Fury has child sorcerers now?”

“Prodigies,” Harry corrected, leaning back with a smug grin. “Ororo’s a literal force of nature, and Tonks? She’s a walking kaleidoscope of chaos. The Ancient One will love her. By which I mean, she will tolerate her with the patience of a saint.”

Before Natasha could fire back, Steve Rogers stepped through the portal, his presence immediately commanding attention. “Harry,” Steve said, his voice carrying that calm authority he never had to try for. “You’re supposed to be briefing us, not showing off.”

Harry threw him a lopsided grin. “Can’t I do both?”

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Focus, Potter.”

Peggy Carter was next, her boots clicking against the concrete floor as she surveyed the room with a critical eye. “So, this is Fury’s safehouse,” she said, unimpressed. “I’ve seen better hiding spots in London during the Blitz.”

Harry gestured to her. “And yet, here we are, safe as houses. No pun intended.”

Peggy shot him a look that could cut glass. “You’re insufferable.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied brightly.

The banter was cut short as the door to the safehouse opened, revealing a hulking man with a chiseled jawline and an air of barely contained aggression. He wore a SHIELD uniform, his dark eyes scanning the room with practiced precision.

“Agent Vladis Pētersons,” he introduced himself, his thick Latvian accent giving his words a weight that made even Alexei Shostakov stop cracking his knuckles. “I’m your handler for this operation.”

Harry, never one to miss an opportunity, stepped forward with a grin. “Harry Potter. Magical consultant, master of portals, and occasional annoyance to Natasha.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Occasional?”

Vladis ignored the exchange, his gaze sweeping over the group. “Follow me. Command center is in the back.”

The team followed Vladis into a room dominated by monitors displaying satellite feeds, schematics, and what looked like Hydra’s greatest hits. Vladis gestured toward the largest screen, a blueprint of a heavily fortified facility.

“This,” Vladis began, his voice as sharp as his angular features, “is the Hydra base we’ve been monitoring. It’s located thirty kilometers from here, buried in the forest. High security. Enhanced soldiers on patrol. They’re working on something called ‘Project Aegis.’ We believe it’s an energy-based weapon, likely offensive.”

Alexei let out a bark of laughter. “Energy weapons? Bah! Hydra always tries to build big toys, but they break like sticks.”

Bucky Barnes, leaning casually against the wall, glanced up from adjusting his vibranium arm. “Sounds like your kind of fight, Alexei. Just make sure you don’t accidentally punch Steve again.”

Alexei scowled. “That was one time.”

“And yet, I still feel it,” Steve muttered, rubbing his shoulder for dramatic effect.

“Focus,” Peggy snapped, her tone razor-sharp. She turned to Vladis. “What’s the best way in?”

Vladis pointed to a service tunnel on the schematic. “This is your best option. Minimal guards, but the tunnel is heavily reinforced. Explosives will be required.”

Alexei’s eyes lit up. “Explosives? I like this plan.”

Steve ignored him, his brow furrowing as he studied the map. “As discussed, Nat, Bucky, and I will handle the tunnel. Harry, you and Alexei will provide overwatch. Peggy, you’ll lead the second wave if things go sideways.”

Harry raised a hand. “Define ‘sideways.’”

“Anything involving you improvising,” Natasha said flatly.

Harry mimed zipping his lips but couldn’t resist muttering, “No faith in me whatsoever. It’s heartbreaking.”

Bucky smirked. “We’ve seen you in action, Potter. Faith isn’t the word I’d use.”

Peggy shot Harry a warning look. “Stick to the plan.”

Harry saluted mockingly. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Steve sighed again. “Alright, everyone gear up. We move in ten.”

As the team dispersed, Harry leaned closer to Natasha, his voice low and teasing. “So, bets on who’s the first to say, ‘I told you so’? You or Bucky?”

Natasha didn’t miss a beat. “Bucky. But when I say it, it’ll hurt more.”

Harry chuckled. “Fair enough.”

With that, the team began their final preparations, the safehouse buzzing with the kind of tension that only came before a mission. Harry adjusted his gauntlets, his grin fading into something sharper, more focused. “Let’s dance.”

—

The air in Kamar-Taj felt alive, almost electric with magic, a constant hum that reverberated deep into Jean’s bones. The scent of incense swirled in the corridors, mingling with the old, musky smell of ancient parchment. The stone walls of the temple seemed to pulse with energy, their carvings intricate yet fluid, like they were alive. Jean couldn’t help but marvel at it all as she led Ororo and Tonks deeper into the heart of this mystical place.

“This place is insane,” Tonks muttered, her eyes wide as she swiveled her head from side to side, trying to take it all in. Her pink hair shimmered with the occasional flicker of purple, betraying her excitement. “It’s like Hogwarts, but on steroids.”

Jean couldn’t help but smile, the sound of Tonks’ voice a welcome distraction from the unease that had settled in her stomach upon her arrival. “Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?” Jean said, her voice warm and welcoming, though her eyes held a glint of mischief. “But trust me, it grows on you. You start to feel like you're made of this place.”

Tonks snorted, nudging her with her elbow. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s how everyone feels when they’re about to be buried under piles of ancient knowledge.”

Jean grinned and waved her hand dismissively. “You’ll survive. Come on, let me show you around.”

She led them through the winding hallways, pointing out the different sections she’d grown familiar with. “That’s the training courtyard. Mordo likes to shout at you about posture there.” She grimaced. “Trust me, you do not want to cross him when he's in a mood. He’ll make you do push-ups for hours.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, the wind in her hair giving her a serene air despite the chaos that seemed to be brewing around them. “Sounds... lovely.”

Jean laughed. “It can be, once you get the hang of it. Over there is the meditation garden. Kaecilius spends hours there brooding. Don’t ask me why—it’s a whole vibe.”

Tonks tilted her head. “You mean he doesn’t just do yoga in there?”

Jean’s eyes sparkled with humor. “Oh no. Kaecilius is way too intense for yoga. Trust me, I saw him try. He was way too focused on achieving inner peace while muttering about... I don’t even know.” She shook her head. “Anyway, up ahead is the library.” She stopped, her hands gesturing to the looming door. “And this place is... infamous.”

Tonks' eyes immediately lit up, her curiosity piqued. “Infamous? Now that is something I need to hear more about.”

Jean winked at her. “Oh, you’ll see.”

As they pushed the doors open, the library revealed itself in all its vast, cavernous glory. The shelves stretched impossibly high, the ancient books filled with arcane knowledge glowing softly in the dim light. Small, floating orbs illuminated the room, casting a mystical glow on the stone and wood surrounding them. The smell of old leather and paper filled the air, and a quiet, almost reverential hum seemed to pulse from the walls.

At the far end, Wong stood at a large wooden desk, his back to them as he sorted through scrolls with meticulous care. The moment he turned, his eyes met Jean’s and his expression shifted, his brows furrowing as if he’d anticipated this moment for a long time.

“Let me guess,” Wong said, voice dry and flat as he straightened up. “Harry sent you.”

Tonks, ever the mischievous one, grinned ear to ear. “Not directly, but you’re not wrong. He did say you’d be ‘thrilled’ to meet us.”

Wong’s sigh was so heavy it almost seemed to echo in the vastness of the room. “I knew it,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. “Why do I have a feeling this is going to end poorly for me?”

Ororo stepped forward, her presence calming yet dignified as she spoke. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Wong. Harry spoke highly of you—he said you were indispensable to Kamar-Taj.”

Wong blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. He wasn’t used to hearing praise for his work, especially not in the form of honest praise. “Well… that’s not incorrect,” he conceded, though suspicion still lingered in his sharp gaze. His eyes flickered briefly to Tonks, and his lips tightened. “What else did Harry say?”

Tonks leaned casually on the desk, her hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, you know, just that you’re his ‘best friend,’ that you two share everything—pranks, laughs, Beyoncé playlists…”

Wong’s face froze in horror. “Best friend?” His voice dropped to a low, almost ominous tone. “That boy has caused me nothing but grief. Do you know how many times he’s sabotaged my tea with exploding flowers or bewitched my bookmarks to sing Beyoncé songs at random intervals?”

Jean stifled her laughter, biting her lip to keep from breaking into a full grin. “I’m guessing a lot.”

“You’d be correct,” Wong muttered, shaking his head in exasperation. He motioned to a nearby table, where three towering stacks of books sat, each one looking heavier than the last. “These are for your studies. The Ancient One has assigned them. And no, you cannot negotiate the workload.”

Tonks glanced at the stacks, her eyes going wide with a mix of awe and dread. “Blimey, that’s a lot of reading. Are we training to be sorcerers or librarians?”

Jean raised an eyebrow, remembering her own towering pile from the previous day. “Wait a second. Your stacks are half the size of mine.” She gestured at the books, clearly unimpressed. “What gives?”

Wong, without even looking up from his scroll, answered flatly, “You have additional reading on the Phoenix Force. The Ancient One deemed it necessary.”

Jean groaned loudly, slumping into a chair. “Of course she did.”

Tonks, ever the distraction, rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small, neat package wrapped in plain brown paper. She handed it to Wong with a gleam in her eye. “Oh, right! Harry said to give this to you.”

Wong eyed the package with suspicion, as though it might suddenly bite him. “What is it?”

Tonks shrugged, all innocent confusion. “No idea. He just said you’d love it.”

Wong’s face twisted in trepidation, but he slowly unwrapped the package. The moment the seal broke, a loud POP filled the library, and a shower of glitter and confetti exploded into the air, cascading over them like an untamed storm. Banners unfurled from the ceiling, glowing golden letters spelling out: Wong  Beyoncé Forever.

Jean immediately doubled over, laughing so hard she had to hold onto the nearest shelf for support. Ororo pressed her lips together to suppress a smile, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Tonks, meanwhile, was wiping tears from her eyes, practically choking on her own laughter.

Wong closed his eyes, his expression one of pure resignation. “Of course,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “As if Harry wasn’t enough, now I have to deal with you.”

Tonks wiped a tear from her cheek, still grinning. “Consider it a welcome gift. You’ll love having me around, promise.”

Wong gave her a long, flat look, his patience clearly worn thin. “If I find a single enchanted whoopee cushion in this library, I will personally banish you to the Dark Dimension.”

Tonks snapped a mock salute. “Understood, Chief.”

Jean, still chuckling, grabbed her stack of books and motioned for the others to follow. “Come on, let’s leave Wong to clean up Harry’s masterpiece.”

As they exited the library, the sound of Wong’s muttered curses followed them, his voice barely audible. “Why me? Why is it always me?”

Tonks grinned, her tone playful. “I like him. He’s fun.”

Jean shook her head, a smile still tugging at her lips. “You’re going to drive him crazy.”

Ororo’s smile was softer, warmer, her eyes filled with quiet amusement. “Something tells me Harry already paved the way.”

Jean couldn’t help but laugh again, the sound echoing down the hallway. Maybe—just maybe—this chaotic trio could survive Kamar-Taj... and each other.

—

Jean led the way down the winding stone corridors of Kamar-Taj, her movements sure and purposeful. The scent of incense thickened in the air, mixing with the faint hum of magic that pulsed through the very walls of the ancient structure. The long shadows cast by flickering candles danced across the intricately carved runes etched into every surface. Ororo and Tonks, walking just behind her, exchanged looks of awe and curiosity as they took in their surroundings, both unable to suppress their fascination with the mystic grandeur of Kamar-Taj.

Ororo, ever the observer, was the first to speak. Her voice, cool and steady, broke the silence. “This place... it feels alive, like it’s breathing,” she said, her eyes scanning the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling as though trying to understand the secrets the ancient structure held.

Jean glanced over her shoulder, flashing Ororo a grin. “You’re not wrong. The magic here isn’t just something you learn—it’s something you feel. It starts to seep into you, and before you know it, you’ll be hearing the walls whispering their ancient secrets.”

Tonks, her ever-changing hair now a soft lavender, twirled a finger through one lock, her mischievous grin never fading. “Yeah, I’ll bet it’ll be like that time I walked into a haunted house with Harry—he swore the place was talking. Except, I doubt the walls here will try to eat us.”

Jean chuckled, shaking her head fondly. “Let’s hope the walls don’t try to eat anyone, but there’s no promise of safety in Kamar-Taj. You’ll learn that soon enough. I think you’ll like it here, though.” She raised an eyebrow playfully. “But, no promises about not getting turned into a frog by accident.”

Tonks laughed, her playful nature matching Jean’s teasing. “Frog? Please. I’d turn myself into something way more fun. Imagine showing up with a full rainbow of colors. Bet Harry would get a kick out of that.”

“You might want to work on that with a little less… shock value,” Jean said with a smirk. “Don’t want to give Mordo any reason to think you’re not serious about your training.”

“I’m serious about my fun first,” Tonks said with a wink. “And hey, who needs to be serious when we’ve got magic and mayhem?”

Ororo let out a quiet chuckle, her posture exuding both elegance and calm power. “It seems I’m beginning to understand the dynamic between you two,” she said, her lips curling into a slight smile. “It’s... refreshing.”

Jean’s eyes gleamed with a bit of mischief as they approached the training courtyard. “Oh, you’ll see. They’re like a well-oiled chaos machine, especially when there’s magic involved.”

As they crossed through an archway, the training grounds revealed themselves. The space was vast, open, and humming with energy. The air crackled with magical tension as two figures sparred at the center of the courtyard. Master Kaecilius, with his sharp features and an aura of quiet menace, moved with an eerie grace, his motions precise and fluid. Across from him stood Master Mordo, a towering figure with dark, penetrating eyes and a face carved from stone. The two were locked in a battle of will and magic, their energy swirling around them in tangible waves.

Jean stopped at the edge of the courtyard, her arms crossed, watching with a mixture of respect and amusement. “Well, there they are,” she said, her voice low enough to not disturb the sparring masters. “Master Mordo, Master Kaecilius... meet my friends. Ororo, Tonks—this is where things get real.”

Ororo’s eyes, sharp and unyielding, appraised the sparring pair with an intensity that matched their own. “I can feel their magic... their power. This won’t be easy.”

Tonks bounced slightly on her heels, excitement practically radiating off her. “Good. It wouldn’t be fun if it was easy. Bring on the madness!”

Kaecilius was the first to notice them, his eyes flicking up from his fight with Mordo, a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips. He tilted his head, studying them with a mix of interest and mild amusement. “Jean, always a pleasure,” he said smoothly, his voice as velvety as it was dangerous. “And I see you’ve brought company.” His dark eyes briefly swept over Ororo and Tonks with quiet calculation. “Curious.”

Mordo, ever the serious one, halted mid-strike and cast a sharp glance over his shoulder, his face hard and unreadable. “Jean,” he said, his voice deep and commanding, like thunder before a storm. “We don’t have time for introductions. This is a place of discipline and mastery, not... distractions.”

Tonks didn’t seem phased by his no-nonsense approach. Instead, she grinned wider, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Distractions? I think you’ve misread us. We’re here for all of it: discipline, fun, and games. Maybe a little mayhem along the way, too.” She shrugged. “If that’s a problem, we’ll just add that to the list.”

Mordo’s gaze hardened, his dark eyes narrowing into slits as he crossed his arms over his chest. “This is not a game,” he said coldly. “Here, we train to control power. To respect it. And if you’re too careless, that power will break you.”

Jean stepped forward, clearly unfazed by Mordo’s stern demeanor. “Oh, I know, Master Mordo. Trust me, we’ve had our share of... close calls.” She shot a look at Tonks, her voice a little lighter. “But we’ve also learned how to handle ourselves. You don’t get to be a team without learning how to play by the rules... even if those rules don’t always make sense.”

Kaecilius gave a low chuckle, his smirk widening slightly as he lowered his arms from the sparring stance. “Jean’s right. If they can survive the first round with Mordo’s training, I’d say they’ve earned their place here.” His eyes twinkled with a challenge as he glanced at the trio. “But they’ll need more than just words to make it through. Mordo’s methods are... demanding.”

Ororo’s eyes flashed with a quiet, composed confidence. She stood tall, her posture unwavering. “We’re not here for easy training. We came to learn, and we won’t back down from the challenge.” Her voice was calm but carried an edge of quiet power.

Tonks, always ready to jump in with both feet, tossed a playful glance at Mordo. “Don’t worry, grumpy. We’ve handled worse than discipline and respect. I’m sure your ‘mystical’ lessons will be a walk in the park compared to the chaos I’ve dealt with.”

Jean shot Tonks a sideways glance. “That’s not the best way to make friends with Mordo,” she muttered under her breath, though the corners of her lips twitched in amusement.

“Hey, I’m just being honest,” Tonks replied with a shrug. “If he wants to be a buzzkill, that’s on him. But I didn’t come all the way here to be lectured. Bring on the magic.”

Mordo’s lips twitched in the faintest of smiles, though his face remained as stern as ever. “You’ll see soon enough, Miss Tonks. If you make it through. You’ll learn that true mastery requires more than wit and magic tricks.”

Jean placed a hand on Tonks’s shoulder, pulling her back slightly with a teasing grin. “Don’t mind him, Tonks. He’s just a big softie underneath all that seriousness.” She winked, but there was no denying the respect in her voice when she spoke about the masters.

“Alright,” Kaecilius said, his voice low and steady as he stepped forward, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Let’s see what you’ve got. If you can survive the first test, then you may just be worthy of the training here.” His eyes danced with quiet amusement, clearly eager to see how they would handle themselves.

Ororo squared her shoulders, her expression serene and unyielding. “We’re ready,” she said simply, the promise of strength in her voice.

Tonks, ever the enthusiast, raised a fist. “Let’s do this!” she said with an energy that would be hard to contain.

Jean grinned, her pulse quickening as the anticipation hung in the air. “Bring it on,” she said, looking at her friends, “We’re not leaving without proving ourselves.”

And with that, the three women stepped forward into the heart of Kamar-Taj’s training grounds, ready for whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that, together, they could face anything.

Chapter 61: Chapter 60

The faint hum of energy filled the air as the team geared up, each of them focused in their own way. Harry, already dressed in his gleaming red-and-gold armor, lounged against the table like he owned the place. The Phoenix emblem on his chest caught the overhead light, and his Cloak of Levitation billowed slightly, as if it had a mind of its own.

Steve stood nearby, tightening the straps on his Captain America suit. The Vibranium mesh shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights, the subtle enhancements made by Lily Potter and Howard Stark invisible to the untrained eye but felt in every movement. He reached for his shield, the iconic star in its center now faintly glowing with magical runes etched into the Vibranium. His expression was calm, but his tone carried a quiet authority. “This isn’t just about stopping Hydra. Whatever they’re building, it’s not staying in their hands. We don’t fail. Not tonight.”

“Spoken like a man who doesn’t believe in coffee breaks,” Harry quipped, earning a sharp glance from Steve. “What? I’m just saying, saving the world could use a little caffeine.”

Natasha, leaning against the far wall as she adjusted the straps of her Black Widow suit, rolled her eyes. “Potter, if you put as much effort into focusing as you do into running your mouth, we’d be halfway through this mission already.”

“I multitask,” Harry shot back, his grin unabashed. “Some of us can banter and save the day at the same time.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow, her Widow’s Bite gauntlets sparking to life with a faint crackle. “And some of us have to clean up after your ‘multitasking.’ Just try not to summon anything with scales this time.”

“Dragons are highly efficient problem solvers,” Harry argued, holding up a finger. “And, in my defense, it was a small dragon.”

Peggy stepped into the room, her Captain Carter suit proudly bearing the Union Jack. Her shield, a masterpiece of Vibranium and enchantments, was strapped across her back. She cast a glance between Harry and Natasha, her voice tinged with dry humor. “Are they always like this?”

“Always,” Bucky answered from where he sat sharpening a knife. His White Wolf armor gleamed under the light, the runes etched into his Vibranium arm glowing faintly. “You get used to it. Or you don’t, and you just tune it out.”

“Bucky, you wound me,” Harry said, clutching his chest dramatically. “I thought we had a thing. You know, snarky best friends who save the world together.”

Bucky’s only response was a flat stare. “We don’t have a thing.”

“Give it time,” Harry replied with a wink. “You’ll come around.”

Alexei stomped into the room, his Red Guardian armor already strapped on and his broad grin as infectious as ever. “Why so serious, comrades? This is a glorious mission! Hydra will tremble before us!”

“They’d probably tremble less if they could hear you yelling,” Natasha muttered, shooting him a look. “We’re trying to be discreet.”

“Discreet?” Alexei laughed, his voice booming. “Discreet is boring. Where’s the fun in that?”

Steve stepped in before the banter could escalate, his tone firm but not unkind. “Alright, that’s enough. Focus up. We’ve got a mission to run.”

The room quieted as Vladis entered, a secure tablet in hand. His imposing frame and no-nonsense demeanor seemed to draw the group’s attention without effort. “Your transportation is ready,” he announced in a thick Latvian accent. His sharp eyes scanned the group, lingering on Harry for a beat longer than the others. “You’ll take a van to within a mile of the facility. It’s unmarked, with clearance passes forged to Hydra’s specifications. After that, you’re on foot. Stay out of sight. No mistakes.”

“Understood,” Steve said, nodding firmly. “Thanks for the assist.”

Vladis gave a curt nod, but his gaze remained skeptical. “Let’s see if you can finish the mission before I thank you.”

Harry smirked. “Love the confidence, Vladis. Real morale booster.”

The man didn’t flinch. “Confidence is earned, Potter. Prove you deserve it.”

With that, Vladis turned and led them outside, where a plain, nondescript van waited in the shadows of the alley. The group climbed in, the interior far more advanced than the exterior suggested. Tactical displays showed live feeds of the Hydra facility, blueprints overlaid with guard patterns and security systems.

As the van rumbled through the cobblestone streets of Riga, Harry leaned back in his seat, glancing at Peggy. “You ever think about how ridiculous this all is? Magic, Vibranium, Stark tech—all of it mashed together like some Frankenstein’s monster of world-saving gear.”

Peggy smiled faintly, adjusting her shield. “Ridiculous or not, it works. And if it keeps us alive, I’ll take it.”

Natasha, seated across from them, glanced up. “Speaking of keeping us alive, Potter, don’t improvise. Stick to the plan.”

Harry placed a hand over his heart. “Natasha, I’m hurt. When have I ever—”

“Latveria. The dragon,” Natasha interrupted, deadpan. “Berlin. The giant snake. Budapest—”

“Okay, okay,” Harry cut in, raising his hands. “Point made. I’ll be good.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Bucky muttered.

The van slowed to a halt, Vladis turning in his seat to address them. “This is your drop-off point. From here, you’re on your own. Do your job, and I’ll see you on the other side.”

Steve nodded, his voice steady. “Let’s move.”

The team disembarked, their gear glinting faintly in the moonlight. Harry floated to the ground with an effortless grace, the Cloak of Levitation trailing behind him. As they began their approach to the facility, the air grew thick with anticipation.

Harry glanced at Natasha, his voice low but teasing. “Ten bucks says you’ll be the first to say ‘I told you so.’”

Natasha didn’t miss a beat. “Make it twenty, and you’ve got a deal.”

With a smirk, Harry followed the team into the shadows, his armor gleaming faintly as they closed in on their target.

—

As the team split up under the cover of night, Harry cast a quick Disillusionment Charm, vanishing from sight like a whisper in the wind. The Cloak of Levitation adjusted itself around his invisible form, wrapping him in a soft, ethereal embrace as he hovered above the Hydra facility, a ghost in the air. He moved without a sound, a silent sentinel, watching over his team with vigilant eyes.

Below him, Alexei was already hard at work. Despite his imposing size, the Red Guardian scaled the nearby structure with surprising agility, his boots making barely a sound as he ascended the wall. Slinging his sniper rifle over his back, he found a perch on the rooftop that offered a clear view of the entrance. He crouched low, blending into the shadows, his eyes narrowing as he peered through the scope.

“Revenant,” Alexei’s voice crackled through the comms, thick with his Russian accent, “If I have to shoot someone before you, I will laugh at you for the rest of this mission. No mercy.”

Harry’s voice came through, dry and unfazed. “Yeah, yeah. You get your kicks now, Red Guardian. I’m just here to make sure they don’t turn you into Swiss cheese before I get to do my thing.”

Alexei chuckled, a rumbling sound that echoed in the quiet of the night. “Swiss cheese is better than dog food, my friend. At least it’s not as soggy.”

Harry’s invisible form hovered slightly higher, barely suppressing a grin. “You’d know. Spent a lot of time with that canned stuff, huh?”

“I’ve eaten worse,” Alexei muttered, adjusting his aim. “And speaking of worse, how much longer before you get your ‘creative’ self into action?”

“Patience, my dear Red Guardian,” Harry replied, his tone a mock of seriousness. “We’re professionals. Or at least, I am.” He added the last bit with a chuckle that wasn’t quite audible.

Alexei snorted, settling further into his crouch. “You’re a joke, Revenant. But fine, we wait. Just don’t make me shoot something before you—I'll never let you hear the end of it.”

Harry’s voice floated through the air with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll try to spare you the humiliation, but no promises. Now, can we focus? I’m not the one who needs to be careful about getting spotted.”

“Fine,” Alexei grumbled, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement. “But when I get the shot, I’m taking it. I’ll even make it a dramatic one, like the movies.”

“Sure, dramatic shots are your specialty, big guy,” Harry quipped, scanning the area below. “Just make sure you don’t miss or we’ll be hearing about your ‘heroic sacrifice’ from Bucky for the rest of the year.”

Before Alexei could respond, Natasha’s voice came through, sharp and focused, cutting through their banter. “Enough, you two. Focus. We’re in.”

The tension in the air shifted instantly. The playful back-and-forth melted away as the seriousness of the mission settled in. Harry's sharp eyes followed Natasha, Bucky, and Steve as they slipped into the shadows inside the facility, moving with practiced precision.

“Good,” Harry muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “Just don’t do anything too reckless. I can only keep so many bullets from hitting you.”

“Always so positive, Revenant,” Natasha’s voice came through again, the faintest hint of amusement in her tone. “You’ll get your chance soon enough.”

With that, the comms went quiet, each member of the team continuing with their mission. The air crackled with tension as Harry, invisible in the air above, kept his eyes trained on the surrounding area. He felt the familiar buzz of danger around the corner but kept his cool, waiting for the next move.

Down below, Alexei settled further into his position, gripping his rifle with steely determination. “This is the part where I shine,” he muttered, eyes flicking between his scope and the shadows below.

---

Natasha, Bucky, and Steve moved through the facility with the quiet precision of well-trained operatives. The dim lighting flickered sporadically as they navigated the maze-like halls, staying in the shadows and out of sight of the patrolling guards. Every step was deliberate, every movement calculated.

Natasha was in the lead, her black tactical suit blending into the darkness, her body a fluid whisper of motion. Her eyes never stopped scanning, always alert, always calculating the next move. Bucky followed close behind her, his Vibranium arm moving silently, the weight of his past sins hidden behind the cold steel of his arm and the steely resolve in his eyes. Steve brought up the rear, his shield strapped to his back, always ready, always vigilant, prepared for any contingency.

They turned a corner, and Natasha raised a hand, signaling for them to stop. Bucky froze instantly, his body tensing as his sharp eyes locked on the two guards ahead. They were engaged in a low conversation by a security door, their backs to the team. Natasha’s lips curled into a smirk, and her voice was barely a whisper through the comms.

"Piece of cake," she said, her tone filled with an air of quiet confidence.

Bucky nodded once. “You take left, I’ll take right.”

Without a word, Natasha sprang into action, moving like a shadow. In the blink of an eye, she closed the distance between herself and the first guard. Her hands were around his throat in a flash, locking in a chokehold. Before he could even make a sound, her blade was pressed to his throat, a lethal warning.

Bucky, just as swift, grabbed the second guard. With a grunt of effort, he slammed the man into the wall with bone-crushing force. The guard's head bounced off the concrete, dazing him just long enough for Bucky to secure him into a tight arm lock, holding him against the wall with the force of a freight train.

Steve moved forward, his shield at the ready. He positioned himself between their takedowns and the hallway, ensuring that no other guards would stumble upon them. His blue eyes remained focused on the hall, scanning for any signs of movement.

Natasha didn’t waste a second. Her voice, cold and controlled, cut through the silence. "Talk," she hissed in the local language, her gaze never leaving her captive’s eyes. "Where’s Project Aegis?"

The man’s eyes darted to his fallen comrade, fear creeping into his voice. "I—I don’t know—" he stammered, but Natasha’s grip on his throat tightened, cutting off any thoughts of evasion.

Bucky leaned in closer, his voice low but carrying the weight of a hundred battles. "Don’t lie to her," he warned, his tone calm but lethal. "You won’t like what happens next."

The guard swallowed, his breath quickening as sweat began to bead on his forehead. "Second floor... in the lab! West wing! Please, that’s all I know!" He blurted out the information like it was the only lifeline he had left.

Without a second thought, Natasha delivered a swift, efficient knockout blow, and the guard crumpled to the floor, unconscious. She stood, wiping her blade clean, her expression unreadable.

She glanced at Bucky, arching an eyebrow. "Convenient."

Bucky’s lips curled into a faint smirk. "They always break so fast," he replied, his tone almost amused. The edge in his voice was still there, a reminder of the soldier who had spent years in the darkest parts of the world.

Steve moved forward, kneeling next to the unconscious guards. He checked their uniforms, quickly running his hands over them. “No alarms triggered. Let’s keep it that way,” he muttered, scanning for any signs of a security breach.

"Agreed," Natasha said. She shot a glance to the door, then nodded toward the hallway. “Let’s move. We’re getting close.”

They advanced deeper into the facility, navigating the maze with the precision of an experienced team. Every corner was met with an assessment of risk, every room surveyed for threats. Natasha kept the comms open, whispering occasional updates, her voice calm and tactical.

“West wing. Second floor. Minimal resistance so far. We’re moving on the target,” she said, her words clipped as she rounded another corner.

Bucky was already a step ahead, his senses sharp and his body tense with readiness. "Let me take point next. If anyone comes through that door, I’ll deal with them," he muttered, glancing back at Natasha, his expression unreadable but purposeful.

Steve gave a silent nod, his shield still on his back but ready to be pulled in an instant if needed. The air around them was thick with the tension of a high-stakes mission, but it was a tension they thrived on.

Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms again, sharp and professional. "Overwatch, status?"

---

From his perch on the rooftop, Alexei exhaled through his nose with a grunt, his eyes glued to the scope of his sniper rifle. The facility sprawled before him, a labyrinth of concrete and steel, but so far, it was quiet. “You are clear so far,” he muttered into the comms, his thick Russian accent cutting through the static. “No reinforcements yet. Maybe Hydra is too cheap to pay overtime.”

Harry’s voice came through, a hint of amusement in his tone, though there was an unmistakable edge. "Or maybe they’re just arrogant. They think they have everything locked down." His voice was calm, but the undercurrent of tension could be felt, even through the comms. "Don't let your guard down, Red Guardian."

Alexei chuckled darkly, his gloved finger tightening on the rifle’s trigger guard. "You’re a lot of fun, Revenant. If I wasn’t busy being the one to keep an eye on everyone, I’d say you talk too much."

Harry’s laugh echoed in his earpiece. “That’s a laugh coming from you. You spend half your time staring at a scope and the other half yelling at me to focus. Besides, I’m keeping an eye on everything.”

The wind picked up, causing the hem of Harry’s Cloak of Levitation to flutter lightly as he hovered above the others, invisible. His enhanced vision scanned the area methodically, his magical senses sweeping across the rooftops and alleyways for any signs of Hydra activity. From this height, he could see the full expanse of the area—no immediate movement, but that didn’t mean much. Hydra was as patient as they were dangerous.

"Keep your eyes open," Harry said, his voice now sharper. "We haven’t seen anything yet, but this still feels off."

Alexei muttered under his breath. "You’re a real bundle of joy, you know that? Here I thought I was supposed to be the pessimist. I mean, we’re not that deep into enemy territory yet."

Harry’s eyes flicked from rooftop to rooftop, his senses buzzing with anticipation. "Hydra’s always one step ahead, Alexei. You might be enjoying the quiet, but you know better than to think we’re not walking into a trap."

“Ah, yes, the ‘we’re all going to die’ speech," Alexei teased, rolling his eyes behind the scope. "Nothing gets me fired up like the thought of it."

"You say that now,” Harry replied, the edges of his voice tinged with humor, “but let’s see how cocky you are when I’m the one saving your ass."

There was a brief silence on Alexei's end before a low chuckle rumbled through. "We’ll see about that, Revenant. I think I’m the one saving your ass tonight."

Just as the banter continued, Natasha’s voice cut through the exchange, commanding and professional, her words direct. "Focus, both of you. We’ve got work to do." She didn’t raise her voice, but there was no mistaking the steel behind it. She always cut through the noise, whether it was gunfire or her teammates’ banter.

Harry gave a small grin under his invisibility charm, glancing at her shadowed form moving through the facility below. "You hear that, Alexei? Even Natasha says we need to focus."

“I’m always focused,” Alexei muttered, though his smirk could be heard. “Besides, I’d be much more focused if I didn’t have to listen to you talk so much.”

“Keep it up, and I’ll start charging you for every word,” Harry quipped, his eyes flicking over to Natasha as she smoothly took down another guard. Her efficiency was almost unnerving.

Below them, Natasha moved like a predator, swiftly neutralizing threats without hesitation. Her red hair was tucked under her hood, and every movement was precise, calculated. Her focus was razor-sharp, and despite the ease with which she took out her targets, the tension in the air was palpable. She could feel the weight of their objective, even without needing to say a word.

"Anything from you, Captain Carter?" Harry's voice broke through her thoughts, his tone quieter now, more serious as he addressed their comms liaison. He trusted her instincts, and right now, they could all feel something waiting just out of sight.

---

Peggy stood by the van, shield resting casually on her back as she scanned the perimeter with practiced precision. Her eyes flicked from one corner of the facility to the next, every movement sharp and deliberate. The night air was cold, but she barely noticed the chill—her focus was absolute. Hydra’s presence in this area had been well-hidden, but she could sense the lingering danger. They were good at blending in, but so was she.

“All quiet here,” she reported through the comms, her voice steady and unshaken. "No sign of reinforcements, but I don’t trust it. Hydra always has backup plans. They're too methodical to be this sloppy."

“Good,” came Harry’s voice in reply, low and measured. “Stay sharp. If we need backup, you’ll be the first to know.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Peggy’s lips. She turned slightly to glance out across the compound, her expression cool but knowing. "You won’t even have to ask," she said, the words delivered with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what her role was in a mission like this. If the situation escalated, she wouldn’t wait for permission—she’d be right there, ready to act.

Bucky’s voice cut through the comms, rough and low. “I wouldn’t put it past Hydra to throw some extra surprises our way. I don’t like how quiet it is. Too damn quiet."

He was right, of course. Peggy could feel the tension in the air, the kind that built up before a storm, but she didn’t let it show. Her eyes briefly shifted to the shadows, where she knew their team was operating, and then back to the distant horizon. "It’s always quiet before the chaos, Barnes. You know that better than anyone."

Bucky’s chuckle rumbled through the comms, though it was tinged with a hard edge. “You think that’s funny, Carter? Because last time I checked, I don’t exactly love getting blindsided."

“I don’t either,” Peggy replied, a soft but fierce edge to her voice. "And I’d bet you anything Hydra’s trying to lull us into a false sense of security. Don’t take anything at face value, Bucky."

“I’m always ready for a fight,” Bucky muttered, his tone drifting from irritation to something more controlled, yet still restless. "But I’ll give you credit, Carter. You might be the only one who’s got a handle on keeping this quiet... and that’s not a compliment I hand out easily."

Peggy raised an eyebrow, her smirk turning into something more teasing, but no less confident. "I wasn’t aware you needed compliments from anyone, Barnes. But thank you, I suppose." Her eyes scanned the area again, every inch of her aware of the potential dangers lurking just outside her line of sight. "We stay focused, no distractions."

“Yeah, yeah. Focused," Bucky muttered back, the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. "But just so you know, if the real action starts, I’m jumping in first. I’ll leave you the mop-up duty, Carter."

Peggy snorted softly into her comms, but her eyes were still sharp, cutting through the night as she kept watch. “You wouldn’t know what to do with mop-up duty if it smacked you in the face, Barnes.”

The banter was easy, comfortable even, but beneath it all, Peggy’s instincts were still fully alert. She wouldn’t let her guard down, no matter how much she teased or how much Bucky riled her up. The silence around them wasn’t something she was willing to trust—not yet, not until they had what they came for and were safely out.

"Just remember, Barnes," she added after a beat, her voice low and serious now. "When the dust settles, you’ll be glad I was here. Trust me."

There was a pause on the comms as Bucky considered her words. Then, with a wry chuckle, he responded. “You’re not wrong, Carter. I’m just saying, when it hits the fan, I’m taking the lead. And you can thank me later.”

“Lead, huh?” Peggy’s lips curled into a small grin. "I’ll believe it when I see it. But I’m sure you’ll try your hardest."

As the banter died down, the air between them thickened with the unspoken understanding that they were all on edge. The mission wasn’t over. The quiet was simply the calm before the inevitable storm. Peggy’s smirk faded, and her sharp gaze swept the perimeter once more. Hydra wouldn’t be caught off guard so easily.

She checked her shield again, adjusting it slightly, and then gave one final glance at the van, the shadows, and the night sky. "Stay ready, everyone," she said, her voice a little more serious now, cutting through the playful chatter. "This isn’t over yet."

---

Natasha’s boots barely made a sound as she pushed open the heavy lab door, her silenced pistol held low and steady. The room was bathed in a dim, sterile light, casting long shadows across the rows of computer terminals and cluttered tables. Strange, humming devices blinked and flickered, glowing with an eerie blue light, their purpose unclear but undeniably unsettling. The unmistakable sound of her breathing echoed through the quiet space as her sharp eyes took in every detail.

In the center of the room, a massive cylindrical tank dominated the space. The liquid inside shimmered with an otherworldly glow, casting ripples on the surface. Within, something—or someone—floated, humanoid but blurry, obscured by the liquid and the faint mist surrounding it. Its shape was indistinct, a shadow behind the fog of blue.

Steve’s jaw tightened as he stepped forward, his eyes narrowing in focus. His shield was strapped to his back, ready for anything, but he didn’t take his eyes off the tank. "Project Aegis?" he asked, his voice calm but tinged with suspicion.

Natasha’s lips curled slightly as she scanned the room, her gun trained on the shadows, just in case. “Looks like it,” she replied, her voice smooth, yet alert. Her gaze flicked over to the nearest terminal. She was already assessing her surroundings, moving quickly and efficiently as she approached the machine. “Give me a minute,” she muttered as she began tapping commands into the terminal. The soft clack of her fingers on the keyboard was the only sound as she worked her way through Hydra’s encrypted files, her mind calculating, analyzing, and deciphering with practiced ease.

Bucky stood near the door, his Vibranium arm resting against the frame, eyes scanning the hallway outside. His stance was casual, but his instincts were anything but. His every muscle was taut, ready to spring into action at the slightest sign of danger. “Make it quick,” he said, his voice a low growl, though his eyes never strayed from the corridor. “This feels too easy.”

Natasha glanced over her shoulder, giving him a brief, pointed look before returning her focus to the terminal. “I’m working as fast as I can. Just keep an eye out.”

The room seemed to grow colder, quieter, the hum of machinery the only sound. The minutes stretched on as Natasha’s fingers danced across the keys, pulling up files and decrypting Hydra’s data. “This isn’t right,” she muttered under her breath, her brows furrowing as the data continued to load. “That’s because it is. According to this," she said, pausing to read the data, her lips pursing as she processed the information, "Hydra’s already planning to move Aegis. We’re lucky we got here first.”

Steve stepped closer to the tank, his shield in hand now, his attention fixed on the figure suspended inside the liquid. His jaw tightened as he took in the sight—tall, imposing, but still somehow elusive. It was hard to tell what they were dealing with, but one thing was clear: Hydra had invested a hell of a lot of resources into whatever—or whoever—was floating in that tank.

“Any idea what—or who—we’re looking at?” Steve asked, his voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. His hands flexed around his shield, ready to act at a moment’s notice.

Natasha shook her head, eyes glued to the screen as more data flooded in. “Not yet,” she murmured, her voice calm, though her mind was racing. "But whatever it is, Hydra’s put a lot of resources into this project. Too much for it to be anything good.”

Bucky shifted his weight, his gaze flicking between the hallway and the tank. “We’re walking on borrowed time, Nat,” he said, the tension in his voice rising. “Hydra’s not known for leaving things in their labs for long. So, unless you’ve got a magic trick to pull us out of here, I suggest we move.”

“Keep it together, Barnes,” Natasha snapped back, her voice crisp but not without a hint of affection. She kept her focus on the terminal, though her senses were already keyed in on everything around her. “We’re not out yet. Just give me a few more seconds.”

Her fingers flew over the keyboard once more, pulling up new files. Some were incomplete, others heavily encrypted. But one file caught her eye—its name simply labeled Aegis: Final Phase. The final phase. Whatever Hydra had planned for this project, it was almost ready to be unleashed. Natasha’s brow furrowed as she opened the file, her mind quickly processing the information.

“Hydra’s definitely moving fast,” she muttered, her voice tense now. “This project’s farther along than I thought.”

Steve’s voice came from behind her, low and firm. “What’s the move?”

“I’m pulling everything,” Natasha replied quickly, her fingers moving faster now as she downloaded the necessary data to a secure drive. “We need to know what we’re really up against before we decide on the next step.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to the hallway again, the unease still present on his face. “I don’t like it, Nat. Something feels off about this place.”

Before Natasha could respond, the faint sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Her hand instinctively went to her gun, her body coiling like a spring ready to snap. “We’ve got company,” she muttered. “Five seconds, then we’re out.”

Bucky stepped into a crouch, his muscles tense, ready for whatever came through that door.

Steve clenched his fists, his shield ready, his eyes alert as he readied himself for action. “Let’s get this done.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, the tension palpable in the air as she finished the last of the data extraction. With a final, sharp movement, she pulled the drive from the terminal, securing it inside her jacket. “Done. Let’s move.”

As they turned to leave, the sound of boots in the corridor grew louder, closer. “We’ve overstayed our welcome,” Bucky muttered, his tone dark. “Time to go.”

And just like that, the team was in motion. Every instinct screamed that the real fight was only just beginning.

---

Harry’s voice crackled through the comms, his tone laced with urgency. “Uh, guys? Hate to interrupt, but we’ve got inbound.”

From his elevated vantage point, Harry’s enhanced vision saw the telltale dust cloud rising in the distance—Hydra’s convoy barreling down the road toward the facility at full speed. His heart rate quickened, his instincts already kicking into overdrive. He cursed under his breath, a rare crack in his usually calm demeanor. “Looks like they’re bringing reinforcements. Lots of them.”

Alexei’s low, gravelly chuckle echoed through the comms as he adjusted the focus on his sniper rifle. “Finally, some action. I was starting to think this mission would be all spreadsheets and no punches.”

Harry’s tone grew more serious, his voice sharpened by the weight of the situation. “Captain Carter, you’ve got company incoming. Red Guardian, cover her. I’ll keep an eye on the team inside.”

“Roger that,” Peggy’s voice came through immediately, calm and ready. Her shield was already on her arm, and her boots thudded heavily on the ground as she began moving into position. She’d been in worse situations before, but there was always a slight edge of anticipation when dealing with Hydra. She had to be ready for anything.

“Hydra’s not known for their subtlety, but let’s hope they brought their A-game,” Alexei muttered, his eyes narrowing through the scope as he took aim at the first of the approaching vehicles. “Otherwise, this’ll be too easy.”

Harry hovered silently, concealed in the air above them. The Disillusionment Charm cloaked him perfectly, but even through his invisibility, his mind was racing. He could see the convoy clearly now—multiple armored vehicles, a dozen Hydra soldiers hanging out of the windows, automatic weapons at the ready. A standard Hydra assault.

But Harry had other plans.

He muttered under his breath, more to himself than to anyone else. “Time to get creative.”

Below him, the others had no idea what Harry was talking about, and when they saw the faint shimmer of his Disillusionment Charm start to dissipate, confusion was written all over their faces.

"What the hell is he—?" Bucky began, his voice trailing off as he glanced up at the spot where Harry had been a moment before.

And then, as if on cue, the shimmer around Harry's form melted away completely. In the blink of an eye, a massive, mythical figure emerged from the sky—a hybrid of dragon and phoenix, its scales glowing with the fiery hues of a sunset. Harry’s Animagus form was something that could only be described as pure chaos—majestic, terrifying, and absolutely unexpected.

His wings unfurled, each feather a flame, each beat of them sending the air rippling with the power of his transformation. The dragon-like body was sleek and sinewy, a mix of fire and winged fury. His talons gleamed sharp, and his eyes—burning like molten gold—seemed to pierce through everything around him.

There was a stunned silence from the comms before Bucky’s voice broke through, a mix of disbelief and awe. “Is… Is that him? What the hell just happened?”

Steve let out a slow whistle, eyes wide with equal parts astonishment and respect. “I gotta admit, didn’t see that coming.”

Natasha, ever the strategist, was the first to find her voice, though it was with a sharp edge of surprise. “Harry—what—how—did you—?”

But Harry wasn’t listening. His mind was already on the incoming convoy. He stretched his wings wide, the tips brushing against the tops of the facility’s walls, and then with a powerful thrust, he was airborne, soaring toward the approaching Hydra forces.

The sound of the wind rushing beneath his wings drowned out everything else, but for a moment, the team could only hear the distant growl of his voice, deep and resonant, through the comms. “Hold tight, this is gonna be fun.”

Down below, Alexei's laugh rumbled in approval as he locked onto his target. “I’ll cover the ground,” he muttered, already calculating his shots. “You take the skies.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Harry’s voice replied, now echoing with the unmistakable thrill of battle.

With that, Harry twisted mid-air, diving toward the convoy like a living missile. He launched a stream of fire from his mouth, hitting the first of the armored trucks. The explosion that followed was deafening, sending Hydra soldiers flying in every direction. He banked hard, his wings folding as he zoomed past the convoy, setting the second vehicle alight in a burst of fiery destruction.

“Harry—watch your six!” Bucky’s voice crackled through the comms, his eyes scanning the chaos unfolding. The explosion had drawn attention, and Hydra wasn’t just going to sit back and let him burn them alive. Bucky pulled his gun from its holster, already taking out the nearest Hydra agents on the ground.

Natasha’s voice was calm, but the tension in it was palpable as she sprinted down the corridor, her hand on her weapon. “We’re almost done in here. Let’s finish this quick, and get out.”

Steve cracked his knuckles and squared his jaw, ready for the ground assault. “Let’s do it.”

Peggy’s shield slammed into the chest of an advancing Hydra agent, sending him flying backward with a grunt. She didn’t waste time looking down at her handiwork. “Focus on your target, Barnes. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Bucky gave her a brief smirk, his weapon still at the ready. “I know, Carter. Just getting warmed up.”

Meanwhile, high above, Harry was relishing the chaos. His dragon-phoenix hybrid form was a terrifying sight—flames trailing behind him as he twisted through the air with impossible agility. He turned his head to look back at the team below, his voice filled with a playful edge. “Told you it’d be fun.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Steve warned through the comms, but his tone held a note of admiration. “We still need to wrap this up. Can’t let them regroup.”

Harry’s fiery form darted through the smoke and debris, his claws scraping against the metal of a speeding vehicle as he launched himself toward the final target. “On it,” he muttered, his voice filled with a strange calm. “Let’s make sure Hydra doesn’t get their hands on anything today.”

As the flames danced in the sky, the team below was already preparing for their next move, each one ready to follow Harry’s lead as they dealt with whatever Hydra threw their way.

Chapter 62: Chapter 61

Harry's dragon-phoenix form arced through the air above the battlefield, the wind whipping around him as his fiery breath scorched the ground below. Every motion of his body felt fluid, a seamless blend of power and grace. His glowing golden eyes swept over the Hydra convoy below, taking in the chaos as soldiers scrambled to respond to the aerial threat that had appeared out of nowhere.

The first wave of soldiers tried to return fire, but Harry wasn’t about to let them get away that easily. With a snap of his tail, he sent one armored vehicle tumbling into a barricade, the explosion of flames and debris lighting up the night sky. The soldiers screamed in panic, but it was too late. Harry’s wings beat the air like the thunder of a storm as he dove lower, his fire igniting a trail of destruction. Another convoy vehicle was reduced to a molten wreck in an instant.

"Target acquired," Harry muttered to himself, a wicked grin curling across his scaled lips. The Hydra soldiers below scattered, but it was clear they had no real strategy in the face of such overwhelming power. Not that they’d need one for long.

Bucky’s voice crackled through the comms, cutting through the chaos. "Incoming, Harry. More soldiers to your left—looks like they’re trying to flank you!"

Harry glanced to the side, his sharp dragon's senses already detecting the movement of the Hydra troops. His grin widened, the anticipation bubbling within him. “I see ‘em,” he growled in response, his voice like a low rumble of thunder. “Time for a little surprise.”

He twisted in the air, diving toward the oncoming flank of Hydra soldiers. With a fierce roar, he released another burst of fire, engulfing several of them before they even had a chance to react. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of burning metal and flesh. As soldiers scrambled to evade, Harry gripped a nearby tank with his claws, lifting it effortlessly into the air before hurling it at a group of retreating Hydra agents. It slammed into them with a deafening crash, tossing them like ragdolls.

"Should've packed a bigger lunch," Harry chuckled darkly, before his attention was pulled to the comms again.

“Stay focused, Harry,” Peggy’s voice came through with a sharp edge, a tone only Captain Carter could pull off. “We’ve got more than just Hydra soldiers to deal with.”

Harry shot her a mental salute before glancing to the sky. "Copy that, Captain."

Behind him, Alexei’s deep voice boomed through the comms, punctuated by the sound of his large frame moving into position. "This is gonna be fun," he growled, a grin audible in his voice. "Hydra thought they could bring more? I’ll show them what happens when they mess with the Red Guardian."

“Alexei, don't go picking fights,” Natasha added, a smile tugging at her lips, though her voice was as dangerous as ever. “We’re here to wrap this up, not start a global incident.”

“Right, right,” Alexei chuckled, his rifle coming to life with a series of sharp cracks as he took down Hydra soldiers from his vantage point. "But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself, eh?"

"Just keep it contained," Natasha replied, ever the strategist. "We don’t need unnecessary casualties." Her voice was steady, but there was always an undercurrent of calculation in everything she said.

Harry snorted, his eyes flicking toward the building where Project Aegis was being kept. The Cloak of Levitation was already in motion, performing the task Harry had set for it with uncanny precision. But while his cloak was handling that delicate operation, Harry still had a fight on his hands.

“I’ll wrap this up in style,” Harry said, his voice thick with anticipation. "Hang tight, everyone."

As the last Hydra soldiers below tried to make a stand behind their makeshift barricades, Harry’s form blurred with speed. He landed with a massive thud in front of them, sending the ground trembling. His glowing eyes narrowed, the fire within him barely contained. “Your turn.”

“Harry,” Bucky’s voice warned, his tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “You’re not about to—”

But it was too late.

Harry's wings unfurled, catching the wind in a magnificent display of molten fire and feathers. He roared—a deep, resonant sound that echoed across the battlefield like a storm’s rage. The Hydra soldiers flinched, some trembling as they realized what they were up against. The rest of them? They didn’t even have a chance to scream.

Before they could pull their triggers, Harry unleashed a wave of flames that swallowed them whole. The fire didn’t just burn—it scorched the very air, warping the heat into something more akin to the wrath of a vengeful deity. The last few soldiers, barely able to react, were thrown back by the sheer force of the blast.

When the smoke cleared, the battlefield was eerily silent. Harry stood there, his chest heaving with exertion, as he surveyed the aftermath. The remnants of Hydra’s forces were scattered around him, some still moving, but most left incapacitated or dead. Harry’s golden eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction. This was what he'd trained for.

“Target neutralized,” Harry said, his voice coming through the comms, though there was no joy in it—only a hard edge. "We're done here."

Alexei chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “Hell yeah. Let’s get out of here before they bring in more toys to play with."

Steve’s voice broke in, calm as ever, the steady presence of a leader in the chaos. “Everyone, keep your heads on straight. We’re not out of the woods yet. We still have Project Aegis to secure."

Harry nodded, his wings folding as he hovered above the wreckage. He could feel the Cloak working its magic already. The task was nearly complete. Project Aegis was in safe hands—and soon, the team would be ready to exfiltrate.

“Got it,” Harry responded, more to himself than anyone else. He narrowed his eyes, scanning the facility below for any last signs of resistance. "I’ll wrap up the rest. You all head for the exit. I’ll see you there."

As the rest of the team moved toward their extraction point, Harry’s wings flapped once more, sending him soaring into the air with purpose. The cloak was already handling the delicate task of securing Project Aegis. There was nothing left to do but clean up. And that, Harry Potter had always been good at.

Just as he prepared to land in front of the remaining Hydra soldiers—those who had managed to escape the initial chaos—his thoughts flickered to the mission at hand. Project Aegis was secure. There was nothing else for him to do but make sure no one was left standing.

"One more thing," Harry muttered, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he prepared to finish the job. "I hate leaving a mess."

And with that, he dove back into the fray, the sounds of his fierce battle cry filling the air.

—

The last of the Hydra soldiers crumpled to the ground in a heap, their weapons abandoned as they lay defeated, helpless in the wake of the fury Harry had unleashed. His golden eyes—glowing like twin embers—swept the battlefield for any remaining threats, a predator's instinct keeping him alert. But there was nothing left but the wreckage of the Hydra base and the echo of fire in the air.

Harry took a deep breath, exhaling as his body began to shift. His massive wings folded in, their fiery glow dimming as his form shrank. The heat that had radiated from his phoenix-dragon hybrid body dissipated, leaving behind only the soft, golden gleam of his red-and-gold armor. His wings vanished into the fabric, as though they had never been there. His eyes softened, returning to their usual golden hue, as the Revenant—his true self—was restored.

As if answering his transformation, the Cloak of Levitation fluttered toward him, the expanded pouch securely fastened. With a graceful motion, Harry caught the cloak and pulled it over his shoulders, tugging it into place. The pouch, stuffed with the spoils of their mission, rested comfortably at his side, and Harry couldn’t help but appreciate the weight of their success.

The others—Red Guardian, White Wolf, Captain America, and Black Widow—had begun to make their way to the van, but they froze when they saw him. Their eyes widened, taking in the sight of Harry standing there, resplendent in his armor.

Bucky, ever the cynic with a sharp edge, was the first to break the silence. "Alright, now I’ve seen it all," he muttered, shaking his head with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "You got a new trick up your sleeve, Harry? Because that... that was not the usual ‘saving the day’ routine."

Steve gave him a side-eye, his lips curling into a smile despite himself. "Yeah, seriously, Harry. I’ve got questions. First one being, where do you even find the time to get new powers like that?"

Natasha leaned against the van, arms crossed and her usual smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "I know, right? You’re making the rest of us look bad, with all your shiny new forms and god-like abilities." Her gaze flicked over his armor and then narrowed, her curiosity clearly piqued. "So, what was that back there? Some kind of new form? You’ve been holding out on us?"

Harry chuckled softly, adjusting the cloak as if it were a casual piece of clothing. He couldn’t suppress the smile on his face. "You guys know I’m an Animagus, right?" he asked, his tone light and nonchalant. "So... that form?" He paused for effect, grinning as he glanced at each of them. "That was my new Animagus form. A Fenghuang. A dragon-phoenix hybrid."

Alexei, still a bit overwhelmed by the sheer spectacle of it all, blinked twice, a frown deepening on his face. "A what now?"

Harry gave a half-laugh, shaking his head. "A Fenghuang. It’s from Chinese mythology. A creature that’s a combination of a dragon and a phoenix. Immortal, reborn from its ashes, and all that dramatic flair." He flicked a hand dismissively, grinning wider. "So yeah, fire, flight, immortality—basically, I’m the ultimate package."

Natasha’s smirk deepened into a grin as she crossed her arms, clearly entertained. "Fire-breathing dragon and an immortal bird, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised." Her voice was teasing but layered with genuine curiosity. "You just keep getting more dangerous, don’t you, Potter?"

"That’s one way to put it," Bucky chimed in, his tone dry but tinged with admiration. He shook his head, still in disbelief. "You know, I’ve fought some weird stuff in my day, but that? That was something else. You were flying like a freakin’ storm."

Steve crossed his arms, a thoughtful look on his face. "A Fenghuang," he repeated, as if testing the word out. "A mix of a dragon and a phoenix... sounds like something you’ve pulled out of an ancient legend." He glanced over at Harry, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You’re pulling from some deep stuff, Harry."

"Yeah," Harry said with a shrug, running a hand through his hair. "I figured I’d shake things up a bit. It seemed fitting, considering what I’ve had to go through. You know, fire, flight, rebirth... kind of sums up my whole deal. Powerful, but unpredictable, right?" He tilted his head with a grin, his golden eyes gleaming mischievously.

Natasha’s lips quirked. "I’m sure the rest of the world would agree. I mean, I don’t think Hydra’s ever seen a fire-breathing dragon come for them."

Harry gave a wry smile, his tone dry. "Yeah, well, that’s their problem now." He patted the pouch at his side, the weight of the collected intel from their mission a reminder of their success. "Let’s just say I’ve got everything we came for. And Hydra’s not going to be bothering anyone else tonight."

Peggy’s voice cut through their banter, sharp and no-nonsense. "You all done playing superhero? I’d prefer if we left before Hydra comes up with a plan for a counterattack." There was a tone of impatience in her voice, as though she had been waiting long enough for them to finish their post-battle debriefing.

Steve smirked and gave her a nod over his shoulder. "On our way, Captain Carter!" He glanced back at Harry. "Just wanted to make sure you didn’t burn the place down… again."

"One step at a time, Steve," Harry quipped, his voice light. "I’m still working on the whole 'controlled destruction' thing."

As they walked toward the van, Alexei slapped Harry on the back with the kind of force that sent a slight jolt through him. "I get it now," Alexei said with a low laugh. "A dragon-phoenix hybrid. You’re like the fantasy version of a nuclear bomb, huh?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, but he couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. "Great. Just what I needed—another nickname."

Bucky’s laugh echoed from behind. "I mean, it was pretty cool, Harry. You were like a walking natural disaster."

Harry shot him a playful glare. "I’m glad you all appreciate my flair for the dramatic." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "But let’s focus on the important stuff, shall we? We’ve got what we came for. Time to go."

Steve opened the van door, and they all piled inside, ready to leave the wreckage behind. Harry took a last look at the remains of the Hydra base, the last flickers of flame dying out. It had been a hard-fought victory, but for now, the mission was over.

"Let’s go," Harry said, his voice softening but still filled with determination. "Hydra won’t be troubling anyone tonight."

Natasha shot him a knowing look as she slid into the van beside him. "Just don’t burn down the next place we go to, alright?" Her voice was light, but there was a teasing edge to it.

"One step at a time, Nat," Harry responded with a grin. "One step at a time."

—

The van doors slammed shut with a heavy thud, the dust still settling from the battle they’d just fought. Inside the cramped space, the team tried to catch their breath, but before they could truly relax, something unexpected happened.

The comms crackled to life, the sharp static grating against their ears. Then, as if in defiance of the stillness, the unmistakable opening riff of Thunderstruck by AC/DC blasted through their earpieces. The guitars hit with such intensity it felt like the ground itself might shake.

Everyone froze, eyes snapping wide open. Bucky’s hand immediately hovered over his sidearm, Natasha’s sharp gaze darted toward the rearview mirrors, Steve’s posture shifted slightly, muscles tensing in preparation, and Harry’s eyes flashed, golden and intense, scanning the horizon for any threat.

“What the hell is that?” Bucky growled, clearly unamused as his fingers twitched over his weapon.

“I thought I was the only one with a flair for the dramatic,” Harry muttered, his brow furrowing in mild confusion. He looked to Natasha, who was equally perplexed, raising a brow at him.

“Don’t look at me,” Natasha replied, just as puzzled. "I think this is a first."

Before they could exchange another word, a loud whooshing sound tore through the air—something, or someone, was coming in fast. The noise grew louder and louder, until—

BOOM.

A red and gold blur hurtled from the sky, crashing down with all the grace of a wrecking ball. The earth trembled as the figure hit the ground with a perfect superhero landing—a knee bent, a fist planted on the dirt, sending a plume of dust into the air.

The team stared, eyes wide, jaws slightly slack, at the figure rising from the dust. The suit shimmered with red and gold, the unmistakable design of a high-tech armor that screamed “futuristic genius.” Then, the figure straightened up, standing tall and confident as the dust settled.

There was a dramatic pause—almost theatrical—as the figure stood there, clearly waiting for the perfect moment. And then, through their earpieces, a voice rang out, dripping with cockiness.

“Did someone order a hero?”

There was an awkward silence before Bucky snorted in disbelief, “Really?”

Harry was the first to speak up, raising an eyebrow. “Is he... wearing my colors?” His voice was a mix of amusement and mild annoyance. “Tony Stark, you absolute cheeky little—”

The figure in the red and gold armor whipped off his helmet with a flourish, revealing a very young, very disheveled Tony Stark. His hair was messy from the high-speed descent, and the grin on his face was a mix of pride and sheer smugness.

“Sorry I’m late!” Tony declared with a wide grin, brushing dust off his shoulder as if he hadn't just crashed into the ground like a meteor. “Had to make a grand entrance, you know? I figured I’d spice things up a little.”

Harry couldn't hide the smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, now you show up. And here I thought I was the one with the whole red-and-gold thing.” He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing in mock disbelief. “You're stealing my color scheme, Stark.”

Tony shot him an exaggerated look of offense, his lips curling into an almost comical pout. “Oh, please. You may have had the whole ‘red-and-gold’ vibe going for you, but this—” He gestured to his shiny new suit with a dramatic sweep. “This is Iron Man. I’m pretty sure I made it look a lot cooler than you ever could.”

Harry rolled his eyes but kept the playful banter going. “Right, and I’m the one who told everyone that red-and-gold was the new black.”

Before Tony could fire back, Bucky’s voice cut through the banter, dripping with sarcasm. “Iron Man? How original.”

“Not at all,” Steve said, his voice filled with wry amusement as he glanced over at Bucky. “But it’s good to see he's bringing style to the table. Someone had to.” He shot Tony a grin.

“Well, I can’t leave all the heavy lifting to you guys,” Tony shot back, clearly undeterred. He brushed imaginary dust off his chest, not missing a beat. “So where are all the Hydra guys? Did I miss the fight?” His voice betrayed a hint of genuine confusion as his eyes darted over the wreckage.

“You missed the entire party,” Natasha said, her lips curving into a teasing grin as she folded her arms across her chest. “Where were you, Tony?”

Tony blinked, disbelief flashing across his face. “Wait. Wait. Wait. What do you mean? The big fight? The explosions? The lasers?” His gaze bounced between the team, clearly trying to piece things together. “Did I really miss all that?”

Harry leaned against the van casually, giving Tony a sidelong glance. “Yeah, the fight’s already over. You missed all of it.” He shrugged nonchalantly, though his golden eyes glittered with mischief. “Oh, and by the way, I turned into a freaking Fenghuang—like, a dragon-phoenix hybrid now. No big deal.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to suppress his amusement. “Yeah, that little detail didn’t quite make it onto your live stream.”

Steve chuckled, a fond smirk pulling at his lips as he shook his head. “Guess we can’t always rely on Tony for the save, huh?”

Tony’s face froze in shock. “Wait—wait. You really turned into a—what? A dragon-phoenix hybrid?” His mouth hung open for a moment, before he broke into a dramatic, playful groan. “I missed the moment of transformation? That’s—” He threw his hands up. “That’s... disappointing. You couldn't have waited for me to arrive and at least make it dramatic?”

Alexei, who had been silently observing from the back of the van, finally let out a bellow of laughter, slapping Tony on the back with enough force to almost send him crashing into the van’s door. “Good to see you, Stark. Maybe next time you’ll make it on time for the action.”

Tony shot him a playful glare. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m late.” He flicked a finger at Alexei. “But just so you know, I’m here now. And I’ll still be stealing the spotlight later. Wait for it.”

“You better,” Bucky quipped. “For the sake of your ego.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in action before you know it. In style,” Tony assured them, grinning from ear to ear.

Harry shook his head in amusement, but his voice was teasing as he addressed Tony, “Don’t worry, Stark. We’ll save you a seat for the next fight.”

Tony smirked back, his helmet clicking into place with a soft hiss. “Don’t worry, Potter. I’ll make sure it’s worth the wait.”

As the team piled back into the van, Harry gave Tony one last glance, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Next time, Tony. Next time.”

With that, the van rumbled to life and pulled away from the wreckage. Tony might have missed his debut, but Harry was certain it wouldn’t be long before the young genius made his mark. The real fight? That was just getting started.

And as for the song still blasting through their comms?

“Perfect,” Harry muttered with a grin. “Absolutely perfect.”

—

As the van cruised through the quiet streets of Riga, the post-mission exhaustion hung heavily in the air, but there was a sense of anticipation among the team. They had just completed a risky operation, and the weight of it was starting to settle in. Inside the van, the members of the team were quietly processing the events—none of them were strangers to danger, but this mission had hit a little harder than usual.

Harry, as always, couldn’t resist breaking the silence. He leaned back in his seat, his golden eyes flashing with a mix of amusement and weariness. “I’m just saying, Tony, next time maybe don’t make us wait until the fireworks start before you show up. The van’s going to need therapy after that entrance.”

Tony Stark didn’t look up from adjusting his gauntlet. The faintest trace of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Oh, I’ll keep that in mind. You can’t rush greatness, you know.” He flicked a switch on his gauntlet, the bright red and gold fading as it powered down, compacting into a more manageable form. “Besides, what’s the point of being fashionably late if you don’t make an entrance?”

“An entrance is one thing,” Bucky grumbled, clearly unimpressed. “But I’ve been trying to get the adrenaline out of my bloodstream for the last ten minutes. A little less flair next time, huh?”

Steve Rogers, sitting across from them, chuckled softly. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, though. “I think we’ve all had our fill of the show for today. Next time, Tony, just... show up on time. No need for the dramatics.”

Natasha, who had been silent until now, let out a low chuckle. Her voice was dry as usual, sharp with that familiar no-nonsense edge. “If he pulls that again, I’ll personally take him off the comms. Not even ‘Thunderstruck’ can save him from that.” She shot Tony a pointed glance, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Tony grinned. “You guys just don’t appreciate good music, do you? Thunderstruck’s a classic.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his tone flat. “I was hoping the next time I heard it, it wouldn’t be because we were waiting on Stark to waltz in like a superhero from a cheesy movie.”

“Oh, relax,” Tony shot back, looking completely unbothered by Bucky’s grumbling. “At least the van’s still in one piece. That’s something, right?”

“Let’s keep the victory parade short,” Peggy interjected, her voice cutting through the banter like a blade. She was always the one to focus on the task at hand. “Vladis is expecting us. We’ve got a lot of data to go through.”

At the mention of Vladis, the room's tone shifted. Vladis was SHIELD’s handler in Latvia, and while the team could joke around with each other, there was no room for levity with him. He was all business, no fluff, no filler. His silence had a weight to it, and the team knew that if he was involved, they were walking into something serious.

The van slowed to a stop in front of a nondescript building on the outskirts of Riga. Its cracked windows and weathered exterior belied the operations that ran behind those walls. A single, imposing figure stood in front of the door, arms crossed over his chest—Vladis. His silhouette was sharp and unyielding, a man who never seemed to need to make an effort to command authority.

Harry stepped out first, pushing open the van’s door with a sigh. “We meet him once, and it’s like the temperature drops ten degrees. How does he do that?”

Bucky was the next to exit, giving Harry a brief glance before muttering under his breath. “He’s like the human embodiment of the word ‘intense.’ No idea how he pulls it off, but I swear he could give Captain America a run for his money in the ‘scary silent’ department.”

“Let’s go,” Steve said, already walking toward the door. His voice had that calm, resolute tone, the one that made it clear no further argument was needed. He always led by example.

The team followed in a loose formation, Tony bringing up the rear with his usual easy confidence. As they reached the door, Vladis gave them a single, terse nod, his features unreadable. “You’re late,” he stated, his voice deep and deliberate, though it held no emotion.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Tony replied with a shrug, completely unphased by the rebuke. “Traffic, you know? Riga’s got a great public transportation system, though. You should try it sometime.”

Vladis didn’t respond to the jab. He turned on his heel and walked inside, the rest of the team falling in behind him. The interior of the building was dim, the walls lined with monitors and equipment that hummed with the quiet noise of active data streams. There was a central table, and it was covered with laptops, tablets, and papers. Data from their mission sprawled across the screens, waiting to be analyzed.

“Report,” Vladis ordered, settling into a chair at the head of the table with his usual cool efficiency.

Natasha was already pulling up the data, her eyes scanning through the files with laser precision. “We got what we came for,” she began, her voice calm but clipped. “Hydra’s operations, their safehouses, some leadership contacts. We’ve even got names. There’s one, though—a high-level target we haven’t fully identified. Someone called ‘The Director.’”

“Not exactly a name you can Google,” Bucky muttered, his arms crossed as he leaned against the table. “What are we dealing with here, Natasha?”

“I don’t know yet,” she replied, her fingers moving quickly over the tablet. “But we’ve got a lot to sift through. If Hydra’s this organized, they’ve got to be planning something big.”

Harry leaned over the data, his golden eyes scanning the screen with interest. “If it’s a setup, it’s a hell of a good one. Too much info here to be a decoy. Hydra doesn’t drop intel like this unless they’re testing us. Maybe they think they’ve got us on the ropes.”

Tony, still standing near the back, rubbed his chin, his face serious for the first time all day. “They don’t send out data like this unless they’re feeling cornered. We’re dealing with a threat, alright. Something’s about to hit, and they’re not just taking us down—they want to make a statement.”

Vladis’s eyes flicked to Tony, then back to the screens. “And they might have someone on the inside,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “The last time we faced Hydra, their moles nearly destroyed us from within. If they’re doing this, it could be a trap.”

“Great,” Bucky muttered, his voice full of sarcasm. “Another mole. Just what we need.”

Steve’s voice cut through the tension, as steady and reassuring as ever. “We don’t jump to conclusions. We go over this intel carefully. If there’s a mole, we find them. And we shut them down.”

Natasha, never one to shy away from a challenge, nodded. “Agreed. We go through every single detail. No mistakes.”

Alexei, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up, his voice gruff and tinged with humor. “While you guys are doing all the brain work, I’ll grab some drinks. It’s been a long day.” He paused, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe I’ll even get some vodka. You know, for... medicinal purposes.”

Tony laughed, glancing over at the large Russian. “That’s the spirit. Literally.”

Vladis didn’t crack a smile, but his gaze softened ever so slightly. “Get comfortable. We’ve got a lot to dig through. The real work starts now.”

As the team gathered around the table, the gravity of their situation settled in. Hydra was always a step ahead, but now they had the upper hand. They had the intel—what they did with it next would determine the outcome.

Harry leaned forward, his eyes burning with resolve. “Alright, let’s get to work. Time to figure out who’s really pulling the strings.”

—

Harry’s fingers brushed against the clasp, sending a subtle hiss through the air as the expanded pouch attached to his Cloak of Levitation flickered open. He reached inside with a practiced motion, pulling out a sleek, cylindrical cryogenic chamber, its frost-laden surface glistening under the dim light. Inside, a humanoid figure lay frozen in stasis, shrouded in ice, its features indistinguishable but the outline unmistakable.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of the discovery settling in. Harry placed the chamber down with a soft thud on the table. His golden eyes scanned the room, noting the expressions of the others as they took in the sight.

Vladis, standing with his arms crossed, stared at the chamber for a moment, brow furrowing in confusion. His gaze flickered to Harry, then Bucky, as if searching for some clue that would make sense of the unexpected. “Project Aegis…” His voice trailed off, low and thoughtful. “I was expecting a weapon, not... this.”

Harry glanced at Bucky, who stood beside him, arms crossed. Bucky’s eyes remained fixed on the chamber as he spoke, his voice rough, tinted with something darker. “Hydra doesn’t differentiate. If they can use it, it’s a weapon. Doesn’t matter what it is—humanoid, alien, machine—it’s just another tool for their war.”

Vladis stiffened slightly, his eyes narrowing. He knew Bucky's history well enough to understand the harsh truth in his words. The air around them seemed to grow tenser.

“Hydra’s always had a tendency to think in terms of control,” Bucky added quietly, his voice laced with bitterness. “If they can't control it, they’ll lock it up until they can.”

Harry's gaze shifted to the cryo-chamber again. “Whatever Hydra says it is, it’s not just a weapon. It’s something else. They’ve probably created it to do something no one else can, and they’ll use it to gain an upper hand.”

Tony Stark, who had been standing off to the side, arms folded as he observed the situation, stepped forward. His usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a look of intrigue. “So, we’re dealing with something that was supposed to be an energy-based weapon, huh?” he asked, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. “Looks more like a bioengineered soldier to me. If this thing’s supposed to be some energy-slinging powerhouse, why does it look like a person?”

Natasha, sitting at the far end of the table, her sharp eyes scanning the data on her tablet, didn’t miss a beat. She slid the device over to Tony without a word. “Hydra’s intel on Aegis says it’s a hybrid,” she said, her voice as calm and precise as ever. “It was designed to be energy-based—supposedly able to absorb, store, and amplify raw power. The problem is, it’s also part human. Genetic manipulation combined with advanced tech. Probably a mix of nanotech, maybe Stark-level stuff if Hydra managed to get their hands on it.”

Tony’s fingers flicked through the tablet data quickly, his brow furrowing. “So, we’ve got some sort of genetically enhanced energy weapon hybrid, huh? Doesn't explain the humanoid part though. If they wanted an energy weapon, why not just build a machine?”

Natasha shrugged slightly, as though it was all in a day’s work. “Aegis was supposed to be a supercharged weapon that could blend in with regular human forces, infiltrate places without drawing attention, and pack enough of a punch to make even the Avengers nervous. The ‘human’ side was probably just a side effect of the process, an added bonus they didn’t mind. Could be useful in more covert operations.”

Harry crossed his arms, his gaze never leaving the chamber. “Or it could be part of the reason Hydra’s kept it locked away. They don't care if it's a person or a weapon, as long as they can control it.”

Steve Rogers, who had been quiet up until this point, leaned forward, his blue eyes scanning the chamber. His voice was steady but laced with concern. “If this thing was supposed to be an energy-based weapon, it’s more dangerous than we thought. And if Hydra’s been working on it for this long, we’ve got to assume they’ve activated it at least once.”

Bucky looked at Steve, his jaw tightening. “Hydra doesn’t do things halfway. If they’ve got something like this, they’re not going to let it sit in a freezer forever. If it’s not already active, they’ve got plans for it.”

Tony finally broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension. “Okay, so we’ve got a potential disaster here. Let’s not jump to conclusions. But I agree—it’s probably not just some lab project. If Hydra’s worked this long on it, it’s definitely got a purpose.”

Vladis, who had been standing at the back of the room, his eyes flicking between the team, folded his arms. “We can’t let Hydra get their hands on it. If this thing’s as powerful as it sounds, it could tip the scales in their favor. We need to figure out what we’re dealing with before we make any moves.”

Peggy Carter stepped forward, her presence commanding attention as always. Her expression was focused, her voice calm but filled with authority. “Then let’s not waste time. We need to understand what’s inside that chamber. If it’s as dangerous as you say, we can’t afford any mistakes.”

Steve looked around at the team, then at Harry and Bucky. “You two have experience with Hydra’s experiments. Can you access the cryo system? If we’re going to figure out how this thing works, we need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Bucky nodded, his gaze fixed on the cryo-chamber. “I’ve seen this kind of thing before. Hydra loves their little ‘failsafes’—shut it down if they can’t control it. We’ll need to take care with how we handle this.”

Harry’s golden eyes gleamed with a sharp focus. “Don’t worry, we’ve got it covered. But if Hydra’s been playing with this thing for so long, we can’t rule out the possibility of a backdoor control mechanism.”

Tony, with his usual sarcastic edge, gave a grin. “Well, I can’t resist a good tech hack. Let me know what you need, and I’ll be the backup plan.”

Harry smirked. “Just keep it clean, Stark. No blowing anything up just yet.” He turned back to the chamber, his fingers running over the frosted surface. “We’ve got one shot at this. Let’s make sure we get it right.”

Bucky stepped up beside him, offering a quick, tight nod. “We’ll handle the rest. You just keep an eye on the tech side. Don’t mess up, Stark.”

Vladis, whose stoic demeanor rarely cracked, finally spoke again, his voice cold and firm. “Let’s get to work. Time is not on our side.”

As the team surrounded the cryogenic chamber, the air was thick with tension. Hydra had left them with a dangerous puzzle, and the stakes were higher than ever. Whether this project would become their salvation or their undoing remained to be seen—but one thing was clear: they had to act fast.

Chapter 63: Chapter 62

Harry’s sharp gaze flickered between the frozen figure in the cryo-chamber and the others in the room. "Any indication as to who’s inside?" he asked, his voice low but edged with curiosity. His arms were folded, a habit he'd developed over the years to keep himself in check—especially when faced with unknown threats.

Tony, ever the tech expert, was already absorbed in the data on his tablet. He looked up at Harry, an eyebrow cocked in amusement. "If there is, it’s buried deep under layers of encryption,” he said with a half-smirk. “Hydra’s always been obsessive about hiding their dirty little secrets." He tapped the tablet a few more times, brow furrowed. “But don’t worry, we’ve got the right tools. It’ll take a little time, but we can crack it.”

Vladis, the towering figure beside Tony, stepped forward with a grunt, his massive arms crossed. His voice was like gravel, cold and cautious. “Hydra’s tech is no joke, Stark. You’re not gonna waltz through this without consequences.”

Tony gave Vladis a wry smile, clearly unfazed. “Relax, big guy. I’ve cracked tougher nuts before. But hey, maybe I could use some extra muscle... figuratively speaking.” He shot a glance over at Harry, then back to the rest of the group. “I think it’s time we called in some help.”

Before anyone could react, Tony snapped his fingers, a grin forming on his face. “JARVIS, come on out and work your magic.”

A soft chime rang through the speakers, and the smooth, ever-composed voice of JARVIS filled the room. “Good evening, everyone,” JARVIS said, his tone effortlessly calm, as if they weren’t standing on the precipice of something dangerous. “I’ve taken the liberty of accessing the safehouse’s systems, Mr. Stark. How may I assist?”

“Thanks, JARVIS,” Tony said, tapping commands into the tablet, eyes flicking from the screen to the chamber. “We need to bypass some heavy-duty encryption on this cryo-chamber. Hydra’s buried some key data in here, and it’s time to unlock it. Can you do it?”

There was a brief pause before JARVIS responded, his tone now tinged with that dry, almost too-perfect professionalism. “I’ll begin work on it immediately, Mr. Stark. The encryption is complex... but far from insurmountable.”

Vladis, who had been standing silently, watching Tony’s antics with growing annoyance, scoffed. “You just hijacked my systems without authorization, Stark. I don’t take kindly to that.” His voice was sharp and filled with the weight of a man who didn’t tolerate disrespect, especially from tech-obsessed billionaires.

Tony, not missing a beat, shot Vladis a mischievous grin. “Come on, Vlad. You’re not gonna be a stickler for the rules now, are you? I mean, we’re all friends here. What’s the worst that could happen?” He raised his hands in mock innocence. “Besides, it’s not like I’m going to blow up your precious little hideaway... not unless I get really bored, of course.”

Vladis’ jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond further. He clearly wasn’t amused, but his focus shifted back to the task at hand. With a deep exhale, he looked over at the cryo-chamber again.

Bucky, always the pragmatist, leaned against the wall with a grunt. “Well, whatever this is, we’re on a clock. Tony’s right about one thing—if we don’t crack this, we’re just sitting ducks. Hydra won’t wait for us to figure this out.”

Steve, standing just behind Bucky, nodded. His face was stern, his jaw set, but there was a flicker of concern in his blue eyes. “I don’t like it. An AI running our security?” He glanced at Tony, eyebrows raised. “You sure we can trust it?”

Tony’s face softened slightly, though the playfulness never left his voice. “Trust JARVIS? He’s practically my second brain. Never steered me wrong.” He shot a glance toward Harry, as if anticipating the skepticism in his eyes. “I get it, trust issues. But we’ve got no time to waste, and JARVIS is the best option we’ve got.”

JARVIS’ voice responded with the same cool calm. “I am designed to assist, Mr. Stark. Rest assured, my intentions are aligned with yours.”

Harry let out a quiet, almost amused sigh, raising an eyebrow at Tony’s defense of his digital assistant. “Just don’t go giving me nightmares of rogue robots, alright?” He muttered, crossing his arms again. “The last thing I need is a bunch of sentient machines running amok.”

“Oh, I’ve got that covered,” Tony said, waving off Harry’s concern. “Now, JARVIS, let’s get this show on the road.”

The AI hummed through the speakers, his voice no less smooth but now more deliberate. “Scanning... decrypting... accessing... Data retrieval complete.”

The room held its breath as the encrypted layers began to peel away from the screen Tony was holding, revealing Hydra’s top-secret files. With each new click of the tablet, the screen flickered as JARVIS bypassed the codes, unveiling the contents hidden beneath.

After a moment, JARVIS spoke again, his voice steady. “Subject identified: Project Aegis. This individual is not merely a weapon, but a person. Her identity was hidden under several layers of security. The subject is a woman, formerly a Hydra agent. Her name is Erica Hayes. She was considered lost during a failed experiment and subsequently frozen in this cryogenic chamber.”

The revelation hit the group like a storm.

Bucky cursed under his breath, the words slipping from him like an old habit. “So they weren’t just messing around with weapons... they were turning people into them.” His fist clenched, the weight of the words settling in. “They’re using humans as tools—like they always do.”

Vladis took a step forward, his expression a mixture of rage and disbelief. “Agent 47,” he murmured, as though the name itself was a curse. “They didn’t just create soldiers... they created monsters.”

Tony’s eyes flicked over to the display, his jaw tightening. “Classic Hydra. They think they can play God. Make weapons out of people, throw them away when they’re no longer useful. And now, here she is—locked away, waiting for someone to wake her up.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, his expression conflicted. “What do you think? Should we wake her up? Or is this another Winter Soldier situation?”

Bucky’s eyes were distant, a look of experience in them as he stared at the frozen woman. “Could go either way. Hydra’s good at making weapons out of people. If they messed with her head like they did me... we could be in for a hell of a ride.”

Harry, always the one to think ahead, stepped closer to the chamber. “We need to be careful,” he said, his voice calm but intense. “This isn’t just some simple weapon. We have no idea what she’s been through, or what she’s capable of.”

Tony nodded, his earlier sarcasm now replaced with the sharp focus of someone who knew the gravity of the situation. “Agreed. We’ll need to figure out what we’re dealing with first. Hydra won’t hesitate to come for her—and if they’ve got more like her out there...” He trailed off, his words hanging in the air like a warning.

Bucky’s face darkened as he folded his arms. “If there’s more... then we’ve got a hell of a fight ahead of us.”

“We’ll deal with it,” Harry said, his golden eyes glinting with determination. “But first, we need to figure out how to handle this situation before it becomes our problem.”

Tony gave a decisive nod. “Alright, let’s get to work. We figure out what we’re dealing with, and then we make our next move. Fast.”

Vladis, still irritated by the intrusion, didn’t hide his frustration. “Let’s just hope we don’t regret this.”

With that, the team gathered around the chamber, their focus now entirely on the mystery of Erica Hayes—and the threat Hydra had left buried in their midst. The calm before the storm was quickly slipping away, and they knew it. The game had changed. And they were now a part of it, whether they liked it or not.

—

As the room processed the revelation about Erica Hayes, the atmosphere shifted. The tension was palpable as the group stood around the chamber, contemplating the consequences of what they’d uncovered. Hydra had always been notorious for its cruel, twisted experiments, but this—this was something else.

Tony broke the silence first, his voice laced with sarcasm but also a hint of concern. “So, a human weapon powered by nanotech, genetic modifications, and energy absorption, huh? Just what we needed.” He gestured toward the cryo-chamber. “Now we get to figure out exactly what kind of abilities this woman has. I’m guessing it’s not just super strength and agility.”

Natasha stepped forward, her gaze focused on the frozen figure in the chamber, analyzing every detail. “Energy-based weapon, huh?” she muttered, her voice low and steady. “Could be anything from manipulating electricity to absorbing energy blasts and turning them into her own power.” She tilted her head, as if running through possibilities in her mind. “We need to know exactly what we’re dealing with before we wake her up. I’ve seen too many experiments like this end badly.”

Steve crossed his arms, his jaw clenched. “Hydra’s always pushing the envelope when it comes to creating weapons. They’re not just looking for soldiers—they’re looking for something... bigger. Something that can’t be controlled.” He paused, his eyes hardening. “And if we’re not careful, that’s exactly what we’ll end up with.”

Bucky leaned against the wall, his gaze still fixed on Erica Hayes. “Hydra’s never been subtle. If they gave her energy-based abilities, they probably didn’t give her any safety nets. She might be a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.” His voice was laced with a bitterness that only came from experience. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Peggy, standing at Steve’s side, spoke up with a calm yet firm tone. “If Hydra wanted to make her into a weapon, they wouldn’t have stopped at just enhancing her body. They’ve likely messed with her mind too. She could have been brainwashed, programmed to follow orders without question.” She looked at Steve, her voice steady but filled with an underlying worry. “We need to be prepared for that.”

Alexei, who had been silent up until now, cracked his knuckles and chuckled darkly. “Hydra made her a weapon, huh? You’re all talking like she’s a problem to be solved. But I’ve seen things worse than this.” He shook his head, his usual bravado masking the concern in his eyes. “A little energy manipulation’s nothing. We should be more worried about what happens when she wakes up. Is she gonna be on our side, or is she gonna tear through us like tissue paper?”

Tony turned to him with an eyebrow raised. “Trust me, if she wanted to tear us apart, we’d already be toast. But you’ve got a point. We need to know how much control she has over her abilities.” He glanced at his tablet again. “JARVIS, do a deeper scan. We need everything—energy signature, power levels, weaknesses. If she’s anything like what Hydra’s capable of, we’re gonna need a full breakdown.”

JARVIS’s calm, smooth voice answered immediately, “Of course, Mr. Stark. Scanning... Energy readings indicate an anomalous power signature—potentially capable of manipulating both kinetic and potential energy. I’m detecting fluctuations in the chamber that suggest she could absorb or redirect energy sources.” There was a slight pause before he continued, “This could also indicate the possibility of energy-based weaponry, such as blasts or shields.”

Vladis, his arms still crossed, took in the data with a grunt. “She’s like a walking power plant. If Hydra gave her the ability to absorb energy... that’s dangerous.” He looked over at Tony. “Do you really think you can contain something like that?”

Tony flashed a confident smirk, the usual bravado in his voice. “Contain her? Sure. I’m not saying we’ve got a cage big enough for an energy bomb, but I’ve got enough tech to handle it—if we know what we’re working with.” He shot a quick glance at Natasha, who was still eyeing the chamber with suspicion. “We need to find out what kind of energy she can tap into, what her limits are. Can she absorb from any source, or is there a range? Is she vulnerable to certain frequencies? We need answers.”

Steve nodded, his face set in determination. “We wake her up, but we do it carefully. We can’t afford any mistakes.” His gaze shifted to Bucky, who seemed lost in thought. “Bucky, you’ve seen the Winter Soldier program firsthand. How much of this is similar to what you went through?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened as he spoke, the words carrying a weight of painful experience. “This feels... familiar. Hydra doesn’t just create weapons—they break people. They twist your mind, your memories, your sense of self. If she’s been locked away like this, there’s no telling how much of herself is still intact.”

Natasha’s voice was firm, as if she had already made up her mind. “Then we approach this like we do any other mission—methodically, carefully. We don’t assume anything. We don’t make her a target. We treat her like a person... even if Hydra didn’t.”

Alexei smirked, his accent thick with amusement. “You all talk like she’s already on our side. What if she’s a Hydra sleeper agent? What if we wake her up and she just turns on us?”

Tony met Alexei’s gaze with a wry smile. “If she tries to turn on us, we’ll deal with it. We’re good at that.” His tone softened slightly, more serious now. “But until then, we treat her like a human being. We’re not Hydra.”

Vladis, still not fully sold on the idea, growled low in his throat. “I don’t trust her. But if you want to play the hero, Stark, you go ahead. Just don’t come crying to me when this bites us in the ass.”

Steve stepped forward, his expression unyielding. “We’ll make sure we’re ready for whatever comes. But we’re in this together. That means we don’t leave anyone behind. Not even her.”

Harry, who had been standing to the side, watching the exchange, finally spoke up. His voice was steady, calm, but there was an edge to it that only he could carry. “We’re dealing with a weapon that can absorb energy, redirect it, and probably vaporize us in a single shot if we’re not careful. But the bigger question is, what happens when we take her out of the chamber? What else has Hydra done to her?”

Tony looked over at him, eyes narrowed in thought. “Good point. We need to figure out the full extent of what she can do, how stable she is, and—most importantly—whether or not she’s dangerous. We can’t afford to make a mistake.”

Peggy turned toward Steve, her voice filled with resolve. “We’ll handle this together. One step at a time.”

And so, they all stood in silence for a moment, the weight of what they were about to do hanging heavily in the air. The countdown had begun.

—

The tension in the room thickened as they all gathered around the main conference table. Tony’s fingers drummed impatiently on the sleek surface, while Steve and Peggy exchanged a few quiet words, their usual confidence slightly overshadowed by the uncertainty of what they were about to face.

“Alright, let’s get Nick on the line,” Tony said, his voice sharp but purposeful. He swiped at his tablet, connecting to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s secure network. “JARVIS, patch us through to Fury. Let him know we’ve got something serious.”

The low hum of the room fell silent as the familiar voice of JARVIS rang out. “Connecting to Director Fury... now.”

Seconds later, the screen flashed to life, revealing the all-too-familiar scowl of Nick Fury. The one-eyed director leaned back in his chair, his gaze hard and calculating as he met their eyes.

“What’ve you got for me?” Fury's voice was gravelly and commanding, but with an undercurrent of curiosity.

Tony spoke first, always eager to cut to the chase. “Well, Nick, we’ve got a bit of a Hydra situation on our hands. Or, should I say, a weapon. We found a woman—Erica Hayes. She’s been in cryo for... God knows how long. Hydra’s been experimenting on her, turning her into some kind of energy-based weapon.”

Fury raised an eyebrow. “Energy-based weapon?” His tone was skeptical, but there was a hint of genuine concern. “Explain.”

Natasha took over, leaning forward with a steely focus. “From what we can gather, Hydra’s given her the ability to manipulate and absorb various forms of energy. We’re talking about kinetic, electrical, possibly even solar energy. She can redirect or absorb power, and considering Hydra's history with brainwashing, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve got some mind control triggers in place.”

Bucky nodded, his face grim. “I’ve seen their work up close. This... this isn’t just some enhanced soldier. She could be a walking disaster if she doesn’t have control over her abilities.”

Steve joined in, his tone practical but firm. “We’re not sure how far they pushed it. From what JARVIS found, her energy signature is... unique. She might be more dangerous than we’re expecting.”

Peggy’s voice was steady, a calm anchor amidst the tension. “And we need to understand what we’re up against before we act. If Hydra truly turned her into a weapon, she may not even have control over herself. We can’t assume she’s an ally yet.”

Tony looked at the screen, his usual bravado slightly tempered by the seriousness of the situation. “So, we’re asking you—how do we proceed from here? Do we wake her up and try to work with her? Or do we neutralize the threat before it becomes a problem?”

Fury’s eye narrowed as he absorbed all the information. He didn’t speak for a moment, his gaze flicking between the faces on the screen, sizing them all up. Finally, he leaned forward, his voice cutting through the silence. “You don’t do anything until we have a full understanding of what we’re dealing with. This isn’t just a rogue experiment—it’s a human being, possibly with a lot of Hydra's nasty fingerprints all over her. I want every single detail you’ve got.”

Tony shot a quick glance at his tablet, tapping away as JARVIS relayed more data on the woman’s energy readings. “We’ve already started gathering info. JARVIS has been running scans on her powers, but we need more than just data. We need a plan.”

Fury rubbed his temple, clearly weighing the situation. “I’ll send a team to assist, but I need you to keep her contained for now. No one goes near her without backup. If she’s as dangerous as you say, we can’t risk losing control. And for God’s sake, no heroics.”

Alexei, who’d been unusually quiet up to this point, shifted his weight. “Containment, huh? That’s your solution? Fine by me, but we better have something sturdy. Because I don’t trust that she’s just gonna sit there and play nice while we figure her out.”

“Yeah, cause that’s gonna work,” Tony muttered sarcastically. “What’s next, Fury? Do we get her a room with a view, or do we just lock her down like a good little weapon?”

Fury’s one-eyed gaze locked onto Tony’s, his usual calm demeanor unshaken. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Stark. But you’re right—we can’t just lock her away indefinitely. We need more intel on her before making any moves. That means no taking risks. Not unless she gives us a reason to.”

Vladis, who had been silently observing the conversation, leaned forward, his tone deep and serious. “The woman is a weapon, Fury. You want to treat her like a human, but Hydra did something to her that makes her more dangerous than any of us can handle without the right preparation. If you want to wake her up, make sure you’ve got the means to control her if she goes rogue.”

Fury’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s the point, Vladis. I don’t want to wake her up until we know more. You all just keep her contained until we get a better handle on this. Don’t make any moves until I say so. Understood?”

There was a collective murmur of agreement. Everyone knew the stakes were high, but Fury was still the one calling the shots.

Natasha shot a glance at Steve before speaking again, her voice low but firm. “We’ll need more than just containment. If we wake her up, we need a way to suppress her powers in case things go south. Think of it like... an insurance policy.”

Fury’s voice didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll get you what you need. But you’re right—no heroics, no unnecessary risks. We’re playing this by the book. And I want daily updates, understood? This is a Hydra mess, and I won’t have any of you making things worse by getting too cocky.”

Bucky, who had been leaning back against the wall, shrugged. “We’re not known for following orders, Fury. But we’ll play nice. For now.”

Tony grinned, a flash of amusement breaking through his usual sarcasm. “For now, anyway. But we’ll need more details on her power set before we start making any calls. If she can do what you’re saying, we’re talking about a weapon that could break every one of us if she doesn’t get the training she needs.”

Fury gave them all a long look, clearly assessing each of them. “I’ll have a team ready to assist you. But you better have a plan when we get there. I don’t care if she’s one of Hydra’s mistakes or one of their greatest creations. You keep her contained, and you make sure this doesn’t blow up in our faces.”

The screen went black as Fury ended the call, leaving the room in an uneasy silence. The weight of the decision ahead settled on their shoulders like an invisible storm cloud.

“Alright,” Steve said, breaking the silence, “Let’s get to work. We’ve got a lot of planning to do.”

As they moved into action, it was clear that whatever came next, they would be facing the unknown—and they’d have to do it together.

—

The cryogenic chamber still hummed softly in the corner, casting an eerie blue glow across the dimly lit safehouse. Erica Hayes—Hydra’s so-called energy-based weapon—remained frozen inside, her presence a silent, volatile question mark looming over the room.

Harry stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, let’s get Sleeping Beauty packed up before Hydra decides to come knocking.” He slipped his hand into his enchanted pouch, fingers brushing against the familiar magic woven into its depths. With a muttered incantation, the pouch’s mouth widened far beyond what should have been possible, stretching impossibly wide as the entire cryogenic chamber was sucked inside. The pouch sealed itself shut with a soft snap, as if it had just casually swallowed something the size of a small car.

Tony let out a low whistle, arms crossed as he watched the impossible physics unfold before him. “Okay. Nope. Nope. Not even gonna pretend that made sense. That’s breaking at least seven laws of physics. Eight, if we count the part where it’s also giving me a migraine.”

Harry smirked, brushing nonexistent dust off his robe. “Oh, you poor, fragile little man. Did the laws of physics betray you again? You want me to call someone? Maybe a therapist?” He clutched his chest in mock sympathy. “Or, you know, maybe a wizard?”

Tony shot him a flat look. “You are the wizard. You are the problem.”

Natasha snorted, arms folded as she leaned against the wall. “Welcome to my world.”

Tony exhaled sharply, refocusing his attention on the Cloak of Levitation draped over Harry’s shoulders. His gaze sharpened with the unmistakable glint of a man who had taken apart everything from missiles to alien technology and would absolutely disassemble a magic cloak if given the chance.

“Alright, let’s talk about the flying tablecloth,” Tony said, pointing at the Cloak. “What’s the deal? Magic fabric? Anti-gravity mesh? AI? Because if this thing is an AI, I want a chat.”

Before Harry could answer, the Cloak lifted slightly, tilting as if considering Tony’s words. Then—without warning—it swung up and smacked him upside the head.

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

Bucky barked out a laugh, clapping Harry on the back. “Oh, that’s fantastic.”

Alexei wheezed, doubling over slightly. “This cloak. This cloak has taste.”

Natasha, smirking, arched a brow. “I don’t know, Tony. Looked like it did have a chat with you. Didn’t seem impressed.”

Tony, rubbing the back of his head, scowled at them. “You’re all just jealous. That was assault. I should sue.”

Harry grinned like a smug little menace. “Oh yeah? Who exactly are you gonna take to court? My cloak?” He spread his hands dramatically. “Your Honor, my client, the enchanted piece of fabric, pleads not guilty on the basis of Tony Stark being insufferable.”

Bucky chuckled. “I’d be willing to testify in its defense.”

“Same,” Natasha added, stone-faced.

Alexei grinned. “I’ll be character witness. ‘Very honorable fabric. Not prone to needless violence—unless provoked by stupid billionaire.’”

Steve sighed, rubbing his temples. “Can we focus?”

Peggy, standing next to him, chuckled lightly. “Let them have their fun, darling. Tony’s ego will survive.”

Tony muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “burn the cloak”, but he let it go.

With the entertainment out of the way, the team shifted back into business mode.

Vladis adjusted the strap of his tactical vest, his expression unreadable. “I’ll hold things down here. Make sure nothing Hydra-related comes sniffing around.”

Steve nodded. “Keep a low profile. If anything feels off, you call us immediately.”

Vladis smirked, the scar along his jawline pulling slightly. “Relax, Captain. I won’t get myself killed while you’re off playing hero.”

Steve gave him a look, but let it slide.

Harry, meanwhile, flexed his fingers, golden sparks crackling between them. With a practiced twist, he spun his wrist in a circular motion. A glowing portal flared to life, the familiar warmth of New York’s safehouse visible through the swirling gateway.

Natasha rolled her shoulders, glancing at the others. “Alright. Let’s move.”

One by one, they stepped through, leaving Riga behind.

The storm was waiting for them in New York.

—

If you had told Jean Grey a year ago that she’d be standing in a courtyard in Nepal, holding a mystical artifact while a bald woman in golden robes lectured her on the nature of the universe, she would’ve laughed in your face.

Then again, she’d also thought mutant powers were the weirdest thing she’d ever have to deal with, so really, that was on her.

The air in Kamar-Taj smelled like incense, aged parchment, and a hint of sweat—probably from all the training that had happened in this very courtyard over the centuries. Lanterns flickered in the early evening light, their glow casting long shadows over the stone floor.

Jean, Ororo Munroe, and Don’t-Call-Me-Nymphadora Tonks stood in a loose semi-circle, each clutching a Sling Ring like it might bite them. Across from them, the Ancient One sat with the kind of effortless grace that suggested she could also be levitating and just choosing not to.

“Magic is not about power,” she said, her voice calm, like she was explaining the concept of patience to particularly unruly children. “It is about understanding the forces that move the universe—and bending them to your will.”

Tonks, shifting impatiently, rolled her shoulders. “Yeah, okay, that sounds super mystical and wise, but how do we actually do it? Like, do we wave our hands? Chant some magic words? Is there a cheat code?”

Jean sighed and gave her a look. “Maybe try listening first?”

Tonks huffed. “I am listening. I’m just also wondering how long this takes because my attention span is like—squirrel!” She pointed dramatically at nothing, just to prove a point.

Ororo, who had been quietly absorbing everything, ignored them both and focused on the Ancient One. “You said before that we channel energy from other dimensions. Is that what the Sling Ring does?”

The Ancient One inclined her head. “Correct. The Sling Ring allows you to access dimensional energy to create gateways between spaces. It is a tool, nothing more. The real magic lies here.” She placed a hand over her heart. “And here.” She tapped her temple.

Tonks scrunched her nose. “So basically… willpower?”

The Ancient One smiled slightly. “In a way. It requires focus. Something I suspect you may struggle with.”

Tonks opened her mouth to protest but quickly realized she had no solid argument, so she just crossed her arms instead.

“Alright,” the Ancient One continued, rising to her feet. “Extend your hand. Picture the destination in your mind. Feel the pull of the space you wish to open. Then—draw the circle.”

She lifted her hand, fingers moving with practiced ease. Sparks ignited from her fingertips, swirling into a golden ring of light. A moment later, a portal flared open, revealing a misty mountain peak that looked very far from where they were standing.

Jean squinted at it. “Okay, that’s cool.”

Tonks grinned. “That’s sick.”

Jean took a deep breath and lifted her hand, trying to mimic the motion. At first, nothing happened. She frowned, narrowing her eyes like that might help.

Then—

A spark.

It was faint, barely there, but it sent a tingle up her arm. Jean inhaled sharply, focusing harder. The feeling was warm, like something waiting just beneath her skin.

“I think I felt it,” she said, mostly to herself.

Ororo, watching closely, tried next. Her movements were fluid, precise—she had the kind of natural control that made Jean envious. But when she moved her fingers in the air—

Nothing.

Ororo frowned.

Then—

A gust of wind swept through the courtyard, ruffling their robes.

Ororo blinked. The Ancient One arched a brow. “Interesting.”

Jean smirked. “Looks like you really don’t like not being in control of the elements.”

Ororo gave her a side-eye but didn’t deny it.

Tonks, impatient as ever, flexed her fingers. “Alright, my turn.” She slashed her hand through the air dramatically—

Nothing.

She scowled. “Oh, come on—”

The Ancient One simply observed. “Your mind is restless. You expect results without feeling the process.”

Tonks groaned. “So basically, I need to chill?”

“Or at least focus,” the Ancient One said dryly.

Jean smirked. “Yeah, Tonks, that’s gonna be a challenge.”

Tonks shot her a glare but didn’t argue. Instead, she let out a long breath, rolling out her shoulders and trying again. This time, she moved her fingers slower, more deliberately.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

A flicker of golden sparks.

Small, fleeting, but there.

Tonks gasped. “Ha! I did it!”

The Ancient One nodded, but her expression remained neutral. “You started to do it. There is still much to learn.”

Jean, Ororo, and Tonks exchanged glances.

This was going to be harder than they thought.

But oh, it was going to be fun.

Chapter 64: Chapter 63

The portal spat them out into the main living space of the safehouse, which, in true Stark fashion, looked like what would happen if a billionaire genius, a mad scientist, and a wizard all got drunk and decided to build a house together. Sleek holographic displays hummed alongside floating enchanted candles. A coffee maker, which Harry was pretty sure had been possessed since last Tuesday, hissed menacingly in the corner.

Howard Stark stood by the massive holo-table, arms crossed, scowling like they’d just interrupted his favorite radio program. “About time you kids got back. You bring me something worth my time, or was this just another field trip with extra bullets?”

“Oh, don’t worry, old man,” Harry said, patting his enchanted pouch. “We brought you something very special.”

Andromeda Tonks—who somehow managed to look both exhausted and effortlessly regal, like a battle-worn queen—arched a brow. “Is it bleeding?”

Ted, ever the supportive husband, adjusted his glasses. “That’s usually the first question we ask.”

Lily Potter appeared from the lab space, wiping her hands on a rag, red hair piled in a messy bun that shouldn’t have made her look as intimidating as it did. She fixed Harry with a knowing look, one that said What did you do this time? but in the voice of someone who had long since given up on expecting better. “I assume whatever’s in that pouch is important enough that you didn’t just leave it in a freezer somewhere?”

“Oh, you know me,” Harry said, unfastening the pouch with a flourish. “I like to bring home souvenirs.”

With a flick of his wrist and a muttered incantation, the pouch’s mouth widened—because physics were for Muggles—and the cryogenic chamber whooshed out, landing in the center of the room with a solid thunk.

Howard let out a low whistle. “Okay. Now that’s interesting.”

Gideon Adler, formerly known as The Most Dangerous Wizard of the 20th Century and now rocking an expensive three-piece suit like he’d just walked off a Parisian runway, stepped closer, regarding the chamber with a knowing smirk. “And this was in Riga?”

Harry nodded. “Long story short? Hydra’s got their hands on some seriously unstable assets. This one?” He gestured to the frozen woman inside. “Meet Erica Hayes. Hydra’s attempt at making an energy-based superweapon.”

Andromeda sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like she could already feel the incoming headache. “Why is it always weapons with these people?”

“Unoriginal,” Gideon agreed. “If they had any creativity, they’d try making an opera singer with energy powers instead. Or at the very least, an artist.”

Ted blinked. “That’s where your mind went?”

Howard, still studying the chamber, knocked on the glass. “She alive?”

Harry shrugged. “As alive as anyone can be in cryo. Not dead, not awake.”

Lily stepped forward, fingers trailing over the chamber’s surface. Magic crackled around her hands, golden runes flaring to life before flickering out like dying embers. Her green eyes narrowed. “The technology here is weird. There’s something laced into it—something not quite magic, but not quite science either.”

Gideon smirked, tilting his head. “You mean my kind of magic?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “I mean something like magic but engineered. It’s been modified, twisted into something that plays by scientific rules. Or at least, Hydra’s version of them.”

Howard sighed, rubbing his temples. “Great. More magical science nonsense. Every time I think I’ve got a handle on this, you people throw another curveball at me.”

Andromeda stepped closer, hands already glowing with diagnostic spells. “We need to wake her up carefully. If Hydra went through the trouble of keeping her on ice, it means she’s either dangerous, unstable, or both.”

Harry clapped his hands together. “Well, lucky for us, we specialize in dangerous and unstable.”

Ted gave him a long look. “Why does that sound like your life motto?”

“Because it is.”

Howard exhaled sharply. “Alright. Let’s crack this thing open. But carefully. I don’t need an exploding energy lady ruining my day.”

Lily nodded, already weaving a spell to override the cryo-lock. The machine hummed, the glass panel fogging up slightly as warmth seeped back into the chamber.

Gideon folded his arms. “Let’s hope she wakes up on the right side of history.”

Andromeda’s gaze flickered to the figure inside. “And let’s hope she doesn’t wake up angry.”

The lock released with a hiss.

The ice began to melt.

And Erica Hayes took her first breath.

She woke up gasping, like she’d been drowning in her own mind and had finally reached the surface. Then her eyes snapped open—bright, electric blue, crackling with raw energy—and for one very long second, nobody moved.

Then—

“Ah,” Erica said, blinking blearily. Her voice was hoarse, like someone who hadn’t spoken in a long time. She glanced around, taking in the strange mix of faces staring at her. “So. I’m either in a Hydra facility, an alien spaceship, or someone’s very weird fever dream.”

Harry grinned. “Option D: None of the above. Welcome to the safehouse.”

Erica stared at him. “And who are you supposed to be?”

He smirked, dramatically flipping his cloak over his shoulder. “Oh, you know. Just your friendly neighborhood wizard.”

Erica considered that. Then, still groggy, muttered, “That’s stupid.”

Howard snorted. Gideon smirked. Lily beamed.

Harry just grinned wider. “Oh, you’re gonna fit right in.”

—

The lights flickered dramatically. Because, of course, they did.

Electric-blue sparks crackled over Erica Hayes’ fingertips as she sat up, looking somewhere between mildly confused and one wrong word away from blasting someone through a wall. Which, all things considered, was a very reasonable reaction to waking up in a strange room filled with even stranger people.

Before anyone could say anything, the universe decided now was the perfect time for Captain America to make his grand entrance.

“What the hell did you just do?”

Ah. There it was. The patented Steve Rogers Disappointed Dad Voice.

Steve came stomping into the room, the weight of all his moral fiber making every step sound heavy with judgment. Peggy Carter, always the picture of composed British disapproval, followed right behind him. Natasha slinked in like she was already considering whether this mess was worth her time, while Bucky looked like a man who had mentally checked out and was now thinking about whether whiskey or a well-placed explosion would solve his problems faster.

Howard Stark, completely unfazed, adjusted his cuffs. “Ah, Rogers. Good. You can help me yell at them.”

Steve’s eyes landed on Erica, who—understandably—had electricity literally dancing over her skin. He exhaled slowly. “Tell me you didn’t just wake up the highly classified, highly dangerous superweapon Fury specifically told us not to touch.”

Harry, ever the chaotic neutral party in the room, leaned against the cryo-table with a casual shrug. “I could tell you that.”

Steve crossed his arms. “But?”

Harry grinned. “But it would be a lie.”

Steve closed his eyes for a second, possibly making peace with his inevitable aneurysm. Then, because he was Steve Rogers and therefore built from an ungodly mix of stoicism and stubborn Midwestern morality, he turned to Howard. “Please tell me you didn’t sign off on this.”

Howard waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, absolutely not.” A beat. “But it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”

Right on cue, a new voice chimed in from the doorway.

“Damn right it is.”

And there he was—Tony Stark, age sixteen, leaning against the doorframe like he hadn’t just walked into the middle of what definitely qualified as an international incident. He was already halfway through a stolen cup of coffee (because of course he was), despite no one actually seeing him take it.

Steve let out a long-suffering groan. “Oh, great. There’s two of you now.”

Tony, without missing a beat, shot him finger guns. “Relax, Cap. You’ll get used to it.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate that I already have.”

Meanwhile, Erica had been watching this entire exchange like someone who had accidentally walked into the world’s weirdest sitcom. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Uh. Hate to interrupt whatever this is, but could someone please tell me where the hell I am?”

Peggy, ever the responsible one, stepped forward, leveling Erica with the kind of gaze that could make lesser men confess to crimes they hadn’t even committed. “Before we do that, perhaps you could explain who you are.”

Erica hesitated, sparks flickering over her hands again. “You sure? It’s a long story.”

Howard crossed his arms. “We’ve got time.”

Harry, grinning, gestured dramatically. “Besides, we love a good tragic backstory.”

Erica exhaled slowly, met their collective stares, and braced herself.

“Alright,” she said.

And then she began.

—

For a long moment, Erica just sat there, shoulders stiff, fingers twitching like she had too much caffeine—or, given her situation, maybe just too much existential dread. The faint blue light crackling over her skin flared and died as she exhaled slowly, visibly forcing herself to stay calm.

“Right,” she muttered, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Guess I should start at the beginning.”

Harry, ever the supportive audience member, made a go on gesture like he was settling in for a particularly juicy soap opera.

Erica took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and said the magic words:

“I was a Hydra agent.”

Instant room temperature drop.

Natasha’s face didn’t change—because, well, it was Natasha—but she shifted her weight slightly, in that I am calculating twelve different ways to kill you right now way she had. Bucky, already leaning against the farthest wall like he didn’t trust the furniture, tensed as though he had just gotten flashbacks to his least favorite winter memories. Steve’s jaw went rigid. Peggy—who had personally spent a significant portion of her life punching Hydra in the teeth—folded her arms, expression somewhere between I knew it and I might throw you out the window.

Erica let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, I figured that’d go over well.”

Natasha arched a brow, voice cool as ever. “You were Hydra?”

“Were.” Erica emphasized, because context mattered. “Until I realized they’d been lying to me from the start.”

Silence. The kind that stretched long enough to make a person question their life choices. Then, Howard—who had somehow taken all of this in stride, probably because he was used to things getting progressively weirder—gestured for her to keep talking. “Well, go on, kid. You already have our attention.”

Erica exhaled sharply. “I grew up in Hydra. Born into it, practically. My parents were scientists working on advanced bioweapons—brilliant, but a little too ethical for Hydra’s taste. When I was five, they died in what I was told was a terrorist attack.”

Steve’s frown deepened. Given his own Hydra murdered my parents situation, he was taking this personally. “And that wasn’t true?”

Erica shook her head, her jaw tightening. “No. The real story is that Baron Helmut Zemo had them executed when they refused to weaponize their research. But I didn’t know that. Hydra fed me a sob story, made me believe the world was cruel and chaotic, and that only they could bring order to it.” Her voice turned bitter. “And I bought it.”

Tony, still absorbed in the data flashing across the screen from the now-open cryo chamber, didn’t look up as he muttered, “Yeah, that definitely sounds like a cult.”

Erica huffed a laugh. “Tell me about it.”

Bucky, who had extremely strong opinions on the Hydra raised me to be useful pipeline, made a noise that sounded vaguely like a growl but otherwise stayed silent.

“I volunteered for Project Aegis,” Erica continued. “An experimental enhancement program designed to create next-gen supersoldiers. Their answer to Captain America—except with an added bonus.” She lifted her hand, letting blue sparks dance over her fingers. “Energy-based abilities meant to neutralize even the biggest threats.”

Natasha tilted her head slightly. “But you were planning to defect.”

Erica nodded. “Yeah. Somewhere along the way, I started putting the pieces together. Little inconsistencies. Orders that didn’t add up. Then I found the files—the ones detailing everything Hydra had ever done to me. My parents weren’t killed in a terrorist attack. They were murdered. My life, my loyalty—manufactured. I was a weapon, just like they always wanted.”

The silence that followed was loud.

Harry, who had been unusually quiet up until now, muttered, “That’s messed up.”

Erica huffed out another humorless laugh. “You’re telling me.”

Peggy, always the one to cut straight to the core of a problem, narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t you leave?”

Erica’s expression darkened. “I tried. I had an escape plan, a way out. I was going to defect to S.H.I.E.L.D.—but before I could make my move, I was betrayed.”

Steve, voice tight, asked, “By who?”

Erica’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Someone I trusted. Someone I thought was on my side.” She let out a slow breath, then gestured toward the cryo chamber, which was now officially her least favorite piece of furniture. “Next thing I knew, I was locked in that thing, and Zemo was giving some long, dramatic speech about how I was a failure and an inconvenience that needed to be erased.”

Tony, who had been scrolling through Hydra’s Really Evil Data Logs, suddenly frowned. “Well, that tracks.”

He tapped the screen, adjusting his reading glasses just to be extra annoying. “According to this, you’ve been on ice for…” He hesitated, then glanced at Howard.

Howard, who had been peering over Tony’s shoulder, sighed and rubbed his temple. “A decade.”

Erica blinked. “A decade?”

“Give or take,” Tony added helpfully. “You know how it is. Hydra loves its dramatic time capsules.”

Erica just stared at them, processing that tiny detail. Then she exhaled sharply, ran a hand through her hair, and muttered, “Well. That explains a lot.”

Harry clapped his hands together. “Okay, so, to summarize: You were raised by Hydra, found out they were the worst, tried to leave, got betrayed, and then Zemo decided to freeze you like an evil Disney princess?”

Erica shot him a look. “That’s a terrible summary.”

Tony nodded sagely. “Yeah, but it is accurate.”

Steve, who had been standing quietly with his thoughtful but vaguely furious expression, crossed his arms. “The important question is—what do you plan to do now?”

Erica looked at him. Then at the others. At Natasha’s unreadable expression, Bucky’s carefully measured silence, Peggy’s cool assessment. Then she glanced down at her hands, at the faint blue glow still lingering over her skin.

Slowly, she clenched her fists.

“…I want to finish what I started.”

Howard smirked, tone halfway between approval and amusement. “Well, now that’s interesting.”

And just like that, things got a whole lot more complicated.

—

The comms crackled to life, sending a buzz through the room. Everyone knew what was coming. The atmosphere in the safehouse shifted from 'mildly chaotic' to 'brace for impact.' They had, after all, just opened a cryo-chamber containing a potentially lethal superpowered individual. If there was anyone who’d be really angry about that, it was Nick Fury.

His voice came through the speakers like a freight train—loud, direct, and carrying all the fury of a thousand storm clouds. “Tell me,” he asked, his words laced with the kind of venom that made people check if they were still breathing, “which one of you idiots thought it was a good idea to open a cryo chamber containing an unknown, possibly hostile enhanced individual when I explicitly told you to wait until we had proper containment?!”

There was a silence in the room, and not the good kind. The kind where you start rethinking your life choices and maybe wish you had just stayed home, binge-watching Netflix.

Howard Stark, ever the cocky genius (and in this case, probably the reason they were in this mess), cleared his throat like he was about to talk his way out of a paper bag. “Well, technically—”

“Stark,” Fury interrupted, his voice suddenly dipping into that low, ominous growl that made even the most confident people question their life decisions. “Do not finish that sentence unless you want to personally fund the psychiatric therapy I’m going to need after dealing with this mess.”

Howard raised an eyebrow, glancing at his fellow Avengers for support. “Pretty sure you could use some anyway.”

Ted Tonks—because, apparently, nothing says "I’m going to live forever" like picking a fight with a guy who controls a global spy network—smirked. “Hey, in our defense—”

Fury didn’t even let him finish. “DEFENSE?! The only defense I’d accept is that you were all temporarily possessed by a brain-eating parasite that made you forget basic protocol and common sense!”

Somewhere in the background, Erica—who, let’s be honest, probably didn’t know she was walking into a complete disaster today—raised a hesitant hand. “Uh, I’m right here, y’know?”

Fury was unmoved. “And you’ll stay right there until I’m sure you’re not about to go full Winter Soldier on us.”

Bucky, who had been the Winter Soldier, muttered under his breath, “Nice. Real supportive.”

Fury ignored him, which, considering Bucky’s emotional baggage, was probably a smart move.

Lily—who was the one person in the room who was actually trying to fix things—stepped up, putting her hands on her hips. “Alright, alright. Let’s just take a breath—”

“A breath?!” Fury let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Lady, the only thing stopping me from storming that safehouse myself and knocking all your heads together is that I don’t know if I’ve got the insurance for it.”

Gideon Adler (aka Gellert Grindelwald... or whatever this new identity was) couldn’t resist. “Now, now, Director. No need to be dramatic. Everything’s under control.”

Fury’s sigh was so deep it could’ve been used as a boat anchor. “Gellert Grindelwald—”

“Gideon Adler,” Gideon corrected with a smug smile, knowing full well that was exactly the wrong thing to say. “I find the whole ‘Grindelwald’ thing rather... passé.”

“Gellert,” Fury repeated, the frustration practically dripping from the word. “If you open your mouth one more time—”

“—You’ll what?” Gideon asked, his voice practically oozing smugness. “Glaring at me through the screen?”

Fury made a sound somewhere between a growl and a scream. Somewhere, a nearby window cracked under the pressure.

Andromeda, ever the voice of reason in a world that had absolutely none, massaged her temples. “Gideon, stop provoking the man who controls a global spy network. Trust me, it's not worth it.”

Gideon shrugged like he didn't have a care in the world. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Fury’s voice suddenly dropped into a terrifying, measured tone, as though he was forcing his temper into submission. “Alright, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to sit tight and not do anything stupid. I’m sending a containment team. You will not engage, you will not do anything that’ll get us all killed, and if I find out that one of you so much as looks at a suspicious object, I will personally make sure you all end up in a very deep hole with no access to coffee, alcohol, or science.”

There was a collective gasp from Howard, Tony, and Lily. And honestly, if you were Tony Stark and someone just threatened you with no science, you'd probably die a little inside.

“How dare you?” Lily whispered, her eyes wide with shock.

Tony put a hand over his heart, mock-hurt. “That was cruel, Fury. Just cruel.”

Howard muttered, “That’s borderline war crime material, man.”

Ted leaned over to Andromeda, his eyes sparkling with the dangerous kind of curiosity. “Should we tell him about the other—”

The entire room froze.

Fury’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Other?”

It was like the whole safehouse collectively held its breath.

“Uh,” Ted said, “I mean—should we tell him about... the other... stuff?”

Fury’s voice came back, cold and unfeeling, like a glacier moving at full speed. “I am so done.”

And in that instant, the man who was responsible for keeping the world safe from chaos sounded like he was one deep breath away from a full meltdown.

“Alright,” Fury said after what seemed like an eternity. “You idiots are lucky. I’m sending a containment team. You idiots will stay exactly where you are. No heroics. No being stupid. No opening anything else, ever again, without clearance. Got it?”

“Got it,” Harry said quickly, cutting off whatever else Howard was about to say, knowing full well that if Fury didn’t want a word out of them, Howard was not going to be the one to provoke him any further.

Fury’s voice turned lethal. “And if you do anything else stupid... I swear to God, I will make sure none of you have a job or a life to go back to. Just try me.”

With that, he cut the connection, and the room was left in a stunned silence.

Then, from the back, Erica, who had clearly absorbed as much chaos as one human could take in a day, raised her eyebrows. “So... that was the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D?”

Harry clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Welcome to the madness.”

Howard gave an exaggerated shrug. “Trust me, kid. That was nothing.”

And as the tension simmered down just a little bit, the group exchanged glances, all of them wondering how much worse it could get. Because when it came to this bunch, it usually got worse before it got better.

—

Erica raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she leaned against the table. “What other thing, exactly? You know, I think I speak for the whole room when I say we’re all really curious now.” Her tone was light, but there was an edge of sarcasm creeping in.

Harry, not one to miss a chance for chaos, grinned and leaned in toward Ted, practically bouncing on his heels. “Yeah, Ted. What other thing? Don’t leave us hanging. I’m already running on pure Fury-induced panic, and you can’t just dangle a juicy mystery in front of me like this. Spill it, my guy.”

Ted seemed to wilt under their combined gaze, and it was clear he was trying to figure out how deep in trouble he was. “Look, I’m not sure this is a good time,” he mumbled, looking a bit panicked. “Maybe we should—”

“Oh no,” Harry cut in, “now it’s definitely the best time. You’re not getting away from this one, Ted.” He was practically grinning, the kind of grin that made even the bravest of men reconsider their life choices.

Bucky, leaning back with his arms crossed and a half-smile, tossed in his two cents. “Yeah, man. You can’t just say 'other stuff' and leave it there. That’s not how this works.”

Ted groaned, his face going red as he realized there was no backing out now. “Alright, alright, fine. But I’m warning you, this is gonna sound insane.”

“Does it involve anything worse than the possibility of getting blown up by Fury today?” Harry asked, genuinely curious.

Ted hesitated for a long second, but then sighed as though he’d just been handed a life sentence. “Well… James and Sirius—”

“Let me guess. They’re at it again?” Tony interrupted, rolling his eyes as though he’d already lived this horror story a thousand times. “Those two are like a walking disaster waiting to happen.”

“More like an exploding disaster,” Howard Stark piped up, folding his arms across his chest with a smug expression. “I’ll give them credit for one thing—those two are genius-level idiots.”

“Genius-level idiots who can cause an international crisis,” Tony muttered, rubbing his temples like he was trying to ward off a headache.

Ted ignored them, continuing with a deadpan seriousness that made the group lean in closer. “Yeah, well… it turns out that those genius-level idiots didn’t just ‘experiment’ in the lab. They created… a little something. And I mean little as in mini black hole bombs.”

There was a beat of silence, like the universe itself had taken a pause to process what Ted had just said. Then, it all hit at once.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tony was the first to speak, blinking in disbelief. “Did you just say black hole bombs?”

Ted nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. Black hole bombs. I mean, I don’t know if it’s an actual black hole per se, but it’s pretty close. They’re, uh… tiny, portable little singularities that can pretty much destroy everything in a pretty impressive radius.”

Howard looked a little impressed despite the situation. “I’ve seen some crazy tech, but this is—this is next-level insanity.”

Tony turned to his father with wide eyes, his voice a mix of shock and sarcasm. “You’re telling me, we couldn’t even come close to something like this, and these two morons managed to pull it off?”

Howard gave a long-suffering sigh, his arms spreading wide in that patented “we’re dealing with magic” gesture. “It’s magic, Tony. Magic’s a whole different level of crazy. You can’t exactly predict what’s going to happen when you start playing with things like that.”

“I still can’t believe this,” Tony muttered, leaning back in his chair like he was trying to process this new level of madness. “I mean, black hole bombs? What’s next? A reality-bending pocket watch?”

Gideon Adler—who had been silently observing all of this with the same mischievous gleam in his eye that James Potter once had—finally spoke up. “Well, let’s not forget who we’re dealing with here. The Marauders. Chaos is practically their middle name.” He smiled, a thin, almost predatory grin forming on his face. “And chaos, my friends, is an art form.”

Andromeda, standing nearby, rolled her eyes dramatically. “Genius in chaos, yes. But still chaos.”

Bucky chuckled under his breath, clearly entertained. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that James and Sirius never did anything without at least half an eye on making a mess of it all. It’s in their DNA.”

“Great,” Steve muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. “I’ve fought Hydra, aliens, and robots, but now we’re dealing with black hole bombs from a couple of troublemaking wizards? Really?”

“Well, don’t worry,” Natasha added dryly from her perch near the door. “Fury’s going to lose his mind when he finds out about this.”

Bucky grinned at her. “I’d say that’s a given.”

“Right, and if we survive Fury’s reaction,” Natasha continued, “maybe we’ll get a drink.” Her smirk was lethal. “Or three.”

The conversation paused for a moment as the reality of the situation settled in. Howard, ever the pragmatist, broke the silence. “Listen, we need to figure out if Fury knows about these little—how do you say—toys yet. Because if he does, we’re all screwed.”

Ted shifted nervously. “If he doesn’t know already, he will soon enough. The last thing we need is him finding them and going nuclear on the rest of us. I mean, no offense, but Fury with those? That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Harry said, a grin creeping onto his face. “I mean, I definitely don’t want to be responsible for getting everyone incinerated by black holes. That would ruin my whole ‘hero’ thing I’ve got going.”

“I’m not sure any of us are getting out of this one alive,” Steve muttered, not entirely kidding.

“Maybe,” Tony said, suddenly perking up with that signature Stark flair. “But I’ve got a few ideas for how we can prevent Fury from turning us all into cosmic dust. It’s just gonna involve a lot of sneaky science and—oh yeah—magic.”

“Right,” Howard deadpanned. “We’ll just add some magic to the mix and make everything magically better. Nothing could go wrong.”

Harry, who had been quietly sipping his drink and enjoying the drama, raised his eyebrows. “Look, all I know is this is about to get really interesting. And probably really, really dangerous.”

Gideon grinned widely. “Dangerous? This is just another Tuesday for us. Now, let’s figure out how to stop Fury from blowing us to bits.”

“And then we’ll have a drink,” Natasha added with a wink.

With that, the chaos continued. And somewhere in the background, you could almost hear the sound of James and Sirius cackling from their labs, as if they were right there, enjoying every bit of the mayhem they’d just created.

—

As the storm of chaos raged in the next room—people arguing about mini black hole bombs, seriously—Lily Potter and her son, Harry, took a detour. And by "detour," I mean they marched straight to the lab of James Potter and Sirius Black. These two were so well-known for their brilliance and utter lack of caution that Harry swore the floor would probably be lava by the time they got there.

Lily, the fiery redhead with a brain sharper than a basilisk’s fang, slapped Harry on the back with a little too much enthusiasm. "Alright, kiddo," she said, her smile sweet but her tone sharp enough to cut glass. "We’re going to have a chat with your father and Sirius. Need to talk to them about their ‘latest pet project.’"

Harry groaned. You know it's bad when your mom's pulling the "let's talk" card. "Great. Let me guess—world domination through more black holes?"

Lily raised an eyebrow. "You’re the one with our genes. You should be used to it by now."

Harry winced. "Yeah, I guess that does explain a lot." He ran a hand through his messy hair, his nerves already on edge. "Seriously though, how do they keep topping themselves? I mean, mini black hole bombs? Who needs that kind of power?"

Lily didn’t miss a beat. "Well, remember when your father created a spell to make people float off the ground and—"

Harry stopped her right there, his face contorting. "Ugh, I know. How could I forget the floating jellybeans incident? No more weird experiments, please. I just—"

"Let’s just hope they haven't blown up the lab this time," Lily interrupted, shooting him a knowing look.

But Harry wasn’t having it. "Or opened up a black hole that we’ll have to explain to Fury. Because I can already see that conversation going downhill fast."

They reached the lab, a place where genius and disaster seemed to mix in equal parts. If there was ever a more chaotic place on the planet, Harry hadn't found it. Papers were flying, unfinished gadgets were scattered all over, and in the middle of it all, Sirius Black and James Potter were hunched over a set of magical blueprints, chatting excitedly about whatever insanity they were cooking up now.

James looked up when they entered, his signature grin plastered on his face, like he’d just stolen the last chocolate bar in the house and was daring someone to stop him. His messy black hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in years. "Ah, Lily, Harry! What’s up? Need some chaos in your life?"

Lily crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "Chaos? Oh, I’m sure you two have plenty of innovations for us, don’t you?"

Sirius, the handsome troublemaker with an almost too-perfect smirk, leaned back in his chair. "Oh, Lil, don’t be such a buzzkill. We’re just ensuring the world doesn’t get too boring, y’know?"

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorframe. "Yeah, by creating stuff that could probably open a portal to the Underworld or make us all disappear. So, what are you guys working on today? Another doomsday device?"

James gave him a wink. "No, no. Nothing that dramatic today. We’re on the edge of something great—an invisibility shield that works on both magical and technological wavelengths."

Harry blinked. "An invisibility shield?" He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "That’s it? You two are playing with old school magic now?"

Lily, clearly enjoying the show, stepped forward with a smirk of her own. "You really want to talk about ‘being behind the times,’ Harry? You do realize you’re a wizard using actual Sorcery, and you’re going to diss an invisibility shield?"

Harry threw his hands in mock surrender. "Touché, Mom. You’ve got me there. I’ll just go back to being an actual superhero and—"

"Alright, enough banter," James interjected, slapping a hand on a workbench piled high with glowing stones and mysterious components. "We’ve got bigger things to focus on. You heard about those mini black hole bombs, right? Well, that was just the prototype."

Harry's face fell. "What? You’ve already tested those? I swear to Merlin, you two—"

Sirius chuckled, waving him off. "Relax. That was just a small scale experiment. We’ve got something way cooler in the works." He grinned, looking like he was about to drop the craziest thing Harry had ever heard. "We’re playing with spacial compression. Think about it: we’re making a super-compressed pocket dimension."

Harry blinked at him, his mind trying to catch up. "A pocket dimension?" He let out a short laugh, looking back at Lily. "And how, exactly, is this not World War III in a bottle?"

James, clearly proud of himself, leaned closer to show off the scribbles on the blueprints. "It’s magic and science combined! Think of the possibilities! We could store all kinds of things in there, and I’m not just talking about your mother’s ridiculous amounts of clothes." He winked at Lily, who shot him a pointed glare.

Sirius, ever the optimist, added, "If we get it right, we could have something incredible on our hands. Think: an entire universe in a pocket-sized case."

Lily’s expression didn’t shift an inch. "So you want to play god and shrink dimensions now? What could possibly go wrong with that?"

Sirius raised both hands. "Alright, alright! We’re not going to start with world domination… just yet. But hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it."

Harry slapped his forehead. "I can already hear Fury’s voice in my head: ‘Why do I keep you two around?’"

Lily stepped forward, her voice icy as she glared at both James and Sirius. "If you ever even think about selling these devices to Hydra, I will make sure you two spend the next century in a very uncomfortable position. That’s a promise."

James just shrugged. "Alright, alright. No Hydra. We’ll just use it for, y’know, other purposes. No biggie."

Harry shot them a look that could only be described as ‘half-resentful, half-sarcastic.’ "I swear, if you two even think about making a portable black hole, I will personally make sure you never see the light of day again. We’ve already got enough problems."

Sirius threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright! No black holes. No chaos. We’re just trying to make the world more... interesting."

Lily sighed and rubbed her temples. "If this is what 'interesting' looks like, I’m starting to worry for my sanity."

Harry couldn’t help himself. "Well, where’s the fun in not causing a little chaos, right?"

Lily shot him a look. "You’re grounded, mister."

And with that, Harry knew: the real fun had only just begun.

Chapter 65: Chapter 64

The lab was a disaster zone, a blend of high-tech gadgets, magical prototypes  and half-finished experiments strewn across every flat surface. Lily stood in the middle of it all, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, lips pressed into a thin line that could’ve rivaled a thundercloud in intensity. James, ever the optimist, was grinning like a kid who’d just been told he could skip school for a week—right before his parents found out about the massive mess he’d made. Sirius, for his part, was lounging in a chair like he had all the time in the world, twirling a small device between his fingers like it was the latest fidget spinner.

Harry, standing off to the side, leaned against the workbench, arms crossed and eyebrow raised as if he were watching a slow-motion train wreck unfold. "You two seriously have no sense of subtlety, do you?" he muttered, a sarcastic grin spreading across his face. "Mini black hole bombs, pocket dimensions—are you two trying to get us all disintegrated?"

Lily whipped her head around at Harry, her eyes narrowing to slits as she shot him a look that could freeze time itself. "Not now, Harry," she snapped, her voice smooth but filled with the kind of quiet fury that made most people rethink their life choices. "We’ve got bigger problems than your sarcasm."

Harry pushed off the workbench, standing up straight. "Bigger problems? Like what?" He threw his hands up in exasperation, his grin still there but now tinged with genuine concern. "Fury’s on his way, and I’m betting anything he’s already in a mood. We’ve got black holes and dimensional rifts lying around, and you’re worried about me being snarky?"

James, ever the man of charm and questionable decisions, grinned wider, clearly unbothered. "Ah, Harry, you worry too much," he said, clapping him on the back in a gesture that was both reassuring and deeply unsettling. "We’ve got everything under control. Fury won’t even know what hit him."

Lily’s eyes were now daggers, aimed squarely at James. "James," she said, her voice a lethal whisper. "Do you realize that Fury is already steaming about the cryogenic chamber incident? You’re about two seconds away from turning his mood from ‘mildly irritated’ to ‘nuclear meltdown.’"

Harry, feeling the need to lean in and save them all from imminent disaster, imitated Fury’s voice with perfect precision, his tone dropping several levels into an exaggerated version of the famous growl. “Did you idiots really create black hole bomb?” Harry bellowed, hands on his hips, stance mimicking Fury’s in the most ridiculous, over-the-top way. “You had one job, Potter! ONE JOB! And then you go and create this—” he waved a hand around the lab, “—a portable black hole? Really?!"

James, still wearing that grin like a badge of honor, blinked, unphased by Harry’s Fury impersonation. “Come on, Harry. It’s not like we made a black hole big enough to swallow the whole world. It’s more like—what—pocket-sized destruction? Just a little mini-apocalypse for your convenience. Fury should be impressed by our efficiency.”

Lily, who was now channeling the vibes of a mother trying not to strangle her children in public, clenched her fists. "Impressed? James, the man is going to implode on us the moment he finds out what you've been messing around with. And that’s if we’re lucky. If not? He’ll probably just lock us all in a room with him for ‘motivational talks’—you know, the kind where he yells and makes us feel like we’re about to be escorted to the nearest volcano."

Sirius, who had been twiddling a small glowing orb as if it were the most fascinating thing in the room, finally looked up. "Okay, okay," he said, his grin still firmly in place. "So, Fury’s a bit of a... volcano when he’s pissed. But, honestly, what’s the worst that could happen? We hide the bombs, stash the dimension-jumping stuff, and pretend nothing happened. I’m sure Fury won’t find out. I mean, we’ve got shields, invisibility cloaks, and, uh—creative distractions."

Harry looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Creative distractions? Like what, a dance party? Because, spoiler alert: Fury does not do ‘fun.’ He does ‘intense interrogation’ and ‘ruthless fury.’ Literally. It’s in his job description."

James held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright! We’ll hide the bombs. Jeez, no need to make it sound like we’re preparing for the end of the world. It’s just a couple of little experiments. Pocket-sized, remember?"

"Yeah, ‘pocket-sized,’" Harry repeated, dragging the words out sarcastically. “Sure. Just like how ‘subtle’ is Dad's middle name.”

Lily gave Harry a sharp look. “Now’s not the time for your sarcasm, Harry. We've got to hide these things fast before Fury decides to find out what else we’ve been up to. We need to be quick. And for Merlin’s sake, don't make any more ‘creative distractions.’ We’re trying to survive here.”

James smirked. "Well, you can’t say I didn’t try, right?"

“Try harder,” Lily shot back, her eyes flashing with the intensity of someone who had been pushed to the brink. “Now, move, before we end up on Fury’s ‘most wanted’ list.”

Sirius, still grinning like an impish angel, grabbed a couple of the most obviously dangerous-looking gadgets, tossing them into a drawer. "Fine, fine," he said with a dramatic sigh. "We’ll hide our dangerous toys in the deepest, darkest corners of the lab. Out of sight, out of mind. Just don’t expect me to stop inventing next time, Lily."

Lily’s lips curled into a sweet, too-polite smile. "I’m not asking you to stop inventing. Just... maybe use a little bit of common sense and, I don’t know, maybe keep the world-killing tech to a minimum?"

James gave her a wounded look. "But Lily, where’s the fun in that?"

Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. “Why do I feel like the universe is conspiring to make me the responsible one in this situation?”

“You’ve always been the responsible one, Harry,” James said, his voice warm with affection. “It’s why we need you here.”

Harry paused, looking between the two of them. "Yeah, well, I was hoping I wouldn’t need to save your hides from Fury. But here we are."

Lily smirked at him, finally relenting from her motherly glare. “You’ll manage. You always do.”

As the team scrambled to stash their dangerous creations, Harry took a deep breath, glancing at Lily. “You know, I really hope Fury has a sense of humor. Because if he doesn’t, we might all end up in a world of trouble.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. "If he doesn’t, at least you won’t have to deal with us anymore."

Harry’s grin returned. “Fair point. I’d rather face Fury’s wrath than deal with this mess on my own.”

And with that, the team rushed to hide their chaos—knowing full well that no matter how much they cleaned up, the real storm was about to hit the moment Nick Fury walked through that door.

—

James and Sirius were in full panic mode—or as close to it as two overconfident pranksters could get without actually admitting to panic. The lab was a mess of bubbling potions, misplaced parchment, and several inventions that should’ve probably come with a warning label. Oh, and a black hole bomb. You know, just your average Wednesday morning.

“I swear, this is going to be fine,” James muttered, eyes darting between the cluttered workspace and the door as though it were an escape route. “Just... a little tight squeeze, that's all. We’ve got this under control.” He grinned, but the kind of grin that suggested he was a tiny bit more hopeful than confident. "It's just like hiding stuff in a drawer... except it's a magic drawer, and the stuff's... well, it might be dangerous. But hey, details, right?"

Sirius was busy shoving a large, wobbly contraption into the cabinet, his hands moving with the precision of someone who'd lost track of how many pranks they'd pulled off in their life. “Exactly. What could go wrong?” He paused to look up at James, eyes glinting. “I mean, we’ve gotten out of tighter situations, right?”

Lily—because of course she was standing at the door, arms crossed like a proper angry general—gave them a look that could probably freeze the sun in the sky. “Really? This is how you’re hiding the black hole bomb?” Her voice was as sharp as her stare, and she was standing there like she’d just walked into an arena of chaos that she had no part in, but was very much about to fix.

James tried to act casual, even though the cabinet was now threatening to explode from the inside. “It’s perfectly safe, Lil. Honestly. Look at the angle here. If I just—”

“If you don’t stop talking about angles,” Lily interrupted, “we’re all going to meet Fury’s wrath and that black hole bomb is going to be the least of our worries.” She took another step forward, eyeing the cabinet like it was about to self-destruct any second. “James, do you ever think about consequences?”

James opened his mouth, but the response died on his lips when Lily gave him a pointed glare that could’ve stripped paint off a wall. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, shooting a helpless look at Sirius.

Sirius—being Sirius—shot back a grin that would’ve convinced anyone he was about to steal all their socks. “Hey, don’t stress, Lil. You know what they say: life’s a prank, and if it’s not a prank, it’s probably on fire.” He winked and gestured dramatically to the cabinet. “This, my dear, is just part of the master plan. You don’t need to see the genius at work. You just need to trust it’ll all explode in the right direction.”

Harry, who had been quietly observing the chaos unfold, muttered under his breath from his perch by the table, “Yeah, explode is the key word here. I’ve seen how these two handle ‘plans.’ It’s a 50/50 chance of ‘success’ or ‘total disaster.’”

Lily, without missing a beat, shot him a look that had the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “Glad you’re on the same page, Harry. You might want to start a betting pool on how quickly we’ll all be evaporated.”

Sirius held up his hands in mock defense. “Okay, okay, before we all get super paranoid about the black hole bomb, I think we need to use this.” He pulled out a tiny vial of green liquid, shaking it in front of them like it was the holy grail of last-minute solutions. “Time stop potion. We take five minutes, hide everything, and then poof, Fury walks in and thinks we’re all just over-caffeinated geniuses.”

Lily’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Is that—”

“Yep,” Sirius said with the pride of a cat who just knocked something off a shelf. “Time stop potion. Completely foolproof. We freeze time, hide the evidence, and then everything’s back to normal. Fury will be none the wiser.”

James gave Sirius a theatrical salute. “My hero. This is genius.” He patted him on the back so hard that Sirius nearly fell into the black hole bomb. “Why didn’t we think of this sooner?”

Lily narrowed her eyes, clearly weighing her options. “You two never think things through. Honestly, I—”

“Where’s the fun in that?” James cut her off with a dramatic flourish. “If we spent all our time worrying, we wouldn’t be living on the edge, Lil. You know you love it.”

Sirius nodded enthusiastically, like he was trying to convince her they were merely misunderstood artists. “Exactly. You’re just not appreciating the delicate balance of chaos and bad decisions we’re creating here. It’s an art form.”

Lily wasn’t convinced. She crossed her arms again, exhaling sharply. “You two are impossible. But fine. Do this,” she pointed at the vial in Sirius’s hand, “and if anything goes even slightly wrong, I’ll transfigure you both into bunnies. And I’m not talking about cute, fluffy bunnies. I’m talking about the ones that bite.”

Sirius’s expression froze. “Bunnies?”

Lily didn’t flinch. “You’d be amazed how terrifying bunnies can be when you’ve been in my shoes long enough.”

James, ever the optimist, flashed a grin at Lily. “Ah, yes. Terrifying bunnies. That’s the real nightmare, isn’t it?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to find out,” Lily warned, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone. “You’ve got five minutes to make this work. Otherwise, I'm changing your name to Thumper.”

Sirius’s grin spread like wildfire. “You’re not that cruel, Lily. Now, let’s get to work, yeah?”

With that, he uncorked the vial with a flourish, and for a second, everything in the lab shimmered, as if the air itself was stretching out, pausing for a dramatic effect. Time froze. Not a breath moved. Not a single molecule dared to carry on its usual business.

“Alright,” Sirius said, looking around with exaggerated confidence. “We’ve got, like, what, five minutes? That’s more than enough to stash everything and look like we’re totally innocent, right?”

Lily exhaled a frustrated sigh, though her eyes still sparkled with the sort of mischief that only someone as exasperated as she was could muster. “Fine. But the moment Fury walks through that door, you two are going to be on your best behavior. No more explosions. No more chaos. I swear, I’ll transfigure you both into bunnies and leave you in a field to fend for yourselves.”

“Deal,” James said quickly, already grabbing random items and shoving them into cupboards as if he had no concept of what he was putting where. “You know, I’m starting to think this whole time-freezing thing could be pretty handy for, you know, taking over the world or something.”

“No.” Lily’s tone was deadly serious.

As the seconds ticked away, James and Sirius, as usual, found a way to make the whole thing a bigger mess. But it was their mess, and if it meant surviving Fury, well, they'd somehow make it work—mostly by sheer luck.

And if it all went south? They’d always have the option of turning Fury’s wrath into a blooper reel.

"Let's just hope this plan doesn't blow up in our faces," Harry muttered.

Sirius grinned. “Oh, Harry. If it does, that’s the fun part.”

—

The med bay was eerily quiet. Not the "you’re-waiting-for-someone-to-jump-out-and-scare-you" kind of quiet, but the "someone’s-about-to-ask-you-for-your-opinion-on-the-meaning-of-life" kind of quiet. The soft beeping of machines punctuated the stillness like some sort of robot Morse code. It was only broken by the occasional rustling of papers—because apparently, even in the middle of a top-secret government mission, paper still exists.

Andromeda Tonks was staring at the patient in front of her, a cool professional mask on her face. Well, that was mostly because she was trying really, really hard not to think about how the last time she’d been in a medical room like this, it had involved a lot more blood, a lot more screaming, and a lot less Kryogenically-frozen women trying to figure out how to punch Hydra in the face.

Erica Hayes. The name was almost as cool as her attitude. She was sprawled out on the bed, her body twitching like a cat who’d been thawed out of a deep sleep. Yeah, super fun, right? Ten years in cryogenic stasis, and now she’s awake, ready to… what? Kick Hydra’s ass? Sure, let’s go with that.

Andromeda’s eyes narrowed as she hovered over Erica, her hands moving over the girl’s body with the practiced ease of someone who’d been doing this for years. Her fingers brushed over Erica’s temple, just enough for the Legilimency spell to take root. The magic flowed like an invisible current, weaving into Erica’s thoughts—just enough to check if Hydra had implanted any mental suggestions, triggers, or some kind of brainwashing. Spoiler alert: Andromeda was pretty sure Hydra didn’t know who they were messing with when it came to her mind-reading skills.

"Vitals look good," Ted Tonks, her husband, chimed in. His voice was calm and steady—perfectly suited for a medical expert who wasn’t freaking out at the sight of someone who had been frozen for ten years. His dark eyes darted to the monitors, tapping a few buttons like he was some sort of wizard with tech. He didn’t even need to make eye contact with the machines anymore. They just obeyed him.

Andromeda gave a slight nod but kept her focus. "Still, this... this could go sideways in a second." Her fingers flexed. "Hydra doesn't play fair."

Ted gave her a look, as if to say, "You’re the one who told me to stop being so dramatic." But then he returned to checking Erica’s vitals, muttering, "Her brain’s the bigger concern. Cryogenic stasis is great for freezing her body, but it doesn’t exactly preserve her mental state. Could be a ticking time bomb in there."

The cold reality of what Ted just said didn't hit as hard as Andromeda’s concern for what might have happened inside Erica’s head during her long, frozen hiatus. It wasn’t just about her physical health. She could be a walking weapon, but if Hydra had gotten to her mind, there was no telling what kind of power they could still wield over her.

Erica shifted on the bed, groggily blinking as her eyes darted from one face to another. The realization hit her a second later like a bucket of cold water: she wasn’t in the freezing chamber anymore. She was—gasp—out of the ice!

And, of course, her first words were as dramatic as you’d expect from someone who’d just been thawed out after a decade of cold storage. "Hydra... They’ll pay for what they did," she muttered, her voice hoarse, but the fire behind it was unmistakable. "I’m gonna rip them apart."

Her fists clenched, and Andromeda winced inwardly. Well, at least we know she’s awake, Andromeda thought dryly.

Ted, with all the tact of someone who’d spent years working with the chaos of magical patients, cleared his throat. "Yeah, uh, not just yet, love. First, how about we make sure you’re not a walking ice cube with anger issues, yeah?"

Andromeda shot him a quick glare before refocusing on Erica. She was barely holding herself together, but Andromeda could sense the raw emotion—the burning desire for vengeance. What she didn’t sense was the telltale signs of Hydra’s influence. No whispers, no hidden programming. Just a whole lot of pissed-off girl who’d been screwed over and wanted payback.

So, naturally, Andromeda whispered to herself, "No brainwashing, no Hydra puppeteer strings. Just pure, unfiltered rage." She gave Ted a quick glance and subtly nodded. No red flags.

Meanwhile, across the room, Natasha Romanoff was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, her eyes never leaving the action. The woman was basically a professional at looking like she wasn’t doing anything but was actually absorbing everything that was happening in the room.

"Anything?" Natasha's voice was barely a whisper, a slight dip in her tone betraying how much she did care about the answer.

Andromeda shot her a reassuring look, then subtly shook her head. No Hydra involvement. No evil brainwashing. Just a really, really mad girl who’d spent ten years freezing her butt off. "She’s clean," Andromeda said softly. "She’s not a weapon. They tried to make her one, but they failed."

Across the room, Peggy Carter, who had been silently watching the whole thing, nodded. She was a woman who took her time, but her gaze was piercing, the kind of look that told you that she didn’t miss anything. "We’ll need to ease her into it," Peggy said, her voice steady and firm. "She won’t be much use if she can’t control that rage. Vengeance is a powerful thing, but it’s also a dangerous one."

Erica blinked again, as though her brain was still catching up. She had no idea who these people were, but they were definitely not Hydra. "Who are you people?" she rasped, her voice still shaking from the long hibernation. "Where’s Hydra? I need to... I need to—"

"Slow down, kid," Natasha said, her tone gentle but pragmatic. "First, you need to focus on not breaking anything in here. Then we can talk about Hydra."

"Yeah, getting your revenge doesn’t really work when you’re still recovering," Peggy added, ever the pragmatist. "Start with a plan, then get revenge. Otherwise, you might just wind up getting yourself killed."

Erica gave them both a look, a flicker of doubt crossing her features. But she wasn’t backing down. "Fine," she muttered, looking like she was still trying to figure out if she was being played or not. "But once I’m ready? Hydra won’t know what hit them."

"That’s the spirit," Peggy said with a small smile, giving Erica’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We’ll make sure you’re ready."

"Yep," Natasha added with her own smirk, "we’ve all got retribution on our minds. But it’s all about the execution." She paused for a second, clearly satisfied with her pun, then leaned back. "And besides, we’ll make sure you don’t do anything stupid while you’re at it."

Ted, from his corner, finally spoke up. "I’ll get the equipment ready for the next round of tests. But it’s going to take time, okay? Rest first, then we’ll talk about your revenge mission."

Andromeda’s eyes softened slightly, but she couldn’t help but smile. "We’re here for you, Erica. Every step of the way."

And as the others stood around, the quiet hum of the med bay enveloping them, Erica Hayes realized something. For the first time in ten years, she wasn’t alone anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the first step to kicking Hydra’s ass.

—

The problem with geniuses—and this was a universally acknowledged fact—was that when you put too many of them in one room, they tended to forget that the rest of the world wasn’t running at 300 IQ with a built-in caffeine drip.

Case in point: Tony and Howard Stark.

Right now, father and son were fully in the zone, lost in their own personal science-fueled argument as they rapidly decrypted Hydra files, which JARVIS helpfully translated at lightspeed. They were moving at such a ridiculous pace that even Steve Rogers—who had fought in World War II, been frozen for seventy years, and still kept up with modern tech—looked like he was considering a timeout. Bucky Barnes had already checked out and was just leaning against the nearest workbench, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with mild amusement.

Gideon Adler, meanwhile, looked like he was enjoying a private show. He had that slight smirk on his face, the kind that made you wonder if he was silently judging you or just plotting something mildly nefarious for fun. (It was probably both.)

"Alright, let's break this down," Tony said, waving at the holo-screen in front of him like it had personally offended him. "Hydra gets their hands on a super-serum they didn't make themselves. The scientists who did make it—Erica Hayes’ parents—were good people, so naturally, Hydra decided to kill them, steal their research, and then fail spectacularly at recreating it. Classic Hydra."

Howard sighed, rubbing his temples. "It’s worse than that, son. The Hayes couple weren’t just scientists—they were brilliant. Decades ahead of their time. And they saw Hydra coming a mile away, so they built in a safeguard. The serum is locked to Erica’s DNA. No clones, no copies, no mass production."

Steve frowned. “So they tried to copy it and failed?”

“Oh, they tried,” Howard confirmed, pulling up a file labeled FAILED CLONING ATTEMPTS – HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE.

Bucky, who had dealt with more than his fair share of Hydra nonsense, frowned. “If they couldn’t mass-produce it, why not just—” He hesitated. “—clone Erica?”

This was a perfectly reasonable question. Unfortunately, it was being asked in a room with two Starks.

What followed was a verbal explosion of science jargon so convoluted that the lab itself seemed to vibrate under the sheer force of nerd power. Words like epigenetic sequencing, quantum enzyme degradation, and molecular resonance instability filled the air, to the point where even JARVIS sounded like he was struggling to keep up.

Rhodey, who had just walked in alongside Moody and Alexei, took approximately three seconds to decide he’d had enough. He smacked the nearest surface—a Stark-tech table that immediately responded, "Error: Unidentified user aggression detected. Recalibrating."

“Alright, time out,” Rhodey said, rubbing his forehead. The leg braces Tony and Howard had built for him were a miracle of engineering, but breaking them in was a pain, and listening to the Stark duo do synchronized mad science at midnight wasn’t helping. “Some of us weren’t born into a family of certifiable lunatics. Dumb it down.”

Howard huffed. Tony sighed. Then, in perfect unison:

“The serum is bonded to Erica on a fundamental level.”

Rhodey gave them a look.

Tony rolled his eyes and really dumbed it down. “Trying to clone her results in an unstable product. And by unstable, I mean boom—lab gone, everyone dead unstable.”

Bucky, whose history with Hydra was already enough of a nightmare, paled slightly. “Yeah. Okay. Bad idea.”

“Very bad idea,” Tony agreed.

Moody, arms crossed, let out a snort. His magical eye whirred as he scanned the room, landing on the files Stark was scrolling through. “So let me get this straight—Fury told you not to open the cryo chamber, and instead of listening, you cracked it open like a bloody Christmas present?”

Tony grinned. “Yes, sir.”

Moody’s expression darkened. “And now we’re learning that Hydra’s entire master plan for a new super-soldier fell apart because two decent scientists were smarter than them?”

“More or less,” Howard said.

Alexei roared with laughter. “Ah! Classic! Hydra thinks they are gods but are always beaten by people with brains! This is why they are biggest idiots in history.”

Gideon chuckled under his breath. “A little harsh, but not inaccurate.”

Moody, still unimpressed, jabbed a finger at the holo-screen. “Right. And what did Hydra do to her after all their failures?”

The room went silent.

JARVIS, ever the world’s most polite AI, answered in the same smooth tone one might use to inform someone they had a package at the door. “Cross-referencing decrypted files with known Hydra conditioning protocols. Results indicate that young Erica Hayes was subjected to extensive psychological indoctrination and experimental modification in an attempt to create a fully obedient asset.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “They tried to weaponize her.”

Moody’s grip on his cane tightened. “Bastards.”

Howard exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “That girl didn’t just survive cryo—she survived years of them trying to break her. And if she’s still got her own mind after all that?” He gave a small, tired smirk. “Then Hydra failed again.”

Tony folded his arms. “Yeah. And now, we make sure they never get another shot at her.”

Rhodey clapped him on the shoulder. “Then let’s get to work. I assume there’s a plan?”

Tony smirked. “Oh, Rhodey. When don’t I have a plan?”

Howard sighed. “I can think of at least ten times—”

“Dad. Not now.”

Moody snorted. “If Fury doesn’t kill you lot first, I’ll be shocked.”

Tony grinned. “Bring it on, Eyepatch. He wishes he was as good at breaking rules as me.”

The war against Hydra wasn’t over. But tonight? Tonight, they had a win. And with Erica waking up, the real fight was about to begin.

—

Meanwhile, Back in Kamar-Taj…

If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to study magic while sharing a room with three teenage girls, let me save you the trouble: it’s chaos. Absolute, spell-slinging, hair-color-changing, indoor-thunderstorm-level chaos. And yet, somehow, the Ancient One thought this was a good idea.

Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, and—don’t even think about calling her Nymphadora—Tonks were supposed to be studying. Supposed to be.

Jean sat cross-legged on the floor, her red hair catching the dim candlelight as she glared at the ridiculously thick tome in front of her: The Eternal Cycle: Understanding the Phoenix Force. The book had major “I know things you don’t, and I’m going to be really vague about it” energy, and Jean wasn’t thrilled. Every few pages, she found something that basically translated to: Hey, so you might end existence by sneezing too hard. No pressure.

Ororo was curled up on her bed, gracefully flipping through Fundamentals of the Mystic Arts with the kind of calm that suggested she actually enjoyed this. Every now and then, the candles flickered or a soft breeze rustled the pages, which was an Ororo thing. Because, you know, when you’re literally a weather goddess, your mood controls the atmosphere.

And then there was Tonks.

Tonks, who was currently upside down, legs hooked over the back of a chair, staring at A Novice’s Guide to Dimensional Manipulation like it had personally offended her. Her hair—currently electric blue—shimmered and shifted to an aggressive red as she groaned.

“This is so boring,” she announced dramatically, letting her book fall onto her face. “Why do we need to read about magic? Can’t we just, I dunno, do magic?”

Jean, who was on page 247 of How Not to Accidentally Ignite the Universe, did not look up. “Because if we just start ‘doing magic’ without knowing how it works, someone’s going to open a portal to the Dark Dimension.” She flipped a page. “And then Dormammu gets cranky.”

Ororo smirked. “Wouldn’t want that.”

Tonks, flipping herself right-side-up with the grace of someone who absolutely had not been paying attention in balance training, grinned. “I could take him.”

Ororo didn’t even look up from her book. “The same way you took on that levitation spell yesterday?”

Tonks gasped. “That wasn’t my fault! The book said to channel your intent into the spell.”

Jean did look up this time, giving her a deadpan stare. “Your intent was to ‘make it float a little.’ You launched it into orbit.”

Tonks waved a hand dismissively. “Details.”

Ororo let out a quiet chuckle and turned another page. “It’s not that bad, Tonks. This book is actually pretty interesting.”

Tonks flopped dramatically onto her stomach. “For you, maybe. You and Jean get all the cool magic. I get stuck with ‘Basic spell formations and how not to explode yourself.’” She sighed heavily. “Jean’s over here studying the Phoenix Force. That sounds cool.”

Jean snorted. “Yeah, super cool. Did you know I’ve already destroyed a couple of galaxies in past incarnations?” She tapped the book with her finger. “Like, actual, real-life ‘whoops, there goes an entire solar system’ kind of destruction. This thing keeps calling me a cosmic firebird with god-tier annihilation potential.”

Tonks blinked. “Wait. You have?”

Jean gave her a look. “Not me me. Phoenix-me. Past-life-me. Apparently, I’m technically all of them at once, because time doesn’t work the way we think it does when you’re a cosmic entity.” She exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Which is a really fun thing to learn when you’re just trying to get through your homework.”

Tonks whistled. “Yikes.”

Jean nodded. “Yeah. Big yikes.”

Ororo leaned over, glancing at the book. “But it says you have control, right?”

Jean hesitated. “Technically, yeah. But it also says the Phoenix is me, and isn’t me, and also exists outside time, and maybe is time? It’s… complicated.” She closed the book with a thump. “Basically, if I lose control, bad things happen. If I stay in control, slightly less bad things happen.”

Tonks propped herself up on her elbows, grinning. “Sooo… the fate of the universe depends on you getting a grip?”

Jean groaned. “You’re so good at making it sound worse.”

Ororo smiled, shaking her head. “You’ll be fine, Jean.”

Jean wasn’t entirely convinced, but she appreciated the vote of confidence.

Tonks, however, had already moved on. She sat up, her grin turning mischievous. “You know, we should totally test some of this stuff out.”

Jean and Ororo immediately exchanged a look.

Ororo: “No.”

Jean: “Absolutely not.”

Tonks pouted. “You guys are no fun.”

“Correction,” Ororo said, turning back to her book. “We enjoy living.”

Jean chuckled, shaking her head, while Tonks sighed dramatically and flopped onto her back.

For now, the trio went back to their reading.

But knowing Tonks? It was only a matter of time before something exploded.

Chapter 66: Chapter 65

Meanwhile, Back at the Safehouse in New York…

Nick Fury was in a mood.

A bad mood.

The kind of mood that made you wonder if the man could turn his eye laser-sharp enough to slice through steel, just by sheer force of will. And honestly? That wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was when Fury was angry, you couldn't tell if you should laugh, run, or consider a very urgent career change. Which, in Maria Hill's case, was something she had seriously been considering at least once a day for the last week.

She walked behind him, just far enough to avoid the brunt of his storm, but close enough to keep an eye on the situation—and by "situation," she meant everything that might explode in their path. Which, let's face it, was pretty much everything when Fury was involved.

When they arrived at the safehouse, the first thing Fury did was kick the door open. You know, the kind of door-kicking that nobody in their right mind does when they're just casually entering a room. The kind that says: "I’m not here to say ‘hello.’ I’m here to make a point, and it’s going to be loud."

Inside, the safehouse looked eerily calm, but Maria had been doing this long enough to know that the calm before a Fury storm was the worst kind of storm. Clint Barton was sitting at the kitchen table, happily munching away on a bowl of cereal like the world wasn’t about to implode.

Fury's eye locked onto Clint. Clint froze mid-bite, the spoon just barely hovering near his mouth.

“…Hey, boss,” Clint said, trying for nonchalant, but failing miserably. His eyes darted between Fury and the bowl of cereal like the only thing standing between him and certain death was that spoon.

Fury narrowed his single eye so hard it looked like it was going to burn a hole through Clint’s skull. “Where. The hell. Is Stark?”

Clint blinked and then, in the most casual way possible, gestured vaguely around the room. “Uh... Definitely not here.”

Fury didn’t even flinch. “Is that so?”

Clint set the spoon down with the speed of a man who knew his life was hanging by a very thin thread. “Look, I was just told to keep an eye on things. When Stark, his dad, Captain America, and Barnes decide to play mad scientists, I… I figure it’s best to just let them. My advice? Get comfy, ‘cause you’ll be shooting something later. Probably."

Fury turned to Maria, who was rubbing her temples as though it might alleviate the headache she could already feel forming. “He’s not lying,” she said, offering up the kind of resigned expression only someone who had spent far too much time around Fury could pull off. "Stark’s off-site."

Fury growled. “Of course he is.”

Maria sighed, but it wasn’t the tired kind of sigh. It was the “I might have to officially start the paperwork for a new boss” sigh. “When Stark gets a look in his eye, there’s no telling what’s going to happen next. And this? This is Stark with the ’I’m smarter than everyone and I’m going to prove it’ look.”

Fury swiveled on his heel. “Fine. Fine! We’re going to Stark Labs. And when I get there, I swear to—”

Suddenly, a voice cut him off. “You’re looking for the Starks?”

Fury whipped around so fast he nearly collided with Maria.

There, standing in the doorway like she’d just teleported from a different dimension, was Natasha Romanoff. She didn’t even flinch at Fury’s glare. She just stood there, holding a coffee mug like she had all the time in the world. And maybe she did.

"Ah, yes," she said, sipping from the mug with the slow, deliberate motion of someone who had absolutely no respect for the concept of urgency. “They’re at the lab. Something about decrypting Hydra files, cracking open a cryo chamber, and proving that Tony is the smartest idiot alive.”

Fury’s eye twitched. Maria let out another sigh. "Is that so?" she muttered.

Clint, who had now finished his cereal (don’t ask where it went, you don’t want to know), leaned back in his chair and threw in his two cents. “Yup. I’m just here to keep an eye on things. ‘Cause if I don’t, there’s a solid chance I’ll be getting an email at three in the morning with the subject line, ‘Oops, We Did It Again.’”

Fury took two seconds to process the information, then pinched the bridge of his nose like he was about to start a very long and painful meditation session. “Please, tell me you’re joking.”

Natasha, of course, didn’t joke. She just arched a perfect eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

Clint, completely deadpan, nodded. “Nope. That’s her ‘I’ve got the situation handled’ face. You know the one.”

Fury just stared at him. Clint shrugged and went back to his chair like it was no big deal.

Fury turned to Maria, whose entire expression was now radiating the same ‘I’m-too-tired-for-this’ energy. She gave him one of those looks that said, "You made your bed, now lie in it."

He didn’t bother responding. Instead, he stormed toward the door like an angry bull. He flung it open with a ferocity that could probably break it off its hinges if he wasn’t careful. “We’re going to Stark Labs,” he declared, the door still flapping in the wind behind him. “And when I get there? Somebody is getting yelled at.”

Maria, who had fully embraced the concept of "resignation," let out another sigh and followed him out. “You know, Fury, sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I worked with someone who wasn’t constantly on the verge of homicide.”

“Don’t worry, Maria,” Natasha called after them, her voice smooth and cool. “I’ll put it on the wish list.”

Clint, who had clearly decided to just enjoy the show, leaned back in his chair with a knowing smile. “Think he’s actually gonna kill Stark this time?”

Natasha took another sip of coffee, her gaze fixed on the door Fury had just stormed through. “Fifty-fifty,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But it’s gonna be fun either way.”

And just like that, the safehouse was quiet again. Too quiet. But anyone who knew Fury—and the Starks—knew that whatever came next, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

—

The lab was buzzing with tension—like a group of caffeine-addicted mad scientists trying to solve a Rubik’s cube while being chased by a bear. Not the good kind of tension. The kind that makes you wonder if it’s time to start asking why you're all in this mess. Tony Stark was sitting there, staring at a decrypted file on the screen in front of him like it was the world’s coolest new gadget. Only this one was a little less shiny and a lot more dangerous.

"Okay, so here’s the deal,” Tony said, gesturing grandly at the holographic screen, as though it was his latest invention about to make him an even richer billionaire. “Hydra’s at it again. This time, they were using Erica Hayes as their test subject for some super-soldier serum. Guess what? Big surprise—they failed. Tried cloning her, torturing her, probably offering her the chance to star in a really bad superhero movie. But it didn't work. And now we’ve got ourselves a Hydra-sized mess.”

Howard Stark, who was hovering over Tony’s shoulder like the ghost of bad decisions past, raised an eyebrow. “Hydra’s classic. They think they can play God, fail miserably, and then double down on their mistakes until things explode. It's their whole vibe."

Bucky Barnes, from the far corner of the room, grunted in agreement. “I’m done with Hydra. I'm done with supervillains. Hell, I'm done with anyone who thinks cloning is the answer to anything except making a bunch of freaky, dangerous copies of yourself.”

Steve Rogers, ever the optimist, gave Bucky a sympathetic glance. "We’ll figure this out. Together."

“Right. Because nothing screams ‘teamwork’ like punching Hydra in the face repeatedly,” Bucky muttered, his arms crossed, clearly not sold on the ‘together’ part.

Rhodey, leaning against a table in his usual "I'm not worried, I swear" pose, raised an eyebrow. “Tony, as much as I love watching you toy with dangerous things, what exactly is your genius plan for cleaning up this Hydra mess? You know, besides ‘winging it’ and hoping for the best?”

Tony flicked a finger lazily at the screen. “Don’t worry, Rhodey. I’ve got it covered. You don’t need to stress.” He paused, glancing over at his best friend. “And yes, I know what you're thinking. You’re thinking, ‘Does Tony have a plan, or is he just throwing darts at the wall and hoping something sticks?’ Spoiler alert: I’ve got plans. Plural. And a few backups. Backup backups, even.”

Howard, who had spent decades dealing with his son’s antics, just rubbed his forehead. “Oh, I can list ten times where you thought you had a plan, and it ended in some sort of explosion. But hey, who’s counting?”

Tony shot him a smile that could only be described as ‘that’s cute, Dad.’ “I prefer to call it 'creative problem-solving.'”

“Yeah, and by 'creative,' you mean 'let’s blow things up and see what happens,’” Rhodey grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Before the banter could go any further, the lab doors suddenly slid open with that ominous whoosh that always meant something bad was coming. All the scientists froze, like deer caught in headlights. Except for Gideon Adler, who just looked way too entertained for someone who should’ve been at least a little worried.

“Did we—” Bucky started, only to cut himself off when none other than Nick Fury himself stormed into the room, his gaze laser-focused on Tony like the world’s most frustrating game of chess.

"Stark," Fury growled, voice low and controlled, but you could practically hear the do not test me underneath. "What in the hell are you doing?"

The entire lab went silent. Tony, of course, didn’t flinch. Instead, he turned around with that signature grin plastered on his face like he'd just gotten away with stealing a donut from the office kitchen.

“Oh, just saving the world. You know, the usual. Hydra’s been trying to clone super-soldiers again. Thought I’d take a look and—”

“You opened the cryo-chamber, Stark," Fury interrupted, stepping closer. His eyepatch glinted under the harsh lab lights. “You cracked open a sealed chamber I specifically told you not to open. You touched things you weren’t supposed to touch!”

Tony shrugged. “Technically, my dad opened it. But to be fair, there was no ‘Do Not Open’ sticker. So technically, we’re in the clear.”

Maria Hill, standing just behind Fury, couldn't help but snort at Tony's ridiculous logic. “Classic Stark logic: If it doesn’t come with a warning label, it’s fair game.”

“Exactly!” Tony said, giving her a thumbs-up. “See, she gets it.”

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose like he was trying to stop an impending aneurysm. “I swear, if I have to bail you guys out one more time—”

“I’ll stop making fun of your ‘fashionably late’ entrances,” Tony shot back, grinning like the world’s most insufferable genius.

Fury let out a long, measured sigh. “Fine. Whatever. What did you find, Stark? What makes this—” he motioned toward the files scattered on the table—“not the worst decision in the history of bad decisions?”

Tony waved a hand at the holographic screen, like he was presenting a new product at an Apple keynote. “Hydra’s latest super-soldier project? Big fat failure. This time, they were using Erica Hayes as their test subject. Tried cloning her, brainwashing her, basically doing everything except giving her a pet unicorn. Spoiler alert: She didn’t cooperate. She’s still alive and kicking. And, you know, probably planning her next massive revenge scheme.”

Maria Hill leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Erica Hayes? The girl they tried to turn into a weapon?”

“Bingo,” Howard said, stepping in now, like he couldn’t resist chiming in when Tony was on a roll. “She survived everything they threw at her. But now, we’ve got a real problem. They’re going to come after her. And if Hydra gets their hands on her again—”

Fury cut him off, his frustration bubbling over. “I don’t care about the why. I care about the how. How do we stop them from getting their hands on her? How do we protect her?”

Tony leaned back, flashing a grin that could’ve convinced anyone he was the best superhero on the planet. “Simple. We go in, make sure Hydra knows they’ve been messing with the wrong group of people.”

“Ah, so the usual plan,” Rhodey said dryly. “Blow stuff up until it works.”

Tony’s grin widened. “Exactly. But this time, I’ve got backup plans. Multiple plans. No explosions… unless absolutely necessary.”

Fury gave him a long look. “You better have a plan. Because if not, I’m shipping you off to the bottom of the Hudson.”

Maria shot a look at Natasha, who’d quietly slipped into the room. “You think Fury’s going to make it out alive?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her usual smirk dancing on her lips. “Considering he’s still standing? I’m guessing fifty-fifty.”

As Fury turned to leave, giving Tony one last scowl, Maria followed closely behind. The tension in the room lifted slightly, but it was quickly replaced with a familiar, low buzz of anticipation.

Clint, who had been unusually quiet, took a long swig of something suspiciously alcoholic from a bottle. “So, who’s betting on how long until Fury’s patience runs out?”

Bucky smirked. “Place your bets now. Who gets more annoyed first: Fury or Tony?”

Everyone laughed, but one thing was clear: the real war was just getting started. And if Tony Stark had anything to say about it, Hydra was about to get a crash course in bad decisions.

—

A couple of hours after Clint’s last, very inspiring, “we’re all gonna die” comment, the car ride back to the safehouse was, unsurprisingly, as tense as a rubber band on the verge of snapping. If you didn’t count Tony Stark’s chaotic genius as a constant source of stress, that is.

Natasha Romanoff was gripping the steering wheel like it was a life raft. Clint Barton, next to her, was chewing gum like it was his life’s purpose, popping bubbles with the same reckless abandon he used to throw arrows. In the backseat, Maria Hill and Nick Fury were sitting as stiff as two coiled springs, their silence nearly as uncomfortable as the backstory of how they ended up here.

Clint glanced at Natasha, an eyebrow cocked. “So, this whole ‘rescuing Erica from Hydra’ thing’s gonna be easy, right? Like a spy movie with fewer explosions?”

Maria didn’t even blink. She just stared out the window, probably calculating how many ways this could all go to hell. Natasha shot Clint a look that could melt glass.

“Tony’s plan never goes to plan, Clint,” she muttered. “I’m just hoping it doesn’t explode in our faces.”

Clint’s grin turned a little lopsided. “Tony doesn’t do ‘failures,’ but man, he loves a good chaotic disaster. It’s almost charming.”

Maria rubbed the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. “Charming? More like unbelievably messy.”

“Right,” Natasha sighed, pushing the gas pedal down. “Our job is to get Erica. We get to the safehouse, we make sure Hydra can’t track her again. Simple as that.”

Clint’s eyes gleamed. “Yeah, because simple and working with Hydra totally go hand-in-hand.”

“You’re confusing simple with ‘how did this all go sideways so fast,’” Natasha replied, half amused and half annoyed.

“Ah, same thing,” Clint said with a shrug, before popping another piece of gum into his mouth.

About ten minutes later, they turned onto a street that could’ve been mistaken for a dead-end alley. Which, in spy talk, meant they were exactly where they needed to be. The building was practically begging for someone to ignore it—which was exactly what made it the perfect safehouse.

After parking, they quickly made their way inside, and Fury and Maria fell silent, eyes scanning the place with a wariness only a few decades of world-saving could give you. Peggy Carter was leaning casually against the counter, her presence still as commanding as when she fought alongside Captain America. And standing beside her was Erica Hayes, looking like she was about to throw a party and no one was invited.

“Didn’t take you guys long,” Erica said with a dry smile, taking one last glance at the clock. “I’m guessing you’ve been having fun, huh? Hydra’s usual antics?”

Fury gave a half-nod, eyes narrowed. “Not exactly. But they’re coming for you. So, you’re staying here. That’s the plan.”

Erica raised an eyebrow. “A little overdramatic, don’t you think?”

Maria stepped forward, looking more annoyed by the second. “We don’t have time for games. Hydra’s after you, Erica. We need to know everything you know—everything they did to you.”

Erica turned her sharp gaze to Maria. “I’ve got a lot of baggage, Hill. So, if you’re looking for some heartwarming ‘don’t worry, I’m fine’ story, I’m fresh out.”

Steve Rogers, who had been quietly watching this whole back-and-forth like a guy waiting for his turn at a dentist’s office, stepped up. His voice was steady and calm, like he was trying to convince a kid not to eat their candy too fast. “We’re not here to fix you, Erica. We’re here to help. We need your story so we can make sure Hydra never tries something like this again.”

Erica looked between Peggy and Steve, then gave a slow, almost reluctant nod. “Alright. But know this: If you think I’m some kind of miracle cure for Hydra’s problems, you’re way off. I’m just a mess of chemicals and scars, and that’s not something I’m going to forget.”

“Well, that’s not exactly comforting,” Clint commented, popping his gum. “But we’ll work with it. Hydra and their ‘mind control’ issues aren’t exactly a new problem. Just one I could do without.”

Maria shot Clint a glare, but Clint seemed unfazed. “If I had a nickel for every time Hydra tried to mess with someone’s mind, I’d have... I dunno... enough for a vacation home in the Bahamas.”

Erica’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Are we talking about Hydra or you, Barton?”

“Both. But mostly Hydra. They’re the ones with the really nice ‘let’s mess you up’ plans.”

“Funny,” Erica said, crossing her arms, “because I’m real tired of being messed with.”

Fury cleared his throat, his tone snapping back to business. “We don’t have time for games, Erica. You’re a survivor, but we need your help to keep Hydra from turning you into their next weapon.”

Erica gave Fury an almost pitying look. “Weapons don’t have scars. Or memories. Or trust issues. But nice try.”

Steve, with all the quiet intensity of someone who’d been in more battles than any man should, added, “No one’s asking you to trust us yet. But if you don’t work with us, Hydra will get to you first. And they won’t ask you nicely.”

Erica was quiet for a moment, her gaze shifting back to Peggy. Peggy gave her a small, subtle nod, the kind that said, It’s okay. We’re in this together.

And Erica—well, she took a deep breath, like she was finally ready to talk. But before she could open her mouth, Bucky Barnes, who had been lurking in the doorway like a grumpy cat, folded his arms and grunted. “Anyone think this whole ‘Hydra’ thing is way too complicated? Like, can we not just get a simple villain for once? We don’t need to add ‘emotionally complicated’ to our list of problems.”

Erica raised an eyebrow, giving Bucky a once-over. “Right. Because Hydra was really about simple.”

Bucky shot her a look that said he wasn’t impressed. “I’ve been through worse than Hydra. They’re nothing new.”

Erica’s lips curved into a slight, knowing grin. “I can work with that.”

The room grew heavier with the weight of everything that was coming next. Hydra wasn’t just an enemy anymore—it was a global disease. And now, it seemed like they were the cure. A messy, broken, but stubbornly alive cure.

And as always, with the Avengers, they weren’t backing down.

Clint slapped his hands together like he was ready to get to work. “Alright, so here’s the deal. We stop Hydra from taking Erica. We stop them from turning her into their next ‘weapon.’ And we do it with less ‘drama’ than last time. Sound good?”

Erica glanced over at him. “For the record, I’m in charge of the explosions.”

“Well, that was a given,” Clint said with a grin. “Good to have you on the team, Hayes.”

—

The door creaked open, and in walked Ted Tonks—looking as calm as someone who’d just discovered that all the chaos happening around them was actually a well-organized mess. The kind of chaos you expect when you're dealing with a black hole bomb, a time-stopping potion, and a lab that might spontaneously combust at any given moment. Ted’s grin was plastered on his face, but the spark in his eyes was doing its best impression of a pressure cooker about to blow.

“Oi, you lot!” Ted called, crossing his arms and eyeing the black hole bomb like it was a puppy with a very dangerous squeaky toy. “Guess who just landed at the safehouse?”

James—still in the middle of shoving random objects into cabinets like he was on some weird game show challenge—didn’t even miss a beat. “Fury?”

“You know it.” Ted raised an eyebrow like he knew something they didn’t. “He’s about five minutes away, and—before you ask—he’s in a mood. Said something about ‘professionalism’ and ‘this isn’t Hogwarts.’ Honestly, I couldn’t tell if he was threatening us or just referencing the state of the lab.”

James froze, mid-shove, and shot Ted a horrified glance. “Wait—he’s coming here? Now?”

Ted nodded, completely unfazed. “Yep. The whole ‘safehouse’ thing didn’t work out after someone accidentally blew up half the building last week. So, here we are. Which, if you ask me, is a terrible idea, but hey, who am I to say no to an angry Fury?”

Sirius—who had been casually rearranging mismatched potions as though there wasn’t a ticking time bomb in the room—did a double-take. “Wait—this place? He’s coming here?”

Ted’s grin widened, and she casually leaned against the doorframe like this wasn’t the worst possible thing that could happen. “Oh yeah. So, you’ve got about... what, three minutes? Maybe four? Before he bursts in and ruins all this... artistic chaos you’ve got going on.”

Harry—who had been quietly observing the scene, making a mental note to start a betting pool on when the inevitable explosion would happen—raised an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight. We’ve got a black hole bomb, a time-stopping potion, a lab on the verge of spontaneous combustion, and Fury’s about to walk in, ready to—what exactly?”

“Yell at us?” Ted suggested with a shrug. “I mean, that’s his go-to move. Then he’ll probably do that thing where he glares at us like he can melt our faces off with his eyes.” She gave them a pointed look. “Oh, and if any of you blow up the lab before he gets here, I will personally make sure you spend the rest of your lives in a broom cupboard.”

James—already in full “panic mode” and definitely considering the broom cupboard as his new home—paused long enough to look at her like she’d lost her mind. “Really? Because I’m pretty sure a broom cupboard wouldn’t be the worst fate. I’ve had worse punishments at Hogwarts. I’m pretty sure the cupboard comes with Wi-Fi these days.”

Sirius—who was now eyeing the door as if it were a bear trap waiting to snap shut—glared at James. “Forget the cupboard. If Fury even thinks about walking in here before we finish hiding this—” He waved a hand at the mess of beakers, vials, and what might have been an illegally-brewed potion that could turn someone into a frog. “—we’ll be lucky if we make it out of here without being dust bunnies.”

“Or actual bunnies,” Lily added darkly, her voice sweet as honey but carrying that underlying threat that only she could pull off. She gave both James and Sirius a pointed look. “Remember, that’s Plan B.”

James winced like he’d just been hit by a wayward Bludger. “Yeah, okay, Plan B’s not sounding so fun anymore.”

Ted rolled her eyes like this was literally the millionth time she’d had to deal with them. She strolled over to the cabinet, avoiding a bubbling cauldron that was definitely illegal in at least three countries. “You two always make everything so complicated. But, alright, I’ll tell you what. Since I’m feeling generous today, I’ll cover the distraction. You just get everything mostly hidden before Fury comes in here with that glower that makes me feel like my soul is being roasted over a fire.”

“Distraction?” Sirius repeated suspiciously. “What kind of distraction?”

Ted flashed a mischievous grin, like she was already imagining the chaos. “Let’s just say I’m gonna turn the volume up to eleven. Give you guys those precious seconds you need to look innocent.”

James—who had the expression of someone who’d just been handed a ticket to freedom—beamed. “Ah, I like the sound of that. You’re a genius, Ted.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Ted muttered, making her way to the door, but not before adding, “You’ve got five minutes before Fury arrives. Get your act together. And please, for the love of all things magical, don’t make me clean up another mess after this.”

James gave a theatrical salute, the kind that was a bit too dramatic for someone in his position. “You got it, Captain. We’re practically professionals at this point.”

Ted shot him one last look, clearly unimpressed by their bravado. “Yeah, if by ‘professionals’ you mean ‘pranksters in denial,’ then sure, yeah, you’re practically pros.”

As Ted stepped out of the room, Harry muttered under his breath, “Professionals? If by professionals, you mean 'perpetual chaos machines,' then, sure, we’re practically experts.”

Sirius—his trademark grin plastered across his face, but a little anxiety creeping into his eyes—stretched his arms. “Alright, time’s ticking. You know what they say—better to hide everything quickly than to end up in Fury’s crosshairs.”

Lily didn’t say anything at first, but the way she eyed the time-stopping potion in her hand, turning it over with the precision of someone who had definitely calculated the worst possible outcome if this went wrong, spoke volumes. “If this goes wrong...” she started, then trailed off, voice sweet but carrying that quiet, razor-sharp edge of someone about to murder someone and feel completely justified about it. “Well, just don’t go blaming me.”

“Agreed,” James said quickly, casting a nervous glance at the cabinet where the black hole bomb still sat slightly too visible. “Alright, team, operation Hide Everything and Pray Fury Doesn’t Notice is go. Everyone ready?”

Sirius cracked his knuckles like he was about to throw down with a dragon. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s make some magic happen—or, you know, hide it.”

And with that, the team fell into the chaos of trying to hide their mess in time. It was a race against the clock, with only a few seconds left before Fury inevitably burst through that door. And as the seconds ticked down, they all prayed to whatever gods were listening that the explosion didn’t come before Fury did.

Let’s just say… it was going to be close.

—

The door creaked open with that ominous sound you only hear when the universe has decided that it’s time for someone to pay for their mistakes—preferably in the form of an explosion or a minor apocalypse. Honestly, Harry didn’t know which one would be more fun at this point.

And then, of course, in walks Nick Fury, the human embodiment of a storm cloud that had somehow gained sentience and an eye patch. The man had an aura about him—part “I will destroy you with my glare” and part “I am so done with you idiots.” He wasn’t alone either; Maria Hill followed behind him, walking like she had a permanent case of "I've-seen-this-before-and-I-don't-have-time-for-your-stupidity" syndrome.

Fury’s gaze swept across the room like a heat-seeking missile, taking in everything with that one dangerous eye. “I’m gonna ask this once, and I’m not gonna like the answer,” he growled. “What. The. Hell. Is. This?”

James, always the optimist and eternal idiot, flashed a grin that could’ve charmed a snake into volunteering for a petting zoo. “Ah, Fury! Always a pleasure, my friend. How’s the eye?” he asked, his tone far too casual for the fact that they might have just created the world’s first black hole on a Tuesday afternoon.

Fury’s eye didn’t blink. “You wanna make a joke about my eye, James? Because if you do, I’m gonna personally make sure you only get to use that mouth to chew on rocks for the next decade. Got it?”

James paled a shade of white usually reserved for ghosts. “Loud and clear, sir.”

Beside him, Lily raised an eyebrow, an expression that could’ve melted the tension if anyone else had dared to do it. “Fury,” she said with that silky smooth, too-calm-for-this-tone that made everyone in the room instinctively shuffle a little farther away from her. “We’re fine. Totally fine. Nothing to see here. Just some light science experimentation—no need to get dramatic.”

Sirius, naturally, couldn’t help himself. “Oh, we’re good, right? I mean, who doesn’t love a little chaos, right? Totally normal day at the office!” he added, holding up a glowing vial that might’ve been filled with something either really important or really, really dangerous. Possibly both.

Lily elbowed him in the ribs so hard it could’ve qualified as an Olympic sport. “Shut. Up.”

Fury was staring at them now, one eyebrow arched, his gaze as steely as a blade ready to be plunged into something—preferably not any of them, but they couldn’t be sure at this point. “You’re telling me this is all fine? You’ve got dark magic, untraceable potions, and a black hole bomb in here,” Fury drawled, his voice dangerously low, like he was preparing to perform a supervillain monologue. “And yet, you all look remarkably innocent, considering that you’ve got enough illegal stuff to get us on every ‘wanted’ poster on this planet.”

“Oh, right, black hole bomb. I forgot that one was in here,” Sirius said, dropping the vial with an exaggerated shrug that looked completely innocent. Too innocent. Far too innocent.

Lily shot him a look that could’ve turned coal into diamonds. “We’re not calling it that,” she said, her voice the kind of sweet that usually preceded someone’s untimely demise.

Fury’s lip curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile—more like the grimace of someone who’d been told they had to explain the entire plot of a bad movie to a child. “You’re telling me there’s nothing that could possibly go wrong in here? Nothing at all?”

“Well, nothing major. I mean, sure, if we suddenly opened a rift in the fabric of time or unleashed a dragon or two, but we’ve got it under control,” Harry piped up, stepping forward with the kind of fake confidence only a teenager who had no idea what they were doing could muster. “Look, Fury, trust me, we’ve been at this for, what? Hours now? No one’s dead. Yet.”

Fury, who was clearly not trusting him, looked at Hill, who gave the sort of sigh that would’ve made an adult-sized child look for an exit.

“Calculated, huh?” Hill piped in, crossing her arms with a raised eyebrow. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re gambling that the universe won’t implode because you all decided to play mad scientist in your spare time.”

“Gamblers gotta have fun, Hill!” Sirius said, putting his hands up like he was just here for the ride. “You act like I’m the only one betting on a chaotic outcome.”

Lily shot him another look, this one accompanied by the sound of air being rapidly sucked out of the room. “You’re not helping, Padfoot.”

Fury’s nostrils flared. “You’re telling me, you’re all playing with the kind of mess that could end the world as we know it, and you haven’t thought through the consequences?” Fury’s gaze locked onto them, as if daring them to admit they had, indeed, thought it through...and maybe had accidentally invented chaos in the process.

James, caught somewhere between sheer panic and professional bravado, put up his best attempt at looking like a calm and collected genius. “Come on, Fury. We’re totally professionals. I mean, this is just… really advanced stuff. You know, magic stuff. Science stuff. It all works itself out eventually. Just a minor hiccup, right?” He gave a half-hearted glance to Sirius, who was trying to look casual while still holding onto what appeared to be some sort of glowing rock.

Fury’s eye twitched.

“You better be right, or you’ll all be cleaning up the fallout from whatever dumb thing you’ve done here. Or I’ll make you clean up me,” Fury added in a low growl, like he might just snap his fingers and turn them all into a fine mist.

Hill turned her back to them, already heading for the door. “And if the universe does end? I’m gonna go ahead and say ‘I told you so,’” she said dryly.

Fury gave one last look, the kind that promised doom if even a single thing went wrong. “Don’t make me come back here. You idiots have one job—and that job is not making me regret every single decision I’ve ever made.”

With that, he turned and marched out, leaving Hill to follow, her presence as calming as a hurricane warning.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the tension in the room vanished like a dropped balloon.

James slumped against the nearest table, looking like he'd just aged ten years. “Well, that could’ve gone worse, right?”

“Only if we hadn’t hidden the black hole bomb,” Harry said flatly.

Sirius, ever the optimist, slapped James on the back with a grin. “Progress! Fury didn’t melt anyone’s face off, so that’s a win in my book.”

Lily sighed, rubbing her temples. “Next time, I’m voting for ‘not blowing anything up.’ You know, a low-key approach.”

James, ever the charmer, flashed his usual grin. “Because that’s totally realistic.”

And so, with everything still just slightly on the edge of chaos, they got back to the business of pretending they had any idea what they were doing. They all knew one thing: the world might not be ending today, but it sure as hell wasn’t for lack of trying.

Chapter 67: Chapter 66

The moment Harry stepped through the shimmering golden portal into Kamar-Taj, he felt the shift in atmosphere like a slap to the face. Cool, crisp mountain air. The faint scent of incense and ancient parchment. The distant hum of magic woven into the very foundation of the place. It was peaceful. Serene.

Which meant, obviously, that something was about to go horribly, spectacularly wrong.

Because if there was one universal constant in Harry’s life—besides magic, sarcasm, and the crushing weight of his responsibilities—it was that peace and quiet never lasted long.

Still, for the moment, everything seemed normal. Or, at least, as normal as things got in a hidden temple of reality-warping sorcerers.

He found Jean, Ororo, and Tonks in one of the open-air training courtyards, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. Jean was floating. Of course she was. Levitating cross-legged above the stone floor like she was the human embodiment of an inspirational yoga poster, her fiery red hair catching the light as a dozen spellbooks hovered around her in synchronized orbit.

Ororo stood nearby, graceful and composed as always, watching Tonks with the kind of patient amusement usually reserved for toddlers trying to tie their own shoes.

Tonks, meanwhile, was in the middle of what looked like a dramatic one-on-one duel with a particularly stubborn Sling Ring. And losing. Badly.

“Come on, you stupid thing,” she muttered, waving her fingers in a circular motion. The air in front of her flickered weakly, a spark of golden light appearing for half a second before immediately fizzling out like a dying firework.

Jean hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head. “Maybe try channeling your magic through your off-hand instead? Your dominant hand is more used to wand movements.”

Tonks groaned. “I don’t know, Jean. At this point, I think the problem is that this ring and I have unresolved personal issues.”

Harry smirked as he strolled toward them. “You’re not still mad about the whole ‘accidentally flinging yourself into a broom closet’ thing, are you?”

Tonks shot him a glare. “That was one time.”

Ororo arched a perfect eyebrow. “It was three times.”

Tonks clutched her chest in mock betrayal. “Et tu, Ororo?”

Jean, who had been quietly observing this exchange while floating like some kind of all-knowing oracle, finally looked at Harry with a knowing smile. “Rough day?”

Harry let out a dramatic sigh. “Howard Stark and Gideon Adler decided to open a Cryogenic Chamber that Fury specifically told them not to open—because apparently, rules are just suggestions when you’re a Stark or an Adler. And surprise, surprise, they unleashed a Hydra super-soldier who could have leveled New York but, fortunately, decided not to. Then my dad and godfather nearly got us permanently blacklisted by S.H.I.E.L.D., my mum may or may not have threatened to hex Fury into next week, and I had to pretend like we weren’t one step away from an explosion that would have, at minimum, ruined everyone’s day.”

Ororo’s lips twitched. “So… a normal Tuesday?”

Harry nodded. “Exactly.”

Tonks groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m sorry, how are you even alive?”

“Pure skill and an ironclad refusal to acknowledge danger,” Harry replied.

Jean, still hovering, smirked. “And a tiny bit of luck.”

“Luck is just probability bending in my favor,” Harry said, shrugging. “Which is basically magic. And you know what they say about magic—”

“‘It’s not about knowing how,’” Ororo quoted, rolling her eyes, “‘it’s about knowing how not to die while using it.’”

Harry grinned. “See? Ororo gets it.”

Tonks groaned again, glaring at her Sling Ring as if sheer force of will could make it work. “Meanwhile, I’ve been stuck in Magic Kindergarten for hours, and I still can’t make a portal that doesn’t immediately collapse.”

Harry clapped her on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. You’ll get there eventually.”

Tonks narrowed her eyes. “Say that again when you’re not a Super-Soldier-Mutant-Wizard hybrid with enough raw power to punch reality in the face.”

Harry considered this for a moment. Then, in his absolute best impression of a wise old mentor, he said, “Have you considered asking nicely? Maybe say ‘please’ before trying to rip open the fabric of reality?”

Tonks inhaled slowly through her nose. Then turned and dramatically bonked her forehead against Ororo’s shoulder. “I hate him.”

Ororo patted her head sympathetically. “That’s fair.”

Jean, floating slightly closer, smirked. “To be fair, most people hate Harry at some point.”

“That’s true,” Harry admitted. “But I grow on you. Like a particularly persistent magical fungus.”

Ororo chuckled, stepping beside him and effortlessly lacing her fingers with his. It was a simple, quiet gesture—grounding, reassuring. She had always been a steady presence in his life, a calm to his chaos. “It’s good to see you,” she said softly. “Even if it sounds like you just came from another near-apocalypse.”

Harry squeezed her hand, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.”

Jean sighed dramatically. “Yeah, you do have a habit of being in the middle of things.”

Harry groaned. “Don’t I know it.”

He glanced at Tonks, who was still scowling at her Sling Ring like it had personally insulted her ancestors.

Then a thought—an absolutely terrible thought—occurred to him.

He turned to her with the most insufferably smug grin he could manage.

“Hey, Tonks. Want me to show you how to open a portal properly?”

The way she immediately lunged at him with an enraged yell was probably deserved.

—

Harry Potter considered himself many things—charming, witty, devastatingly handsome. (Other people might argue with him on the last part, but that was their problem.) But if there was one title he definitely held with absolute certainty, it was Master of the Savage Burn.

And his favorite victim?

Wong.

To be fair, Wong had earned this honor through sheer persistence. He had, time and time again, refused to be impressed, refused to laugh at Harry’s brilliance, and—worst of all—refused to let Harry check out The Forbidden Chronicles of the Multiverse’s Greatest Tricksters, despite definitive evidence that it would be highly educational.

So, in response, Harry had made it his personal mission to be the most annoying, most chaotic force in Wong’s life.

Which led to now.

As Harry strolled into the grand library of Kamar-Taj, a place so ancient it probably had books with titles like How to Survive a Brontosaurus Stampede, he inhaled deeply. Ah, that intoxicating scent of candle wax, parchment, and the lingering aura of Do Not Touch Anything.

Obviously, he was going to touch things.

At the heart of the library sat Wong, surrounded by tomes that probably contained knowledge capable of breaking reality itself. He was hunched over an open book, his fingers tracing the text in deep concentration.

He looked up.

He saw Harry.

He sighed.

Harry beamed.

“No,” Wong said immediately, tone so flat it could be used to measure perfectly level shelves.

Harry clutched his chest in mock pain. “Wow. Not even a ‘Hello, Harry’? A ‘Nice to see you, Harry’? Maybe a ‘Oh great, my favorite person in Kamar-Taj, what joyous occasion brings you here?’”

Wong stared at him with the exhaustion of a man who had lived through seventeen different apocalypses and found this particular encounter far worse. “I don’t need to say it, because I know why you’re here.”

“Oh?” Harry grinned. “Do tell.”

“You’ve either come to a) ask for a book you are not allowed to have, b) test the library’s magical security system again, or c) subject me to yet another of your insufferable pranks.”

Harry gave a dramatic gasp. “Wong, I am shocked—shocked and appalled. Are you suggesting that I, Harry Potter, the humble seeker of knowledge, would do such a thing?”

Wong stared at him like he was contemplating hurling a reality-breaking grimoire at his head.

Harry leaned against a bookshelf, casually knocking a scroll loose. “Oops.”

Wong caught it midair with an effortless flick of his wrist and placed it back without breaking eye contact.

Now that was skill.

But Harry was undeterred.

“Look, Wong. I know we have this thing going on—you pretending not to like me, me pranking you into premature gray hairs—but I just thought I’d check in. Make sure you’re still grumpy. Maybe get some quality life advice. You know, like ‘Harry, don’t poke the interdimensional rift’ or ‘Harry, stop making the training dummies tap out.’”

Wong closed his book with the kind of exasperated slowness that suggested he was considering astral-projecting himself to another dimension just to be away from this conversation.

“You never just check in,” he said finally. “What do you really want?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe I just want to bond. Have a heart-to-heart. Maybe even—” he gasped theatrically, “—hang out.”

Wong’s eye twitched.

Harry grinned.

There was a long silence.

Then Wong sighed the deep, resigned sigh of a man who knew he was about to regret his next decision but was already too tired to stop it. He reached under his desk and pulled out a small, tightly wrapped package.

“Take this,” he said. “And leave.”

Harry blinked. “Wait. You just had something prepared?”

Wong’s expression was unreadable. “I knew you were coming.”

Harry frowned, taking the package. “But how?”

Wong smirked. “Because I have foresight—otherwise known as experience.”

Harry tore open the package, half-expecting a booby-trapped curse, only to find a single leather-bound book inside.

He frowned. “Is this… The Multiversal Guide to Defensive Spellcasting?”

Wong nodded. “Yes. Because if you insist on attracting the worst possible interdimensional disasters, you should at least learn how to survive them.”

Harry squinted at him. “This feels like a trap.”

“It is not,” Wong said, dusting off his robes. “It is an intervention.”

Harry opened his mouth to retort—only to realize, for once, Wong wasn’t wrong.

“…Okay, fair point.”

Wong gave him a single, victorious nod. “Now get out of my library.”

Harry chuckled, tucking the book under his arm. “Fine, fine. But, y’know, Wong… I have to say, this was actually kind of touching. You giving me a gift, looking out for me. It’s almost like you—dare I say it?—care.”

Wong’s left eye twitched. “Leave. Now.”

Harry took a step back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! I’m going. But this definitely counts as a bonding moment.”

As he turned to leave, Wong muttered something under his breath in Tibetan.

Harry smirked. “Love you too, buddy.”

Wong threw a book at him.

—

Harry’s feet echoed through the labyrinthine halls of Kamar-Taj, and for once, he wasn’t thinking about mystical disasters or the need to stop the next universe-ending crisis. Nope, today he had a mission: check in on his three favorite (and slightly terrifying) students. Jean, Ororo, and Tonks.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself. The deal he'd brokered between SHIELD and Kamar-Taj was still one of his crowning achievements. Sure, it involved a little arm-twisting and a lot of slick talking (and maybe some bribing with snacks, because who doesn’t love snacks?), but now Jean, Ororo, and Tonks were getting top-tier training from some of the most powerful sorcerers in the multiverse. The catch? They had to work for SHIELD as full-fledged mystical operatives once they were ready.

Harry was the one who made sure SHIELD understood that messing with his friends was not an option. And he was also the one who promised to be their personal guide through the mystic arts. Because, of course, no one else could do it with quite the flair that Harry could.

He pushed open the door to the Ancient One’s meditation chamber and stepped inside. The room smelled like incense and ancient wisdom. Seriously, if they ever bottled the scent of “powerful ancient sorcery,” it’d make millions.

The Ancient One, seated on the floor like some serene cosmic yogi, didn’t even open her eyes when Harry entered. She knew he was there. She always knew.

"Ah, Harry," she said, her voice as calm and knowing as the depths of the universe itself. "I trust you’re not here to challenge me to another game of wizard chess. I have far too many responsibilities as it is."

Harry smirked. "Nah, no chess today. I just wanted to check in on my—uh—students. You know, the ones I personally arranged this whole thing for. No big deal, just your friendly neighborhood mediator here."

The Ancient One’s eyes fluttered open, fixing Harry with a knowing stare. “Of course. You are not one for subtlety, Harry. You never have been.”

"Hey, subtlety's overrated," Harry shot back, leaning against the doorframe. "Plus, I did negotiate their future with SHIELD, which means I’m also the one who has to keep them from accidentally summoning an interdimensional being that’ll eat us all. No pressure, though."

The Ancient One raised an eyebrow. "I am aware of your... unique negotiating style. And while your concern for them is commendable, do not forget—this path you’ve chosen for them is not one easily walked."

Harry nodded, suddenly serious. "I get it. No shortcuts. Trust me, I’ve learned that lesson the hard way more times than I care to admit."

The Ancient One smiled—an expression that was as serene as it was mildly terrifying. "And yet, you continue to teach your students with an... unorthodox method. Tell me, Harry, how are they progressing?"

"Well," Harry began, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "Jean’s having a bit of an existential crisis. Apparently, the Phoenix Force is all about destiny and balance and the fate of all existence, and I’m like, ‘Jean, honey, maybe just chill and focus on your hair first, okay?’ But no, she wants to know about the deeper meaning of the universe and how it all connects. It’s adorable, really.”

"And Ororo?" the Ancient One asked, her tone curious.

“Ah, Ororo. You know, just casually asking if she can control the weather across multiple dimensions at once. Nothing too crazy, right? Like, can she summon a storm in the Multiverse? I told her that’s probably a little beyond her paygrade for now, but she’s focused. Definitely not as much of a wildcard as Tonks."

The Ancient One’s lips twitched, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "And Tonks?"

"Tonks is a whole other animal," Harry said, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "She’s a total wildcard, like if a chaotic spellcaster and a professional prankster had a baby and raised it on a steady diet of fireworks and mischief. She once turned her hair bright pink just to mess with Wong. Wong, Ancient One! She’s like a magical social experiment gone wrong, but I think she’ll turn out okay."

The Ancient One’s smile grew ever so slightly, though her voice remained calm. “You do seem to have a particular fondness for her, despite the chaos she brings.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You mean you don’t? Come on, she’s like if a firecracker had a PhD in disaster.”

“She is a reflection of your own chaotic nature,” the Ancient One said. “But remember, Harry, the mystical arts are not so easily controlled. You will teach them, yes, but they must learn to stand on their own. You are their guide, not their savior.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know. They’ll figure it out. I’m not trying to be the hero in this one. They’re smart, they’ve got potential. I just want to make sure they don’t accidentally tear a hole in reality because they got distracted by one more question about the multiverse."

The Ancient One regarded him for a long moment before speaking again. "The multiverse is a delicate balance. It is not something to be taken lightly. But you have already proven yourself more than capable of handling such weighty matters.”

Harry grinned. “Well, you know me. Always up for a challenge. Speaking of which, any tips on how to prank Wong? He’s getting way too serious for my taste.”

The Ancient One’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Pranking, you say? It seems you have learned well from your time here, Harry.”

"Hey, it’s all about the balance," Harry said with a wink. "Seriously, though, Wong’s been on high alert lately. I need to surprise him, but in a way that’s, like, ‘accidental,’ if you catch my drift.”

The Ancient One’s expression softened into a smile that was both wise and slightly devious. "A little mischief can be a powerful teaching tool. Perhaps a small display of... unexpected consequences? A harmless illusion or two, perhaps?"

Harry’s eyes lit up. "Oh, now you’re talking! Thanks, Ancient One. I’ll definitely take that into consideration."

With a final, lingering look, Harry pushed open the door. "Alright, I’m off to make sure my students don’t accidentally summon the entire pantheon of Greek gods into their study session. You know, no big deal."

The Ancient One chuckled softly, her voice echoing in the room like the whisper of a distant storm. “Good luck, Harry. You may need it.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need more than luck,” Harry muttered as he stepped into the hallway. "Maybe some caffeine too. Or, you know, a solid plan.”

And as the door swung shut behind him, Harry couldn’t help but smile to himself. It was a good day. Not a perfect day, but a good day. He had faith in his students—mostly. Now, though, he had the small matter of ensuring Wong would never look at his own reflection the same way again. Time for a prank. And Harry, as always, was ready to deliver.

—

Harry Potter wasn’t usually the type to lose his cool—he’d been through enough weirdness to have developed a certain calm in the face of chaos—but today? Today he was this close to grabbing a bucket of popcorn and enjoying the hot mess that was his life. Because let’s face it: Kamar-Taj may have been the world’s premier school for the mystically gifted, but it was also ground zero for Harry’s personal collection of magical misfits.

And by "misfits," he meant Ororo Munroe, Jean Grey, and Tonks, who had somehow managed to turn their training session into an absolute circus.

Tonks was practically wrestling with her Sling Ring like it had personally offended her. She was muttering things under her breath that Harry was pretty sure were more fit for a pirate ship than a mystical temple. Her usual spunk was crackling in the air like static, and her wand was out, waving at the Sling Ring like she could force it to open with sheer stubbornness. It wasn’t working, though, which only seemed to make her madder.

Jean, meanwhile, was floating a couple feet off the ground—because that’s what Jean Grey did when she was "concentrating." Her books were orbiting her in a wide circle, glowing ominously, the sort of glow that screamed "I’m on the verge of an earth-shattering breakthrough, but I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen." Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, but Harry could tell she was one tiny slip-up away from causing a dimensional rift that would swallow them all.

And then there was Ororo Munroe, who was trying way too hard to look serious, but Harry could tell she was about two seconds away from cracking up. She wasn’t even trying to hide her grin as she watched the other two struggle.

Harry took it all in and couldn’t help but grin to himself. This was too good to miss.

He cleared his throat. "Alright, listen up, my soon-to-be world-saving magical misfits!" His voice was loud enough to grab their attention, and it did—immediately. "I’m here to shake up your little training session. And by ‘shake up,’ I mean we’re about to do things my way."

Tonks shot him a look that could have melted steel. "If you're about to gloat about your portal skills again, I swear to Merlin, I will end you."

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, trust me, I wasn’t gonna gloat. I’m here to save you. From yourselves." He took a step forward, planting his feet dramatically. "And also, I’m about to teach you all something so deep, so mind-bending, that your brains will need a week-long vacation just to process it. Ready?"

Tonks crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. "Uh-huh. What’s your big plan, Mr. ‘I’ve Got All the Answers’?"

Harry put on his best serious face, which was about as convincing as a flailing octopus, but he didn’t care. "You three are officially in my hands now. I’ve spoken with Wong, I’ve had a heart-to-heart with the Ancient One, and guess what? You guys are my new students. That’s right, forget the ancient Tibetan monks, because you’ve got the guy who’s survived about a dozen apocalypses and mastered the fine art of messing everything up and then somehow making it work."

Jean’s eyes narrowed, her glowing books dimming slightly as she floated down to the ground. "Wait—you? You’re going to teach us?"

Harry spread his arms wide in mock surprise. "I know, I know, it’s a shock. But hear me out. I’ve got the qualifications. First, I’ve survived more life-or-death situations than any of you can count. Second, I was literally raised by the Wizarding World’s version of ‘Hogwarts on steroids,’ so trust me when I say that what we’re dealing with here is child’s play. And third? I know how to make this chaos work." He shot a pointed glance at Tonks, who was still glaring at the Sling Ring. "And you could use a bit of my expertise right now."

Ororo raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement. "And what exactly makes you the expert here?"

Harry grinned widely. "Because, my dear Ororo, I’ve got a very particular skill set. Mostly involving chaos and surviving the most insane situations imaginable. You’re going to love it."

Tonks scoffed. "Alright, then, let’s see you do it. Show us what you’ve got, magic man."

Harry winked at her. "Oh, you’ll love this. Step one: you stop trying so hard. Step two: you stop thinking of magic as some boring, predictable science. Magic is more like... well, falling off a cliff. You just have to let go. And if you think the universe is going to catch you? Spoiler alert: it might, and it might not. But that’s half the fun."

Jean raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical as ever. "You’re telling us to just... let go of control? In the middle of an unstable portal?"

"Exactly!" Harry said, clapping his hands together. "Trust me, if you overthink it, it’ll implode. If you force it, you’re going to break it. So, just... relax, let magic be messy, and you’ll end up somewhere magical. Hopefully not somewhere with space octopuses. They’re real, by the way, and they do not play nice."

Tonks looked unimpressed, crossing her arms and staring down at her Sling Ring like it was an annoying little pest. "Alright, show us, then. If it’s so easy, you go first."

Harry held up his hands in a “why not?” gesture. "Fair enough. Watch and learn." He snapped his fingers and immediately summoned a swirling vortex of golden light. It was just big enough to fit them all through, crackling with energy like it was ready to burst. "Here’s how it’s done," Harry said, grinning.

"Just remember," he called to them as they moved toward the portal, "Let go, trust the process, and if you end up in a dimension made entirely of cheese, I cannot be held responsible. That’s a you problem."

Ororo gave him a skeptical look. "Cheese?"

"It’s a thing," Harry said nonchalantly. "Believe me."

Jean glanced at Ororo, raising an eyebrow. "I’ll take my chances."

Tonks, with a mix of disbelief and cautious curiosity, stepped through first. Jean followed, still floating effortlessly, while Ororo hesitated just a moment longer before stepping through as well.

Harry grinned, watching them disappear. "And that, my friends, is how you get things done. Now, let’s see if I’ve just doomed them or if this whole thing is going to work." He stepped through the portal himself, knowing full well that things were about to get even more interesting.

—

Harry had that look again. The one that made you question your life choices. The one where you just knew something was about to go down—something brilliant or something completely insane, with Harry, it was always a fine line between the two. Today, that line was practically nonexistent.

He stood there, hands on his hips, flashing that cocky grin as his three "students" stared at him like they were waiting for a punchline. And in Harry’s world, there was always a punchline.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes. The grin was dangerous, the kind you only saw on the Joker’s face if the Joker was also a master of magic and had zero concern for the laws of sanity.

Tonks shot him a flat look. “You’ve already dragged us through dimensions. What’s next? Time travel?”

Jean floated a little higher, her eyes narrowing with a mix of suspicion and annoyance. “I’m starting to regret asking what comes after the dimension-hopping.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, looking like she was trying to predict the next disaster. “What’s your plan, Harry? Break us or build us up?”

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” Harry said with a grin that was definitely too wide for comfort.

Without another word, Harry flicked his wrist. The ground beneath them vanished in an instant. There wasn’t even a whoosh or a pop. One second, they were standing, trying to figure out what Harry had planned, and the next... nothing.

Tonks let out a yelp that echoed in the void. “YOU—YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS!”

And just like that, they were falling.

Jean, always the quick thinker, snapped into action. Her telekinetic powers flared, a shimmering shield forming around her. But it was too late. The drop was too sudden, too high, and Harry wasn't planning on giving them time to do anything but freefall into oblivion.

“I really hate you right now,” Jean muttered, her voice cutting through the chaos, though her usual cool composure was faltering. Her eyes flared with unspoken annoyance.

Ororo, however, was loving it. The woman was practically cackling as they plummeted. Her hair whipped around her face, her eyes alight with the thrill of the moment. “Oh this is wonderful,” she shouted, grinning like she was about to start some kind of extreme sport. “Are we sure we’re not on a roller coaster, Potter?”

Harry, floating above them like he was too cool for gravity, looked down with a wink. “I told you, the universe always catches you when you fall. Sometimes, it’s just not as gentle as you’d like.”

The snowy peaks of Mount Everest came into view. Harry glanced down, his grin widening to full-on maniac levels.

“Well, look at that,” he said, pretending to be amazed. “You’re getting a free trip to the top of Everest! You’re welcome, by the way. I thought you’d enjoy the view.”

Tonks, whose face had gone from terror to complete, unfiltered rage, screeched, “YOU—ARE—A—MANIAC!”

Jean’s voice, normally the voice of reason, now had a more desperate edge. “I swear, Harry—when I get my hands on you—"

Ororo, of course, was the one who was actually enjoying this. She laughed loudly, raising her arms like she was about to summon a storm. “This is the best thing that’s happened to me all week!”

Harry just gave her a thumbs-up. “Yeah, but we’re not done yet! You’ll want to really appreciate this in a few minutes!”

And then, just as the snow-capped mountains loomed dangerously close... Harry made a quick gesture with his hand. The ground beneath them shattered—literally exploded like the world was made of fireworks—and with a flash of shimmering light, a massive portal appeared.

“Wha—” Tonks shouted, but before she could finish her sentence, the portal expanded like the door to a very cold, very unforgiving version of Narnia.

“Alright, ladies!” Harry called, floating down to the ground and landing in a dramatic crouch like a superhero who’d just finished an overly dramatic speech. “You’ve got exactly five minutes before frostbite kicks in, so I suggest you make it count. It’s cold up here.”

Tonks shot him a glare that could melt ice—if only she weren’t currently freezing her butt off. “You—YOU’RE A MONSTER!”

“You got it!” Harry grinned, brushing snow off his shoulders as he stood. “Seriously, don’t die of hypothermia or whatever. I can’t be bothered to resurrect you after this.”

Jean shot him a death glare, her telekinetic aura still flaring around her as she floated a little higher off the ground. “I’m going to murder you when we get back.”

“Sure, sure. That’s what they all say.” Harry waved it off as he moved toward the portal. “But hey, you’ll have time to practice your murder techniques while you figure out how to get back. Remember, the only way off this mountain is that portal, and guess what? You get to figure out how to open it. Have fun with that.”

Before they could protest—though Harry was pretty sure protests were incoming once they realized they had no idea how to get back—he winked at them, stepped through the portal, and disappeared.

The moment Harry reappeared in Kamar-Taj, he sighed with satisfaction, letting the familiar energy of the temple wash over him. “Ahh, peace and quiet,” Harry muttered, tugging his hood down and brushing off the last of the snow that had decided to follow him through the portal. “This is the life.”

He could already hear Tonks’ voice from the other side of the portal. “POTTER. YOU’RE DEAD. YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!”

Harry chuckled, tapping his fingers together in mock delight. “Best. Decision. Ever.”

—

The portal flickered like a dying lightbulb before exploding into a flash of brilliance, and then—poof—the girls arrived. Well, tumbled would be the more accurate word, because none of them landed gracefully.

Tonks, the first to emerge, hit the floor with a spectacular thud. She shot up immediately, brushing snow out of her pink hair, but there was something off about the whole scene. Specifically, it looked like she'd gotten dressed in a snowdrift. Her clothes were covered in the stuff, and she glared at Harry like she was preparing a verbal death sentence.

"YOU—ARE—SO—DEAD, POTTER!" she screeched, her teeth chattering. Was it from the cold, or pure rage? It was hard to tell. "I am this close to hexing your eyeballs into the next century. Just you wait."

Harry, who had been leaning lazily against the wall, made zero attempt to hide the evil grin stretching across his face. “Ooo, I’m so scared. I can practically feel the frostbite setting in. Maybe I’ll just freeze myself before you do it.”

Tonks wasn’t amused. She wasn’t amused at all. Her hands balled into fists. “You. Are. A. Pain.”

“Thanks! I try,” Harry called back, casual as ever, like the bitter cold and death threats were just part of his morning routine.

Next through the portal was Jean. The usually polished, composed redhead had been completely blindsided by the blizzard-like conditions, and now she looked like she'd been dragged through the snow by a couple of overenthusiastic Yeti. Her hair was matted with ice, and there was a flicker of barely-contained annoyance in her eyes, along with that faint telekinetic glow she always got when she was one misstep away from losing it.

Her voice came out like a low, controlled growl. “That,” she said, wiping a chunk of snow out of her face with a grimace, “was not funny.”

“Of course it was,” Harry answered breezily, raising an eyebrow like he’d just pulled off the greatest prank of all time. “You’re still alive, aren't you? That’s a win in my book.”

Jean gave him a look that could melt solid ice. “I swear, I’m gonna levitate you straight into the next dimension if you pull anything like that again.”

Harry shrugged, looking so innocent he practically glowed. “What, and miss out on all the fun?”

Finally, Ororo made her grand entrance. She floated through the portal with a certain elegance that made it seem like the snowflakes didn’t dare touch her. Her white hair, always flowing like it belonged on a shampoo commercial, was a bit frosted at the edges, but otherwise, she looked almost untouched by the chaotic weather.

“Really, Harry?” Ororo said, her voice almost too smooth for the situation. “You made us take a detour through an ice storm. Was that really necessary?”

Harry only shrugged with a devilish smile. “You’ve gotta admit, it was fun.”

Jean shot him a look. “You’re not funny, Harry.”

“Sure I am,” he said, throwing an arm around her shoulders and grinning ear to ear. “At least you got to experience the great outdoors, right? Who needs warm training rooms when you can have a little taste of nature?”

Ororo raised a finger like she was calling a timeout. “Can we get inside? Before I freeze solid? Please?”

"Ah, yes, right, inside," Harry said, lifting both hands in mock surrender. “But first, let me just remind you that I did say, ‘five minutes,’” he added, a taunting lilt to his voice. “You made it. With two seconds to spare. Impressive.”

Tonks narrowed her eyes. “You are the most insufferable—”

“Oh, no need to thank me, Tonks,” Harry cut in, walking past them with his hands in his pockets. “It's all part of the service. You’re welcome for the snow-filled experience. Next time, I can make it a bit more intense. How about the Sahara?”

“I will never forgive you for this,” Tonks muttered, stomping after him as she wrung the snow out of her sleeves. “If I end up with frostbite, I’m sending you the medical bill.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Harry teased. “You look fine. Snow suits you, really. Makes your eyes pop. I’d say you were glowing, but… well, that’s probably just the frozen condensation.”

Jean rolled her eyes. “I swear—”

“I know, I know,” Harry said, holding up his hands like he was the world’s greatest pacifier. “Next time, I'll tone it down. Promise. Just, you know, don’t get too mad. You’re making your ‘I’ll murder you’ face.”

Ororo let out a low chuckle. “Maybe you could show us the real magic now. We’re here for training, not torture.”

"Ahh, but where’s the fun in that?” Harry winked at her, completely unbothered by the cold stare he was getting from Tonks. “You’re gonna love the next round. Trust me.”

Jean sighed dramatically. “I’m never traveling by portal with you again. Next time, I’m sticking with normal methods—normal, like a regular, boring airplane.”

“That sounds boring,” Harry said as they all stepped into the warmth of Kamar-Taj, letting the heat sink into their frozen limbs. He paused, looked over his shoulder, and flashed them a grin. “But hey, if you’re gonna complain about it, at least you’re not freezing your face off anymore. Right?”

Tonks muttered something about hexing him before she yanked off her icy boots and gave Harry a final glare. But even she couldn’t keep the smile from creeping up. “Fine. But you’re buying the drinks next time.”

Ororo gave him one last amused look, the twinkle still there despite everything. “You really are something else, Potter. Lucky for you, we all like you. But you can only get away with this once.”

“Oh, I know,” Harry said with a wink. “Next time, I’m going to make it way worse.”

As the trio followed him deeper into Kamar-Taj, they all shared a silent understanding. Harry Potter might be a handful. But when it came to fun, there was no one better.

And that’s when they realized: they were in for one hell of a ride.

Chapter 68: Chapter 67

The next morning, Harry strolled into the training hall with the kind of smug confidence that practically had its own gravitational field. He stretched his arms over his head, rolling his shoulders like he was about to casually drop the most brilliant idea in the history of ideas. Spoiler alert: the girls were about to hate him.

“All right, ladies,” he announced, flashing his best troublemaker grin. “I have a proposition for you.”

Jean, sitting cross-legged on a floating cushion (because apparently, chairs were too mainstream for her telekinesis), took a slow sip of her tea and raised a suspicious eyebrow. “This isn’t going to involve another snowstorm, is it?”

“Or lava?” Ororo asked, already mentally preparing a thundercloud, just in case.

“Or a pack of magically enhanced rabid ferrets?” Tonks muttered, absently rubbing a faint scratch on her forearm—the last, traumatizing memory of last week’s ‘training accident.’

Harry pressed a hand to his chest, looking deeply wounded. “Ladies, please. That was one time.”

Tonks snorted. “One time too many, Potter.”

Jean sighed, setting her cup down with a deliberate click. “All right, fine. Hit us with your latest nonsense.”

Harry’s grin widened like a cat that just found out the canary was legally required to stand still. “A duel. You three against me.”

Tonks blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, that’s precious. You think we need three people to kick your arse?”

“Ah, but here’s the twist,” Harry said, waggling his eyebrows. “I’ll only use portals. No magic, no physical attacks. Just my brilliant tactical mind and absurdly good reflexes.”

Jean arched a skeptical brow. “So, basically, you’re just going to run away the whole time?”

“Strategically reposition,” Harry corrected. “Like a majestic, highly intelligent combatant.”

Tonks crossed her arms. “Like a coward.”

“Like Batman with magic.”

Ororo rolled her eyes. “I hate that I understood that reference.”

Harry held up a finger. “Oh, and if you win…” He let the tension build because he was a showman, after all. “You get a week off chores.”

That got their attention.

Jean leaned forward. “A whole week?”

Harry smirked. “Already cleared it with the Ancient One. You beat me, and for seven glorious days, no sweeping, no washing dishes, no scrubbing cauldrons, no night patrol duty.”

Tonks gasped. “A full week of freedom?” She grabbed Ororo’s arm. “Do you know what this means? We can finally catch up on all those movies!”

Jean nodded slowly, eyes gleaming. “And I can sleep in. Actually sleep.”

Ororo just cracked her knuckles, lightning flickering at her fingertips. “You are making a mistake, Potter.”

Harry spread his arms. “Am I? Or am I just giving you the illusion of hope before dashing it against the rocks of reality?”

Jean drummed her fingers on her knee. “There’s a catch.”

“No catch,” Harry said, grinning. “Just one condition: you actually have to beat me.”

Tonks clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, Potter. You are so done.”

“Sure, sure,” Harry said, turning on his heel and whistling as he strolled toward the courtyard. “Meet me outside in ten minutes. Try not to cry when you lose.”

Ororo stood, adjusting her gloves. “I hope you know, Potter, that I will enjoy this.”

Jean cracked her neck. “And I hope you know, Potter, that when we win, I am making you clean my room.”

Harry’s grin never wavered. “Big words for someone who’s about to lose in the most humiliating way possible.”

Ororo lifted her chin, already plotting. “We’ll see.”

Tonks just cackled. “This is gonna be fun.”

As they left, Harry leaned against the doorframe, watching them go. Then, under his breath, he murmured, “Yeah. For me.”

—

Ten minutes later, the courtyard was set. Jean, Ororo, and Tonks stood together, a united front of determination, mischief, and barely restrained violence. Across from them, Harry lounged with the kind of infuriating ease that suggested he either had a death wish or a plan so ridiculous it might actually work.

“Rules are simple,” he called, stretching like he was about to take a nap instead of fight three powerful witches. “You tag me, you win.”

Jean crossed her arms, skeptical as ever. “And you can only use portals?”

Harry nodded. “No magic, no punches, no unnecessary monologues about how I’m the greatest duelist of all time—just pure, tactical portal mastery.”

Tonks rolled her shoulders, cracking her knuckles with a devious grin. “Let’s wipe that smug look off his face, yeah?”

Jean nodded. “Agreed.”

Ororo simply smirked, the kind of smirk that promised an incoming storm—both figuratively and literally. “This will be fun.”

Harry waggled his fingers at them like a villain in a Saturday morning cartoon. “Then come get me.”

Jean was the first to move, her telekinetic blast rushing toward him—only for a portal to swallow it whole. A second later, it reappeared behind her, forcing Jean into a desperate roll to avoid getting smacked by her own attack.

Ororo wasn’t far behind, a gust of wind meant to knock him off balance. Another portal shimmered into existence, redirecting the wind straight into Tonks, who was thrown backward with a very undignified yelp.

“OI! That’s cheating!” she shouted, flailing mid-air before crashing into a bush.

Harry cackled. “Nope! Just strategy!”

Jean gritted her teeth and lifted several nearby stones, sending them flying at him in a flurry of jagged projectiles. Harry responded by opening a series of rapid-fire portals, making the stones pop in and out of existence like a demonic game of Whack-A-Mole.

Ororo narrowed her eyes. This time, she adjusted the air pressure just right before sending a crackling bolt of lightning his way.

Harry smirked. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this.”

A portal snapped open, redirecting the bolt straight at Ororo.

She barely dodged in time, flipping backwards with a look that said, “Okay, now I’m actually impressed.”

Tonks, meanwhile, had vanished entirely.

Harry frowned. “Hiding won’t help, Tonks—”

He was cut off as she dropped from above, aiming to tackle him from the air.

Too late.

A portal materialized mid-air, swallowing her whole.

With a mighty SPLASH, she reappeared in the koi pond.

She emerged, dripping wet and radiating murder. “POTTER!”

Harry was laughing so hard he nearly lost balance. Nearly.

And that’s when Jean tried to catch him. Her eyes flared as she yanked him forward with her telekinesis—but instead of resisting, Harry grinned and opened another portal beneath him, redirecting the force so that Jean was the one sent hurtling forward instead.

She barely had time to swear before she smacked face-first into Ororo.

“Oh, I like this game,” Harry mused, dodging another attack with a well-placed step into a portal. “It’s like dodgeball, but I never get hit.”

Jean groaned from where she lay on top of Ororo. “I hate him. I hate him so much.”

Tonks stomped out of the koi pond, still soaked, her hair flashing between colors as she tried to get her rage under control. “Why won’t you just LET US WIN?!”

Harry smirked. “Because you haven’t earned it.”

Ororo rose to her feet, brushing herself off with the grace of a queen. “We’ll see about that.”

And then it became a war of attrition.

Jean hurled objects. Ororo manipulated the weather. Tonks shapeshifted, feinted, and generally tried every trick in the book to catch him.

None of it worked.

Every attack was met with a portal. Every plan was countered before it could even be fully executed. Harry wasn’t just dodging—he was controlling the battlefield, bending reality in ways that made it clear he wasn’t just a Mystic Arts prodigy, but also a Super-Soldier with reflexes that bordered on unfair.

Minutes stretched into a grueling, frustrating eternity, and eventually, the girls started slowing down. Not because they weren’t skilled—but because Harry was making them waste energy with every misdirect, every redirection, every perfectly timed dodge.

Jean’s breathing was labored. Ororo’s usually effortless movements had become sluggish. Even Tonks, always the wildcard, was panting from exertion.

And Harry? He barely looked winded.

Finally, Jean dropped to one knee, wiping sweat from her forehead. “I hate to say it…” she panted. “But I think we lost.”

Ororo sighed, straightening up with what dignity she had left. “Agreed.”

Tonks groaned dramatically and flopped onto her back. “I hate everything.”

Harry walked over, hands in his pockets, smirking like he’d just won the Super Bowl. “Aww, done already? And here I thought you lot had stamina.”

Jean glared at him. “Say one more word and I’ll levitate you into orbit.”

Harry held up his hands, grinning. “Relax, relax. You all did great. Buuuut…” He paused, stretching lazily. “I guess that means no week off chores.”

Tonks let out an inhuman wail.

Ororo shook her head, though there was a ghost of a smile on her lips. “One day, Potter. One day we will defeat you.”

Harry’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Jean, still catching her breath, eyed him suspiciously. “You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Harry turned on his heel, whistling as he walked away. “See you all at dish duty!”

Tonks groaned. “I hate him so much.”

Ororo sighed. “And yet, somehow, I respect him.”

Jean just glared at his retreating figure. “Next time, Potter. Next time.”

—

Dish duty was supposed to be a punishment. A consequence. A well-earned price for losing a bet with the single most aggravating person in existence.

Instead, it was somehow turning into a masterclass in magical efficiency, physics-defying trickery, and, most infuriatingly, life lessons.

“You see,” Harry said, lounging against the counter like he hadn’t just run them ragged in the courtyard. “Chores, much like battle, are all about strategy.”

Tonks, who was currently elbow-deep in soapy water, scowled. “I hate you so much right now.”

“You love me,” Harry corrected, undeterred. “But more importantly, you should be asking yourself: How can I make this task easier?”

Jean, scrubbing a particularly stubborn plate, shot him a glare hot enough to melt vibranium. “By making you do it.”

“Now, see, that’s delegation!” Harry pointed at her approvingly. “Very important skill. But you have to know who to delegate to. Ancient One? Not a fan of housework. Wong? Probably banish you to another dimension for asking. Me?” He gestured to himself. “I won the bet. You see where I’m going with this?”

Jean did, in fact, see exactly where he was going with it, and she did not like it.

Ororo, drying off a plate with what was definitely a bit more force than necessary, exhaled sharply. “If you’re not going to help, at least shut up.”

“But if I shut up, how will you learn?” Harry spread his hands, as if this was a tragic misunderstanding. “Now, dish duty is all about pacing. If you burn out too quickly, you end up exhausted before the real fight even begins. Much like you did earlier in the duel.”

Tonks groaned. “You have to stop making everything a lesson, Potter.”

“But I’m a teacher,” he said, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “It’s my sacred duty.”

Jean, moving purely on instinct, whipped a wet sponge at his face. He caught it mid-air, without even looking.

“Reflexes,” he said smugly. “Another important skill. Especially when your students try to murder you for being too good at my job.”

Jean grabbed another sponge. “You are so lucky I can’t just fling you into another dimension right now.”

“Oh, you could, but then who would remind you that you need to scrub both sides of the plate?”

Jean let out a slow, controlled breath. “I swear to every cosmic entity, Potter—”

“Relax, Red,” Harry said, waving a hand. “Here, let me show you something.”

He snapped his fingers, and a series of small portals opened above the sink. The dirty dishes levitated, passing through each one in a perfect cycle of washing, rinsing, and drying before stacking themselves neatly back in the cabinet.

The girls stared.

Tonks’ eye twitched. “Are you serious?”

“See? It’s all about working smarter, not harder.” Harry leaned against the counter, watching the last plate settle into place. “That, ladies, is what you call tactical superiority.”

Ororo massaged her temples. “You made us do all that just so you could prove a point, didn’t you?”

Harry beamed. “Lesson retention is highest when paired with hands-on experience!”

Jean picked up another sponge.

Harry took that as his cue to exit.

“Welp, gotta go! Got some important—ah—teacher things to do! Great work, team!” He dashed out of the kitchen just as the sponge flew past where his head had been.

Jean turned to Ororo and Tonks. “Next time, we make him do the dishes.”

Ororo nodded. “Agreed.”

Tonks cracked her knuckles. “And if he tries to turn it into a lesson again, we portal him into the koi pond.”

That, they all agreed, was an excellent plan.

—

The next morning, the courtyard had transformed into their personal battleground once again. But this time? It wasn’t about dodging Harry through a labyrinth of portals or discovering that washing dishes was somehow a metaphor for combat readiness.

No, this was about something far more important.

Learning how to fight like absolute legends.

Harry stood at the center, arms crossed, looking infuriatingly well-rested despite the chaos he’d inflicted on them the day before. Meanwhile, Jean, Ororo, and Tonks were attempting to function like normal human beings while dealing with sore muscles, lingering bruises, and the quiet existential crisis that came from knowing their instructor was an unholy combination of a war mage, a super-soldier, and the single most annoying person they had ever met.

Jean rolled her shoulders, her fiery red hair catching the sunlight. “Alright, Professor Potter,” she said, eyes sharp. “We’ve read the books, we’ve got the theory down. Let’s see if you can actually teach.”

Harry smirked. “Oh, Red. I don’t teach. I inspire.”

Tonks groaned. “If you inspire me any harder, I’m gonna hex you.”

“Attagirl,” Harry said approvingly. “Channel that aggression. Now, let’s talk energy constructs.”

With a flick of his wrist, golden energy flared to life, shaping itself into a longsword so perfect it looked like it had been forged by the gods. It gleamed under the morning sun, humming with raw power.

“Magic is all about intent,” he said, spinning the sword lazily before letting it dissolve into nothing. “Energy constructs? That’s where control comes in. Shape them wrong, and you end up with something flimsy. Pour in too much power and—”

A new construct formed in his palm, this time an unstable dagger that immediately exploded in a harmless shower of sparks.

“Boom.”

Ororo arched an eyebrow. “And you’re supposed to be the expert?”

Harry smirked. “I did that on purpose. Demonstration, you know?”

Jean crossed her arms. “Uh-huh.”

“Alright, smartasses, show me what you’ve got.”

Jean went first. Power flared at her fingertips, crackling crimson as she focused. Slowly, a shimmering spear took shape, its surface rippling like molten metal.

Harry nodded. “Not bad. Now throw it.”

Jean smirked and hurled the spear straight at his head.

Harry flicked his fingers, and a portal swallowed it whole before spitting it right back at her.

Jean yelped, throwing herself to the ground as the spear embedded itself into the wall behind her. She glared at him. “Really?”

Harry shrugged. “Lesson one: Always be ready for a counter.”

Ororo was next. She exhaled, stretching out her hands. A sleek, sky-blue javelin formed between them, crackling with electricity. The moment it solidified, she spun it effortlessly before slamming it into the ground, sending a controlled shockwave rippling outward.

Harry whistled. “See, now that’s showing off.”

Ororo smirked. “Just following my teacher’s example.”

Tonks bounced on her toes. “Alright, my turn!”

Magic flared around her hands. Slowly, painstakingly, a glowing construct took shape. A pair of—

“Socks?” Harry blinked.

Tonks scowled. “They’re fists!”

Harry squinted. “Nope. Definitely socks.”

Tonks groaned and tried again. This time, the construct wavered, flickered… and turned into what was undeniably a very sad-looking boot.

Harry clapped. “Excellent. You’re officially the first person in history to weaponize bad fashion choices.”

Tonks chucked the boot at his head. It bounced off harmlessly.

Harry smirked. “Ten points for creativity, though.”

Jean sighed, rubbing her temples. “Are we actually going to learn anything, or is this just an elaborate excuse for you to be a menace?”

“Why can’t it be both?” Harry asked. Then, without warning, he conjured a massive, intricate golden shield and slammed it into the ground. “Lesson two: Constructs aren’t just for offense. Defense is just as important.”

Jean narrowed her eyes. “And let me guess—”

She lunged, forming a glowing blade mid-motion and swinging it straight at him.

Harry caught it effortlessly on his shield. “Boom. Now you’re getting it.”

Ororo nodded. “So it’s not just power—it’s control.”

“Bingo,” Harry said, grinning.

Tonks huffed. “Alright, well, I’m gonna keep trying until I make something that isn’t footwear.”

Harry took a step back, watching them refine their techniques, each attempt better than the last. Then he clapped his hands together.

“Good,” he said. “Now, let’s kick it up a notch.”

A massive, flaming broadsword materialized in his grip.

Jean groaned. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

“Because,” Harry said, rolling his shoulders, “now we fight.”

And then he proceeded to wipe the floor with them.

Not in a brutal, merciless way—more in the way a seasoned warrior effortlessly dismantles three talented but vastly less experienced opponents while dodging their best attacks and firing back with savage one-liners.

Jean hurled another spear. Harry sidestepped. “Telegraphed that one, Red.”

Ororo tried a lightning-infused strike. He caught it on his shield with a bored expression. “Shocking, truly.”

Tonks finally managed a proper construct—a pair of glowing gauntlets—and went for a punch. Harry vanished in a swirl of golden light and reappeared behind her. “Solid effort, but you left yourself wide open.”

One by one, they fell—not because they weren’t improving, but because Harry’s stamina was absurd. They tried everything. Traps. Fake-outs. Attacking all at once. It didn’t matter. He was faster, stronger, and just plain meaner when it came to combat.

After an hour of this, Jean collapsed onto the ground, panting. “Alright, I take back everything I said. You’re an evil genius.”

Ororo flopped beside her. “I hate how much sense he makes.”

Tonks lay sprawled on her back, gasping. “Did… we at least… get better?”

Harry grinned, twirling his sword before dismissing it. “Oh, definitely. You’re, like, half as terrible as before.”

Jean threw a rock at him.

Harry dodged. “See? Progress.”

Ororo sighed. “Are we done?”

Harry considered. “Hmm. Yeah, I think you’ve suffered enough for today.”

Tonks groaned. “Oh, thank Merlin.”

Harry clapped his hands. “Great. Same time tomorrow.”

Three identical groans filled the courtyard.

Harry smirked.

This was going to be fun.

—

The next few days were like boot camp, if boot camp was a hellish blend of high-stakes magic, superpowers, and Harry Potter’s never-ending supply of sarcasm. Every morning, the courtyard turned into an arena where they trained, worked, and occasionally broke things. By night, they were sore, sleep-deprived, and bruised in places they didn’t know could bruise. And yet, the next morning—surprise!—they were expected to do it all over again. If Harry's smirk wasn't a permanent fixture on his face, they'd probably hate him. But that smirk was practically a challenge. He was pushing them beyond their limits, like some kind of sadistic drill sergeant who also happened to be a genius in combat tactics.

They were getting stronger, though. They had to admit it. The constant testing—combined with Harry’s interesting (and by "interesting," they meant "torturous") methods—was turning them into something... well, not great yet, but definitely better than when they started. It was a process. And Jean Grey? She was already starting to show real progress.

By the third day, Jean had fully embraced the concept of doing exactly what Harry told her, even if she would throw him side-eye like it was a hobby. She was working on her telekinesis, a power she already had a ridiculous amount of control over. But Harry? Harry wanted more. He pushed her to experiment, to manipulate the very frequencies of her power, turning them into something more. Something extra.

“You’re just using a hammer when you could be wielding a scalpel,” he’d told her, his voice dripping with mock-sincerity.

Jean wasn’t having it at first, but Harry was unrelenting. "Push it. You've got the raw power. Let’s see if you can actually control it with finesse."

So, naturally, Jean went for it. The results? A shimmering, intricate blade of telekinetic energy that looked like it could slice through anything. And I do mean anything.

"Whoa," Tonks muttered, leaning on her elbow against the wall, “Does that come in a size for chopping veggies? Because I could use that for dinner.”

"Focus, Tonks," Harry said, clearly not interested in Tonks' culinary aspirations. “Jean, throw it at me.”

Jean’s eyes narrowed. "You want me to—?"

"Yep," Harry grinned, “Let’s see if you’ve got the guts to make it count. You control it, right? Prove it.”

She hesitated. Of course she did. Because who in their right mind would want to throw a sharp, glowing blade of telekinetic energy at Harry Potter, the only man in the room who could make you feel like a less-than-amazing superhero with just a glance?

But, after a few seconds of Harry practically daring her with that infuriatingly smug look of his, Jean tossed the blade in a smooth, practiced arc.

The result? Harry didn’t even flinch. A shield of shimmering blue energy appeared between him and the blade. It collided with a loud crack, sending a shockwave through the courtyard.

“Better,” Harry said, casually brushing a speck of dirt off his shoulder. “But you’re still holding back. You hesitated for a split second. That’s your weak spot. And when you hesitate, you get killed. Remember that.”

Jean crossed her arms, looking like she wanted to roast Harry alive with her mind. "You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I know,” Harry grinned, “But I’m also right, so suck it up. Next!”

Tonks stepped forward, winking as she straightened her already-wild hair. “Oh, now I get to have a turn, right?” she asked, already sliding into her trademark chaotic mood.

"Sure, but do me a favor and don't turn me into a giant pumpkin again. I’m still recovering from that one."

“Oh, come on! It wasn’t that bad,” she said, winking. “Besides, who wouldn’t want to see Harry Potter as the Great Pumpkin?”

“Shut it, Tonks,” Harry groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Ororo, your turn."

And just like that, Ororo Munroe—storm goddess extraordinaire—stepped forward. Her white hair rippled in the breeze like some kind of wind-whipped goddess, and when she looked at Harry, her gaze was intense, but her lips curled into a knowing smile.

Ororo had been quietly watching the whole time. She didn’t need Harry’s help to be an absolute powerhouse; she was already a force of nature in her own right. But Harry being Harry—he couldn’t resist the temptation of pushing her too.

She raised her arms slowly, calling the elements to her command. The air crackled with the storm she was about to unleash, and even the trees seemed to lean back in respectful fear. A lightning bolt arced across the sky—fast, precise, and deadly—then disappeared into the ground with a rumble of thunder.

“Not bad,” Harry said, rubbing his chin like he was contemplating a particularly tough riddle. “But could you, I don’t know... maybe not try to burn everyone alive? That’d be great.”

Ororo chuckled, her expression still calm despite the electricity crackling through her fingertips. “I’m not the one making us run drills that involve blades of energy, Harry.”

"Yeah, well," Harry shrugged, "You know me. I prefer to make things fun."

With a roll of her eyes, Ororo dropped her hands, and the storm subsided.

"All right, enough with the lightning show,” Harry said. “I’m pretty sure even the local wildlife is considering moving to another dimension. Let's get back to work."

And just like that, they were back at it again. Every day, a little stronger, a little smarter, and a lot more likely to kill each other in the name of pushing the limits. But Harry’s smirk was always there. A reminder that, no matter how brutal the training got, he wasn’t going to stop until they reached that next level.

After all, that’s what made him Harry Potter.

—

By Day 5, it was starting to feel like a regular circus with Harry Potter as the ringleader, except the "clowns" were powered-up mutants and the "animals" were, well, really good at throwing lightning. The courtyard had turned into their battle ground and it was beginning to look less like a training zone and more like a mad scientist’s lab after a caffeine binge. Jean was getting the hang of her telekinetic blades (to Harry's immense satisfaction), Tonks was already asking if they could switch to something more fun (which, knowing Tonks, was a terrifying idea), and Ororo was just out here casually turning her powers into a walking natural disaster.

But today? Today was Ororo's day.

She stood in the center of the courtyard, her eyes narrowed in that way that told you something spectacular was coming. Jean leaned against a column, sipping from a water bottle and giving her a look that said, I’m waiting for you to blow up the world so I can look mildly concerned about it. Ororo wasn’t fazed. She never was.

“I’m telling you, this is gonna be epic,” Tonks murmured to Harry, her voice bubbling with excitement, “She’s practically a walking lightning rod. If she actually hits something this time, we’re gonna need new walls.”

“Uh-huh,” Harry said, looking entirely too smug for someone who had spent the last five days pushing them beyond sanity. “But the real question is: will she hit something?”

Before Tonks could respond with some snarky comment, Ororo raised her arms. The atmosphere shifted, and I swear, even the air seemed to bend around her. A low hum vibrated from the sky above, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath. Then, bam. A dark thundercloud formed above her, crackling with wild energy, looking like the very embodiment of a storm waiting to happen.

“Alright,” Harry muttered, putting his hands on his hips, “Let’s see if you’ve learned anything.”

At first, the familiar chaotic spark of Ororo’s lightning flared out of control—random bolts shot off, narrowly missing trees and Tonks, who was pretending not to be nervous (but definitely flinching every time a bolt went zipping by her ear).

“No, no, focus, Storm,” Harry barked, “Don’t let the storm control you. You are the storm. Shape it.”

Ororo’s jaw tightened as she closed her eyes for a beat. I swear, you could almost see the storm inside her, a maelstrom of raw power swirling just beneath her calm surface. She adjusted her stance, narrowing her focus.

And that’s when it happened. With a flick of her wrists, the cloud above her swirled, the lightning crackling into a perfect tornado of electrical energy that twisted with precision. It shot from the sky like a serpent of pure fury, spinning with intent before launching down in a controlled strike. The bolt tore through the air, slicing through the courtyard with the kind of accuracy that made you think twice about getting on her bad side.

Harry blinked. Once. Twice. And then his lips curled into that signature smirk. The one that said, Yeah, I totally expected that.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” he cheered, throwing his hands up like he was watching a sports team win a championship. “That was perfect! You didn’t just strike—you aimed.”

Ororo’s smile was slow and satisfied. “Finally getting the hang of it,” she said, lowering her arms with that quiet pride of someone who knew they had just done something incredible.

“Yeah, well,” Harry said, waving a hand dismissively, “Don’t get too cocky. You can do better.”

“Wait, what?” Jean cut in from the sidelines, her eyebrows shooting up. “You’re telling me that was good, and now you’re like, ‘Eh, you can do better’?”

Harry just shot her a grin. “Jean, honey, if she can hit me in the head with that? Then we’ll talk about perfecting it.”

Ororo’s expression shifted to one of mild amusement. “You really think I’m going to aim for your head, Potter?”

“Why not? It’s a pretty big target.” Harry raised an eyebrow, and the banter between them was electric—pun absolutely intended.

“Alright, enough with the ego trip,” Harry said, rubbing his hands together, clearly eager to move on to the next lesson. “Ororo, don’t just strike with raw power. Think about where you strike. Lightning is more than just destruction—it’s a message. It’s sudden, unpredictable, and when it hits, it hits with purpose.”

Ororo glanced at him like she was about to ask something, but then her gaze flicked over to the horizon. The challenge in her eyes was clear. She didn’t just want to hit. She wanted to make a statement.

“I think I understand,” Ororo said, her voice soft but unwavering. “You don’t just strike to destroy. You strike to send a message.”

“Exactly,” Harry said, crossing his arms, looking way too pleased with himself. “When you’re in the middle of battle, every move is a message to your enemy. Think about it. Predict what they’ll do next and hit them where it hurts. If they’re expecting the storm, you give them the calm before the fury.”

Tonks’ eyes glimmered as she interjected, “So like, you’re the storm... and the message? Damn, that’s deep.”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a wry smile. “It’s like I’ve been saying. If you can’t make your enemy fear you, what’s the point of having the power?”

Ororo’s eyes sparkled with the fire of a new realization. She nodded slowly, adjusting the storm within her, focusing it like an arrow aimed at its target.

"Let’s see if I can send that message, then." And with that, the storm inside her shifted—calm before the storm, but the crackle of lightning promised a deadly strike was coming.

It was clear that they weren’t just training to be stronger. They were training to become masters of their powers, each one weaving their unique abilities into something that would hit hard, fast, and with intention. And with Harry Potter at the helm, it was only going to get more insane from here.

Chapter 69: Chapter 68

By Day 7, Tonks was starting to look like she might spontaneously combust from frustration. She’d been in the courtyard for what felt like an eternity, trying—and failing—to control her Metamorphmagus powers during combat. Her face kept flickering between different shapes, like her body was playing a game of “Guess Who?” with itself. At one point, she turned into a flamingo mid-roundhouse kick, which would’ve been adorable if it wasn’t so not helpful when trying to take down Harry.

“I mean, what’s the point of being able to turn into a bird if I can’t punch anyone while I’m a bird?” she said, glaring at her arms, which were currently morphing into something that resembled a particularly clumsy version of a rubber chicken.

Harry, of course, had to smirk. “You do realize the whole point of transforming is to adapt, right? Just because you can change your body doesn’t mean you should do it for the heck of it. Adaptability is the key to survival in battle.”

“Yeah, well, survival would be easier if I didn’t turn into a flamingo every time I try to duck.” Tonks crossed her arms and gave him a challenging look, which, honestly, was like trying to stare down a brick wall if the wall were also covered in glitter.

“Flamingo’s got some good defense moves,” Harry teased. “But fine, we’ll work on your actual combat transformations. Can you transform mid-strike without losing control?”

Tonks took a dramatic breath. “You’re on.”

And that was the start of Tonks’ daily struggle to not turn into a pile of mush when she tried to change shapes on the fly.

Day 8 was a game-changer.

Harry had already started drilling them with more complicated stuff—shifting forms in the middle of a fight. The whole idea was to stay unpredictable. One second, you’re a human. The next, you’re anything else that might give you an advantage. While Ororo was perfecting her storm control and Ororo was, well, ororo-ing (she was practically a walking natural disaster), Tonks was struggling to get the whole “multitasking with body parts” thing down.

Her first few attempts were... let’s just say, "awkward" was a generous word. One moment she was a regular human, and the next? A giraffe with boxing gloves. Or an octopus trying to do a somersault. You get the idea. The woman was a walking chaos storm.

“Focus, Tonks,” Harry called out, grinning. He was doing that thing where he looked like he was about to definitely make a joke, but in that “I’m pretending to be serious, but also low-key roasting you” way. “Think like the form. Think about how you’re moving, how your body changes. Get it right, and you’ll be a walking Swiss Army knife. Get it wrong, and you might end up a blob of goo that can’t fight its way out of a paper bag. Your call.”

It was definitely the second option for the first few attempts. Tonks was a blur of limbs that did their own thing, like a toddler trying to figure out what a cartwheel was. At one point, she turned into a sloth mid-punch, which would have been really cute if the enemy wasn’t trying to break her ribs.

Jean was over to the side, barely containing a smirk as she observed. “You know, Tonks,” she said sweetly, “you do realize you could always just, you know... duck instead of becoming an octopus.”

“I did duck! I’m just also trying to become an octopus while I’m doing it.” Tonks shot back, clearly exasperated but not backing down. “It’s called multitasking, Jean. Look it up.”

Harry just shook his head, clearly relishing the incredibly slow progress. “Keep at it, Tonks. You’ll get it. And when you do, you’ll be a literal master of adaptability. You’ll be like... a chameleon, but with more punching power.”

"Chameleons can’t punch," she muttered, but by Day 10, she was starting to get it. Slowly, sure, but it was happening. Every time she did manage to control her form mid-battle, it was like watching a supervillain throw a tantrum and then calmly go, “Oh yeah, I’m a genius.” The way she flickered between forms—slipping into a shield, stretching her limbs into a giant whip, or making her fists double in size—was becoming more fluid, less chaotic.

And then came that moment.

She was mid-kick when Harry leaned in, eyes gleaming, practically daring her to mess up. It was the perfect opportunity to let her transformation do the talking. Tonks’ body elongated, growing into a giant, eight-foot-tall version of herself, her limbs bulging with muscle and her gauntlet-covered fists crackling with barely-contained power.

Harry staggered back dramatically. “Okay, that was actually impressive. You might’ve just solved all of my problems by turning into a demolition machine.”

Tonks grinned wide, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It’s all about the form, right?”

“Exactly. And when you get the form right,” Harry said, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders in that totally unnecessary badass way, “you can turn anything into a weapon.”

Jean, who had been watching with her arms crossed, couldn’t help but let out a low whistle. “Alright, alright. So, next time we need to get a real wall, we call Tonks.”

“Hey, who needs walls when you’ve got me?” Tonks shot back, a wicked grin playing on her lips as she flexed her now-giant arms, clearly feeling herself.

And Harry? Harry was just standing there, hands on his hips like some sort of superhero in an old-school comic. “Look at this,” he said, shaking his head like he was the proudest teacher in the world, “My team’s basically turning into an army of unstoppable forces. First Ororo, now Tonks? What’s next—Jean’s telekinetic punching gloves?”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tempt me.”

And with that, the training continued—chaotic, hilarious, and just a little bit terrifying. Because when you’ve got a squad of shape-shifting badasses who can turn anything into a weapon, there’s no telling what could happen next. But Harry wasn’t worried. Not when his team was this good—and, let's face it, as long as they didn't turn into flamingos in the middle of a fight again, everything was going according to plan.

—

By Day 10, Harry’s little team of misfits had somehow managed to stop looking like a bunch of kids at a summer camp and started functioning like a well-oiled machine. Their energy constructs, which had once been a hot mess of confusion and flailing limbs, were now sharp, controlled, and efficient. Jean’s telekinetic blades whizzed through the air with deadly precision, Ororo used the elements like she was one with nature itself, and Tonks—well, Tonks had found a way to turn herself into a giant, eight-foot-tall powerhouse and somehow not destroy everything in sight while doing it.

It was honestly impressive.

And Harry? He was sitting back, leaning against the training wall with a look of pure satisfaction, as if he'd just watched an epic superhero movie and was about to casually drop the mic.

“Okay, okay,” Harry said, grinning like a cat who'd just eaten a particularly delicious mouse. “You three have come a long way. I mean, Jean’s basically turning people into human-shaped lawn darts with her telekinesis, Ororo’s calling down thunderstorms like it’s Tuesday, and Tonks... well, she’s turning herself into a wrecking ball, and I couldn’t be prouder.”

Tonks shot him a mock glare. “You act like I’m not a wrecking ball. It’s my go-to move.”

Harry chuckled. “If I had a Galleon for every time I’ve heard that line—”

“I’d be rich,” Jean finished for him, rolling her eyes. “We get it, Harry. You’re hilarious. But you’re not here to give us compliments.”

“True,” Harry said, tapping his fingers together like he was some villain in a bad movie. “Now, for the real fun. You’ve each got the basics down, but let’s see how well you can work as a team. ‘Cause right now? You’re all just talented. It’s time to stop being just talented.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You’re going to make us fight each other? I’m all for the competitive edge, but—”

“Oh no,” Harry interrupted with a wicked grin. “You’re fighting together. You’re going to learn how to stop being a bunch of independent agents and start fighting like a single unstoppable force.”

Ororo looked like she was seriously considering pulling the plug on the entire training session. “That sounds like a nightmare, Harry. You do realize we’ve only been training for a week, right?”

“Exactly!” Harry said, looking almost too pleased with himself. “You’re ready. Don’t worry. You’ll survive.” He casually threw a fire-infused dagger into the air, watching it spin with a swirl of light before it disappeared into a puff of smoke. “Here’s the deal. You’re going to fight me. As a team. I’ll let you three coordinate however you like, but I’ll be the one calling the shots. You think you can handle that?”

The three of them exchanged glances, silently daring each other to back down. Spoiler alert: no one did. Because if there was one thing Harry had instilled in them over the last few days, it was that they had to be more than what they were. They had to be dangerous. Together.

“Alright,” Jean said with a smirk, cracking her knuckles like she was prepping for a fight. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Potter.”

“I’m so glad you asked.” Harry’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he rolled his neck, preparing for what was sure to be the most chaotic fight of the century.

“Just don’t cry when we destroy you,” Tonks added, stretching out her arms dramatically. “I mean, I’m really good at the ‘destroying’ part.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Harry replied with a raised eyebrow, clearly impressed. “But trust me, you won’t even get the chance to destroy me.”

Ororo gave him a sideways glance. “Harry, if you’re about to give us one of those ‘I’m invincible’ speeches, you might want to save it. It’s not gonna work on us.”

“Oh, trust me, Ororo,” Harry said with a grin that was anything but comforting. “You’ll see. I’m not just invincible. I’m out of your league.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Jean muttered under her breath, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.

“Well, this time it’s true,” Harry said, lowering into a fighting stance, his voice becoming deadly serious. “I hope you’re ready. This is the part where everything you’ve learned in the last ten days gets put to the test.”

Jean, Tonks, and Ororo locked eyes. Without a word, they fell into position—each one of them instinctively knowing what the others were about to do.

Tonks immediately charged, her body shifting and bulking up into the eight-foot giant she had become so familiar with. Ororo followed close behind, a storm cloud swirling around her, crackling with electricity. Jean lifted her hand, summoning a telekinetic spear to hover above her palm.

Harry stood there, watching them. “Is this it?” he said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I thought we were done with the amateur hour.”

Before they could even blink, Harry was on them. The fight turned into a blur of lightning-fast strikes, energy blasts, and shifting shapes. Harry was everywhere at once, dodging Jean’s telekinetic attacks, weaving around Tonks’ massive punches, and outmaneuvering Ororo’s winds and lightning with ease.

Jean and Tonks tried to coordinate their moves, but Harry was a blur—he knew how to make every opening feel like a trap. “What’s the matter?” he taunted, his voice dripping with teasing menace. “You’re going to have to try harder than that!”

Ororo’s storm swirled higher, the wind picking up speed, and Tonks shifted into a sleek, jaguar-like form, ready to pounce. But Harry, somehow, was always a step ahead.

Jean, frustrated, flicked her wrist and launched a dozen telekinetic blades at Harry all at once. But before they could make contact, Harry spun, deflecting them with a burst of raw energy from his own hand. “Nice try,” he said, smirking as the blades scattered harmlessly. “But you’re gonna have to do better than that to catch me.”

Tonks lunged at him again, this time in a full sprint. Her giant fist was just about to collide with his face when Harry sidestepped, ducking under her swing and sending her crashing into the ground with a single, nonchalant shove.

“Whoa, easy there, big guy,” Harry called out, stepping back just in time to avoid a blast of lightning from Ororo’s hands. “I get it, you’re all mad about something—I just don’t know what yet. Maybe I forgot to compliment you again?”

“Shut up, Harry!” Jean snapped, clearly way past the point of patience.

“Oh, I will,” Harry said with a grin. “But you’re going to have to earn that victory first.”

The three of them kept coming at him, more determined than ever. And Harry? He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. Because when you’ve got a team like this, one that could potentially destroy you at any given moment? That’s when the real fun begins.

—

Jean gritted her teeth, eyes blazing as she reached out with her telekinesis. Harry felt the invisible force wrap around him like a boa constrictor, muscles locking in place. Yeah, no thanks. He twisted midair and let loose a controlled burst of energy—more like flicking a mental rubber band than an actual attack. Still, it was enough to shatter Jean’s grip like glass. She stumbled back with a gasp.

“Better,” Harry admitted, rolling his shoulders. “But still not good enough.”

Ororo, ever the strategist, was already moving. A deafening crack split the air as a bolt of lightning lanced toward him, white-hot and blinding. Harry barely had time to sigh before flicking his wrist. A shimmering golden shield materialized before him, absorbing the impact like it was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. The energy harmlessly dispersed into the ground, sizzling.

“Was that supposed to tickle?” he teased.

Ororo didn’t dignify him with an answer, but the unimpressed arch of her brow spoke volumes.

Tonks, however, played dirty. While he was busy handling the storm goddess, she used the distraction to dart forward in her jaguar-like form. She was fast. Not just 'Quidditch Seeker' fast, but 'might be part lightning bolt' fast. Claws extended, she swiped at him with blinding speed, forcing Harry to actually dodge. For the first time, he had to move instead of just standing there and flexing on them.

“Oh-ho!” Harry laughed, twisting just in time to avoid getting a new set of scars. “Someone’s getting close!”

Tonks smirked as she shifted mid-motion, muscles expanding, bones cracking. What had been a jaguar was suddenly a monstrous hybrid of lion and bear, her sheer size enough to dwarf even the tallest of wizards. And she wasn’t done. Her eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Alright, now you’re just showing off,” Harry said, sidestepping another swipe.

Jean took that exact moment to capitalize on the chaos. With a sharp gesture, she wrenched massive slabs of earth from the ground and sent them hurtling toward him with terrifying speed. Ororo, ever the team player, summoned a powerful gust of wind to accelerate them further.

Harry sighed. “You guys are really committed to this whole 'murder Harry' plan, huh?”

Dropping into a low stance, he conjured twin blades of molten energy. One precise slash, two, three—the massive chunks of rock split apart midair, the molten remains scattering harmlessly around him.

Jean wiped sweat from her brow, her jaw set in stubborn determination. “Oh, we’re way past 'trying,' Potter.”

Ororo, hovering in the air with an almost regal grace, narrowed her eyes. “You’re not untouchable, Harry.”

He grinned. “Prove it.”

Tonks let out a growl so deep it shook the ground. Then, in a blur, she lunged. At the same time, Ororo unleashed a blinding flash of light, forcing Harry’s eyes to adjust for just a fraction of a second—long enough for Jean to yank his footing out from under him with a precise telekinetic tug.

For the first time since the fight started, Harry actually stumbled.

He hit the ground in a roll, barely avoiding Tonks’ devastating strike. Before he could fully recover, Ororo’s winds slammed into him with hurricane force, sending him skidding backward like a skipped stone across water.

Jean didn’t waste the opportunity. With a sharp motion, she encased his legs in an unbreakable telekinetic grip.

Tonks, still in her monstrous form, cracked her knuckles. “Yeah? Let’s see you talk your way out of this one.”

Ororo lifted a hand, a crackling bolt of lightning forming at her fingertips. Jean reinforced her grip, locking Harry down completely.

For a brief moment, it looked like they had him.

Then Harry exhaled. The air around him shimmered, vibrating with sheer, unfiltered power. He didn’t move. He didn’t have to. The next second, a golden shockwave erupted from him, sending everyone flying.

Jean was flung back like a ragdoll, her concentration shattering. Tonks, despite her size, was sent sprawling. Ororo, even with her control over the winds, barely managed to regain balance before being forced back by the sheer force of the blast.

As the dust settled, Harry stood there, completely unharmed, crackling golden energy flickering around him. His eyes burned with something otherworldly, almost amused.

He rolled his shoulders. “Alright. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Jean groaned from where she’d landed, rubbing the back of her head. “That was cheating.”

Harry smirked. “Oh, Jean, I haven’t even started cheating yet.”

Ororo landed gracefully, eyes narrowing. “Then let’s even the playing field.”

Lightning crackled. The wind howled. Tonks let out a deep growl, shifting into something even more monstrous, all muscle and fury.

Jean levitated back onto her feet, eyes glowing with renewed determination.

Harry cracked his knuckles, looking way too relaxed for someone facing down three incredibly powerful women who all wanted to kick his ass.

“Round two?” he asked, voice dripping with mischief.

Jean’s lips curled into a smirk. “Oh, you’re going down, Potter.”

And with that, the battle resumed.

—

The air crackled with anticipation. Ororo was floating high above, looking every bit the storm goddess she was. Her eyes glinted with that knowing, confident look that usually meant someone was about to get hit with a lightning bolt. Jean stood with a serious frown, her fiery red hair practically vibrating with telekinetic power, and Tonks—well, Tonks had already transformed into something that looked like it’d come straight out of a monster movie, all teeth, claws, and general terrifyingness.

And then there was Harry.

Harry, standing there, cracking his knuckles like he was about to go for a leisurely jog. He grinned. “Alright, ladies, you’ve had your fun. Time to step it up.”

Without warning, Jean launched a volley of debris at him, sharp metal shards cutting through the air like bullets. Ororo, with a flick of her wrist, sent a streak of lightning sizzling straight for him. Tonks, the wildcard that she was, morphed into a hulking, razor-toothed version of herself and charged, full throttle, straight at him.

Harry didn’t even flinch.

He moved so fast, it was like he wasn’t even there one moment, and then whoosh, he was slicing through the oncoming metal with his claws. The energy from the lightning bolt? It didn’t fry him into crispy Harry, it got absorbed like a sponge and vanished into his skin, leaving him looking like an ultra-cool human lightning rod.

“Oh, please,” Harry said, as if he hadn’t just done something absolutely insane. “Is that all you’ve got? I was hoping for a bit more of a challenge.”

Jean scowled, shaking her head like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to throw a punch at him or throw a different punch at him. “You’re really gonna be this annoying, aren’t you?”

Harry just winked. “Don’t worry, it’s a gift.”

Before any of them could react, he darted forward in a blur, his claws swiping through the air. Tonks tried to block, but her monstrous arms just bounced off him, like she was trying to punch a tank. She staggered back, a little surprised by how hard he was, considering she’d shifted into something that could probably take down a building.

Harry barely even blinked. “Point one, ladies: I have a healing factor.” He reached up and slashed a deep cut across his chest, his claws glowing with molten energy. Before anyone could process what had happened, the wound sealed itself shut. “Yeah, super gross, right? But hey, it’s useful. No need to thank me.”

Jean’s eyes went wide, and she groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” Harry said with a grin that could melt steel. “Point two,” he held up a finger, “I have a Vibranium skeleton.” As if to prove his point, he let Tonks get in a solid hit, her claws raking across his arm. He didn’t even budge. Instead, he casually looked at her like she’d just tickled him.

Tonks stumbled back, shaking out her hands like she’d just punched solid concrete—which, in a way, she kind of had. “That... that didn’t even hurt you!” she snapped, looking equal parts impressed and annoyed.

“Oh, no,” Harry said, making a tsking sound. “See, the thing about Vibranium is that it doesn’t just absorb energy. It redirects it. Every punch, every lightning bolt, every telekinetic blast you throw at me?” He gave a little shrug. “You’re feeding me.”

Jean let out a strangled, very unladylike curse under her breath. “This guy…”

Harry chuckled, flexing his fingers. “Oh, but I’m not done yet. Point three.” He twirled his claws with theatrical flair, each one gleaming with an unsettling amount of magic. “I have claws.”

Ororo looked at him, unamused, but even she couldn’t hide the flicker of unease in her eyes. “You’re not just being annoying,” she said, her tone betraying the smallest hint of respect. “You’re making this… complicated.”

“Complicated?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “No, no, sweetie. I’m making it fun.” And with that, he let the magic crackle between his claws. The runes along their edges flared, glowing bright as living lightning.

Then, in an instant, Harry was on the move, darting in a flash of light. He slashed through the air, and reality itself bent in his wake—he was literally cutting through the fabric of existence, like some kind of dark sorcerer, only way more stylish. He twisted his wrist, and the air itself seemed to freeze, solidifying into an energy blade, sharper than any steel.

“Whooooaaaa!” Tonks squealed, taking a step back in pure awe. “That was like… way more than I signed up for!”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a wicked grin, “I tend to do that.”

Jean lifted a hand, trying to halt his onslaught with a telekinetic wave. But Harry wasn’t having any of it. He let the blast crash into him, his body glowing brighter as the force of Jean’s attack actually boosted him. She sent out another telekinetic wave, but this time, Ororo added in a punch of raw electrical power, and that? That was when the magic really kicked in.

The golden light around him shimmered, and suddenly, the air wasn’t just charged with energy—it was a full-on storm. Harry grinned. “Now this is what I’m talking about.”

In that moment, the three women finally realized it. They weren’t fighting a single powerful opponent. They were fighting a guy who could take everything they threw at him, turn it into more energy, and laugh about it. They weren’t gonna get anywhere unless they worked together.

Ororo shot Jean a look, and Jean gave a single nod. Without saying a word, they coordinated their next move. Ororo summoned a massive gust of wind to send Tonks toward Jean, who telekinetically caught her and tossed her back into the fray.

Tonks shifted mid-air, now smaller, quicker, back to her usual form. She raised her eyebrows. “Okay, I’ll admit. This is better than running at him like a crazy person.”

Jean, the fiery telekinetic, threw chunks of the earth straight at Harry, while Ororo called down the thunder. The air around them crackled. The ground shook. But Harry? He just smirked, stepped forward, and—

BAM.

The entire area was swallowed up by a shockwave. Harry didn’t even blink as he flexed his claws, sending the energy shooting back at them. Their attack was now his, and, in the blink of an eye, it surged outward, nearly sending them flying.

Jean barely managed to catch herself with a quick telekinetic shield, though she looked seriously irritated now. “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.”

“That’s the spirit!” Harry shouted, shaking his head like he was proud of them. “You see? It’s all about teamwork.”

Tonks landed beside Jean, rolling her shoulders. “Alright, I admit it. That was kinda impressive.”

Jean rubbed her temple. “Next time, we’re coordinating better. No more going rogue.”

Harry grinned, flexing his claws, their runes still glowing fiercely. “You know, ladies, I think you’ve finally got it. A little less ‘hit it till it stops moving,’ and a little more ‘hit it together.’"

“Next time, let’s not die, yeah?” Jean muttered, glancing at Ororo, who nodded in agreement.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Harry said, rolling his neck with a smirk. “There will be a next time.”

And with that, he vanished, leaving them all standing there, somewhat out of breath but definitely a little smarter for it.

“Do you think he’s ever going to let us win?” Tonks asked, scratching her head.

Jean sighed. “We’re still working on that part.”

—

Harry stood in the middle of the Kamar-Taj training grounds, hands planted firmly on his hips as he surveyed the scene like a parent caught between disappointment and sheer amusement. If a warzone had collided with a storm and then taken a nap on a trampoline, this is what you’d get. Scorched earth, shattered stone, the odd tree or two that definitely wasn’t there this morning—courtesy of Ororo's slightly overzealous attempt to summon a thunderstorm. Oh, and let’s not forget the air still crackling with the smell of ozone, because that’s always a fun touch.

"Okay, team, let’s talk about this disaster,” Harry said, his voice all serious, though the grin creeping across his face told a different story. “Seriously. What do you think Master Wong is gonna say when he sees this mess? Do you want to be on the receiving end of one of his lectures? Because let me tell you, it's way worse than any thunderstrike or... whatever chaos you’ve got up your sleeves."

Ororo, floating a few inches off the ground like the storm goddess she was, crossed her arms and gave him an eyebrow raise that basically screamed, Really? “And you, Harry? You’re one to talk. You were the one who made the ground ripple like we were in the middle of an earthquake. I’m pretty sure half of Nepal’s still trying to figure out what happened.”

“Ah, but see, I create chaos,” Harry said with a wink, pointing to himself like he was announcing his own superhero origin story. “It’s my thing. I’m really good at it, actually. But the thing is, I also clean it up. That’s where you guys come in." He paused dramatically, spinning in a circle to take in the whole battlefield. "Look at this place. You think Wong’s going to see this and just nod like, ‘Yep, totally cool, kids. Just another Tuesday’? Nope. He’s going to go full-on ancient master mode, lecturing me about the sacred grounds of Kamar-Taj like it's my fault.”

Jean, ever the sarcastic spark plug, crossed her arms and shot him a look. “Uh-huh. Sure. You’re definitely the one who cares about responsibility. I mean, seriously, you’re literally a six-year-old trapped in an adult’s body. Don’t even try to act like the ‘wise, responsible adult’ now."

Harry stopped in his tracks and gave Jean an exaggerated gasp. “I am responsible! Look, I’m practically a grown-up,” he said, gesturing wildly to the chaos around them. “I have to tell you guys what to do. I mean, it’s exhausting keeping all of you in line, right? The hero life is way more complicated than you think. I have to manage all this and—” He paused, his expression turning mock-serious. “And still not be appreciated.”

Tonks, who had been lazily twisting her fingers into weird shapes (probably to distract herself from how badly she was feeling out of her depth), snorted and pushed herself upright. “Since when do you care about responsibility, Harry? I’ve seen you try to get out of cleaning up after yourself.”

“Obviously, you’ve missed my master class in maturity,” Harry said with a smirk, throwing his arm out like he was unveiling the world’s greatest hidden secret. “First lesson: Do as I say, not as I do. Second lesson: You mess it up, you clean it up. And third lesson: I’m still going to look cooler than any of you while doing it.”

Ororo just floated down to the ground with a sigh, shaking her head in disbelief. “You are impossible.”

“And yet, you’re all following me,” Harry said with a dramatic look around, as if surprised by his own brilliance. “Come on, clean-up time. You’ll thank me later. Trust me, this is the kind of life lesson you’ll remember.”

Jean smirked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right, because we’re going to thank you for doing absolutely nothing except making us clean up your mess.”

Harry rolled his eyes, tossing an imaginary piece of lint off his shoulder like he was too good for this earth. “I’m just gonna go ahead and leave you guys to it. You know, for ‘motivational’ purposes. Don’t worry about me, though. I’ll be out there saving the world or—oh, I don’t know—maybe just being awesome.”

With that, he turned and began strolling away, whistling a jaunty little tune, his steps light and carefree as if he hadn’t just spent the last hour utterly wrecking the place.

Jean watched him for a second, then let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, that’s just great. We get to clean up the mess he made, and then what? He’s off somewhere planning his next stunt.”

Tonks had already started stretching, her grin widening. “Oh, you know Harry. He’s probably already planning his next big idea—like, I don’t know, shaking the heavens and the earth or something.” She pulled off a ridiculous spin, making an over-the-top pose as if getting ready to strike some dramatic action scene. “But we, on the other hand, have to clean up. Like good little soldiers.”

Ororo couldn’t help but smile, shaking her head. “You know, he’s right about one thing. We have a mess to clean up. And it will make us better.”

Jean looked around at the wreckage—the trees that had been uprooted, the stone chunks scattered like confetti, the crack in the earth where Ororo’s bolt had hit—and for a moment, her shoulders sagged. It was a lot. A lot to handle, a lot to live up to. But then, because she was Jean, she snapped herself back to attention, shaking her head and flicking her hair over her shoulder with a flair only she could manage.

“Alright,” Jean said with a smile that could only mean trouble. “Clean-up crew, assemble. Let’s show Harry we can handle our own mess.” Her eyes glinted mischievously. “And when he comes back, we’ll be the ones standing tall, not him.”

Tonks raised her hand like a child who had just been told they could be in charge. “I call dibs on using my transfiguration to fix the trees. I think it’d be funnier if I turned them into giant mushrooms.”

“Maybe let’s not give Wong another reason to lecture us,” Ororo said dryly, but even she couldn’t suppress the corner of her lips from twitching up into a smile.

As they worked together to fix the mess, it became clear: Harry was right about one thing. They were learning. They were learning not just about their powers, but how to balance the weight of the responsibility they were inheriting. How to wield that power, and how to clean up the chaos it caused. And if they were going to do it, well, they might as well have some fun while they were at it.

As for Harry? He was already off to the next adventure, probably annoying someone else with his charisma, his easy confidence, and the sound of that damn whistle. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew—just like they did—that, in the end, they were all in this together.

"Yeah, yeah, he's the worst," Jean muttered, flicking a chunk of rubble off her path with a flick of her telekinesis, but the smile that tugged at her lips betrayed her words. “But... we’ll get him back. One day.”

Chapter 70: Chapter 69

The next day, Harry arrived at the SHIELD safehouse in New York, making an entrance that could only be described as "extra." A swirling portal appeared with all the dramatic flair he could muster—light and air bending in impossible shapes. A couple of SHIELD agents stationed by the entrance did the only logical thing when confronted with someone as ridiculous as Harry: they jumped about a foot in the air. Classic.

"Always a fan of the theatrics," Natasha remarked from across the hall, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She was already in full Black Widow mode, looking sharp, like she could slice through someone just by giving them a cold stare.

“Hey, I’ve got a reputation to maintain,” Harry grinned, giving his red and gold armor a mock dust-off. “And besides, the grand entrance is half the fun.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but there was an amused glint in them. “You know, you don’t have to make every entrance like you’re starring in your own action movie.”

“Eh, where’s the fun in that? Besides, I’ve gotta give the SHIELD agents a show. Not every day they see a portal open up and a guy who looks like he stepped out of a superhero comic book.”

Natasha sighed, but she was already leading the way down the hall. “Come on, you. Let’s get this over with. I’ve been waiting for you, and I’m not standing here all day while you indulge your ego.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said, flashing her another grin and falling into step beside her as they walked toward the common area. “You know, it’s a good thing I have such a strong ego. Someone has to balance out all the serious, brooding heroes you’ve got hanging around here.”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “If you ever get too full of yourself, just remember, I’m not afraid to knock you down a peg.”

“Noted,” Harry said, giving her a mock salute.

They made it to the common area, and Harry immediately made a beeline for one of the chairs, dropping into it like it was a throne. Naturally, he sprawled out, legs wide and arms behind his head like he owned the place. Natasha rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. After all, Harry did tend to make himself at home in any situation.

“So,” Natasha started, folding her arms, “how’s the training going at Kamar-Taj? Are Jean, Ororo, and Tonks driving you crazy yet? Or do they still pretend they have control over their powers?”

Harry snorted. “Oh, they’re absolutely driving me insane. Jean is like some kind of telekinetic superhero who thinks ‘moving things with her mind’ is child’s play at this point. It’s all ‘levitate this,’ ‘move that,’ and I’m just sitting there like, ‘Do you even know how to turn that off without killing a few hundred people?’”

“And Ororo?” Natasha prompted, smirking. “Still summoning lightning storms for fun?”

Harry’s grin widened. “You have no idea. I’ve had to remind her about fifty times that we don’t need her to start thunderstorms in a tiny room, okay? Kamar-Taj’s roof was not built to withstand a Category Five hurricane.”

“And Tonks?” Natasha asked, clearly enjoying the chaos unfolding in Harry’s life.

“Tonks is something else,” Harry said, shaking his head. “She’s like a walking carnival of weirdness. Shape-shifting into whatever random animal she feels like—usually when I’m trying to focus. There was this one time she turned into a squirrel right in the middle of a really intense meditation session, and I swear, if I had to deal with her becoming a raccoon again, I might have thrown myself off a cliff.”

Natasha chuckled at that. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full, as usual.”

“You have no idea,” Harry replied, leaning back in his chair dramatically. “Honestly, if we don’t burn the whole place down by accident or summon an ancient god from another dimension before the end of the month, I’ll consider it a success.”

“Good luck with that,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes but still grinning. “So, besides trying to keep them from destroying the world, how’s your own training going?”

Harry leaned forward, his hands steepling in mock seriousness. “Well, you know, Kamar-Taj isn’t exactly built for a guy like me. I’m a magical Super-Soldier with a wicked cloak and claws. I’ve been learning how to control this massive power surge inside me, while also pretending like I don’t accidentally cause chaos just by breathing too hard.”

Natasha gave him a sideways glance. “You always think you’ve got everything under control until the entire multiverse is about to implode.”

Harry gave her a pointed look. “Hey, I’ve learned from my mistakes. Like that one time I almost broke through a dimension and, you know, destroyed everything.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Natasha said dryly. “I had to pull you out of that mess. You’re lucky I like you.”

“Am I, though?” Harry teased, raising an eyebrow. “I can be pretty charming when I want to be.”

Natasha smirked. “Don’t get too full of yourself. The last thing you need is a bigger head.”

“Well, good thing I’ve got a giant ego,” Harry said, winking. “Keeps things balanced.”

“Just don’t let it get you killed,” Natasha said, standing up and walking toward the door. “Anyway, there’s a mission coming up, and guess who’s on the docket?”

Harry perked up. “Let me guess. It’s me, right?”

“Bingo,” Natasha said, flipping him off. “You’re not as useless as you look. Pack your stuff. We leave in an hour.”

“Yes!” Harry pumped his fist in the air. “An actual mission! No more training nonsense. Let’s go break stuff in the name of justice.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Yep, but you love it,” Harry said, leaping to his feet. “You might even be addicted to it.”

She turned to face him, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’m still trying to figure out how to get you to stop being such a pain in the ass.”

“Good luck with that,” Harry said with a grin. “I’m kind of a permanent fixture at this point.”

And with that, the two of them left the common area, ready to head into whatever mission SHIELD had planned. Harry was already wondering how much he could get away with in the name of heroism—because, really, when had there ever been a mission that couldn’t use a little chaos?

—

If there was one universal truth about superheroes, it was that they never just geared up in silence. No, it had to be a full-production spectacle with enough banter to fuel a sitcom and at least one insult directed at Tony Stark.

By the time Harry and Natasha strolled into the common area, the rest of the team was already suiting up with varying degrees of efficiency and drama.

Tony—because of course it was Tony—was standing front and center, halfway into his Iron Man suit, arms spread like a Broadway performer waiting for his cue. Rhodey, in contrast, was actually being productive, syncing up his War Machine armor while adjusting his leg braces with a look of grim determination that said, Hydra messed with the wrong guy.

And then there was Erica—newly dubbed Surge, a name she was still testing out—who was flexing her fingers, tiny arcs of electricity dancing along her fingertips. Her new suit, sleek and lined with neon-blue circuits, responded to her power surges with a soft hum. She looked equal parts badass and one lab accident away from frying the building’s power grid.

Across the room, Bucky (who had decided "White Wolf" was his new brand and was very committed to it) was securing his gear with the cool efficiency of someone who’d been doing this longer than most of them had been alive. Meanwhile, Steve (Captain America, Living Legend, and Unofficial Team Dad) and Peggy (Captain Carter, British Badass, and Queen of Staring You Down Until You Feel Like a Disappointment) were going over strategy.

Harry, naturally, took one look at this picture of peak superhero professionalism and decided now was the time to be a menace.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, strolling in like he owned the place. “Look at this elite team of highly trained professionals. Just radiating competence. Honestly, it’s a little intimidating. Should I come back later?”

Bucky didn’t even look up as he muttered, “Revenant.” His voice carried the distinct tone of I have already accepted the chaos you bring and am just bracing for impact.

“White Wolf,” Harry greeted, smirking. “Loving the extra broody murder-glare today. Did you upgrade to the deluxe edition?”

Bucky sighed. “It’s too early for this.”

Steve, who was already rubbing his temples like a man suffering from Harry-induced headaches, groaned. “Can we not do this first thing in the morning? I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

“That’s a you problem, Cap,” Harry said. “Maybe next time, wake up with the rest of us night owls.”

“Or get a better coffee machine,” Natasha added helpfully.

“I will throw my shield at both of you,” Steve threatened.

“Good luck hitting me,” Harry shot back. “I’m very fast. Ask Hydra. Oh, wait, you can’t—most of them are still recovering from our last encounter.”

Rhodey, tightening his last brace, snorted. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Potter. Just make sure you actually show up on time this time. Unlike some people.”

Tony, who had just locked in the final pieces of his gauntlets, paused. “Okay, first of all, that was one time.”

“One very noticeable time,” Erica chimed in, arms crossed, tiny sparks crackling at her fingertips. “As I recall, the team was fighting an entire Hydra squadron, and you just strolled in like it was a brunch reservation.”

“I had a brunch reservation,” Tony argued, standing taller. “I was busy.”

“You showed up after the fight was over,” Rhodey reminded him. “Like, the team was literally just cleaning up when you decided to make your grand entrance.”

“Okay, that is a gross exaggeration,” Tony huffed.

“Five minutes late,” Bucky corrected.

“Three,” Steve countered.

Tony turned desperately to Peggy, his last hope. “Carter, come on, back me up here.”

Peggy took a slow, deliberate sip of tea. “No.”

Tony groaned. “You see the abuse I deal with?”

Harry smirked. “You deserve every bit of it.”

Rhodey clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Just don’t let it happen again, Stark. Some of us actually want to fight Hydra, not sit around waiting for you to make an entrance.”

Erica nodded, but there was no teasing in her expression—just quiet, burning determination. “Yeah. This one’s personal.”

The room shifted. The teasing took a backseat. Everyone knew what Hydra had done to her—killed her parents, brainwashed her into becoming their next superweapon, then shoved her into cryo for a decade. They’d stolen everything. And Rhodey? Hydra had crippled him. They were both here for payback.

Harry’s smirk softened slightly. “Don’t worry, Surge. We’ll make sure Hydra regrets ever existing.”

Her lips twitched slightly at the use of her new codename, but her eyes stayed serious. “They already regret it. I just want to make sure it sticks.”

Natasha clapped her hands together, breaking the tension. “Alright, enough sentimentality. Let’s go over the mission plan before Potter gets us sidetracked again.”

Harry placed a hand over his heart. “I would never get us sidetracked.”

“Literally all you do is get us sidetracked,” Bucky muttered.

“Look, if you’re all going to gang up on me, at least make it creative.”

Steve, deadpan as ever, said, “We’ll start a group chat.”

Tony’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, Team Bully Harry Chat. I like it. I’ll set it up after the mission.”

Rhodey nodded. “Add me to that.”

“Me too,” Peggy said, taking another sip of tea.

Harry gasped, utterly betrayed. “Et tu, Carter?”

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “Always.”

Natasha smirked. “Alright, children, focus. We have a Hydra base to wreck.”

Harry rolled his shoulders, his grin sharpening. “Now that is something I can get behind.”

And just like that, the teasing stopped. The team finished gearing up, the air thick with the kind of anticipation that came right before absolute mayhem.

Harry cracked his knuckles, already picturing the destruction ahead. Hydra had no idea what was coming.

And if he had anything to say about it?

They were going to do it with style.

—

By the time the team had stopped bullying Harry (for now), Steve and Peggy had taken their rightful place at the front of the room, both radiating that distinct Captain Energy—a mix of authority, sheer competence, and the ability to make even the most chaotic of teams shut up and listen. Mostly.

Peggy adjusted her gloves with precise efficiency before clasping her hands behind her back. “Alright, let’s focus, shall we?”

Steve nodded, his expression locked in its usual I am a responsible leader, please stop causing problems setting. “We’ve got a Hydra base to take down, and intel suggests they’re working on something big.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, boots propped up on the table like a menace to military discipline. “Define ‘big.’ Are we talking ‘secret superweapon big’ or ‘some idiot tried to clone Red Skull again’ big?”

Steve sighed. “Bigger.”

Tony, who had been fiddling with his gauntlets, whistled. “Oof. That’s a bad big. I don’t like that big.”

Bucky, who had perfected the disappointed dad stance, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, deadpanned, “And yet you’ll still try to make a dramatic entrance halfway through the fight.”

Tony placed a hand over his arc reactor. “That hurts, Barnes. Right here.”

“Good,” Bucky shot back.

Peggy cleared her throat, bringing the attention back to her. She had exactly zero patience for nonsense, but somehow, she was also the reason the nonsense never stopped. “According to SHIELD intelligence, Hydra has been developing an advanced power source—something that could potentially rival the Tesseract.”

Rhodey frowned, hands on his hips. “Hold up. You’re telling me these guys are still trying to play God?”

Erica scoffed, lightning crackling at her fingertips as if even talking about Hydra annoyed her. “That’s literally their whole thing. Evil science, bad fashion choices, and an overinflated sense of superiority.”

Harry snapped his fingers. “Oh, and the dumb slogans. Don’t forget the dumb slogans.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “Hail Hydra,” he mimicked, throwing in an exaggerated German accent for extra flair. “Ve vill conquer ze vorld mit very obvious secret bases und no contingency plans vhen Captain America inevitably punches us in ze face.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose like this was personally ruining his day. “Why are you like this?”

Peggy, ever so helpful, smirked. “Because it’s entertaining.”

Tony chuckled. “For once, I agree with Carter.”

“Mark the date,” Natasha said dryly, arms crossed. “Stark and Carter, united in their mutual appreciation of Potter’s nonsense.”

Bucky, clearly one bad joke away from launching Harry out a window, waved a gloved hand. “Can we not get sidetracked?”

Harry gasped, full offense mode activated. “Me? Sidetracked? Barnes, I am wounded.”

“Physically or emotionally?” Bucky asked, not even looking at him.

“Emotionally,” Harry admitted. “Physically? Please. I’ve tanked a killing curse to the face. I’ll be fine.”

Steve, ignoring all of this (and probably questioning every life choice that led to him commanding this team), clicked a remote. The large screen behind him lit up, displaying the blueprints of a heavily fortified facility. “This is Hydra’s compound in the Swiss Alps. We believe their power source is being stored underground, in a secure vault.”

Peggy gestured to a section of the map. “Primary entrance is heavily guarded, but there’s an access tunnel here—old maintenance routes from when this was still an abandoned facility.”

Natasha smirked. “And by ‘abandoned,’ you mean ‘Hydra stole it and turned it into yet another evil lair?’”

“Precisely,” Peggy confirmed.

Rhodey exhaled, looking over the layout. “So, what’s the play?”

Steve leaned forward, hands resting on the table. “We split into teams. White Wolf, Revenant, and I will take point, infiltrating through the maintenance tunnel. Carter, you’ll lead Stark and Surge through the main entrance—draw their attention.”

Peggy nodded. “War Machine and Widow will provide aerial and long-range support, taking out any heavy artillery before it becomes a problem.”

Tony hummed, rubbing his chin. “I do like explosions.”

Erica arched a brow. “And yet I’ll be the one doing most of the heavy lifting.”

Tony grinned. “That’s delegation, kid.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “I was going to say laziness, but sure.”

Harry turned to Steve. “And what happens when they inevitably figure out we’re there?”

Steve smirked. “That’s when we stop being sneaky and start breaking things.”

Harry’s grin sharpened. “Oh, I love that part.”

Bucky sighed. “Of course you do.”

Peggy took a sip of her tea, calm as ever. “Try not to destroy everything, boys.”

Harry, Bucky, and Steve exchanged looks.

“…No promises.”

Natasha smirked, already loading her Widow’s Bite rounds. “Alright, then. Let’s go crash Hydra’s party.”

And just like that, the mission was officially underway.

—

Cold. Bitter, soul-crushing, frostbite-inducing cold. The kind that made you question all your life choices and regret every time you ignored your mom telling you to “take a jacket.”

Fortunately, this group was made up of people who either didn’t care about the cold (super soldiers), had high-tech armor to regulate temperature (billionaire in a flying metal suit), or were just too stubborn to acknowledge things like weather (everyone else).

Then, there was Harry Potter, aka Revenant, who had magic and an inherent ability to ignore minor inconveniences like physics.

A golden portal flared to life in the middle of nowhere, swirling dramatically as Harry stepped through, looking far too comfortable for someone standing on a frozen mountain. The rest of the team followed, landing with varying degrees of grace.

Tony, of course, had to make an entrance, hovering slightly above the ground in his Iron Man armor before setting down. He dusted off his shoulder plates like they’d actually gotten dirty.

“Alright, but real talk—why are we still funding my dad’s new Quinjet project when you can just do this?” He gestured aggressively at the still-glowing portal. “Do you know how much R&D goes into those things? Because I do. It’s a lot.”

Harry smirked, closing the portal with a lazy flick of his hand. “Oh, don’t worry, Stark. I’ll send SHIELD my invoice later.”

“Please do,” Tony shot back. “I need proof when I tell Fury he’s hemorrhaging money on ‘airplane science’ when we literally have a wizard on payroll.”

Steve, ever the professional, clapped his hands to get their attention. “Alright, focus up. We’re hiking the rest of the way to stay off Hydra’s radar.”

Bucky grunted. “You mean sneaking through waist-deep snow in subzero temperatures.”

“Exactly,” Steve confirmed with a nod.

Tony sighed, throwing his hands up. “Yeah, see, this is why I like the Quinjet. Because it flies and doesn’t require me to get frostbite in places that shouldn’t even have nerves.”

“You’re wearing armor,” Peggy pointed out, adjusting the strap on her rifle. “What do you have to complain about?”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Carter,” Tony said, waving a dismissive hand. “We have a perfectly good teleporting wizard right here.” He pointed at Harry. “He literally folds space like an origami swan, but sure, let’s all take a hike.”

“Hey,” Harry said, grinning. “I could just leave you here. You’d make an excellent Stark-cicle.”

“Ha. Ha.” Tony rolled his eyes.

Rhodey smirked. “Can we please focus before Tony starts drafting a formal complaint to SHIELD?”

Natasha ignored them, unzipping her rifle case and checking the scope. She wasn’t exactly worried—she was Natasha Romanoff, after all—but she needed a good vantage point. Preferably one not knee-deep in snow.

Harry caught her look and smirked. “Nat, I’ve got just the thing.”

She arched a brow. “Oh?”

Harry turned, flicking his wrist. His Cloak of Levitation—because yes, he had one too—flared out from behind him like an eager puppy.

“Take Widow somewhere she can get a good view,” Harry instructed, before looking at Natasha. “Don’t worry, it knows how to treat VIPs.”

The Cloak twitched in what was probably an offended way.

Natasha eyed it with mild suspicion before slinging her rifle over her shoulder. “Fine. But if this thing drops me, I’m coming back as a ghost just to haunt you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” Harry grinned.

The Cloak wrapped itself around Natasha, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. She barely reacted—because she was Natasha, and floating away like some kind of sniper-themed Mary Poppins was just another Tuesday for her.

Tony blinked. “Okay, but seriously. Why are we funding jets?”

Rhodey let out a low whistle. “Not gonna lie. That’s cool.”

“Right?” Harry smirked.

Steve, ever the leader, sighed in exasperation. “Alright, Widow’s in position. Let’s move.”

With that, the team pressed forward, the Hydra base looming in the distance.

—

The Swiss Alps weren’t known for their charm when you were trying to break into a Hydra base. Not that Harry would know much about the Alps, or even Hydra for that matter. He was too busy making his way through their secretive mountain lair, doing his best impression of someone who had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

“I still don’t get why we’re sneaking in through a tunnel,” Bucky muttered, his voice carrying just enough edge to make it sound like he was about to punch someone, which, honestly, was always a threat. "Seems like the kind of thing villains would expect."

"Yeah, but that's exactly why it works," Steve replied, always the strategist. “They won’t be looking for us down here.”

“Sure,” Harry quipped, glancing around at the narrow passageway. “No one ever expects the magic kid with a penchant for walking through walls. Or doors. Or basically anything that needs to be unlocked.”

Steve gave Harry a look, the kind that was half warning, half amusement. "Keep it down. We're still in the middle of enemy territory."

Harry shrugged, not particularly bothered by the idea of being in "enemy territory." "Just saying, if we had to break in the traditional way, I’d be busy making things explode. This? This is easy mode."

“Easy mode, he says,” Bucky grumbled under his breath, though Harry caught the hint of a grin tugging at his lips.

They weren’t here for sightseeing, and they weren’t here to chat. The plan was simple: infiltrate, disable the security, cause a little chaos, and get out. Hydra, as usual, had their own twisted version of “simple,” but that was just an invitation for Harry to show off his magical prowess.

After a quick check to make sure they weren’t being followed by any more Hydra goons, Steve motioned for them to stop in front of an unmarked door. Beneath a blanket of snow, it was easy to miss, but to Steve’s trained eye, it was exactly what they needed.

“Here we are,” Steve said. “This should lead us right beneath the base.”

Bucky cracked his neck like it was a signal. “You sure this door doesn’t have a button that triggers an explosion or a dozen armed guards?”

“Pretty sure,” Steve replied, then eyed Harry. “But I’d rather leave the lockpicking to the magic guy.”

Harry gave him a playful salute. "Finally, someone gives credit where it’s due. Watch and learn, boys."

With a flick of his fingers, the heavy metal door snapped open with the softest of clicks. No alarms, no fancy tech beeping, just smooth and easy. And honestly? That was a little too easy.

“Wow,” Bucky muttered, leaning in to inspect the door like it had personally insulted him. “You know, I could’ve done that. If I had some magic and a shred of self-respect.”

“Oh, please,” Harry shot back with a smirk. “You? You’d be busy kicking the door in, and that’s just gonna give Hydra a heads-up. I make the door open like it’s just another Tuesday. Less destruction, more style.”

“Maybe I should learn some of that,” Bucky said. “But I’m pretty sure my ‘intimidate them until they surrender’ technique works just fine.”

“Sure,” Harry replied dryly, “but I can get in without making a scene. You just get in by breaking things until someone says ‘okay, fine.’"

Steve, meanwhile, was already moving through the door. “Come on, guys. No time for jokes. Hydra’s not going to wait for us to finish our banter.”

"Joke’s on them,” Harry muttered, sliding in behind Steve, “because we’re about to ruin their whole day."

The air inside the tunnel was cool and smelled faintly of damp stone. The kind of sterile, forgotten maintenance area where no one expects anything important to happen—unless, of course, you were Harry Potter, who had a tendency to make things explode in the most inconvenient of places. But not today. Today, they were in stealth mode—at least, as stealthy as Bucky's boots allowed.

“You know,” Bucky said, his voice quiet but still a little loud for comfort, “this tunnel feels like a trap.”

“Yeah, because every dark, creepy tunnel with walls that look like they’ve been untouched for decades is totally not a trap,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes. “But don’t worry, Bucky. If anyone’s walking into a trap, it’ll be me. You two just stay back and watch me work.”

Steve flashed Harry a look. "Focus."

And focus they did.

The trio moved deeper into the tunnel, passing utility rooms and service doors, each one more unremarkable than the last. But, of course, that didn’t mean there were no surprises ahead. Hydra was the type to put a camera in every corner. You just had to find it before it found you.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of tight corners and the sound of their boots echoing in the silence, they came to a junction. One way led deeper into the bowels of the base. The other? Toward the maintenance control room.

"Control room’s that way," Steve said, motioning down the hall. "Once we take it, we’ll have access to all their systems. We’ll disable the security and make sure they don’t have time to retaliate."

“Or,” Harry said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “I could hack the system before we even get there, and then they won’t even know we’re coming.”

“Can we not let you be the one to pull the heist?” Bucky said, his eyebrow arched. “Last time you tried that, you turned an entire building into a giant rubber band ball.”

“That wasn’t me,” Harry said, feigning innocence. “That was just a little misunderstanding with the magic I was using. But look, I’ve got this.” He winked. “I’ll make their systems bow to my will faster than you can blink.”

Bucky grinned. “You just want to show off. I can tell.”

“Exactly,” Harry said with a shrug. “You’d be surprised at how often showing off helps.”

“Let’s not waste time,” Steve interjected, clearly already running over the next part of the plan in his head. "We're going in. Stay alert."

They approached the door to the control room. A heavy metal thing that looked suspiciously simple for Hydra’s standards. Too simple. Like, maybe it was meant to make them feel overconfident.

Harry had barely touched the door when it creaked open. “Told you,” Harry said smugly. “Like butter.”

Bucky gave him a deadpan stare. “You’re going to make me sick, Potter.”

“Hey, I’m just here to make things easier,” Harry said, sweeping into the control room like he owned the place. “Now, let me work my magic. Literally.”

As Harry flitted his fingers over the console, the room’s lights flickered and hummed as if Hydra’s tech was having an existential crisis. The screens blinked out one by one, like they were caught off guard. And honestly? They probably were.

“There. All theirs systems are officially in the wind,” Harry said with a satisfied grin. “Go ahead, Steve. Show ‘em how it’s done.”

Steve and Bucky stepped in, immediately moving into position to secure the room, but their glances flicked to Harry.

Bucky chuckled. "So, what's next? You going to hack into the entire base's air conditioning system and make it way too cold?"

Harry grinned. “Don’t tempt me. But for now, let’s finish this mission, shall we?”

And with that, they moved deeper into the heart of Hydra’s fortress, ready to wreck their plans and leave them rethinking their security policies. Again.

—

Meanwhile, on the other side of the base, chaos was already in full swing—and naturally, Captain Peggy Carter was at the heart of it. She sliced through the air with her shield like a slice of apple pie in the hands of a super soldier. Every throw was precise, like she'd been practicing this since the day she was born (which, if you asked her, she'd say, "Pretty much").

Beside her hovered Iron Man, looking less like a guy and more like a walking, talking disco ball of destruction, his suit gleaming in the dim light as if it had just been polished by an army of robots. You'd think he'd be more subtle, but then again, Tony Stark’s idea of subtlety was putting "Iron Man" in gold leaf and calling it a day.

“Alright, team,” Tony’s voice crackled in their earpieces, smooth as butter on toast, “I hope you’re all prepared for a little bit of loud and a whole lot of awesome. Let’s give ‘em a show they won’t forget.”

Erica Hayes—aka Surge, aka the girl who could fry your circuits with a glance—nodded, her eyes crackling with blue electricity. She didn’t say much, but when she did, it was usually followed by a blast of raw energy.

“I’ll take care of the door,” she said, a smirk tugging at her lips as she cracked her knuckles. “And if I burn anything important to a crisp, don’t blame me. Blame Hydra for putting important stuff in such obvious places.”

“Cap, you take left,” Tony called over his shoulder as he hovered effortlessly in the air, adjusting the settings on his suit like it was a walk in the park. “Surge, you’ve got the right. I’ll—well, I’ll do what I do best and annoy everyone.”

“Sounds like a solid plan,” Erica muttered, rolling her eyes. She shot an energy blast at the reinforced doors, and the sound it made was like thunder in a bottle. The door shook, groaned, and then? Boom. It was cooked. The explosion sent a few Hydra guards flying backward like ragdolls. Erica didn’t even blink.

“Keep up, Stark,” she muttered under her breath.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” Tony replied, already streaking toward the enemy ranks, his suit making noises that sounded like a thousand robot squirrels on a caffeine high. “My suit’s got more firepower than this whole base put together. I’m dying to see what happens when I push this baby to 11.”

Captain Carter had already begun her assault on the guards inside, expertly using her shield to knock out anyone dumb enough to get in her way. With a flick of her wrist, the shield flew forward, ricocheting off walls like it was on a mission. It slammed into a guard’s chest with a satisfying thunk, and Peggy grinned as she caught it on the rebound.

“Hydra’s gonna have a really bad day,” she muttered, twirling the shield in one smooth motion. She was a picture of grace and power wrapped up in a red, white, and blue package.

Tony, who had just fried a Hydra goon with a blast from his repulsor, grinned and said, “I’m starting to think Hydra’s not prepared for a tactical assault from a team that literally has a walking tank and a guy who thinks he’s magic.”

“I’m sure you did all the heavy lifting,” Erica said with a laugh, shooting a blast at a watchtower and watching it short-circuit in the most satisfying way.

“I am doing the heavy lifting,” Tony insisted, sounding wounded. “I’m just letting the suit have a little fun. It’s all about balance.”

“Right,” Erica said, deadpan, as she hit another turret, short-circuiting it with a pop of sparks. “Balance. Whatever you say, Stark.”

Just then, Tony’s voice crackled through their earpieces again, now a little less smug. “Carter, you see anything over there? Because these guys are starting to get uncomfortably good at aiming.”

“Same old Hydra,” Peggy replied, flipping a guard over her shoulder with a move that made him look like he was auditioning for a stunt double role. “Lots of fancy weapons, no brains behind them. It's pathetic, really.”

“I’m sure the whole base is going to come running to the front door any minute now,” Tony said. “How about we just take out the whole door instead?”

There was a brief pause on the comms, then Captain Carter’s voice, laced with a grin, responded, “Sounds like a plan.”

And that was all Tony needed. He zoomed to the front of the base, palm open, and just let it rip. A pulse of energy shot from his hand so powerful that the reinforced doors exploded like they were made of wet cardboard. The shockwave hit like a ton of bricks, sending several guards flying and leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

“I think that’ll do it,” Tony said smugly, floating back to admire his handiwork. “You know, I really ought to charge extra for that level of drama.”

“Subtle,” Erica muttered, arching an eyebrow as she inspected the wreckage. “I’m pretty sure we’ve nailed it.”

Captain Carter tossed her shield, sending it bouncing off several more Hydra agents. She pulled it back effortlessly, then looked at her team with that same old no-nonsense expression she always had. “You two are always talking too much. Let’s just finish this.”

With their distractions in full swing, the team moved in to finish what they started. Hydra might’ve thought they had the upper hand, but they clearly hadn’t accounted for the Avengers—and their magical allies—showing up and completely wrecking their day.

First, they were going to dismantle Hydra’s base. Then, they were going to make sure Hydra knew they weren’t going to get away with their ridiculous plans. And then? Well, then they’d deal with Tony’s smug grin, because, honestly, that was the real mission.

But, hey, it was all part of the job.

Chapter 71: Chapter 70

High above the battle below, Natasha Romanoff was living her best sniper life—no rush, no sweat, just pure, unadulterated precision. The Cloak of Levitation had dropped her off at the perfect vantage point—just high enough to give her a clear view of Hydra’s henchmen scrambling around like ants in a sandbox. Seriously, you’d think they’d learn to not engage in battle with them, but nope. Their loss, right?

A sniper rifle was tucked under her shoulder, and she made it look effortless. One hand steady, the other expertly adjusting the scope, her finger gently caressing the trigger like it was an old friend.

“Headshots all day,” Natasha muttered to herself, her voice as cool as if she were ordering coffee, not taking out Hydra agents from a distance. She leaned in, focusing on her next target—a guard creeping around the corner, his face hidden behind a steel pillar.

Bang. Helmet? Gone. Brain matter? Splattered. Natasha didn’t even flinch. Another hit. Another casualty.

“I’m really starting to think these guys are trying to make my job too easy,” she mused, adjusting her aim.

Meanwhile, down on the ground, Tony Stark was having the time of his life in the middle of the chaos. His voice crackled over the comms with the kind of smugness only Tony could pull off. “You know, guys, I think I might start charging Hydra for the repairs to my tech. My suits are practically breaking their forces, no hard hats required.”

“Yeah, and don’t forget to include the bill for the loud noises,” Natasha shot back, her eye still on the next guard. “They’re starting to drown out your beautiful commentary.”

“Keep it up, Romanoff,” Tony quipped, sounding way too happy. “I’m over here blowing up a few more things. But hey, you do you. From up there, it must be like a free buffet. Your aim’s perfect, by the way. Really thought you were trying to outdo me.”

Natasha shot another Hydra soldier—headshot, of course. “Right. Outdo you. Because that’s a reasonable goal. Just keep living the dream, Stark. I’ll be up here keeping it clean.”

Tony grinned to himself, maybe a little too proud of his own destruction. He was currently zipping around in his newest Iron Man suit, his energy cannons dishing out death to Hydra agents left and right. Rhodey, in his War Machine armor, wasn’t far behind, methodically dismantling any of Hydra’s attempts to escape.

From above, Natasha kept her sniper perch steady, wiping out the leftover stragglers trying to run for the hills. One by one, they dropped like flies. Another unlucky soul tried to duck behind some crates, thinking they’d found safety.

Bang!

“Seriously?” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You’d think they’d stop hiding behind boxes that clearly aren’t bulletproof.”

“I’d say they just have no sense of self-preservation,” Rhodey chimed in over the comms, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather. “You know, yoga could probably help them with their flexibility. Would’ve been nice if they could’ve dodged my missiles, though. Oh well.”

“You really have a way with words, Rhodes,” Natasha teased. “You’re a poet and a war machine. I love it.”

On the ground, Rhodey was making his own statement, tearing through Hydra’s defenses like a wrecking ball of destruction. His shoulder-mounted cannons exploded with terrifying force, sending Hydra agents flying backward, their bodies twisted like ragdolls in midair.

“I’m really starting to think these guys didn’t read the memo,” Rhodey grumbled, shifting his War Machine armor into high gear. “Memo: don’t mess with me.” He locked onto another group of Hydra agents trying to regroup behind an armored truck and smiled to himself. “Hey, fellas, you might wanna reconsider your life choices.”

With one, fluid motion, he unleashed another round of firepower, shredding the truck—and anyone unfortunate enough to be standing behind it—into scrap metal and smoking bits. He didn’t even break a sweat.

“Job security looking pretty bad for these guys, huh?” Rhodey chuckled, scanning for more movement. “It’s like they want to be disintegrated.”

From her perch, Natasha let out a quiet laugh, taking out yet another Hydra goon who was foolishly trying to run. “Seriously. I almost feel bad for them. Almost.”

“Yeah, don’t,” Rhodey said, his tone dry. “They clearly need some lessons in self-preservation. You’d think they’d be more worried about me.”

“I’m starting to think they’ve been watching too many movies,” Natasha mused. “Like, oh, we’ll fight the Avengers and everything will be fine! Uh, newsflash—they’re not going to be the last man standing. It’s us. And that’s the final cut.”

“Bingo!” Rhodey replied, his voice laced with satisfaction. “I love it when the villains have such high expectations. Makes it way more fun when they all get wiped out.”

Up on the roof, Natasha couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. The Avengers were basically cleaning up like it was an overpowered video game, and there was no ‘game over’ screen in sight. Captain Carter was doing her thing on the front lines—shield flying, enemies falling—and Tony was dropping quips while creating massive explosions. Rhodey was the cleanup crew, making sure nothing escaped.

“Alright,” Natasha murmured, focusing on her last target. A Hydra soldier was sprinting toward what looked like an escape vehicle. “Not on my watch.”

She lined up her shot, took a breath, and—Bang!

The Hydra agent never even saw it coming. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, just like all the others before him.

“Game over, fellas,” Natasha whispered to herself, already looking for the next unlucky target.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how you made sure Hydra never forgot who they were dealing with.

—

The trio moved through Hydra’s inner sanctum like they owned the place—well, in Harry’s case, like he’d spent a few too many years using his magic to clean up Hydra’s messes. Steve led the charge, his muscles tense and his eyes darting around like a guy who wasn’t about to let his guard down for even a second. Bucky trailed behind, every step echoing like the sound of someone walking through a graveyard at midnight. It was the kind of vibe that screamed don’t mess with me. And honestly? It probably made Hydra wish they'd chosen a different career path.

Harry, though? Well, he was more focused on his own brand of chaos. He slipped his hand into his jacket and pulled out a small, unassuming flash drive—Tony’s gift to the cause. This little guy was about to get JARVIS into Hydra’s entire server system. “I hope you’re ready for the magic show,” Harry muttered, giving the device a quick flick. The familiar tingle of power surged through his fingertips as the flash drive interfaced with a nearby terminal. Lights blinked. A few sparks. A holographic display of Hydra’s entire network popped up like it was just another Tuesday for Harry.

“Alright, let’s see what sort of mess Hydra’s been making this time.” Harry’s fingers danced over the terminal. “Power source capable of rivaling the Tesseract, huh? Yeah, sounds totally normal for them.”

Steve shot him a look over his shoulder. "Don't jinx us."

Harry grinned. "Hey, if you're going to jinx something, it might as well be Hydra, right?"

The display flickered to life, and Harry could almost hear JARVIS’ voice in his head. “Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. I’ve accessed their system. Downloading files now.”

And just like that, the digital world fell into Harry’s hands.

Behind him, Steve crouched down, eyeing a large steel door with locks that looked like they belonged to a supervillain’s lair (because, spoiler alert, it probably did). “This is it,” Steve muttered, his voice like gravel grinding together. “The intel’s been solid. The power source is right behind that door.”

Bucky was already in full stealth mode, checking the walls for weak points, looking like he could dismantle the entire building with a single glance. “Oh, I bet it's something real fun,” he muttered. “Probably a big ol' bomb that blows up in our faces the second we touch it.”

Harry snorted. “Hey, Bucky, I like how your optimism matches your vibe. But seriously, I’m a wizard, not a demolition expert. No bomb’s going off unless I say so.”

“You sure about that, magic kid?” Bucky gave him a sideways glance, already heading toward the door to work on the explosives. "I've seen your 'magic' go sideways before."

"I’m like a walking firework show," Harry shot back, tapping a few more keys. "Only I don’t burn anyone… unless they’re Hydra, in which case, they totally deserve it."

The door slid open with a hiss that would’ve been more dramatic if the whole place wasn’t already about to explode with secrets. They stepped inside, and Harry couldn’t help but whistle low. The room was a shrine to Hydra’s unhealthy obsession with power—giant generators, whirring and humming in sync, surrounding a glowing blue orb encased in a network of protective shields. It was like they were guarding a supercharged stress ball.

“That’s it,” Steve said, his voice steely as he surveyed the room. “That’s their power source.”

Bucky’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Well, if it’s anything like the rest of their tech, I’m guessing it’s a ticking time bomb. You sure you want to just leave it here? It’s practically begging to explode.”

Harry took a step forward, squinting at the orb. “That thing?” He chuckled. “It’s practically begging for me to hack it into oblivion.”

Steve shot him a look like he was about to say something important—but then Harry was already walking toward the power source, fingers twitching. "Hold up," Steve called, but it was already too late. Harry inserted the flash drive into the terminal next to the orb, his face lighting up with an impish grin. “You guys keep an eye out. I’ll handle the wizardry.”

Before Steve could protest, the orb flickered to life, the generators humming louder as they noticed the intrusion. There was a heartbeat of tension in the air, and then—nothing. The hum started to slow, the blue glow of the orb flickering and stuttering like it was having an existential crisis.

Bucky, still setting up explosives, looked over with a raised eyebrow. “Not bad, magic boy.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got standards,” Harry quipped, pulling the flash drive out with a flourish. The power source began to sputter, the once-stable glow now reduced to a weak pulse. “Done and done. Hydra’s big bad tech is officially offline. Also, I may have left a little surprise in their backup system. Should give us a couple minutes before they figure out what just happened.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, but his eyes were already scanning the room, his attention unwavering. “Let’s make sure we don’t get caught before that happens.”

“Don’t worry, Cap,” Harry said with a wink. “I’m like a ghost. Only with better hair and a way cooler magic trick.”

Bucky snorted. “Sure. Just remember, ghosts tend to get shot at a lot.”

The sound of muffled footsteps echoed down the hall, but by the time Hydra’s backup systems realized what Harry had done, the trio was long gone—leaving a trail of confusion and scrambled security behind them. As they rounded the corner to exit, Harry flashed one last look at the power source, now slowly dying. “I hope they learned their lesson. But knowing Hydra? They’ll just build another one.”

Steve, as usual, was more focused on the mission than the banter. “Let’s get out of here. Before your ‘easy’ mode gets us killed.”

“Too late,” Harry grinned. “If I’m going out, it’s with style.”

—

Harry could feel the familiar hum of tension crackling in the air as he tapped his comms, the voice in his ear crackling like static from an old radio.

"Nat, we're on the move. Bucky's got the explosives set, and trust me, this place is gonna be a firework show they’ll never forget."

He grinned, knowing exactly what was coming. Natasha’s voice flickered through his earpiece, dripping with sarcasm.

“Copy that, magic boy. Just don’t blow up the whole facility before I get my last shot in, okay?”

Harry let out a laugh that almost sounded like a victory. “You’ve got it. Don’t worry, Nat. The magic’s strong with me. Plus, you know me—I’m all about keeping the show running until the last act.”

"Noted," Natasha quipped. "Just remember, Tony’s got a thing for explosions, so try not to let him steal the spotlight."

Harry rolled his eyes dramatically, even though she couldn’t see him. "You’re the best, Nat. See you in a minute.”

He clicked off the comms just in time to hear Bucky's voice, as smooth and sardonic as ever, drifting toward him.

“So... what’s with the grin? Did you just get a compliment from Romanoff?”

Harry smirked, not missing a beat. “Yep. She said I was her favorite. Can you believe it? Me, the guy who’s usually blowing things up for fun. Must be my charm."

Bucky gave him a sideways look, adjusting the explosives pack slung over his shoulder. "Maybe if you stopped blowing things up so much, you’d get more compliments. But hey, you're definitely leaving your mark today.”

“True. I aim to please,” Harry replied with a wink. He looked over at Steve, who was scanning the hallway ahead, shield in hand, muscles tensed like a spring about to snap. “Ready, Cap?”

Steve didn’t answer immediately. His steely eyes remained locked ahead, his posture as calm and collected as ever, like nothing could shake him. Then he muttered, without looking at them, “I’m always ready. Let’s just... get this over with. We’ve done enough damage already.”

Harry chuckled, despite the intensity in the air. “True, but honestly? I could do this all day." He gave a mock sigh, making a show of it. "And by ‘this,’ I mean messing with Hydra. I think they need a lesson on how not to throw a party.”

Steve barely rolled his eyes, but Harry swore he saw the tiniest twitch of a smile. “Let’s just make sure we don’t get caught in the process.”

They kept moving down the facility’s sterile hallways, feet echoing in unison. The sound of Bucky's pack jostling was the only real noise as they neared their exit, the facility rumbling faintly under the strain of Harry’s magic.

Suddenly, the crackling of Natasha’s voice came through their comms, as usual, unfiltered and brimming with her usual quick wit.

“Carter and the crew are finishing up. They’re getting into evac position. You guys good to go?”

Harry flicked his wrist dismissively, keeping his eyes peeled. “Roger that. You tell them to pick up the pace. Bucky’s about to make sure this place won’t see the next sunrise.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure that’ll be the highlight of your day,” Natasha replied, a hint of amusement sneaking into her voice. “But don’t let Tony steal all the glory with his explosions, alright?”

“I’ll keep him in check,” Harry promised, glancing at Bucky. “He can only blow up so much before we have to let someone else have fun.”

Bucky shot him a look. “Hey, I’ll blow up whatever I want. You know that.”

“Right, right,” Harry grinned back. “It’s your world. We’re just living in it.”

Just then, Steve held up his hand, signaling them to slow down as they approached the final stretch toward the exit. His shield was practically a part of his arm at this point, like it had grown there. His eyes flickered quickly from left to right, scanning for potential threats.

“We’re almost there,” Steve muttered under his breath. “Let’s keep it tight.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that like we’ve never been in a tight spot before,” Harry said with a playful wink, his voice easygoing as always. “Besides, we’ve got this. Hydra’s about to get schooled.”

They hit the final corridor, and Harry couldn’t shake the sense of anticipation in the air. Any minute now, things were about to go from calm to complete chaos.

And as if on cue, Natasha's voice broke through once more. "All units are in position. They’re ready for evac. You good, magic boy?”

“Good to go,” Harry confirmed, checking the path ahead, eyes trained on the shadows. “Tell Carter to hurry up—Bucky’s about to make the big boom.”

“I’ll tell her,” Natasha said dryly. “And Harry, try not to level the city, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, glancing at Bucky again. “You know how he gets.”

“You’re welcome,” Bucky muttered under his breath as they approached the exit doors.

And then, with a sudden, deliberate motion, Bucky tapped a button on the small device in his hand. The countdown began, and Harry could almost feel the excitement ripple through the air like a summer storm about to break.

“Brace yourselves,” Bucky said, his voice practically dripping with glee.

Then came the boom.

The ground rumbled beneath their feet, and the entire Hydra facility felt like it was splitting in half. Explosions ripped through the walls, fire and smoke billowing out in all directions. The structure itself began to collapse, like a building made of sandcastles swept away by the tide.

“Boom. Mission accomplished,” Harry said, a wide grin spreading across his face as the fiery debris scattered in every direction. “Just another day in paradise.”

Steve couldn’t hide the satisfaction in his eyes as he looked back at the smoking wreckage. “And another win for us.”

"Yeah," Bucky said with a shrug. "But knowing Hydra? They'll be back for more soon enough."

Harry snorted. “If that’s the case, I’ll be ready. I’ll make sure my hair’s extra fabulous next time.” He flicked his hand through his messy curls, like some model preparing for a photoshoot.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Steve grumbled, but there was a playful edge to his words.

As they moved away from the wreckage, the sounds of the chaos still ringing in their ears, Harry couldn’t help but smile. The job was done, Hydra had gotten the message, and the team had, once again, pulled off another victory.

For now, anyway.

—

As the dust settled and the last echoes of the explosion faded into the night, the team regrouped at the extraction point—just in time for something absolutely ridiculous to happen.

Because, of course, when you had Harry Potter on your team, things never went according to the normal rules of physics.

A sudden rush of wind swept through the air, carrying with it an unmistakable streak of deep red fabric.

Steve blinked. "Did anyone else see that, or have I officially lost my mind?"

"You're good, Cap," Bucky said, squinting. "I saw it too. Whatever it was."

"That, dear friends, was style," Harry announced, smirking as the Cloak of Levitation came swooping back into view—except it wasn’t alone.

"Nat?" Steve barely had time to react before a very smug looking Natasha Romanoff landed straight in Harry's arms, carried effortlessly by the Cloak.

She didn't look surprised. Not even a little. If anything, she looked thoroughly entertained.

“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises,” Natasha murmured, arms wrapping around his neck as he caught her with the ease of a guy who definitely did not skip arm day.

Harry grinned. “I do try.”

Before he could deliver his next devastatingly charming quip, Natasha leaned in and kissed him.

Not a peck. Not a quick brush of the lips. Nope. This was a full-fledged, lingering, brain-melting kiss.

Harry's internal monologue promptly stopped functioning.

Yep. Brain was officially out of service. Try again later.

Bucky let out a low whistle. “Huh. And here I thought we were in the middle of a mission, not a rom-com.”

Steve, arms crossed, just sighed. “Give ‘em a minute. They earned it.”

Tony’s voice crackled in over the comms. “I swear to all things holy, if someone doesn’t take a picture of this right now, I am disowning all of you. Even you, Capsicle.”

Harry, still slightly dazed but recovering fast (because he was a professional, dammit), finally pulled back with a grin. “Don’t worry, Tones. I’m sure JARVIS is already compiling a highlight reel.”

JARVIS, sounding particularly pleased with himself, chimed in, “I have categorized it under ‘Tactical Operations: Distraction Techniques.’ You’re welcome, sir.”

Natasha smirked, pressing one last kiss to Harry’s cheek before stepping back. The Cloak, looking entirely too satisfied with itself, draped lazily over Harry’s shoulders like a particularly pleased cat.

“All right, lovebirds, as much as I’m enjoying this Hallmark moment,” Rhodey cut in dryly, “maybe we evacuate before Hydra decides they wanna give round two a shot?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Geez, one building implodes, and suddenly everyone’s in a hurry.”

“Harry,” Steve sighed, in that tone of his that usually preceded a speech about responsibility and proper planning.

Harry held up his hands. “Okay, okay, no need for the Dad Voice.”

Steve looked personally offended. “Dad Voice?”

Bucky nodded sagely. “Sorry, man. That was absolutely the Dad Voice.”

Harry grinned. “It’s okay, Cap. We all respect it. Just… not enough to actually listen to it.”

Steve looked to Natasha for backup. She just raised an eyebrow. “They’re not wrong.”

“Unbelievable,” Steve muttered.

“Hey, look on the bright side,” Erica cut in, grinning. “At least nobody’s making fun of your haircut this time.”

Harry gave her an approving nod. “See? That’s how you find a silver lining.”

Steve just muttered something about youths under his breath.

“All right, stand back, kids, and watch how the real professionals travel.”

With a flick of his wrist, a golden portal sparked to life before them, swirling with the familiar shimmer of magic.

Bucky whistled. “Still not used to that.”

Natasha gave him a knowing look. “You should see what else he can do.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “That sounded way too suggestive.”

Harry, ever the agent of chaos, just smirked. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we please just go?”

Rhodey clapped him on the back. “Welcome to our lives, Cap.”

And with that, the team stepped through the portal, leaving behind the smoldering wreckage of Hydra’s latest failure.

New York awaited.

And somehow, Harry knew that this was only the beginning of the madness to come.

—

The portal spat them out into the safehouse with all the grace of a cat falling off a countertop.

Harry landed on his feet like a magical badass. Because, well… he was a magical badass. Steve and Bucky, those annoyingly perfect super-soldiers, stuck the landing like Olympic gymnasts. Natasha made it look effortless, because of course she did.

Rhodey? Not so much.

“I hate magic,” he muttered, stumbling a little before straightening his jacket with all the dignity he could muster.

Erica, who had stepped through without even blinking, smirked at him. “You’ll get used to it.”

Rhodey shot her a flat look. “Will I, though?”

Before Harry could start handing out awards for Most Dramatic Exit from a Portal, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the very important flash drive they’d just risked their lives to steal. He spun it between his fingers like a showoff before casually tossing it to Tony.

Tony, still in his armor, caught it one-handed. “Ah, my favorite kind of surprise. The kind that comes with absolutely no context and probably a side of impending doom.”

Steve crossed his arms in that way that meant business. “Go through it.”

Tony arched a very judgmental eyebrow. “Oh, wow, Cap. No ‘please’? No ‘hey, Tony, would you mind using your billionaire-genius skills to decrypt this highly classified Hydra tech while also, y’know, probably saving the world?’”

Steve didn’t even blink. “Go through it.”

Harry grinned. “Look at him, Tones. He’s this close to using the Dad Voice.”

Bucky, nodding sagely, added, “You do not want to hear the full Dad Voice.”

Steve sighed deeply, like a man whose patience was being tested by a room full of absolute children. “Why do I work with you people?”

Natasha clapped him on the shoulder. “Because we get the job done.”

“And because we’re hilarious,” Harry added.

Steve shot him a look. “That’s debatable.”

Meanwhile, Tony had already moved to his sleek, high-tech workstation, plugging in the drive. The holographic interface came to life as he started typing. “Alright, JARVIS, let’s crack this thing open and see what fresh Hydra-flavored nightmare we’re dealing with.”

JARVIS, ever the picture of British calm, responded instantly. “Decrypting now, sir. I will notify you if the contents include anything particularly horrifying or apocalyptic.”

Harry sprawled onto the nearest couch, stretching like a cat that had just finished knocking something valuable off a shelf. “I mean, what are the odds that isn’t the case?”

“Zero,” Natasha said flatly.

Bucky sighed and rubbed his temples. “I already hate whatever this is.”

Tony hummed as the data flashed across the screen. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got—oh. Oh, gross.”

Steve immediately stepped forward. “What is it?”

Tony turned to look at him, his usual sarcasm temporarily on pause. “Hydra’s been busy.”

Harry arched an eyebrow. “Busy as in ‘we have to blow something up again,’ or busy as in ‘we should be very concerned about the future of humanity’?”

Tony hesitated. “I mean… can’t it be both?”

Steve ran a hand down his face like a man who deeply regretted getting out of bed this morning. “What kind of busy, Stark?”

JARVIS chimed in. “Sir, I believe it would be wise to call in additional reinforcements.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Harry sat up. “Oh, fantastic. Because that always means something fun.”

Steve’s expression hardened. “What exactly are we dealing with?”

Tony turned back to the screen, scanning rapidly before muttering, “Yeah. This just went from ‘bad’ to ‘end-of-the-world’ real fast.”

Natasha crossed her arms. “Great. Another normal Tuesday.”

Harry let out a dramatic sigh. “I just got comfortable.”

Steve fixed him with his signature Captain America Look. “Get uncomfortable. Because whatever’s on that drive… it’s going to change everything.”

And just like that, the calm was officially over.

—

The safehouse had all the warmth of a morgue—deafening silence, and a tension thick enough to slice through with a butter knife. If that butter knife was glowing and possessed by an ancient, malevolent force.

Tony Stark had a look on his face that was the exact opposite of the grin everyone had come to expect from him. No smirks. No witty quips. His fingers danced over his keyboard with the urgency of someone who had just been told his life’s work was about to be undone by an ancient magic-imbued orb.

"Alright," Tony muttered, his voice a little too serious for comfort. He spun the monitor around like it was the greatest reveal of his career. Maybe it was. He didn’t seem thrilled about it, though. "Brace yourselves."

The screen blinked to life with a sickly glow.

It was the orb. The glowing, unholy energy source Hydra had been playing with like a toddler with a live grenade.

"Seriously?" Steve Rogers—blonde hair, blue eyes, patriotic as all get-out—raised an eyebrow, his jaw clenching. "That thing looks like the kind of toy you buy to tempt fate, not play with."

"That’s what I said," Tony muttered, rubbing his temples like someone had just asked him to teach a bunch of toddlers about quantum mechanics. "Hydra’s been using it to power weapons and all kinds of devices. They think it’s the key to world domination or something... because apparently, they’ve never seen a Bond movie."

Harry Potter, sitting casually on the couch like he was hearing the latest gossip, raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Oh, that’s cute. I thought the orb was supposed to be a tesseract wannabe. Instead, it’s just... glowing doom in a ball."

Bucky Barnes, who was trying his best not to look too annoyed by the endless superhero drama unfolding in front of him, snorted. "I’ve seen this story before. Never ends well."

Tony shot Bucky a look that said, "And you should know better than anyone."

Harry’s lips twitched into a half-smile. "The problem with these kinds of things," he said, leaning forward as though he was about to impart some ancient wisdom, "is that they don't stay contained. The orb will get out. And when it does? It's not gonna be pretty."

Before Tony could reply, the door to the safehouse swung open with dramatic flair. As if someone had been practicing in front of a mirror for a week. In strode the Brain Trust, and let’s just say no one looked particularly chipper.

Howard Stark, Tony’s father and all-around lovable genius, made his grand entrance first. His perfectly combed hair and expensive suit made him look like a villain from a black-and-white movie, only with more charm. He sauntered over to Tony’s workstation like he owned the place—and, well, he kind of did.

"What’s all this about world-ending orbs?" Howard asked, voice dripping with sarcastic amusement. "Have I missed something? Please tell me it’s not the Apocalypse again."

Behind him, Lily Potter—Harry’s mom, and apparently a woman who had seen way too much of the universe’s crap—entered, casting a brief, disapproving look around the room. Her brow furrowed. "Every time we clean up one mess, there’s another." She focused on the screen, eyes narrowing as she studied the orb. "Hydra? Really? You’d think they’d get a hobby by now."

And, of course, as if the gods of absurdity had decided to deliver the cherry on top, there was Gideon Adler—better known in his former life as Gellert Grindelwald. Now, de-aged and wearing that look that screamed, "I’m reformed, but I still have a flair for dramatic entrances." He was looking at the orb like it was a puppy that might bite his face off at any moment.

"Another orb?" Gideon raised an eyebrow. "You people are like moths to a flame when it comes to dangerous energy sources. Do you ever learn?"

Harry cracked a grin. "Clearly, we never got the memo on self-preservation."

And that’s when the real fun entered the room.

Nick Fury, the human embodiment of “don’t mess with me unless you want to lose an eye,” strolled in like he’d seen it all before. His one good eye scanned the room. "Let me guess, that thing is about to annihilate us all, right?"

Tony, now leaning back in his chair, raised an eyebrow and said dryly, “Yeah, that’s the gist of it, Fury. Keep up.”

Maria Hill, standing just a bit behind Fury, folded her arms, her eyes hard. “Just when I thought Hydra couldn’t get any more terrifying.”

Lily shot a glare at Howard, who was tapping away on his tablet like this was all just a fun little side project. "You're more interested in studying it than stopping it from destroying the world, aren’t you?"

Howard grinned. "Well, Lil, the world’s always about to be destroyed. I just think it’s about time we start learning how it ticks. You know, for the betterment of humanity and all that jazz."

"Yeah," Tony added, not at all sarcastically, “Because nothing says ‘hero’ like studying an orb that might fry us all.”

Steve let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Focus, people. Hydra’s got this thing and the world’s on the line. We don’t have time for this back-and-forth."

Tony nodded, his face shifting from playful to serious faster than a caffeine-charged sprint. "Right. The orb’s the problem. We need to get a handle on it before Hydra turns it into a weapon that makes the Tesseract look like a kids’ toy."

Bucky folded his arms, clearly itching for action. "We could always take it out before it becomes a problem, y’know. Just a thought."

Gideon’s voice was measured as he studied the orb. "We can’t afford to underestimate it. I’ve seen power like this. If anyone—anyone—controls that thing, they’ll have the power to rip reality apart. This is bigger than Hydra."

"Gee, thanks, Gellert," Harry chimed in with a grin that could only be described as ‘chaotic good.' "You’ve really got a way of making things sound reassuring."

"I’m not trying to reassure you, Potter," Gideon said with a cool smirk. "I’m trying to make sure you don’t end up destroying the world along with it."

Harry shot back, "Trust me, I'm already planning for that. One apocalypse at a time, thank you very much."

Fury wasn’t about to let this turn into a sitcom episode. "Enough talk," he snapped, turning to Tony. "We find it. We neutralize it. Fast."

Maria Hill’s eyes were already scanning the data, mentally mapping out their next move. "How long do we have, Tony?"

JARVIS’s voice, smooth as silk and twice as intelligent, chimed in from the corner. "Hydra’s already begun experimenting with the orb. Their last known location is in the Balkans. Estimated time before they begin testing their first weaponized prototype: 72 hours."

"We don’t have time to waste," Steve said, clenching his fists. "Let’s move."

“Right,” Tony said, now standing up, the ever-present spark of brilliance in his eyes. “We’ll need to hit Hydra hard and fast. But first? I need coffee. No hero is effective without caffeine."

"Or some ‘good’ old-fashioned heroism," Harry chimed in, pulling on his jacket. "Come on, Steve. Let’s save the world again."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You’d think after all these years, we'd stop having to do this."

Harry grinned like a kid in a candy store. "Where’s the fun in that?"

The team was ready. And, as it always was with them, the fight was just beginning.

Chapter 72: Chapter 71

Gideon Adler—formerly known as Gellert Grindelwald, reformed dark wizard and current member of the “People Who Regret Their Life Choices” club—stood in front of the glowing orb like he was facing the world’s most expensive disco ball. His stormy blue eyes, sharp enough to cut glass, flicked over the details, analyzing the glowing sphere with the intensity of a professor at an all-you-can-eat buffet. You could almost see the cogs turning behind those eyes, like he was either solving a great mystery or figuring out how to tell everyone else they were about five steps behind.

Finally, after a dramatic pause that had everyone in the room wondering if he was going to pull out a crystal ball and start lecturing about the "greater good," Adler spoke.

"Alchemy."

Tony Stark blinked, then tilted his head. “I’m sorry, what now? Did we just time travel to the 1600s?”

Adler didn't even flinch. “That,” he said, pointing dramatically at the ominous, glowing orb on the screen, “isn’t just raw energy. This thing's been altered, refined. This is alchemy at work. Someone with serious skill created this... thing.”

Steve Rogers—Captain America, living embodiment of ‘I’m just trying to do the right thing,’ frowned, his arms crossing in that way that made him look like a guy who could hold the world on his shoulders but would rather not. “Alchemy? As in... turning lead into gold?”

Adler didn’t even bother hiding the disgust in his eyes. “That’s like calling your super-soldier serum ‘just a vitamin shot,’ Captain.”

Steve blinked, visibly taken aback. “Okay, that was a low blow.”

Tony snorted. “Yeah, that definitely deserves a gold star for ‘Most Passive-Aggressive Response of the Year.’”

“Not that I’d know anything about being passive-aggressive,” Steve muttered under his breath.

Harry, who had been leaning casually against the back of the couch like he was waiting for a bad guy to walk in and hand him a villain monologue, rolled his eyes. “Alright, Adler. Let’s cut to the chase. Who’s actually good enough at alchemy to pull this off?”

Adler sighed, rubbing his temples like he had just walked into a room full of bad decisions. “Three people. Only three.”

Tony groaned. “Oh, great. This is going to be one of those fun scenarios where one of them is already dead, one’s a ghost, and the last one is working for Hydra, isn’t it?”

Adler steepled his fingers like some kind of dark wizard preparing to deliver some awful news. “Well, first, there’s Nicholas Flamel.”

Harry immediately let out a loud, unrestrained snort. “Flamel? That guy’s older than dirt. He can’t even get out of bed without a team of witches giving him a spell to get his joints moving. I’m pretty sure he’s about as interested in world domination as a sleepy tortoise.”

“Agreed,” Adler said, rubbing his chin. “Flamel is brilliant, but he’s retired—like, really retired. His best days are behind him. He wouldn’t touch something like this with a ten-foot broomstick.”

“Next?” Natasha Romanoff asked, her voice sharp, casual, and terrifyingly composed as she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. She was already planning her next move in her head, and it was clear she’d rather be out hunting criminals than listening to Adler’s history lecture.

Adler’s expression darkened, but he didn't falter. “Albus Dumbledore.”

At that, Steve straightened like he’d been hit with a bucket of cold water. Tony blinked, then looked at Bucky, his face half-grim, half-intrigued. “Oh, that Dumbledore. The one that James and Sirius toldl me about? Long-bearded, twinkle-eyed wizard, the one who is basically the Gandalf of Hogwarts. Can’t really picture him teaming up with Hydra.”

“Exactly,” Adler agreed, and Harry swore he saw the tiniest flicker of bitterness in his eyes. “Dumbledore is a master manipulator, yes. A brilliant one, but even he has his limits. If he thought helping Hydra was for the ‘greater good,’ he’d much prefer to lecture them about the error of their ways instead of actually getting involved.”

Harry let out a breath, half-relieved, half-irritated. “Okay, so that leaves… one.”

Adler’s eyes narrowed, a shadow of something darker crossing his face. “Yes. A lesser-known name, but one I remember clearly. During my time at Durmstrang, there was a student. Brilliant. Gifted in alchemy beyond his years, but… unstable.”

“Unstable?” Bucky asked, eyebrows raising in suspicion. “Like, ‘I throw tantrums when I can’t get my coffee’ unstable, or ‘I create doomsday devices in my free time’ unstable?”

“Take your pick,” Adler muttered, not even bothering with a smile. “His name was Erik Eisenhardt.”

The room fell silent. You could’ve heard a pin drop. Or, in the case of this team, the sound of everyone trying to process that information.

Tony squinted at Adler like he was trying to see if he was joking. “First of all, that’s a Bond villain name. Second, did you say he’s unstable?”

Bucky’s face hardened with his usual blend of sarcasm and skepticism. “Unstable genius? Yeah, Hydra would love him. Sounds like their type. Give him a lab, a few test tubes, and next thing you know, we’ve got an apocalypse on our hands.”

“Exactly,” Adler said, his voice low and dangerous. “Eisenhardt was obsessed with pushing alchemy to its limits. He didn’t just want to turn metal into gold—he wanted to reshape reality itself. I lost track of him decades ago, but if he is behind this orb, we’re dealing with something far worse than just a new power source.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, the usual swagger back in his voice. “Worse? Like how? Define ‘worse,’ because I’ve seen some bad things in my life, and frankly, I’m not interested in adding another world-ending disaster to my list of things to avoid.”

Adler looked at him, expression dead serious. “If Eisenhardt perfected his work, this isn’t just a power source. It’s a philosopher’s stone on steroids—something that could alter time, space, and even magic itself.”

The group exchanged a look. Even Tony Stark, ever the optimist, had the decency to look concerned. Rhodey, who'd been quietly observing everything, let out a sharp breath. "So, we’re looking at an apocalypse-level disaster if we don't stop this, huh?"

Steve’s jaw clenched as he stepped forward. “Where is he?”

Adler’s lips twisted into a tight, grim smile. “That’s the tricky part.” He glanced at Harry, who’d been quiet for a second. “But if I had to bet? He’s with Hydra. Willingly.”

Harry groaned, rubbing his temples. “Oh, fantastic. Another lunatic playing mad scientist. Just what I needed today. Can someone please make my life easier for once?”

“Join the club,” Tony muttered with a shrug. “We’ve got jackets.”

Fury, who had been eerily silent for most of the conversation, finally stepped forward, his voice low and calm, yet full of the kind of authority that made people want to listen. “Alright. We track Eisenhardt down. We stop whatever the hell this is before it turns into the next apocalypse.”

Adler nodded grimly. “Then we better move quickly. Because if Eisenhardt has perfected his work, stopping him may not be an option.”

Harry crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got a bunch of badass geniuses in this room. I’m feeling pretty confident we’ll make it interesting.”

“I love it when he’s confident,” Tony said, clapping Harry on the back. “Let’s go save the world, shall we?”

And just like that, the team was in motion. Because, as everyone knew, when a team of superheroes and a reformed dark wizard teamed up, it was about to get real interesting.

—

Gideon Adler—formerly Gellert Grindelwald, ex-dark lord, current SHIELD consultant, and reigning world champion of Regretting His Life Choices—was about to do something incredibly stupid.

He was going to call in a favor.

An old favor. A dangerous favor.

The kind of favor that made Steve "Golden Retriever with a Shield" Rogers frown disapprovingly, Bucky "Perpetually Tired Murder Machine" Barnes smirk knowingly, and Tony "Sass in a Suit" Stark complain about the WiFi.

Speaking of which—

"I swear to God," Tony announced, dramatically stabbing at his phone screen. "If I have to refresh this page one more time—"

Harry leaned over. "Tony, are you seriously trying to order shawarma right now?"

"Hey, stress-eating is a thing. If I’m gonna deal with magic, cryptic old men, and potential world-ending disasters, I want good takeout."

Steve exhaled through his nose, the way a man who had fought Nazis and survived the Great Depression did when confronted with Stark nonsense. "Can we focus, please?"

Harry, of course, immediately snapped to attention and saluted. "Yes, sir, Captain America, sir!"

Bucky snorted. "He's got your number, punk."

Meanwhile, Adler—who had perfected the fine art of ignoring their collective stupidity—stepped toward the center of the room, where a rune-carved stone rested on a reinforced table. With a flick of his wrist, a golden flame flickered to life in his palm, swirling and shifting like something alive.

Jarvis, ever the refined AI butler, chimed in through the speakers. "Sir, I believe our wizardly consultant is about to perform what the ancient scholars referred to as ‘very sketchy magic.’"

"Good," Tony said, leaning back. "I was worried we'd have to do this the boring way."

Rhodey crossed his arms. "You mean, like, with actual intelligence work?"

"Exactly."

Adler rolled his eyes (a very dignified eye-roll, naturally) and murmured something in German. The runes flared to life, glowing an eerie blue. A shimmering image flickered above the stone—a hooded figure, their features obscured by shadow.

A deep, rough voice echoed through the room.

"Grindelwald. For someone who's supposed to be over a hundred, you don't look a day over forty."

Adler smirked. "Moisturizer. You should try it, Falk."

Harry, being Harry, immediately leaned toward Erica and whispered, "Ooooh, mysterious."

Erica, bless her, barely managed to stifle a laugh.

The shadowy figure shifted slightly. "I thought you were dead."

"Common mistake," Adler replied smoothly. "I find death terribly inconvenient."

Bucky muttered, "Yeah, tell me about it."

Steve gave him a look. Bucky just shrugged.

Adler pressed on. "I need information, Falk. About Eisenhardt."

Cue dramatic pause. Even through the distortion, they could tell Falk had tensed.

Falk exhaled slowly. "Eisenhardt… That is a name I have not heard in years."

Adler’s expression didn’t change, but there was something… sharp in his gaze. "Then you do know something."

Falk hesitated. "Tell me, Grindelwald—do you remember what I once told you about men who try to reshape reality?"

Adler’s jaw tightened. "Yes."

Falk's voice turned grim. "Then you already know the answer. Eisenhardt is a ghost. He disappeared decades ago."

Tony sighed. "Why is it always the crazy ones that go full Houdini?"

"Trade secret," Natasha deadpanned.

Harry, however, had narrowed his eyes. His magic was humming in his veins, reacting to something—something off. He tilted his head, watching the flickering projection.

"He’s lying."

Steve glanced over. "You sure?"

Harry didn’t look away. "Positive. His words and his magic don’t match."

Adler arched a brow. "How very perceptive."

Harry smirked. "You say that like it’s a surprise."

Adler turned back to the projection. "Falk. I understand your hesitation. But I am not the only one seeking Eisenhardt."

A beat of silence. Then—

"He was seen in Prague."

Steve straightened immediately. "That’s a lead."

Falk’s voice lowered. "Be careful, Grindelwald. Eisenhardt has changed. He is no longer the man you once knew."

Adler’s expression darkened. "None of us are."

With a flick of his wrist, the spell dissipated. The runes dimmed, the room falling silent.

Tony clapped his hands. "Well. That was ominous."

Steve was already shifting into mission mode. "Prague. We should move quickly."

Harry cracked his knuckles. "Before Hydra rolls out the welcome mat."

Natasha smirked. "I do love crashing Hydra parties."

Bucky checked his gun. "Same."

Rhodey groaned. "Great. Another European field trip where things explode."

"Now, now," Harry said cheerfully. "Let’s not assume things are going to explode."

Tony shot him a look. "Harry, I remember hearing about that time you went on a mission and blew up an entire warehouse."

Harry shrugged. "In my defense, it was a very flammable warehouse."

Erica snorted. "You’re the worst."

"I try."

Steve shook his head. "Alright, team. Wheels up in an hour."

As the others moved to gear up, Adler lingered, staring at the now-dormant stone. His expression was unreadable.

Harry glanced over. "You good, old man?"

Adler exhaled. "Just wondering whether I am making yet another terrible decision."

Harry grinned. "Oh, definitely."

Adler sighed. "Wonderful."

And just like that, the hunt for Erik Eisenhardt was officially on.

—

The war room at SHIELD’s facility was starting to look like a weird family reunion—if your family happened to be made up of world-class superheroes, spies, and people who were a little too fond of punching things. Steve was already pacing the room, muttering to himself about mission plans. Tony, meanwhile, was lounging in his chair like it was the world’s most dangerous lazy boy, fingers steepled behind his head.

“Okay, okay,” Tony drawled. “So, we’re bringing in backup. I mean, it's not like we can just handle this with our usual team of ridiculously overpowered super soldiers, billionaire genius inventor, and magic-happy wizard, right?”

“I was kinda hoping for a quiet day,” Bucky added, staring at the map on the table like he was expecting it to sprout legs and run away.

“Relax, Bucky,” Peggy said, eyeing the map as well. “We’ve handled worse.”

Harry, who’d been listening to the banter with an air of amusement, chimed in. “Oh sure, we’re professionals. We’ve got ‘punching bad guys’ covered. But when you throw in ‘bending reality’ and ‘wizard-who-wants-to-unmake-the-world,’ things get a little more… complicated.”

“Sounds like a Friday night in the Wizarding World,” Natasha quipped, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. "Do we just summon a floating cage and pray that Eisenhardt gets distracted by a squirrel?"

“I vote we try it,” Harry said with a grin. “Maybe add some glitter for extra effect.”

Steve cleared his throat, like the weight of leadership was settling back onto his shoulders. He wasn’t about to let Tony’s sarcasm ruin the seriousness of this. “Alright, people, listen up. We’ve got a major threat on our hands. Eisenhardt's no joke. We need magical muscle and physical muscle. And that's why I called in some backup.”

Before anyone could ask who exactly Steve meant by “backup,” the door whooshed open, and in walked a group that was less “backup” and more “here to make sure everything burns in style.”

First up: Alexei Shostakov, aka the Red Guardian, looking like a grumpy bear that got dragged out of hibernation a little too early. He was wearing tactical gear that looked like it belonged to a superhero whose idea of ‘fashion’ involved a lot of black and very little subtlety.

Tony barely looked up from his chair. “Oh good. It’s Red Army chic. How’s the whole ‘not being a Soviet hero’ thing working out for you?”

Alexei grunted. “I’m here to fight. Not to listen to you talk about Wi-Fi. I have no idea what you mean by that.”

“I’m just saying,” Tony shrugged. “If you need any tech help, don’t worry—I’ve got a couple thousand gadgets on hand that don’t require you to be in a headlock to work.”

“I’m good with my fists, thank you,” Alexei said, cracking his knuckles loudly enough to make everyone in the room flinch.

Before anyone could respond, another figure walked in—a much older, much grumpier face. It was none other than Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, his wild, swiveling eye scanning the room like it was a field of land mines. He had his usual scowl in place, and the new vibranium leg he was sporting looked ready to kick ass and take names.

“Alright, which one of you idiots decided to play with fire and almost blow up the world? I'm not in the mood for more surprises,” Moody growled, his eye darting suspiciously over the group.

“Oh, you know,” Harry said casually, waving a hand, “we’ve been known to cause a little chaos. It’s a family tradition.”

Moody snorted. “Well, Potter, don’t be a fool. Chaos is fine as long as it doesn’t involve my leg being blown off. I’m getting too old for this nonsense.”

“Good to have you, Mad-Eye,” Steve said, trying to refocus the team. “We need your expertise.”

“Just keep me away from the explosions,” Moody grumbled.

Next up, James Potter made his entrance, looking like he had just stepped out of a Hogwarts yearbook picture, grin plastered on his face, completely unaware of how much everyone around him would suddenly straighten their backs. He took in the room with his usual charm, then zeroed in on Tony.

“Good to see you’re still not responsible for destroying everything,” James said, flashing a grin. “I was worried I’d have to save your butt again.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Like I need saving from a guy who wore a tie with a color scheme last seen in the ’70s.”

“I swear, you two are like the same person,” Bucky muttered under his breath. “Annoying, but somehow tolerable.”

Then, as if the family reunion wasn’t enough, Sirius Black strolled in with his usual disheveled swagger, looking like he’d just rolled out of a trouble-making binge and had no intention of slowing down. He slapped Harry on the back so hard it nearly knocked him over.

“Ha! My favorite son!” Sirius said, grinning like a madman. “Didn’t tell me we were hunting ghosts today. I figured that was more of a Halloween thing.”

“I’m just hoping no one pulls a ‘he’s not really dead’ thing on us,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not in the mood for resurrecting people.”

“Always a buzzkill, Potter,” Sirius said with a wink. “You sure know how to ruin the fun.”

And finally, Clint Barton entered the room with all the fanfare of a guy who wasn’t really here for fanfare. His bow was slung casually over his shoulder, and he gave everyone a brief nod.

“Just here to shoot things,” Clint said flatly, leaning against the wall.

"Let me guess," Harry said, arching an eyebrow. "You going to shoot a single arrow at Eisenhardt and call it a day?"

Clint just smiled. "That's the plan."

Steve gave one last serious glance at the team, who were still trying to figure out what kind of chaotic magic was about to be unleashed. “We move in five. Get your gear on, suit up, and be ready for anything. We’re heading to Prague.”

“Alright, team,” Harry said, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s go kick some wizard ass.”

With that, the team moved to prep for the mission ahead. And from the looks of it, Prague was about to find out just how much chaos a bunch of super soldiers, wizards, and one annoyingly charming billionaire could cause.

—

As the team geared up for what was supposed to be a standard mission—well, standard if you consider battling Nazis, ghostly wizards, and a giant Hydra conspiracy "standard"—Harry's phone buzzed in his pocket. Without even glancing at the screen, he could already tell who it was. He’d seen that call coming a mile away.

"Guess who?" he muttered, tapping the screen and putting it on speaker. The rest of the team, who'd been scattered around the room with their respective tasks, froze. Tony, elbows deep in some gadget that looked suspiciously like an alien weapon, raised an eyebrow. Natasha, who had been methodically sharpening her knives with the kind of precision only a spy could achieve, let out a low sigh.

Bucky, who had been adjusting his gloves—seriously, what was it with guys and gloves?—looked up, a frown tugging at the edges of his mouth. The team had learned to brace themselves when Harry decided to bring Xavier into the fold.

“Did you forget your telepathic voyeurism routine?” Harry asked, voice dripping with sarcasm as he leaned back against the table, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world.

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. Of course Xavier found it funny. "Harry, always so perceptive. I do hope I haven’t caused too much trouble. But, yes, I couldn’t help but overhear a few… details about your mission."

“Let me guess,” Harry drawled, rolling his eyes. “You’re gonna drop some mutant drama on us because you’ve been in our heads while we were planning.”

"I wouldn’t call it ‘drama,’ per se," Xavier replied, voice smooth but with a hint of sheepishness, probably because he knew Harry wasn’t buying it. "I simply have information that SHIELD does not. And considering your involvement, I thought you’d appreciate it."

“I swear, if I hear ‘I thought you’d appreciate it’ one more time, I’m going to throw myself into the nearest fire pit,” Harry grumbled under his breath. But, of course, his curiosity got the best of him. “Alright, shoot. What’s the big secret that SHIELD doesn’t know?”

“Eisenhardt,” Xavier began, his tone shifting from playful to serious. “The man you’re after? He’s more connected than SHIELD realizes. He’s not just some Hydra lackey. He’s the uncle of Erik Lehnsherr—”

“Wait, what?” Harry interrupted, straightening up as if someone had just slapped him in the face. “Magneto? Eisenhardt is related to Magneto?”

The rest of the team had gathered around Harry at this point, their interest piqued. Tony stopped fiddling with his tech, Natasha paused mid-sharpen, and even Bucky looked up from his gloves with a slight frown.

“Yeah, turns out Eisenhardt has more baggage than a suitcase company,” Harry muttered.

Xavier continued, undeterred. “Eisenhardt’s is a Jew. His sister is Magneto's mother—and she was killed by the Nazis at Auschwitz. Eisenhardt allying himself with Hydra is a personal betrayal according to Erik. Magneto has been hunting him ever since. He can never forgiven his uncle for his betrayal. And now… now he’s part of Hydra, the very death cult responsible for the death of his own flesh and blood.”

The room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Everyone exchanged looks as they processed the bomb Xavier had just dropped.

"Wait," Harry said after a beat, rubbing his forehead like he had a headache coming on. "Let me get this straight. Magneto—the guy who can move metal with his mind—has been hunting Eisenhardt for, what, revenge?"

“Exactly,” Xavier said, his voice grave. “And Magneto is not a man to forgive. If he learns Eisenhardt is involved in any way, he won’t hesitate to tear through anyone standing in his way—including SHIELD.”

Tony let out a low whistle, his eyes narrowing. "Well, this mission just went from ‘easy peasy’ to ‘definitely not easy peasy’ real fast."

“Great,” Bucky muttered, slipping his gloves on with a dark look. “So, now we’ve got to deal with a wizard, a Hydra psycho, and a super-powered mutant magnet man? Just what I always wanted.”

“And here I thought it was going to be a simple ghost hunt,” Clint said, strapping his bow to his back with a sigh. “Just one mission. That’s all I ask for, just one mission where I don’t have to face an apocalyptic level threat.”

Steve cleared his throat, shooting them all a stern look. "Alright, team. Let’s stay focused. Magneto’s not going to make this easy, and Eisenhardt is dangerous enough without adding a wild card like Magneto into the mix. We need to stick to the plan."

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, Cap,” Harry said with a mock salute. “But, seriously, who wouldn’t want to deal with a pissed-off, metal-bending supervillain? I mean, come on. Who doesn’t love a good family feud?”

Steve didn’t look amused. “Keep your head in the game, Harry.”

“Fine, fine,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “But seriously, Cap, if this all goes to hell, I’m blaming you. You’re the one who decided to invite this circus.”

"One last thing before you go, Harry," Xavier’s voice crackled through the speaker, breaking the tension. "If you can, try to keep Magneto from going full force. He’s not just after Eisenhardt—he’ll come for anyone who gets in his way, and that includes SHIELD.”

“Well, that’s just fantastic,” Harry muttered, though he was smirking. “So now we’re playing babysitter for the world’s most dangerous metalhead. Great.”

"Good luck," Xavier said, and with that, the call ended.

The silence hung in the air for a moment, as the gravity of what they were about to face settled in.

"Alright," Steve said, his voice carrying that no-nonsense authority that only Captain America could pull off. "Let’s move out. We’ve got Magneto, we’ve got Eisenhardt, and we’ve got a mess to clean up. Let’s get it done."

“Time to make a mess,” Harry said, cracking his knuckles, his grin widening. “And trust me, it’s gonna be a beautiful one.”

The rest of the team was already suited up, ready for action. Bucky adjusted his metal arm, Natasha slid her knives into their holsters, and Tony checked his suit’s power levels. Even Clint seemed to be in the zone, his quiver and bow set for whatever came next.

"Let’s go, people," Steve ordered, leading the charge.

As they moved out, the room buzzed with a palpable energy. No one knew exactly how things would play out, but one thing was for sure: they were about to step into a whirlwind of chaos that would shake the very foundations of the world.

And Harry? Well, he was ready to burn it all down and have a hell of a time doing it.

—

The team had barely finished suiting up when Harry, always ready to make an entrance, snapped his fingers. A portal exploded into existence with all the subtlety of a fireworks display at a funeral. Colors of gold, crimson, and silver lightning swirled together like someone had set the galaxy on shuffle. And because he couldn’t resist, Harry leaned casually against the shimmering edge, his armor gleaming like a disco ball designed by an over-caffeinated artist.

“Alright, team,” Harry said, his smirk practically audible, “Let’s crash this party. And remember: if you're not getting attention, you're doing it wrong.” He flicked a finger at his own armor. “I’m practically a walking Pinterest board of badassery. You’re welcome, world.”

Steve, ever the serious one, shot Harry a look that could stop a charging bull. “Focus, Potter,” he said, adjusting his shield. “We’re here to stop a threat, not to make an entrance.”

“Right, right,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Business first, then fashion tips later. But seriously—Magneto? Way cooler than Hydra. And no offense to Hydra, but the whole ‘we’re the bad guys’ thing is a little too obvious, don’t you think? Magneto could flip the planet on a whim, and we're over here fighting the equivalent of the world’s most disgruntled science fair project.”

Bucky, who had been silently putting on his gloves, gave Harry a side-eye. “Just try not to get us killed, alright?”

“Bucky, you wound me,” Harry said, clutching his chest in mock pain. “I’ll keep it at a moderate disaster level this time. No explosions. Maybe just a little chaos. You know, for flair.”

Natasha, whose knives were practically an extension of her body, gave him the same blank stare that she always did when Harry was being, well, Harry. “Moderate disaster? Last time, you nearly took out an entire building, and you still haven’t apologized to Fury.”

“Oh, I thought I’d send him a thank-you card,” Harry quipped, “You know, ‘Dear Fury, sorry for the collateral damage, but hey, at least it wasn’t the planet. You’re welcome.’” He winked at her. “I like you, Natasha. You’re my kind of nihilist.”

With that, the team gathered up, ready to dive into the mission ahead. Tony, who had been fiddling with his suit and muttering to himself about how teleporting wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time, spoke up, shaking his head with a grin. “Prague. Home of beer, cobblestone streets, and overpriced trinkets. You know, after we save the world again, I’ll hit up the souvenir shops. Might pick up a mug or, I don’t know, a shot glass with ‘I survived an alien invasion and all I got was this’ printed on it.”

“Good luck with that,” Bucky said, cracking his neck. “You’ve got more chance of surviving an alien invasion with one of those shot glasses than you do finding anything decent in the tourist traps here.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Tony said, eyeing the streets as they walked through an alleyway. “It’d be nice to get something useful for once. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, after all.” He glanced at Harry’s armor, adding with a smirk, “Which, by the way, looking like a walking fire hazard is definitely a choice.”

“Tony,” Harry said, still grinning like he just had a brilliant idea. “When the world ends and it’s all burned to the ground, I’ll be the only one with style. Just remember that when you’re running from the rubble in your snazzy iron suit.”

“Sure, sure. But I’ll have shiny rubble, so it’s basically a win-win.”

They reached the safehouse quickly, slipping through shadows with the kind of practiced ease that only comes from being superhero-level professionals. Steve moved like a tank, precise and methodical. Natasha was practically a shadow herself, slipping through the cracks unnoticed. Clint made sarcastic remarks about how he could've used a snack before a mission, while Bucky glared at the sky like it personally offended him. Tony’s voice was all too familiar in Harry’s ear as he made snarky comments about Prague’s architecture—always on-brand.

“So, Steve,” Harry started as they neared the door to the safehouse. “Still got that thing for Peggy, huh?”

Steve’s eyes flickered to him, and Harry could practically feel the tension in his posture. “We’ve been over this, Harry. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated? Oh, please,” Harry said with an exaggerated eye-roll. “If by complicated, you mean ‘basically a soap opera,’ then sure, it’s complicated. What are you guys doing, avoiding eye contact and whispering deep, heartfelt confessions to the moon? Please, just kiss and get it over with.”

“Potter,” Steve muttered, voice tinged with exasperation. “Focus.”

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. No prying into your tragic love life. But really, one day, you two need to have a heart-to-heart. It’s adorable how you’re both miserable without saying anything.”

Before Steve could respond, Bucky, a few steps ahead of them, turned around. “Trust me, Harry, it’s not nearly as fun as it sounds. Let them work through their mess.”

Harry chuckled. “Fair enough. Focus it is. But when you two finally admit your feelings for each other, I’m going to charge you for the counseling fees.”

They stopped in front of the safehouse, the door creaking open slowly. The air inside felt off, like something was watching them, waiting. Harry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he shot a glance at Natasha, who gave him a single nod. Whatever was waiting in there, it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.

"Alright," Steve whispered, his shield at the ready, "Let’s move in."

And just like that, they were off. The door creaked open, the safehouse standing like a silent sentinel, just waiting for the storm that was about to hit. Harry gave a small smile, cracking his knuckles. Time to stir up some trouble. Whatever came next, he had a feeling it was going to be legendary. And not in the good way. More like "do we really need to file a report after this?" kind of legendary.

“Here we go, team,” Harry said, voice filled with a grin. “Let the chaos begin.

Chapter 73: Chapter 72

As the team moved through the quiet Prague alley, Harry Potter—AKA “the guy with more snark than he knows what to do with”—could practically taste the anticipation. The city was as peaceful as a sleeping lion right before it gets poked with a stick. The cobblestones beneath their boots crunched with each step, a sound that was totally out of place in a mission where things were bound to go downhill faster than a broomstick on a rainy day.

“Steve, you sure we’re in the right spot?” Harry asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, because what else would it be? The guy was practically a walking quip machine. “I mean, I know you’re Captain America, but this place looks about as secure as a cardboard box at a wet t-shirt contest.”

Steve Rogers, with his jaw so tight it could’ve cracked walnuts, shot Harry a look. "No more jokes, Potter. We need to focus. This is serious."

“Yeah, serious—like Hydra serious, or 'I accidentally killed my uncle and now the entire city’s in jeopardy' serious?” Harry shot back with a grin.

Bucky, walking a few paces behind them, rolled his eyes. "You know, I kinda miss the old days when you weren’t so… chatty."

“Oh, don’t worry, Buck, you’ll get your fill of me,” Harry said with a wink, his eyes glinting mischievously. "But you know what they say, humor’s the best way to handle the impending disaster."

Clint, trailing behind them and eating a protein bar that looked suspiciously like cardboard, chimed in, “I thought the best way to handle it was with snacks, but sure, humor works too.” He shoved the last bite in his mouth. “You guys gonna handle the 'saving the world' part, right? Because, you know, I’ve got priorities.”

“Focus, Clint,” Steve said with a sigh. "We’ve got work to do."

“Yeah, yeah, Captain Party Pooper,” Clint muttered, but he kept his eyes scanning the shadows like a hawk. They all knew trouble could jump out at any minute.

The safehouse was a nondescript building, looking as uninspiring as a bag of plain chips. It didn’t scream “we’re about to save the world” so much as it whispered “could use a fresh coat of paint.” But Harry knew better than to trust appearances. In the world of espionage and supervillains, the most boring places were often the deadliest.

As they stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. It was like walking into a room where everyone was trying really hard to look like they weren’t hiding a few dozen secrets. You could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a butter knife. Everyone's eyes immediately darted to the woman standing in the center of the room—Agent Morrigan.

She was exactly what you’d expect from a Shield agent with a no-nonsense attitude: sharp, cool, and definitely not here to make small talk. Her black tactical gear fit her like a second skin, her eyes cold but calculating, and her posture? Straight out of a 'How to Look Like a Badass 101' course.

"Agent Morrigan," Steve greeted her with a curt nod, his professional voice kicking in. "We got your message."

Morrigan didn’t waste time. She flicked a switch, and a holographic display lit up, showing a 3D map of Prague. "Erik Einhardt," she said, her voice as sharp as her features, "is holed up in an old military warehouse on the outskirts of town. It’s a perfect hideout—isolated, off the radar, and about as fun as a root canal."

Harry folded his arms, leaning against the wall like he was at a party instead of a high-stakes mission. "Ah, yes. The infamous alchemist who thinks he’s the next Edison, but with more explosions and less social etiquette. What’s his grand plan this time? Another ‘world domination’ thing? Or does he just want to put Hydra back on top of the energy food chain?”

“Energy project,” Morrigan replied, her voice cool and measured. "If it works, Hydra will have a power source capable of changing the balance of everything. That’s why we need to stop it.”

“Right,” Tony Stark—aka Iron Man, aka Mr. Sarcasm Supreme—added from the back of the room, "because who needs an evil genius to figure out how to power the world? Oh, wait. Everyone does. For the record, if it’s a doomsday device, I’ll call dibs on destroying it. Not that I’m selfish, I’m just efficient.”

“Focus, people,” Steve said, eyeing everyone. "This isn’t a game, and we don’t have time for your usual banter."

“Hey, I’m all for focus," Harry interjected, "but what’s the fun in that? You can’t just throw around 'no time for jokes' like it's going to magically stop us from being awesome. I mean, come on. Who do you think we are?”

"You're not wrong," Bucky muttered, scratching at his stubble. “Still, let’s not get ourselves killed, alright?”

Morrigan cleared her throat, cutting through the banter like a hot knife through butter. "There’s one more thing you need to know. Magneto’s in Prague. And you know what that means.”

Harry’s grin grew wider, like a kid in a candy store. "Oh, joy. The big metal guy himself. This day just keeps getting better."

“Magneto and his Brotherhood are here to take down Einhardt," Morrigan continued. "And if they get to him before we do, Hydra’s project could be destroyed, and the city might end up in pieces."

“Not my idea of a vacation,” Tony quipped. “I was hoping to get some rest in between world-saving activities.”

“Magneto isn’t exactly subtle when it comes to making his point,” Natasha added. "And his Brotherhood won’t hesitate to make this mission more of a warzone than it already is."

Harry rubbed his hands together dramatically. "Oooh, a warzone. I do love a good chaotic battle. I mean, who doesn’t? But hey, no worries, I’ll handle the explosions part. You guys can have all the fun with Magneto."

Steve shot Harry a look that could freeze lava. "No time for you to turn this into a circus, Potter."

“Oh, Steve,” Harry said, batting his lashes innocently. “I’m just here for the entertainment. We’re all in this together, right?”

Clint shot him a deadpan look. "Yeah, yeah. And I’m just here for the snacks."

“Get serious, everyone,” Natasha said, her voice cutting through the noise. "We also need to worry about Kraken. Hydra’s top enforcer. He’s guarding Einhardt. And if you think Magneto’s the only threat, think again."

"Kraken? Really?" Harry said, smirking. “So, we’ve got a sea monster wannabe in the mix? This keeps getting better. Next thing you know, we’ll be fighting off a T-Rex.”

"Focus, people," Steve cut in, his voice sharp. "We move fast, secure the project, and get out before Magneto makes things... messier."

"Messier, huh? Can’t wait," Tony grinned. "Let’s blow something up on our way out. For dramatic effect.”

“Right, because that’s always the solution,” Bucky added sarcastically.

With that, they headed out, Morrigan’s intel guiding them every step of the way. Harry’s mind was already racing with possibilities—because when you were Harry Potter, ‘mission impossible’ was just a tagline. And this mission? Oh, it was gonna be a showstopper.

—

The team huddled around the holographic map that Morrigan had pulled up, a 3D display of the military warehouse where Erik Einhardt was holed up like a rat in a bunker. The place was a military complex on the outskirts of Prague, and, let’s be honest, it looked like the kind of place you find in action movies right before everything goes horribly, explosively wrong.

Steve, with his trademark furrowed brow and Captain America vibe, was already squinting at the map, studying the layout. “So, isolated location,” he said, voice steady like he was reading a shopping list. “No civilian areas nearby. That’s a good thing, right?”

“Good for us,” Morrigan agreed, crossing her arms. “Not so good if things go south. This place is like a fortress—walls that could stop a tank, limited access points, and only two ways in: the front and the side. Both are equally dangerous.”

“Of course,” Tony muttered from behind his ever-present holographic screens. “Because when you're going full-on villain lair, you always make the side entrance the cool one. Front doors? Pfft, that’s for amateurs.”

“Yup,” Bucky agreed, tracing a finger over the map. “And that loading dock area? Tight as hell. Not much room to move around in there.”

“I love tight,” Harry said with a grin, kicking his feet up casually. “As long as I can turn things into fireworks. I’m in. Seriously, though, this place screams 'secret lair.' It’s like they’re begging for us to break in.”

“Yeah, and break out if things go wrong,” Natasha said, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll handle the intel. We need to know where everyone is, when, and how many.”

“Aw, don’t worry about me,” Harry said, flashing a grin. “I’m a pro at getting people’s attention. And by the way, you’re the one who looks like you could snap someone’s neck just by looking at them. Not that I’d mind.”

“I’d suggest you try it, but I might not be able to resist snapping yours instead,” Natasha said, deadpan.

“I’d like to see you try,” Harry said, putting his hands on his hips like he was the hero in a buddy cop movie. “But seriously, distraction is my middle name. Or would be if I didn’t love my actual name so much.”

Peggy, never one to waste time on banter, cut in. “We’ll take the loading dock. It’s the best option. We’ll sneak in, use the cover of night to our advantage, and if things go sideways, we can fight our way through.”

Clint, who was leaning casually against a table, spoke up. “Yeah, great. And I’m sure nothing will go wrong. Right? Last time we snuck in, it was ‘oh, let’s just casually break into a grain silo.’ No biggie.”

“I’d love to hear your complaints after we save the day, Clint,” Tony shot back. “Remember, I’m the one who always saves you.”

“Ugh, please,” Clint replied. “Who needs saving? I was doing just fine before you showed up with your shiny suit and gadgets.”

“Guys, focus,” Steve said, using his Captain America authority to shut them both down. “We’ll go in through the loading dock. I’ll lead, Peggy’s with me, Bucky and Clint cover our backs. Natasha, you’re on intel—keep an eye on the guards. We can’t get caught.”

“Leave it to me, Cap,” Natasha said, not looking up from her tablet.

“Gotcha,” Bucky added, cracking his knuckles. “We’ve got your six.”

“I’m really starting to enjoy this whole ‘teamwork’ thing,” Harry said, tapping Steve on the shoulder. “Who would’ve thought? Me, playing nice with others.”

“You don’t have to play nice,” Steve shot back. “But maybe, for once, don’t set off fireworks as soon as we get inside.”

“Aw, come on, Cap,” Harry said with a wink. “Fireworks are my specialty. Precision fireworks.” He grinned again, and it was clear he wasn’t joking. “But fine, no blowing up the building...yet.”

“Fireworks first, questions later,” Tony added. “We’ve all seen how this goes. You can’t tell Harry ‘no’ without some kind of catastrophic explosion happening in the background.”

“True,” Rhodey said with a smirk. “But hey, at least it’s entertaining.”

“I don’t think I’d use the word ‘entertaining’ for ‘explosions’ when we’re trying to be stealthy,” Peggy said with a raised brow.

“Yeah, but you have to admit, it would be kind of funny watching Harry run around like a firecracker on a mission.” Tony grinned. “I mean, who else would make it look that stylish?”

“Let’s not forget, though,” Morrigan interjected, her voice cutting through the chatter. “The facility’s rigged with security cameras, guards, and god knows what kind of traps. We can’t go in like it’s a walk in the park. Timing is everything.”

“You know,” Harry said, smirking at the rest of the team, “sometimes I feel like we’re always the ones getting trapped. Maybe we should stop being the traps and start...setting them.”

Sirius, arms folded, looked up with a grin. “I’ve always wanted to see Hydra’s plans get blown up in their faces.”

“We’re not blowing anything up yet,” Steve said, doing his best to channel his inner ‘Captain America’ calm. “Precision, remember? We’re in, we hit our targets, and we get out.”

“I’m ready for some noise,” Alexei said, cracking his knuckles like he was getting ready for a wrestling match. “A good fight is always better when it’s loud.”

“See?” Bucky said with a dry smile. “Some people get it.”

“I love a good loud fight,” Sirius added, winking at Harry. “But, you know, controlled chaos. Like a fine art.”

“Just wait for the fine art of the escape,” Clint said. “That’s where I come in.”

“I’m sure we’ll all need a little help on the exit,” Rhodey said. “I’ve got the War Machine suit ready to go if we need a little extra firepower.”

“Extra firepower is always a good idea,” Tony said. “Just don’t forget who’s the original firepower here.”

“I’m here for the ‘get in and get out’ part,” Harry said. “You know, the part where I actually get to do the cool stuff? Like distracting bad guys with my devilishly good looks?”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll work,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes. “As long as you don’t blow anything up, we should be good.”

“Don’t make me regret not blowing something up,” Harry said with a grin. “But alright, alright—no explosions, yet.”

“Right,” Steve said, his voice hardening, turning into full Captain mode. “Now, let’s get this over with. We’ve got a target to hit and Hydra to destroy. Move out, people.”

“Finally,” Harry said with a wink. “Let’s make this mission a blast—figuratively speaking, of course.”

—

James and Sirius were at it again. This time, they were playing Santa, but instead of toys and candy canes, they were handing out gadgets that looked like they were straight out of a mad scientist's fever dream. If that scientist had a thing for causing chaos.

James grinned like he’d just stolen the last cookie from the jar. “Alright, listen up, team,” he said, his voice dripping with mischief. “I’ve got something special for everyone.” He gave a dramatic pause. “Special, of course, meaning mildly dangerous.”

Sirius, lounging against the wall like the embodiment of bad decisions, shot a look at James. “Let’s be honest, Prongs. You’ve never met a gadget that didn’t explode at least once. This is more of a ‘fingers crossed it doesn’t set the building on fire’ kind of situation.”

James raised an eyebrow. “You’re no help, Pads.”

“Not helping is my specialty,” Sirius replied, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But yeah, let’s see how much fun we can have before the mission gets boring.”

Clint, who had been lurking in the corner with his usual deadpan expression, muttered, “Great. I’ve got a front row seat to whatever disaster you’re about to cause.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Clint,” James said, slapping him on the back. “You’ll be fine. Now, who’s first?”

Natasha, arms crossed, gave them both a skeptical look. “What do you have for me, Prongs?”

James tossed her a sleek, black device that looked like a regular grappling hook—until you realized it had more buttons than a spaceship. “This,” James said, “is a grappling hook with a little extra. Press the button, and it turns into a decoy—good for when you need to bail fast or make a quick getaway. Or just confuse the hell out of people.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly questioning their sanity. “Decoy? Really?”

“Trust me,” James said, winking. “It’s perfect for when you need to leave people scratching their heads. Just don’t get caught with it.”

“Ah yes,” Natasha muttered, “because I definitely need more things that might blow up on me.”

“Exactly,” Sirius chimed in. “The Marauders always had a flair for that kind of chaos.”

Next, James turned to Harry, who had been eyeing the gadgets with something between amusement and mild concern. James handed him a floating disc, which hovered right in front of Harry’s face, waiting for its cue. “For you, kid,” James said, grinning. “A little something to make a big impression.”

Harry caught it with one hand, inspecting it like it was a new toy. “What’s this?”

“That,” James said, “is a mini distraction bomb. Think of it like a portable air raid siren. It goes off for a few seconds and makes everyone forget whatever they were doing. Great for when you need to cause a little chaos without burning down the place.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “You’ve been holding out on me, Dad. This is brilliant.”

“Proud of you, kid,” James said, puffing out his chest like Harry had just made him proud. “Just, you know—don’t use it on me. We’re in a confined space here.”

“Oh, you’ll be the last to know,” Harry said with a grin, slipping the bomb into his jacket like it was a trophy. “But I will make sure it’s worth the trouble.”

Sirius tossed a sleek, silver knife to Bucky, who caught it with a practiced ease that made it look like he’d been catching weapons for a living. “Here, metal man,” Sirius said, “these knives are special. You throw them, they stick to anything. Well, anything you want to stick to.”

Bucky twirled the knife in his hand like he was deciding how best to use it on someone’s face. “I’ve got a feeling I’m gonna like these.”

“Don’t go starting a knife-throwing competition, Bucky,” James said, raising a warning finger. “We’re not bringing anyone to the ER this time.”

“I’ll try,” Bucky said, smirking. “But no promises.”

Turning to Peggy, James pulled out a sleek, silver watch and handed it to her like it was the Holy Grail. “This,” he said, “is a time-slowing device. It’ll only work for five minutes at a time, but if you need to get in and out in a hurry, this little gadget is your best friend.”

Peggy, raising an eyebrow, slipped the watch onto her wrist like she had every intention of using it right away. “I don’t usually need help escaping, but I’ll take it.”

James gave her a wink. “You’re welcome.”

Clint, who had been waiting patiently for his turn, finally got a look at the silenced pistols Sirius handed him. “Nice,” Clint said, examining the pistols with a critical eye. “You just assume I’m going to need these?”

Sirius grinned, clearly loving the vibe of the whole operation. “I’m not saying you’ll need them,” he said, “but if you do, you’ll want them.”

Clint holstered the guns, clearly liking the look of them. “Good to know.”

“Just don’t go getting too fancy,” Sirius warned. “Last time we let you be the showoff, we had to pay for new curtains.”

Clint shot him a grin. “Can’t help it. It’s a gift.”

Rhodey, who had been watching the whole thing like it was an episode of The Prank Show, stepped forward. “Alright, alright, where’s mine? I’m ready for whatever you’ve got.”

James pulled out a compact grenade, holding it up like it was the most casual thing in the world. “This is a knock-out gas grenade. Toss it, and it’ll put anyone in the area out for fifteen minutes. Perfect for stealthy entrances or just when you want some peace and quiet.” He gave Rhodey a grin. “I’m sure you’ll find it useful.”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow and accepted it, slipping it into his belt. “I’ve been known to need some peace and quiet. This is perfect.”

“Now we’re talking,” Sirius said, slapping Rhodey on the back. “You’re getting into the spirit now.”

Just as things were starting to wind down, Steve Rogers—Captain America, for those living under a rock—clapped his hands together. “Alright, team, listen up,” Steve said, his voice carrying that steady, reliable authority that made you want to follow him into battle. “We’ve got a job to do. Let’s hit that Hydra base, grab Einhardt, and get out of there with minimal chaos. We stick to the plan.”

Harry threw his hands up, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You say ‘minimal chaos,’ Steve, but you and I both know how that goes. Chaos is basically my middle name.”

“Yeah, and I would like to keep the building standing,” Steve said, giving Harry a look that could melt steel. “You keep your flair in check, alright?”

“Sure, Cap,” Harry said, cracking his knuckles like he was about to start a fight. “But don’t blame me if things go boom.”

James slapped his son on the shoulder with all the pride of a father whose son had just become chaos. “You’ve got this, kid.”

With that, the team filed out, ready to make some noise. As they walked off into the night, everyone knew that with a little Marauder-style madness in their pockets, they weren’t just ready to win—they were ready to make Hydra wish they'd never crossed paths with them.

—

The portal flickered to life, a burst of energy filling the air like the sound of a hundred bees all trying to sting you at once. It was something Harry was used to by now—probably because he was the one making the bees sting. With a flick of his wrist, he gestured like a conductor guiding a symphony of chaos. “Alright, team,” he said, his voice smooth like a well-oiled machine, “you’ve got your gear, you’ve got your team, now let’s just hope you can use it without setting the place on fire.”

Steve, the eternal buzzkill, shot him a look as he tightened his grip on his shield. “We’re breaking into a Hydra base, Harry,” he said, trying not to roll his eyes. “Can we maybe keep the chaos level under ‘end-of-the-world’ for once?”

Harry shot Steve a grin so confident it should come with a warning label. “Steve, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried. Don’t worry, Cap. I’ve got a good feeling about this. Nothing says ‘minimal chaos’ like punching Nazis in the face.”

“I’m really going to regret this,” Steve muttered under his breath.

“Yup, but not yet,” Harry said, snapping his fingers with that very familiar pop of magic. The air around them shivered, and within seconds, the team was scattered to their positions. It was like playing chess, if every piece was a loaded gun and had a slightly unhealthy obsession with explosives.

First up was Natasha, who found herself perched on top of a rooftop, crouching down so low she practically blended into the shadows. The wind whipped her hair across her face, but it didn’t stop her from clicking her earpiece into place and muttering, “Okay, I’m in. What now?”

Harry’s voice came through like the voice of a caffeinated ghost. “Don’t go blowing up any buildings yet, Romanoff. Keep your eyes peeled. Don’t make me come up there and do it for you.”

Natasha snorted, adjusting the silencer on her pistol with one hand while simultaneously scanning the base below. “Just try to keep your chaos in check. I’ve got this.”

“Sure, sure,” Harry said, clearly enjoying himself. “Just try not to get yourself caught in a hug again, alright? Hydra has a thing for tying up people in elaborate traps. I don’t think they’re your type.”

“I’ll take that under consideration, Potter,” Natasha said dryly, just before disappearing into the shadows like the professional she was.

Next, Harry gave a little twist of his wrist, and Sirius appeared like a sneaky apparition in the darkness, his voice low but unmistakably amused. “Right where I belong, mate,” he said. “Let’s see if Hydra enjoys some Marauder-style mischief.”

Harry, clearly not surprised, smirked. “Just don’t start anything you can’t finish, Pads. We don’t need you setting the building on fire again.”

Sirius chuckled darkly. “No promises, Harry. But if I do, you’ll be the first to know. Right before it burns down.”

Meanwhile, Clint and Bucky found themselves perfectly dropped into an alleyway, shadowed by the towering buildings around them. Clint adjusted his bowstring and gave a little smirk. “I feel like I’m back in my element,” he said, scanning the streets for movement.

Bucky cracked his knuckles, his metal arm gleaming in the dim light. “Don’t start a fight you can’t finish, Barton. We’ve got work to do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint muttered, rolling his eyes but obviously enjoying the banter. “I’m just here to poke things. With arrows. In places they’ll regret later.”

Harry’s voice, full of playful menace, chimed in. “Remember, Clint—no stabbing unless absolutely necessary. And by necessary, I mean ‘if it helps you get a good shot.’ I trust you, mostly.”

Bucky let out a small laugh, cracking his neck. “As long as it’s not a whole Hydra army, I’ll keep it under control.”

“Famous last words,” Harry muttered before redirecting his magic again. This time, Peggy found herself in an office overlooking the base entrance. She had that serious, calculating look on her face as she tapped at the computer in front of her, already getting to work.

“I’m in,” Peggy said, cool and collected as ever. “I’ll get the intel. The rest of you just don’t turn the place into rubble before I can do my thing.”

Harry laughed, the sound bright and wicked. “Peg, when have I ever turned anything into rubble? Oh, wait, don’t answer that. I’m already regretting it.”

“Do I need to remind you of your tendency to make ‘unexpected exits’?” Peggy shot back. “You have a real talent for blowing things up at the worst possible moments.”

“Hey, no regrets,” Harry said, voice light. “Just consider it my gift to you.”

“And I’ll consider not throttling you a gift to everyone involved,” she replied, typing faster.

As the magic stretched again, Rhodey landed softly in an elevated vent shaft, adjusting his armor and getting to work with the calm precision only a War Machine could have. “How do you do that without breaking a sweat?” he asked, staring at the vent with narrowed eyes. “You’ve got some serious skills, kid.”

“Of course I do,” Harry said, his voice filled with far too much self-satisfaction. “I mean, I didn’t get the nickname ‘Harry Potter’ for being bad at my job. You got the grenades?”

“Got ‘em,” Rhodey said, his voice suddenly serious. “Make sure you’ve got our six. We’ll be relying on you.”

“Don’t worry, War Machine,” Harry said, smirking. “I’ve got this. We’ll bring down Hydra—with flair.”

And then there was Alexei, who, as usual, was anything but subtle. He dropped like a truck through the air, landing with a thud so hard the ground actually seemed to shudder beneath him. He cracked his neck with a loud pop, his Russian accent thick as ever. “You know, Harry,” he said, glancing around at the surroundings, “I do not like being dropped like this. But I will enjoy what happens next.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Harry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just don’t start smashing things until after we’ve gotten the intel. We need to leave something standing, just in case.”

“Fine, fine,” Alexei grumbled, though there was an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. “But only because you ask so nicely.”

Finally, Harry’s voice crackled through their comms once more, this time booming with authority. “Alright, team. Positions are set. No heroics. No speeches. Get in, get the intel, and get out. This isn’t about ‘winning’ today—this is about survival.”

“Got it,” Steve said, his tone steady.

“We’re ready,” Bucky replied, voice gruff but ready.

“I’m always ready,” Clint muttered, adjusting his bow with his usual casual cockiness.

“Keep it smooth,” Peggy reminded them, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

“Yeah, we’re good to go,” Rhodey added.

“You’re all gonna make this look easy,” Harry said, his voice dripping with mischief. “And remember—minimal chaos... unless it’s really necessary.”

And then, with a wink and a snap, he pulled the trigger on the whole thing, and the team was off. In perfect harmony—well, chaotic harmony—every single one of them was poised to take down Hydra, and they weren’t doing it with quiet finesse. No, this was going to be the loudest, most absurd, and most fun heist anyone had ever seen. Minimal chaos? Please. With Harry Potter at the helm? Not a chance.

But it would be spectacular.

—

The Hydra base loomed like a giant, gray thumbprint on the landscape, an industrial hulk of concrete and steel. And there, standing in front of it, was a ragtag group of Avengers and magic-wielders who were about to make their grand entrance. If the base had any idea what was coming, it probably would’ve tucked its tail and run. But then again, Hydra wasn’t known for being the sharpest tool in the shed.

Harry, naturally, was at the center of it all. He had that grin on his face—an expression that screamed "I’m about to break something expensive, and I’m not sorry." His eyes gleamed with that chaotic energy he was known for, like a kid in a candy store who just realized he’s also holding a flamethrower.

“Alright, team,” Harry said, bouncing on his heels like a kid before a field trip. “Let’s make Hydra wish they’d stayed on the moon.”

Tony’s voice crackled through the comms. “Well, Harry, it’s not the moon. But I'm pretty sure they'd prefer that to whatever mess you're about to make.”

“Tony,” Harry drawled, “if I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it. But you’re right—this will be a mess. Just not the one you're hoping for.”

“I’m always hoping for a mess,” Tony shot back. “But hey, try not to break the space-time continuum again. My dad still has questions.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Tell your dad I’m due for a drink. After this mission, I’ll need it.”

A deep voice chimed in, smooth and amused. “So we’re breaking into a Hydra base, causing minimal chaos, right? Or was that Steve’s pipe dream?” Sirius’s grin was practically audible, even through the comms.

“That’s Cap’s problem,” Harry said, the sarcasm dripping from his tone. “We’re going in, grabbing what we need, and leaving just enough destruction to make a statement. Minimal chaos, my foot. Cap's about as good with plans as a puppy with a bone."

“I heard that, Potter,” Steve said, sounding very much like a father figure trying to maintain his composure. “Keep it contained. We don’t need another disaster on our hands.”

“I can’t promise that,” Harry said with a wicked grin. “But I’ll try to keep it within the realms of ‘acceptable destruction.’”

From the shadows, Clint’s voice came in. “Remember the objective, folks. In, out, and no major explosions. Leave the fun for later.”

“Well, that’s boring,” Harry muttered. “Where’s the fun in that? Fine, fine, we’ll stick to the plan… mostly.”

“Great, because that’s what I wanted to hear.” Steve’s voice came through, dry as ever.

“I heard that sigh, Cap,” Harry said with a laugh. “Keep it up and I might just let you handle all the paperwork when this is over.”

Clint, ever the realist, spoke up again, his voice steady. “Get in, get the intel, and get out. That's the plan.”

“Right,” Peggy added, her tone cool and calm as always. “And let's not make it more difficult than it needs to be.”

“Oh, no promises there, Peggy,” Harry said. “I’m pretty sure I’m incapable of making things not complicated.”

The team was in place, and with everyone set, Harry's voice rang out once again. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

First to move was Natasha, slipping into position with all the grace of a shadow. “This feels more like a ‘me’ mission than a ‘you’ mission,” she said, checking her gun one last time. “A few dozen goons, a couple of air vents... I could do this blindfolded.”

“Just keep it subtle, Romanoff,” Harry teased. “No solo heroics today. We all know how those end.”

“Solo heroics are my thing,” she shot back, a smile in her voice. “But fine, I’ll leave the big messes to you.”

"Remember," Harry added, "if anyone catches you again, I’m not coming to bail you out."

“I work alone,” Natasha said with a smile that was pure mischief. “This is just a warm-up.”

“Just don’t get caught this time,” Harry muttered under his breath.

From somewhere behind, Sirius’s voice cut in. “I’m in the shadows, mate. You didn’t forget about me, did you?”

“Of course not,” Harry said with a grin. “Just make sure you don’t get caught again. You have a way of making headlines. ‘Sirius Black: Criminal of the Century’ isn’t exactly a good look.”

“Hey, if the world’s going to notice me, I might as well make it entertaining,” Sirius replied, his voice full of cheek.

“You’re a menace,” Harry said with a laugh. “But you’re my menace.”

Next, Bucky and Clint were huddled in a dark alley, a perfect spot for their brand of subtlety. Clint checked his quiver. “Alright, we’re here, but I’m getting the feeling things are about to get interesting.”

“I like interesting,” Bucky said with a grin, cracking his knuckles like he was preparing for a fight. “And when it gets interesting, I’m the first to step in.”

“Just remember what Harry said,” Clint reminded him. “No fights unless absolutely necessary.”

“No promises,” Bucky replied with that signature smirk. “I’m not the ‘leave it to others’ guy.”

“I’ll make sure you don’t start any international incidents,” Clint said dryly.

“I think you’re the one who does that,” Bucky said with a wink.

Rhodey’s voice popped in, his usual cool, professional tone cutting through the comms. “I’m up in the vents. Not the first time, but I’ll tell you this—next time I vote for the elevator.”

“Don’t get comfy, War Machine,” Harry said, his voice amused. “We need you on the move. Ready with those knockout grenades? Don’t leave us hanging.”

“Always ready, kid,” Rhodey replied. “Just make sure you’ve got my back up there.”

“Of course,” Harry said, a bit too casually. “Just don’t go dropping through the ceiling again. I like my walls intact.”

The sound of Alexei landing with a thud interrupted the banter. “I’m here,” he grunted, cracking his neck as if it were a routine. “Nothing like a good drop. Feels right.”

“Just don’t level the whole building, okay?” Harry said, an exaggerated groan in his voice. “We need this place for the getaway.”

“Fine, fine,” Alexei said with a shrug. “But when I get bored, I might break a few things.”

“Good boy,” Harry said, practically purring with mock affection. “Now let’s show Hydra how it’s done.”

“Team,” Harry said, his voice growing more serious. “No one gets left behind. No lone wolves. And no big explosions without my say-so. Got it?”

A chorus of voices came in.

“Got it,” Steve confirmed.

“We’re in,” Clint added, his voice steady.

“Let’s make this quick,” Bucky said.

“I’m ready to go,” Peggy affirmed, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she worked her magic.

“Let’s do this,” Natasha muttered under her breath.

“I’m all set,” Rhodey replied.

“Let’s make it interesting,” Alexei chuckled.

Harry’s grin was almost palpable through the comms. “Good. Let’s make Hydra wish they’d stayed on the moon.”

And with that, the mission began. Each of them moved with a practiced, coordinated precision, their banter serving as the perfect background noise to the chaos they were about to bring down on Hydra.

Chapter 74: Chapter 73

If there were an official guidebook for evil lairs, Hydra had not only read it but underlined the important parts and added helpful annotations like “Make sure everything smells vaguely of damp socks and despair.”

The hallways were dimly lit because, obviously, evil scientists hated good lighting. The walls were gray, made of some kind of soul-crushing concrete, and the whole place carried the distinct ambiance of We do bad things here. Trespassers will be vaporized.

Which, naturally, was why Harry and his team were crashing the party.

"Alright, keep moving," Steve commanded over the comms, his voice all business in that Captain America way that made everyone instinctively straighten up—even those who weren’t in the room with him.

The plan was simple.

Step One: Find Erik Einhardt, the Hydra scientist-slash-evil wizard responsible for their latest ridiculous doomsday project.

Step Two: Swipe any data that Hydra would rather keep hidden.

Step Three: Blow some stuff up (but tastefully).

Step Four: Escape before Hydra threw their usual tantrum and unleashed their entire goon army.

“Right, right. Minimal destruction,” Harry muttered, adjusting his grip on his wand. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

J.A.R.V.I.S., ever the supportive yet deeply judgmental AI, chimed in. “Based on your track record, sir, I estimate that ‘minimal destruction’ will last approximately… thirty-seven seconds.”

“Okay, rude.”

“My calculations are rarely incorrect.”

“He’s got you there, kid,” Tony added, amusement clear in his voice from his position outside the base. “Also, fun fact—Hydra’s redundant security system? Already tripped it. So, congrats! You’re on a timer.”

Clint groaned. “We tripped the alarm? I thought Nat disabled it!”

“I did disable it,” Natasha said, voice perfectly calm. “Hydra had a backup system. Unlike some people.”

“Are you insulting me?”

“I am always insulting you.”

“She has a point,” Bucky muttered, smirking as he adjusted his pistol.

"Alright, focus," Steve sighed, sounding painfully like a kindergarten teacher trying to keep his class from eating glue. "Harry, lead the way."

Harry grinned and flicked his wrist. A golden arc of magic shot down the hall, hitting the two Hydra guards before they even knew what was happening. They crumpled like cheap folding chairs.

Rhodey let out an impressed whistle. “Damn, Potter. That was clean.”

"Yeah, well, I was trained by the best." Harry shot a smirk at Sirius.

Sirius winked. “I am amazing.”

“Quit showboating,” Moody grumbled. His mad eye swiveled, scanning the hallway like it owed him money. "Where’s this bloody Einhardt?"

“Two levels down, central lab,” Peggy cut in, her voice cool and precise as ever. "According to J.A.R.V.I.S., he's working on an alchemical energy source. Hydra’s been throwing a lot of resources at it."

“Hydra and unethical science experiments,” James muttered. “A tale as old as time.”

Erica, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly tensed. “Something’s wrong about this place,” she murmured, her emerald eyes flickering with energy.

Harry glanced at her. “Yeah? More wrong than usual?”

“There’s something dark here,” she said, voice low. “Something old.”

Morrigan, keeping to the shadows, spoke for the first time. “She’s right. This isn’t just some mad scientist project. Einhardt’s been dabbling in something very dangerous.”

“Great. Evil wizard doing evil wizard things,” Alexei grunted. “Why is it never just simple bad guys with guns?”

“Because that would be boring,” Harry said cheerfully.

Sirius grinned. “And because we have awful luck.”

“Less talking, more moving,” Steve ordered, pushing forward.

They swept through the corridors with ruthless efficiency. Natasha ghosted ahead, dropping guards before they could blink. Clint provided cover fire, while Bucky dismantled anyone dumb enough to get in his way. Harry? Well, Harry had his own style—

“Potter, stop playing with them!” Steve groaned, watching as Harry transfigured a Hydra soldier’s rifle into a bouquet of daisies.

Harry feigned innocence. “Would you rather I just kill them, Cap?”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just—just get to the lab!"

Finally, they reached a massive reinforced door lined with glowing runes. Hydra wasn’t messing around.

Moody squinted at the symbols. “This ain’t just magic, Potter. This is old.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry waved him off. “I got this.”

Steve eyed him warily. “Do not explode the door.”

Harry sighed dramatically. “Wow. No faith in me at all.”

“None,” Peggy deadpanned.

“Not even a little,” Natasha added.

“Yeah, I got nothing either,” Clint said.

"Shocking," Harry muttered, then raised his wand. “Alright, kids, time for a little trick I like to call Ancient Runic Bypass—”

The moment he touched the runes, the entire hallway shook.

“Uh, guys?” Rhodey said. “I think he just activated something big.”

A mechanical voice blared from the speakers. “Intruders detected. Security lockdown initiated.”

And then a deep, chilling laugh echoed through the base.

“Oh, that’s bad,” Erica murmured.

Bucky grimaced. “Oh, that’s worse.”

A voice crackled through the intercom, silk-smooth and oozing arrogance.

"Ah, it seems I have visitors. How delightful. Mr. Potter, I must admit—I was not expecting you. But fate does love its little ironies."

Harry’s eyes darkened. “Einhardt.”

"Ah, so you do know me." Einhardt sounded far too pleased. "Tell me, Potter, have you ever truly understood power? Or are you still just playing at being a hero?"

Harry tilted his head. “Huh. Y’know, it’s funny. Every power-hungry megalomaniac thinks they’re the first one to ask me that.”

Einhardt chuckled. "We shall see soon enough. But I do hope you survive. I'd love to study you."

“Yeah, hard pass,” Harry said flatly.

The runes on the door flared. The alarms screeched. The walls shook.

“Well,” Sirius drawled. “That’s probably not good.”

"Potter," Steve gritted out, bracing himself, "Get us through that door. Now."

Harry cracked his knuckles, eyes lighting up with magic. “Stand back, folks. Time for some real fireworks.”

The air hummed. Magic gathered.

And then all hell broke loose.

—

The moment Harry’s magic surged, the reinforced door—allegedly "unbreakable"—exploded like cheap glassware in a microwave. Runes shattered, sending arcs of raw magic crackling through the air. The power flickered, alarms screamed, and for a brief moment, the entire Hydra base plunged into darkness.

Then, as if on cue, the emergency red lights sputtered on, casting everything in an ominous, blood-red glow.

“Oh, now it looks like a proper Hydra base,” Tony muttered through the comms. “Just missing the dramatic Nazi chanting and some guy with a skull for a head.”

“I mean, we can always paint some faces red,” Sirius offered.

Steve turned to give Sirius a look so stern it could’ve been used as a disciplinary measure in the U.S. Army.

Before anyone could get another snarky remark in, the massive doors groaned open. Inside was exactly what one would expect from a secret evil science lab—ominous-looking machines, rows of glowing vials labeled Definitely Not A Superweapon, and a raised platform where a middle-aged man in a far-too-expensive coat stood, flanked by heavily armed Hydra goons.

Harry immediately recognized him from the mission brief. Erik Einhardt. Hydra alchemist. War criminal. Probably spent way too much time practicing his villain speeches in the mirror.

Einhardt clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes glowing faintly green. “I must admit, I did not expect you to break through the runes so quickly.”

Harry cracked his knuckles, his magic still thrumming in the air. “Yeah, well, I have a very aggressive approach to problem-solving.”

Einhardt smirked. “Tell me, Potter—do you truly understand the potential you hold? Or are you simply content to be the tool of your so-called allies?”

Harry tilted his head. “We doing the whole ‘join me, and together we shall rule the galaxy’ thing? Because I promise I will laugh.”

Einhardt chuckled. “No. I am simply offering perspective.” He gestured to the glowing machinery behind him. “You fascinate me, Mr. Potter. A man of two worlds—magic and science. But I have unlocked something greater.”

The air shifted.

Everything suddenly felt wrong—like reality itself was holding its breath. Symbols carved into the walls pulsed with unnatural light. The energy radiating from them was unmistakable.

Harry swore under his breath. “Oh, bollocks.”

James’ eyes narrowed. “He’s tapped into something foul.”

Moody let out a sharp breath, his magical eye whirring. “This isn’t just alchemy or dark magic—he’s merged the two.”

Einhardt’s smirk widened. “Ah, so you understand. Good. Then you will truly appreciate what happens next.”

He raised one hand.

The vials along the walls shattered, spilling thick, viscous black energy onto the floor. It slithered like a living thing, seeping into the fallen Hydra soldiers.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then—sickening cracks. Limbs twitching.

And the dead rose.

Sirius grimaced. “Necromancy. Bloody fantastic.”

Clint groaned. “Why is it always zombies?”

“Because we have awful luck,” Harry quipped, raising his wand.

The reanimated Hydra soldiers moved fast—too fast. They lunged, eyes glowing, bodies jerking unnaturally.

Harry reacted instantly.

His claws snikt out, Vibranium gleaming under the emergency lights. With a single fluid motion, he ripped through the first wave of undead, slicing through them like they were made of wet paper.

Bucky’s Vibranium arm whirred as he fired off precise headshots. Natasha danced through the chaos, knives flashing.

And Sirius? He’d gone full Animagus—a massive black dog tearing through undead throats with the kind of enthusiasm that would get him permanently banned from every dog park.

The room was a whirlwind of magic, bullets, and undead carnage.

And Einhardt? He just watched, smiling like a man who knew the best part of the movie was coming up.

Harry caught his eye, magic crackling at his fingertips. “What’s your deal, Evil Posh Guy? You just gonna stand there and monologue, or are you actually gonna fight?”

Einhardt chuckled. “Oh, Mr. Potter. I have already won.”

And then—

The floor shattered.

Dark tendrils erupted from the ground, wrapping around Harry’s limbs, yanking him toward the abyss. He snarled, magic flaring as he burned away the tendrils—but not before a massive surge of energy slammed into him, sending him flying across the room.

He crashed into the wall, Vibranium skeleton absorbing the kinetic energy. His core swelled with stored power.

Harry grinned.

“Oh, mate,” he said, rolling his shoulders, energy humming beneath his skin. “You just messed up.”

He raised his hand—

—And unleashed hell.

A golden blast of kinetic and magical energy exploded outward, incinerating the undead, obliterating machinery, and sending Einhardt flying into the far wall.

For the first time, the smug look vanished from Einhardt’s face.

Harry cracked his neck, flexing his claws. “Yeah, see, the problem with punching me is that I punch back harder.”

Einhardt snarled, pushing himself up, eyes blazing with magic. “You think this is over?”

Harry twirled his wand. “Oh, I know it is.”

Then he vanished—

—and reappeared right in front of Einhardt, claws raised, magic crackling.

The last thing the Hydra scientist saw was Harry’s wicked grin.

And then—

Darkness.

—

The alarms were still blaring. The fight was over.

Harry stepped back, breathing heavily, as Einhardt’s unconscious (but very much alive) body crumpled to the floor.

J.A.R.V.I.S. chimed in. “Sir, I believe congratulations are in order. You managed to contain the destruction to approximately fifty-eight percent of the base.”

Harry winced. “Steve is gonna kill me.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, patting him on the back. “But hey—worth it.”

Steve stormed in, taking in the absolute wreckage.

“Potter,” he said, voice tight. “What did I say about minimal destruction?”

Harry gave him his most innocent look.

“…Define ‘minimal’?”

Steve sighed. Deeply.

Tony, still on comms, was cackling. “Oh, man. This was worth the mission. Cap’s having a stroke.”

Rhodey let out a long-suffering sigh. “Just get to the extraction point before he decides to throw you off a helicarrier.”

Harry grinned, flicking his wand to levitate Einhardt’s unconscious form.

“Right. Mission accomplished.”

He turned to the others.

“Let’s go home.”

—

The air hummed with tension, crackling like a live wire just waiting for someone to touch it. The portal shimmered before them, bright and inviting, promising safety and a warm cup of something strong to drink—just the kind of relief they needed after a mission that could only be described as “slightly more hazardous than usual.”

Harry, who was carrying Einhardt in an effortless float, rolled his eyes as he squinted into the distance. “You know, I was actually really looking forward to some quiet time,” he grumbled, his voice low, but still dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe find a corner and have a little ‘me time.’ Instead, we get this.” He gestured vaguely with his wand, as though the universe was personally affronting him.

Bucky, who was watching the horizon like it was a bad reality show, sighed deeply. "Oh, I know the feeling. Just when you think you can call it a night... Magneto decides to show up and ruin everything."

And sure enough, just as the words left his mouth, the ground trembled beneath their boots. The earth seemed to groan under some heavy weight, and the wind picked up, tangling their hair like they’d all just stuck their heads out of a moving car.

And then, as if drawn by the tension, the air shifted. They were not alone anymore. A shadow loomed in front of them, one that was so imposing it could’ve been carved out of stone itself.

Magneto.

He wasn’t in the mood for small talk. No, he was here to make a point.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Magneto called out in that smooth, gravely voice, his cape flaring out dramatically as he landed, causing the metal around them to groan in protest. “But I’ve come to collect what’s mine.”

Sabretooth followed behind him, cracking his knuckles like a man ready to punch the sun, and Mastermind, ever the schemer, was grinning like this was the most fun he’d had in days.

Tony, who had been eyeing the sky for incoming trouble, straightened up and couldn’t help but quip, “Oh look, it’s the family reunion I never wanted to attend. Must’ve missed the invite. You should’ve called. I would’ve sent a card.”

Steve, ever the Captain, was already assessing the situation. His shield was at the ready, but he knew they were in a tight spot. "What do you want, Magneto?" he asked, his voice as steady as ever.

Magneto's eyes—those glowing red eyes—narrowed, and the look on his face wasn’t so much a glare as it was a promise. “I want him,” he said, his hand flicking towards Einhardt’s limp form, suspended in midair like a discarded doll. “My uncle.”

“Uncle?” Harry raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Really? You’ve got an uncle who—oh, I don’t know—decided to join Hydra?” He practically choked on the words. "Oh, sorry. Did I say uncle? I meant 'guy who should’ve known better.' Family drama, right?"

Magneto’s expression darkened. “You have no idea what Hydra did to my family,” he said, voice thick with anger. “My mother—Einhardt’s sister—was murdered by their experiments. They tore apart everything that was mine. And he... He betrayed us. Joined them.” His fists clenched, and the metal around them shuddered, as though it too were feeling the weight of his emotions.

Harry took a deep breath, adopting a look of mock sympathy. “Listen, man, I get it. Family issues suck. But let’s be real. You’re not getting him. We’ve got bigger plans for this guy. Namely, a cozy Black Site somewhere nice and secure, where he won’t be doing any more... shady science experiments.”

Magneto’s lips twisted into something between a sneer and a smile. “You think you can stop me?” he asked, voice dripping with disdain. “You, a boy with magic tricks. A fool.”

“I’ve been called worse,” Harry shrugged, unbothered, as if he wasn’t currently surrounded by the literal embodiment of metal. “But I can assure you, Uncle Maggy, you don’t want to test me. I’ll make your little show-and-tell look like a kindergarten art class.”

Bucky snorted at that, earning him a glare from Steve, who was trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism in a very unprofessional moment. “You really like poking the hornet’s nest, don’t you?” Bucky muttered, clearly not enjoying the situation.

“Hey,” Harry said, holding up a hand. “Somebody’s got to keep the morale up around here, right?”

As if on cue, the air around them shifted again, and Harry felt the magnetic pull intensify, bending metal and warping space itself. He quickly raised his wand, but Magneto’s powers were already whirling around them—twisting everything, pulling iron from their own suits. JARVIS’s voice crackled in Harry’s ear, sounding frustrated. “Sir, your armor’s systems are... compromised. I cannot engage in this environment.”

“Oh, thanks, JARVIS,” Harry said dryly, rolling his eyes. “I was so sure that the Iron Man suit would save the day. My bad for thinking we could fight an entire magnetic storm with nothing but high-tech fashion.”

Mastermind let out a low chuckle from behind Magneto, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he no doubt set up some mental trickery. “You think your little portal will save you?” he sneered. “You’re surrounded, Potter.”

Sabretooth bared his teeth, clearly itching for a fight. “This is gonna be fun,” he growled, his claws extending menacingly. “No magic or gadgets can save you now.”

Harry, despite the overwhelming odds, still couldn’t resist one more snarky comment. “Fun? You guys call this fun? I mean, you’re like the worst Avengers knock-off. Really. What’s next? A Magne-Show?”

And just as things were about to get way worse—just as Magneto lifted his hand and made a move to rip apart everything they stood on—

“Boom.”

The sound of engines came thundering through the sky, interrupting the building storm of chaos. There was no mistaking it: the reinforcements had arrived. The unmistakable roar of jets cut through the air like thunder, and suddenly the tension broke like a dam, all eyes turning toward the source.

Steve’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Now that’s an entrance,” he muttered under his breath, but his eyes never left Magneto.

Magneto, for his part, faltered for just a second, his gaze snapping toward the incoming sound. What now? The last thing he’d expected was backup, and if there was anything that Magneto didn’t like, it was unexpected surprises.

Harry, on the other hand, flashed a grin that could only be described as ferocious. “And here I was thinking we might have to do all the heavy lifting ourselves. But no, looks like the cavalry’s here, just in time for the show.”

—

The air was alive with tension. Magneto stood at the center of it all, like a storm cloud ready to explode, his fingers twitching, his lips curling into a grin that made everyone on the ground a little bit nervous.

"Okay, this is gonna be good," Harry muttered under his breath, cracking his knuckles. "Watch and learn, folks. Magneto’s about to have a very bad day."

And then, with all the subtlety of a toddler throwing a tantrum, Magneto flicked his wrist. The ground shuddered. The air hummed with energy. The metal around them—a mix of scrap, wreckage, and, of course, SHIELD's high-tech gear—twisted, groaned, and rushed towards the sky.

Harry didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, grinning like a man who knew something no one else did.

"Uh-oh," Bucky said, looking up at the sky. "This feels like it’s gonna be a ‘watch me fail miserably’ moment."

Harry shot him a glance, shrugging as if to say, yep, exactly that.

"Magneto thinks he can just drag down our jets?" Harry snorted. "He’s about to be very disappointed."

Magneto's eyes blazed with an intensity that could probably melt a few continents. He raised his arms like some kind of dark emperor, his gaze locked onto the incoming jets. Lily Potter and Melinda May were flying them—because, naturally, Harry’s mom and their best agent had to be the ones in the cockpit during all of this chaos. But as the planes neared the battlefield, Magneto snapped his fingers, calling the power of his magnetic field to seize them.

And then… nothing happened.

Bucky grinned like he’d just won a poker hand. "Guess what, big guy? Those planes? Not made out of your average tin can. They’re made out of vibranium."

Magneto’s eyes narrowed like he’d just stepped on a LEGO. He tried again, pouring more power into the attempt. The jets just kept on flying, smooth as butter.

"Yeah," Bucky continued, thoroughly enjoying the show, "You might wanna check with SHIELD before you try pulling something like that. They’ve got it covered."

Magneto was not impressed. "You think you’ve won?" he snapped, his voice a whip-crack of fury. "You cannot escape what is coming."

Steve Rogers, who had been standing stoically nearby, hefted his vibranium shield with the practiced ease of someone who'd been doing this his whole life. "I’m pretty sure we already did, Erik," he said, his voice calm, like he was giving a lecture on history. "And you're about to get a lesson in what happens when you mess with SHIELD."

Peggy Carter, standing beside him, didn’t even bat an eyelash. "If you think you’re getting past us, you’d better be prepared for a very long day, Erik."

Magneto snarled. His power flared as he launched an attack, but Steve and Peggy didn’t even blink. Their shields slammed into the magnetic force, creating a high-pitched screech that could probably be heard across several countries.

"You really think that’s gonna work?" Steve asked, his voice light with just a touch of sarcasm.

Meanwhile, Harry wasn’t paying attention to the Magneto mess. He was too busy facing off against the ever-lovely Sabretooth, who was grinning like he’d just been told Harry was a snack and not a threat.

"Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine?" Harry quipped, adjusting his stance as Sabretooth lunged toward him. The mutant’s claws gleamed as they flashed through the air like blades from a nightmare.

Sabretooth snorted, clearly annoyed. "I’m gonna rip you apart, kid."

Harry, however, was in no mood for the cliché bad guy speeches. He flashed his own vibranium claws, twirling them casually before smirking. "You really think that’s gonna work? Let me guess, ‘you don’t know who I am’—is that it?"

The two clashed in a flurry of metal and muscle. Harry’s claws collided with Sabretooth’s in a symphony of sound, like two wild animals colliding in mid-air. Harry’s healing factor kicked in, every cut and scratch disappearing before Sabretooth could even register it.

The mutant roared in frustration as Harry darted around him with lightning speed, slashing and dodging, a blur of red and gold.

Meanwhile, Sirius Black and James Potter were dealing with Mastermind, who had tried—unsuccessfully, mind you—to mess with their minds. He was giving it his best shot, but thanks to years of Occlumency training, Sirius and James were immune to his illusions. Mastermind was throwing his mental tricks at them like they were water balloons, and it just wasn’t sticking.

"You really should’ve stuck with actual magic, Erik," Sirius said, ducking a particularly wild illusion that looked like it was trying to turn the world upside down. "This is honestly too easy."

James, meanwhile, was busy grinning like he was about to get a free drink. "Yeah, Mastermind," he taunted. "You’ve got to get better than that."

Mastermind snarled, trying to adjust his illusions, but nothing was working. He was getting more and more frustrated, while Sirius and James were clearly enjoying themselves. To them, this was like a game of whack-a-mole—except the moles were ridiculously powerful mutants.

But through it all, Harry didn’t take his eyes off Sabretooth. He was faster, stronger, and had a healing factor that was going to give the big guy nightmares. With one final flourish, Harry spun around and drove his claws into Sabretooth’s side, knocking him to the ground with a satisfying thud.

"Yeah, I’m definitely winning this one," Harry muttered under his breath, giving Sabretooth one last look. "Maybe next time you’ll be more of a challenge."

The team was quickly gathering around the jet. They had a job to do—get Einhardt out of there, pronto. As the others finished clearing the area, Moody barked orders. "Move it! We’re not out of the woods yet!"

The team quickly loaded the unconscious Einhardt into the jet, which had already begun to lift off. The engines roared to life, cutting through the battlefield noise like a hot knife through butter.

"That’s it, then," Harry said with a grin, as the team lifted into the air. "We’re outta here. And next time, someone remind me to bring a bigger snack. I feel like I could’ve eaten Sabretooth for dinner."

As the jet sped off, Harry leaned back in his seat, watching the battlefield fade into the distance.

"Well, that was fun. Let’s never do that again," he said, smiling at Bucky, who was nodding in agreement. "Seriously, though, next time I’m calling shotgun."

"Next time?" Bucky repeated with a chuckle. "Kid, we’re gonna need more than one jet for that."

And that, right there, was just another day in the life of Harry Potter—flying away from a battle he had won, leaving a trail of chaos and banter behind him.

—

Down on the ground, the aftermath of their failed mission was nothing short of a disaster—if by “disaster,” you mean a group of supervillains who were now arguing like a family on a road trip that had just hit every pothole along the way. And really, if it weren’t so miserable, it’d be kind of funny.

Magneto stood there, fuming. If you’ve ever seen a storm cloud that’s about to tear apart the sky just because someone looked at it wrong, then you know exactly how his face looked right now. The air around him crackled with the kind of energy that made you want to step back and pretend you hadn’t accidentally insulted his mother or his helmet. His fists were clenched so tight, it was a wonder he didn’t start bending metal just out of sheer frustration.

"How—how dare they?" Magneto muttered under his breath, eyes flashing with rage. His voice was thick with the kind of anger you only hear from a person who’s really been wronged—like someone stole his favorite rare comic book, and it wasn’t even a good one to begin with, but he was still offended. "Vibranium. Of course. Why wouldn’t they have vibranium? The one thing my powers can’t even—"

Sabretooth, who was standing next to him and trying not to look too interested in the giant flying metal birds overhead, snorted. “Yeah, vibranium, real big problem there, Chief. But uh, real question is… what the heck is vibranium, anyway? Some kind of shiny metal? You know, for someone who calls themselves ‘Magneto,’ you sure get thrown off by the shiny stuff.”

Magneto’s glare could’ve melted steel. "I’m well aware of what it is, Creed," he spat, voice dripping with venom. "It’s the one thing I can’t manipulate. It repels magnetism." He threw his hands up in the air dramatically, like he was auditioning for the role of ‘Man Who Will Break Anything in His Path,’ even if it was just his own dignity. "How did they get their hands on it? And why does everything seem to have it these days?! First the jets, now—why?"

Sabretooth crossed his arms, not looking nearly as upset as Magneto, but still with the kind of smug grin you’d see on someone who just heard a terrible joke but decided to laugh anyway. "Maybe the rich guys are just really into shiny things. You know, like their jet collection or that thing they call ‘style.’”

Mastermind, who had been eerily quiet up until now, finally spoke up. "I don’t know about the jets part, but I know one thing for sure—this was supposed to be simple." He waved a hand, as though he was shooing away a fly that dared to bother his genius. "Some mind control, a little bit of chaos, and then we have Einhardt in our clutches like a nice warm, squishy cookie."

Magneto turned his eyes to Mastermind, who was looking very much like someone who just realized he’d missed a critical part of the game and was trying to play it off as no big deal. "Simple?" Magneto practically hissed, his voice like an angry buzz saw cutting through the air. "You made it complicated. Your illusions were as useful as a paper bag in a hurricane. Next time, leave the mind games to someone who doesn’t think an illusion means, ‘oh, let me distract them with a blurry image of me looking important.’"

Mastermind blinked, completely unfazed. "Well, I’m sorry if you think that pulling off a massive illusion to make the enemy think they were seeing—what was it, again?—their worst nightmare was a bit too much. Maybe next time we just throw the whole plan into the ocean and see what happens?"

Sabretooth growled under his breath. “Yeah, great idea, Mastermind. Maybe next time you can get your head out of the clouds long enough to realize you’re about to get sliced in half.”

Magneto, clearly at the edge of his patience, shot a glare so cold it could freeze time itself. "Enough. I don’t need either of you blaming each other while I am left to fix the mess you’ve created." His voice lowered, the ground vibrating with his power. "We’re retreating. Regrouping. And then we will show these... heroes... what it means to challenge the master of magnetism."

Sabretooth flexed his claws and cracked his neck, clearly unimpressed. "I still say we take out the jets. No one’s stopping me from shredding those things into pieces."

Magneto turned sharply, his eyes cold. "You almost lost your head to a child with claws, Creed," Magneto muttered, voice laced with scorn. "Not exactly the best track record for stopping anything, is it?"

Sabretooth, clearly stung by the reminder, bared his teeth. "Yeah, yeah. I’m not getting emotional here," he growled. "But let me tell you something, boss, if you keep getting us into these messes, you might find that the claws aren’t the only thing I’m willing to use."

Mastermind threw his hands up, exasperated. "Oh, yes, let’s all make threats like we’re in some bad action movie. I’m sure that will make everything better." He turned to Magneto with a dramatic sigh. "You know, you’re a real joy to be around. Such a pleasure."

Magneto shot him a look that could’ve leveled a building. "Shut. Up."

With that, the team reluctantly began to retreat, all of them grumbling, glaring, and muttering about their various plans—most of which involved a lot more violence than what the mission had originally called for.

As they moved away, Magneto’s voice was the last thing that lingered in the air. "They’ll regret this. I will make sure they all regret this."

Sabretooth’s voice followed after, an almost casual note to it. "Hey, I’m all for making them regret it, as long as it involves punching someone in the face."

Mastermind, finally looking like he was ready for the next master plan (because of course he had one), smirked. "I’m sure we can make this work. It’ll just take a little more... subtlety. After all, who needs to rip through things when you can just... manipulate them?"

Magneto’s only reply was a single, angry sigh as he floated away, the sound of his power winding down like a storm before the next flash of lightning.

And so, with the battle at a standstill but their determination as strong as ever, they vanished into the shadows, ready to regroup, reassess, and do it all over again. Because when you’re a villain, failure’s just another word for warm-up.

Chapter 75: Chapter 74

The Quinjet hummed through the night sky, cutting through the clouds like it had somewhere better to be. Inside, the team was in various states of exhaustion, satisfaction, and—for some—outright gloating.

Harry Potter stretched out in his seat with a long, satisfied sigh. “Well, that was fun,” he said, as though they hadn’t just embarrassed one of the most powerful mutants on the planet in front of his own people.

Across from him, Bucky Barnes was still grinning, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. “Okay, I’m just gonna say it. That was way smoother than I expected. Usually, when Magneto shows up, it’s a whole thing—metal flying, speeches about mutant supremacy, us getting thrown through a few buildings.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry shrugged, “we came prepared. Plus, it’s hard to be intimidating when your evil-mastermind plan gets shut down by a simple material upgrade.”

“Which reminds me,” Steve Rogers cut in, looking over at Lily, who was seated in the pilot’s chair, effortlessly guiding the Quinjet through the sky. “Since when did SHIELD have vibranium jets?”

Lily glanced at him through the rearview mirror—because, of course, the Quinjet had a rearview mirror. “Since Adler, Howard Stark, and I decided we weren’t interested in playing fair anymore.”

Peggy Carter, seated beside Steve, raised a perfectly skeptical eyebrow. “You’re telling me Gellert Grindelwald designed this thing?”

“Reformed Gellert Grindelwald,” Lily corrected, flipping a few switches. “Don’t get me wrong, he still has that ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude, but he’s been useful. He and Howard managed to blend magic and tech in a way that even I didn’t think was possible.” She patted the dashboard fondly. “This baby? She’s not just a Quinjet. She’s a spell-cast, rune-inscribed, magical masterpiece. Think of her as a flying fortress with an attitude.”

“So basically, a Stark invention with extra steps?” Harry asked.

“Exactly.”

“Now hold on,” Tony Stark’s voice cut through their comms. “I heard my name, and since I’m not currently in the jet, I can only assume one of two things: either you’re crediting me for a job well done, or you’re blaming me for something that exploded.”

“I’d say fifty-fifty,” Rhodey chimed in. “Safe bet when Tony’s involved.”

“Wow. Betrayal. And here I thought I was the heart of this team,” Tony said, sounding wounded.

“Tony, you’re more like the ego of this team,” Natasha Romanoff muttered, not even looking up from where she was casually cleaning her gun.

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, Romanoff.”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to the others. “Alright, so we’ve got a magic jet, an unconscious scientist in the cargo hold, and we just publicly embarrassed Magneto. Where’s our next stop?”

“Prague,” Lily answered. “Safehouse on the outskirts. SHIELD has an old facility there that we’ve repurposed for cases like this. It’s warded, reinforced, and off the grid. Nobody’s getting in unless we let them.”

Harry snorted. “And how much do you wanna bet Magneto’s gonna try anyway?”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Sirius Black, lounging in one of the seats with his boots propped up on the table like he owned the place, let out a low whistle. “Man, I missed this kind of chaos. Nothing like pissing off the most powerful mutants on the planet to really get the blood pumping.”

James Potter, seated beside him, grinned. “You just like showing off.”

“Obviously,” Sirius said, waving a hand. “It’s a gift.”

“You know, it’s truly inspiring to see the legendary Marauders act like teenagers with a fresh learner’s permit,” Erica remarked dryly, flipping through a file.

Steve, who had been rubbing his temples since the conversation started, sighed deeply. “We should be focusing on what comes next. Einhardt had information. If Magneto was willing to go to these lengths to silence him, then we need to find out why.”

“Agreed,” Peggy said, crossing her arms. “Once we land, we get him stabilized, then we start asking questions.”

“Interrogating,” Natasha corrected. “Let’s not sugarcoat it.”

“Hey, let’s be fair,” Clint Barton chimed in from the back. “We can sugarcoat it. We just… won’t.”

“You all scare me,” Alexei Shostakov muttered.

“Good,” Moody grumbled. “You should always be scared.”

Harry leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as the Quinjet continued its journey. “You know, for once, I was kinda hoping for a quiet mission.”

Bucky snorted. “Kid, I don’t think you know what a quiet mission looks like.”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted, grinning. “Probably not.”

As the Quinjet soared toward Prague, leaving behind the battlefield and the wreckage of yet another showdown with Magneto, one thing was clear—this was far from over.

And if history had taught them anything, the worst was yet to come.

—

If there was one universal truth in the multiverse, it was this: nothing good ever happened in an abandoned warehouse.

The Quinjet touched down just outside Prague with the kind of smoothness that only came from either very skilled piloting or very expensive technology. The safehouse looked exactly like the kind of place where bad guys stored crates full of mysterious glowing substances—dusty, ominous, and somehow always dimly lit no matter the time of day.

Inside, however, was peak SHIELD: reinforced walls, high-tech security, and more holographic screens than an Apple keynote.

Melinda May led the way, her face locked in its usual expression of “I could kill you five different ways, and you wouldn’t even see it coming.” Beside her, Erica Hayes took one look around and huffed like she was expecting something cooler.

“This is it?” she asked. “I thought spy headquarters would be more—” she gestured vaguely, “—James Bond and less Home Depot clearance section.”

“Welcome to government budget cuts,” Clint muttered, stretching out on top of a crate like a particularly lazy cat.

Meanwhile, the unconscious problem of the day—Dr. Einhardt—was dumped into a chair in the middle of the room like an unwanted Amazon package. The magical runes binding him glowed softly, making sure he didn’t suddenly wake up and cause a scene.

Steve Rogers, standing like a living monument to heroic posture, crossed his arms. “Alright. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

Tony Stark, who had already perched himself in front of the nearest console like a kid about to beat the final boss, pointed at Einhardt. “What we should be dealing with is why we just played European hide-and-seek with a human potato sack. So, let’s crack open his files and figure out why our favorite metal wizard wanted him so badly.”

“Already on it, boss,” Rhodey said, nodding toward the sleek setup where JARVIS’s familiar voice materialized on a holoscreen.

JARVIS, ever the perfect British gentleman (who also happened to be an AI), spoke smoothly. “Sir, I am currently processing the encrypted files retrieved from Dr. Einhardt’s systems. However, I must report an anomaly—conventional decryption methods are proving ineffective.”

Tony frowned. “Ineffective how? This is Stark tech. We’ve cracked alien mothership codes, hacked HYDRA, and I’m pretty sure I once broke into NASA just to prove a point. What’s different about this?”

There was a brief pause. Well, as much as an AI could pause for dramatic effect.

“The encryption appears to be… non-standard,” JARVIS admitted. “The mathematical sequences do not conform to any known computational cipher.”

Clint, still lounging like he had all the time in the world, frowned. “That’s not unsettling at all.”

JARVIS continued, “In fact, the symbols seem to shift in response to external input, resembling a self-sustaining algorithm.”

Tony scowled. “So you’re saying this thing thinks?”

“More accurately, it reacts.”

There was a collective pause. Then—

Lily Potter groaned loudly. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake.”

Tony turned. “I really don’t like that tone.”

James stepped forward, took one look at the screen, and let out a deep sigh. “Oh yeah. That’s not just encryption. That’s Arithmancy-based rune-weaving. No wonder JARVIS can’t crack it—he’s trying to logic his way through something that isn’t just logic.”

Sirius crossed his arms, looking way too smug about it. “Long story short? You’re trying to outthink something that isn’t built on thinking. No offense, Stark, but your AI is a genius in the wrong language.”

Tony blinked. “You’re telling me that magic has better encryption than my billion-dollar AI?”

James smirked. “I’m telling you that magic plays by different rules. And it looks like Einhardt knew that when he set this up.”

Sirius clapped Tony on the back. “Don’t worry, mate. Even geniuses like you need a little magical flair sometimes.”

Tony threw up his hands. “Of course it’s magic. Because why wouldn’t it be magic? You people couldn’t just write down a password like normal people? ‘Password123’ too simple?!”

Natasha, watching with her usual mix of amusement and exasperation, smirked. “You do sound a little jealous.”

Tony pointed at her. “I am the smartest person in this room. My tech is just—” he waved a hand, “—taking a tactical pause.”

“Sure it is,” Natasha deadpanned.

Steve, being Steve, decided to step in. “Alright, so how do we get into this thing? If magic is the key, can we bypass it?”

Lily, James, and Sirius exchanged a look.

Then, at the exact same time, they grinned.

“Team effort?” James suggested.

“Team effort,” Lily confirmed.

“Oh, definitely a team effort,” Sirius added. “Haven’t cracked magical encryption in ages. I love a good heist.”

Tony groaned. “I hate you all.”

Harry, who had been quietly watching, finally decided to chime in—with a smirk so deadly it could be classified as a weapon.

“Cheer up, Stark,” he said, stepping forward and examining the runes like a man who had personally broken into a Gringotts vault just for fun. “You’re getting front-row seats to a master class in how real security works.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “You know, I’ve let a lot of things slide, but I will not be cyber-bullied by a wizard.”

Harry grinned. “Then buckle up, Iron Man, because you’re about to watch magic work circles around your AI.”

Bucky, leaning against the nearest wall with his usual brooding assassin aesthetic, gave a low chuckle. “I like him.”

“Of course you do,” Steve muttered.

James clapped his hands. “Alright, let’s get to work. This thing’s not going to crack itself.”

JARVIS, who had been very patient throughout all of this, chimed in. “Might I request that, once the decryption is complete, one of you kindly explains the process in a way that can be archived?”

Harry smirked. “Sure, JARVIS. If you promise not to cry when you realize how basic your security looks compared to ours.”

A pause. Then—

JARVIS, in his smoothest, most dignified tone, responded: “Sir, I do not possess the ability to cry. However, if I did, I would consider this a deeply distressing moment.”

Tony threw his arms in the air. “Oh great, now my AI is getting bullied, too.”

And with that, the magical hacking session began.

—

If Tony Stark had a nickel for every time magic ruined his day, he’d have… well, too many nickels to fit comfortably in his wallet.

And that was saying something, considering his wallet had more security features than most military bases.

Unfortunately, no amount of technology could save him from this particular headache. Right now, he was stuck in a Prague safehouse, watching a bunch of wand-waving troublemakers try to outwit a sentient magical encryption system that apparently had a personality and attitude.

To make matters worse, they were enjoying themselves.

James Potter, Sirius Black, and Lily Potter huddled around his holoscreen with the kind of energy usually reserved for teenagers breaking into a concert. The grin on James’s face? That was the look of a man about to cause maximum chaos.

"Alright, let’s do this the Marauder way," James declared, cracking his knuckles. "Step one: figure out what we’re dealing with. Step two: cheat."

Sirius nodded sagely. "My favorite strategy."

Lily sighed. "I married this man willingly."

"To be fair," Sirius said, smirking, "you also voluntarily associated with me, so your judgment’s been questionable for a while now."

Lily groaned. "Merlin help me."

Steve Rogers, who had been quietly observing the mess unfold with the patience of a saint, crossed his arms. "So, let me get this straight. The security system is learning from us?"

"Yup," Lily confirmed. "Every time we try to break the encryption, it shifts. Think of it like a door that changes the lock every time someone fails to open it."

Tony ran a hand down his face. "Fantastic. I built an AI that can hack global security grids in under thirty seconds, and it’s losing to a wizard CAPTCHA?"

"Correct," Sirius said, grinning. "And may I just say? That is deeply amusing to me."

JARVIS, because he absolutely had a sense of humor, chose that moment to chime in. "Sir, I believe the appropriate phrase here would be ‘you have been owned.’"

Clint Barton outright cackled. "Owned by magic. That’s gotta sting."

Tony pointed at him. "You’re off the Christmas card list, Barton."

Natasha smirked. "Wait, we get Christmas cards?"

"You were going to," Tony muttered. "Not anymore."

Peggy Carter, who had been watching the entire debacle unfold with the air of someone who had definitely seen worse, leaned against the console. "Come now, Stark. You should be used to being outclassed by now."

Tony turned to glare at her. "Et tu, Carter?"

She smirked. "Always."

"Alright, Prongs," Sirius said, rolling his shoulders like he was about to fight the encryption in hand-to-hand combat. "Hit me with the game plan."

James tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Okay, so usually, when you break a magical lock, you either brute force it, outthink it, or convince it that you belong inside."

Natasha tilted her head. "That last one sounds promising."

"Except it won’t work," Lily interjected. "This system is selective. It’s designed to only open for someone who has the exact right magical signature. Think of it like a retina scan, but with personality."

"And I take it none of us match?" Bucky asked.

James grinned. "Not yet."

Rhodey narrowed his eyes. "I really don’t like the way you said that."

James ignored him, turning to Sirius. "Alright, Padfoot, you’re up first."

Sirius cracked his knuckles like a man preparing for battle and pulled out his wand. "Watch and learn, Muggles."

He tapped the edge of the holoscreen. Instantly, the runes flared—then shifted, rearranging into something even more complicated.

"Uh, what just happened?" Clint asked.

"Introduced myself," Sirius said, grinning. "Apparently, it’s not impressed."

Lily pinched the bridge of her nose. "Try being less you, Sirius."

"Impossible," Sirius said cheerfully.

"Alright, alright," James said, stepping forward. "Let me try something a little… less Sirius."

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Was that a pun?"

James grinned. "I’m a dad. Puns are my birthright."

He flicked his wand, muttering an incantation. The runes shimmered again, but this time, a few of them clicked into place, locking into a partial sequence.

"Ah-ha!" James said. "Progress!"

"That’s one sequence," Erica pointed out. "We need the whole thing."

"Then we’re halfway there!" James said.

"You’re five percent there," Lily corrected.

Sirius peered at the runes. "Alright, so brute force is out. Trickery is mostly out."

"Which means we have to outthink it," James said. "Figure out the pattern before it shifts again."

"Great," Tony muttered. "Magic Sudoku. My nightmare is complete."

"Alright, enough stalling," Lily said, stepping up. "This thing reacts to magical intent. So instead of trying to break it, let’s make it think we belong here."

James’s eyes lit up. "Like sneaking past security by pretending to be janitors?"

"Exactly," Lily confirmed. "Now, everyone stand back."

Sirius, James, and Lily raised their wands simultaneously. The runes flared—then flickered, almost like they were nervous.

Then, in perfect synchronization, the three of them murmured an incantation.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

CRACK!

The runes twisted, flickered—then suddenly stopped moving. A low, vibrating hum filled the room, like a machine powering up. The holoscreen flickered, then unlocked, revealing the encrypted data.

James smirked. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you hack magic."

Tony stared. "You guys just sweet-talked the most advanced magical encryption I’ve ever seen?"

"Basically," Sirius said, smug.

JARVIS, ever the professional, confirmed, "The encryption has been bypassed. Files are now accessible."

Tony threw his hands up. "Fantastic. Magic and charm. I officially hate you all."

Peggy smirked. "Oh, come now, Stark. You must be used to being outclassed by now."

Tony groaned. "I am never going to live this down."

Lily, who had been scrolling through the files, suddenly went still. Her face, once playful, turned deadly serious.

"Alright," she said. "Jokes aside—let’s see what Einhardt was hiding."

The room tensed.

They had the files.

Now they just had to survive whatever came next.

—

If Tony Stark had thought hacking Einhardt’s files was the hard part, he was in for a very rude awakening.

Because the moment JARVIS cracked the encryption, the files didn’t just unlock—they reacted.

JARVIS, ever the embodiment of British patience, delivered the bad news with unsettling calm.

“Sir, it appears we have triggered a failsafe.”

Which, in normal human terms, translated to: You just tripped the magical equivalent of a landmine. Well done.

The holoscreen flickered, and bright red numbers blazed across the interface.

00:30

00:29

00:28

“You have got to be kidding me,” Tony groaned, already swiping frantically at the interface. “Why does this always happen to me?”

"Because you always break into things?" Natasha suggested, cool as ever.

Sirius, who had been reclining smugly over the back of a chair like a king surveying his domain, squinted at the countdown. “Well, that’s just rude.”

James cracked his knuckles. “Alright, new plan—grab whatever we can before this thing wipes itself.”

00:20

Steve, ever the strategist, leaned in. “JARVIS, how much can you extract in twenty seconds?”

“Not enough to be satisfying, Captain.”

Bucky made a face. “Can we just unplug it?”

“Sir, I do not recommend that,” JARVIS interjected. “The files are likely tied to a magical self-obliteration spell. Removing the power source could activate it immediately.”

Rhodey sighed. “Why do all of your plans end in something exploding?”

Alexei, who had been suspiciously quiet, huffed. “This is why, in Mother Russia, we keep secrets on paper.”

Tony shot him a look. “Yes, well, in America, we enjoy not living in the dark ages.”

00:10

Erica stepped forward, arms crossed. “Harry, can you stop it?”

Everyone turned.

Harry, who had been quietly scanning the glowing runes on the holoscreen, tilted his head. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Would you like to elaborate on that?”

Harry, utterly unbothered, twiddled his thumbs. “Give me a second.”

00:05

Sirius leaned toward James. “I feel like we should be more concerned.”

James, ever the Gryffindor, shrugged. “Nah, it’s Harry.”

Lily sighed. “I hate that that is a reasonable argument.”

00:03

Harry flicked his wrist. The countdown froze.

Then, just to rub it in, he waved his fingers, and the numbers reversed—

00:02

00:03

00:04

Tony’s eye twitched. “Did you just hack time?”

Harry grinned. “No, I just told the spell it was being dramatic.”

JARVIS made a distinctly impressed noise.

“Mr. Potter, I must say, that was elegantly done.”

Sirius clapped Harry on the back. “That’s my boy.”

Clint whistled. “Okay, that was sick. I’m stealing that move.”

Harry shrugged. “Be my guest. Just don’t get yourself vaporized.”

Rhodey exhaled. “Alright, now that we’re not about to die, can we focus?”

With the failsafe disabled, the files finally gave up their secrets.

What followed was a whole lot of very bad news.

James scanned the decrypted notes, his frown deepening. “Einhardt wasn’t just some rogue alchemist. He was Hydra’s last-ditch magical failsafe.”

“Great,” Tony muttered. “Because if there’s one thing history needed, it was immortal Nazis.”

Lily, flipping through Einhardt’s research, looked like she wanted to burn it on the spot. “He wasn’t just a scientist—he was the kind of lunatic even Grindelwald thought went too far.”

Natasha arched a brow. “And that’s saying something.”

Bucky squinted at the files. “What the hell is Project Ragnarok?”

James grimaced. “It’s worse than it sounds.”

Tony crossed his arms. “Define worse.”

Lily answered, voice grim. “They were trying to create an immortal Hydra.”

A long, uncomfortable silence followed.

Clint broke it with a dry, “Well, that sounds perfectly normal.”

“They were experimenting on wizards,” Erica muttered, scanning another document. “Trying to merge their abilities with alchemy and dark magic to create something that wouldn’t stay dead.”

Moody growled. “Bloody bastards.”

James kept reading, expression darkening. “Einhardt wasn’t just trying to make supersoldiers. He was trying to make a Hydra that could regrow from a single cell.”

Sirius scowled. “That’s... disgusting.”

“It gets worse,” Harry added, flipping through another set of documents. He turned to Peggy. “You remember Schmidt’s obsession with ancient magic?”

Peggy, ever sharp, nodded. “The Red Skull? Yes.”

“Well,” Harry said, voice deceptively casual. “Turns out Einhardt took that obsession and ran with it. He was trying to tap into something older.”

Steve tensed. “How old?”

Harry clicked his tongue. “Does magic predating recorded history sound fun?”

Natasha sighed. “It never is.”

JARVIS projected a new set of notes, featuring a ritual so disturbing that it came with skull doodles in the margins. Always a good sign.

James exhaled. “Okay, new plan.”

Bucky raised a brow. “Oh?”

James grinned. It was the kind of grin that meant he was about to do something very, very illegal.

“We find whatever Einhardt was working on.”

Sirius clapped his hands. “And then we destroy it.”

Harry cracked his knuckles. “Works for me.”

Tony sighed. “Of course. We just finished breaking into one evil lair, and now we have to break into another.”

Lily smirked. “Welcome to our world, Stark.”

Peggy patted Tony’s shoulder. “It builds character.”

Tony groaned. “Why is my character always built through trauma?”

Rhodey patted his other shoulder. “Because you’re special.”

Alexei grinned. “And fragile.”

Tony threw up his hands. “Fantastic. Let’s go stop the immortal Nazis.”

JARVIS, ever the professional, simply said:

“Shall I prepare the jet, sir?”

—

If there was a way to kill someone through sheer force of will, Nick Fury would’ve vaporized the entire team through the fancy holographic communication mirror.

Unfortunately for him—and fortunately for everyone else—reality didn’t work that way.

So instead, he settled for glaring. Hard.

“Stark.”

Tony, in his infinite wisdom, saluted lazily. “Director Angry Pirate. Always a pleasure.”

“Do you have any idea what kind of headache you just handed me?”

James, ever the responsible adult (which, let’s be honest, was a low bar in this group), cleared his throat. “Okay, good news first—we cracked Einhardt’s files.”

Fury’s glare intensified. “And the bad news?”

Sirius, because he was physically incapable of resisting an opportunity for chaos, smirked. “Oh, you’re gonna love this.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do I feel like I’m about to regret everything?”

Because, dear Bucky, you were.

Harry, being the helpful individual that he was, swiped through the decrypted files and sent them straight to Fury’s end. “Long story short? Hydra was trying to play Frankenstein. But instead of lightning, they went with dark magic, alchemy, and a god complex so big it could have its own zip code.”

Fury studied the files, his eye twitching. “Tell me this isn’t a ‘we accidentally reanimated Hitler’ situation.”

Natasha winced. “Not quite.”

Peggy, who had mastered the art of being both terrifying and classy, crossed her arms. “They were trying to make an immortal Hydra.”

Fury inhaled slowly through his nose. “Of course they were.”

Clint, because he had zero sense of self-preservation, grinned. “Oh, and they were mixing wizard DNA with dark magic. You know, for that extra ‘why the hell not’ factor.”

Fury exhaled so hard the screen pixelated for a second. “Do I even want to know what Project Ragnarok is?”

Harry grinned. “Probably not, but I’m gonna tell you anyway.”

Rhodey clapped Tony on the back. “You’ve been a bad influence on him.”

Tony smirked. “I prefer ‘inspirational mentor figure.’”

Ignoring them, Harry pulled up a section of Einhardt’s notes and sent it over. “Hydra wasn’t just playing around with dark magic. They were trying to merge with it. As in, full integration. Creating agents who can’t die, no matter how many times you punch them in the face.”

James, ever the realist, deadpanned, “So basically, unkillable Nazis.”

Fury took a moment to stare at the abyss of human stupidity. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Moody grunted. “Wish we were.”

Morrigan, who had been quiet up until now, studied one particularly nasty set of instructions. “This isn’t just dark magic. This is older. Something predating wandlore. If they had succeeded, they wouldn’t just be unkillable. They’d be something else entirely.”

Fury’s face went blank. “Tell me they failed.”

Lily, flipping through the data with the same intensity she used to hunt down Harry’s missing socks as a child, frowned. “We think they did. No sign any of these... things were ever deployed. But…”

“There’s always a ‘but,’” Bucky muttered.

Lily sent another section of the decrypted files over. “Einhardt had a secondary facility. One that wasn’t on any of our maps. And that’s where he was working on whatever the final phase of this insanity was supposed to be.”

Steve, golden retriever energy in full force, frowned. “You’re saying there’s a chance some of this actually worked?”

Harry flipped a coin in the air, caught it without looking. “Only one way to find out.”

Fury rubbed his temples. “You cannot seriously be suggesting—”

Sirius grinned. “Oh, we’re absolutely suggesting.”

Tony sighed dramatically. “C’mon, Patchy. We just finished breaking into one Hydra base. Might as well go for the two-for-one special.”

Fury stared at them all, possibly calculating the logistics of faking his own death and living out the rest of his life on a beach somewhere.

Finally, he growled, “Fine. But I swear to God, if I have to deal with immortal Nazi zombies, I will personally put all of you on Fury’s Most Wanted list.”

Erica smirked. “Oh, we’re already on that list.”

Fury grunted. “Damn right.”

JARVIS, ever helpful, chimed in.

“Director Fury, shall I prepare a tactical rundown of potential threats?”

Fury waved a hand. “Sure. Why not. It’s not like I enjoy sleep anyway.”

Tony grinned. “That’s the spirit, Patchy.”

Rhodey groaned. “Tony, for the love of—”

JARVIS, undeterred, continued.

“I have also taken the liberty of tracking Einhardt’s last known location before his disappearance. Cross-referencing with the available files, I have identified a likely site for the secondary facility.”

Steve straightened. “Where?”

JARVIS displayed a map.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Siberia.”

Alexei sighed. “Oh, great. Cold, miserable, and full of old Russian nightmares. Just like home.”

Tony clapped his hands together. “Alright, pack your snow boots, people. We’re going Hydra hunting.”

Fury’s sigh could probably be heard across dimensions. “God help me.”

—

Tony Stark was pacing back and forth in front of the makeshift war room, muttering to himself like a man who had just realized he’d left his favorite suit in the laundry. The whole place was set up like a command center straight out of a spy movie—except for the fact that it was more likely to end with explosions, one-liners, and a very real chance of death.

“JARVIS, you magnificent British genius, make me proud,” Tony muttered under his breath, not really expecting an answer.

The AI didn’t disappoint.

“Director Fury, I have successfully accessed Hydra’s internal network. The blueprint for the secondary facility in Siberia is now ready for review.”

Tony paused mid-pace, squinting at the air like he could see the digital files JARVIS was handing over. “See, this is why I keep you around, Jarv. You’re the brains, I’m the... eccentric, slightly insane, yet undeniably effective genius. Teamwork.”

Fury didn’t even flinch. He was used to Tony’s random outbursts by now, though the man was starting to wonder if Tony didn’t just make things up as he went along.

“Well, look at that,” Fury said, looking at the digital blueprints JARVIS had projected onto the screen. His one eye narrowed as he scanned the information, but he stayed calm. “All we needed was for Tony to shut up and let JARVIS do the work. Who would’ve thought?”

“Not a fan of that idea, but fair enough,” Tony said, raising both hands in mock surrender. “I admit, JARVIS is the real MVP here. But you know, it’s not like I’m completely useless.”

“I’ll let that one slide,” Fury grumbled, trying and failing to hide his irritation.

“Guys, focus,” Natasha cut in, sitting back in her chair and tossing a glance over at Clint. "We’ve got blueprints. We’ve got a location. What we don’t have is time. So, let’s get moving.”

“Right,” Tony said, snapping his fingers as if he’d just remembered he had an appointment. “The facility’s in Siberia. 400 miles northeast of the Ural Mountains. Minimal resistance. We get in, get the intel, and then... well, I was planning on having a long, relaxing vacation, but no, Hydra had other plans.”

“Yeah, they always do,” Clint chimed in from his corner, giving Natasha a grin. He was pretending to pay attention, but the guy was way more invested in his snacks than the mission. “We’re what, crashing their big villain party in the snow? Should be fun.”

“It’s not a vacation,” Natasha quipped, shooting Clint a look that could freeze a man solid.

Clint shrugged, unphased. “Can’t hurt to hope, right?”

“I’ll bring the ski poles,” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair with an unamused look. "But the snow's probably not going to be our biggest problem."

Harry, who had been silently observing the entire exchange, leaned forward, a look of pure concentration on his face. “Wait. Hold on. This facility... If Einhardt was mixing dark magic with some kind of immortality project, then we’re not just talking about some rogue Nazi experiment. We’re talking about something far worse.”

Sirius, who had been leaning casually against the wall, nodded grimly. “Yeah, it’s not exactly your average science fair project. More like Frankenstein’s twisted cousin—on steroids.”

“I’d agree, but that’s a level of understatement even I can’t wrap my head around,” Harry said, cracking his neck. “So, we go in, break a few things, interrogate a few Hydra goons, and walk out with some answers. Simple, right?”

“Simple?” Bucky snorted, eyebrow raised. “Have you met Hydra? Those guys are more stubborn than a cockroach at a nuclear fallout shelter.”

“That’s why I’ll be there,” Harry said with a grin that could melt steel. "And I plan to make sure they don’t get up after we’re done with them."

“Great,” Fury said, his voice like gravel. “A walking nuke. Just what we need.”

"Hey," Harry shrugged, hands up in mock surrender. "You said it, not me."

“You sure about that, kid?” Bucky teased. “Last time I checked, that was your nickname. Mr. ‘Don’t Mess With Me, I’ve Got Magic And Firepower.’”

“Yeah, and don't forget the part where I can throw a punch like Thor and still look good doing it,” Harry shot back, his smirk lethal. “But don't worry, I'll save the big blows for Hydra."

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose like he was trying to ward off a headache. "Alright, listen up. The plan is simple: no heroics. We get in, we take out the big bad experiment, and we get out. No detours. Understood?"

“I think we’ve all heard the ‘don’t split off’ speech before, Fury,” Steve said, his voice calm and steady as always. He was staring at the blueprint like it was the last thing standing between him and saving the world. “And you can count on me to follow orders.”

"Of course you will," Tony muttered under his breath. "He’s Captain America, the walking definition of 'straight-laced.' I, on the other hand, am more 'loose cannon,' but it’s all good. We balance each other out."

“Just don’t blow up anything important,” Steve warned. His eyes were now on Tony, the weight of a thousand war stories in them. “We’ve got a mission, not a circus.”

“Fine, fine," Tony said, holding his hands up. "But if we’re talking about blowing things up, I’ve got that covered. I’m basically a walking demolition team.”

“I’ll bring the explosives,” Bucky offered with a dry grin. "I’ve been practicing. Maybe a little less boom, more precision this time."

“I’m not even going to ask how you’ve been practicing that,” Tony said with a shudder. “I think I prefer my buildings standing, thanks.”

“We’ll have to make do,” Peggy added with a smile. “And yes, Tony, I’ve noticed the ‘no blowing things up unless necessary’ rule. But we can handle it.”

“Great. Fantastic,” Fury muttered, rolling his eyes. “JARVIS, how long do we have?”

“According to the latest intel, you have a two-hour window of minimal resistance before Hydra reinforcements arrive.”

"Two hours," Natasha repeated, eyes narrowing as she processed the info. "That’s our window. We go in, do what we came to do, and we leave. Fast."

"I’m assuming this is going to be more ‘find and destroy’ than ‘sneak and gather intel,’ right?" Clint asked, munching on what looked like an unhealthy amount of trail mix.

"Definitely," Bucky said, nodding. “And I’m betting there’s going to be a lot of punching involved."

“Well, I can handle that,” Harry said with a grin. “It’s practically my thing. But don’t worry—I won’t outshine you all too much.”

“I’m betting on you showing up with a flamethrower or something ridiculous,” Clint teased.

“Dude, I’ve got firepower,” Harry replied, his grin turning mischievous. “But if you want to make a bet, I’m game.”

“Alright, enough jokes,” Fury barked. “Let’s move out. And remember, I’ll hold every single one of you responsible if I have to fill out another form for the destruction of property.”

“Don’t worry, Fury," Tony called over his shoulder as he walked toward the exit. "We’ve got that covered too.”

As the team moved into action, the tension was palpable. Harry could almost feel the coming chaos—and, honestly? He was all in. With this team, and his own... special skills, nothing was impossible. Not even taking down an immortal Hydra experiment in the heart of Siberia.

“Let’s go,” Fury barked, and the team scattered. “And remember, if anyone mentions heroics, I’m officially sending you back to paperwork duty."

“Got it, boss,” Tony called, his voice fading as he moved.

And Harry? He was already picturing the chaos in his head—he was just looking forward to putting on a show. After all, who didn’t like a little bit of mayhem with their morning coffee?

Chapter 76: Chapter 75

The call to Fury ended with a satisfying click, and the room immediately shifted from semi-casual chatter to full-on battle prep. Tony was already at the front of the room, pulling up the holographic schematics of the Siberian Hydra facility like he was showing off the blueprint for the world’s most convoluted escape room.

“Alright, team, time to do what we do best—break into a top-secret, highly-guarded Hydra base and make sure nothing explodes... unless it’s completely necessary,” Tony said, leaning back in his chair like he was about to unleash a torrent of ridiculousness on them all. “Feast your eyes on this masterpiece of evil genius.”

Bucky squinted at the hologram, rubbing his temples like he was trying to will himself into having a better day. "So, just to clarify—this is another secret Hydra base in the middle of Siberia where they’re doing weird, creepy immortality experiments, and we’re supposed to stroll in, grab whatever intel we can, and leave without leaving a crater where this place used to be? That the plan?"

“Exactly!” Tony threw his hands up like he’d just solved the world’s problems. "Well, maybe a crater or two—some really small ones for flair. But, yes, in a nutshell: infiltrate, gather the goods, and get the heck out of Dodge. Preferably without turning into a real live-action Walking Dead episode.”

“I swear, Tony, you could make a traffic jam sound like the end of the world,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes in that way only Natasha Romanoff could—like she was too cool for all this but still game for whatever ridiculousness was about to unfold.

“I try my best!” Tony winked at her. “Plus, it keeps the mood light. Hydra goons don’t know what hit ‘em, and we get our info. Win-win.”

Clint, already checking his bow with the precision of a man who’d spent half his life in deep, covert missions, chuckled. “Do we get to blow stuff up this time? Because, you know, I’ve got a few grenades with ‘made in heaven’ stamped on them, and I’ve been dying to use ‘em.”

“Save the fireworks for later,” Natasha interrupted, with that deadly calm. “We’re not making an entrance; we’re making an exit.”

Clint raised an eyebrow like someone had just told him that Santa wasn’t real. “What’s the fun in that? No dramatic explosions? Come on, what’s the point of infiltrating a Hydra base if we don’t at least get to enjoy the chaos?”

“Exactly,” Harry said, glancing up from the holographic blueprints with a grin so cocky it should come with a warning label. “We get to slip in, make it look easy, then hit them with the one-two punch of ‘we’re smarter than you’ and ‘you’re screwed.’”

Bucky snorted, looking amused but very much on board. “Kid’s got the right attitude.”

“You think?” Sirius said from Harry’s side, leaning in to check out the map with a raised brow. "Back in my day, we just blasted the doors off and walked in. No secret spy stuff. But I suppose being sneaky is the new cool thing.”

Harry shot him a smirk, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, sure. Back in your day, you just waltzed into danger, got thrown into a dungeon, and spent most of your time looking fabulously miserable. I’d like to think I’ve refined the art of making everything look effortless.”

“Always a show-off, aren’t you?” Sirius shot back, but there was affection in his tone. “Good to know someone’s got style on this mission.”

“Speaking of style,” Tony interjected, tapping a few more keys to zoom in on a section of the facility. “Here’s where the magic happens.” A bright red dot blinked on the screen, labeled Experiment Room 42—as ominous as a dark alley with a ‘No Escape’ sign. “If we’re looking for creepy immortality experiments, this is the place to start. Also, they’ve probably got about twenty tons of reinforced steel and very unhappy scientists trying to make the next big mistake.”

“Fun,” Bucky muttered under his breath, already eyeing his mechanical arm like it was going to get a workout. “So, we’re up against deathless experiments and probably a ton of traps. Just the usual Tuesday.”

“Right?” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Except this time, there’s no fireball to take the edge off. Maybe you should lend us your flamethrower after all, Buck.”

“Are you sure we want him setting fire to everything? What’s next? Is Bucky going to get the flamethrower attached to his arm? Make it part of the team?” Clint chimed in, looking like he was trying to make it sound less ridiculous than it actually was.

“I already am the flamethrower,” Bucky replied dryly, but there was an amused glint in his eye. “And yes, it’s pretty badass. You’d love it.”

“Pfft,” Harry said with a chuckle, “I bet it’s just an oversized matchstick. But hey, whatever works.”

Steve stepped forward, the weight of the mission settling on his shoulders. “Alright, enough. We’re not here to roast marshmallows. We get in, grab the intel, and we’re out. Got it? No heroics, no long speeches. Just clean and quick.”

“Right, Cap,” Harry said with mock seriousness, but there was that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “In and out. Just like an expert thief.”

“And if we do get caught?” Bucky asked, eyeing the hologram warily. “What’s the backup?”

“We burn the place down,” Clint said, grinning as he grabbed one of his arrows like it was a piece of popcorn. “I’ve got the right kind of special explosives.”

“We don’t burn the place down,” Natasha shot back, leveling Clint with a glare. “We get the intel, then we disappear. Got it?”

“Not even a little explosion?” Clint pressed, genuinely hoping she’d cave.

“Clint,” Steve said with that voice that made you feel like you were about to be grounded, “we do this clean. We do this my way. No exceptions.”

“Fine, fine,” Clint grumbled, but the glint in his eye promised mischief. “No fireworks. But I’ll hold you to that ‘clean’ part.”

Harry, ever the master of burning things in the most savage way possible, leaned in with a grin that made the rest of the room pause. “Clean? Nah, we’re just here for the dirty details.”

Tony, ever the dramatic one, slapped his hands together like a high school theater kid about to perform a Shakespearean tragedy. “Now that’s the attitude we need. Let’s go make this the best worst mission we’ve ever done.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t get caught,” Natasha muttered, crossing her arms. “I’m not wearing this much leather to end up in a Hydra holding cell.”

“I think you’ll look fantastic in whatever we get stuck in,” Tony said, giving her a wink.

Sirius was grinning like a maniac now. “Let’s just say the word, and I’ll start blowing things up.”

Harry turned to him, shaking his head with a mock-disapproving frown. “Did I not just tell you we’re doing this my way? Not the explosive way?”

Sirius smirked. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll just keep my finger on the trigger for when your plan goes south.”

And just like that, the banter was over, and they were ready to move out. If anyone could pull off a mission this crazy, it was this team. They had style. They had humor. And, let’s be honest, they had a whole lot of firepower—just in case things went way south.

—

The room was filled with the usual chaos of a superhero mission prep: Tony Stark was fiddling with his gadgets, Clint was shooting arrows at invisible targets, and, for some reason, Bucky was trying to talk to the coffee machine. (It wasn’t responding. Bucky looked offended.) And then there was Steve Rogers, standing at the front like some all-American motivational poster come to life. His jaw was set, shoulders squared, his blue eyes flashing with that Captain America intensity. You’d think after all these years, Steve would be used to giving pep talks, but nope. He was still as fired up as ever.

"Alright, listen up!" Steve barked, his voice slicing through the noise. "This mission’s gonna be rough. Hydra’s not going to just roll over and let us waltz in, get our intel, and leave. We’ve all got targets on our backs. But we’ve been in worse situations before, and we’ve come out on top. And we will again. Because when it comes down to it, we don’t quit."

Tony raised his hand like he was in school. "Uh, Cap? A little less ‘we’re all doomed’ and a little more ‘we’ve got this’? The whole ‘we’re all going to die’ thing? Not the best pre-mission hype."

Steve shot Tony a look. You know the kind. The one that said: I’m Captain America. I don’t need your sass right now. "Tony," he said, voice still calm but deadly serious, "we’re not invincible. We’re not going to throw ourselves into this blindly. But we’re not losing. Not today. We’ve fought through worse. And we will fight through this."

"Ugh, fine. But I’m still waiting for the part where you tell us we’re heroes and not just really, really good-looking people who are about to get a lot of scars," Tony muttered, slumping into his chair. His grin, however, was wide enough to rival a Cheshire cat’s.

"Yeah, yeah," Clint chimed in from the back. "We get it. We’re all supposed to be super brave and noble and all that." He gave a little exaggerated salute. "Just get to the part where we storm the base already."

Steve ignored Clint’s sarcasm like it was a pesky fly. "Hydra’s been hiding in the shadows for too long. They’ve hurt people, manipulated governments, torn apart lives. We take this base down, we cut off another head of the Hydra snake. We get in, get the intel, and get out. No unnecessary risks. No heroics. We stick together, no one gets left behind."

"Well, except Hydra, right?" Bucky said, standing up straight and cracking his neck. His grin was as dark as his past, the kind of grin that told you he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. "I’m all for making this messy."

"That’s the spirit, Barnes," Steve said with a nod, a smirk tugging at his lips. "And when things go sideways—which they will—we do what we do best. We fight."

"You know, I think you might just be a little addicted to hero speeches, Cap," Natasha said, leaning back in her chair and studying her nails like she had better things to do. "But hey, I’m not complaining. You’ve got everyone pumped. Even Clint, I think." She shot Clint a look.

"Don’t get used to it," Clint grumbled, but his smirk was more than a little proud. "Nothing gets me more fired up than a good fight."

"Alright, enough chatter," Peggy—Captain Carter, as some called her—said, stepping forward. She was as solid and reliable as Steve, if not more so. "We’ve fought together before, and we’ve won together. This mission isn’t any different. Hydra’s in our way. They’re going down."

There was a quiet murmur of agreement from the group. Bucky flashed Peggy a grin that said, I like this plan.

"I have to say, Peggy," Sirius said from the corner, arms crossed, looking at Steve with an appraising eye, "when you talk like that, it’s a little hard not to get excited."

"It’s a gift," Peggy replied dryly, rolling her eyes in that way only a super-soldier could. "Now, let’s make Hydra regret ever thinking they could mess with us."

"Well, I’m glad someone around here is feeling confident," Harry said, stepping forward with a grin that could only be described as deadly. "Because I was just about to ask: Who’s ready to watch me open a portal to kick some Hydra butt?"

"Wait, you can actually do that?" Tony asked, blinking in disbelief. "I mean, I know you’re an alien, but opening portals? Just…like that?"

Harry grinned wider, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, mischievous spark. "Yep. And it’s going to be one heck of a show."

"Well, if you’re gonna do it, you’d better make it good," Tony said, adjusting his suit and looking genuinely impressed. "No pressure, right?"

"None at all," Harry said, winking as he raised his hand. A swirling golden portal opened in front of them with a shimmer of light, its edges crackling with energy. The team collectively took a step back.

"Now that’s impressive," Clint said, eyes wide.

"It’s about time someone brought some real magic to the party," Bucky added, clearly entertained. "Can’t wait to see how you mess with Hydra’s plans."

"Hold onto your butts, everyone," Harry said, stepping forward and giving everyone one last look before slipping through the portal. "Let’s make sure Hydra gets the surprise of their lives."

The rest of the team followed—one by one—through the glowing, swirling doorway. As the last one through, Clint gave a loud whistle.

"Wow, that was a lot of flair. Nice touch, Potter," Clint said, as the portal snapped shut behind them with an almost theatrical whoosh.

Steve looked around at his team, his face set in determination. "Alright. Time to remind Hydra who they're messing with."

And just like that, they were off—on their way to another mission, another fight, another victory. The only thing missing? The dramatic moment where Steve Rogers might’ve given one last motivational speech. Oh, wait, no. That had already happened.

—

Steve’s boots clicked against the cold floor as he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the room like a sharp gust of wind. It was one of those moments where you couldn’t help but listen to Captain America—because if you didn’t, he might just jump in and save the day anyway. And, let’s be real, you definitely didn’t want that.

"Alright, people. We’re here for one reason, and one reason only: to make sure Hydra doesn’t ruin the day for the rest of us." Steve paused for dramatic effect, his shield resting casually on his back. "And no one gets to play hero here. This isn’t about glory. This is about doing the job right."

Naturally, Harry—who had zero concept of taking things seriously—grinned like a Cheshire cat. "No heroics? You mean, like, no flipping through the air in slow motion while wearing an American flag? Got it, Cap."

Steve glared at him, the look so pointed that even Harry had to admit it might have been a little intimidating. "I mean it, Harry. Stay focused. We do this clean, we do this fast."

Harry made a face. "Fine, fine, Cap. But you have to admit, I’d look pretty good in slow-mo."

“Focus, Potter,” Steve muttered, shaking his head.

Bucky, standing beside Steve, grinned at Harry's antics but also gave him a side-eye that said, I’ve dealt with this enough to know it’s just a distraction. "Yeah, yeah. Cap’s right. No fancy tricks, Harry. We’re here to wreck Hydra’s day—not do a commercial for superhero slow-motion."

"I swear," Harry grumbled, "if anyone here knows how to wreck Hydra's day, it’s me."

"Right," Steve said, rolling with it. He took a deep breath. "Bucky, you’re on point with me. We’ll clear the perimeter, grab the intel, and make sure there’s no Hydra welcome party waiting for us. Stay sharp. And no going off on your own for some impromptu rescue mission, got it?"

Bucky cracked his knuckles and gave a low chuckle. "You don’t have to tell me twice, Cap. I’m not in the mood for any ‘busting heads’ tonight."

Erica, who had been quietly listening, shot Bucky a playful smirk. "Well, if you’re not in the mood, I can always take over. I do love a good show of electricity-powered mayhem."

"Keep your sparks in check," Bucky said with a wink. "Not everyone wants to feel like they're getting hit by a lightning bolt."

"Only when it’s fun," Erica shot back, flexing her fingers just for effect. Little sparks danced along her fingertips, as if to remind everyone that she was always this close to turning things into a supercharged light show.

Tony, who had been trying (and failing) to tune out the conversation by making small adjustments to his armor, suddenly chimed in. "Alright, alright, team, let’s get something straight: I’m the tech guy. I’m the guy who makes sure we don’t end up having to fight Hydra with sticks and stones. You can keep pretending you’re all ground level, but I’m the one making sure we don’t get killed before the mission’s halfway done."

"Yeah, yeah, Tony, we get it," Clint snarked from the back, adjusting his bow and arrow in his usual bored fashion. "No one does tech like Tony Stark. I’ll just keep picking off bad guys from a distance and pretend like I’m actually doing all the work."

Tony smirked. "I’ll let you handle the entire perimeter, Clint. I’m sure the Hydra goons are scared to death of your—what was it?—’one-man archery show.’"

Clint snorted, tossing his bow over his shoulder. "You know what? Maybe I’ll just take a few extra shots at you instead, Stark. Might be more fun."

"You do realize this is a stealth mission, right?" Natasha piped in from her corner, her arms crossed, eyes scanning the room with the intensity of a hawk. "No loud noises. No unnecessary explosions. Save your testosterone for later."

"Like that’s gonna happen," Clint muttered, though he grinned anyway.

Steve cleared his throat. "Alright, back to business." He turned to the team, his voice taking on that classic Steve Rogers authority. "Clint, you’re with Natasha. You’ll be covering our six. Make sure no one sneaks up on us—if Hydra tries anything, you stop them before they get too close."

"Piece of cake," Clint said with a wink, slinging his bow across his back.

Rhodey, standing near the back, didn’t speak much, but when he did, it was with the cool, controlled precision of someone who had seen it all. "Cap, you know I’ve got your six, too. I’ll be watching the skies. No one’s getting past me without a fight."

"Good," Steve said, nodding. "We need air support in case things go sideways."

"Speaking of ‘sideways,’" Sirius interjected from the corner, grinning like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. "I’m just here for the fun. You guys can do all the ‘strategic’ stuff, and I’ll... improvise."

"Stay out of trouble, Black," Steve warned, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, come on, Cap," Sirius protested, raising his hands innocently. "I’m like a wildcard—no one knows what I’m going to do next."

"That’s the problem," Steve muttered.

"Besides, you know I can’t help myself," Sirius said with a shrug. "Anyway, I’m just here to make sure no one gets bored."

"I’ll make sure no one gets too bored," Peggy chimed in with a dry smile. Her eyes never left the group, her posture every bit as sharp and commanding as Steve’s. "And if anyone gets distracted, I’ll be the first to remind them why they’re here."

Steve looked to Peggy and gave a small, approving smile. "Exactly. Stay on top of everything, Peg."

Then, Steve’s gaze shifted to Harry. Of course, Harry was already itching for action, as per usual, bouncing on his feet, looking way too confident for someone who had zero sense of boundaries.

"Harry," Steve said, locking eyes with him. "You’re the wildcard. Get the intel. If you find anything useful, don’t be subtle. But—"

"I know, I know," Harry interrupted, rolling his eyes with exaggerated drama. "No heroics. But seriously, Cap, with a team like this? How could I not do something heroic?"

Steve raised an eyebrow. "I’ll be watching you, Potter. Stay in line, and I won’t have to drag you out of trouble."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," Harry said, his grin growing wider as he casually strolled to the portal. "Let’s just get to Hydra, shall we? I’m ready to shake things up."

One by one, the team stepped toward the shimmering golden portal that had appeared in the center of the room. The mission was set. Hydra’s days of causing chaos? Over. And when this team went in, you better believe they weren’t just going to stop at "Mission Accomplished"—they were going to do it with flair.

Steve’s last look over the team was full of pride. They were ready. They were a unit. And Hydra? Hydra didn’t stand a chance.

"Let’s move," Steve said. "We’ve got a world to save."

And with that, one by one, they disappeared into the unknown to take Hydra down for good.

—

The moon hung low over the darkened landscape, casting long shadows across the group as they made their way toward the guards. Steve, Bucky, and Erica moved like shadows themselves, their every step a well-rehearsed dance of stealth. The quiet hum of night was broken only by the occasional crunch of leaves underfoot, but even that was expertly avoided.

"Alright," Steve whispered, his voice like gravel. "Bucky, you're on the left. Erica, you know the drill."

Bucky grinned, clearly enjoying himself a little too much. "Right, Cap. Left’s my specialty. Don’t blink, or you’ll miss it."

Erica, cracking her knuckles with the flair of someone who was about to give an impromptu performance, winked at Bucky. "I’ve got it covered. Just don’t be mad if I make it look too easy."

"Remember, we need 'em alive," Steve reminded them with a playful scowl. "Interrogation, people."

"Got it, Cap. Alive, but with style," Erica said, her eyes sparking with that usual electric mischief.

Steve shot her a knowing look. "Just don’t electrocute the wrong people, please."

"I can’t promise that, but I’ll try," she said, clearly not bothered by the idea of giving someone a shocking experience.

"Let’s move," Bucky muttered, slipping into the shadows as silently as a ghost.

The first guard, a lumbering figure who seemed about as stealthy as a boulder, stood like a sentry near the perimeter. Steve eyed him and muttered to himself, "You picked the wrong night to wear your ‘I’m-a-badass’ face."

A quick glance at Bucky, and they moved in.

Steve was a blur of motion, his shield catching the moonlight as he swung it toward the guard's back, making sure to hit him with the flat side. The sound was less 'metal clash' and more 'pancake' as the guy went down face-first into the dirt. With the same ease, Steve gave him a solid boot to the side, ensuring he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. The guard lay there, out like a light, his ego probably bruised more than his body.

"First one’s down," Steve said into the comms. "Bucky, you’re up."

Bucky didn’t even bother with words. He simply moved with the precision of a man who knew how to make a person disappear without a sound. A flick of his wrist, a flash of silver, and the second guard dropped with barely a whimper.

"Nice work," Steve said, giving Bucky a nod of approval.

Erica wasn’t far behind, practically skipping toward her target. She crept up behind the third guard, her fingers crackling with blue electric energy. One quick zap to the radio, and he was left holding nothing but a useless, sizzling hunk of metal.

"You're welcome," Erica whispered to the incapacitated guard, stepping over him like he was a speed bump. "That’s how you make it look effortless."

"Good job, Sparks," Steve said, giving her a thumbs up. "Let’s keep it moving."

Bucky gave an exaggerated salute. "Sparks, you're making this look too easy. It's almost like you were made for this."

Erica grinned, her electric aura lighting up the dark. "I’m just following your lead, Bucky."

"That’s the problem," Bucky muttered under his breath. "Now everyone’s going to think it’s all fun and games until the next patrol comes in."

"Speaking of which," Steve said, scanning the surroundings. "Clint, Nat, what’s the word on reinforcements?"

Clint’s voice crackled through their earpieces, as dry as ever. "No sign of them yet, Cap. But I’m keeping an eye out. You know how these things go."

Natasha’s voice was much sharper, all business. "And I’m tracking their movements. I’ve got a feeling they’re about to make an appearance. I’d say... give it five minutes tops."

"Copy that," Steve replied, looking up at the horizon. "We’ve got time, but not much. Let’s stay sharp."

"Cap’s right," Bucky said, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let’s clear this perimeter and then find ourselves a snack. I’m thinking hot dogs."

"Don't you ever think of anything else?" Steve asked, shaking his head with a bemused smile.

"Not really," Bucky said with a shrug. "Though I’m partial to nachos. The kind with extra cheese."

Erica joined in, her voice teasing. "You two have weird food preferences."

"I’m starting to think that’s the least weird thing about us," Bucky shot back, his eyes scanning the area.

Meanwhile, Peggy, Rhodey, and Alexei were keeping a watchful eye from their positions further back. Peggy was a stone-cold professional, every muscle poised for action. Her gaze flicked from shadow to shadow, calculating, always calculating. Rhodey, in the distance, was more focused on the skies. A sudden flare of bright light could signal an incoming attack, and he was ready for it.

"Stay close, but stay quiet," Rhodey muttered under his breath, his hand resting on the weapon at his side. "We’re backup, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have a role to play."

Alexei, grinning like a man who knew he was ready to wreck some people’s days, crossed his arms over his chest. "I’ll be the first to break something if things go sideways."

"Keep your hands to yourself, big guy," Natasha said over the comms, voice laced with sarcasm. "We’re trying to keep it quiet."

"I’m just saying," Alexei shot back, grinning. "If things go sideways, I’m making noise. And if someone needs a good crushing, I’m your man."

"How reassuring," Natasha muttered. "Okay, let’s make sure we don’t need to call in the crushing just yet."

As Steve’s team moved forward, they were all keyed up, tension simmering under the surface. They knew the next set of guards would be tougher, and reinforcements were always just a step behind.

Clint’s voice crackled in Steve’s ear again. "Looks like we’ve got incoming. Three more on the left. You guys are gonna want to move quickly."

Bucky glanced over at Steve, a grin spreading across his face. "Shall we?"

Steve’s smile was all business, but there was a glint of something in his eyes. "Let’s wrap this up."

"Yeah," Erica added with a spark of excitement, "before Bucky eats all the snacks."

Bucky shot her a mock glare. "You’re all lucky I’m on a mission, or I’d be making a serious snack run right now."

With that, they were off, moving like ghosts in the night, ready for whatever came next.

And, of course, ready for Bucky to complain about his snacks again. Because some things would never change.

—

Alright, so here's the deal: Tony Stark and Harry Potter—two of the most dangerous people in the world—were about to break into a Hydra facility. No big deal, right? They were just gonna sneak past guards, hack into the system, and walk out with the kind of intel that could take Hydra down for good. What could possibly go wrong?

Spoiler alert: everything could go wrong. But Harry, being the cool-headed wizard he is, had a plan.

He and Tony crouched behind a stack of crates, well aware that their invisibility spell wasn’t exactly perfect. The Disillusionment Charm was good, but if anyone looked closely—really closely—they’d spot them. Harry tugged at his cloak, shifting it for comfort, as Tony stood next to him, fidgeting with his gauntlet.

“You sure about this?” Tony asked, giving him a skeptical look, which was Tony-speak for this better be good, magic-boy.

Harry’s grin was all teeth. “This plan? It's foolproof. You ready?”

Tony, ever the professional, adjusted his suit and nodded. “Ready as I'll ever be. You just make sure no one notices the flying tank, yeah? I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Yeah, sure. No pressure,” Harry muttered, tapping his wand to activate the spell. The shimmering veil of invisibility spread over them like a sheet of fog. The kind that made you feel like you were about to get way too much attention but, for now, would keep them safe. Maybe.

Tony’s smirk turned into a full-blown grin as he looked down at his high-tech armor. “I mean, it’s a flying tank. People notice that.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Shh. We need to sneak in, get the intel, and sneak out. That’s the plan.”

“Got it. Plan. Gotta admit though, I’m not exactly used to sneaking. You should've called me for some firepower."

“Firepower later,” Harry said. “Intel first. Firepower, preferably, after we’ve walked out.”

“Fine, fine,” Tony said, glancing around. “You just tell me where to go, and I’ll be your muscle.”

“Keep it down, Stark,” Harry whispered, already in motion. He didn’t need to be told twice. A whisper, a wave of his wand, and they were moving swiftly through the shadows. Tony, even in that hulking suit, moved with surprising grace. Maybe it was the magic or maybe it was just Tony being Tony.

Meanwhile, the Marauders were already deep inside the facility, doing their thing.

James Potter, Sirius Black, and Mad-Eye Moody were on their own mission—placing explosives (Marauder-style, of course) in strategic spots and making sure they weren’t noticed. The explosive part wasn’t too hard—James had a way of getting past security that most people would call insane (but incredible was probably more accurate). It helped that they were good at taking out Hydra agents with the subtlety of a ballet dancer with a chainsaw.

“Ready to blow this joint?” James asked, checking his watch like he was on a lunch break.

Sirius flashed a grin that could only be described as maniacal. “I was born ready.” He pulled a grenade out of his jacket and attached it to a wall. The fuse? Ridiculously short, obviously.

Mad-Eye Moody muttered under his breath as his magical eye spun around like it was on a mission to see everything. “Don’t blow anything too early, you two. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

James rolled his eyes. “You and your 'reputation', Moody.” He slapped a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “You did tell them about the fuse, right?”

Sirius just shrugged. “I told them about the 'fun' part.”

“Right,” James said. “You just make sure the walls don’t come down before we get the other part.”

Meanwhile, Harry and Tony were up to their own tricks. They reached the server room, the heart of Hydra’s deep secrets. And Tony, naturally, was ready to go full Stark on it.

"So, Tony," Harry said, cracking a smile. "Are we doing the Tony Stark method? Or are we doing the ‘please don’t destroy everything we need’ method?"

Tony shot him a look. "Do you really think I’m gonna start smashing stuff? I’ve grown. I’m a grown man with self-control."

The smirk that followed made it clear that Tony Stark was a liar.

But Harry wasn’t interested in any of that. He was about to get down to magic. With a flick of his wrist, Harry muttered the unlocking charm. The door clicked open. Smooth.

"Alright, party time," Harry said as they slipped into the room.

Tony, ever the tech genius, went straight to the computer terminal, sitting down in front of it with the kind of ease you’d expect from someone who could hack into government systems for fun. But then he paused, just long enough to throw Harry a look. "You sure this place isn’t going to explode the second I touch the keys?"

Harry didn’t even look up. “That’s the plan. You’ll be fine.”

A beat passed.

“I was talking about you, magic man,” Tony muttered, fingers already dancing over the keyboard. “But fine, I’ll take the blame when the whole building goes up.”

Before Harry could reply, a noise echoed from down the hallway. His head snapped up. “We’ve got company.”

Tony, who was probably on some other plane of existence with his hacking, barely spared him a glance. “Really? You just had to say that, didn’t you?”

“I’m not kidding,” Harry hissed, his hand reaching for his wand. “We need to move.”

"Ugh. This is why I can’t have nice things," Tony grumbled, standing up and already preparing to rocket out. “You’re the magic guy. You handle the weirdness.”

“I am handling the weirdness,” Harry muttered. He cast a quick silencing spell around the room, and everything grew eerily quiet.

A moment later, Hydra agents stepped inside, scanning the room like they had nothing better to do than spoil Harry’s day.

“Is this place always this quiet?” one muttered.

“No idea. Check the logs,” the other said.

Harry’s eyebrow twitched. “No, thank you.”

In an instant, he whispered a charm that froze both agents. Time seemed to stop around them, and Harry moved quickly, ushering Tony behind a row of filing cabinets. Tony raised an eyebrow.

“How do you do that?”

“It's called being awesome,” Harry said, pulling Tony’s arm and hustling out the door. “Now let’s go.”

As they made their way through the facility, James, Sirius, and Moody were wrapping up their work. The walls were rigged, explosives in place, and they were ready to explode.

“We’re good,” James called, looking over at Harry and Tony. “We’re gonna get this show on the road in five… four… three…”

Tony grinned. “Ready for a fireworks show?”

"Hold on to your hats," Sirius muttered, already looking way too pleased with himself.

As they made their way toward the exit, the first explosion rocked the ground beneath them. And that was the moment Harry realized—no matter what universe you were in, no one did explosions like the Marauders.

“Now that’s a party,” Tony muttered as they ran for cover, the entire building shaking with the first real blow.

And just like that, Hydra was in trouble. Big, bad, magical, super-genius-level trouble.

Chapter 77: Chapter 76

The team sprinted across the snow-covered Siberian wasteland, their breath fogging in the freezing air as the Hydra facility behind them continued its grand finale of destruction. Fireballs erupted into the sky, sending twisted metal and shattered concrete raining down. The whole thing looked like a Michael Bay movie, except with less CGI and more actual property damage.

They reached the rendezvous point—a secluded clearing near the edge of a frozen river—just in time to watch the main structure of the Hydra base groan, shudder, and finally collapse in on itself like a very evil soufflé.

Tony let out a low whistle and clapped James Potter on the back. “I have to say, Prongs, that was a work of art. You sure you weren’t a demolitions expert in a past life?”

James adjusted his glasses with a smirk. “I prefer ‘artistic saboteur.’”

Sirius, standing beside him with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, snorted. “And here I thought Tony was all about building things.”

“I am,” Tony said, watching as another explosion sent flaming debris sky-high. “But sometimes, a little controlled destruction is cathartic.”

“Yeah, yeah, poetic,” Bucky muttered, shaking snow off his vibranium arm. “Can we not freeze to death out here?”

Steve crossed his arms, looking every bit like a disappointed dad who just found out his kids threw a party while he was away. “You do realize that if Hydra had any reinforcements, they’d be on their way right now, right?”

“Relax, Cap,” Clint drawled, twirling an arrow between his fingers. “We’ve got an exit plan.” He nodded toward Harry. “Right, Magic Man?”

Harry, clad in his Revenant armor, cracked his neck. “Oh, definitely. But let’s be real, watching Hydra go boom is peak entertainment.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “You enjoy explosions that much?”

Harry turned to her, expression deadpan. “Nat, I spent my childhood under the tender care of the human-walrus hybrid that was my uncle. Watching evil organizations crumble? That’s self-care.”

Peggy smirked. “Can’t argue with that.”

Rhodey, who had been shaking his head at the whole exchange, pointed at Alexei. “Alright, let’s wrap this up before we actually freeze to death.”

Alexei, the ever-enthusiastic Red Guardian, let out a booming laugh. “Ha! This? This is nothing! Back in my day—”

“No one cares, Red,” Bucky groaned. “Literally no one.”

Alexei huffed, crossing his arms. “You Americans have no appreciation for history.”

Moody, his magical eye swiveling in every direction, grumbled, “You lot are too loud for a covert op. Let’s move before Hydra decides to send an encore.”

Harry smirked and finally raised his hand. A swirling portal of blue and gold energy spiraled open in front of them, revealing the warm, inviting interior of their safehouse in Prague.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Harry announced with a dramatic bow. “Your first-class ticket home.”

Steve sighed. “You could just say ‘portal’s open.’”

“But then it wouldn’t be fun, Stevie,” Harry countered.

One by one, the team stepped through, leaving behind the smoldering remains of another one of Hydra’s ill-advised ventures. As the last of them crossed into the safehouse, Harry flicked his wand, closing the portal with a soft whoosh.

Tony exhaled, pulling off his helmet. “Not gonna lie, that was fun.”

Sirius tossed his coat onto the back of a chair. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

James rolled his eyes. “Let’s not.”

Natasha smirked. “You do realize we’re probably going to have to, right?”

Bucky groaned, collapsing onto the nearest couch. “At least let me get some sleep first.”

Erica, who had been uncharacteristically quiet (probably because she had been too busy enjoying the explosions), flopped into an armchair. “I call dibs on the hot shower.”

Rhodey raised a hand. “I call second.”

Harry, grinning, reached into his cloak and pulled out a bottle of firewhisky. “Or… we could drink first. Priorities, people.”

Steve gave him a disapproving look. “Really?”

Harry grinned. “Come on, Steve, live a little.”

Peggy smirked and raised a glass. “To another successful mission.”

“To another,” everyone echoed, glasses clinking as the safehouse filled with laughter, banter, and the kind of camaraderie that only comes from surviving another day of being the world’s last, best hope.

—

As the safehouse hummed with laughter and the warmth of firewhisky, the front door swung open, ushering in a blast of cold air and three figures bundled in winter coats. Lily Potter, Melinda May, and Agent Morrigan stepped inside, shaking off the snow like they had just walked out of a particularly dramatic spy movie.

Lily took one look at the half-empty firewhisky bottle in Harry’s hand and sighed. “Of course, the first thing you do after taking down a Hydra base is drink.”

Harry, ever the picture of innocence, grinned. “To be fair, it’s tradition at this point.”

Peggy, lounging comfortably with a glass in hand, raised it in agreement. “Besides, it’s firewhisky. It warms the soul.”

May, always the practical one, arched an unimpressed eyebrow. “And dulls the senses.”

Sirius, sprawled across one of the couches in what could only be described as ‘Maximum Chaotic Recline,’ smirked. “Which is precisely the point.”

Tony clapped his hands together, effectively calling the room to order. “Alright, children, fun’s over. Now that our merry band of lunatics is back together, let’s crack open Hydra’s dirty little secrets.” He gestured toward the briefcase on the table, its Stark-tech locks glowing faintly like they were judging everyone’s life choices.

JARVIS’s voice chimed in from the speakers, crisp as ever. “Sir, I have begun decrypting the files retrieved from the facility. However, I have encountered a… complication.”

Tony groaned. “Let me guess—Einhardt?”

“Correct. It appears he has once again utilized advanced encryption intertwining Ancient Runes with Arithmancy-based coding.”

Lily rolled her eyes and collapsed into a chair. “Of course he did. The man has an unhealthy obsession with overcomplicating things.”

“Sounds like someone else we know,” Clint muttered, casually twirling an arrow.

“I heard that, Legolas.”

Lily ignored them, already rolling up her sleeves. “Alright, JARVIS, show me what we’re dealing with.”

A holographic projection bloomed in the air, revealing a rotating web of glowing runes intertwined with lines of coded script.

James peered over her shoulder. “That looks like a nightmare.”

“It’s actually quite elegant,” Lily admitted, scanning the intricate structure. “The runes act as a secondary lock. If you don’t solve the Arithmancy equations in the right order, the entire encryption resets.”

“Great,” Rhodey said dryly. “A magical self-destruct button for data.”

“Basically.”

Tony leaned closer, rubbing his hands together. “JARVIS, can you isolate the first layer?”

“Already done, sir.”

Lily flicked her wand, tracing delicate patterns over the runes as she muttered under her breath. The glyphs flickered, and a section of the script shifted.

“There. That should get us through the first lock.”

Tony smirked. “And they say magic and tech don’t mix.”

Natasha, sipping her drink with practiced ease, watched them work. “They mix when you have the right people.”

Peggy, arms crossed, studied the hologram. “Any idea what’s buried under all these layers?”

Lily pushed her glasses up her nose. “We’ll find out soon enough. But something tells me Hydra wasn’t just hoarding weapons in that facility.”

Harry, still lounging with firewhisky in hand, smirked. “Oh, I’m sure whatever it is, it’ll be incredibly dangerous, world-threatening, and lead to at least one more fight.”

Bucky groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. “Why is it always like this?”

Steve, standing like a disappointed dad who just discovered his kids threw a house party, sighed. “Because we have terrible luck.”

Erica, stretched out in an armchair, yawned. “At this point, I think the universe is just messing with us for fun.”

Alexei, sipping what was definitely not his first drink of the night, grinned. “Ha! This is nothing. Back in my day—”

“No one cares, Red,” Bucky interjected, not even looking up. “Literally no one.”

Alexei huffed, muttering something in Russian that was probably unflattering.

Meanwhile, JARVIS’s voice cut through the room. “I believe we are making progress. The second layer of encryption appears to be unraveling.”

Lily smirked. “Good. Let’s crack this thing wide open.”

As the decryption process continued, the room settled into a mix of quiet focus and casual banter. Whatever secrets lay within those files, one thing was certain—Hydra wouldn’t like what came next.

—

The firewhisky-fueled camaraderie had cooled into something far more serious as the team gathered around the holographic display. The web of runes and code lines pulsed ominously, like some eldritch horror whispering, You shall not pass in a digital Lovecraftian nightmare.

Lily adjusted her glasses, narrowing her eyes. "Alright, JARVIS, let’s see what our Hydra friend has cooked up this time."

"Indeed, Mrs. Potter," JARVIS intoned smoothly. "Einhardt, in what I can only describe as a spectacular display of paranoia, has employed not only an advanced Arithmancy-based encryption but has also layered a secondary algorithm on top of it. This is akin to placing a safe inside another safe, coating it in dragonhide, and then launching the entire thing into a black hole."

Tony let out a dramatic groan. "Why do these guys always have to overcomplicate things? What happened to just writing things down in a good old-fashioned villainous diary? ‘Dear Diary, today I plotted world domination. XOXO, Hydra.’"

Rhodey smirked. "You do realize you'd be the first to mock them for being outdated if they did, right?"

"Oh, absolutely. But at least we’d be in by now."

"Double encryption?" Bucky muttered, swirling his drink. "This guy needs to touch grass."

"No, Tony was right the first time," Harry said, sprawled lazily against the couch with a smirk. "Einhardt doesn’t need grass—he needs therapy. Preferably the kind Azkaban provides. I hear Dementors make fantastic therapists."

Steve’s disapproving frown could have powered an entire don’t-do-that seminar. "That’s dark, Harry."

Peggy, sitting beside him with an amused expression, gave him a nudge. "Oh, come on, Steve. Given Hydra’s history, a few Dementors wouldn’t be the worst idea."

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I hate how I can’t argue with that."

Meanwhile, Lily was in full problem-solving mode, her wand weaving intricate patterns through the air as the runes shimmered and flickered like they were actively trying to dodge her efforts. "Okay, the first layer of encryption is starting to break down. JARVIS, reroute the decryption matrix and isolate the secondary algorithm."

"Executing now, Mrs. Potter. However, I must warn you: Einhardt has implemented a failsafe that will trigger a complete data wipe if the secondary encryption is not dismantled in the precise sequence."

Bucky set down his glass with an exasperated sigh. "So… we’re basically playing magical Minesweeper with a nuke attached. Fantastic."

"Relax, Frosty," Clint said, tossing a peanut into his mouth. "We’ve got Magic Man over here. Right, Harry?"

Harry cracked his knuckles, his grin widening. "Oh yeah. No pressure at all. Just a hyper-complex, double-encrypted Hydra doomsday file standing between us and a potential apocalypse. Totally a chill Thursday night."

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "You could just say yes, you know."

"Where’s the fun in that?"

Sirius snorted. "Kid’s got a point."

Lily flicked her wand with more force, frustration creeping into her movements. "This second layer isn’t just encrypted—it’s reactive. Every time I unlock one section, the rest shifts to compensate. It’s like trying to pick a lock while the lock keeps changing its shape."

"Great," May muttered, arms crossed. "So Hydra invented the Rubik’s Cube of death."

"Basically," James agreed.

"JARVIS, can you analyze the rune patterns and cross-reference them with Arithmantic sequencing?" Lily asked, her brow furrowed.

"Running the analysis now. However, the decryption sequence is… extensive. Rushing it will likely lead to failure. Might I suggest patience?"

Erica groaned, dramatically flopping over the table. "That’s not exactly our strong suit."

"Yeah, we kinda just blow things up when we get frustrated," Clint admitted.

Alexei took a sip of vodka, nodding sagely. "A strategy I wholeheartedly support. Sometimes, the best solution is boom."

"Except this time, ‘boom’ means losing whatever Hydra was hiding," Peggy pointed out.

Tony tapped his fingers on the table. "Alright, if brute force won’t work, what will? We need something that can counteract the adaptive encryption."

Lily exhaled slowly. "The only way to neutralize a self-realigning enchantment is to trick it into stabilizing. If I can anchor the rune sequence, we can force it into a fixed pattern."

Steve tilted his head. "And how do you do that?"

Harry’s grin turned downright mischievous. "Simple, Cap. We out-magic the magic."

Moody, who had been eerily silent, grunted. "This is why you lot give me heartburn."

Lily straightened, determination in her eyes. "Alright, let’s do this. Harry, I need you to counterbalance the runes while I stabilize the structure. James, run the Arithmancy calculations and feed them to JARVIS. Sirius—"

"Distract everyone with my overwhelming charm?"

"I was going to say keep an eye out for magical backlash, but sure, let’s call it that."

Natasha smirked. "Oh, I like her."

Harry and Lily raised their wands in tandem, their incantations weaving together in a symphony of light and power. The runes flickered violently, resisting, shifting, fighting them every step of the way.

"C’mon, c’mon…" James muttered, typing furiously. "JARVIS, feed it through now!"

"Executing."

The runes gave one last violent shudder before locking into place. The entire projection pulsed once—then boom (metaphorically, of course). A flood of data exploded across the holographic screen.

"And we’re in!" Tony whooped, throwing his arms up. "Take that, Hydra!"

Bucky let out a dramatic sigh. "Finally. Now let’s see what was worth all this trouble."

Lily pushed up her sleeves. "JARVIS, start sorting the data. Let’s find out what Hydra didn’t want us to see."

Harry leaned back, smirking. "Something tells me Einhardt just lost his last remaining brain cell over this."

Tony grinned. "Serves him right. Welcome to the big leagues, Hydra. We cheat."

With that, the team turned their attention to the decrypted files, bracing themselves for whatever horrors Hydra had hidden within their paranoia-fueled encryption. One thing was certain—this was just the beginning.

—

The room was a symphony of clicking keys, muted swears, and the occasional whooshing sound of holographic screens flicking between documents. Tony Stark, leaning back in his chair, twiddled his fingers in mock evil-genius style. "Alright, Lily. Time to dig through the mess Hydra’s been cooking up. Project Ragnarok—just the name screams 'I’m about to do something world-ending,' right?"

Lily Potter, who was doing her best to make sense of the tangled mess of Hydra files, shot him a look. "You really need to stop watching those cheesy spy thrillers. What’s next, Stark? Gonna start calling me ‘Bond, Lily Bond’?"

Tony grinned and spun around in his chair dramatically. "Well, it is the perfect cover. You’d look fabulous in a tux."

Lily didn't even dignify that with a response—she was too busy scrolling through the encrypted files. But the brief flash of a grin tugging at the corner of her lips suggested she didn’t entirely hate the idea.

"So," Tony said, tapping his fingers against the desk, "Project Ragnarok—code name The Fall of the Reich. Sounds like they were aiming for the most dramatic, over-the-top thing they could think of. Which, honestly, just makes me want to dive in."

Lily arched an eyebrow. "And you’re what—looking for the ‘ultimate villain army’ for a new Christmas toy collection?"

"Hey, I’ve always wanted an army of unstoppable super soldiers. They’re perfect for fighting off inconvenient problems," Tony shot back with a wink.

Lily sighed and shifted in her seat, her glasses glinting as she scanned the files. "This isn’t a joke, Stark. It’s Hydra. You’re not going to get a nice little army with capes and heroic speeches. You’re looking at something way more dangerous."

"That’s what makes it fun!" Tony said. "And come on—if anyone can figure out how to turn a Hydra mess into something mildly useful, it’s me."

Lily groaned, rubbing her eyes. "Hydra wasn’t playing around, Tony. This isn’t some ‘make-a-better-soldier’ game. They were experimenting with magic. Ancient, twisted magic. Dark magic. These people were trying to make soldiers that couldn’t die."

Tony’s eyes gleamed as he leaned in. "Oh, that’s fun. Who doesn't love a good immortality project gone wrong? It’s like a dark fairytale. ‘Once upon a time, Hydra made a soldier who just wouldn’t stay dead.’"

"Until they figured out it was a really bad idea," Lily muttered. "The test subjects—whatever they were—kept breaking free. No amount of normal magic could kill them. They had to decapitate them to make sure they stayed down. But even then..." She trailed off.

"Oh, no," Tony said, adjusting his glasses with exaggerated concern. "Not the head thing. That’s always the part I find messy. I mean, really? No one thought, 'Hey, maybe we shouldn’t create immortal zombies that can’t be put down without losing a head?'"

Lily shot him a look. "Did you not hear me? They were resistant to most forms of magic. I’m talking about a breed of super soldier who wasn’t just bulletproof—they were completely immune to magic. Hydra tried everything, but these soldiers? They were nightmares."

"Yeah, and Hydra’s biggest mistake wasn’t just creating monsters," Tony muttered, scanning the file again. "It was thinking they could control them. Imagine being the guy tasked with keeping these guys in check. It’s like keeping a lion as a pet and then acting surprised when it eats the neighbors."

Lily skimmed another section of the file, her expression growing more serious. "The worst part? Hydra didn’t scrap the project—they just put it on pause. They didn’t give up, Tony. They’re still looking for a way to make the soldiers easier to control. They want them unkillable—without all the decapitation mess."

"Well, that’s a bit of a conundrum," Tony said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "And you know what they say—'if at first you don’t succeed, just keep creating things until someone gets hurt.'"

Lily paused. "You’re kind of terrifying sometimes, you know that?"

Tony gave her an innocent look. "What? I’m a genius, not a monster."

Before she could respond, the rest of the team wandered into the room, their voices low but curious.

"Hey," Steve Rogers said, eyeing the holographic screens. "What’s all this about some super soldier project? We talking about the usual Hydra nonsense, or is this something new?"

Lily glanced at him. "This is something new. Project Ragnarok. It was meant to create the ultimate soldiers—undying, unkillable, and virtually impossible to control."

Steve looked grim. "That’s... unsettling."

Bucky Barnes, who had wandered in behind Steve, shot Tony a skeptical look. "You’re really going to be the one to clean up this mess, huh, Stark?"

Tony raised both eyebrows. "Me? The guy who’s clearly better at fighting other bad guys, not just the bad guys who also have magic and might spontaneously explode into flames? Of course."

Bucky grinned. "You sure you’ve got this, Tony?"

"You mean 'Do I have the unbeatable army of magical undead Nazis under control'? Absolutely," Tony said with a self-satisfied smirk. "I mean, when has it ever gone wrong for me before?"

Peggy Carter stepped up beside Steve, folding her arms. "It has gone wrong, Tony. More than once."

"Oh, come on, Peggy," Tony said, waving her off. "That was so last week. I’m over it." He raised a finger. "Besides, we have better things to focus on—like making sure Hydra doesn’t resurrect these things, and making sure no one accidentally lets them loose on an unsuspecting world."

"Hey, I like the sound of that," Natasha Romanoff said, leaning against the doorframe. "But if there’s a chance we can take out the people responsible for this mess before they get any further, I’m all in."

"Are you ever not in?" Clint Barton teased from across the room.

"Not when it involves stopping monsters from rising out of the shadows," Natasha said, flashing him a smirk. "Let me guess, you’ve got a witty comeback for everything, huh?"

Clint smirked. "You have no idea."

Lily looked over at Tony. "We need to track this down, make sure no one else gets their hands on this tech. And we need to find out who’s still working on Project Ragnarok—and stop them before they figure out a way to fix their 'immortal soldier' problem."

"That’s the plan," Tony said, winking. "In the meantime, I’m going to need my team to stop worrying about immortal zombies and focus on something a little more fun."

“Something like ‘stop Hydra from making an army of undead Nazis’ fun?” Erica Hill, who had just entered the room, chimed in with a raised eyebrow.

“Exactly that,” Tony replied, pointing a finger at her. “See? Someone gets it.”

"Well," said Rhodey, stepping forward, "if you need someone who’s good at blowing stuff up, I'm your guy."

"I love when you speak my language," Tony grinned.

"Let’s not get too excited," Steve cautioned. "We've got a dangerous situation here. Hydra might have learned from their mistakes... and if they’ve improved their methods, we're going to have bigger problems than we thought."

"I’ll take on whatever bigger problem Hydra’s got," Clint said with a grin. "Let’s just keep it from involving squid this time, okay?"

Tony shot him a grin. "No promises, Barton."

And just like that, the Avengers—and the rest of the crew—were off, ready to take on a Hydra mess that was bound to be far more terrifying than anything they’d dealt with before. But they had one thing going for them: a team that was as ready for anything as they were.

And let’s be real, when you had a crew like this, magic-infused undead super soldiers weren’t about to stop them.

—

Lily’s fingers flew over the keyboard, the sound of her rapid typing filling the room as she sifted through Hydra’s ridiculous amounts of encrypted files. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack… except the haystack was on fire, and the needles were covered in spikes. She could feel her brain slowly starting to turn to mush from the sheer absurdity of it all. Hydra had some serious issues with organization, and their idea of research made a mad scientist’s lab look like an orderly library.

Tony, on the other hand, was lounging back in his chair like he was watching a Netflix special. “So, no glowing werewolves yet, huh? I’m starting to feel disappointed in Hydra’s lack of imagination. What’s next? A sentient chair that wants to overthrow the government?”

Lily glanced over at him, not bothering to hide the eye roll. “Not today, Tony. Focus. This is important.”

“Oh, I’m focused,” Tony said, clicking through more files like a guy who’d just discovered the joys of an espresso machine. “I’m laser-focused. Like a hawk with ADD.”

Lily gritted her teeth and kept scrolling, trying to ignore the smug grin on Tony’s face. But then—bam—something caught her eye. A string of documents buried beneath some half-decent research and a few weird runes. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and then blinked again. No way. Was she seeing this right?

“Tony,” she said, voice sharp as a sword, “Rewind that. I think I found something.”

Tony paused, cocking an eyebrow as he leaned in, curiosity piqued. “Please tell me it’s not a map to the nearest taco truck.”

Lily stared at the screen, her mind doing the equivalent of a double-take. “Einhardt. He cracked it.”

Tony’s eyes practically bugged out of his skull. “Cracked what? Some ancient puzzle that’ll make me the king of Atlantis? Or maybe a new app to make my life more convenient? Because let me tell you, I could really use an app that does my laundry for me.”

“No,” Lily said, the tension in her voice making Tony sit up straighter. “He cracked the formula for Nicholas Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Tony blinked a few times, like he was waiting for the punchline. “The what now?”

Lily shot him a look. “The Philosopher’s Stone. The one that grants immortality, turns metal into gold, and is basically every alchemist’s wet dream.”

Tony rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Oh. That Philosopher’s Stone. Okay, yeah, I can see why Hydra would want that. But wait—Einhardt has it? Does Hydra even know about this?”

“No,” Lily said, voice barely above a whisper. “Einhardt didn’t tell them. This is his personal project. They don’t have a clue.”

Tony let out a slow whistle. “So Einhardt’s got the magic equivalent of a cheat code to life, and Hydra is still looking for a new way to turn their soldiers into zombies?” He rubbed his temples. “This is why I can’t take Hydra seriously. They have zero priorities.”

Lily nodded grimly. “If they ever found out… things could get a lot worse.”

Just as she was about to dive deeper into the file, a raucous sound from across the room interrupted her concentration. She turned to see Harry, Sirius, James, Alexei, Moody, and Erica gathered around the table, clearly having a great time with Firewhiskey in hand. And by “great time,” she meant “loud, borderline inappropriate, and entirely too carefree for the situation.”

James was hanging off Alexei like a toddler trying to make a new friend at daycare. “Come on, buddy, admit it—those fireworks at that gala in Monaco? Pure genius! Who doesn’t love an impromptu pyrotechnic display during an auction?”

Sirius chuckled, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Yeah, especially when the auction was for a diamond-encrusted chicken.”

Moody, gruff and with the permanent frown of a man who’d been betrayed by happiness, just shook his head. “I’m just saying, I think we need a new hobby.”

Erica, a little tipsy but still standing tall, added, “Maybe one that doesn’t involve setting off illegal explosives.”

“Or risking our lives,” Tony muttered under his breath, before turning back to Lily. “These guys, huh? Can’t take anything seriously.”

Lily sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, well, they do have a way of making things interesting.”

Just then, Harry—whose idea of “serious” was usually wearing sunglasses indoors and cracking sarcastic remarks—sauntered over with a Firewhiskey bottle in hand and a grin plastered across his face. “What’s up, Mum? I see you’re working hard. Need us to throw something at a wall for good luck?”

“Harry, James, Sirius,” Lily called, cutting him off before he could launch into one of his usual quips. “Come over here. Now.”

Harry grinned wider. “Whoa, someone’s cranky today. You know, you could join the party. We’ve got whiskey, bad decisions, and a complete lack of responsibility.”

“I don’t think now’s the time for one of your drunken schemes, Harry,” Lily said, trying her best not to sound like she was about to strangle him with a shoelace. “This is important. Really important.”

James, still half-drunk, slung his arm around Sirius’s shoulder. “How important? Like ‘we accidentally blow up a small country’ important? Or ‘we saved the world again’ important?”

“Even more important,” Lily replied. “I need you all to see this.”

The group gathered around, and Harry peered at the screen like it was a new shiny toy. “Alright, what’s the emergency? Did we get invited to another one of those boring government meetings?”

Lily pointed to the file on the screen. “Einhardt’s been working on the Philosopher’s Stone. He cracked the formula. If Hydra finds out—”

“Hold up,” Harry interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “Wait, you’re telling me that Einhardt, the guy with the bad haircuts and even worse plans, figured out how to make the Stone?”

“Yeah,” Lily said, voice low. “But they have no idea. Hydra’s completely in the dark. If they ever find out…”

Sirius cracked his knuckles ominously. “Then we’re all screwed.”

“Yeah, because immortality in Hydra’s hands is definitely the best idea since sliced bread,” Tony muttered sarcastically, leaning back in his chair. “We need to stop them before they even know it’s a thing.”

“Exactly,” Lily said, watching as the group processed the information. “We move fast. Hydra can’t find out about this.”

James, finally sober enough to look serious, nodded. “Then we don’t waste time. We make sure Einhardt doesn’t finish what he started.”

“Well, now that we’re all caught up,” Tony said, spinning his chair dramatically. “Let’s make sure the world doesn’t get an eternal do-over, yeah?”

As they all nodded, the banter kicked back up like nothing had changed. And that, to Lily’s relief, meant they were ready for whatever Hydra threw at them next. Because when you’re facing immortality, secret projects, and Hydra’s obsession with power, the only way to survive was with sharp minds, sharp wits, and just enough Firewhiskey to keep the crazy in check.

The game was on. And they weren’t about to let Hydra win. Not if they could help it.

—

Lily’s eyes were locked on the file, fingers hovering over the keyboard like a cat about to pounce on a laser pointer. “Tony,” she said, voice steady, but with a hint of urgency in her tone, “I need you to go through this. Look for any backup data. A guy like Einhardt? He’s paranoid enough to have backups of his backups. We need to get our hands on them—especially his research on the Philosopher’s Stone—before Hydra does.”

Tony shot her a look that was equal parts amused and skeptical, his fingers never stopping their mad dash across the keyboard. “Backup of backups? You think Einhardt’s that paranoid?” he quipped, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Come on, Lily. If Hydra’s involved, they’ve probably already missed it by ten miles.”

“I’m not so sure,” Lily muttered, scanning the screen like she was trying to hypnotize it. “This guy didn’t just stumble onto the Philosopher’s Stone—he’s been working on it for decades. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s scattered his research all over the place. If we don’t find those backups, Hydra will—and they’ll get their hands on the key to immortality.”

“Ah, immortality,” Tony grinned, but his focus sharpened. “Big stuff. So, you want me to find the hidden treasure before Hydra does? Say no more. Let me get my Indiana Jones on.”

Lily shook her head, exhaling through her nose. “Focus, Stark.”

Tony’s fingers never stopped. It was like he was born to type at ludicrous speed. “Focus? Oh, I’m focused. Laser-focused. Like a hawk on a rabbit. But, you know, with less killing.”

As Tony worked, Harry, leaning against a table with his arms crossed, threw Lily a look. His expression was dark, like it usually was when the stakes were high, and even though his tone was calm, there was an edge to it that cut through the room like a scythe. "Tony, you find those backup files, and we make sure Hydra never sees them. Otherwise, we’ll have a new set of problems to deal with. And trust me, I’ve had enough of those for several lifetimes.”

Tony flashed a grin, holding up his hands like he was surrendering. “Whoa, whoa, no need to get all doom and gloom on me. I’m on it, Cap. Or... should I say, Krypton-boy?”

Lily shot Tony a pointed look as she glanced around the room at the others, who were half-listening, half-doing whatever it was they did best. She caught Bucky’s eyes. He was sitting back in a chair, arms folded, looking like he was attending a lecture on the history of cheese, not the fate of the world.

“Tony, you find that backup data, and we’ll be able to stop Hydra before they can—” Lily started.

“Before they make a complete mess of things?” Bucky interrupted, deadpan. “Like always?”

"Exactly," she said, not missing a beat. “Otherwise, it’s going to be a long road ahead.”

Tony smirked. “Yeah, well, I’m about to save everyone’s butts, so, you know, get ready for the ‘Tony Stark Hero of the Day’ parade. It’s coming.”

“Just make sure it’s not a parade of disaster, Stark,” Natasha interjected, her voice like smooth velvet with a steel edge. She leaned in from across the table, looking down at the screen. “It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

Tony waved his hand dismissively. “You wound me, Nat. I’m a professional. Like, a professional-professional. You know, like a surgeon. But with more tech and less... blood.”

“Focus, Tony,” Peggy said from the side, giving him a look that could freeze lava.

“Right. Focusing,” Tony replied, doing the world's quickest impersonation of a serious man. "So, Einhardt was all about layers upon layers of encryption. Vaults within vaults. The kind of thing even Hydra wouldn’t bother touching. They’d get confused and blow up their own headquarters before they figured out where the backup data was.”

“Yeah,” Lily said, nodding. “This guy didn’t mess around. But it makes sense. He was researching immortality. A guy like that would have a fail-safe... or ten.”

“Oh, he did,” Tony said, his voice dropping to that tone he used when he found something really juicy. “I think I’ve found the motherload. It’s encrypted within another encrypted vault, tucked away in a hidden network inside a server farm in... let me guess... Antarctica?”

“Close enough,” Tony muttered, almost smug. “But honestly, you’d be surprised at how many geniuses think they can hide stuff in places no one will find. Look, I just cracked it. This is it—the jackpot.”

Lily straightened. “You sure?”

Tony leaned back in his chair, stretching, but his fingers never stopped. “Absolutely. Now, we just need to make sure Hydra doesn’t find out about it. I’m downloading the data now.”

“Any idea what we’re looking at?” Steve asked, crossing his arms with a frown. “I’m just trying to picture a backup plan that doesn’t end in more explosions. Or Hydra agents.”

“Right,” Tony said with a wicked grin. “Because explosions are your thing, Captain America, right?”

“Explosions,” Steve muttered dryly, “are not my thing.”

“Sure they are,” Tony said, throwing him a thumbs-up. “You’re just too humble to admit it.”

As the room buzzed with half-jokes and banter, Harry’s voice sliced through like a hot knife through butter. “Let’s keep the funny business to a minimum. We get that backup data, and Hydra never sees it. End of story. Otherwise... well, you know.”

Tony nodded, no longer joking around. “Understood, Magic-boy. No Hydra for you. Only immortality for us. You’ll have to share with the group, though.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “The group? This isn’t about sharing, Stark. This is about preventing disaster.”

“I’m just saying,” Tony said, pulling up a new window on the screen, “if we’re going to risk our lives getting this data, we might as well have some fun with it, right? Besides, I’ve already cracked the first level of encryption.”

“And there it is,” Natasha said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tony Stark: always the professional. Except when he’s making jokes.”

“We all have our talents,” Tony replied, flashing a grin as he continued his work. “And my talent happens to be saving the world. Again.”

As he worked his magic, the rest of the team exchanged knowing looks. In a room full of chaos and impossible odds, they all knew one thing—Tony Stark might be the biggest pain in the neck, but when it counted, he got the job done. And when it came to keeping Hydra from getting their hands on the Philosopher’s Stone—or anything else dangerous, for that matter—their odds just went up significantly.

Lily watched Tony as he worked, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the tension in the air. She was used to this. They were all used to it. The chaos, the jokes, the insane banter that kept them all sane... but when the real fight came, they knew they'd be there for each other. That was what mattered.

“Well,” Lily said, leaning back in her chair. “This is either going to end with fireworks or complete catastrophe. But I’m betting on the first one.”

“Fireworks?” Sirius echoed from the corner. “I’m in. Count me in. Always down for a little explosion.”

"Right," Lily said, with a smirk. "No one does a proper catastrophe quite like us."

And with that, the real battle began—one encrypted file at a time.

Chapter 78: Chapter 77

“Alright, folks,” Tony Stark announced, clapping his hands with the enthusiasm of someone about to unleash chaos. The holographic interface flared to life, casting the war room in a soft blue glow that made everyone look like they were part of an early 2000s sci-fi reboot.

“Behold,” Tony continued, gesturing at the spiraling mess of red dots on the global map like it was his masterpiece, “the paranoia-powered mind of Dr. Erik Einhardt—mad genius, encryption hoarder, and undisputed champion of the world’s worst file organization system.”

JARVIS, with his usual British sass, chimed in, “Might I suggest ‘secret-obsessed archivist,’ sir? It sounds slightly less... cartoonish.”

Tony arched a brow. “We are staring at a map that includes a vault inside an actual volcano, JARVIS. Cartoonish left the chat three conspiracy theories ago.”

Steve Rogers, ever the grounded one, crossed his arms as he stared at the red dot blinking over Hawaii. “That volcano’s not active, right?”

Tony gave him a grin. “Define ‘active.’”

Bucky Barnes, lounging nearby with a mug of coffee like he hadn’t fought ten Hydra agents before breakfast, snorted. “If I die in a volcano, I’m haunting you.”

Tony winked. “If I die in a volcano, I’m going out with a lava slide and a martini. Priorities, Barnes.”

“Children,” Natasha Romanoff muttered, eyes glued to her datapad, “can we focus before someone volunteers to wrestle a lava monster?”

“Too late,” Clint Barton chimed in. “Alexei’s already sweating.”

Alexei Shostakov threw up his hands. “I am not wearing the fireproof suit again! It itches in places I shouldn’t even have anymore.”

Meanwhile, Lily Potter leaned forward, scanning the chaos with that particular Mom Look that promised she was two seconds from grounding the lot of them.

“Tony, how many vaults?” she asked, voice brisk.

“Thirteen,” he said, spinning the globe with a flick. “Four in North America. One in a volcano. Three buried under assumed identities and ancient magic. And one, believe it or not, under a coffee shop in Vienna. Because caffeine is sacred.”

“Can you transmit the data to the New York Safehouse?”

“Already on it,” Tony said, fingers dancing like a hacker-conductor. “JARVIS is uploading now. Should be in the system faster than Bucky can say ‘grumpy murder grandpa.’”

“I don’t say that,” Bucky muttered.

“You don’t have to,” Erica snapped from the corner, eyes glinting. “You radiate it.”

Harry Potter, aka Magical Super Soldier Deluxe Edition, stood off to the side watching the banter like a man who’d seen it all and still couldn’t believe this was his life.

Lily turned to him, fire in her eyes. “Harry, I need a portal. Now. Howard and Adler need this formula.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You want me to open a portal to New York right now? No prep? No magical chalk? Not even a snack?”

Lily gave him the Look.

Harry sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if I end up with portal-lag again, I’m putting you on babysitting duty for my chaos gremlins.”

He flicked his fingers. Runes shimmered to life in golden arcs, whirling outward until a portal whooshed open with enough force to make Steve’s hair ripple.

Clint leaned over to Natasha. “Tell me again why we don’t all just learn magic?”

“Because some of us have a healthy fear of imploding reality,” she replied dryly.

Lily stepped through the glowing gate like she was walking into Target for a mission. “Tony, keep the team together. Harry, stay sharp. If Hydra gets wind of this—”

“They’ll find out what happens when they mess with someone who has claws, trauma, and zero chill,” Harry finished.

Tony gave a lazy salute. “Good luck convincing my dad that immortality comes in potion form. Last I checked, he was still trying to make whiskey count as a life extension method.”

Rhodey shook his head. “Howard Stark and Grindelwald working together. That’s either a Nobel Prize or a Bond villain convention.”

JARVIS chimed in, “There is a statistically significant chance the Safehouse will explode. Again.”

Tony grinned. “So you're saying there's a chance.”

The portal closed with a soft hum, leaving the team staring at the swirling map.

Harry cracked his knuckles and stretched like someone about to do yoga on a battlefield. “Alright. Who’s ready to chase paranoid vaults and maybe punch a lava demon?”

Alexei raised his hand. “Still not wearing the fireproof suit.”

Steve, all righteous leadership, stepped forward. “We split into teams. Hit the vaults. Secure the data. And if Hydra’s involved—”

“We go full berserker on them,” Harry said, his voice dangerously calm.

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘full berserker.’”

Harry grinned. “You ever see a vibranium claw go through a tank?”

Bucky blinked. “No—wait. Yes. That was you, wasn’t it?”

“Damn right,” Harry replied, summoning his claws with a shing. “And this time, I’m bringing magic.”

Tony clapped. “Someone get the popcorn. This is about to be epic.”

Steve sighed. “God help us all.”

“God’s got the day off,” Natasha said, loading her Widow’s Bite. “We’re all that’s left.”

—

New York Safehouse – Secret Lab Level

(A.K.A. Where Genius Goes to Panic, Break Things, and Yell About Math)

The elevator pinged. The doors opened with all the grace of a dramatic Broadway reveal—except instead of jazz hands and glitter, out stormed Lily Potter, trench coat flaring like she’d just stepped off the set of Mission: Magical Impossible.

“Outta the way, nerds,” she snapped, red hair blazing, boots stomping like she was ready to hex someone into next week. “I’ve got a philosopher-bomb in my pocket and exactly zero patience for magical mansplaining.”

Inside the lab—aka Stark’s Mad Science Man Cave—Howard Stark and Gideon Adler were already mid-bicker, chalk flying, runes glowing, and a holographic whiteboard blinking with equations so complicated they made taxes look friendly.

“You can’t stabilize a quantum magic matrix using a dark matter flux capacitor,” Howard said, arms flailing like a caffeinated octopus. “That’s how you get time-ghosts!”

Adler—who looked like every arrogant wizard villain ever rolled into one smug, silver-haired package—gave an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, well, if you actually understood chaos theory, you’d realize magic doesn’t care about your physics. It’s more like jazz. Intuitive. Improvisational. Beautiful.”

“Jazz?!” Howard barked. “You think the answer to reality-warping alchemy is jazz?!”

“Worked for Coltrane.”

“Oh, great, now we’re citing saxophonists as sources.”

Adler crossed his arms, cape swishing with enough flair to be legally classified as a threat. “Better than citing a bar napkin and three shots of whiskey, which is what you called your ‘proof of concept’ last week.”

“That napkin got us the mana-converter! And two-thirds of a burrito.”

“Gentlemen,” Lily cut in, stepping between them like a war goddess in yoga pants. “Unless one of you can conjure up a Philosopher’s Stone using sarcasm and middle-aged ego, shut up and look at what I brought you.”

Howard blinked, startled. “Lily! You’re back from Prague already? Thought you’d still be stuck in that lava vault.”

“Brief detour. Lava, sarcasm duels, Tony Stark going full goblin mode. But the important part?” She pulled a flash drive from her coat like it was Excalibur. “This is the complete formula. Erik Einhardt’s original notes. The whole enchilada.”

Adler’s posture shifted. The smugness faded just a notch, replaced with something more… cautious.

“Einhardt?” he repeated. “As in Erik Einhardt?”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “That a problem?”

Adler winced like she’d mentioned an ex who also happened to be a pyromaniac cult leader. “We went to Durmstrang together. He got expelled before me. That’s like being kicked out of Azkaban for being too intense. The man once tried to rewrite magical DNA using dragon bile and a teaspoon.”

Howard, who’d already snatched the drive and plugged it into the main terminal, blinked. “Wait, he’s the guy? I thought you were the nutjob at that school.”

“I was,” Adler said flatly. “He was worse.”

JARVIS pinged to life. “Loading file. Please ensure all breakables are secured and all Dark Lords are accounted for.”

The screen flickered to life. Runes spun in tight spirals. Enchanted DNA strands curled and morphed, glowing with mana signatures and what might’ve been demonic caffeine. The entire formula looked like it had been written by a sleep-deprived Einstein collaborating with a gremlin on Red Bull.

Howard whistled. “Well, I’ll be…”

Adler leaned in, eyes scanning, brain moving faster than a Quidditch snitch on espresso. “This isn’t just a Philosopher’s Stone schematic. It’s… alchemical genome weaving. With a side of quantum enchantment and whatever-the-hell-that-is.” He pointed at a rune pulsing like a heartbeat.

“And?” Lily asked, arms crossed.

Adler looked up, wand flicking unconsciously at his side, eyes wide like a kid in a cursed candy shop. “And if we can synthesize this… we don’t just get the Infinity Formula. We get immortality. No dark rituals. No soul-trading. Just pure, elegant science-magic alchemy.”

“Cool,” Howard said casually, “but can we weaponize it?”

Lily facepalmed so hard she nearly bruised. “Howard.”

“What? I’m just saying! Hydra’s gonna try!”

“And they’ll fail,” Adler muttered, expression darkening. “Because they won’t understand it. They’ll treat it like a tool. But this… this is legacy-level. This is the kind of power that reshapes the rules.”

“JARVIS,” Lily said sharply, “priority broadcast. Tell Harry. Code Phoenix. And get me direct links to May, Peggy, and—hell—get Fury while you’re at it.”

“Understood,” JARVIS replied. “Also, Hydra has a 86.3% probability of tracking this file as we speak.”

Howard clapped his hands. “Great! We’ve got a ticking clock, a stolen alchemical nuke, and a dark wizard who used to date the guy who wrote it.”

“I didn’t date him,” Adler muttered, too quickly. “We were… colleagues. Briefly. I may have stabbed him. Once. Or twice.”

Lily sighed. “Boys. Focus. Hydra’s coming, and they won’t knock politely.”

Adler smirked, drawing his wand. The runes along its length flared, whispering like ghosts in a hurricane. “Then we remind them why some magic should be feared.”

Howard rolled his sleeves. “And I’ll remind them why Stark tech should never be underestimated.”

Lily cracked her knuckles. “Right. Let’s show Hydra what happens when brains, brawn, and biting sarcasm team up.”

Somewhere in the shadows, war drums began to beat.

—

Harry Potter hovered in midair like a magical Iron Man with a flair for dramatics. His Revenant Armor shimmered in molten reds and radiant golds, a phoenix cowl pulled low over his face like he was trying to cosplay as a magical god of vengeance (spoiler: he totally was). His Cloak of Levitation billowed behind him like it had just watched The Incredibles and took Edna Mode’s “no capes” as a personal challenge.

Ten feet below, Natasha Romanoff stood like the lava didn’t exist. Because of course she did.

“Tell me again,” she called up, voice cool and precise through the comms, “how exactly did you find an invisible island in the middle of an active volcano surrounded by lava and mystical wards that hate everything?”

“Third eye of Agamotto,” Harry replied, lowering beside her with a hiss of steam. “You focus your mind, align your chakras, open your spiritual perception—”

She raised an eyebrow. “You used Google Maps, didn’t you?”

Harry smirked under his glowing visor. “Okay, magical Google Maps. Less traffic data, more soul-searching.”

She shook her head like she was dating the magical version of Tony Stark and trying really hard not to admit it.

The lava churned around them like it was considering unionizing. The air shimmered with heat and the scent of roasted wizard ego. And beneath it all pulsed magic—old, angry, and paranoid enough to need therapy.

Harry activated his mystic sight, and a flurry of glowing sigils lit up the obsidian around them like someone had gone to town with highlighters and existential dread.

“Oh, good,” Harry muttered. “Triple-layered wards. Runic webs. A bloodlock that whispers sweet nothings in Latin. And something that’s either a fire curse or Einhardt’s attempt at magical air freshener.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Translation?”

He turned to her, eyes glowing faintly behind his mask. “It’s like someone took every curse known to wizardkind, added caffeine, and gave it a superiority complex. Honestly, it’s impressive. Paranoid, but impressive.”

“I dated a KGB handler once who booby-trapped his toothbrush,” Natasha said, deadpan. “Still not as bad as this.”

“Einhardt would have been that guy. ‘Oh, you want to check your email? Cool. Just disarm the demon ward, solve the riddle of the cursed sphinx, and don’t forget the anti-theft chant or your soul gets vaporized.’”

Natasha stepped closer, boot heels clicking on charred rock like she wasn’t currently standing over magma. “So, what’s the plan, Wizard-Boy Wonder?”

Harry’s grin was pure mischief. “Let me show you how I handle paranoid overkill.”

He raised his wand, traced an elegant, glowing pattern in the air, muttered a few incantations under his breath, and then—with the same smug energy of a cat knocking over a glass—flicked his wrist.

“Accio Flash Drive.”

There was a silence. A deep, magical, judging silence.

Then a pop echoed across the lava lake, and a sleek, black flash drive launched itself from the mouth of a cursed idol that looked like it was regretting life choices. It zipped through enchantments, bypassed an ancient lava sigil, pirouetted past a confusion charm, and landed neatly in Harry’s outstretched hand with a polite ting.

Natasha blinked.

Harry smirked. “The oldest spell in the book. And still undefeated.”

She stared at him like he’d just pulled a rabbit out of a radioactive hat. “You… you just summoned it.”

He spun the flash drive on his finger like a wand. “Wizards spend a million galleons on magical security systems, and still forget one little anti-summoning charm. Classic.”

“That is either genius or the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Harry leaned in, voice low and teasing. “That’s just how I roll, Red. Fifty percent brilliance, fifty percent bullsh—”

The ground rumbled ominously beneath them. A molten growl echoed from the cave mouth across the caldera. The lava surged like it had suddenly remembered it was alive.

Natasha’s hand went to her Widow’s Bite. “Please tell me that was just the volcano stretching.”

Harry’s visor pinged red.

“Nope,” he said. “That was the vault’s guardian.”

Natasha sighed. “Of course there’s a guardian.”

And then the rock cracked wide, and a fifty-foot-tall lava golem erupted from the depths like it had a grudge against all things USB.

It roared, fire spitting from its mouth, body stitched together with volcanic glass and flaming chains.

Harry stared. “Well. That’s new.”

“You said he wasn’t prepared for the obvious!”

“I said most wizards aren’t! Apparently Einhardt had trust issues with his trust issues.”

The golem swung a fiery arm at them.

Natasha ducked and fired a Widow’s Line, launching herself to higher ground like it was parkour o’clock.

Harry shot skyward, cloak flaring out dramatically because of course it did.

“Remind me again why I’m dating you?” Natasha called over comms.

“Because I’m charming, devastatingly handsome, and make excellent breakfast,” Harry replied, dodging a fireball.

“You once set a frying pan on fire trying to make eggs.”

“It was part of the ambiance!”

The golem roared again, louder this time, and started climbing after them.

“I am never coming on one of your magic runs again,” Natasha snapped.

Harry held up the flash drive like it was the Holy Grail. “But look! Mission success!”

“You summoned a flash drive and summoned a lava monster! Those cancel each other out!”

“I disagree. Strongly. Also romantically.”

She arched a brow mid-flight. “Romantically?”

He grinned beneath the cowl. “I almost died for this thing. If that doesn’t scream commitment, I don’t know what does.”

She groaned, flipping through the air to land beside him on a floating obsidian pillar. “You are the dumbest genius I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re the deadliest redhead I’ve ever fallen for.”

The lava behind them exploded. Molten fire rained from the sky. The golem screamed like someone had deleted its Netflix account.

Harry grabbed Natasha’s waist and activated the Cloak’s emergency levitation burst.

“Time to go!”

“Way ahead of you, Romeo.”

As the golem howled and the volcano did its best impression of a Michael Bay finale, the two soared into the sky—one spy, one sorcerer, one stolen flash drive, and approximately a thousand degrees of chaos behind them.

The sun dipped low on the horizon as they escaped, two fiery streaks against the orange sky.

Harry glanced at her mid-flight.

“You still mad?”

She gave him a sidelong look. “Ask me again when we’re not being chased by a living volcano.”

He smiled. “Deal. But I’m still taking full credit for the heist.”

She smirked. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

And behind them, the island finally blew.

Roll credits.

Cue theme music.

Possibly Taylor Swift.

—

Vienna, Austria – 3:07 PM – “Kaffee & Käsekuchen” (Tagline: Espresso So Strong It’ll See Your Future)

Steve Rogers stood outside the quaint little café like he was modeling for an undercover dad-themed calendar. Dark jeans. Bomber jacket. The kind of look that said, “Yes, I fought Nazis, but I also make a mean pancake brunch.” He sipped from a paper cup that claimed to contain coffee, though he had serious doubts.

Next to him, Peggy Carter looked like a Bond girl who moonlighted as the director of MI6. Designer coat. Cat-eye sunglasses. Perfectly neutral expression that screamed I could kill you with a stilettos and make it look like an accident. Which, let’s be honest, she absolutely could.

Steve glanced sideways, still watching the café windows. “You ever notice how whenever we’re trying to be subtle, something explodes five minutes later?”

Peggy took a delicate sip of her espresso. “Yes. And yet, you keep trying.”

“You wound me.”

“No, darling,” she said sweetly. “That’s usually Bucky’s job.”

—crackle of comms—

“Did someone say my name?” Bucky’s voice came through their earpieces like a guy who had absolutely not been caught napping in the back of a truck next to a paranoid magical pirate.

“We were just admiring your subtlety,” Steve deadpanned.

“In comparison to Stark, I am subtle.”

From the front of the delivery van, Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody let out a gruff snort that could’ve been a laugh. Or indigestion. With him, it was hard to tell.

“Constant vigilance, Rogers,” Moody growled. “Subtlety’s fine until it gets you hexed six ways from Sunday and stored in a cursed jam jar.”

“That happen often?” Bucky asked, eyebrows raised.

“You’d be surprised,” Moody muttered. “Once, in Prague, I spent two weeks trapped in a tea kettle. Long story. Don’t ask.”

Inside “Kaffee & Käsekuchen” – Mission Code Name: Latte Recon

James Potter looked like a man on holiday from wizard dad duties—flannel shirt, jeans, and an expertly crafted MuggleWatch enchanted to monitor magical fluctuations. He stirred his mocha with flair, but his wand hand was subtly tracing detection runes along the ceramic cup.

Across from him, Sirius Black looked like he’d strolled off a runway and into a spy thriller. Aviators indoors. Collar popped. His smirk alone was probably illegal in three countries.

“I’m telling you,” Sirius said, “that barista has the eyes of a Hungarian Horntail in tax season.”

“She shimmered,” James muttered, low and fast. “Tattoo on the wrist—Czech fire magic, maybe elemental binding. When she handed that Americano to Mr. Definitely-Not-Tourist over there, the foam spelled ‘run.’ In cursive.”

Sirius blinked. “Subtle.”

“She’s guarding the vault,” James said. “Or she is the vault. Hard to tell these days. Magical architecture’s gotten weird.”

“You think she’s one of those soul-bound security anchors?” Sirius asked, reaching for his third croissant. “Because that would really ruin my flirting strategy.”

“Don’t even try it, Padfoot.”

“I’m just saying, if I am going to be hexed into a cursed teacup, I want it to be by someone who looks good doing it.”

Above Vienna – Enter: The Billion-Dollar Bat

Tony Stark hovered like a judgmental gargoyle, wrapped in his new Stealth Armor—a sleek, matte-black number with shimmer-camo, whisper-silent repulsors, and enough passive enchantments to give Hermione a headache.

“JARVIS,” Tony muttered, “on a scale of one to ‘bad idea,’ where are we at?”

“Somewhere between ‘please don’t’ and ‘dear God why.’”

“Perfect. So right on schedule.”

Tony swept a thermal-magic scan across the café roof. “I’ve got six heat signatures, one deeply suspicious espresso machine, and a guy ordering cheesecake at 3:07 PM. Which, in my professional opinion, should be illegal.”

“I like cheesecake,” Steve’s voice chimed in.

“You also like running laps at 5 AM and drinking unsweetened coffee. Your opinion is invalid.”

Peggy’s voice cut in, dry as ever. “Gentlemen. Focus. Magical backup vault beneath the café. Possibly tied to the barista. One shot. No casualties. Try not to get turned into cookware.”

“Copy that,” Tony said. “Still voting we just Iron Man our way in.”

“Denied,” Peggy replied.

“…Soft ‘maybe’?”

Inside the Truck – Chaos Command Central

Bucky rolled his eyes as he studied the mix of Stark tech and Moody-approved magical surveillance gear, which looked like someone had smashed a supercomputer into a wizard's attic and called it a day.

“You’ve got a leprechaun ward inside a Stark server. How is that even allowed?”

Moody grunted. “Don’t question the magic, lad. Just pray it doesn’t grow legs and bite.”

The monitor blinked.

Thaumic spike. Deep under the café.

Moody straightened like a thundercloud in a trench coat. “Failsafe’s been touched.”

Inside the Café – Game. On.

The barista twitched.

It was small—a blink-and-you-miss-it shimmer around her tattoo, and a sudden flicker of flame dancing along the steam wand. But James saw it. Magic was activating. He felt it in his teeth.

“Padfoot—she just keyed something. We’re about ten seconds from magical DEFCON one.”

Sirius looked up. Locked eyes with the barista.

Her smile was all cinnamon and murder.

“Oh, bollocks,” he muttered. “I think she likes me.”

Outside – Showtime

Peggy’s phone buzzed.

“They triggered the vault.”

Steve took one last sip of his coffee, then calmly handed the cup to a pigeon. The pigeon stared at him like it had just been made an accomplice to espionage.

“Guess we’re going loud,” Steve said, cracking his knuckles.

Tony’s voice piped in. “Permission to battering ram?”

Peggy didn’t miss a beat. “Permission granted. Iron Barista mode: activated.”

“Ohhh, I like the sound of that,” Tony grinned, diving.

Cue: Mission Impossible Music (But with Bagpipes and Electric Guitar)

From the sky, a black blur shot downward.

From the street, Steve and Peggy were already moving—he rolled his sleeves like he was prepping to punch the coffee out of a fire demon, and she pulled a compact wand from her clutch with all the grace of a woman about to ruin someone’s day.

Inside, James flipped a chair. Sirius kicked over a table.

The barista’s hands ignited with flame.

Moody barked through the comms. “NOW, LADS! VAULT’S OPENING!”

And somewhere—somewhere deep below the cheesecake display case—a centuries-old magical drive hummed to life.

Because of course Einhardt hid a priceless artifact beneath a bakery.

This was going to be one of those days.

—

Let the record show: Sirius Black did not start the fight with the barista. He just strongly contributed to it by winking and asking if her latte art was single.

“Sir,” she said, without blinking. “Your face is about to be discontinued.”

Sirius barely had time to process that zinger before a ceramic mug—yes, ceramic—smashed into his chest like it was launched by Thor in a mood. He flew backward into a rack of artisanal muffins.

“Ow,” Sirius groaned. “That was rude. And possibly gluten-free.”

“She’s got enchanted kinetic gloves!” James yelled, already ducking behind a table. “And the muffins are sentient! One bit me!”

“Oh, please, that muffin was making eyes at me first,” Sirius muttered, wiping frosting off his jaw.

Meanwhile, Tony Stark—who had been attempting a stylish superhero landing through a stained-glass window—misjudged his entry angle and crash-landed into a rotating dessert carousel. His helmet flicked open just in time for him to say:

“Okay, I’m here, I’m shiny, and I would like to speak to the manager of this caffeine dungeon—”

WHAM.

A bolt of espresso the temperature of the sun and the sarcasm of Loki exploded from the barista’s wand-modified coffee siphon. Tony went flying like a flaming marshmallow into a wall.

“JARVIS,” he wheezed, “diagnose the situation.”

“Sir,” JARVIS replied, “you’ve been assaulted by what appears to be a mocha elemental with rage issues and an espresso pump. Also, she melted your left boot.”

Tony groaned. “I liked that boot.”

“Perhaps you should’ve thought twice before calling her a ‘caffeine concierge,’ sir.”

—

Elsewhere in the Café.

Peggy Carter was a professional. She’d stared down Nazis, Hydra, and Howard Stark’s cologne. Nothing fazed her.

Except maybe this cursed lock, which refused to yield like a teenager hiding their browser history.

“Need help?” Steve Rogers offered, all charming grin and biceps the size of her future therapy bill.

“I’ve got it,” Peggy replied smoothly, hairpin in hand. “Unless you’ve developed telekinetic lockpicking since breakfast.”

“I did help a raccoon crack a safe once.”

Peggy gave him a look. “That explains so much.”

Click. The door opened. Steve stepped inside, shield-first because Captain America always brings a lid to the potluck.

Inside: sigils, tech, and enough cursed wards to make a goblin accountant cry. Floating mid-air on a pedestal was the drive—black, sleek, and humming like a drunken Horcrux.

“Looks easy enough,” Steve said.

“That’s what you said before you activated that exploding banana in Budapest,” Peggy pointed out.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “I maintain it looked like an innocent fruit.”

Peggy waved a silver mirror over the drive. “Okay, no lethal curses. But it’s alarmed. And heat-triggered. And probably has a grudge.”

Steve reached out. “On three?”

“One…”

“Wait!”

“...Two?”

Peggy handed him a glowing rune stabilizer. “If it turns red, stop. If it glows green, good. If it starts singing in Latin—”

“We run?”

“Faster than you did from the Stark family holiday photo.”

Steve lifted the drive.

It glowed red.

“Oh no,” Peggy whispered.

—

Back in the Inferno – Battle of the Bean Queen

Sirius was using a cake tray as a shield. James was armed with a baguette. Tony was half-melted.

“JARVIS,” Tony grunted, “Plan C.”

“Plan C involves Clint Barton dressed as a teabag and diving through the ceiling. I’m not sure we’re that desperate yet, sir.”

Then came the hiss of a vent overhead.

Thunk.

Enter: Clint Barton, covered in duct tape and powdered sugar.

“Did someone say desperate?” he asked, aiming a glue arrow at the espresso witch.

“She’s absorbing magical energy!” James shouted. “That includes hexed carbs!”

“Oh no,” Sirius said. “She’s caffeinating herself through combat.”

The barista shrieked. Her hair burst into flame. The espresso machine behind her started levitating and chanting Gregorian hymns.

Tony pulled himself upright. “She’s going nuclear. I knew oat milk was evil.”

Bucky’s voice crackled over the comms. “Hey. Update: your witch barista is now literally lava. Also, someone tell Steve he still owes me for brunch.”

Steve’s voice: “We’ve got the drive. Extraction in sixty seconds.”

Clint: “Copy that. Uh… maybe bring a fire extinguisher?”

James: “Or a priest?”

Sirius: “Or better yet, a frozen margarita.”

Tony: “I’m putting that on the mission expense report.”

Peggy: “Everyone shut up and move!”

The team bolted for the exit as the café began to collapse under magical feedback. Cakes screamed. Coffee machines wept. The muffin tried to bite Sirius again.

And above it all, the barista stood on a flaming countertop, eyes blazing, and yelled:

“Y’ALL WANTED EXTRA HOT. WELL HERE YOU GO.”

Then the whole place exploded in a puff of vanilla steam and righteous fury.

—

The team regrouped in an alley a block away, smelling like a bakery crime scene.

Steve held up the drive, still glowing but stable. “We good?”

Peggy checked her mirror. “We’re good. Drive intact. Barista survived. Tony’s dignity—”

“Critically injured,” Tony said, brushing croissant flakes off his armor. “JARVIS, remind me to sue Austria.”

JARVIS: “Already drafting the paperwork, sir.”

Sirius clapped James on the back. “Well, that went well.”

James: “You were set on fire.”

Sirius: “And yet I’m still the prettiest.”

Clint sighed. “Next time, we just order takeout.”

Peggy smiled. “Next time, you let me pick the coffee shop.”

Tony: “Deal. As long as it doesn’t breathe fire.”

JARVIS: “Sir, you realize that’s a metaphor—”

Tony: “Was it, JARVIS? Was it?”

—

Another of Einhardt’s Vaults – Somewhere Ridiculously Inconvenient in the Amazon Rainforest

The smell hit Alexei Shostakov first.

Not the kind of jungle scent you bottle and sell at hipster cologne counters—nope. This was roasted human flesh, bonfire smoke, and the kind of B.O. that could end diplomatic relations.

“Oh great,” Alexei groaned, wedging what looked like a rusted refrigerator against the steel vault door. “We’re being attacked by cannibals. Again. You’d think Hydra would’ve put these vaults somewhere nice. Like an abandoned IKEA.”

Erica Hayes, crackling with enough voltage to charge an iPhone for a decade, zapped a charging tribesman mid-scream. He flew backward into a wall, where he stayed, twitching slightly like a malfunctioning animatronic.

“Less whining, more frying, Grandpa,” she said, flipping her hair out of her face like she wasn't literally electrocuting people in a jungle bunker. “You get used to the human barbecue smell after the first wave. Sort of smells like bacon. If bacon hated you.”

“Remind me to get your sense of humor recalibrated,” James Rhodes muttered from the hallway, where his War Machine armor was lighting up like a Fourth of July fireworks finale. “Left flank—six hostiles. Right flank—four more. One of them has face paint and a necklace made out of toes. I repeat: Toes.”

“Look, I didn’t fake my death, survive Soviet gulags, and sit through four hours of Yelena’s Instagram stories just to get eaten by discount Aztec cosplayers!” Alexei shouted, throwing a piece of broken pipe like a javelin. It pinned one of the cannibals to the wall by his shoulder strap. “We’re professionals, da?”

Erica ducked a flying spear and casually shot electricity through her fingertips into a puddle. Three cannibals screamed as they skated across the wet floor like electrocuted ballerinas.

“'Professionals' is a strong word,” she muttered, pulling a machete from her belt. “I’m more of a freelance chaos gremlin.”

Rhodey’s voice crackled over comms. “May, please tell me you’re in the air. We are knee-deep in the tribe of Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Cannibal Johnsons.”

—

Melinda May did not do chaos. She managed chaos.

Currently, she was flying a Quinjet like it owed her rent, cutting through the sky and scaring parrots into early retirement.

“On approach,” she said in her usual tone: emotionally neutral, vaguely threatening, like Siri if she were a lethal weapon.

A mounted turret popped out of the Quinjet’s underbelly and began humming.

Below, a few cannibals looked up.

“Smile, boys,” May said into the comms, flicking a switch.

The jungle exploded into a shower of non-lethal (HR insisted) concussion rounds. Cannibals went flying. Trees fell. A toucan swore in Portuguese.

“Ten seconds to pickup,” May added, adjusting the throttle like she was parallel parking.

Boom.

The back wall of the vault exploded in a fireball of shrapnel, ferns, and one very confused monkey.

Erica skidded to a stop. “Holy crap. Did she just blow the wall open?!”

Rhodey stomped forward through the debris. “That woman doesn’t knock.”

“Time to evac!” Erica shouted, vaulting over an unconscious tribesman with the grace of a parkour TikToker and the enthusiasm of someone who really wanted Wi-Fi again.

Alexei grabbed the encrypted drive. “Please tell me this thing has GPS. Or Spotify. Either works.”

Another cannibal lunged at him. Alexei punched the man square in the face, then followed it up with an uppercut that sent him flying into a pile of ceremonial drums.

“That was for playing drums at 3AM!” he growled.

Erica shocked another two attackers. “I feel like that was oddly personal.”

Rhodey backed toward the Quinjet ramp, laying down cover fire as the trio sprinted aboard. Behind him, the tunnel caved in with a very satisfying rumble.

As the Quinjet ascended, the jungle faded into a green blur.

Inside, May wordlessly handed them towels and water bottles like she was chaperoning a very intense summer camp.

Alexei collapsed onto the bench, soaked in sweat and heroism. “Next vault better be under a Starbucks. Or at least a Target.”

Rhodey shook his head. “If it is, I’m demanding hazard pay and a caramel macchiato.”

Erica sprawled on the floor, hair half out of its bun, shoes smoking. “Can’t believe I electrocuted a guy mid-backflip. I should get a t-shirt for that.”

“Black coffee. No frills,” May said. “And silence.”

A full five seconds passed before Erica leaned over to Alexei and whispered: “Can we still get donuts?”

“Da,” he whispered back solemnly. “We deserve donuts.”

The backup drive beeped once, unlocking its interface. A holographic map of the globe appeared, marked with glowing red Xs.

Dozens of them.

“Uh-oh,” Erica said, peeking over May’s shoulder.

Rhodey crossed his arms. “That’s not foreboding at all.”

Alexei squinted. “Are those vaults?”

“No,” May said quietly. “Those are bombs.”

Cue dramatic music.

Chapter 79: Chapter 78

Las Vegas – The Bellagio's Sketchy Cousin, Run by the Italian Mafia (and Possibly Haunted)

The outside of the casino looked like someone gave a toddler a glitter bomb, a copy of Goodfellas, and a bunch of glue, then told them to design a building. Neon signs screamed in every color known to man (and a few probably known only to aliens), the valet moved like he was on fast-forward, and the fountain out front proudly spewed water from what was either a gold-plated meatball or a very tacky tribute to spaghetti.

Harry adjusted his tie in the side mirror of a bullet-riddled black convertible that looked like it had driven through a Tarantino movie and survived. Barely.

“So, let me get this straight,” he said, squinting at his reflection. “We go in. Cause a scene. And don’t get arrested?”

Natasha Romanoff, who looked like sin in a red dress that probably required a license to wear, gave him a slow smirk. “That’s the idea.”

Harry looked her up and down, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re gonna cause a scene just by walking in. I feel like I need an inhaler already.”

She gave him a look that could melt titanium. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Potter.”

“Wasn’t flattery. It was a medical observation.”

Clint Barton, leaning against the car wearing sunglasses indoors like a rock star who also moonlighted as a dad, slurped his soda through a bendy straw.

“I call dibs on flipping the roulette table,” he said. “That thing owes me money from three years ago.”

“Roulette tables can’t owe you money,” Bucky said, deadpan, cracking his knuckles like he was warming up for a cage match.

“They can,” Clint said. “If you believe hard enough.”

Bucky looked at Natasha. “Do I get to punch anyone? Or is this another one of those ‘blend in’ missions where I have to smile?”

Nat gave him a motherly pat on the shoulder. “You get to punch so many people, Buck.”

That actually made him smile. Terrifyingly.

They walked into the casino like Ocean’s Eleven if all the main characters had unresolved trauma and sarcasm issues. The carpet was so red it looked like it had committed murder, chandeliers glittered overhead like drunk stars, and the air smelled like smoke, desperation, and expensive cologne trying way too hard.

Harry’s tux shimmered faintly, thanks to a magical glamor spell Lily had insisted on sewing into the fabric. His green eyes flicked gold for a second. Just long enough to make a cocktail waitress drop her tray.

“Alright, team,” Harry muttered. “Time to be distracting. In the loudest, most ridiculous way possible.”

Meanwhile – The Surveillance Van

Alastor Moody sat hunched over the grainy surveillance screens like a warlock staring into the abyss. Except the abyss was Vegas security cams, and it owed him less money.

“The one in the red dress just tripped a silent alarm,” he growled. “They’re tagging us faster than I can say ‘constant vigilance.’”

Steve Rogers—yes, that Steve Rogers, America’s Golden Retriever—was eating popcorn like he was watching a Marvel movie about himself.

“Weirdly chill for a guy named Mad-Eye,” he said.

“I’m always chill,” Moody replied, glaring at the screen. “That’s why I haven’t spontaneously combusted. Yet.”

Steve leaned into the mic. “Team One, you’ve got eyes on you. Make it loud. Make it count.”

Back Inside – Where Chaos Had RSVP’d

Harry slid up to the blackjack table like he owned the place. He gave the dealer his best ‘I’m charming and also maybe dangerous’ smile.

“Hi, I’m Harry. I’d like to lose an absurd amount of money while looking extremely cool.”

The dealer blinked. “Sir, this table is for high rollers—”

Natasha threw down a stack of chips like it was an Olympic sport. “We’re here to contribute to the local economy.”

The pit boss glanced over—and immediately paled. Because Clint Barton had just somersaulted onto the lounge stage and grabbed the mic like a caffeinated karaoke god.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” Clint boomed, “WHO’S READY FOR TONIGHT’S BINGO-BRAWL BONANZA?!”

An elderly man in the crowd fist-pumped.

Harry subtly waved his hand. Three slot machines nearby exploded in a glittery shower of coins and confetti. A voice screamed “JACKPOT!” loud enough to restart a stopped heart.

Bucky leapt over a craps table like an Olympic gymnast and body-checked two mobsters into a champagne fountain. He actually looked happy. It was unsettling.

“NOW it’s a party,” he said.

Meanwhile – Beneath the Chaos

Sirius Black—currently glamoured to resemble a sleazy Vegas magician called The Great Doglini—popped open the maintenance door with a wand flick and a grin that said I cause problems professionally.

“Peggy, darling,” he whispered, “you’re sure this is the right corridor?”

Peggy Carter, who managed to look like elegance incarnate even while holding a lockpick and a high-tech gadget Tony had definitely built during a manic Red Bull binge, nodded.

“This is the way,” she said, tapping the screen. “According to Stark’s very expensive toy, the vault is thirty meters ahead. Retinal scan. Pressure sensors. Possibly a guy named Luigi with a flamethrower.”

“Actually,” said a voice from the shadows, “his name’s Salvatore. And he’s asleep.”

Tony Stark shimmered into view, stepping out of a wall panel like a sarcastic magician.

“Also, you’re welcome,” he added. “I neutralized the threat with an EMP and a well-placed bottle of imported wine.”

“Did you turn into a fridge again?” Sirius asked.

“Microwave this time,” Tony said. “With Bluetooth.”

The vault loomed at the end of the corridor. Big. Titanium. Designed by someone who clearly had intimacy issues and too much access to lasers.

Tony slapped a Stark-brand cracker onto it.

“Five minutes until Clint gets tackled by a security guard with a handlebar mustache. We better be done before then.”

Back Upstairs – Clown Fiesta Mode

Clint was shirtless. Again. Doing the Macarena on a roulette table while yelling “I AM THE NIGHT” in what might have been Spanish.

Harry threw a magical stink bomb into the security office with a cheerful “Whoops.”

Natasha was yelling at Bucky in Russian while roundhouse-kicking a security guard with a martini glass still in hand.

“I think they bought it,” Bucky said, casually suplexing a guy into a decorative plant.

Surveillance Van

Steve blinked at the screen. “Is Clint… strip-teasing?”

Moody didn’t answer. He was too busy rewinding.

Vault – Jackpot Level

The vault hissed open. Inside? A sleek backup drive glowing like it held the lost episodes of Game of Thrones—the good versions.

Sirius picked it up reverently. “This better be worth it.”

Tony checked his watch. “Party upstairs is about to go full Hangover. We need to bounce.”

Peggy tapped her comm. “Extraction now. And someone please tell Barton to put his shirt back on.”

Harry’s voice crackled through.

“No promises. He already threatened to start singing ABBA.”

Natasha snorted, grabbing Harry’s hand as they sprinted toward the exit.

“Just so you know,” she said, glancing at him sideways, “this was either the worst date ever, or the best.”

Harry grinned. “Let’s do it again next Friday. Maybe rob a bank in Monaco?”

She squeezed his hand. “Only if you wear that tux again.”

He winked. “I’ll even let it catch fire this time.”

—

Somewhere in Cartagena, Colombia – At a Wedding Full of Guns, Roses, and Salsa Music

The groom looked like he'd stepped straight out of "Narcos: The Musical." Slicked-back hair, a white tux that was definitely not rental, and the kind of smug grin that screamed "I inherited my fortune and my enemies." The bride, on the other hand, looked like she’d rather be anywhere else—preferably on a beach, preferably alone, preferably not about to marry into a cartel dynasty. Her dress glittered like diamonds had cried on it, and her smile was about as real as a knockoff Rolex.

Enter: Los Magicos Mariachis.

Three men in flamboyant charro suits strutted through the gilded iron gates as if this was their Grammy-winning tour and not a covert SHIELD mission. Their sombreros were so wide they might’ve violated airspace laws. None of them had the faintest idea how to play their instruments.

James Potter—yes, that James Potter—was grinning like he’d just hexed Snape’s shampoo with glitter. His wand was cleverly disguised inside the neck of a rhinestone-covered vihuela. “Alright, amigos,” he muttered to his partners in crime. “We’re not here to win awards. We’re here to be loud, suspicious, and disturbingly festive.”

James Rhodes—War Machine, veteran Avenger, and currently the world’s most unwilling trumpet player—looked like he was regretting every life choice that led to this moment. His black-and-gold mariachi suit featured embroidered phoenixes and an expression that said "I’m too old for this crap." “I’ve fought Ultron,” he muttered. “I’ve time-traveled. But no, now I’m playing Beyoncé on a trumpet at a cartel wedding. God bless America.”

And then there was Alexei Shostakov—the Red Guardian, Soviet superhero, vodka enthusiast, and walking midlife crisis—downing tequila like it was electrolytes. His sombrero could’ve doubled as a UFO.

“Rhodey,” he rumbled, swaying like a grizzly in tap shoes, “when do we fight? I don’t like dancing. I like breaking knees.”

“Soon as Surge gives the signal,” Rhodes grumbled. “Until then, play nice. And no headbutting uncles.”

“Maybe just one?”

James strummed a chord that made three pigeons fall out of a tree. “Showtime.”

Meanwhile – Inside the Mansion of Poor Life Choices

Erica Hayes—aka Surge, mutant lightning bolt in sneakers—balanced a tray of overpriced shrimp puffs with all the grace of a bored prom queen. Her hair was tucked under a massive blonde wig that screamed ‘early Britney Spears meets PTA mom on wine night.’ Her disguise apron had more glitter than the Vegas strip and smelled like a margarita had a midlife crisis.

“I’m in,” she whispered into her comms, sliding past a couple arguing over who paid off which judge. “Nobody suspects the waitress with the crab rangoon.”

Above, circling unseen – The Quinjet

Melinda May, the Cavalry herself, was perched in the pilot’s seat, sipping green tea like she’d rather be anywhere else. Her eyes scanned the monitors like a hawk judging you for your posture.

“Copy that,” she replied dryly. “Painting of the abuela should be above the mezcal cabinet. Don’t touch the mezcal. It’s trapped.”

“I was born to avoid cursed tequila,” Erica muttered.

Back at the Wedding – Chaos in G Minor

James Potter conjured a fountain of glittering doves made of magical fire. One dive-bombed the ice sculpture. An old woman burst into tears—possibly from awe, possibly because her flan got vaporized.

Rhodey took center stage. With a sigh of eternal suffering, he launched into a mariachi remix of Single Ladies that honestly slapped. Like, disturbingly so. A group of heavily armed grandmothers threw their hands up.

Alexei launched into a kazoo solo with the enthusiasm of a child on espresso.

One guard leaned toward another. “Are we high?”

Inside the Mob Boss’s Office – Shocking Developments

Erica zapped a snooping guard into next week, flipped the rug, and faced the world’s sassiest oil painting: Abuela, holding a machete in one hand and a parrot in the other, judging her with infinite Latino grandma energy.

“Yeah yeah, I’m not worthy,” Erica sighed, reaching up to zap the hidden sensor. The painting slid aside, revealing a high-tech safe.

“Five-digit code,” May said through her comms. “Use Tony’s decoder.”

Erica pulled out the sleek Stark-tech gadget. “Let’s hope it—”

BZZZT The decoder fizzled and smoked.

“Oh, come on!” she shouted, and in true Surge fashion, punched the safe. A shockwave of blue lightning surged through the metal, which hissed, melted, and popped open like a popcorn bag from hell.

Inside sat the backup drive. And a stack of very questionable photographs. “Is that… Fury playing poker with Deadpool? In a dress?!”

She snatched the drive and bolted for the kitchen. “I’m ignoring that. Mentally deleting it.”

Wedding – Full Meltdown Mode

Alexei had challenged the groom’s uncle to a dance-off. James was conducting a floating violin like Mozart on Red Bull. Rhodey dropped the trumpet and started moonwalking with lethal precision.

The mob boss stood, clearly not having a great day. “WHY IS THE TRUMPET PLAYER GLOWING?!”

Rhodey flashed his War Machine grin. “Because your in-laws just got upgraded.”

Then: FLARES.

The Quinjet uncloaked like a ghost doing a mic drop. A rope ladder unfurled from the sky.

“Got it!” Surge shouted, bursting through the kitchen, sparks flying from her fingers. “Let’s get the hell out before I shock a waiter by accident!”

James fired a Stupefy into the air that exploded like fireworks. Three guards somersaulted into the punch bowl. Alexei headbutted a guy, faceplanted into the churros, then grabbed a handful anyway.

James caught the ladder one-handed and swung upward like a magical Tarzan. Rhodey scooped up Erica. Alexei belly-flopped onto the last rung like a bear on a waterslide.

From below, chaos reigned. Guests screamed. Fireworks exploded. Someone kept dancing.

In the Jet – Just Another Day

Melinda May didn’t flinch. “Next time,” she said flatly, “I’m sending you all in as mimes.”

James Potter sprawled across a seat, wand still steaming. “Only if we get silent explosives.”

Alexei groaned. “Can we still wear hats?”

Erica flopped into a seat, pulled off her wig, and shook out her hair like a shampoo commercial. “I want nachos. And a nap. Possibly in that order.”

Rhodey checked the drive. “Mission complete.” He glanced around. “And nobody got shot.”

“Speak for yourself,” Potter winced. “Someone hit me with a pineapple.”

“I love this job,” Erica grinned.

Melinda May just sipped her tea.

Welcome to another day at SHIELD.

—

Location: Exclusive Holiday Retreat in the Swiss Alps. Where billionaires ski, spies scheme, and Harry Potter wears more turtlenecks than legally advisable.

The snow glittered like a Photoshop filter slapped on a cocaine ad as a sleek black Bentley glided into the private driveway of the Mont Edelweiss Grand Retreat—the kind of resort where the doormen wore Rolexes and the snow got botoxed weekly.

Harry Potter stepped out first, wearing a cashmere white coat that screamed, My ancestors owned your ancestors. His emerald ring caught the light like it owed him money, and his perfectly disheveled hair gave the impression of a man who’d just rolled out of a five-star bed and into a five-star war crime.

Right behind him, Natasha Romanoff popped out like a sparkly grenade in a neon-pink snowsuit. Blonde wig, bedazzled sunglasses, fur trim that made entire ecosystems cry—it was Valley Girl couture meets international assassin, and somehow, it worked.

“Oh. Em. GEEEEE,” Natasha squealed, clinging to Harry’s arm like a clingy Instagram filter. “Baaaabe, are we, like, seriously staying in the Presidential Suite?! You promised me a hot tub with champagne fountains and, like, towel swans that do kisses.”

Harry gave her a lazy, posh smirk, the kind of smile that had tanked stock markets and ignited at least three minor revolutions. “Pumpkin, if there’s not a golden toilet that sings ‘God Save the Queen’ while you do your business, I will personally file a lawsuit against Switzerland for emotional trauma.”

Behind them, Sirius Black unfolded himself from the car in a tux so sharp it could cut glass—and probably had. He looked like a butler, yes, but a butler who’d stabbed a few dukes and once danced shirtless on a yacht in Monaco. He opened the trunk with a flourish, tossing a wink at a passing heiress who promptly walked into a snowbank.

“Welcome to the Alps,” Sirius muttered with a smirk. “Where the air is thinner, and so are the personalities.”

Peggy Carter strolled up next in stilettos that shouldn’t be legal on ice. With a clipboard, headset, and a thousand-yard-stare of a woman who’d once slapped a Nazi into a coma, she looked every inch the assistant who ran the world from behind a latte.

“Mr. Pendragon,” she said crisply. “I’ve scheduled the property tour for tomorrow. You’ll also be meeting with Prince Leopold’s real estate broker and a hedge fund manager who legally changed his name to ‘Wolf.’ I assume you’ll want to glare at both?”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Absolutely. Make sure I have my Glare Cloak. The one lined with pure disappointment.”

From the shadows, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes flanked the group like bodyguard statues carved from Mount Olympus and bad decisions. Steve had a jaw so square it could be used in math problems and wore a suit like it was a moral obligation. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like a half-frozen assassin with Resting Murder Face and a metal arm that flexed whenever someone said "luxury taxes."

“Let’s keep our eyes open,” Steve muttered through the comm, scanning the perimeter with the intensity of a man who once defeated fascism using only a frisbee.

“Yeah,” Bucky added, his voice dry as Swiss gin. “I don’t trust anyone wearing more than one ascot.”

Meanwhile – In a Motel Where Dreams Go to Die

Back in a motel room with decor that could be described as “post-war depression meets IKEA clearance,” Alastor Moody was threatening a radiator with his cane.

“Place smells like wet socks and capitalism,” he growled.

Clint Barton, wearing a hoodie that had lost its will to live, didn’t look up from the laptop. “I think the Wi-Fi’s being powered by a drunk hamster with a dial-up modem. Also, I might be sitting on a sock that’s not mine.”

Through the comms, Harry’s voice crackled in. “Mole and Vixen have entered the foxhole. Try not to choke on your jealousy, boys.”

Clint tapped a button. “Copy that, Vixen. Let us know when you hit gold. Or at least the minibar.”

Front Desk – Where Money Talks and Everyone’s Lying

The concierge looked like he charged for eye contact. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pendragon, but the Presidential Suite is available only to authorized Mont Edelweiss Society members or special patrons.”

Harry tilted his head, lips curled into something between a smirk and a prophecy. “Tony Stark assured me it was handled. You know Tony—genius, billionaire, playboy, wedding crasher in orbit. I'm sure he'd be devastated to hear you’ve misplaced my reservation.”

The concierge paled slightly. “Ah. Mr. Stark. Of course, sir. We were just… ensuring security protocols. Your suite is prepared.”

“Lovely.”

Natasha popped her gum. “Baaaabe, do they have those Japanese toilets that play music? I want mine to say ‘Yaaaas Queen’ when I pee.”

Harry didn’t blink. “Only if mine tells me I’m emotionally unavailable and then plays Adele.”

As the elevator opened, a man the size of a small moon stepped aside. Steve subtly blocked him with one arm, while Bucky just stared at the guy like he was mentally measuring where the weak joints were.

“Elevator’s secure,” Steve said. “He blinked too slow.”

“I don’t trust his kneecaps,” Bucky muttered.

Inside the elevator, Peggy’s voice came through Harry’s hidden comms. “Vault is directly adjacent to Suite 7. You’ll have a six-minute window during the Sommelier Showcase. Apparently, the Prince of Monaco wants a full breakdown of the ‘07 Merlot versus the ‘09 Merlot. Spoiler: It’s just grapes.”

Moody chimed in. “Rich idiots.”

Clint added, “Careful with the wine. They lace it with nanotrackers. Real subtle, like a Bond villain who flunked chemistry.”

Harry adjusted his cufflinks, revealing a sleek Montblanc pen that was really his wand in designer cosplay. “I came prepared. Got a charm that’ll flush me faster than Taco Bell and a Red Bull if something goes sideways.”

Natasha leaned in, brushing her lips against his cheek. “You say the most romantic things, husband.”

Harry smirked. “Stick with me, darling. I’ll make sure we get our champagne-soaked fairytale—or at the very least, free robes.”

She giggled, looping her arm through his. “Let’s go rob a billionaire vault.”

“After you, my love.”

The doors closed. The elevator rose.

The heist had officially begun.

—

Location: The Penthouse Suite (With Views of Half the Alps and Enough Gold to Blind You)

The double doors whooshed open like something out of Star Wars, revealing a suite so ludicrously luxurious it looked like Liberace had a baby with the Sultan of Brunei—and then that baby went to interior design school in Versailles. There was a fireplace that probably had a higher net worth than most hedge fund managers, velvet curtains thicker than Moody's trust issues, and a sunken jacuzzi that screamed, "Welcome to your villain origin story."

Sirius—who had just finished impersonating a butler with the dramatic flair of a Shakespearean actor with a vendetta—closed the doors behind him. "Clear. No cameras, no bugs, not even a house-elf with a grudge."

Harry yanked off his faux fur coat and flopped onto a chaise lounge upholstered in what was probably unicorn leather. He looked good doing it too—because of course he did. "Alright, kids. Let's talk heist."

Natasha peeled off her platinum wig and tossed it onto a nearby flamingo-shaped sculpture that looked like it had wandered out of a cocaine-fueled fever dream. "That wig was itchier than Clint’s sarcasm in a blizzard." She pulled a sleek holographic disc from her clutch and tapped it with her perfectly manicured nail. A glowing 3D model of Mont Edelweiss Resort spun to life mid-air.

"Tony hacked into the blueprints last night. Took him five minutes and three sarcastic remarks about Swiss firewalls."

"To be fair," Harry said, raising a brow, "they did design those firewalls while high on cheese and neutrality."

Natasha grinned. "Vault’s across the hall. Not on any official floor plans. Reinforced titanium alloy, enchanted steel, and enough magical tripwires to give Dumbledore performance anxiety."

Harry whistled low. "Well. That’s one sexy vault."

Sirius—now free of his gloves and sipping from a hip flask labeled Definitely Not Firewhisky—joined them. "How are we supposed to crack that open? Even I can’t apparate through that much arcane overkill, and I once snuck into a Death Eater gala dressed as a coat rack."

"We’re not going through it," Natasha said, zooming in on the schematics. "We’re going around."

She highlighted a shaft tucked behind the vault. "Old dumbwaiter system. Sealed off during renovations when the resort decided to go full Bond villain. But the access tunnel from the wine cellar still exists. Probably."

Harry leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "So we take the scenic route, drop through the chute, and surprise the vault from behind like a tax audit. Got it."

Peggy’s voice buzzed in over comms like an English schoolteacher who could kill you with a teacup. "Security does a full system reboot every night at 2:37 AM sharp. You’ll have four minutes. That’s your window."

Moody joined in, voice crackling like old parchment and bad intentions. "Vault door’s runic. Ancient Norse meets Egyptian death magic. Charming stuff. You’ll need an enchant-breaker and a blood cipher. Preferably one that doesn’t explode."

Harry looked to Natasha. "You bring the hand?"

She smirked and held up a sleek black glove with a ring embedded in the palm. "One severed billionaire’s finger, synthetically grown and ethically harvested."

"That’s so romantic," Harry said, mock-tearful. "You really do know what I like."

"Oh, I know exactly what you like," she murmured, and that smirk turned positively illegal.

Bucky and Steve entered like a buddy cop duo who’d accidentally wandered into a spy thriller. Bucky leaned against the wall like he had a PhD in brooding. "Wine cellar entrance is guarded by two guys. One’s twitchy. The other’s practically unconscious. Rogers could probably knock them out with a bedtime story."

Steve crossed his arms. "I was thinking chloroform."

"Always the gentleman," Harry deadpanned. "Alright. Here’s the play: Steve and Bucky distract the cellar guards. Natasha and I use the chute. Sirius stands by to break the runes if I can’t charm them with my dazzling personality."

"And me?" Moody asked, sounding far too excited for someone about to weaponize spa accessories.

Harry grinned. "You, my dear paranoid former Auror, are going to sabotage the elevators and trap the security team in the sauna. With a cursed loofah."

Moody chuckled. "I do love creative mayhem."

"And after we grab the drive—" Natasha started.

Harry held up a finger. "Correction. Drives. One has Einhardt’s research. The other has a Hydra sleeper list. Fury knows about one. I’m gifting him the second. Eventually. After I watch him try not to say thank you."

Steve looked mildly betrayed. "You’re hiding things from Fury?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Steve. I’m pretending to be married to a former KGB assassin, staying in a hotel that bills you for blinking, and planning a magical heist with a cursed loofah. Of course I’m hiding things from Fury."

There was a pause.

Bucky shrugged. "Fair."

Natasha raised her champagne flute. "To the vault."

Harry clinked his glass. "To morally flexible heroics."

Sirius toasted with a grin. "And to looking damned good while doing it."

T-minus 6 hours to the Vault Heist.

Things were about to get stupid, sexy, and supremely illegal. Just the way Harry liked it.

—

Mont Edelweiss Grand Retreat – The Illusion of Leisure

Lord Harold Pendragon strolled through the lobby like he had personally invented wealth. His tailored three-piece suit fit like sin and confidence had a baby, and the polished dragon-head cane he didn’t actually need clicked against the marble floor with satisfying finality.

On his arm? The Natasha Romanoff—currently channeling every spoiled heiress in Beverly Hills with a voice that sounded like it got Botox.

“Oh. My. GOD, Haaaaarry,” she squealed, spotting the twenty-foot Baccarat crystal dragon in the lobby. “That is, like, so extra. Is that supposed to be you? ‘Cause I can totally see the resemblance. Shiny. Dangerous. Prone to starting fires.”

Harry smiled like he’d just been complimented by an art critic. “At least one of us appreciates quality craftsmanship. I’d say the same about your shoes, but I’m pretty sure they were designed by a drunk elf with commitment issues.”

She gasped and smacked his chest playfully. “You did not just insult Louboutins.”

“Oh no, I insulted you for wearing them indoors like a Kardashian on cocaine.”

Behind them, Sirius Black—a.k.a. Bartholomew the Butler, a.k.a. living proof that butlers can look like ex-convict Greek gods—glided in silently, holding an empty silver tray like it was a symbol of existential dread.

“Sir Harold,” he said, sounding like he gargled with Oxford degrees, “your 3PM eucalyptus-extraction-and-guilt-release ritual has been rescheduled. The Countess of Luxembourg regrets to inform you that her goat yoga ran long.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “A tragedy. Be sure to send her my condolences and a small tactical nuke wrapped in cashmere.”

Sirius arched an eyebrow. “Glitter packaging?”

“Glitter, anthrax, maybe a strongly worded Yelp review,” Peggy Carter chimed in, striding up in red heels and power-librarian energy. Her digital tablet looked like it contained nuclear codes and spa appointments. “Also, I’ve bribed the hotel masseuse to fake a nervous breakdown so we get the entire wellness suite. You’re welcome.”

“Remind me to give you a raise,” Harry said.

“I already gave myself one,” she replied. “I now outrank you in three fake corporations and one very real offshore shell.”

“Boss move. I’m so proud I could cry.”

Natasha leaned in, eyes twinkling. “If you do, I’ll collect your tears and sell them as luxury cologne. Sad Billionaire by Harold Pendragon.”

“You’re horrible,” he whispered.

“You married me.”

“Only because no one warned me you were clinically chaotic with a black belt in flirting and murder.”

She smiled sweetly. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Meanwhile, Poolside…

Steve Rogers, shirtless and built like America’s actual infrastructure bill, lounged in a deck chair with the seriousness of someone guarding nuclear codes… in swim trunks.

Beside him, Bucky Barnes looked like a Calvin Klein model who’d just killed a man with a hardcover book. He was sipping a mojito and pretending not to be judging everyone around him. (Spoiler: he was.)

A tourist wandered over, squinting. “Excuse me, are you—?”

“No,” Steve said, not even blinking behind his aviators.

“But—”

“Nope. Not me. Definitely not America’s ass.”

The tourist scurried off. Bucky snorted into his drink.

“You know that guy’s gonna go home and swear he met you.”

Steve shrugged. “If he thinks he met Captain America in swim trunks sipping cucumber water, good for him.”

“Could’ve been worse. Could’ve asked for a selfie.”

“I would’ve thrown him in the pool.”

Bucky raised a brow. “That’s not very Captain-y.”

“I’m on vacation,” Steve deadpanned. “I’m not responsible for anything until I put the suit back on. Or unless someone threatens the dog.”

Bucky nodded. “Fair.”

Elsewhere in the Hotel…

The control room wasn’t actually in the hotel. It was in the Budget Inn Chalet across the street, which smelled like mold, regret, and someone’s leftover curry.

Clint Barton sat in front of a jury-rigged monitor setup, balancing a bowl of instant noodles on his thigh and looking like the least impressed hacker in the universe.

“Alright, team Glitter Mafia,” he said over the comms, slurping dramatically. “I’ve looped the spa and corridor feeds. If anyone blinks funny in the lobby, I’ll know before they do. Also, whoever programmed this hotel’s firewall was either a genius or a sadist. Possibly both.”

Sitting beside him, Mad-Eye Moody glowered at a magical projection stone like it owed him money.

“I’ve cursed the elevator override, hexed the HVAC ducts, and placed a tracking charm on the janitor’s left shoe.”

“Wait—why the janitor?”

Moody didn’t even blink. “I always curse the janitor.”

Clint paused. “...Okay, but what if he’s just doing his job?”

“Then he’s guilty of optimism. And that’s punishable.”

“Okay. Just checking. Also—thanks for cursing my noodles.”

“I didn’t curse your noodles.”

Clint frowned. “You didn’t?”

“I cursed you for eating them.”

“...figures.”

Back in the Grand Ballroom…

The chandeliers sparkled. The string quartet did unspeakable things to Vivaldi. And Harry and Natasha glided across the dance floor like they owned it—which they did, at least until checkout.

“You’re stepping on my foot,” she murmured, still smiling for the crowd.

“You’re lucky I’m not stepping on your ego. That thing has its own gravitational pull.”

“Ooh, savage. You kiss your butler with that mouth?”

“Only on Wednesdays.”

“Harry,” she whispered, twirling under his arm, “you know what’s really hot?”

“Me?”

“Stealing from the ultra-rich while pretending to be ultra-rich.”

“That is sexy. Wanna fake-seduce me upstairs and discuss our escape plan in the hot tub?”

She grinned. “You had me at ‘fake.’”

He pulled her close, spinning her beneath the crystal dragon chandelier. The guests clapped. The cameras rolled. And the masterclass in distraction ticked forward.

Beneath the glamor and glitz… the countdown burned on.

T-minus 5 hours, 17 minutes.

The ballroom glittered. The masks stayed on.

And the heist? Oh, the heist was going to be delicious.

Chapter 80: Chapter 79

Harry Pendragon was neck-deep in bubbly water, soaking like the world’s most dangerous bath bomb. His abs glistened like they'd been Photoshopped by a thirsty Instagram model, and his expression was the smug lovechild of a Bond villain and a GQ cover model.

The hot tub was enormous—because of course it was—and Natasha was draped across him like she’d just walked off the set of a spy movie and into the middle of a steamy romance novel. Her red bikini broke at least three Geneva Conventions and had the UN considering emergency sanctions.

"Darling," Harry said in a British accent so posh it practically ordered scones for tea, "I must say, renaming the suite The Duke and Duchess of Beverly Hills Deluxe Package was inspired."

"You mean it wasn’t already called that?" Natasha gasped in fake horror, flipping her blonde wig like she was auditioning for a reality show titled Real Housewives of European Heists. "Ugh, Har-bear, that’s just… tragic."

Harry sipped from a champagne flute like he’d personally invented grapes. “I was torn between that and The Earl and Countess of Bougie-on-Thames. But honestly, I think the gold-plated bidet really sealed the theme.”

She giggled—high-pitched, nasal, and straight out of the Valley Girl school of fake flirtation. “So tell me,” she said loudly, snuggling closer and trailing a finger down his chest, “are all your family jewels this... aristocratic?”

Harry threw his head back with a theatrical moan. “Tiffany, please. Not in front of the help. They’re unionizing.”

Security, of course, was enthralled. They couldn’t see anything—privacy laws, plus the suite’s rich-person-friendly no-camera policy—but they could hear everything. And thanks to Natasha's expertly deployed vocals and Harry’s top-tier dramatics, they were fully locked in.

Down the hall, in the suite’s private study (which was currently doubling as the quietest bomb-planting op this side of MI6), Peggy Carter was being very, very British about the entire thing—which meant she was silently judging everyone while moving with tactical precision.

“Security’s rerouted all patrols,” Peggy muttered through her earpiece. “Apparently, Natasha’s vocal range has them convinced a murder is happening. Of the sexy variety.”

Back in the hot tub, Natasha arched her back and let out a moan that could’ve won an Emmy. “OH, HARRY! Is that your portfolio, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Careful, love,” Harry purred. “You’ll have the SEC investigating my assets again.”

Peggy Carter, meanwhile, was rolling her eyes so hard she probably saw her own brain. She knelt by the reinforced window and pulled out a small, glittering device—roughly the size of a tic-tac and ten times as deadly.

And it sparkled. Because of course it did.

Cue Flashback: Marauders Workshop, Manhattan, the Day Before

“James,” Peggy said, holding up a glitter-bomb between her fingers like it was a used tissue, “explain to me why your ‘subtle’ explosive smells like cinnamon and shame.”

“Because,” James said, goggles slipping off his nose, “it’s deliciously discreet. Barely enough to bruise a bruise. Think of it as... the glitter of chaos.”

Lily Potter did not think of it that way. “He wanted to use the Blackhole Bombs.”

“Absolutely not!” shouted Sirius, diving behind the counter like the memory alone was traumatic. “Last time, we lost a taco truck to another dimension. I miss that truck.”

“It came back,” James said weakly.

“IN MONTANA,” Lily barked. “Still serving tacos. Still causing storms.”

Peggy just sighed. “Give me the sparkles. And none of that banana-scented nonsense this time.”

Back to the Present

Now, with her last glitter-bomb set behind a marble end table, Peggy stood and tapped her belt. A faint purple shimmer ran through the room—charges armed, ready for their ‘oh-crap-we-need-a-window’ moment.

“You’re all set,” Peggy said coolly. “Exit window prepped. All we need now is for Natasha to climax just loud enough to distract the remaining guards.”

“Oh, Harold!” Natasha shouted from the tub, splashing more water than a Disney log flume ride. “Is that a Dom Perignon, or are you just loaded?”

“Careful, darling,” Harry groaned. “I’ve had less dramatic tax audits.”

“I hate this job,” a guard’s voice echoed over the comms.

“I can’t turn it off,” another whined. “It’s the Duke’s full sensory package. Do not mess with VIP auditory privileges!”

Amid the chaos, Harry slipped a waterproof scanner from under the tub’s seat and casually sent a pulse through the floor. The hidden vault beneath them lit up in his visor.

“Bingo,” he muttered.

“Vault confirmed,” Peggy said.

Harry turned to Natasha, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Act Two, Duchess?”

She dropped the Valley Girl voice and leaned in close. “Only if you bring back the monocle, Lord Pendragon.”

“I’ll consider it,” he said, brushing a wet strand of her wig behind her ear. “Right after you call me Daddy Warbucks again.”

Natasha’s grin was the kind that should’ve been illegal in six countries. “Oh, Daddy... punish my credit score.”

From the comms: “I swear to God, I’m going to staple my ears shut.”

Peggy smirked, slinking through the suite like a cat in heels. She paused at the minibar, grabbed a bottle of scotch, then whispered into her mic: “You two are giving the word ‘overkill’ an identity crisis.”

Harry's reply was immediate. “Overkill is just foreplay with more glitter.”

—

Clint Barton adjusted the stiff collar of his bellhop uniform for the fifth time in thirty seconds, silently cursing whoever invented starch. Or formalwear. Or buttons. Probably all three.

“Okay,” he muttered, wheeling a laundry cart down the marble corridor of rich-people-smell and judgment. “Bellhop. Normal. Not suspicious. Just delivering towels. Definitely not carrying a magical timed charge disguised as a lint roller.”

Next to him stomped a man who looked like he’d been built from old war crimes, back alley secrets, and the haunted dreams of overworked baristas.

Mad-Eye Moody—currently pretending to be a member of the hotel staff, in the loosest interpretation of the word “pretending”—was technically wearing the uniform. Technically. But when your face looked like a chainsaw’s resume and your magical eyeball whirred like a possessed Roomba, even the best dry-cleaned clothes couldn’t help.

“This place hires elves with better skincare routines,” Clint muttered under his breath as they passed two real bellhops. “And even they flinched when they saw you.”

Moody’s magical eye did a full 360-degree spin before locking onto Clint like a sniper scope. “Confunded the manager,” he growled. “Told him I was from the Swiss Association for Complimentary Hot Towel Regulation.”

Clint blinked. “That’s not a thing.”

“Didn’t need to be. He failed the eye contact test.”

“…Of course he did.” Clint sighed. “Why do I even ask?”

The laundry cart bumped along behind them, totally normal. Unless you counted the fact it carried two Marauder-engineered satchel bombs designed to disintegrate elevator cables on a delay, thus turning Mont Edelweiss’s pride and joy—the “glass elevators with built-in champagne bar”—into glorified panic tubes.

“Less boom, more poof,” Clint muttered, patting the side of the cart. “You sure these things are safe?”

“They’re Marauder-made,” Moody said. “Meaning they’ll either work perfectly or send the entire building into an alternate timeline where tax fraud is legal and everyone’s name is Chad.”

“Comforting.”

Moody pulled out a vial the color of radioactive pumpkin juice. It hissed like it had opinions.

“What’s that?” Clint asked, eyeing the swirling mist inside.

“Swamp Gas. Marauder Collection. Limited edition. Simulates a level-three biohazard panic within thirty seconds of exposure to steam.”

Clint stared. “You’re gonna hotbox the sauna?”

“Hotbox and traumatize.” Moody grinned—an expression that looked like it needed a license. “Every security goon in that spa is gonna think they’re in a fever dream sponsored by Salvador Dalí.”

—

Moody crouched—not well, not gracefully, but with the grim determination of a man who could win a staring contest with a Dementor.

He attached the first device—sleek, brass, and shaped like an angry snitch—to the elevator cable. It clicked into place with a smug little hum.

“Three-minute delay from activation,” Moody muttered. “Elevator cables go poof. Elevators freeze. Anyone above floor 50 is gonna need to rappel down with their gym towel.”

Clint, fiddling with a toaster-sized override box, nodded. “And this beauty reroutes all elevator calls to the boiler room. So when they try to call security…”

“They’re calling a steam room full of hallucinating muscle bros,” Moody finished. “James and Sirius called this a Tuesday.”

—

The sauna was peak Bond villain chic. Cedar panels. Mood lighting. Essential oils that probably cost more than an orphanage. Inside: four hotel security goons in robes, sweating like Wall Street interns during an IRS audit.

Moody entered, silver tray in hand, with the calm menace of someone who’d once interrogated a Death Eater using only tea and sarcasm.

“Complimentary aromatherapy vial,” he rasped. “Enhances muscle recovery. Corporate’s looking for feedback.”

The guards barely glanced up. One of them muttered something about needing to exfoliate his chakra.

Moody placed the vial on the heated stones, gave a slight bow that somehow looked aggressive, and limped back out.

The moment the door clicked shut, he whispered: “Mischief managed.”

The sauna hissed.

Then sparkled.

Then screamed.

Inside, glitter erupted like a unicorn sneeze. One man saw his reflection and thought he was being haunted by his past self. Another declared war on a towel. A third began giving a TED Talk on the socioeconomic impact of dragon toenail tariffs.

—

Clint tapped his comm. “Package delivered. Sauna’s now a glittery war zone. Elevator sabotage ready. All systems very go.”

Static crackled. Then:

“What kind of fever dream?” Natasha’s voice, low and amused.

Moody answered before Clint could. “There’s a hippo in a bikini threatening to unionize. One guy thinks he’s a ficus.”

“…You always throw the best parties, Moody,” came Harry’s voice. Smooth, lazy, and full of that I-have-a-plan-and-you’re-gonna-love-how-insane-it-is energy.

He continued: “Phase two begins in four minutes. Time to rob the vault full of billionaire regrets, hidden bribes, and at least one tiara stolen from an exiled French duchess.”

Clint snorted. “This is for what, exactly?”

Harry's voice went full movie-trailer mode. “This is for every orphan who got kicked out of the gift shop for not having billionaire blood.”

“And every kid who thought the glass elevator was just for them,” Natasha added, voice soft with amusement.

“You know,” she said, switching channels to Harry-only for just a moment, “I’m starting to think I like this version of you.”

Harry’s grin was audible through the comms. “Dangerous thought, Romanoff. Next thing you know, you’ll be stealing tiaras with me in Monaco.”

There was a beat. “You say that like I haven’t already.”

—

The moment Natasha stepped out of the Presidential Suite, Harry felt a part of his soul die and another part spark back to life. There she was—his Black Widow, clad in that iconic catsuit of hers that had him thinking of things he really shouldn’t be thinking about while on a heist. But hey, the heist wasn’t exactly a family-friendly event, was it?

He’d gotten a good look at her earlier when she’d peeled off that skimpy red bikini, much to his absolute delight. Yeah, he might have stared a little too long, but who wouldn’t? That was pure art. But now, of course, his beautiful partner was putting clothes back on, and even though he had a very real appreciation for her getting suited up in Black Widow gear, his brain was still stuck on the red bikini. You win some, you lose some.

"You know," Harry muttered under his breath as he checked his earpiece, "this whole work clothes thing just doesn’t have the same effect on me as when you’re in a bikini."

From the corner of the room, Natasha rolled her eyes, giving him a smirk. "You'll live." She was in full Black Widow mode, all business now, but there was a glint in her eyes that said she wasn’t entirely off the clock.

"Just saying," Harry sighed dramatically. "The view's better when you're—" He gave her an exaggerated look that had Natasha chuckling despite herself. The woman had no shame, and honestly, neither did he. "Well, the point is," Harry said, clearing his throat, "I’m going to need some serious distraction once this heist is over."

She winked. "I’m sure I can think of something."

"Careful," Harry warned, his voice dropping low. "You might end up on my list of 'Top Ten Kinky Moments' if you’re not careful."

Behind them, Peggy stood waiting, arms folded, an eyebrow arched. "Am I interrupting something? Or are we just taking a scenic detour on the way to the vault?"

Harry had to suppress a laugh. "Oh, don't worry, Peggy. We're definitely on track."

"Good," Peggy said dryly, her smile barely hidden beneath her professional mask. "Because I've just confirmed that the entire floor's surveillance is off, and the elevator traps are set."

Harry could practically hear Peggy’s internal eye-roll, and that only made him grin more. But before he could respond, the rest of the crew showed up. Steve Rogers, looking dapper as ever—well, as dapper as one could look in a bodyguard disguise, at least—was practically drooling over Peggy's outfit. He was trying to hide it, but the way his eyes lingered on her made it obvious.

“Steve,” Bucky Stan said with a roll of his eyes. "Focus, man. You're supposed to be guarding her, not checking her out like it's prom night."

Steve blinked, snapping back to reality. "Right. Right. Sorry." But Harry could see the goofy grin on his face. "I’m good, I’m good. Just... Peggy’s looking extra lethal today."

"That’s the plan," Peggy said with a smirk, looking absolutely deadly in a black tactical ensemble. Gone was the Captain Carter look. In its place was something far more suited to covert operations—tight, sleek, and with just enough “I'm gonna kick your ass” attitude to make anyone think twice.

Meanwhile, Sirius—who somehow always managed to look too good in everything, even a butler outfit—was off to the side, setting up the Dumbwaiter. Harry had to admit, the guy looked way too comfortable in that suit. Probably something to do with the whole "I used to be a wizard royal" vibe he had going on.

“Hey, Sirius,” Harry called. “How’s the butler life treating you?”

Sirius shot him a grin. "It’s all very Downton Abbey around here. I’ve got the ‘servant’ part down to a science.” He gave his suit an exaggerated tug. “You’ll get your martinis, but only after we pull off this little stunt. Priorities, mate.”

"Of course," Harry quipped. "But when we’re rich, I expect you to have a full suit of armor for when I need you to open the door dramatically."

Sirius smirked. "I’m always ready for drama."

“Guys!” Natasha cut in, holding up a bodycam. "We’re good to go." She tossed a glance at Peggy. "You sure everything’s set for the vault?"

Peggy gave a firm nod. "Yep, bodycam’s all ready. We’ll get the footage you need. But—" She looked over at the Dumbwaiter, eyes narrowing. "Let’s just make sure nothing goes wrong."

"Nothing’s going to go wrong," Harry assured, his voice confident, though part of him—like always—was bracing for the worst. "Now, remember: the vault’s tricky, but with the footage, I’ll be able to open a portal straight to it. Just make sure to move fast."

Clint and Mad-Eye were on the move too, taking care of the distractions they’d set up on the elevators and the sauna. Harry could practically hear Clint’s smirk through the comms. "Moody and I are making sure no one notices anything out of the ordinary. All set here. Just do your thing, and I’ll keep them busy for you."

“Good,” Harry said, a grin stretching across his face. “Nothing’s going to stop us. Not today. Not ever.”

He glanced at the team gathered in front of him—Natasha, Peggy, Steve, Bucky, Sirius, Clint, and Moody—each one of them experts in their own right, each one playing their role perfectly.

With that, the crew moved toward the Dumbwaiter. Natasha and Peggy were already in position, ready to slip down to the vault floor below. Bucky and Steve made sure the perimeter was secure, keeping an eye on the hallway while Sirius prepped the final details.

And Harry? Well, he was busy picturing the vault, ready to open the portal at a moment's notice.

If anyone could pull this off, it was them.

And if anyone could banter their way through almost getting caught while simultaneously cracking jokes about sex toys and bank heists—well, that was definitely Harry.

Let the heist begin.

—

Peggy adjusted her grip on the edge of the dumbwaiter shaft, her knuckles pale against the metal. "Ready when you are," she said, her voice so cool and collected you’d think she was ordering a scone rather than preparing to drop into a vault with more magical death traps than a Gringotts VIP room.

"Ladies first," Natasha quipped with a wink that could probably short-circuit a lesser mortal. Then she slipped inside the shaft with all the grace of a ballerina trained by ninjas. Because, y’know, she basically was.

Peggy arched a brow. "I believe the phrase is 'after you.'"

"How very British of you," Natasha murmured with a smirk. "Let’s hope your lockpicking skills are as sharp as your cheekbones."

"They’re sharper," Peggy replied dryly as she followed Natasha in, the two of them gliding down the shaft like couture-clad shadows.

Back in the penthouse suite, Harry watched it all unfold on his HUD, his grin fading into that dangerously focused look that meant things were about to get serious. Or spectacular. Usually both.

"Showtime," he whispered, and his voice was pure electricity.

He stood, stretching like a lion before a hunt, and pulled a crimson silk handkerchief from his blazer. It looked absurdly fancy—gold phoenix feathers embroidered on it, faint shimmer, and it smelled like spice, power, and expensive bad decisions. With a flick, it snapped into the air and twisted like it had a mind of its own (spoiler: it did). The Cloak of Levitation wrapped itself around Harry’s shoulders like it was greeting an old friend it missed setting on fire.

The armor responded like a lover awakened.

Vibranium-weave plating shimmered into view over his clothes, unfolding into sleek red and gold panels that hugged his frame in a way that would make fashion designers weep. A golden phoenix spread across the breastplate, glowing faintly, matching the spark in his eyes. The cowl slid into place, his hair slightly tousled in that intentional way that made him look both heroic and annoyingly hot.

“Looking hot, boss,” Clint’s voice crackled over the comms. “Like, dangerously so. I might be questioning things.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Barton,” Harry replied smoothly, adjusting a gauntlet. “You couldn’t handle me even in your dreams. Maybe if you asked really nicely... and wore less beige.”

“Hey,” Clint protested. “Beige is practical!”

“Beige is surrender in fabric form,” Harry shot back.

Sirius chimed in, voice as gravelly and sarcastic as ever. “He’s not wrong. Beige is what you wear when you’ve given up on life. Or interior design.”

“Focus, people,” Moody growled, every word sounding like it had been rolled in gravel and then smoked for twenty years. “We’ve got security charms tighter than a goblin’s coin purse and a limited window. Quit flirting and move.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Harry said.

“You absolutely were,” Natasha purred from below, her voice all velvet and fire. “But don’t stop on my account.”

“You like it when I’m distracting, don’t you?” Harry replied with a grin.

“Only when I’m not working,” she said.

“Then let’s finish this job quickly, Romanoff. I owe you dinner and several hours of poor life choices.”

Peggy coughed. “Still on comms, children.”

“Sorry, Aunt Peg,” Harry said with zero sincerity. “We’ll be quiet.”

“No, you won’t,” Steve muttered. “You never are.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing, Cap,” Bucky added, voice dry. “Personally, I find the chaos charming.”

Harry raised his hand. A golden circle of spiraling runes ignited at his fingertips. The portal bloomed into existence—a ring of fire and light that shimmered like starlight, revealing the dimly lit base of the shaft where Natasha and Peggy stood ready.

“Ladies,” he said, stepping through the portal like he owned time, space, and probably a decent portion of the universe. “Your ride has arrived.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow, eyes lingering on the armor. “Is it weird that I find you even hotter with glowing chest art?”

“Only if you make it weird,” Harry said, offering his hand with a crooked grin. “Shall we steal something shiny?”

Peggy shook her head, exasperated but amused. “Merlin help us all.”

And with that, they stepped into the vault’s corridor—booby-trapped, enchanted, and ready to throw a tantrum the size of a minor god.

Harry cracked his neck, eyes glowing. “Let’s dance.”

—

The vault at the end of the corridor wasn’t just a door—it was an insult. A smug, unblinking, magically armoured middle finger to everyone who had ever thought they were clever. Reinforced titanium alloy, check. Enchanted steel, double check. And just for fun? Enough magical tripwires to give Dumbledore a migraine and make Voldemort reconsider his career choices.

Glowing runes slithered across its surface like snakes doing synchronized swimming. Ancient Norse sigils tangled with Egyptian death curses, while a few glowing red symbols screamed "You touch, you die" in at least three dead languages. Probably four if you counted the one that sounded like it gave Voldemort dental problems.

Harry Potter—armor gleaming, hair heroically tousled by either magic or a very considerate breeze—stared it down like it had personally insulted his Patronus. "So," he said, voice pure British sarcasm, "what do you think? Overcompensating for something, or just really, really hates visitors?"

Natasha Romanoff stepped up beside him, and the casual brush of her hip against his made Harry's mental processes momentarily short-circuit. Not that he’d ever admit it. She eyed the vault like it owed her money. “Looks like a Tinder date between a paranoid warlock and a cursed sarcophagus. What do you think it’s hiding? Treasure? Forbidden knowledge? Jeff Bezos’s horcrux?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. He was busy pretending he wasn’t mentally writing an entire ballad about the way her voice dipped on "forbidden knowledge." Eventually, he cleared his throat. “If this ends with another Tesseract, I’m flipping this timeline and trying again in 1980.”

“Can we not do another reboot?” Clint’s voice came through the comms. “I just started getting decent abs. Took me like, four timelines.”

“Pretty sure this thing is hiding trauma,” Bucky added from his sniper perch. “Possibly a cursed painting. Definitely trauma.”

Steve Rogers, leaning against the wall like America’s hottest moral compass, crossed his arms. “Focus, people. That door’s not opening itself. What’s the play?”

Natasha, grinning with the kind of mischief that usually preceded either sex or explosions, produced a sleek glass vial from her belt. Inside floated a severed finger, preserved like some cursed cocktail garnish. “Well, funny story. A billionaire once tried to ghost me after promising me access codes. I said ‘no.’ He said ‘lawyer.’ I said ‘synthetically grown and ethically harvested.’”

Steve blinked. “Nat…please tell me that’s not—”

“—the real deal? Relax. He’s still alive. Probably. This one’s cloned. Organic, yes. Legally questionable? Also yes. But it works.”

Harry held out his hand without looking. “Gimme the finger.”

Natasha passed it over like she was handing him a glass of wine. “You know how to sweet-talk a girl.”

Harry didn’t smile, but his eyes definitely sparkled. “You haven’t heard me whisper ancient Egyptian poetry in bed yet.”

“Oh? Planning to impress me with dead languages now?”

“Only if they lead to you screaming Oh, Ra later.”

Peggy Carter, ever the British buzzkill with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, cleared her throat over comms. “As arousing as this banter is, we’ve got six minutes before the outer ring sensors cycle. That’s four and a half to crack the door, one to flirt, and thirty seconds for Clint to panic.”

“Hey!” Clint protested. “I haven’t panicked since Budapest!”

“You screamed like a goat,” Natasha muttered.

“Majestic mountain beast,” Clint shot back.

Harry ignored the goat commentary and slotted the finger into a glowing indent on the vault door. It pulsed, beeped, and hissed as the first set of runes collapsed inward.

“Layer one: Biometric seal bypassed,” he said coolly. “Time for the big guns.”

With a flick of his fingers, a glowing dagger appeared in his hand—a blade etched with phoenix feathers and rune sigils that shimmered like fire trapped in crystal. This was no ordinary lockpick. This was magical open-heart surgery with a side of sass.

Steve stepped closer, brow furrowed. “You sure you can handle this?”

Harry didn’t even glance at him. “Steve, I once beat the Ancient One at strip chess while dimension-hopping and drunk on unicorn blood. I invented the phrase ‘magical regret.’”

“Unicorn blood?” Steve repeated.

“Tastes like sparkly beef jerky and existential crisis,” Harry said, placing the tip of the blade against the central soul-lock rune.

The vault didn’t so much scream as it vibrated existence. The runes flared to life, howling with angry light. The ground trembled. Somewhere, a squirrel had a heart attack.

Harry’s grin sharpened. “Yeah. That’s the good stuff.”

And then he cut.

Runes shattered like icicles under a flamethrower. The vault wailed in ancient tongues. The magic surged forward like a tidal wave—and broke against Harry like water hitting a rock. A smug, ridiculously handsome rock with great hair.

One by one, the soul-locks collapsed. The titanium alloy hissed. The enchanted steel groaned. The entire corridor reeked of burnt magic and testosterone.

Finally, with the kind of sound you never want a bank vault to make unless you’re the one robbing it, the door began to open.

Smoke hissed out like dry ice on Broadway. Harry turned around, phoenix sigil glowing like he’d just won the magical Super Bowl.

“Ladies,” he said smoothly, “your murder-vault is now open for business.”

Natasha gave him a smile that could melt diamonds. “About time, pretty boy.”

She walked past him, fingers grazing his gauntlet, just long enough to send shivers up some part of his anatomy.

Harry grinned. “Showtime, Agent Romanoff.”

“Try not to get cursed.”

“No promises,” he whispered, and followed her in.

—

The vault at the end of the corridor was not just a vault—it was a whole personality. Specifically, the kind of personality that wore sunglasses indoors, drank espresso out of wine glasses, and thought booby-trapping your 401k with soul-eating runes was the height of subtlety.

Harry Potter—armor gleaming like Tony Stark had commissioned a line for Gryffindor alumni—stood in front of it, arms folded, eyebrow raised, the universal look of “seriously?” carved onto his face.

“Subtle,” he deadpanned. “Just your average blend of titanium alloy, dragonsteel, and enough ancient death magic to make Voldemort rethink his career path.”

Natasha Romanoff stepped up beside him, hair pulled back, black suit tighter than security at Stark Tower on Taco Tuesday. Her hip brushed against his armor—definitely not an accident. “It’s overcompensating,” she murmured. “I bet it’s guarding a Fabergé egg stuffed with Elon Musk’s therapy bills.”

Harry didn’t respond immediately. He was too busy pretending he hadn’t just imagined Natasha whispering forbidden knowledge in his ear with a Russian accent. He cleared his throat. “If there’s another Tesseract in there, I’m starting this timeline over from scratch. Preferably in a universe where I didn’t drink unicorn blood on a dare.”

Clint’s voice crackled through the comms. “Can we not? I just got abs. Like, real ones. Took me five years and a smoothie addiction.”

From above, Bucky scoffed. “It’s not treasure. It’s trauma. That vault’s radiating repressed emotions harder than Stark at a group therapy session.”

Steve—Captain America himself, currently leaning against the wall like he’d been carved from apple pie and justice—sighed. “Focus, people. What’s the plan? And please tell me it doesn’t involve Harry getting drunk on mythical fluids again.”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Natasha said sweetly. She reached into her belt and pulled out a vial like it was a lipstick. Except it wasn’t. It was a floating finger. Yep. Just a casual severed finger bobbing in blue goo like some kind of cursed Jell-O shot.

Steve blinked. “Tell me that’s synthetic.”

“Of course,” Natasha purred. “Grown in a lab. Fully ethical. We even got a sustainability certificate. I only threatened to shove the original owner’s servers into a very uncomfortable orifice.”

Harry whistled low. “You continue to be the hottest war crime I’ve ever had a crush on.”

She tilted her head. “Only one?”

He leaned closer. “The rest didn’t survive foreplay.”

She smirked. “Their loss.”

Before the flirting could reach full thermonuclear levels, Peggy Carter's clipped British voice slid in over the comms like an exasperated schoolmistress. “As riveting as this courtship is, we have five and a half minutes before the vault's outer ring cycles again. That gives us four minutes to break in, one minute to flirt, and thirty seconds to scream in horror when it explodes.”

“Or explodes us,” Sirius added cheerfully. His voice, gravelly and half-laughing, oozed big sexy chaos energy. “Let’s not forget how every Potter plan ends—with a bang, and then Harry walking out of the fire like a smug demigod who’s technically not to blame.”

Harry conjured a rune-scanner with a flick of his hand and pointedly ignored Sirius. “Love you too, Siri,” he called. Then, to the vault: “Alright, you arrogant magical coffin. Let’s dance.”

The scanning rune floated over the surface like a curious firefly on a caffeine bender. Glowing sigils pulsed in layers—Norse wards braided into Egyptian soul-locks, all interlaced with blood cipher script that practically screamed don’t touch unless you have a death wish or a really good insurance plan.

Harry squinted. “Yup. This is ancient sacrificial enchantment at its finest. Because nothing screams 'secure savings' like magic that eats your face.”

“Constant vigilance, Potter,” Moody growled over the comms. “Vaults like that don’t just kill ya. They flay your soul, rearrange your bones into a rude gesture, and then write a critique of your security flaws in infernal script.”

“Charming,” Clint said. “Can we put that on a poster?”

Harry held out his hand. “Nat. Finger me.”

She blinked, then snorted. “Wow. That was almost smooth.”

“Hey, you knew what you were signing up for,” he said, as she handed him the vial.

Without ceremony, he slotted the synthetic digit into a scanner that looked like it had opinions about his bloodline. The runes pulsed, shimmered, and unlocked with a hiss that sounded almost...disappointed.

“One layer down,” Peggy noted briskly. “Try not to wake up anything that slumbers beneath reality, yes?”

Harry’s hand lit up with gold as he summoned an enchant-breaker blade. It shimmered with phoenix feather filament and anti-curse runes, like something a Jedi would dual-wield with Excalibur.

“Right,” he said. “Time to poke the angry soul-lock and hope it doesn’t scream in ancient Sumerian.”

Steve raised a hand. “Wait. Are you sure—”

“Steve,” Harry said, turning with a calm so intense it could have its own Netflix special. “I once swapped bodies with the Ancient One mid-chess match against a pocket dimension that had abandonment issues. I was drunk. On unicorn blood. And I won.”

Steve blinked. “...Cool.”

“He used the pawn to threaten the king’s emotional vulnerabilities,” Natasha whispered. “It was disturbingly effective.”

Harry pressed the tip of the blade to the center rune.

And the vault screamed.

Not like “alarm going off” screamed—this was existential shrieking. The kind of metaphysical howl that rattled your spleen and reminded your ancestors why they moved to a dimension with less soul-flaying.

The air shimmered. Runes exploded like fireworks. Space-time hiccupped in protest.

Harry didn’t blink. His grin said bring it on, his eyes burned gold, and he cut.

With every slice, ancient magic shattered. The soul-lock buckled, fought, shrieked—and failed. The vault door groaned, hissed, shuddered...

And opened.

Smoke spilled out like it had been waiting for a dramatic entrance. Harry turned, phoenix sigil pulsing on his chest, silver cloak flaring behind him like he had choreographed it with the wind.

“Ladies,” he said, voice low and smug and way too attractive for someone who just cracked open a magical death box. “Your murder-vault is ready.”

Natasha gave him a slow smile that could’ve melted the hinges off the door. “Took you long enough, pretty boy.”

She stepped past him, but not before trailing her fingers along his gauntlet—casually, like she wasn’t one minor apocalypse away from dragging him into the nearest utility closet.

Harry’s grin widened. “Showtime, Agent Romanoff.”

And just like that, the world didn’t stand a chance.

Chapter 81: Chapter 80

If vaults could win awards for dramatic entrances, this one would sweep the Oscars. The door groaned open like it was auditioning for a horror movie, revealing a chamber that looked like someone shoved a museum, a mad scientist’s lab, and a fantasy novel into a blender set to “chaotic evil.”

Harry Potter (yes, that Harry) stepped in first, red-and-gold phoenix armor gleaming like a sunrise that could punch you in the face. His magic flicked across his hand like a conductor prepping for a metal concert. Behind him, Natasha Romanoff followed—stealthy, graceful, and dressed in tactical black that somehow managed to be practical and jaw-droppingly hot.

"Okay," Harry said, surveying the weirdest treasure trove since someone let Loki loose in a pawn shop. "Either this is HYDRA’s secret stash... or they’ve been hoarding for an interdimensional garage sale."

Natasha snorted. "Please. HYDRA doesn’t have the taste for this much weird. That’s 100% mad scientist energy. You think Eric Einhardt had a Pinterest board for this?"

"Absolutely," Harry replied. "Labeled it 'Murder Basement Chic.' Bet he had inspirational quotes too. ‘Live, Laugh, Reanimate.’"

They passed a cryo-chamber containing what looked suspiciously like an angel wing. Just... hanging there, frozen mid-flap. You know. Casual.

“Harry, is that—”

“A seraphim wing. Yep.” He squinted. “Still twitching too. So... not expired. Just... on a break.”

Natasha made a face. “Great. This place has a heartbeat.”

To the right, a chessboard made of bone and obsidian sat under a glass dome. The pieces moved on their own—and glared when anyone got too close.

Harry tapped the glass. The queen hissed at him.

“British and rude,” he muttered. “I think we’ve found Voldemort’s retirement plan.”

Further in, a pedestal glowed softly, containing two matte-black hard drives nestled like cursed treasure. Runes and Stark-tech holograms spun lazily around them like fireflies made of math and bad decisions.

“Bingo,” Natasha said, moving closer. “One’s the backup of Einhardt’s brain. The other has HYDRA sleeper operatives. AKA, the oh-no list.”

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t come with a side of apocalypse,” Harry murmured, scanning the warding glyphs. “Because this one’s screaming ‘Do Not Touch Unless You’re a Demigod or Bored.’”

A runic glyph shaped like a yoga-posing basilisk pulsed angrily.

Natasha pulled out a shard the size of a matchbook and jammed it onto the pedestal.

The entire containment field snapped—gone in an instant like it owed her money. The runes flickered, glitched, and disintegrated.

Harry blinked. “Did you just vaporize ancient alchemical wards with a stick of gum?”

“Hex-virus,” Natasha replied. “Stole it from a Siberian bunker. Named it after my ex.”

Harry gave her a slow, impressed look. “Do not break up with you.”

She smirked. “Smart boy.”

He picked up the drive labeled with a scarlet “O.” The names inside could flip countries. Governments. Possibly a few school boards.

“Wanna start a global revolution?” Harry asked casually.

“Only if we survive long enough to post the receipts.”

Behind them, something clanked.

Harry and Natasha turned simultaneously.

In the shadowy far end of the vault, a shape rose. Tall. Mechanical. Judgy.

Twelve feet of HYDRA’s finest overcompensation, it stomped forward with glowing red eyes and murder in its heart. Ancient runes crawled along its limbs like tattoos made by a blind wizard on acid.

On its chest: the faded symbol of HYDRA. Beneath it, a single word etched in angry iron:

OBLIVION.

“Oh, of course,” Harry muttered. “Einhardt built a doom-bot. Because nothing says ‘vault security’ like a Terminator that went to Hogwarts.”

“I’ll take the torso,” Natasha said, extending her shock batons.

Harry’s finger flared with phoenix flame. “I’ll take the sarcasm.”

Meanwhile—

Outside the Vault:

Peggy Carter waited near the dumbwaiter shaft, keeping one hand on Harry’s Cloak of Levitation (which was clearly sulking about not being in the spotlight). Her lips were set in a worried line, but her eyes gleamed with battle readiness and possibly a bit of can-we-be-done-here-so-I-can-make-out-with-my-boyfriend energy.

Further up the shaft, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were hauling gear like it was World War II again, muttering in tandem.

“I’m telling you,” Steve grunted, “he’s got it under control.”

“He better,” Bucky replied. “Or we’re busting in. Guns blazing.”

“You just want to show off to Peggy.”

“Don’t you?”

Steve paused. “...Yeah. Fair.”

Nearby, Sirius Black leaned against the wall with all the grace of a noir film protagonist. Coat slung over his shoulder, wand in hand, and a grin that said someone’s about to get hexed and it’s not me.

“Heads up,” he called. “I hear boom noises. Harry’s either flirting or fighting. Possibly both.”

Across the mountain—

Clint Barton and Alastor Moody (still stitching up the bellhop disguises they used to sneak in) stepped out of the luxury hotel’s staff entrance.

Clint muttered, “Next time, I’m wearing the maid outfit. Bellhop pants ride up in places I didn’t know I had.”

Moody grunted. “Constant vigilance. And a good tailor.”

Their eyes scanned the snowfield. A shimmer distorted the air just beyond the tree line.

“There she is,” Clint said, nodding toward the invisible Quinjet. “Now we just gotta hope the murderbot doesn’t delay the lovebirds too long.”

Back in the vault, as the golem raised one glowing fist, Natasha grinned and leaned close to Harry.

“Think we can finish this quickly?”

He smirked. “You buying me dinner afterward?”

“If we live? I’m cooking.”

Harry raised his hand and charged. “Then let’s work up an appetite.”

—

The floor shuddered under Harry’s boots like the Earth itself had decided it was tired of the drama and was calling a timeout. OBLIVION—the giant, rune-infested murder machine—stepped forward, its red eyes glowing like it was in the middle of a really bad rave. Harry didn’t even flinch.

"Okay, serious question," Harry said, side-stepping a swipe that would’ve turned an entire building into confetti. "Who named this thing? OBLIVION? Seriously? Was ‘Doom Machine of Doomy Death’ already taken?”

“Maybe it’s just misunderstood,” Natasha quipped, her batons crackling as she swung them to deflect a blast of magic from the golem’s glowing chest. "It’s probably just mad because it’s not getting enough attention."

Harry dodged another claw swipe, barely breaking a sweat. "Maybe it just wants a hug."

It would have been hilarious, if not for the whole 'giant death robot' thing.

OBLIVION roared, a sound that could probably make the Alps cry, and unleashed a flurry of spinning blades from its back. They twirled through the air with a deadly grace, like someone had said, "Hey, what would happen if we combined an industrial blender with a chainsaw?"

Natasha, ever the acrobat, vaulted over them in a perfectly illegal twist, landing behind the golem with the grace of a cat on espresso. "Okay," she panted, brushing a lock of hair out of her face, "That was kind of hot."

Harry flashed her a grin. "You should see me juggle. Shirtless. Maybe after we’re done avoiding getting eviscerated?"

The golem growled and tried to stomp them both. Bad move, though. Harry caught its foot mid-drop, like he was some sort of magic-wielding crane operator. A golden aura surrounded the metal limb, freezing it in midair.

"Sit, you oversized paperweight," Harry muttered, his voice low with the kind of intensity that only comes when you’ve spent way too much time dealing with evil magic constructs. "You think I haven’t dealt with your type before? I’ve buried worse in basilisk pits, pal."

"Yeah, you’re really starting to get that ‘hero’ vibe going," Natasha said, flicking a look his way. "But, you know, I was thinking more along the lines of ‘sexy' than ‘savage.’"

"Thank you," Harry said with a wink, his eyes glowing like the sun was about to explode. "I work out."

Meanwhile, outside the Vault – The Team Discusses (Read: Complain About) Harry's Fighting Style

Back near the dumbwaiter shaft, Steve was in the middle of an impromptu shield drill, because that’s just what Steve Rogers does. Bucky was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching with an expression that could’ve been mistaken for mild interest—or maybe he was just waiting for Steve to throw his shield wrong.

“That definitely sounds like Harry,” Steve said, barely raising an eyebrow. “Is he fighting or flirting?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. "Definitely both. I swear, it’s the exact same tone he used when he was twelve. Remember when he tried to break up that Veela bar fight by calling her ‘inferior’ mid-duel? She proposed to him after she woke up.”

Steve blinked. "I thought you were exaggerating."

“Nope,” Sirius chimed in from the side, dusting off his leather jacket. “James did the exact same thing at fourteen. We had to bail him out of the most awkward proposal in history.”

“Disturbing,” Steve muttered, still processing this new level of weirdness.

Meanwhile, Peggy, who had been leaning casually into the shaft opening, flicked her hair back like she was auditioning for a shampoo commercial. Her cloak of levitation fluttered dramatically in the wind, which could’ve probably won an Oscar for ‘Best Supporting Fabric’ if there was such a category.

“Harry!” she called out. “Need help?”

Harry’s voice echoed back, dripping with sarcasm. “Depends. How do you feel about magical Terminators with abandonment issues?”

The Cloak of Levitation zipped forward like it had a personal vendetta against the laws of physics, diving into the vault like an eager puppy. “Showoff,” Bucky muttered.

The Cloak, clearly having a sense of flair, wrapped itself around OBLIVION’s head, blocking its sight. It was like a magician’s finale—graceful, efficient, and somehow dramatic. OBLIVION flailed blindly, its chainsaw-blades spinning wildly.

Natasha saw the opening, leapt onto the golem’s back like she was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil, and slammed one of her batons straight into the glowing rune cluster between its shoulder blades. The golem screamed—a sound that sounded like an industrial garbage truck colliding with an angry walrus.

Harry didn’t even blink. He drew a circle in the air with two fingers and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an ancient incantation mixed with a techno beat. The runes on OBLIVION’s limbs started peeling off like burnt stickers, crumbling to ash.

“I gotta admit,” Natasha said, landing with the grace of a cat on a caffeine high, “I’d pay good money to see that again.”

Harry just grinned. “Careful, Natasha. You’re starting to sound like you might be into me. We’ve still got work to do."

“Maybe when we’re done getting attacked by death robots, I’ll show you how much I’m into you.”

Harry’s hand glowed with a golden light—one so bright, it was like someone had decided to put the sun inside a bottle. “Deal,” he said, and with a final, dramatic flick of his wrist, OBLIVION shattered into a thousand glittering pieces. The metallic fragments sparkled like angry confetti, and for a moment, all was still.

“See?” Harry said, his voice deceptively casual as he turned back to Natasha, still breathing heavily but looking like he’d just come from an intense yoga class. “I told you I was good with my hands.”

Natasha smirked, walking toward him. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Suddenly, Peggy appeared, eyebrows raised. She looked at the wreckage of the golem, then at Harry, then back at the golem. “Are you two done playing with ancient death machines yet?”

The Cloak of Levitation drifted over, casually resting on Harry’s shoulder like it was a cool sidekick that just couldn’t quit being fabulous.

“Ma’am,” Harry said with an exaggeratedly innocent look, “I swear, it tried to eat us first.”

Bucky, Steve, and Sirius finally dropped down through the shaft opening with their usual military-perfect grace. They looked around at the mess. Sirius grinned. “I like him. He breaks things properly.”

Steve sighed. “For a stealth mission, this is getting remarkably loud.”

“Blame the murderbot,” Harry said. “Very sensitive."

Bucky whistled as he looked over the shattered pedestal. “Got the drives?”

Natasha tossed them over with a look that was both professional and, for some reason, a little bit flirtatious. “All gift-wrapped, no apocalypse included. Probably.”

“Good,” Sirius said, examining the damage. “Now let’s get out before we attract more attention than we already have. Don’t want to make this the 'Harry Potter Show' every time we need to steal something.”

Steve glanced at the chaos around them. “You think ‘HYDRA’ will just give up?”

“Nope,” Harry said with a grin. “Which is why we need to vanish. Fast.”

Before anyone could respond, Clint’s voice crackled over the comms. “Quinjet’s warming up. But you’ve got movement. HYDRA’s waking up, and they’re grumpy. Real grumpy.”

Moody’s gravelly voice came next, dripping with sarcasm. “Move your bloody arses, people. I didn’t stitch up these stupid disguises and hike a mountain for you lot to play nursemaid to hormonal superheroes.”

Harry smirked, adjusting the Vibranium mesh of his red-and-gold suit. “Alright, team. Let’s vanish. And I’ll even try to keep the quips to a minimum.”

The Cloak fluttered dramatically behind him, as if it was making an entrance to its own personal rock concert.

With that, they turned and sprinted toward the dumbwaiter shaft, the drives safely tucked away, bickering all the way out. The perfect team—if your idea of perfection was a mix of magic, sarcasm, and really, really bad ideas wrapped in a whole lot of red and gold.

—

Sirius, Steve, and Bucky were busy with the kind of frantic energy that could only come from a life-or-death mission… or an impending glitter explosion. Steve was packing up the gear with military precision, each item neatly placed, the way only Captain America could do it—like he'd been trained by Marie Kondo herself. Bucky, on the other hand, was throwing things into bags like he had a personal vendetta against inanimate objects. Sirius? Well, he was pretty much the soundtrack to chaos, cracking jokes about wanting to set the whole place on fire—metaphorically, of course—while stacking crates like a man who didn’t mind a little destruction.

“Honestly, I think we should’ve just yelled at OBLIVION and called it a day,” Sirius muttered, loading a weapon into a crate with far too much enthusiasm. “That would’ve been way more satisfying.”

Steve gave him a deadpan look. “It’s a good thing we’re not here to just have fun, Sirius.”

Sirius shot him a grin. “Who says we can’t have fun and save the world at the same time?”

Meanwhile, across the hall in the Presidential Suite, Peggy, Natasha, and Harry were in the thick of it, grabbing every piece of equipment left. Peggy was at the windows, setting off glitter bombs she’d planted earlier—because why have a stealth mission when you could have sparkle-based chaos? Harry, who had been wrapped in the Cloak of Levitation (and looking like he was about to lead a magical high school band), flashed her a grin.

“Peg, you're seriously going to make this the most fabulous mission in history,” Harry said, checking his wrist like he had a personal countdown timer running. “You’ve got... thirty seconds before our glittery demise gets noticed.”

Natasha was busy packing up a few last-minute gadgets but couldn’t help smirking. “You're really living up to your ‘magical menace’ reputation, huh?”

Harry shrugged with that signature smirk. “What can I say? If you’re going to be a menace, might as well be a fabulous one.”

“You are a menace,” Natasha grumbled under her breath, but her eyes were twinkling in spite of herself.

Clint and Moody had arrived at the Quinjet, cloaked in stealth mode like two shady figures at a late-night diner. Clint, in particular, wasn’t exactly thrilled with the whole “invisible” vibe.

“I hate stealth mode,” Clint muttered, checking his bowstring as he watched the hotel’s windows through the corner of his eye. “It’s like a bad spy movie, and I’ve had enough of those.”

Moody, adjusting his bellhop uniform (which, frankly, looked a little too convincing for comfort), grunted. “If you keep complaining, I’ll put you in a bellhop costume too. See how you like it.”

Clint didn’t even flinch. “As long as it doesn’t come with sequins, I’m good.”

The Quinjet’s engines were running silent, a low hum that made it feel like they were waiting for the whole world to forget they were even there. Clint was the first to hear the muffled pop of a glitter bomb detonating, and he smirked.

“Guess that’s our cue,” he said, nudging Moody. “Time to cause a little chaos.”

Peggy hit the detonator, and the sparkle explosion that followed was the kind of thing you only saw in movies about really bad heists. Glitter exploded everywhere, catching the dimming light from outside and painting the windows with an almost comical amount of magic and sparkle.

“Well, that’s going to be a problem,” Peggy said, surveying the glitter storm with a satisfied look on her face.

Harry, watching the fallout through the window, couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, this is going to be glorious.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Natasha muttered. “You two are impossible.”

Harry shrugged, the Cloak of Levitation settling like a second skin around his shoulders. “Hey, you love us for it.”

“Barely,” Natasha replied with a half-smile, shaking her head. “Let’s go. Now.”

With a quick motion, Harry summoned his magic. A golden aura flared around him like the sun on a perfect day. The next thing anyone knew, Harry, Natasha, and Sirius were in the air, zipping down the hallway toward the Quinjet.

Sirius—ever the dramatic one—yelled as he shot through the air. “I thought I was going to be glued to the floor for a second there! What’s with the sudden liftoff?”

“Oh, stop whining,” Harry said with that cocky grin of his. “You’re flying! Embrace the magic, buddy. It’s like... a really high-speed elevator, only way cooler.”

The Quinjet, its cargo door wide open and ready for action, was hovering in the distance like a sleek black bird in the night sky. Steve, Bucky, and Peggy were already tossing gear into the hold with the kind of efficiency that only a bunch of Avengers could manage, while Clint’s voice crackled over the comms.

“Nice touch with the glitter bombs, team. The bad guys are going to love that.”

Bucky gave the Quinjet’s open doors a look as he threw a crate into the hold. “Yeah, a little too much love for my taste.”

“Don’t be such a buzzkill,” Sirius said, shooting him a wink. “We’re making an exit with style.”

Steve shot Bucky a deadpan glance. “When have we ever made a quiet exit?”

“Never,” Bucky said with a grin that could only be described as ‘veteran mischief.’ “That’s the fun of it.”

With a final burst of magic, Harry swooped into the Quinjet, Natasha and Sirius right behind him. The whole team was in, and the door slammed shut behind them just as the Quinjet roared to life, blasting out of the hotel with the kind of speed that could make a cheetah question its life choices.

The Quinjet swerved through the sky, the mountains of the Alps receding into the distance, and just like that, they were gone.

Clint’s voice came over the comms, dripping with sarcasm. “Well, that was a lot louder than I expected. You guys really know how to make an entrance... and exit.”

Moody’s gravelly voice followed, even more deadpan. “Mission complete. Now, can we please not get caught?”

Sirius, who was slouched in one of the seats and looking way too relaxed for someone who’d just been flying through the air, gave Harry a look. “We did it, mate. Blown things up, made it look easy... and now we just wait for the ‘big bad’ to chase us down, right?”

Harry smirked, already settling into the seat beside Natasha. “Exactly. You know the drill. But let’s make sure we do it with less glitter next time.”

“Less glitter?” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I’m ready for a world without your ‘fabulous’ side, Harry.”

Harry grinned, leaning in with that playful, almost teasing look. “Give it time, Red. You might just enjoy it when I’m not blowing up the place with sparkles.”

Before she could answer, Steve’s voice came from the cockpit, serious as ever. “Focus, team. HYDRA’s not far behind.”

Bucky twisted in his seat, giving the group one of those devil-may-care looks. “Then let’s make this getaway the most ridiculous one we’ve ever had. No glitter needed.”

With a collective nod, the team braced themselves, ready for whatever the mission threw at them next. After all, when you’re this badass, it’s never just another Tuesday.

—

As the Quinjet sliced through the skies over the Swiss Alps, Clint Barton—aka Hawkeye, aka the guy who can hit a bullseye with a toothpick from 300 yards—was doing what he did best: being paranoid. He was staring at his screen like a hawk, but less "majestic" and more "someone who just saw a weird shadow and now thinks they’re being followed by a secret government agency run by aliens."

He didn’t like the vibe.

“Hey, Steve—hold up,” Clint said, his voice low, a twitch of anxiety seeping into his usual sarcasm. His eyes were glued to the screen, scanning for something... suspicious. "We’ve got company."

“Company?” Steve Rogers, aka Captain America (and also a guy who could throw a shield that could decimate a wall without breaking a sweat) replied over comms. “I thought we just pulled off the perfect getaway.”

“We did,” Clint said, his gaze still locked on the screen. “But apparently, someone missed the memo. They’ve been tailing us since we left the Alps.”

Steve’s voice crackled in the comm. “Are we talking Hydra, or something more... dramatic?”

Clint zoomed in on the radar, his eyes narrowing. “Could be Hydra. Could be a rogue group of mime artists who want to challenge us to a ‘silent fight.’ Either way, I’m not in the mood for a fight today.”

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier—and resident guy who could punch through a tank and look effortlessly cool doing it—grunted from the cockpit. “We don’t need more drama, Clint. Keep it together.”

Sirius Black, who was reclining in the back like he’d just walked out of a James Bond movie (minus the tux), shot Clint an amused look. “Oh, great. A tail. It’s not like we’ve had enough problems already.”

Harry, ever the optimist (but only in the most sarcastic way possible), leaned back in his seat, hands clasped behind his head, his red-and-gold armor gleaming in the dim cabin light. “Well, you know, Sirius, if there's one thing we’re good at, it’s attracting trouble. I mean, what's the point of a covert mission without a tail, right? It’s like having a party without cake. Not that I’d know—never been invited to a party. Sad, really. I’m the life of the—”

Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow, cut him off with a sharp look. “Focus, Harry.”

"Right," Harry said, a grin tugging at his lips. “I was just making a point. But okay, back to being serious. You’re right. We need to focus. For now, let’s just... blow up some stuff and call it a day. Simple stuff. No glitter this time."

“Not letting the glitter go, are we?” Natasha shot him a look, part amused, part exasperated.

"Why would I? Glitter is practically a weapon. I’m thinking we should start a whole new genre of combat with it." Harry gave a mock-serious nod. "I’m gonna call it: Sparkle Warfare.”

Natasha just stared at him for a long moment, and then she gave a reluctant smile. “Let’s keep the ‘sparkle’ to a minimum. Clint, you’ve got any tricks up your sleeve?”

“Do I ever not?” Clint muttered, already tapping away at his controls. “I’ve got something that'll make them forget we exist for a while.”

“That sounds ominous,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

“Trust me, it’s beautiful,” Clint replied, his lips quirking. “But first, we’ve got to shake them.”

The Quinjet swerved suddenly, cutting through the clouds in a sharp, heart-stopping dive. It felt like the world was doing that weird whoa thing, the one where your stomach stays behind while the rest of you plummets into an air pocket. Everyone grunted, instinctively grabbing the nearest solid thing to stop themselves from becoming one with the ceiling.

And then Clint pulled the controls with the expertise of a pilot who'd had way too much coffee and zero chill. The Quinjet shot upwards in a tight 180-degree loop that would’ve made Top Gun jealous. It was a maneuver so slick, the air itself seemed to hold its breath.

“Here it comes,” Clint said under his breath, as though they weren’t about to make everyone in their tailing craft reconsider their life choices.

A flick of a button, and the Quinjet shimmered—no, blurred. The magical tech fusion they’d installed (thanks, Howard Stark, Lily Potter, and Gideon Adler) kicked into high gear, casting a cloaking spell that made the jet disappear in a blink. It was like someone had flipped a switch, and bam, they were gone. Poof. Vanished.

Sirius whistled. “Now that is some impressive wizardry. I feel like I’m in a Bond movie... if Bond had a sense of humor and the ability to do tech sorcery.”

“Beautiful, right?” Clint said, wiping a hand across his brow. “If they can’t see us, they can’t follow us. It’s basically like playing hide and seek, except we’re winning. So far.”

Harry’s grin grew wider, as his armor flickered slightly in the dim light. “I mean, yeah, Clint, I’ll admit it—that was cool. And that? That was so much more satisfying than glitter. Although...” Harry paused, glancing at the window. “Imagine a glitter bomb that could do that. Think of the possibilities.”

“Not going back to the glitter, Harry,” Natasha said with an eye-roll, though the corner of her mouth quirked up ever so slightly.

“Oh, but imagine,” Harry pressed. “The sparkles, the chaos—”

“Keep it to yourself, Potter,” Natasha said, but her tone was laced with something... warmer. A hint of something beyond the usual banter.

Bucky chuckled from his seat. “You two are ridiculous.”

Steve’s calm, reassuring voice came over the comm. “Alright, that was a nice move. But we’re not out of the woods yet. We still need to stay ahead. They’ll regroup.”

“No worries, Cap,” Clint said, eyes scanning the empty skies. “I’ve got plenty more tricks up my sleeve.”

“Let’s just not blow us all up in the process,” Peggy Carter, the no-nonsense voice of reason, added from her seat, a smirk dancing on her lips. “And let’s not get any more dramatic than we already have.”

“I’m a professional,” Clint shot back, and there was a definite challenge in his tone. “Now, everyone buckle in—let’s see if we can make them dizzy.”

The Quinjet picked up speed, soaring higher into the clouds, leaving their would-be pursuers scrambling. But in the back of his mind, Clint knew one thing for sure: trouble had a habit of finding them. The real question was how they’d handle it next.

And knowing his team, he had a pretty good feeling. Because when you’ve got magic, tech, and the world's best problem-solvers in one jet, well, the only thing left to do was wait for the next round.

Harry settled back into his seat, his armor gleaming even more brightly now, his grin wide and cheeky. “Alright, so when do we get to the part where we actually get to have fun? I'm just saying—this is the moment where we either die or we make everything explode. Let’s make this fun, people.”

Natasha shot him another look, though this time there was a softness to it that didn't quite match her usual sarcasm.

“We’ll survive, Harry. I’m sure of it.”

“I’m counting on it.” Harry’s grin turned into something a little more dangerous, eyes lighting up with the thrill of whatever was coming next.

Because when you’re this good, a little tailing is just the warm-up. The real fun was still ahead.

—

As the Quinjet continued its high-speed trek through the clouds, the team relaxed, settling into the comfortable lull that followed a job well done. Clint was leaning back in his seat, eyes flicking lazily between the control panel and the display screens. His fingers hovered over buttons as he hummed an off-key tune, clearly pleased with himself. Bucky, on the other hand, was pretending to read a comic book, though everyone knew he was just fidgeting in his seat, waiting for something to happen. Even Peggy had allowed herself to let down her professional guard for a moment, her lips curled in a rare, content smile.

But while the others were unwinding, Natasha and Harry—well, let’s just say their idea of relaxation looked a little different.

Natasha was perched casually beside Harry, her legs stretched out and her back against the side of the Quinjet. Harry, in his usual red-and-gold vibranium-mesh bodysuit, sat slightly turned toward her, his golden-and-red armor gleaming softly in the dim light. He looked every bit the superhero—well, minus the whole "savior of the universe" vibe he sometimes gave off—and more like someone who knew exactly how to make a grand entrance.

"Do you ever stop being ridiculous?" Natasha asked, her voice teasing, as she flicked a stray piece of hair out of her face. She gave him a sideways glance, clearly trying to maintain her usual cool demeanor, but it was clear her mind was somewhere else.

Harry grinned back, an eyebrow arched. "What, like stop being the perfect mix of lethal and charming? Can’t say I’m sure how that works."

She scoffed, but her lips tugged into a smile. "That’s because it’s not supposed to work. It’s just... annoying."

Harry leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to something a touch more serious. "Well, you’ve been tolerating my brand of annoying for a while now. Guess that says something, huh?"

She met his gaze, her eyes softening, a rare glimmer of something unspoken between them. Natasha's usual sharpness seemed to dull just a bit as she leaned closer, her voice a quiet whisper. "Maybe it says that you’re more trouble than you’re worth."

Harry chuckled low, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Or maybe it says you're secretly enjoying every second of it."

Before she could reply with one of her usual witty retorts, Harry—ever the master of turning the tables—took a chance. He casually placed a hand on the armrest beside her, his fingers brushing against hers, just enough to let her feel the electric charge between them.

Natasha’s breath hitched, and she looked at him with a mixture of surprise and something deeper, her gaze lingering a little too long. "You really don’t know when to quit, do you?"

"I mean, it’s not like I don’t appreciate a good challenge," Harry said with a smirk. He leaned in closer, his lips just inches from her ear, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "But sometimes, Natasha... a challenge is just a little too irresistible."

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she forgot about everything else. The Quinjet, the mission, the ever-present threat of Hydra or whoever else might be out there—it all faded away as she focused on the magnetic pull between them.

"Is that so?" Natasha’s voice was low, almost a purr now, the teasing edge replaced with something much more intimate.

"Yeah," Harry replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he met her eyes, a challenge in his own gaze. "I’m a sucker for a good challenge. And you? You’re the kind of challenge that keeps things... interesting."

Before she could react, he leaned in just enough to press his lips lightly against hers, the kiss soft but filled with a quiet intensity. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t about making a statement. It was just the kind of kiss that happened when two people who couldn’t deny their connection finally let their walls come down.

When they finally pulled apart, Natasha’s expression was unreadable, but the corner of her lips quirked up, betraying her. “You’re lucky I like you, Potter.”

Harry chuckled, his usual cocky grin back in place. "I'm more than just lucky, Natasha. I'm a man of many talents."

"Oh, I’ve noticed," she said, her voice a mixture of exasperation and admiration.

They sat there for a moment, eyes locked, an unspoken understanding between them that transcended the banter and the flirting. The Quinjet sped on, the outside world fading, but for a fleeting moment, it was just the two of them, caught in a moment of rare quiet amidst the chaos of their lives.

“By the way,” Harry said after a beat, as he leaned back slightly, “You can’t keep looking at me like that and not expect me to take it as an invitation for more.”

“Keep dreaming, Potter,” Natasha replied, though the warmth in her eyes didn’t quite match her words.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Oh, I'm definitely not the only one dreaming, Natasha. You know, I’d say we make a pretty dangerous pair."

She gave him a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable for a moment before she nodded in agreement. “That we do.”

And as the Quinjet flew through the sky, racing toward their next mission, Harry knew that whatever else came their way, he was ready. Because with Natasha by his side, there was nothing they couldn’t face. And maybe—just maybe—there was more to this whole "team" thing than just saving the world. There was the chemistry, the danger, and, of course, the not-so-subtle romance that was simmering just beneath the surface.

And if that meant more late-night flights, more flirting, and—hopefully—more quiet moments between them? Well, Harry could live with that.

Chapter 82: Chapter 81

The Quinjet roared through the clouds like a caffeinated eagle on a mission to punch the sun. Clint Barton, a.k.a. Hawkeye, was at the controls, grinning like a kid playing Mario Kart on Rainbow Road. The man was pulling aerial stunts that would've made Maverick from Top Gun stand up and slow clap. Banking left, nose-diving through a thermal pocket, barrel-rolling for no reason other than to make Harry spill his coffee.

"Clint!" Steve barked, gripping the edge of his seat. "This is a military aircraft, not a carnival ride."

"Relax, Cap," Clint said, cool as ever. "I’ve got this bird singing opera."

"Yeah," Bucky muttered, holding onto the wall like it owed him money. "Singing its own death march."

Harry, sitting near the back and looking like the human embodiment of a smirk, didn’t even spill his coffee. Of course not. Because that would require physics to actually apply to him. He gave a lazy glance over to Natasha, who had taken the seat across from him—long legs crossed, eyes locked on her tablet, pretending not to notice him.

"So," Harry said, stretching with the kind of nonchalance that made every vertebra sound like it was applauding him. "When do I get my pilot’s license? I promise I’ll only use it to buzz the safehouse."

"You buzz the safehouse," Clint warned, "and I swear on my lucky arrows, I’ll plant a broomstick somewhere you won’t enjoy."

"Kinky," Harry replied with a wink.

Peggy choked on her coffee. Bucky looked personally attacked. Steve sighed in that way that said I'm too old for this, but I'm also not legally allowed to kill my teammates.

"You planning on serenading Natasha next?" Bucky asked. "Because if you start quoting Shakespeare again, I’m jumping out."

"Only if it gets me another kiss," Harry said, eyes flicking to Natasha, who didn’t look up—but her lips curled into that subtle smirk that meant you’re not as clever as you think… but I’m still not looking away.

"A kiss?" Natasha finally said, her voice low and dangerous. "You’re lucky you didn’t get a concussion."

"What can I say? I like my women like I like my magic—dangerous, unpredictable, and preferably armed."

"So you have a death wish," Moody growled from his seat, his magical eye whirring. "Figures. You fly like a lunatic, flirt with Black Widow, and somehow still walk out of fights without a scratch. Constant vigilance doesn’t mean constant idiocy, Potter."

"No, but it does mean I should probably stop using your hip flask as a coffee thermos," Harry said, holding it up with a cheeky grin. "Tastes like regret and whiskey."

"That’s because it is regret and whiskey," Sirius added, lounging like a rockstar who accidentally time-traveled into a tactical strike team. He tossed a wink at Peggy. "Don’t worry, Peg. I make bad decisions look good."

"You make prison tattoos look good," she replied dryly. "Doesn’t mean I trust you with a wand OR a weapon."

"Guys," Clint interrupted. "Not to alarm anyone, but we’re over Long Island, and I’m about to stick this landing like a gymnast with something to prove. Buckle up."

The city came into view—towering, sprawling, loud even from the sky. The sun had decided to dramatically backlight the skyline like a Michael Bay movie. Harry leaned forward, eyes gleaming with a mixture of mischief and fondness.

"Home sweet madhouse," he murmured.

"FRIDAY’s clearing the pad," Clint said. "ETA: two minutes. Get ready to look cool for the tower cams."

Steve stood, ever the noble Boy Scout. "Alright, once we land, I want a full debrief in the conference room. No wandering off, no snacks until we deal with Fury."

"You sound like my third-grade teacher," Harry said. "Only she didn’t have America’s ass."

Peggy burst out laughing. Natasha shook her head and finally looked up. Their eyes met, and the tension that passed between them was thick enough to stop bullets. Her voice dropped an octave.

"You keep looking at me like that, and you’re going to find out what happens when you flirt with an assassin in tight quarters."

Harry grinned. "Spoiler alert: I’m counting on it."

The Quinjet touched down with a satisfying thud, the engines powering down as Clint raised both fists like a victorious race car driver.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you stick a landing. Someone tell Stark I want my wings."

"Someone tell Stark to reinforce the landing pad before Clint breaks it," Bucky said.

As the team began gathering their gear and unbuckling, Natasha walked past Harry and leaned down close to his ear. Her voice was a whisper.

"Rooftop in Prague. Stolen whiskey. Bring the good stuff. And maybe… leave the armor."

She was gone before he could reply. Harry watched her walk off with the smile of a man who just found out his day was about to get very interesting.

And behind him, Sirius nudged him. "Atta boy. Don’t forget the safe word."

Harry sipped the last of Moody’s whiskey and grinned.

"What’s the fun in that?"

—

The Quinjet touched down on a rooftop that screamed "secret government bunker" and whispered "we definitely stole this from Tony Stark." Hidden behind layers of encryption, decoys, and enough defensive tech to make SkyNet nervous, the Brooklyn safehouse wasn’t exactly welcoming—unless you liked reinforced concrete and clinical paranoia.

Harry was the first to step off, his coat flaring out behind him like he was modeling for a superhero fashion line. Natasha followed, impossibly graceful and armed to the teeth, but also totally capable of murdering you with a glare. Clint strolled behind her, bow slung casually over his shoulder like he was out for groceries. Steve and Bucky were bringing up the rear—Captain America and the Winter Soldier, AKA America’s Most Wanted Hug and his grumpy murder boyfriend. Peggy walked like she owned the roof. Because, honestly? She probably did.

Waiting for them were two people Harry had expected and two he definitely had not.

Nick Fury, looking like someone just told him brunch was canceled, stood with his arms crossed and his patented "I'm Not Mad, Just Disappointed and Also Probably Armed" glare locked onto Harry. Maria Hill flanked him, tablet in hand, already planning six backup evacuation routes and subtly judging everyone's fashion choices.

But behind them...

Lily Potter. James Potter.

Harry stopped like someone had hit the pause button on his life. His mother’s red hair was tied back, her eyes suspiciously glassy but still sharp enough to cut steel. His father looked like he’d walked out of a memory—or a particularly attractive daydream. That crooked smile? Totally unfair.

Sirius, standing to the side like the world's most rugged backup dancer, gave Harry a wink. Moody grunted from the shadows, his magical eye whirring like it was trying to analyze everyone's criminal record. (Spoiler: it definitely was.)

Fury arched a brow. "You called us here, Potter. Said you had something worth our time. Unless your idea of classified intel is emotionally traumatizing your dead parents—"

"Oh, relax, Fury," Harry drawled, walking forward with that lazy, confident stride that screamed, I know I'm hot and dangerous and probably have a dragon on speed dial. "You'll thank me in about ten seconds. Hill, maybe fifteen. You like to play hard to impress."

Fury opened his mouth to retort, but Harry pulled out two StarkTech data-drives from his coat pocket, twirling them between his fingers like they were candy. "Mom," he said, and turned to Lily. "This one’s for you. Everything Einhardt had. Research, files, alchemical diagrams, creepy journal entries about trying to transmute fear into obedience. It's... a lot. Thought you might want to burn it or build something morally righteous with it. Either works."

Lily blinked, then took the drive with a hand that was steadier than her expression. "You remembered what I used to say about transmutation circles on cereal boxes."

"Who else could turn breakfast into a lecture on alchemy and the ethics of toast?"

James barked a laugh. "Still can’t believe this one's ours."

"Wait 'til he starts ranting about wand theory and quantum enchantment," Sirius muttered. "Then you'll really feel old."

Harry turned to Fury and handed him the second drive. His expression went from charming rogue to full-on war general in the blink of an eye. "This is the surprise. Full list of HYDRA sleeper agents, global scale. From government moles to grocery store managers who somehow have grenade launchers under the cash register. Took it from Einhardt's personal vault."

Fury accepted the drive like it might bite him. Which, given HYDRA, was actually a reasonable fear.

"Decrypted," Harry continued. "JARVIS checked it. No malware, no self-destruct sequence, no hidden TikToks. Just names, ranks, and really incriminating receipts."

Hill finally looked up. "This could end HYDRA in one week."

"Or one giant flaming panic attack in two days," Harry said. "Your call."

Fury narrowed his eye. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. Just wanted you to know I’m not some magical charity case. And... I wanted my parents to see I turned out okay. Thought this might tip the scale."

Fury glanced at Lily and James, then back to Harry. "...I’ll be damned. You really are your mother’s son."

"That’s what I’ve been saying!" Lily piped up. "Except when he leaves his socks in magical pocket dimensions."

James grinned. "Guilty. Runs in the family."

"Now," Harry clapped his hands. "How about someone brews coffee before I summon JARVIS to do it for us? We’re about to have the most awkward family-and-fury breakfast since Tony spiked the juice."

Clint raised a hand. "Just tell me there's bacon."

Peggy didn't even glance at him. "You’re standing next to the man who just gave us the keys to dismantling a global conspiracy. Maybe start with thank you, then ask for meat."

"She’s been like this since 1943," Steve murmured to Bucky.

"Yeah," Bucky replied. "Still terrifying."

"Still hot," Steve added, with a smile that made Natasha groan.

Natasha, meanwhile, sidled up next to Harry with a grin that could get her arrested in twelve countries. "Impressive drop-off, Potter. Saving the world and making Fury speechless in one go? You trying to seduce me?"

Harry arched a brow. "Is it working?"

"Maybe. Depends on the coffee."

He leaned in just enough for her to hear. "Then I better brew the kind that makes you consider treason."

She smirked. "You already do."

As they all filed into the safehouse, laughter and banter trailing behind them like smoke from a firecracker, Harry lingered for a second. Just one. Watching the people he fought for, bled with, saved and was saved by.

This wasn’t the ending.

Not even close.

But it was one hell of a beginning.

—

The safehouse looked like IKEA had gone on a bender with Area 51. Sleek chrome surfaces, reinforced walls, enough blinking lights to make a spaceship jealous, and somewhere in the mix, the distinct aroma of espresso and ozone. If a Bond villain had a Pinterest board, this place would've been on it.

The war room was also the kitchen, because multitasking is sexy. And let’s be real—who doesn’t want to plan a global takedown while snacking on a pain au chocolat?

Harry sat on the counter, legs swinging like a bored teenager but posture more like a coiled panther. He nursed a steaming mug of SHIELD-grade coffee—read: bitter enough to wake the dead and possibly classified as a biological weapon. His emerald eyes scanned the chaos.

Steve and Peggy were in a full-blown debate over the tactical viability of croissants as rations. Steve (Captain Apple Pie himself) argued for oatmeal. Peggy, looking like a retro goddess in tactical gear, countered that carbs were morale boosters.

Clint was trying to swipe a danish without Bucky noticing. He failed. Bucky's stink eye could melt vibranium.

Natasha? She was casually leaning against the fridge, sipping coffee with a smirk playing on her lips, all cool menace wrapped in leather and legs. She threw Harry a wink. He raised an eyebrow, smirked, and blew on his coffee like it was scalding—but it wasn’t. Burn-proof lips, baby.

Fury stood against the wall like a judgmental Batman with an eyepatch. Silent. Brooding. Possibly thinking about nuking something. Next to him, Hill scrolled through decrypted HYDRA files faster than a tween on TikTok.

Finally, Harry broke the silence.

"So," he said, taking a long sip like it held the secrets of the universe, "what's the next move, Cyclops? You gonna go full Purge on HYDRA, or are we still playing 'Where’s the Nazi?' like a really depressing version of Where’s Waldo?"

Fury didn’t flinch. The man had stared down alien invasions and Tony Stark’s sarcasm. Harry Potter wasn’t gonna rattle him.

“You just handed me the sword to kill the hydra,” Fury said, voice like gravel soaked in bourbon. “And I need to make damn sure I don’t cut off one head just for three more to grow back.”

“So that’s a no, then?” Harry asked. Eyebrow: quirked. Sass: dialed to eleven.

Hill chimed in, all calm authority. “It’s a plan—not a panic. We verify the intel. Confirm identities. Then we act.”

“And while we play ‘Trust But Verify,’ they’re out there planning TikTok mind control campaigns and god knows what else,” Harry said. “Probably plotting to replace water with Mountain Dew.”

Natasha chuckled. “They tried that. Ended in a meme war with Deadpool. We lost four agents to cringe alone.”

“Brutal,” Clint said solemnly. “One of them still does Fortnite dances when startled.”

Fury ignored them. “This changes the war. But it doesn’t end it. We hit them hard. But smart. That’s why you’re here, Potter.”

Harry blinked. “Wait, what? You need me to run point?”

Fury stepped forward. “I need you to lead.”

And just like that, the caffeine wasn't the strongest thing in the room anymore.

The room stilled. Even the coffee machine stopped its usual grumbling.

Harry looked around like someone had asked him to babysit a dragon with ADHD. “Come again?”

Fury didn’t blink. “Rescuing you from HYDRA started this team. You saved Tony. You brought Peggy back from the brink of retirement. You talked Adler down without a body count—barely. This team? This ghost unit? It works because of you.”

Hill stepped closer, nodding. “You’re the bridge between the magical world and tech. Between the past and the future. You lead by accident, but it works.”

Lily gave him a proud, slightly teary smile. James raised his mug in salute. Sirius clapped him on the back hard enough to dislodge a lung.

Natasha strolled over, leaned in close. Too close. Her voice was soft, dangerous. "Told you you were more than just a pretty face, Potter."

Harry looked her up and down, let his lips curl into a smirk. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Oh, I know,” she purred.

Steve cleared his throat. Loudly.

Harry sighed and grabbed the datapad Fury handed him. “Fine. Let’s say I take the gig. What's the game plan?”

Fury pointed at the screen. “Phase One: Coordinated takedowns. Geneva, Johannesburg, London, Madripoor. Small teams. Surgical strikes. Minimal mess. Maximum damage.”

“Phase Two?”

Hill stepped in. “Exposure. Leak everything. Every cover-up. Every sleeper agent. Let the public rage do half the work.”

“And Phase Three?”

Fury’s smile was pure, cold vengeance. “Find the ones who replaced Einhardt. Drag them into the light. Make sure they never crawl back.”

Harry ran a hand through his messy hair. “So: global purge, PR war, and a magical game of hide and seek through the world's power elite. Cool. Perfect. Just the thing to distract me from all the unresolved parental trauma.”

Natasha grinned. “Welcome to leadership, Potter.”

The door hissed open.

Tony Stark strode in like he owned the air. His shirt read I Paused My Genius To Be Here. He held two lattes. He handed one to Harry.

“So, heard you finally took the promotion. Congrats, Mini-Me.”

Harry took a sip. “Really? Mini-You?”

“Please. You’re way more charming. Just less morally flexible. We’ll work on that.”

Behind him came Howard Stark, looking like Mad Men met Iron Man. Ted and Andromeda Tonks followed, Rhodey already pulling up holographic blueprints, Alexei mumbling Russian threats about breakfast, Surge crackling faintly with lightning, and Melinda May gliding in like she invented the word ‘badass.’

The room was packed. Full of legends. Outcasts. Heroes. Reformed villains. Family.

Harry stood, raised his cup.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go kill a snake.”

—

The mood shifted the second Harry stepped into the residential wing of the safehouse. It was like stepping from a war movie into a Saturday morning cartoon. Gone were the tactical holo-maps, encrypted coms, and the background hum of Very Serious People saying Very Serious Things. In their place? Finger-paint art, glitter explosions, and a winking pink unicorn poster that was either enchanted or deeply judging him.

From the kitchen wafted the unmistakable scent of chocolate and mild panic. Billy Koenig, dressed in a t-shirt that read “Don’t Make Me Use My Dad Voice” and wearing an oven mitt that looked like it lost a fight with a flamethrower, peeked around the corner like a sitcom dad caught sneaking cookies.

“Harry!” he grinned, powdered sugar in his hair and a spatula clutched like a wand. “You’re just in time for the post-tea cupcake incident. I’d call it a rampage, but that implies she leaves survivors.”

Harry held up a small brown paper bag labeled Emergency Chocolate Units in Natasha’s elegant handwriting. “I come bearing tribute for the Queen of Sprinkles.”

Billy gave a low whistle. “Smart man. She’s been going by ‘Princess Commander Rose of the Cupcake Realm’ since last week. You’re gonna need to curtsy. Maybe offer up a marshmallow goat.”

Harry smirked. “I'll kneel, but only if I get frosting first.”

Billy waved him toward the playroom. “You’ve been warned. May your reflexes be swift, and your dignity optional.”

The playroom looked like a wizarding toy store had exploded inside a glitter cannon. Plushies floated near the ceiling like helium balloons with attitude, the walls shimmered between lavender and aggressive pink, and at the epicenter of it all sat Rose Potter. Beanbag throne? Check. Paper crown worn at a jaunty angle? Check. Fierce expression of righteous six-year-old authority? Triple check.

Opposite her sat Phil Coulson. Yes, that Coulson. Black suit, tie still perfectly knotted, sipping tea from a dainty Hello Kitty cup like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because Coulson could face down rogue gods and still make plastic teacups look classy.

“And that’s when Lord Snugglebear committed high treason by trying to eat the royal cookies without asking,” Rose announced, gesturing dramatically to a floppy bear lying in disgrace beside a glittery cake.

Coulson gave a grave nod. “The court of marshmallow justice must act swiftly. The integrity of the snack treaty is at stake.”

Harry leaned against the doorframe, letting the sight hit him right in the soft, squishy part of his soul.

“Permission to land in Princess Commander airspace?” he called out.

Rose’s head whipped around. Her eyes went wide. The crown slipped.

“HARRYYYYYY!”

The yell cracked the air like a firework. Then she launched.

Harry barely had time to brace before she cannonballed into him. Arms around his neck, legs wrapped around his middle—six-year-old fury powered by magic, sugar, and maximum snuggle velocity.

“I MISSED YOU LIKE WHOA!” she squeaked into his shoulder.

Harry laughed, squeezing her tight. “I missed you like whoa plus tax.”

She pulled back just enough to narrow her eyes at him. “Nope. I missed you infinity times a million.”

Harry tapped her nose. “That’s scientifically impossible. And also treason. That’s like... triple treason today. Do we need to get the tickle guards involved?”

Coulson stood smoothly, like a gentleman stepping into a duel. “I’ll allow it. In fact, I insist.”

Rose squeaked and buried her face in Harry’s chest. “BETRAYAL! COULSON, HOW COULD YOU?!”

“I serve the Cupcake Realm,” Coulson said, straight-faced. “Justice must be done.”

“Billy!” Rose hollered. “Bring cupcakes! Distract him!”

Billy strolled in with a tray of gloriously over-frosted cupcakes. “Delivery for one sugar-fueled dictator and her returning war hero.”

What followed was part snack time, part wrestling match, and part frosting facial. Rose smashed a cupcake into Harry’s mouth under the guise of “refueling him for battle.” Harry retaliated by summoning a floating napkin army.

Eventually, Coulson gently steered Harry aside, leaving Rose to lecture her plushies about military chain-of-command and why the unicorns were not allowed to unionize.

“She’s doing better,” Coulson said, keeping his voice low. “A lot better. Since your parents woke up and she realized you weren’t just a ghost story… she’s calmer. More focused. She’s still a miniature hurricane, but now she’s a hurricane with a schedule.”

Harry exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “She still hates Dumbledore?”

“She’s... figuring things out,” Coulson said carefully. “He was her hero. Still is, in some ways. But she’s smart. She’s asking questions. Dangerous ones.”

“Good,” Harry muttered. “The truth’s messy. But she deserves it.”

Billy chimed in from the couch, cupcake crumbs in his hair. “Heads up: she’s started teaching her plushies wandless dueling. Yesterday she made a floating bunny slap a stuffed basilisk. It was... kind of amazing.”

Harry blinked. “She named her bunny yet?”

“Kaa.”

“Like the snake?”

“Yep. But this one’s cuddly. For now.”

Harry groaned. “I’m gonna end up fighting a plush army, aren’t I?”

“Statistically speaking,” Coulson said dryly, “yes.”

When Harry returned to the playroom, Rose was painting a glitter mustache on a stuffed giraffe while humming the Imperial March. Because of course she was.

“Hey, Rosie,” Harry said, kneeling beside her. “Can we talk for a sec?”

She looked up at him with frosting on her nose and seriousness in her eyes. “Is it serious serious, or just adult serious?”

“More like... big-kid serious.”

She plopped into his lap, cupcake forgotten. “Okay. I can be serious. I read Coulson’s briefing reports. Sometimes.”

Harry blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I have clearance,” she said solemnly. “Koenig printed me a badge.”

Harry made a mental note to have words with Koenig. Possibly with a flamethrower.

“So,” he said gently, brushing some icing from her cheek, “we’re not hiding anymore. The bad guys? HYDRA? We’re going after them. Me and the team. Full offense.”

Her eyes widened. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not the same scared kid they took. They built a weapon, but they forgot something.”

“What?” she whispered.

“They made me me. And now I’m coming for them.”

She stared at him for a long second, then dug into her pocket and pulled out a felt heart—sloppily sewn, slightly crooked, clearly made with love and at least one glitter explosion.

“It’s enchanted,” she whispered. “I don’t know what it does, but I think it’s important. Or cursed. Maybe both.”

Harry took it like it was made of dragon gold. “This is better than any wand. Better than a sword. You know why?”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because it’s from you. That makes it a nuclear bomb of love.”

She smiled, then her face turned serious again. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

He pressed the heart to his chest. “Promise.”

And then, just as seriously:

“If you die,” she said, “I will use forbidden dark magic to bring you back and then ground you forever.”

Harry laughed. “That’s my girl.”

Billy peeked in again, holding up a spatula like a sword. “Supper in ten! Cupcake Realm willing!”

Rose stood up, raised her crown, and shouted: “TO BATTLE SNACKS!”

Harry just smiled and followed her lead, thinking that whatever came next—HYDRA, war, revenge—it was worth it.

Because he had something they didn’t.

He had family.

—

Rose Potter sat crisscross on the floor of the S.H.I.E.L.D. lounge-slash-safehouse-slash-“don’t touch that, it might explode” room. Her glittery tiara was slipping down one ear, her left sock had declared independence from her ankle, and her face was smeared in pink frosting like a warrior princess who had just won a pastry war. Which, to be fair, she had.

Her older brother, Revenant (aka Harry Potter, aka the “Stoic Broody One,” aka “the guy with the ‘please try to punch me so I can break your wrist’ face”), was lying flat on a beanbag, dramatically pretending to be dead. Or unconscious. Or possibly just trying to get out of cleanup duty.

“I regret everything,” he groaned. “My choices. My trust. Letting you near baked goods. Why is this frosting spicy?”

“Because I added a pinch of cayenne. For flair.” Rose beamed like a war criminal with dimples. “Princess Glimmerhoof said it needed more kick.”

Harry opened one eye. “Tell Glimmerhoof that the next time she plays sous-chef, she’s getting demoted to Glitter Stable Mucker.”

From a nearby doorway, Coulson leaned against the frame, coffee in hand, watching the chaos unfold with the calm of a man who’d seen alien invasions, Hydra coups, and Thor’s hair up close. “I have to say,” he murmured, “there’s something deeply satisfying about seeing the great Revenant taken down by a six-year-old with frosting and weaponized unicorns.”

Koenig popped his head in from behind Coulson, holding a clipboard and looking way too excited. “Do we need to log this as a code—uh—‘Confectionary Containment Breach’? Because I have a form. And stickers.”

Rose pointed a frosting-covered spoon at him. “Only if I get the glittery one that says ‘I survived a sugar-fueled skirmish and all I got was this dumb sticker.’”

“Done,” Koenig nodded solemnly. “You get two. And a juice box.”

Harry sat up, brushing cupcake crumbs off his tactical hoodie. “Okay, listen, Terror Toddler—”

“I prefer Sparkle Commander,” Rose interjected.

“Right. Sparkle Commander. You may have won the Battle of Cupcake Hill, but one day, I’m teaching you to teleport, and when I do, you’re going to have so many chores.”

“You threaten me with responsibility like it’s a punishment,” Rose said proudly. “But I’ve seen the training montages. I’m gonna grow up, wear glowing armor, and punch Hydra in the face while flipping my hair in slow motion.”

Harry smirked. “You’re going to flip your hair mid-punch?”

“I am almost seven,” she said, as if that explained everything.

Coulson sipped his coffee. “Honestly, that’s more tactical coordination than I’ve seen in some of our recruits.”

Koenig leaned in. “She also beat the VR combat sim on ‘Hard Mode: Voldemort Edition’ last week.”

Harry blinked. “You gave her access to Voldemort mode?”

Koenig looked guilty. “She told me you said it was fine.”

Harry turned slowly to his sister.

Rose grinned innocently. “You did say I could practice with ‘big bad guys’! And what’s bigger and badder than a noseless pale bald guy?”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re lucky you’re cute. And that I’m emotionally compromised.”

Rose plopped down beside him, scooping a bit of frosting from her cheek and licking it like it was a battle trophy.

Then, in a rare moment of quiet, she leaned against him. “One day,” she said softly, “I’ll fight beside you. For real. Not just in cupcake wars. I’ll wear armor made of moonlight and phoenix feathers. I’ll fly—even if I have to strap jet engines to my sneakers or charm my pigtails into propellers.”

Harry turned his head to look at her. His expression softened, like someone who knew how unfair and terrifying the world could be—and still couldn’t help hoping for something better.

“I know you will,” he said. “But not too soon. I like knowing you’re here. Safe. Slightly feral. Always sticky.”

Rose nodded. “They’ll call me Starlight. Or Silver Wisp. Or maybe Phoenixling. Because I’ve got your fire. Your weird dramatic speeches. And your magic.”

He smirked. “You mean the ability to make people regret underestimating you?”

“And look awesome while doing it,” she agreed.

They sat there for a moment—one a battle-hardened superhero who had faced death and worse, the other a frosting-smeared, tiara-wearing whirlwind of chaos—and for that moment, the world was okay.

Then Rose stood, struck a pose with her spoon, and declared: “Revenant and Phoenixling! Coming soon to a supervillain beatdown near you!”

Coulson clapped once, slowly. “I’d watch that movie.”

Koenig held up his clipboard. “I already wrote the fanfiction.”

Harry stared at them all.

“I hate this team.”

He didn’t.

But it was important to maintain the illusion.

—

As much as Harry loved his sister—and yeah, she was the best tiny chaos gremlin ever gifted frosting-based weaponry—he also knew when to cut his losses and flee the battlefield like a true war veteran. Which is why, after Rose launched her third cupcake missile (R.I.P. Mr. Fluffytail), he made a tactical retreat out of the S.H.I.E.L.D. daycare.

Like a ninja.

A very tired, frosting-splattered ninja with a serious glitter allergy.

He slipped into the hallway, carefully avoiding a minefield of legos, a decapitated Barbie with glowing red eyes (don’t ask), and a suspiciously sticky tablet that might now double as a biohazard.

Outside, the corridor was quieter but no less judgmental.

Three things happened simultaneously.

First, James Potter leaned against the wall, the very image of Gryffindor swagger in a leather jacket and just enough scruff to make him look like a cool dad instead of someone who’d once hexed his eyebrows off trying to impress a redhead. His arms were folded, his smirk was knowing, and his eyes said, “You're definitely not sleeping, probably not eating, and definitely plotting something that’ll give me more grey hair.”

Second, Lily Potter raised one perfect auburn eyebrow. The kind of eyebrow that could shut down a teenage rebellion or make an Avenger backpedal mid-snark. Her green eyes scanned him up and down like a lie detector set to Mom Mode. “You smell like frosting and firewhiskey. Again.”

“It was a tactical cupcake incident,” Harry offered. “And Glimmerhoof started it. I have video evidence.”

Third, Sirius Black, looking every inch like a rogue biker warlock with charm issues and a leather jacket budget that could bankrupt Gucci, pointed at Harry’s shirt. “You got wrecked by a six-year-old. Again. Tell me—why am I not her godfather?”

“Because the last time you babysat, she ended up in a bar brawl with a leprechaun. In Vegas,” Harry deadpanned.

“She won, didn’t she?” Sirius said proudly.

“She also got a tattoo that said ‘Death Before Time-Out,’” Lily snapped.

Harry sighed. “To be fair, it was temporary. Probably. I didn’t check under her robes.”

And then—standing slightly apart like a panther watching idiots from a safe distance—was Natasha Romanoff. Black Widow. The former Red Room assassin. The love of his life and the woman who could kill him with her pinky.

She didn’t say a word.

Just crossed her arms over her tactical suit, one boot tapping, eyebrow arched. That one look from her managed to say:

“You’re late. You’re covered in frosting. And if you don’t clean that up before the mission, I swear on my Glock, Potter, I will end you.”

Harry gave her his best crooked grin—the one that had been legally banned in seven countries for being a public hazard. “Miss me?”

Her gaze was flat. “I tracked you.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

Natasha’s lips twitched. Just slightly. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“You say that like it’s not obvious,” he said, stepping closer. “You stare at my butt in stealth ops.”

“I do not.”

“You literally called it ‘a national treasure’ in Swiss airspace.”

“I said it was shiny.”

“Exactly.”

James cleared his throat loudly. “As much fun as this is, can we not flirt next to the vending machines? It’s weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Sirius said. “It’s how you met Lily.”

“That’s not true,” Lily snapped.

“Eh. Close enough,” Sirius muttered.

Harry, who had zero interest in debating parental PDA policies, reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a sad, crumpled handkerchief.

“Fury confirmed it?” he asked, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made enemies panic and Natasha... tilt her head just a little.

Lily nodded. “Hydra’s moving. This is it.”

Harry didn’t blink. Just nodded once.

“Then it’s showtime.”

With a practiced flick, he snapped the cloth.

The hallway shimmered as the Cloak of Levitation unfurled—red as wildfire, gold-trimmed, and absolutely smug about it. It flared out behind him and settled across his shoulders with all the grace of a seasoned Broadway diva hitting the spotlight.

Immediately, the nanoweave armor activated. Thin lines of golden light raced down his limbs as the red-and-gold Vibranium mesh wrapped around his body—seamless, flexible, and just a little overdramatic.

On his chest, a golden phoenix burst to life, its wings spreading, flames licking around its silhouette as if daring Hydra to try something.

His cowl slipped on, phoenix-shaped and sharp, his jaw set, eyes blazing with so much purpose even Natasha stopped tapping her foot.

Sirius whistled. “Looking like a snack and a half, nephew. Remind me to send that photo to the Daily Prophet.”

James grinned. “Tony would be proud.”

“Tony would tell me to add repulsors in the boots and then insult my fashion sense,” Harry replied.

“He would do both,” Lily agreed fondly.

Natasha finally spoke, her voice low. “Try not to get killed. I don’t do well with grief.”

Harry turned to her, voice dropping to a rumble. “Then stay close, Romanoff. I burn hotter when you’re watching.”

Her smirk was razor-sharp. “You always burn when I’m around.”

“I live for it.”

Their eyes locked for a second too long.

Then James loudly cleared his throat again. “You two want a room or...?”

“No,” Lily said, dryly. “They want a battlefield.”

Harry turned toward the end of the hall, his cloak fluttering, boots echoing with that final boss energy. He glanced back at his family—his legacy—and the redhead who could both destroy and save him in a single breath.

“Let’s go end Hydra,” he said. “And maybe punch a few Nazis in the jaw. Twice. For symmetry.”

And as he strode down the corridor like the Revenant reborn—cloak blazing, phoenix shining, and sarcasm fully armed—evil somewhere shuddered.

Because when Harry Potter walked into war, the universe paid attention.

And this time?

He wasn’t coming back alone.

Chapter 83: Chapter 82

Hogwarts, Headmaster’s Office, More Than Seven Years Later

Albus Dumbledore was sulking.

It wasn’t the noble, brooding kind of sulk that heroes in stained glass windows were known for. No, this was more of the “grumpy grandpa didn’t get his way and is now monologuing to his pet” kind of sulk.

“Fawkes,” he sighed, folding his hands beneath his beard like a disappointed Santa Claus, “I do believe we have lost the plot.”

Fawkes, his phoenix companion and professional emotional support bird, responded by tilting his head and blinking slowly. Either that meant “I agree completely” or “Please stop talking to me, I’m a literal flaming chicken.” Hard to tell with birds.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dumbledore muttered. “It wasn’t my fault the Potters woke up.”

Actually… it kind of was. Maybe.

Okay, maybe definitely. But that was beside the point.

Dumbledore got up, swished over to the fireplace (because if you’re a wizard and don’t swish while walking, are you even trying?), and stared into the flames like they were going to offer him a redo button.

“They just took her, Fawkes. My Rose. My precious, prophecy-picked, specially-raised Chosen One. After all that effort. After years of bedtime stories about heroic sacrifice and not touching cursed objects!”

He waved his arms dramatically, nearly knocking over a stack of ancient tomes titled How To Raise a Savior Without Losing Your Mind, Volumes I through VIII.

“I told them,” he continued, pacing now, “Sirius Black is unstable. And the Tonkses? Lovely people. Absolutely terrible at grand magical conspiracies. Too honest. And don't get me started on Andromeda's cooking—bland as a centaur’s sense of humor.”

Fawkes let out a low, mournful chirp.

“Yes, yes,” Dumbledore muttered, “I'm stalling.”

He returned to his desk like a man preparing to dissect his own obituary. In front of him was The Prophecy—a crumpled, tea-stained piece of parchment he had long ago triple-underlined and diagrammed like it was a Quidditch play.

“Born as the seventh month dies…” he read aloud for the hundredth time. “Honestly, Sybill, would it have killed you to be more specific? Maybe a full name, a social security number, a Hogwarts House?”

He threw himself into his chair and glared at the parchment like it owed him money.

Then came the real betrayal: Augusta Longbottom.

“Neville,” Dumbledore hissed, like the name was a swear word. “Could’ve been the One. Had the hair for it. Could’ve worked with that. But nooooo. Augusta had to ‘protect her grandson from being turned into a tool of the state.’”

He mimicked her voice in a high-pitched squeal. “'I’ve seen what happened to Rose! You’ll not turn my Neville into another one of your little chess pieces, Albus!'”

Fawkes ruffled his feathers.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Dumbledore muttered. “The girl liked being a chess piece. She was good at it. Dramatic flair, aptitude for magic, that natural Potter flair for rule-breaking. Just needed a bit of humility. And therapy. And fewer Howlers from her mother.”

He stood again, because sitting still was for people whose entire war plan hadn’t collapsed in on itself like a flan in a cupboard.

“Even the Philosopher’s Stone plan was a bust,” he huffed. “Left breadcrumbs like I was Hansel and Neville walked right past them. Devil’s Snare, flying keys, troll in the dungeon—nothing. He spent the whole year talking to ferns and throwing Dungbombs with Ron Weasley!”

Fawkes let out a sharp trill that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“I had to face Voldemort that year. Me! A hundred and ten years old, with one good hip and a wand arm that cramps when it rains.”

Dumbledore dropped dramatically into his armchair and stared up at the enchanted ceiling, which today was showing fake blue skies and fluffy white clouds—a total lie, much like his career at this point.

“The world used to believe ‘Dumbledore knows best,’” he said wistfully. “Now they say, ‘Dumbledore messed up.’ I miss the old slogan.”

Fawkes gave him the kind of look that said Maybe stop monologuing and actually do something then?

And as if the universe had been waiting for that cue, a report slid itself across the desk with a whisper of magic.

A rumor.

Harry Potter lives.

Dumbledore froze.

Not “Harry Potter was sighted,” or “Harry Potter was remembered fondly in this year’s memorial,” or “some lunatic wearing round glasses claims to be him.” No. The report said: Harry Potter lives.

With power. With allies. With plans.

Dumbledore’s face shifted through at least four emotions: disbelief, hope, dread, and finally, full-on Hogwarts Drama Club determination.

He turned to Fawkes.

“Don’t say it,” he warned. “Don’t say I told you so.”

Fawkes wisely remained silent.

Albus Dumbledore rose once more, his robes swirling behind him like a wizard cape caught in a magical wind machine.

“If the boy lives, he must be guided.”

He paused. “Well. Re-guided.”

Another pause. “Kidnapped? No. Bad phrasing.”

Fawkes chirped.

“I know how it sounds, Fawkes! But it’s for the Greater Good.”

He stared into the Pensieve. Swirling memories of mistakes, regrets, and grand speeches flickered below the surface.

“If he’s back… I must find him. Before he does.”

And deep in the shadows of the office, the “he” he spoke of was not just Voldemort.

No… what truly scared Albus Dumbledore now was the idea that Harry—survivor, mystery, wildcard—might not choose either side.

And for the first time in a century, Dumbledore wasn’t sure he knew best.

—

Albus Dumbledore was having an argument with his teaspoon.

It was losing.

“Stir clockwise,” he muttered. The spoon obeyed, swirling through his tea with the sort of nervous energy one might expect from a student about to fail Potions. “No, my clockwise. Honestly, you’ve been enchanted since the Yule Ball of ’57—you’d think you’d have learned by now.”

Fawkes, perched majestically beside a stack of charmed parchment, let out a trilling note that could only be translated as: You're talking to cutlery again, aren't you?

Dumbledore gave the phoenix an exasperated look. “Better than talking to myself.”

Fawkes blinked.

“…Fine. Better than admitting I’m talking to myself.”

The fireplace was still cold. The flames had not flared green with dramatic authority, nor had they produced the rotund, sweaty image of Cornelius Fudge, or the dour, moustache-bristling form of Barty Crouch Sr. Ten minutes late.

“Fashionably late,” Dumbledore muttered, checking an invisible watch on his wrist. “Must be all those leprechauns. You throw a hundred magical mascots and a dozen diplomats into a forest, and suddenly everyone forgets time exists.”

Fawkes gave him a sidelong look. He had mastered the art of sarcastic silence.

“Oh, don’t give me that. You’ve never been to a Quidditch World Cup. I was there when the Appleby Arrows tried to hex the referee into thinking their Keeper was a Bludger. Took three Healers to fix his sense of direction.”

Another chirp. Short. Judgmental.

“Alright, alright. Yes, I suppose I could’ve held this meeting somewhere a bit more convenient. But honestly, if they can’t handle a simple school treaty negotiation between Beauxbatons and Durmstrang without setting their robes on fire, what hope is there for international cooperation?”

The portraits on the wall rustled uneasily. Phineas Nigellus snorted. “There’s no hope, obviously.”

Dumbledore ignored him.

With a long sigh and a dramatic sweep of his robe, he eased into his armchair—the kind of ancient, velvet-lined throne that looked like it could whisper secrets if you sat still long enough.

“Well,” he said aloud, staring into the unlit hearth, “since we’re all gathered—except for the people who are actually supposed to be here—shall we talk about second year?”

Fawkes ruffled his feathers and gave an unimpressed warble.

“Oh yes,” Dumbledore nodded. “The Chamber of Secrets. That little adventure. Now that was a year that could’ve used a laugh track.”

He sipped his tea. “You know, from the very first whisper of Parseltongue echoing through the pipes, I knew who was behind it. Tom Riddle’s diary—cursed object, obvious Horcrux in hindsight, reeked of adolescent angst and dark magic. It practically screamed ‘I will possess you and monologue about it.’”

Fawkes tilted his head.

“Yes, I knew. Of course I knew. The portraits told me. The elves reported it. The plumbing practically sang about it. Hogwarts is more wired than the Department of Mysteries—only with more attitude.”

He put his teacup down, leaned forward, and steepled his fingers like he was about to drop the plot twist of a murder mystery.

“But did I rush in? No. Because I was waiting.”

Fawkes chirped.

“Yes, yes, waiting is a theme with me, I know. But I had a plan. You see, I thought—perhaps—that young Neville Longbottom, our sweet, bumbling, plant-loving boy, might rise to the challenge.”

A pause. A sigh. A wince.

“He did not.”

Dumbledore stood, arms folded behind his back as he began to pace the room like a wizard-shaped metronome.

“Oh, he tried. He tried, bless him. But instead of slaying monsters and unearthing secrets, he and Ronald Weasley spent most of their year trying to train a Fanged Geranium to do the Cha-Cha during Herbology. Brave lads. Visionaries. Utterly useless.”

Fawkes gave a low, musical trill that might’ve been interpreted as: You let a possessed first year run amok because you wanted to test your herbology student?

Dumbledore raised a finger. “Now, in my defense, I had placed… safeguards. Watched closely. It’s not as though I let the basilisk loose in the corridors like a party balloon. I simply… monitored. Encouraged character growth. Besides,” he said with a shrug, “I was mostly sure no one would die.”

Fawkes squawked.

“Alright! I’ll admit, it got out of hand. Especially once Lucius ‘My Hair is Whiter Than My Morals’ Malfoy convinced the Board of Governors to toss me out of my own school.”

Dumbledore paused mid-pace, one eyebrow raised toward the heavens. “Can you believe that? Accused me—me—of letting the school become unsafe. Just because a centuries-old murder snake was roaming the plumbing. Really, some people are so fragile.”

Fawkes turned and deliberately stared at the wall.

“I was gone for what, a week? Maybe two? And then they realize—oh dear! The Headmaster might have been important after all!” He threw his arms up. “Cue panic. Cue Gilderoy Lockhart trying to duel the basilisk with a broken wand and a head full of hairspray.”

He dropped back into the chair.

“In the end, of course, I returned. Solved the problem. Destroyed the diary, saved Miss Weasley, and heroically posed next to the corpse of a very large snake. Just another Tuesday, really.”

A pause.

“Ginny was a mess, of course. Possessed by a teenage dark wizard with a god complex and worse social skills than Peeves. But I figured—bit of rest, some warm cocoa, and a few vague assurances that ‘everything is fine now, dear’—and she’d be right as rain.”

Fawkes trilled, unimpressed.

“Oh, come on! It’s not like we send traumatized students to therapy. We don’t even have a school counselor. Closest thing we’ve got is Madam Pomfrey and some particularly judgmental chocolate.”

He sighed and looked into his tea.

“I suppose I had hoped Neville would do more. That he would grow into something… greater. But alas. The boy is all heart, and no prophecy.”

For a long moment, silence. Even the portraits seemed reluctant to interrupt.

Then—finally—the Floo flared to life.

Green fire erupted in the hearth, and out of the flames emerged Cornelius Fudge’s round, sweaty, slightly panicked face. His bowler hat was tilted, his cheeks were pink, and his expression said he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Ah! Dumbledore!” Fudge barked, in that charming way he had of making everything sound like a minor emergency. “Terribly sorry for the delay—absolute chaos at the Cup! Bulgarian team mascot lit the referee’s tent on fire. Unintentional, of course. We think.”

Dumbledore smiled brightly. “Cornelius! How delightful. Do come in. Bring Crouch, if he hasn’t dissolved into a puddle of bureaucratic fury.”

“Yes, yes, right behind me! Just needs a moment—international law, you know, tricky thing.”

The face vanished.

Dumbledore leaned back and patted the armrest.

“Well, old friend,” he murmured to Fawkes, “looks like the circus is back in town.”

Fawkes trilled in agreement. Or possibly despair.

Either way, Dumbledore sipped his tea and smiled.

“At least this year won’t be boring.”

—

The green flames roared again in the fireplace like a dragon with acid reflux, and Barty Crouch Sr. stepped out, looking like someone had ironed a bureaucrat and stuffed him into pinstripes. His robes were so crisp they could’ve doubled as weaponized parchment. His mustache, sleek and judgmental, twitched slightly at the sight of Dumbledore leaning comfortably against his desk, cradling a teacup like it contained the elixir of sarcasm.

“Dumbledore,” Crouch said, in the exact tone someone might use for moldy cheese or a tax audit.

“Barty!” Dumbledore beamed like he’d just been visited by Father Christmas. “How deliciously punctual of you. Do help yourself to a sherbet lemon. They taste like nostalgia and emotional repression.”

Crouch looked at the bowl of candies like it had personally offended his ancestry. He took a seat instead—far from Fudge, close to a bookshelf labeled ‘Things the Ministry Pretends Don’t Exist.’

Fudge, meanwhile, was mid-handkerchief dab, his face pink and shiny like a roast ham left too long in the sun. “Ah—yes! Now that we’re all gathered—Albus, Barty—thank you for coming. This matter with the Triwizard Tournament—it’s, er, become a bit… delicate.”

“Like a Hungarian Horntail in a tutu,” Dumbledore offered, stirring his tea with what appeared to be a quill.

“Exactly!” Fudge exclaimed, clearly not getting the joke but grateful for the comparison anyway. “Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are ready to pull out faster than a Quidditch Seeker spotting a Snitch, and I’d rather not be the Minister remembered for another international disaster.”

“Besides the Goblin Interest Rate Scandal?” Dumbledore asked innocently.

Fudge turned purple. “That was a temporary liquidity issue!”

Crouch cleared his throat with all the enthusiasm of a man about to read aloud the nutritional value of dirt.

“The delegations have agreed, conditionally, to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament,” he said, producing a scroll with the same ceremony one might use to unveil a will. “Shall I?”

“Only if you promise to sound as dramatic as a prophecy,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.

Crouch ignored him and began to read.

“One: All champions must be seventeen years of age or older by the time of the selection. Beauxbatons was insistent. I believe Madame Maxime threatened to feed the committee to a particularly moody manticore if we allowed underage participants.”

“Understandable,” Dumbledore mused. “Nothing sours a festive event like spontaneous combustion of third-years.”

Fudge blanched. “You’re joking.”

Dumbledore sipped. “Only slightly.”

Crouch rolled on, undeterred. “Two: The tasks must not be lethal. No dragons, no cursed artifacts, no acid-breathing kelpies, no drowning pools, and definitely no hedge mazes filled with things that make grown men scream like mandrakes.”

“The French wording was ‘Non aux morts inutiles,’” he added. “Literally: ‘No to pointless death.’”

Fudge coughed. “Pointless is a bit harsh.”

“They’re French,” Dumbledore said. “They invented harsh.”

“And Bulgaria?” Fudge asked, half-hopeful, half-ready to dive back into the Floo.

“They want magical contracts ensuring absolute fairness,” Crouch replied, tugging his robes like they were the only thing anchoring him to sanity. “And have insisted on ICW oversight. Karkaroff, in particular, demanded veto power over any ‘blatantly British’ biases in the tasks.”

“He did offer to duel me over it,” Dumbledore added casually. “I said only if we used baguettes.”

“Not helping,” Crouch muttered.

Fudge was starting to hyperventilate. “So we’ve agreed on all this? Age limits, safety protocols, foreign auditors? No last-minute explosions or… murder mazes?”

“Unless someone accidentally adds a Cerberus to the planning committee, yes,” Crouch deadpanned.

“Excellent!” Fudge clapped, far too loudly. “Wonderful! A symbol of international unity! Of camaraderie! Of peace!”

“Or thinly veiled passive-aggression in formalwear,” Dumbledore said. “But yes, unity.”

Crouch produced another scroll. “Also—prize money remains at one thousand Galleons. Bulgaria lobbied for legendary relics, France threatened a cultural boycott if any ‘cursed jewelry’ was introduced, and in the end, we settled for cold, hard gold.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore sighed. “Nothing inspires heroism like the promise of post-traumatic bank deposits.”

“And the ceremonial dueling finale?” Fudge asked hopefully.

“Vetoed,” Crouch said, with something resembling satisfaction. “Madame Maxime said, and I quote: ‘I am not running a wand-waving sausage contest.’”

Dumbledore let out a long, delighted laugh. “Oh, Olympe. She always did have a way with diplomacy.”

Fudge stood, straightened his robes, and tried very hard to look Ministerial and not like a man who desperately wanted a stiff drink.

“Well then! Hogwarts shall host. Everything by the book. No unexpected developments.”

There was a long pause.

Dumbledore looked at the fire, at the sky beyond the enchanted windows, at something unseen and unsettling. “No,” he said softly. “Nothing ever unexpected at Hogwarts.”

A faint trill echoed from the perch by the door—Fawkes, the phoenix, watching with eyes that had seen too many tragedies begin this way.

And far beneath the castle, deeper than any charm or curse could reach, something stirred.

It stretched in the darkness, awakened not by the rules being agreed upon, but by the game being played at all.

The tournament was returning.

And with it, destiny was sharpening its teeth.

—

The green flames in the fireplace coughed, hissed, and vanished with a theatrical pop—like even the Floo Network wanted nothing to do with Cornelius Fudge’s exit. The room exhaled in relief. Magical instruments whirred, burbled, and one even let out a discreet hiccup. The portraits did their best impressions of “nothing to see here,” which mostly involved exaggerated whistling and side-eyes.

Dumbledore sat back in his armchair, fingers steepled like he was mid-chess match with Death. Not the dramatic Grim Reaper type, but more like the bureaucratic version who forgot to bring the right paperwork.

“Well,” he said to no one in particular, “that went about as smoothly as asking a troll to the Yule Ball.”

Fawkes, who had seen worse, gave a trill that somehow conveyed “I told you so”, “You’re the one who invited them,” and “Please stop talking to me like I’m a therapist” all in one musical note.

Dumbledore gave him a wounded look. “I’ll have you know, dear Fawkes, that my diplomatic skills are widely regarded as... eccentric.” He twirled a lemon drop between his fingers before popping it in his mouth. “Which is better than Fudge’s skills, which are mostly duck, deny, and declare victory.”

He stood and walked to the window, looking out over the lake where the sunset was doing its best impression of a melting rainbow.

“The Triwizard Tournament,” he said, voice soft. “Now there’s a charming disaster waiting to happen. Dragons, mermaids, and enough red tape to strangle a centaur. Still... the perfect lure.”

He turned, robes swishing dramatically—because of course they did. Dumbledore didn’t just walk; he theatrically existed.

“The Goblet of Fire, Fawkes. Old magic. Binding magic. The kind of artifact that practically radiates plot development.”

Fawkes blinked slowly, clearly not impressed.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Dumbledore huffed. “You and I both know the boy’s alive. I can feel it. The wards at Privet Drive shattered far too cleanly. And the so-called ‘gas explosion’—really, who came up with that? Petunia Dursley’s tupperware collection may have been explosive, but I doubt even it could level half a street.”

He tapped his wand lightly against the side of the Pensieve, and a silvery strand of memory swirled inside like a forgotten dream. Or a really weird soda flavor.

“I left him with love,” Dumbledore muttered, his usual cheer dimming for half a second. “With protection. I made a choice. But if the boy didn’t die… if Harry Potter survived whatever that blast was, then he’s out there somewhere.”

He turned to Fawkes again, who was clearly questioning every life choice that had led him to this point.

“Yes, yes. I know what you’re going to say. ‘Dumbledore, perhaps coercing a possibly traumatized teenager into a deadly magical tournament isn’t the height of ethical mentorship.’” He waved a hand. “And you’d be right. Morally questionable. Manipulative, even. But effective.”

The portraits around the office muttered among themselves, though they weren’t sure if they were judging Dumbledore or just deeply invested in the drama.

Dumbledore plopped back into his chair with a sigh, the sort of sigh that said I’m doing the right thing, even if it makes me look like a slightly unhinged chess grandmaster with a beard that could double as a duvet.

“I need him back, Fawkes,” he said, tone growing serious. “The Ministry’s so deep in denial they’ve opened a branch office in Egypt. Voldemort is stirring. I can feel the shadows moving. And when he returns—and he will—we’ll need Harry.”

He leaned forward, voice dropping into that ominous wizard-who-knows-too-much register.

“Not just a boy. A symbol. A rallying point. The one who lived must become the one who leads. And if he won’t come willingly…” He paused. “Well, the Goblet doesn’t take no for an answer.”

Fawkes flared his wings just slightly, as if preparing for takeoff—or maybe a dramatic exit.

“I won’t hurt him,” Dumbledore added quickly. “Just nudge. Gently. With the force of a magically binding ancient contract and a few dragons. You know. The usual Hogwarts experience.”

Outside, the wind began to howl like it knew something big was coming. Something old. Something with its own theme music.

Dumbledore leaned back again, popping another lemon drop into his mouth and nodding sagely, as if the whole world was a stage and he was simultaneously the playwright, director, and stagehand trying to keep the lights from exploding.

“Soon, Fawkes,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Soon, Harry Potter will walk through these doors. Or possibly crash through the roof, knowing his luck. Either way… the Goblet will call to him.”

He paused.

“And he’ll answer.”

Another beat.

“Hopefully not by setting something on fire. Again.”

Fawkes trilled once more—this time sounding suspiciously like “You’re absolutely going to jinx it.”

Deep below the castle, where stone met ancient runes and secrets slept beneath layers of time, the Goblet of Fire flared quietly to life.

Its flame danced higher.

Waiting.

And oh yes—it was very hungry.

—

If you’ve ever wondered what it would look like if you mashed up a magical castle, a SHIELD armory, and the sassiest wizarding family in the world into one flying Quinjet… well, congrats, welcome aboard.

Docked in the hangar of the New York Safehouse (codenamed: “Are You Kidding Me, This Thing Has a Pool?”), the Potter Family’s ultra-modified Quinjet wasn’t just some glorified air taxi—it was practically a fortress with attitude. We’re talking about enchanted corridors that changed layouts just to mess with people, magical defense systems that could turn a Death Eater into a smoldering pile of regret, and a hot chocolate dispenser that had a weird vendetta against anyone under 5 feet tall (Aunt Andromeda’s idea—don’t ask). Oh, and did I mention the time-turner storage closet that could fit an entire army if they needed to? Yeah. That’s normal.

At the moment, inside the main lounge—decorated like a mix of an IKEA showroom and a battle zone—Rose Potter, almost fourteen (but let’s be real, when you’re a magical prodigy, age is just a number), was pacing like a caged lion who’d just lost her Firebolt.

“I swear, if they’re late again, I’m hexing the next person who asks me to do the dishes,” Rose grumbled under her breath, dramatically flopping onto the couch like someone who had just single-handedly fought off a herd of Niffler-infested dragons.

James Potter, who looked like someone who’d spent his whole life charming the socks off people (and possibly taking bets on how many times he could talk about his Quidditch days before someone got sick of hearing it), shrugged from his armchair, his wand tucked casually behind his ear, a Muggle comic book in hand. "Still on that SHIELD mission. Pretty sure it’s aliens this time. Or maybe robot jellyfish. You know how it is. Never a dull moment when you’re saving the world."

Lily Potter, genius-level witch and all-around superhero mom, looked up from the magical schematics she was doodling on her tablet (you know, casual Tuesday stuff). “They’ll be back in time for the Cup. Harry promised.”

Rose’s eye twitched. “He promised last time. And came back with a mutant lizard tail, a concussion, and bullet holes. I’m starting to think ‘promises’ might be his second favorite pastime after ‘getting himself into trouble.’”

Sirius Black—also known as the family’s official chaos magnet and resident troublemaker—was lounging on the back of the couch with all the grace of a smug housecat who just knocked something off the table for fun. “That’s our boy. You can take the kid out of the mess, but you can’t take the mess out of the kid.”

“That's my godson, you ungrateful heathen,” Andromeda snapped from the corner, not looking up from her crossword. “And he got the tail saving your hide from that Skrull shapeshifter. Don’t pretend like you didn’t owe him.”

Ted Tonks, who was busy levitating an Exploding Snap deck like it was his personal magic trick, chimed in, “Hey, give Sirius a break. It wasn’t technically his fault the Skrull had a thing for leather jackets and bad flirting.”

Sirius gasped dramatically, hands over his heart. “Bad? My flirting is legendary.”

“Infamous,” Tonks corrected, completely unbothered by the verbal sparring.

Nymphadora Tonks—pink-haired, older, cooler, and 100% trying not to look like she was actively playing footsie with one of Harry’s other girlfriends—blew a bubble with a casual pop. “You know, we wouldn’t be waiting if someone hadn’t gotten themselves caught in a Hydra lab like it was ‘Bring Your Genetic Experiment to Work Day.’”

Rose smirked, shaking her head. “He was five! Five! He should’ve been drawing pictures and eating crayons, not getting injected with Super-Soldier serum, Weapon X genes, and a full-on Vibranium skeleton upgrade. Dude skipped puberty, built a house there, and stayed. It’s not normal, Auntie.”

Jean Grey, who had inherited her fair share of sarcasm and the ability to take nothing seriously (when she wasn’t wielding raw telekinetic power), chuckled. “To be fair, it worked out. I mean, have you seen him?”

“Yes, Jean,” Ororo Munroe said dryly, arms folded across her chest. “We’ve all seen him. In robes. In combat gear. In the showers at Kamar-Taj—”

“Ororo!” Lily’s voice was a lethal mix of motherly protection and sheer embarrassment. “Boundaries!”

“I’m just saying,” Ororo said innocently, “the man meditates shirtless. That’s a war crime.”

Rose facepalmed. “Please. I don’t need to hear about my brother’s abs. Not. Again.”

Tonks, never one to pass up an opportunity to tease, grinned. “Yeah, we tried to resist. But then Harry went all stoic warrior monk who thinks he’s unlovable on us, and well, we’re not that strong.” She glanced at Jean with a grin. “We tried, though.”

“Besides,” Jean added softly, “he didn’t say yes until Natasha told him to. That woman could convince a Dementor to take up yoga.”

“Don’t forget,” Tonks added, “Natasha was the one who convinced him he needed to love us. Said the world didn’t need another lonely hero—it needed a future.” She smiled wistfully. “And kids. Lots of magical, terrifying kids.”

James raised an eyebrow, clearly unsure whether to be thrilled or horrified. “We’re still trying to get over the first batch of terrifying Potters, thanks.”

“Aw, thanks, Dad,” Rose smirked, not even flinching.

Just then, the holo-table lit up with a ping, the familiar message flashing across the screen:

INCOMING TRANSMISSION <<

AGENTS ROMANOFF AND POTTER RETURNING INBOUND <<

ETA: 3 MINUTES <<

Lily straightened up, her magic-wielding reflexes kicking in. “Positions, everyone! Pretend we weren’t just gossiping about our son’s love life and/or designing baby names.”

“I was doing the crossword,” Andromeda said primly, still not looking up from her paper.

Sirius grinned, ruffling Rose’s hair. “Showtime, kiddo. Ready to watch your overpowered twin make an entrance?”

Rose rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at her lips. “Always.”

The Quinjet’s engines rumbled to life, shaking the hangar like it was about to take off into the stratosphere. The ramp descended with a hiss of steam, and through it stepped the two figures everyone had been waiting for.

First, Natasha Romanoff, her red hair tousled and that smirk of hers still looking like she was ready to take on the world with just a shrug and a snarky comment.

And next to her, towering like a Greek god who’d spent the past few hours bench-pressing mountains as a casual workout, was Harry Potter. He looked a bit worse for wear—tired, scorched, and covered in the kind of hero’s grime that only came from battling alien jellyfish or mutant lizard people—but alive.

When his eyes scanned the room and landed on his family, his girls, his sister, a smile flickered across his face—just a little, but enough to make Rose’s heart do a happy flip.

Without thinking, Rose shot off the couch like a blur of fury and affection, tackling Harry in a hug so strong it might have left a dent in the Quinjet’s metal.

“Show-off,” she muttered against his chest, grinning.

“Good to see you too, sis,” Harry said, voice muffled, though he still wrapped his arms around her like she was the most important thing in the world.

And honestly? To him, she was.

—

The family slowly started to unravel themselves from the kind of group hug-slash-glomp that only Rose could pull off without turning it into a full-contact sport. The scene was a mess of limbs, chatter, and way too much hugging for anyone who wasn't used to it. Harry couldn’t help but grin, leaning against the ramp as the rest of the Potter-Black-Tonks-Grey-Munroe disaster brigade slowly migrated toward him like a pride of lions pretending they hadn’t just been gossiping, sparring, and — of course — not-so-subtly flirting in the lounge of their flying fortress.

Andromeda looked up from her crossword, not bothering to hide her amused smirk. "Twelve across was 'delusional.' Just like you thinking we were going to behave while you were gone."

Harry raised an eyebrow, cocking his head. "What? I thought you’d at least pretend to behave for, like, a whole hour."

Ted, standing next to Andromeda, gave Harry a quick once-over, whistling low. "You’re either fresh off a mission or you got into a fistfight with a barbecue pit."

Harry, deadpan: "Both."

Natasha, brushing soot off her black suit with a scowl, shook her head. "The Skrull pretending to be a mutant barista turned out to be working with the Kree. Long story. Harry may or may not have insulted their queen’s fashion sense."

"She looked like a disco ball," Harry muttered, crossing his arms. "With feathers."

"And you threw a fireball at her throne," Natasha added, her lips curving upward like she was holding back a grin. "Can’t say I blame you, though."

Rose beamed from beside Harry, nudging him with her shoulder. "You're such a drama queen. I love it."

James, who had just stepped out of the kitchen with a suspiciously large mug of something steaming, smirked. "Speaking of queens and fireballs, shouldn’t we be wheels up by now? The match starts in like, ten minutes."

Lily, perched behind her glowing magical tablet, flicked a few holographic buttons and raised an eyebrow as the map projected over the lounge. "Already plotted. England. Portkey’s locked in for final approach over Dartmoor. We're not missing the Quidditch World Cup—this time."

"Ah, Bulgaria versus Ireland," Jean chimed in, stretching with the kind of lazy grace only someone like her could manage. "Let’s go see if Viktor Krum still flies like he’s got a dragon up his—"

"Language!" Lily called from the cockpit, her voice sharp as a whip.

"—backside," Jean finished innocently, her halo practically glowing as she flashed a mock-innocent smile.

Natasha cracked her neck and stalked toward the pilot’s seat with the sort of confidence that screamed ‘I’ve got this.’ "I’m flying."

"I’m copiloting," Lily countered, narrowing her eyes in the way that said ‘I’m in charge here.’ "Last time you almost broke the altitude ceiling for stealth-mode and tried to land upside down because 'it looked cool.'"

"I stand by that maneuver," Natasha said with a completely straight face.

James, who had already buckled into one of the shock-resistant seats like he was on a rollercoaster, snorted. "Literally no one asked you to do a barrel roll, Nat. And Sirius barfed on my robes."

"You’re just jealous I made the clouds swoon," Natasha shot back with a wink.

Sirius, who was currently rifling through a cooler like he’d found buried treasure, looked up with mock indignation. "For the record, I did not throw up on your robes. I threw up on your shoes."

"Same difference," James muttered.

Rose, grabbing Harry’s arm and pulling him toward the back of the ship like she was on a mission, shot Sirius a look that could only be described as ‘sibling-level disapproval.’ "I saved your spot," she said as she plopped onto one of the cushioned seats in the back. "And also made sure Uncle Sirius didn’t leave any exploding whoopee cushions this time."

Harry blinked, still in the process of catching up. "There were whoopee cushions?"

"There were," Tonks called from the galley, still managing to juggle three cupcakes and a protein bar like she was born to multitask. "And they exploded. One of them even sang showtunes."

"We don’t talk about the Broadway Butt Incident," Sirius said solemnly, his hand over his heart like it was a moment of pure tragedy.

As the Quinjet rumbled into lift-off, the faint hum of the engines mingling with the ever-present hum of magic, Lily and Natasha worked in perfect unison, guiding the ship through the air like they were born to do it. The synergy between them was palpable, a deadly dance of technology and magic that only came from hundreds of hours spent dodging disaster zones, enemy skies, and a literal time storm.

Harry, who had settled into the back with Rose, leaned against the window, watching the clouds streak past the magically enhanced viewport. For a second, there was peace. Silence. The kind of quiet you only got when you were surrounded by chaos so frequent it felt like home.

And then—

"Are we gonna tailgate before the match?" Sirius asked, already pulling a cooler out from under his seat like it was just another day.

Andromeda, who had apparently been minding her own business with a crossword, sighed heavily. "You’re not bringing American beer to a British sporting event, Sirius."

"I brought Butterbeer, too!" Sirius countered, grinning like a cat who had just found the cream.

"You’re not bringing mead either!" Lily shouted from the cockpit.

"You’re not my real mom!" Sirius yelled back.

"She’s my real mom!" Rose chimed in, her grin practically glowing.

Harry chuckled, his eyes flicking over to his found family. The chaos. The laughter. The strange smell of magical exhaust mixed with treacle tarts. It was all perfect. In its own, absolutely insane way.

"I missed this," he murmured, his voice quieter than usual.

Jean leaned in from the seat behind, her voice a low whisper. "We missed you more."

And somewhere, way up over the Atlantic, wrapped in magic, metal, and a whole lot of sass, the most dangerous, dysfunctional, and yet deeply loving family in the multiverse soared off toward another adventure. This one promised broomsticks, bludgers, and—just maybe—a peaceful day off.

(Ha. As if.)

Notes:

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