Mystique Soldier Ch.28 (Patreon)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Chapter 28- Back to Hogwarts!

AN: Beta'd by Kaladin, Basilisk, and Deathwish. Hope you enjoy!

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Despite continuous warnings from James, Sirius, and even Remus, Harry decided to accompany the females on their grand shopping tour through the Muggle Malls.

He'd thought the men were being dramatic and ignorant; how could spending time with a bunch of beautiful ladies ever be coined as 'The most torturous thing of my life'? He could, with great contempt, accept such an ignorant answer from Black or Lupin, but surely his father should’ve known better. How did he ever manage to snag himself a woman like Lily?

Whatever their reason, Harry held himself a touch above such mundane complaints. And so he'd let himself be swayed by his mother’s hopeful smile and big, pleading eyes...

Fast forward fifteen minutes, and he was already reassessing his life choices. Where exactly did his quest for wisdom go so wrong?

After a brief but very intense reevaluation of life, he’d come upon the conclusion that not all actions in this world contained nuggets of wisdom within them. Some things were simply…illogical. And prime amongst them was wasting time on shopping.

It wasn’t that he was completely against it, mind you. He’d quite enjoyed roaming the streets of Diagon Alley and touring the many magical shops with their bizarrely magical wares. But clothes shopping in mundane markets was where his excitement dwindled into non-existence.

The more time he spent with his gang of ladies, the more he grew perplexed by their actions. He’d already begun regretting his decision when his sight fell upon the massive crowd enveloping the store like an army of locusts, forcing him into hyper-awareness—just because Hydra got crunched out of his life doesn't mean his instincts did as well. But it was the actions of the females that, try though he might, he simply couldn't fathom.

Why did selecting a piece of cloth take such deep contemplation? What difference did it make if Dorea's swimsuit was blood red or matte black? Even if the colour mattered, shouldn't she already know her preference? How could one live till thirteen and not know their preferred colour?

But above all…why was his opinion needed in this madness? What relevance did his preference hold on her choice?

These were all the questions that drove him spare, threatening to haunt him for the remainder of his hopefully long life. Perhaps, at any other time, he may have tried divining their answers in depth, and come one step closer to enlightenment. But as the band of ladies moved from one pile to the next, picking and discarding a number of perfectly suitable line of clothes, Harry decided to simply shut his brain for the remainder of the day to preserve his sanity, and weather the storm that he’d brought upon himself. Even Midget’s madness was astonishingly subdued and couldn’t hope to turn the day around.

After two hours and four stores, he finally accepted the fact that some things were simply not meant to be understood. So when his turn to play dress-up came, he surrendered to their mysterious womanly-wisdom and accepted his punishment for being overconfident. His eyes grew listless and his mind turned numb, yet the ladies maintained their energy throughout the session—completely defying his Gamer stats—and went through a dozen different pieces of clothing, with almost everyone pitching their opinions in, before finally settling upon a handful of products...

By the time they arrived back at their suites, Harry was forced to give up on his goal to fully understand females. At least, for now. Perhaps when he’d reached the necessary wisdom and intelligence, he would try again. But until then…

Some things were simply outside the grasp of male understanding.

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For all his complaints, however, Harry was quite liking the feel of holidays. There was just something different in being part of a group without needing to keep a wary eye out. Hearing the chatter of a dozen different people, all with their own experiences and opinions...it made him realise how unique each life truly was.

And not just his group of magicals either. There was always something new to learn when he would eavesdrop on the ongoings of life in the lives of the people around him. Their mundane businesses that mattered so much to them, their children who drove them spare each day yet never shook their love, their normal lives where the most exciting thing to happen in the day was watching a colleague falling on their arse or someone farting loudly in the office...

Harry had never really paid such attention to others before; why should he? The things they normally valued mattered very little to him. But now, freed from his burden and with a grasp over his own emotions, he realised he could begin understanding the greater world in more depth. And he found that there was something so humbling about knowing you could never know everything about a person. That, for all his power and knowledge, he would never learn all the secrets each human carried, never know the mysteries that died with each death, the experiences that shaped each life...

These people, living above a hidden world full of magic and monsters, blissful in their ignorance...they were not something to be disdained, Harry decided. Nor to be pitied. After all, if they experienced happiness and joy and excitement the same as he did, how were they ever worse? Did it matter if their source of happiness was different? If sharing a laugh with their friends over someone falling over brought them joy, who was he to sneer at them? The emotions they felt were the same, even if the experiences that brought them such were different.

If anything, he envied them. To be able to extract joy from something so little meant they were living an easier life than him.

Of course, that didn’t mean he would exchange his for anything in the world. His life had boons of its own. They wouldn’t know the things that he did either; of magic and monsters, of power and might...of battles and death.

The same wasn’t as extreme with his group of wizards and witches, but it was still present. Just...the ‘mundane’ things that ailed them happened to be a touch more magical. He put a keen ear on their casual talks; from their complaints about Dumbledore to their worries over the rising vampire population in the neighbourhoods, from the disconcerting hush of the Purebloods to the tense mutterings of the Death Eaters... He couldn’t quite birth the same worry in his heart that they did, but he felt like he understood them marginally better than before. And he realised something startling...

Wizards and Witches may be different from ordinary people, but their problems stemmed from a similar source of emotions and insecurities. At the centre of it, no matter their differences, they shared a matching heart and mind.

Still, while his rising Wisdom was welcome, understanding the world wasn’t his main task for the holidays. Having fun was. And had fun he certainly did.

The Yuletide Dueling tournament was one of the many that contributed towards his current mission. It was his first time watching two competent adult wizards battling it out in an enclosed arena...and he had to admit, he wasn’t disappointed.

They duelled at a pace he’d never seen from a wizard before, washing the entire stage in a clash of colours and ruptured ground. Every twitch of their wand spat out a spell, and every spell raged with power.

Keeping straight to what Tonks had said, neither tried to dodge the incoming spells, maintaining their rhythm by meeting each round head-on. Every attack was either blocked, dismantled, or redirected away, both Duelers favouring their own unique sets of Spells. The flow of the battle changed hands multiple times in favour of both the opponents; Harry couldn’t begin to count how many times he’d thought the duel settled, as one opponent wailed a shower of spells on the other with relentless fury, only for the other to wither the storm and come-up with an equally bonkerish counter.

It was like watching a subtle dance, with each participant taking turns as the aggressor, keeping the battle in balance.

“The copper top’s got it, you think!?” Sirius shouted from his left, over the cheers, chants, and shouts of the rowdy crowd. “He’s too quick with those counters! One of them’s gotta slip past anytime now.”

They were sharing a single wooden bench, him, Sirius, and James. While the Duels impressed him enough to erase any disappointment, Harry had to admit this wasn’t what he’d expected from the ‘Yuletide Dueling Tournament’ when he’d first heard the name. He’d imagined some big colosseum, a grand arena, a stadium filled to the brim with people, maybe even some ancient magical auditorium….

Instead, they were sitting under a grey sky, weathering the blistering chilly winds of an otherwise dull, colourless day. The stage was a mudded ground with the most basic wooden benches arranged around it for the audience with the deepest pockets, or as Sirius liked to call them... ‘VIPs’. Lily and his sisters were on a bench just beside them, while the Lupins and the female Blacks took another couple.

Behind the ‘VIP’ benches, making for the largest and rowdiest part of the crowd, was a wide audience of wizards and witches standing ceaselessly like a flock of sheeple. Every now and then the crack of disapparition would announce the leaving of some frustrated folk or two, their cursing of the losers and the bets they’d lost mixing with the crowd's noise. The same kind of cracks would also announce the newer comings, their fresh and excited cheers joining in with the rest, never letting the crowd come close to thinning.

The entire affair reminded him more of the Underground fighting clubs he’d encountered in some of his Hydra missions, rather than a legit sporting event.

“Looks like it!” James shouted back at Sirius from his right. “But I’ve got this feeling the big man’s cooking something!”

Harry shook his head, leaning forward. His ability to read wizards wasn’t nearly as honed as he would like, and it frustrated him to realise he couldn’t see what James could. From his sight, after crossing the 10th minute, the Duel slowly began favouring the shorter of the two—Martenez, if he recalled the announced name correctly. While both the opponents had been well matched in power, skill, and strategizing at the beginning, the big one, Leanord, seemed to gradually slow down, like any normal human after intense exercise might.

Martenez, on the other hand, only grew faster, seemingly smelling blood. Harry had to concur with Black on this one; the duel was headed to a quickly arriving loss for Leanord.

‘Unless…’ Harry glanced at James again, who was leaning over the edge of his seat, feet bouncing in anxious expectance. ‘...Leanord is feigning.’ But how would James know?

Sadly, they were never meant to find out.

Just as the Duel began heading towards its climax—Leanord’s shield shattered a touch quicker than he’d expected, forcing him to Disapparate away, but Martenez’s conjured chains followed after him like sentient iron serpents—a large brawl broke out behind them in the plebs section, as a rabble of wizards pulled their wands out for their own personal duelling; with far less skill and far more collateral-damage involved.

“Alright, that’s our cue.” James took one look behind and immediately stood up, wasting not a single passing moment. “Girls, gather up, we’re leaving!”

Black followed a second later, tearing his eyes off of the magical brawl which was largening by the second, a giant grin fixed on his face. “This is the most fun I’ve had in weeks!”

Mangled screams of chanting and swearing spread through the venue like wildfire, drowning out everything else around them. The sky lit up in a muted display of pastel colours—like fireworks in the daylight—as streaks of stray spells flew around willy-nilly, spewing chaos and sending stunned or disfigured bodies to the ground at random.

Harry was surprised by how quickly and efficiently their group assembled amid the rapidly escalating magical brawl. While the crowd broke down in a mixture of panic and hysteria, pushed against each other like sardines in a can—even as the rest either joined in on the fun, cheered from the sidelines, or simply Apparated away—their group formed a tight, protective sphere of bodies, with the kids in the middle, repelling any who got close.

It was a surreal feeling to be certain, finding safety amidst a situation where death and gruesome injuries loomed as ever-present opportunists. Yet, standing in the midst of a chaotic frenzy, that was precisely what Harry felt.

Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised; with two Aurors, one Head of Law Enforcement, and three Hogwarts’ teachers, theirs was likely the most well-trained group present. He wondered where he might fit within this group. For the time being though, he let himself be herded in with the kids.

“I knew this was a mistake.” Amelia Black hissed at Sirius, one hand holding Andrea down—who’d begun jumping to take a peek or two at the magical fray. “I don’t know why I still expect you to act even a little more responsibly.” Black pretended to be ashamed, but his wink to Andrea kinda ruined it.

“We’ll have to Apparate.” Lily observed critically from beside him, a disturbing intensity in her eyes as she scanned the crowd, her wand looking a split second away from throwing Killing Curses. Her other hand was clasped tightly on his wrist, minute trembles lighting along his skin. “The safest option is the nearest public point.”

The officials of the Tournament were joining the fray now, magically enhanced voices booming through all four corners, demanding instant calm. In reply, they received their own shower of spells, one of which—a bright white jet of light whistling through the air—struck true as a lightning bolt, turning one of the fellows into a flapping canary.

“Agreed!” Amelia screamed atop the crowd’s roars. “We’re all good enough to Side-along it, but we need to get out now. The Law Enforcement would be here any minute.” She took Susan’s hand, while Sirius propped Andrea up on his waist—both watching the fight; one with wide eyes and one with wide grin. “And Merlin help me if I would ever get caught like this by Grimshaw and his crew.”

Finally, Rose was dumped on Remus whilst James held on to Dorea. And, before the day could devolve into any more madness, the group of ten braced themselves and departed the scene in a scattering of uncoordinated cracks of air.

Harry decided to count the day as a success.

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While the Tournament gave him a clearer idea of a wizard’s capabilities, it didn’t quite clarify all his doubts over the next point-spending spree. Harry was a tad bit different than most wizards; the kind of spells that could decide entire duels for regular magicals was barely a Flicker of inconvenience for him—literally.

In the end, he decided to shelve the matter until after he was back within the four walls of Hogwarts. To truly decide the next path of his Gamer Journey, he needed to experience it himself; the power of a pure mage against his own unique style.

Fortunately, he doubted he'd have to wait too long—the senior Duelling tournament promised some rich experience.

That night, as they sat around a magically elongated dining table, enjoying a private supper of beef Wellington and fondue, Harry decided upon another novel merit of being in a group—the way they made their decisions. From the contents of their dinner, to the activities they would engage in, each was subject to much contention, each a minor debate unto its own; somehow, it made the people around him all the more real.

Sure, it wasn’t as magical as he imagined a group comprised solely of beautiful women to be, nor did he have the privilege of being the leader of this group, but it was still a fresh perspective on life—the kind he treasured above all.

His favourite, however, were the unique stories the adults weaved amid the chewing; from their tales of doing battle against Vampires, to magical places they’d been around the world. Even the little stories detailing the unique pranks Black and James had unleashed upon the Slytherins in their school years—to the puffed up cheeks of a cutely fuming Midget—left Harry mildly entertained. In some ways, it assured him that the wider world was still out there; just as mysterious and mystical as ever. Vampires and Werewolves, Dragons and Veelas…

The end of Hydra didn’t spell the end of adventures for Harry—there was still much he had yet to discover, and much he had yet to understand.

The future was a limitless prospect, simply waiting to be unearthed. Once he'd gathered an appropriate amount of strength, he would quest within this world, from its most beautiful gardens to the darkest patch of land.

After they’d finished guzzling down their delectable supper, the males of the group decided to venture out of their suites in search of the hotel's luxurious rooftop terrace. For some reason, Harry hadn’t been overly surprised when James asked him to tag along, confirming his day-old lingering suspicion that something was afoot.

Nonetheless, he followed readily.

The path took them back down the elevator, and on to the ground floor. A faint background music had made itself at home within the hotel walls, and Harry found himself absently trying to catch the words.

♪ Hark! The herald angels sing,

Glory to the newborn king ♪

It was a soft melody, like a cottony feather rubbing against his heart. Celebratory, of course, like all Christmas carols seemed to be, though unlike the song he had heard in Budapest, it spoke less to him of calm tranquillity and more of new beginnings.

♪ Peace on earth and mercy mild

God and sinners reconciled ♪

As the four headed towards the reception hall, Music, Harry suddenly realised, was a woefully neglected subject in his current life. Considering how effortlessly it managed to influence his emotions every time, he should've already explored its depths with his usual fervent. It was a failing, he decided, that needed to be addressed as soon as possible.

All in due time.

After a quick round of interrogation of a distinctly dressed staff, the group—led by Black—proceeded to ignore the given guidance and sneakily climbed up an arched staircase hidden directly opposite the main lobby, where they waited in idle chat for their pinged service elevator to arrive, before heading straight to the highest level of the Hotel.

The entire process was executed with perfect smoothness, so much so he couldn’t help but wonder if Black hadn’t plucked the information straight from the staff’s mind.

The path he led them through opened just beside the furthest edge of a fairly wide terrace, giving quite a scare to a young couple leaning over the parapet.

It was almost midnight, and dark skies grew darker still in winter, so Harry was a tad taken aback to find a chosen few still mingling about when they climbed up the last few steps to the skydeck, champagne glasses or red-tipped sticks of smoke held between their fingers.

Past the balcony drenched in darkness was a long, dimly lit lounge of polished wooden floor, where a number of crystal white patio couches—the kind that circled in on itself—lined up in two rows, sparsely fixed along the terrace edges, with a wide berth to walk between. On either side, furled cantilever umbrella stands stood ramrod like clothed antennas.

As they drew closer, a family of four occupying one of the closest tabled-sofas caught his attention, something about their appearance seeming to tickle at his memory.

They were the rich sort, Harry concluded at last—eyeing the prim & proper way a boy of four or five held the fork—the sort he’d once taken a twisted pleasure in ending; for there was often less begging and more threatening involved, the confidence of the money leaving only when their lives did. Now that he looked for them, he noticed the same could be observed of almost everyone on the terrace.

Though he hadn’t been aware then, it had always amused and puzzled him in equal measure, whenever he got a chance to lay back the Gamer's Mind and digest his freshest kill. 'What difference did money make in front of a pistol?' he would ponder beneath the white sheet in his Hydra quarters. ‘What good would threats and bribes do?’

Why not beg like the rest?

Now though, he could understand…

Pride. Pride was the only difference in murdering the rich from the poor. And proud indeed were the faces they passed as the four made their unabashed journey past the dark terrace balcony, and past the light of the rich-lounge that lay stuck to it.

The frowns of annoyance at the disturbance, and some of blatant disdain they received were easily brushed off by all save, perhaps, for Remus—whose resting face seemed stuck in a perpetual motion of an apologetic grimace. Harry especially studied the faces around closely, scanning their stats to see if anyone could hold his sight—a secret assassin perhaps?—while at the same time, eyeing the female side with the mildest of interest. None of them came even remotely close to matching the grace of Lily or Natasha, but what beggar would squander free morsels?

'Though they may prove to be a tad dumber as well.'

The winter's chill was earnestly beginning to blanket all of New York inside its frosty quilt now; you wouldn't need to fly a thousand feet in the clouds on a broom to set your teeth clattering like a sewing machine. Yet a particularly thick-skulled bunch of young women—though perhaps thick-skinned might've been more appropriate—seizing one of the couches on the rich-patio, sported the fine night in pointy heels and sleeveless, low-cut tops. From the goosebumps lingering on their bared skin, and the constant blowing of warm air into cupped hands, Harry ventured they were quite aware of that fact as well.

Not that he was truly complaining, of course. The sight was a welcome one, all the same—no matter the obvious downgrade. It was simply…fascinating to witness, was all; the lengths humans went to maintain their social norms and facades.

And, if his recent shopping excursions were taken into account, he doubted it would be limited to muggles either.

"Alright, this is it." James announced promptly as the four reached the closer edge of the terrace, some paces past where the last Couch-of-the-Rich was placed. "You lot want to head in or...?"

Ahead rose the famous Café Carlyle in all its Christmastly grandeur, conjoined to the entire terrace to fill up every drop of space corner to corner; as wide as the patio and twice as high, rising up to the sky to make up the peak of Hotel Carlyle. The last time Harry was here—sneaking around the place to map all the possible escape routes—the main doors of the Cafe were sealed shut and the grey, drab terrace floor was busy collecting all the raindrops it possibly could.

In a strange way, he supposed the Cafe reflected his state of being at both times quite well; the past one—a lifeless shell shut close from all outside forces, afraid of opening too far beyond its reach; And, in its exact contrast, the current one—an ideal image of life and fullness, welcome to the thick river of people that surrounded it. Faint melodic noises enveloped its entrance and he was willing to wager it would be home to some of the best stage performances this side of the city tonight…

Harry supposed he wasn’t the only one moving forward in life.

“Nah, mate.” Beside him, Black put a dramatic arm around James, then another around Remus, before whirling back to where they came from and forcing the two along, a sharp smile tugging at his lips. "That is more our style."

Some of the patrons had dragged out a few tables even further past the couched-lounge to enjoy the open night sky in the solitude of darkness. The far-right one was being conveniently vacated right at that moment.

Dragging them forth, Black blithely beat a march straight to the now-empty table. "Come on, after slaving away in that soulless husk of a ministry all these years, we deserve a couple shots under the stars, yeah?” A throat-clearing from the side brought his act to a brief halt and he turned to Lupin with a frown, promptly removing his arm from around him in a huff. “Alright, not you, Moony. You can stay uptight and chaste, if you want. Still doesn't change the fact that we—" He wiggled a finger at James and himself. "—deserve a break." He glanced back towards Harry suddenly, shooting a quick wink. “Plus, we do have something to celebrate tonight, don't we?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry trailed after the group. Though he had to admit, the three were already proving a more entertaining company than the ladies. Just barely.

With an embarrassed word of apology or two from Lupin, they quickly captured some empty chairs from the neighbouring tables and made themselves at home towards the back of the conjoined Balcony. If the people around thought something erroneous about their previous entry through the servants' quarters, they didn’t feel the need to verbalise it. The couple they’d scared away earlier though, kept glancing at them with judging frowns.

“Alright then,” Black muttered, sinking into his seat with a deep sigh. “What've we got here?” He picked up the menu left behind on the table and hailed the waiter with an overly-exaggerated hand-wave.

As Harry began settling down in his own captured seat, right between Lupin and James, he caught a brief look shared subtly between the three men. From Black, it seemed to convey something along the lines of 'I got this', and he doubted it concerned anything as innocent as ordering drinks.

Harry suddenly got the feeling this supposedly impromptu idea of ‘Mates’ Night’ wasn’t all that impulsive after all.

Though he wasn't truly worried. He had a reason to trust them now, beyond the simple fact of them being his parents' friends.

As the three adults busied themselves in ordering drinks, he leaned back in his chair, enjoying the cool breeze dancing through his long hair, eyes quietly assessing their stats.

Sirius Black

Age: 31

Level: 69

Reputation: Liked

Affection: 79

Remus Lupin

Age: 31

Level: 64

Reputation: Liked

Affection: 77

They both liked him. And not just the passing, almost indifferent kind, but the adoring, system-certified ‘like’ that was inches away from love. It blew his mind just a little. How can one feel so strongly about someone they never knew? His parents and siblings, at least, had the excuse of sharing the same blood—he didn't quite get it either, but he was aware the world at large believed in familial bonds. But what about these two?

It was a little beyond his current understanding, Harry concluded. Even the occasional female with a surprisingly high affection, he could at least theorise, found him pleasing to the eye. But this case fell too far out of his box of experience to properly sage his way into an answer, and thus a mystery it must remain a little while longer.

Until then, however, he decided to trust the two, if not with his life, at least with a night of drinks.

"A very good evening, Gentlemen," A neatly dressed elderly server soon returned with their order, gracefully placing an ice bucket at a relatively empty edge of the table, efficient delicacy brimming in all his actions. "I have the pleasure of presenting to you a superb choice for this evening's celebration—a bottle of the exquisite 'Dom Pérignon.' This champagne hails from the remarkable 1999 vintage, renowned for its finesse and elegance. May I offer it to you for your enjoyment this evening?"

Harry smirked, amusement welling up within him as the three wizards sat up straight, glancing at each other with raised brows. It would seem no hotels provided such catering services in the wizarding world.

Needless to say, glasses of champagne soon clinked together atop the table, the golden spirit shimmering like clear crystalline liquid within. The first toast was soon raised, to the safe return and continued health of Harry Potter, while the second was raised to the 20th anniversary of their friendship.

It looked beautiful in its swirling grace, Harry had to admit, though he himself had opted for hot chocolate, not wishing a repeat of his last alcoholic memory.

Not that he was entirely alone in passing upon it.

“I really shouldn't take more.” Soon, Lupin pushed away his glass as well, grimacing a little as the champagne—filled to the brim by Black—spilled over the rim a little. “You know what day it is.” His words were low, not meant for ears beyond the ones they were aimed at, whilst his eyes flickered over to the almost-full moon that was just beginning to peek through a curtain of clouds, discomfort clear on his face.

Of course, Harry heard him perfectly.

Black held no such qualms, rolling his eyes and muttering loud enough for the next table to lend an ear. “Right. I’m sure a little drink will make you go all big and growly. C’mon, don’t ruin this now…we even have Prongslet with us this time!" Without stopping, he poured himself another glass—his fourth, this night—taking no great care to savour what was undoubtedly a pretty pricey choice of drink.

Lupin’s lips had thinned. “Sirius.” There was a hard edge of warning in his voice now, flitted eyes darting at Harry and back. Black held strong under the gaze for a long second, blinking back innocently, before an unmistakably defeated sigh wormed its way out of him.

“Fine, fine, I get it. In fact," To Harry's surprise, his wand slipped out of his sleeve straight into his awaiting hands. "Let's keep all this to ourselves, eh?" He gave it a quick, little twirl beneath the table and muttered under his breath.

A subtle tingling quickly wormed up Harry’s arms, his ears creeping with something akin to static electricity. He cocked his head, trying to recognise the spell.

"It's a privacy ward." Black must’ve noticed his intrigue, slipping his wand back in his sleeve as he explained. "Makes sure no one looks at us twice if someone does go 'big and growly'. Of course, the visual show might be a bit harder to hide." He smirked a glance at Lupin, who did not seem at all amused.

Harry absently wondered at that—as the two men devolved further into argument—relaxing into his seat, the hot chocolate in his grasp dancing in tiny ripples as he blew along the surface. He’d never paid it any mind, but one random day of each month, Lupin and Sara would disappear out of the castle—quite literally, with their names nowhere to be found on the Map. And while the female Lupin made an effort to show no change outwardly, Remus always looked like he was coming down with a bad case of the squits, reminding him of when they’d first met—shabby and unkept.

And now that he observed closely, he could see the same misshapen transformation taking hold of his Dueling teacher once again. He wondered if that wasn’t related to…this, whatever ‘this’ was.

“—Yeah, well maybe it’s time to realise it’s all just in your head, mate.” Black barked, suddenly a tad louder than before. “No one’s out to get you, Remus. For Merlin’s sake, even your wife thinks you need to grow a pair!”

Lupin bristled, though before he could do more than open his mouth to retort, a deep clang of glass hitting wood brought them short, followed immediately by a symphony of splintering, crystalline notes as delicate cracks grew along the Champagne glass’ wide maw and down to the bottom.

After another long second of glaring at each other, the two wizards turned to the bespectacled owner of the glass, frowns fixed on their faces.

“The only reason I agreed to do this,” James spoke softly in the silence, the quiet gravity in his voice washing away the slowly building tension. “Is because you both forced me in this together. Let’s not waste the chance, yeah?”

Lupin grimaced and glanced away after one last hard look at Black, looking suitably chastised. Though Black himself simply folded his arms, muttering about drinks and wolves under his breath.

James turned to him with an apologetic shrug. "Sorry about that, Harry, you'll have to forgive these clowns.” His own wand came out of his sleeve, waving at the cracked glass. At once, the leaking drops of Champagne were sucked back in as if time itself had rewinded, the small, erratic cracks disappearing away to leave a smooth-faced glass behind shimmering with the golden spirit innocently.

Holstering the wand, James continued, pointedly side-eyeing the two. “They've been arguing the pros and cons of drinking for so long now, I don’t think they even remember why anymore.”

Harry shrugged, tad uncaring. He didn’t truly mind their little back and forth as much as his father seemed to believe. It was always a good day when he got to take a peek within the lives of other beings, especially when it wasn't all roses and flowers.

“Well,” Lupin chuckled wryly after a moment of awkward pause, glancing at Black again. “I suppose one more drink wouldn’t hurt too much.”

With glasses in their hands, the night grew intriguing still as the three soon struck up new conversations. They seemed to be in a strangely reminiscing mood, venturing even further into personal territories, dipping from one subject to the other, from one decade to the next. From their days in the Ministry to their tales of Hogwarts, from their time in the Order to the 2nd Wizarding War. Even when the stories began carrying a grim undertone, they kept at it with a mysterious purpose.

And after every story, they made an effort to include him, trying to draw him into the conversation, treating him like one of them. Not a first year Hogwarts student, but their friend who might have a unique insight to offer or simply share a chuckle with.

It was like being the sole audience for a group of performers that threw shit at him, hoping to see something stick.

Not that he truly minded. The view alone was worth the hassle; from the corner they occupied, he could easily peer over the edge, taking in all the dwarfed structures alit in the night, and the busy highway of New York, glowing a straight tape of yellow and gold lights that moved in an uncurving line.

As a lull in conversation arrived, he leaned back in his seat, savouring the sweet warmth in the last few gulps of his delicious nectar, observing the trio curiously, their purpose becoming more and more mysterious.

Though one thing remained abundantly clear…this night was shaping up to be anything but dull.

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The boy was a vision of silence.

It was the one thing Sirius had noticed about him when they first met, and it stayed true even now—half a year later.

He sat at the table, so bloody still and composed you might mistake him for a petrified statue. But every now and then his eyes would chase through the shadows abound and you would get a glimmer of something else within; usually, it was an amused observance of the people around him… But sometimes, Sirius would feel those vibrant greens boring into the side of his skull like a focused beam, trying to quietly peel his soul apart and see what lay within.

He supposed it should’ve made him wary. There still lingered that faint whiff of threat in his scent as the last time; to think of someone like him being so close to his daughter…it should’ve raised his hackles, sure as the haunted walls of Azkaban.

Yet, that couldn't have been further from the truth. Perhaps it was the natural relief of finally finding him, alive and hale. After they'd spent so long searching for him, so long mourning and regretting, bathed in helpless anger, when that cupboard under the stairs had cursed their eyes with its presence…and then to find him just weeks before his first year at Hogwarts, as if the universe itself had come full circle? Relief alone couldn't properly describe their feelings.

Perhaps that was what kept blinding them from realising what a rubbish idea it was to let the boy run amok in a castle full of children.

That, and Pride.

Oh, how dangerous the pride. The boy may not have been raised in the true arts of pranking—like they’d all so blissfully planned at his birth, unaware of the dark fate awaiting each of them—but he had still come out with all the proper ingredients.

They’d make a marauder out of him yet.

He wouldn’t admit so aloud to Lia, or even his friends, but in a strangely twisted way, a part of him had burnt with a sort of relieved giddiness hearing Harry's bloody past. Though their experiences couldn’t have been more different, it made him feel less alone. Like his bloody past finally had a purpose; to be something more than just another tin of fuel for his nightmares. After all, out of the three friends, Sirius was the only one to use the darkest kind of Unforgivable in the war. And while it had left him feeling weak and nauseous for quite some time, he knew he would cast it again if the need arose.

But if what James said was true—and he wasn’t in the business of doubting his brothers anymore—Harry had more blood in his single pinky finger than all the Marauders combined…including that stinking rat. To get through all that alive—sure, perhaps not with quite as normal a mind—still took more will and heart than most wizards could ever imagine.

Now, if only that will and heart could soften a little against family…

"So, how about you then?" Sirius finally asked, after a long goose chase of nothingness.

The effect was immediate. The other two grew still as spooked fawns, trying to appear casual but still leaning at the edges of their seats. From the way Harry’s eyes darted to them and back, he was willing to bet the boy saw it even better than him.

‘Amateurs.’

“What about me?" With his back resting against his chair, the boy slowly cocked his head, lazily studying them one by one.

To his discomfort, the look in those bright green eyes reminded him of…of Bellatrix, a little—before she'd gone all sorts of bonkers. So aware, so perceptive…so knowing.

Sirius strangled the urge to fidget, casually bringing the holy chalice of champagne to his lips and sipping deep, the crisp, floral tang like a calming draught. "Well, we’ve probably bored you half to death with our natter, haven’t we?" He forced a smirk on his face, placing the glass down carefully. "How about you give us some look into your life now, eh?"

"My life…" The boy nodded slowly, sudden understanding flashing in his eyes. He was quiet for a long moment then, eyes absently staring at his lap—Sirius would’ve given anything to know exactly where his train of thoughts wandered.

Then he looked up, an amused, knowing glint in the depths of eyes the shade of Killing Curse. "Now, why ever would you wish to know something so mundane?"

Sirius snorted, folding his arms. “ ‘Mundane’, right. C'mon mate, I doubt it’s anything but. Why, to hear Andrea say it, you’re the second coming of Merlin!” He barked a laugh, but the boy looked far from pleased.

Sirius didn't wish to ask this, of course. Far be it from him to go digging into someone’s painful memories. But Remus' concerns were sensible. None could go through what Harry did and come out completely sane.

Sirius would know; the memories of Azkaban still clung to the walls of his mind like black gunk. No matter how many times he tried to rub them clean, how many times he tried to convince himself he was free, they would flash behind his eyes like his personal nightmare—in his dreams, in his thoughts, the feeling of slowly losing his mind and soul would dominate his being. Even the slightest triggers would send his mind sprawling within the deep abyss; if James hadn’t been his brother in all but blood, it would’ve been horribly mortifying the number of times the man had found him curled up in the corner of his office, blubbering his heart out like a child and hoping no one saw him…

And he was a trained Auror who’d just hit thirty-first last month, with a grasp on Occlumency he doubted a first year would match. Everything suggested Harry should’ve been far worse. But if nothing else, the boy at least stayed consistent in subverting their expectations time and again.

There were some peculiarities about him of course; he had a strange way of talking when he got a mind for it—which in itself was rare—and he looked older than his peers by quite a margin, far too old than was natural. There was also a certain ruthlessness about him the Blacks of old would’ve enjoyed a great deal…but none of it could be taken as signs of pain or trauma.

That did not mean there were none.

Sirius and the rest had done their research when James unloaded his fears and worries onto their shoulders. The few psychological signs of trauma they’d dug up that seemed to fit Harry included emotional numbness, desensitisation to violence, lack of trust, and now—judging from the last half an hour—an avoidance of the past.

And while none of it was as extreme as Sirius’—which was a mystery and a half, though you wouldn’t hear anyone complain—it was still unhealthy to let linger in a child not even in his teens.

Sadly, the plan of getting him talking really wasn’t going too well…

“Well, you’re wrong.” Harry shrugged at his thinly-veiled prodding. His eyes flickered to Remus and James—though the two had kept quiet from the start, just like they’d planned—before pinning back onto Sirius. “You already know most of it, I should guess; I won this year's Junior Dueling Tournament. I became Hogwarts’ youngest seeker in over a century. I will be joining the senior tournament next month. Aside from that, there's my studies in magic…what would you like to know?" Throughout the answer, he looked vaguely amused.

Sirius glanced at the other two. James was shaking his head subtly, in a clear message that said ‘abort mission!’. No surprises there; it had already taken an awfully long time for him and Remus to convince the man to let them do this. While the option of taking Harry to a professional was quickly shot down by him, having a simple conversation wasn't.

Giving up now would mean giving up, period.

So instead of being discouraged, Sirius took strength from their uncertainty and turned back to the boy, deciding there was no right way to do this; better to let the flood out now than live on to regret it. "I was thinking more along the lines of…your previous life. Before Hogwarts. I know the bare bones now, but how exactly was it?" He finished awkwardly.

After a moment of silence, Harry asked simply, “Why?”

There was no sudden flinch on his face, no shadows behind the eyes. No demons clawing to the surface and no silent cries for help. Hell, he didn’t even look surprised by Sirius’ admission of his knowledge towards his past. It quickly made him reconsider some of their hastily self-concluded diagnosis…

And while that might seem like good news, all it did was push him even further down the dark alley of trying to play shrink on a former assassin and mass-murderer.

Trying not to show how disturbed he felt inside, Sirius forced a shrug. "Well, you know…we've been talking about ourselves for so—"

"No." Harry cut him off. It wasn’t harsh, nor loud, but it shut him up all the same. "All you've told are some stories that no longer matter. They were entertaining, I’ll admit, but hardly equal in value to what you seek in return."

After a moment of stunned silence, Sirius made a snap decision and pointed at James. "Alright then, your father slept with Alice Longbottom in his fifth year, I am an ex-convict who occasionally cries at night, and your Duelling professor suffers from a grave ailment called Lycanthropy…basically, he’s a werewolf."

In the ensuing 30 seconds of silence, there was a moment of perfect pause that Sirius used to snap a mental picture of his two wide-mouthed, gaping mates, while Harry slowly turned to arguably the biggest dropped bomb, staring at Remus like the most curious animal in the Zoo, before glancing just above his head, frowning at empty air.

Then Remus stood up.

“You. Idiot.” The words spoken were soft, but they hid a genuine anger within, carrying the rumbling beginning of a storm. If that didn’t clue him in, the ashen glare on Remus’ hurt face sure did the job of letting him know—he’d fucked up. “Are you happy now, Sirius? Finally satisfied with getting back at me half a decade later?”

All his humour drained away like a popped balloon.

“That’s not it at all—” He hurried to reassure, but Remus simply held up a finger.

“I have been patient, Padfoot. A part of me has held onto the guilt through all these years, so I’ve heard your complaints in silence and kept my peace. But informing my…my student of…of my condition?” His face twisted, and he took a deep breath as if inhaling the calm of the world to hold back the more bitter, venomous words. “No. That is zero tolerance.”

He stepped away from his chair, gathered his coat in one arm, and turned to Harry. “What’s done is done. If you have any questions or inquiries about my condition, you’re always welcome to ask, Harry. Preferably when we’re not in the company of an audience.”

Then he quietly turned around and took his leave, walking straight through the Cafe’s exit and disappearing amid the lingering muggles.

Sighing, Sirius buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes that were beginning to show the first signs of fatigue.

“Well…that went well.”

“Oh, shut up, Prongs.” He poured himself another drink, swirling the glass gently before downing it in one go.

James chuckled. “You really are an idiot sometimes, aren’t you?”

He thumped the glass down and stared uncertainly where Remus had disappeared. “You think I should go and apologise?”

“That’s…not the worst thing you could do right now, but no. Now’s not a good time.”

Sirius groaned frustratedly. “What else can I do?”

James paused. “Well…maybe if you had a time-turner, you could—”

“Alright, I get it. Forget I asked.” He slumped back in his chair, defeated.

This night really hadn’t gone as planned.

Ahead, Harry tilted his head in curiosity, observing the two closely, before focusing on him. “What exactly did you do?” There was no hint of blame in his tone whatsoever.

For some reason, that cheered Sirius a little.

Taking a deep breath, he put on a rueful smile. "Ah, nothing, lad. Just a little thoughtless, like I always am. Lycanthropy isn't something people feel the need to crow about."

Harry blinked, frowning confusedly. “Then why did you crow about it?”

Sirius sighed, head flopping back down miserably. “I haven’t a clue, mate.”

It had been an awfully long day; first that riot in the morning—Lia still wasn’t talking to him, which he felt was just unfair—then all the hectic planning for this failure of a meeting, and now the situation with Remus…it seemed like this was the day of picking up flops left and right for Sirius.

In hindsight, there really wasn’t a worse way he could’ve gone about it. He still stood by his words, of course; it was a hard thing, the life of a werewolf, but Remus pushed it to an entirely exaggerated degree. He acted like it was a curse that could spread to everyone just by being in the same proximity. Sirius still remembered the only time he’d ever seen Sara angry; Remus had gone bonkers when he realised he’d gotten her pregnant. ‘A werewolf having a child is a risk!’ He’d shouted, ‘Two having a child is a disaster!’. He’d went so far as to suggest feticide, which wasn’t taken well by any of them, least of all Sara.

Still, Sirius really shouldn’t have pushed him so hard. The subject was touchy enough at the best of days, it didn’t help when he was drunk and in an audience with someone who would soon be sharing a roof with the man…alongside hundreds of other kids.

He supposed he could blame the alcohol burning away his wits, the little that remained. Then again, for Remus to even suggest he would be petty enough to hold onto a grudge so old…

Well, it wasn’t the best day for either of them.

----------------------------

‘Vampires and Werewolves…how truly fascinating.’

Harry had been right; this night was definitely proving to be entertaining.

It was only today he’d learned of the creatures’ existence in greater detail, but he was already looking forward to facing one in battle. Even though Remus’ stats hadn’t shown any noticeable difference—apart from being a tad stronger than the average human—he was sure their true might would be far more impressive when observing one in the transformed state.

Not that he thought too highly of them yet; to have such glaring weaknesses in a bit of metal meant they were already walking with one foot in the grave at all times. Nonetheless, battling and besting the strongest of them was the surest way to make sure they couldn’t threaten his survival.

Though he had to admit, Remus being one did come as a surprise. He realised now why all the adults had gone tense and awkward when Sara started gushing about Werewolves and their very own secret society.

Sadly, the rest of the night passed in a far less dramatic fashion. Remus’ outburst seemed to have sucked most of Black’s energy, and his father seemed more interested in asking him of his life in Hogwarts and the ‘friends’ he’d made, rather than fishing about his time in Hydra—something Harry found, to his surprise, he quite appreciated.

That period of his life was now like a closed chapter he no longer wished to visit. Like a mountain peak he’d conquered and stuck his flag on. All that mattered from now forth was to grow stronger and enjoy this world in all its different shades.

The couple half-hearted tries Black made at his past were easily rebuffed. The night ended with the man suggesting Harry to visit the Auror headquarters, offering to show him behind-the-curtain scenes and perhaps even tag along for a mission or two, an idea that James seemed cautiously agreeable with as well.

He shrugged and agreed, not at all averse to the offer. Not only because Aurors were the elite of the elites and their duels would surely broaden his horizons, but also as it gave him easier access to Dumbledore and the chance to learn more of this puzzling Prophecy surrounding him and the very-curious Lord Voldemort.

A figure, he found to his slight irritation, he could no longer ignore. It would seem they were simply destined to be mortal enemies. Though Harry didn’t mind that fact one bit, quite happy to place sights on his next target. Voldemort would serve well for his final test in the Wizarding World, just as the Winter Soldier and Pierce had served for Hydra. Only when he downed the Dark Lord would he have truly conquered this chapter of his life and move on to the next.

A deep, gnawing hunger began calling from within the depths of his soul once more, and Harry found himself exceedingly eager to begin his next journey towards even greater power.

A slow smile curved up his face in anticipation. ‘Hydra down…now Voldemort to go.’

----------------------------

Before the age of his reign, when the world had yet to be blessed with his true name, there was a time when his feet took him from the ancient streets of Rome to the remote corners of the Far East. One undeniable truth that had etched itself within the forefront of his mind was thus—

Of the many magical artefacts hidden within the depths of this world, there existed a special few that simply stood head and shoulders above the rest. Wreathed in their legends of power and might, the possessors of such items were all known to carve themselves a place in the history books.

A few of these legendary icons of power, however, had managed to survive the contemptible passing of time, moving beyond their original wielders, and carrying over the promise of the same legendary might they had bequeathed upon the first hosts.

The Elder Wand was, of course, one such icon. Perhaps the most obvious even; famous enough to be known by all carrying the magical blood, but taken only as a fanciful tale by the dull-minded wizards and witches that clogged this age.

Voldemort wasn’t ashamed to admit he had searched for it before. Prior to his untimely…regression to spirithood, the wand had flamed his zeal with its promise of great power. With it in his possession, there would have been no doubts when he struck down Dumbledore. Even the new age of Aurors the old fool had been busy raising would’ve been no more than mere inconveniences at best.

The Wand had held the key to a swift success into his ambitions.

Alas, the trail that had led him all the way back to Gregorovitch had grown cold over the decade. The wizard had taken his chance and disappeared. Now, there remained naught but black soot and burnt wreckage where the ancient Wandmaker once resided.

Oh, how he’d ached at the loss of such a priceless treasure. The fury he’d unleashed that day would be remembered by a part of Europe for a long time to come.

Yet, Voldemort hadn’t deigned to waste any more of his time on it. There was something else that sapped at his attention now.

“My Lord,” Whispered the trembling, hooded-figure bowed beside him. “This is the place.”

The Staff of One was another such artefact, accounted in the annals of history as the weapon that made Morgana le Fay’s legend almost as grand as Merlin himself. And from what he’d sensed over two full moons ago—dead on the night of Samhain—it was active and alive once more.

The only thing it needed was a worthy master, and there were none more so in this world than Lord Voldemort.

“Come,” He motioned at his new batch of followers placidly, all spread beneath him like his loyal entourage, hands clasped above their waists and heads bowed down in fresh-kissed fear—trembling like newborn fawns. “We have work to do.”

Under the bright luminescence of the Yule night, the flesh of his naked feet shone pale as he treaded lightly upon the rocky path—protected solely by magic. The path led down to a barren piece of land, giving away nothing but a picture of desolate sand and stones. To a mudblood’s eye, it may as well have been a suicidal treck to the foot of a gradual cliff.

The only imperfection in its appearance, giving away its treasured secret, came from a faint whiff of magic that hung in the air, unable to be hidden through a magical working of this degree.

Voldemort doubted even trained wizards would fall upon this by anything but accident.

His American minions trailed behind him silently, their pure white robes slithering after them through the dusty trail, though remaining unmarred by its stain, protected by powerful charms he himself had cast. The only taint upon the robes were dried patches of blood that spread from head to toe—a special touch of corruption, to signify exactly what they were.

He liked the look, Voldemort had to admit. Their shining white robes and pale angelic masks made them seem like the ancient Priests and Priestesses of the Old Gods. His original batch of Death Eaters may’ve looked more menacing in their classic black garbs, but there was something unusual about a group of Dark wizards shrouded in the signature of purity and trust.

All the more horrifying when the taint of blood came into view—like a bunch of Fallen Angels ready to reap a new wave of blood.

Voldemort had wondered if he should fashion them a new name as well—the Fallen Order, in particular, had seemed apt; one of the few names his younger self had measured and discarded in the first making of his posse. But he wasn’t looking to replace his old crowd yet, and ‘Death Eaters’ had collected too much notoriety all around the world for him not to take advantage of the reputation.

Still, he enjoyed their creation. A shame truly, that few were fated to survive the night.

The group of seven soon reached the foot of the cliff side. Raising an idle hand, Voldemort called for a halt, his eyes flickering through the great barren expanse.

The magic hanging upon the place stretched for miles at an end, forming a single spherical blanket of protective ward that certainly seemed well-maintained for its age. In truth though, it was a culmination of over a dozen different pieces of protective magic, all compatible with each other, and all hand-picked by experienced magic-users to cover every grounds for trespassing possible. He supposed a lesser wizard would need to spend hours carefully picking it apart layer by layer, hoping its inhabitants weren’t alerted by the clear invasion.

With a lazy draw of power, Voldemort drilled straight through them.

His Yew Wand hung satisfyingly between his fingers as his magic tore past all the ward layers; no matter what new weapon he would come to wield in the coming days, his true Wand would always have a special place in his heart. The wards themselves were an impressive piece of magic, giving away no hint of the ward stone’s location. And a magic of this degree was almost certainly anchored by a powerful object—it must’ve been an effort of multiple competent wizards coming together.

Yet, it was worth naught but fleeting dust compared to Hogwarts.

The wards held for all but a few precious seconds, trembling like leaves under a hurricane, before his magic overpowered their delicate structure, unravelling the barrier of energy like a spider-web coming undone. The vision it left revealed was of multiple concrete buildings all bunched together, spanning across the once sandy lands…

Voldemort sneered.

For all their competence with the Ward, and his own bitterness towards Hogwarts, this unnamed Academy of sorcerers could never hope to compare to the place he’d once considered home. No structure that shared more in appearance with the muggle world than magical could.

Disgusted with his own earlier fascination, he turned to his new batch of Death Eaters, “Keep vigilance. Let none enter.”

Then he marched towards the Academy alone, sure in his power and skill.

It did not prove him wrong.

Some of its inhabitants were already in a frenzy, though a vast majority of the brats stayed in a state of blissful unawareness. Invisible and inaudible, he traversed through its busy halls like a phantom shade, avoiding the more powerful of the bunch to focus on the weaker minds.

More than once, he had to suppress the urge to Crucio half the brats running around the corridors with presents in their hands. Christmas was one of many muggle traditions he’d begun hating way back in his orphanage, and the long decades since had done little to change his opinion.

Had it not been absolutely necessary, he would’ve avoided touching the infantile minds of this Academy as well. But time was of essence. His followers wouldn’t prove a capable distraction for long, and while their lives would be well worth the sacrifice, he would like to spend as little time in these disgusting walls as possible.

More importantly, his plans in Britain were already underway, and he needed to be ready when the chance finally presented itself.

The next half or so hour passed in a blur of foreign memories for Lord Voldemort. He cracked open any but the most protected minds he encountered, hiding between the folds of shadows whilst he hunted. His rising disgust at the wretched place urged him to wipe out the entire Academy from the face of Earth—but while he may consider them below him, a prolonged battle in the enemy grounds would prove an unnecessary headache.

Blessedly, one name quickly came to the fore amidst a storm of disgusting, mundane musings of hormone-induced arousal and a pile of teenage insecurities; Tina Minoru.

With a cold smile stretching his face, Voldemort blasted past the ceiling, stopping only to leave behind a parting gift in the form of a titanic Serpent of twisting Fiendfyre, before stretching between the invisible strands of nothingness and disappearing away in a crack of air.

He’d found his new trail. Now all that remained was to trace it to its conclusion and claim the ultimate prize. With the Staff of One in his hand, even Dumbledore would have to bow.

As would the rest of the world.

----------------------------

For Harry, the following days passed in a novel bliss of carefree existence. Never would he have imagined a period in his life where he wasn’t scrambling for his next spring of power. To spend even a single day without viewing his Level, fretting over his skills, or planning to tackle the next quest…it felt strange. Freeing in some ways, hollow in others.

Still, while there was a slowly growing impatience to get back within the walls of Hogwarts and start bullying those zombie wizards, it didn’t stop him from enjoying the rest of his Holidays. Especially as the evening of 26th December found a union of Potters, Blacks, and Lupins at Jones Beach State Park, dressed in their varied beachwear.

Christmas itself had come and gone like a merry little affair, far more muted than he'd been led to believe. Not only because Remus and Sara had once again disappeared for a couple days—though this time he had an idea why—but also because Wizards didn't really celebrate the event; it was simply a convenient way to mask the Yuletide, and an excuse to have fun. So they'd exchanged gifts—which had taken another trip to the shopping malls, though this time the magical kind—and ate a feast-worth, but no cribs were built, nor any carols sung. If anything, their visit to the beach seemed just as grand an event as the group of magicals packed mundane beach equipement—from beach chairs to coolers, and can holders to sand buckets—stuffing everything inside a comically small tote that gulped things twice its size like a never-ending inflatable stomach, before making use of Shield to drive them around until they reached their destination.

The Lupin duo joined them this time, explaining away their disappearance to the kids with bogus excuses. And while there was still an unspoken tenseness between Black and Lupin, Midget’s volcanic energy was strong enough to pierce through the subtle gloom and infect everyone.

The cold showed its use now, for they found the Beach’s sandy expanse relatively empty, with only a few brave surfers still trying to conquer the chilling waves, and a small group of men baking beneath a lukewarm Sun that prepared to bid them all a quiet farewell and start its journey down the sky.

While he’d approached it uncertainly, it actually turned out to be an enjoyable evening. Harry almost forgave the ladies for all his wasted time when he saw them in bikinis and skin-tight swimsuits. Especially Lily.

In his self-given task of understanding the world, he had recently read of angels and demons; if Lily Potter wasn't the holiest of angels, then she had to be the most sensuous of demons—a succubus, who could wrap his head inside a cloud of desire and want with the most innocent of motions. Even though she’d dressed the most modestly of anyone on the beach, simply the sight of her toned long legs sticking out from the frills of her frock was worth more than the entire kissing session with Skye and his girlfriends combined.

The 2nd most eye-catching figure, to his surprise, turned out to be Sara Lupin. He'd suspected his History teacher was packing some heat, but watching her dark, tanned body covered only by a small, frilly bra and V-shaped panty just confirmed his suspicions in the best way possible. Remus Lupin was a very lucky man. Even more so as she was the most animated of them all—except perhaps Rose—and was prone to jump and sprint upon the sand alongside the kids— sometimes even leading the charge—which did positively mesmerising things to her breasts.

Apparently, the reason—she’d informed him passingly, aware of his knowledge of their nature—was because she was the exact opposite of her husband. Where he was at his most miserable just before and after the auspicious day, she was at her most zestful.

The third most eye-catching sight that Harry found, however, was the ocean itself. Though Dorea came close to rivalling it, dressed in her skin-tight springsuit and not afraid to get wet, there was no denying the grand sight of the churning water he’d laid witness to that day.

How could he describe the Ocean? It simply was. It waved. It stilled. At times, It moved. Its anger birthed Tsunamis and its floods could destroy cities. The vastness itself was, in some ways, difficult to bear. A straight line of blue that extended as far as the eyes could see, curving slightly into the horizon, yet Harry knew he couldn't even see a single percent of this particular Ocean, let alone all of its brothers and sisters that wrapped the entire world within their grasp.

Combined, they made up, in some ways, the most powerful entity he'd ever witnessed.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one that found the first two sights eye-catching. That was when the only true mar in an otherwise brilliant evening came as the previous group of sunbathing men—now dressed only in shorts—punched down their Volleyball net a short distance away. He instantly found their faces detestable.

Harry did not know when or why, but he found himself eyeing them critically. He especially did not like their flittering gazes roaming towards their group, nor their louder than necessary laughter. But it was only when one of them purposefully shot the ball towards Sara and Lily’s direction that Harry finally acknowledged the monster that had been slowly growing within his chest all along, recognising a steep, dark urge…

Not that he received a chance to do much; the exact moment the horse-faced little shit came limping towards their direction, sleazy little smile on his face as he asked for the ‘ball’, Remus—still equipped with his shabby hair and dark-eyes—looking quite mean-spirited, went up with a polite smile and returned the dirty yellow thing back. One look at him and pale Horse-face quickly went back the way he came.

But Harry wasn’t satisfied.

Over the course of the next 15 minutes, that particular man found his face mysteriously greeting the Aluminium post of the Volleyball net again and again. Most of the time he waved it away to his friends with mild embarrassment, but Harry finally managed to deliver one perfect push with wandless magic, bloodying his nose something fierce. The group promptly vacated, their last lingering laughter over their compatriot a soothing balm to his heart.

Yet, Harry still wasn’t satisfied. As his eyes lay fixedly on their shrinking backs, he realised he would’ve liked to do far, far more, but the presence of adult wizards just completely ruined his main method of torture. There was also a very huge chance of discovery if he used a proper working of Wandless magic. He settled for memorising their faces and added them to his slowly growing list of people that needed taking care of.

Still, the minor blemish notwithstanding, the day had evolved into the kind that would always stay imprinted in his mind. They played in the water, made sand castles, and, at Dorea’s insistence, learned how to surf. The last one was undoubtedly his favourite, not only because he took to it like a fish in the water, but also because Dorea decided the best way to teach was up-close and personal…and he certainly wasn’t complaining.

----------------------------

Sadly, not everything was as enjoyable as learning to surf in the loving care of his vixen of a sister.

Their last few days in America passed quickly in a whirlwind of droll sight-seeing and shopping, as they eventually dipped their toes even deeper within the shallow waters of Wizarding America. The only reason he didn’t simply Apparate away to do his own thing—maybe try and find a new Dungeon in New York?—was because his mother and sisters proved to be very good company when not meandering inside some muggle store. Plus…he was curious about the magical side of America.

Coincidentally, New York city held the main headquarters of their very own magical Government called the Magical Congress of the United States of America, otherwise simply known as ‘MACUSA’. According to Amelia Black, however, the real heart of the American Wizardry lay in Massachusetts, which played home to a multitude of magical schools and academies, as well as some of the more famous magical destinations. And thus, only a day later, the group of eleven found themselves mingling in the biggest Wizarding market of the US, having reserved a single common Portkey to travel from New York city to Boston.

His first impression of Magical America? Clogged. Bloated. He did not like it. Not one bit.

The streets were jammed full of people in Jeans, all as hurried as the next and none caring about the rest. Witches dressed in half-sleeve tops, designer sweaters, full winter coats and what not. They weren’t bad, of course. In fact, he found his eyes wandering more than once after a pretty lady or two, especially honing in on a triplet that wore matching tube tops, proudly showing what they had to offer and not caring one whit for the cold.

But this wasn’t what he’d expected from any part of the Wizarding world. In fact, for a brief second he’d almost wondered if they weren’t still in the Muggle world.

Sure, he would be first to admit, while it didn’t quite have that ancient, rustic feel of Britain, it held a unique charm of its own; a charm that comes from being ‘modern’ for the lack of a better term. Instead of small, private shops like Britain that fluttered with magic, America boasted broad malls and supermarkets that gave an almost…industrial twinge. You didn’t need to find a separate shop for Racing Brooms or Potion equipment, for almost everything you needed was packed inside a single place.

He could still sense waves of magic inside these places of course, so there was no doubt in his mind that they were a part of the Wizarding World. It was simply…less magical, in his eyes. That sense of wonder and mysticism he'd first felt upon laying sight on Diagon Alley was utterly missing here.

Another point against it was how absurdly expensive the American side of things were—specifically, the healing potions and medical spell books. A single vial of the essence of Dittany was set at 6900 US Dragots, which came to about 138 Galleons. Almost five times the cost back in England.

Tragic, really.

Worse, he learnt from Amelia that the American Government, Macusa, liked to personally regulate and oversee this business, so no clever merchant could buy a cheap bundle of Vials from another country to sell it locally.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Harry got a sense of what it would feel like to be robbed. For there were no other words to describe it; it truly was daylight robbery, especially for something so vital in a wizard’s life. Then again…that was precisely why the government likely felt they could get away with it.

But that feeling of being taken advantage of…he was not a fan.

Thankfully, the price hikes were mostly only reserved to the healing products, and their shelves were richly stacked with a diverse selection of spell books from almost every single country. Plus, the British Galleons were very powerful around the world—though especially here in America—and not mentioning his own new paycheck, he was within the company of the heads of two Noble families, so money was the last thing they were worried about.

It was simply the principle of the matter.

By the time they’d finished exploring ‘Snallygaster & Smiths’ Supermall, Midget and the other kids were completely drained, and they retired for the day with bags full of magical goodies; some of which Harry had personally selected to research in free time.

----------------------------

The good days did not last long.

After experiencing another magical brawl in broad daylight—this time, a gang of organised Dark wizards decided to attack and loot one of the Supermalls, almost succeeding before the American Aurors arrived—and with rumours of a local Wizarding school being completely demolished by terrorists overnight, the families decided they’d had enough of the US for now.

The New Year itself passed in much less fanfare than Christmas, though firecrackers still greeted the firmament, and all eleven of them were present together to witness the sky changing colours. They’d booked a couple of patio-couches on the terrace of their hotel for themselves—legally, this time—and were just in time in receiving their drinks to toast one of the loudest barrages of sparkling comets that struck the ether like an unfurling flower, washing away the night in a horde of bright colours and crisp, crackling booms, finally announcing the end of 2007.

It was a good year, Harry reflected then. Perhaps the heightened emotions of the others got to him as well, or perhaps the Champagne—which he’d finally chanced a sip from—managed to make him just a little tipsy—very unlikely—but he soon found himself recalling the past twelve months in a rare bout of sombre nostalgia. The year had started off with a bang for certain, as the Gulag mission provided him his first taste of power, of what it feels like to be the bigger fish for once. A feeling he was now quickly getting accustomed to.

It still seemed unbelievable how short a time had passed since. With his escape back to England, finding his parents alive, entering Hogwarts and unlocking the many new secrets of his system…2007 had truly brought the biggest boons to his life. Even without the spectacular ending that the Budapest mission provided, it still would’ve been the best year in his existence till now. The last six months especially…it was as if he'd lived a completely new life every bit as colourful as his stint in Hydra and Shield.

That strangely got him pondering over the New Year’s resolution—quite a novel concept to his mind, but one that everyone else seemed religiously familiar with.

What could be his goal for the new year? Harry mused. Do his best to grow even stronger? Observe and understand the world to a greater degree? Break past lvl 100 and unlock the full system shop? Could he even do that in a year? He certainly hoped so. But all of these things he would be doing regardless; what use was resolve when the matter would never be in doubt? Perhaps he should simply take Lily’s suggestion to provide her with more hugs and kisses—a far more tempting idea than any he’d brewed up till now.

As the night deepened, and his bunch of wizards and witches joined the extravagant New Year’s party the hotel Carlyle threw, he tentatively decided he would be trying all that and more.

The subject was promptly pushed aside when the dances began and his partner changed from Midget to Lily. As he gently swayed across the floor with her head on his shoulder, the soft beckoning tune of the song acting as his guide, he realised he would've found a piece of his heart stolen by the woman even if she hadn't been a goddess given mortal form. That helped, of course, but there was something deeper than her face or figure that tugged at his heartstrings insistently. Even if he hadn’t found her so heartachingly irresistible, sooner or later, he would've found himself helplessly drowning in the sea of her affection anyway.

Sadly, all things must end and the time of their departure soon arrived, though he received one last present. He'd been keeping correspondence with Shield on and off all this while, so he wasn't surprised when his old Shield phone pinged with a message on the morn of 1st Jan. Its content, however, did manage to catch him slightly off-guard, for they asked him to await an agent’s arrival without so much as an explanation.

Not a minor inconvenience, considering his flock of wizards and witches were set to leave the country before noon. The adults had decided against using muggle travels this time, instead choosing to reserve an international Portkey to jump Continents in an instant.

Of all the four main Wizarding Travels, Portkeys—Harry learned—were the most potent, with no known limits in their distance. So long as the receiving area was prepared beforehand, one could step foot on the other side of the world almost instantly. Considering his parents weren’t even confident in teleporting across the country on their lonesome—let alone with Side-Along Apparation—it was indeed impressive that a single steel cup should be enough to transport a dozen people to a continent divided by an Ocean. The only caveat came from the fact that there was no flexibility in its timing; once locked, the users must be present before the clock runs out.

Deciding to humour Shield’s request—partly because he had a feeling he knew who the agent would be—and not wishing to miss the Portkey this far into their planning, he sent his group of magicals ahead to make the final preparations whilst he waited outside the Hotel entrance. It had taken some skillful persuasion, but he’d finally managed to convince even Lily not to stand beside him under the glaring sun, promising to meet them at Macusa headquarters under an hour.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait too long. He recognised the Shield vehicle that arrived to pick him up as the same one that had first greeted his return to America. Nothing changed, including its driver.

The vehicle slowly steered to a halt beside him and a single window rolled down, revealing the smirking figure of his favourite red-headed agent.

“Get in.” Came her bland voice.

Harry nodded back genially, pulling the door open without a wasted second and sliding inside. “Hello, nice to meet you too. Name’s Harry, you might’ve heard of me.” It was only now he realised he was actually quite irritated at her unexplained absence.

Natasha rolled her eyes, though the smirk dancing on her lips held all the teasing of a true temptress. “What, you didn’t really think I’ll let my favourite Merlin-lite escape without a goodbye, did you?” She shifted the gears and let the car back on the road.

His annoyance deepened. “Oh, I don’t know.” He glanced out the window as their conveyance quietly rode away, leaving the Hotel entrance behind. “I thought maybe I deserved more than a measly last minute goodbye, but I suppose I was wrong.”

There was a few seconds of silence as he pointedly stared at the passing traffic…then he felt a couple of fingers trying to tickle behind his ears. He swatted them away, glaring at the woman.

“Aww, don’t be like that.” Natasha pouted, receiving only stoic silence and folded hands in return. She sighed, growing a tad more serious. “C’mon, you know the drill. Duty calls, you answer. I would’ve told you something if I could.”

“Well,” Harry paused, slowly raising a single, challenging brow. “Now seems as good a time as any to rectify that then, don’t you think?”

She gave an amused snort, a smirk back on her face. “Fine. But you’ll have to promise to tell me what you did in the entire week.” She pulled their car off the Park Avenue street that he’d become so accustomed to in the last week, taking a hard left and entering East 72nd street.

Then she started her tale, quick and to the point, “I didn’t mention this on the plane, but the Widows we rescued are far from the only ones of the bunch. Most of their numbers are scattered across the globe, waiting for the perfect opportunity to execute their targets. Unlike what the movies would have us believe, simply killing their captor didn’t seem to have ticked the quota of their release here.”

They soon encountered their first stop beneath the crimson Traffic lights, and Natasha shut off the engine, turning to him fully. “So yes, I was busy the entire week going around the world capturing rogue Widows and bringing them back to safety. Some of the cases were far too extreme to let remain for even a second more, so Ares sent me away as soon as I managed to gather a solid team, what with Barton out for the count. Currently I was scheduled to be in Sri Lanka to finally put a stop to the already disgusting amount of meddling both Red Room and Hydra have done in flaming their Civil war to greater heights.” She paused dramatically, shooting him a pointed look. “However, the moment I heard you would be leaving soon, I instantly recognised the matter of greater importance and caught the first flight back to America.”

“…I see,” Harry cleared his throat after a few seconds of silence, shooting her as innocent a grin as he possibly could. “Well then, I’m glad you returned! Shame for Sri Lanka though, guess they’ll just have to fight it out.”

“A shame indeed.” Natasha nodded back gravely, lips twitching. “So? That a good enough reason?”

Harry grudgingly coughed out what could possibly have been a ‘Sure’ under a very careful ear, though Natasha looked justly satisfied all the same.

Whatever. He was far more annoyed at having missed a brilliant quest opportunity to tour the world anyway. To his surprise though, he found he didn’t resent the Holiday that much; as fabulous as it would’ve been, roaming the world with Natasha and some of those cuter Widows…he kinda needed the break.

“Alright. Now your turn.”

He shrugged and gave her a brief overview of his relatively tamer week. Halfway through the recap, the lights switched green again and they started traversing back through the busy lane. Yet, even with an eye on the road, Natasha paid such rapt attention to him he almost lost track of his words a couple times, wondering if she could sniff out something interesting within what should’ve been a dull tea gossip. But that didn’t look to be the case. She seemed more interested in his boredom over mundane shopping and his jumbled thoughts on the Ocean rather than the Dueling tournament and the subsequent climactic brawl, or even the public robbery of the magical supermarket.

“Do you know anything about that, by the way?” Harry asked in the middle, a tad curious. “There were rumours of some magical school being completely demolished by Dark Wizards in a single night.”

“Not too much, no.” She replied absently, pulling their vehicle right to join the FDR drive. “I wasn’t around here, remember? But even if I was, I doubt Shield would know anything particularly insightful. From the little I’ve picked up, your kind really doesn’t like to share news with outsiders, even if it's a matter of security. Especially so, in fact.”

She quickly dismissed the subject to get back on his matters, digging particularly deep inside his feelings regarding Horse-face and Lily. After some pointed needling, he reluctantly opened up a little, answering her questions one by one.

She hummed after he’d finished his tale, tapping a finger to her red, glossy lips in silent contemplation as she casually steered past a couple of slow-movers. “Answer me this, from the range of ‘glaring at him until he wets his pants’ to ‘poking out both his eyes’, what would you say this intense urge of yours was compelling you more towards?”

Harry thought for all of one second before answering earnestly. “Slitting his throat slowly, before torturing him with Crucio until his life bleeds out.” He paused for a brief moment. “Then chop his body up in neat little pieces, and stuff them inside a box to deliver to his friends and family.”

“Jealousy then.” Natasha promptly nodded sagely in conclusion. “More specifically, the unhinged, homicidal rage-like jealousy that only comes from one thing.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, lips quirking up. “It seems you have quite a huge crush on your mother, my pervy little Wizard.”

“Crush?” Harry blinked. “ Like the drinks they sell in the restaurant? Or the ‘squeeze them so hard they deform’ crush?” He supposed he would like to slightly crush a naked Lily in his embrace—though not to the level of ‘deforming’ her ribs or something. Now that was just horrifying.

“Neither.” Natasha snorted. “Funny, but nope. Crush is…you could say it's a soft slang for infatuation. It's like the little brother of love, just more obsessive and foolish, and usually quite temporary. You get over it as you grow up.”

Harry scrunched up his brows. “Then you're completely wrong. I doubt I will ever simply ‘get over’ her. Also, why is it so wrong for such a relationship to exist, anyway? I never found an answer in all my research on the subject.” Though admittedly, the place he’d been searching it in was a book written by some Witch who focused more on the power of Oedipal love in rituals and sacrifices than discussing morality.

Natasha frowned, opening her mouth as if to reply, only to end it in a shrug. “You know what? I won't even try to explain that. But I do have something that could…” She started fishing around for something under her seat with her free hand, eventually dragging out a small wrapped box barely bigger than his palm. “Here, got you a present.” She tossed it to him casually, eyes fixedly stuck on the road. “Just type ‘Why is incest wrong’ or something along the line on the internet, and you'll understand. Won't change your mind if it's really as deep as you seem to believe, but…doesn't hurt to be aware, all the same.”

Harry snorted, absently feeling the weight of the package. “You’re six days too late to exchange presents, don’t you think?” Nonetheless, he quickly tore off the glittery wrapper Midget-style, revealing a small black box with a strange picture up front of tiny, colourful tabs on a screen.

Beside him, Natasha gave a pronounced wince, “Yeah, well…I do actually regret missing that. You weren't nearly as adorable last Year, so celebrating Christmas with you would’ve been like trying to dance with a porcupine.”

Harry pointedly ignored her, focusing on the strange device he’d uncovered from within the box. It had a smooth, rectangular blank screen with a single, spherical button at the very bottom, a little square etched upon its glossy surface. He turned it around, curiosity growing as he observed its silvery-white cover, a small, bitten apple’s outline carved in the middle. The rear cover further sported a single strip of black at the bottom, above which ‘iphone’ was written in dull grey.

He glanced at Natasha, confused. “What…is this?”

“A phone, of course.” A wide, impish grin had climbed its way up her face. While she’d studiously kept her gaze focused on the road—making it seem like she didn’t truly care—he knew her attention had been fully on him since the moment he started unwrapping the gift. “A Smartphone, to be exact.” She continued, pleased as a peach. “A very high-end, top of the line smartphone.”

Harry held up the slab of one-sided glass, flabbergasted. “Where are all the buttons?” He took another close look from back to front, top to bottom, but found only glassy smoothness.

“You don’t need any.” Oh yes, she was pleased. “Just turn it on, everything is inside it. It's a touchscreen.” She said it like he was supposed to know what it meant.

It took him a short while under her guidance but sure enough, he soon got the screen up and glowing. It took another few minutes just to get used to touching the glass and watching the display move, but he had to admit it was fun. Surprisingly, it reminded him of the locket he’d gifted to Lily for her Christmas present. Not in any of its practical applications, but one could change the moving pictures inside its two panels with a swipe of their finger.

“Eh, you’ll get used to it.” Natasha stopped observing him from the corner of her eyes, shifting her attention back on the road. “Keep exploring it, there is a lot of stuff hidden that I never cared to find. The little square tabs are called apps and each serves a different function. Shield has added some things of their own, so you can now access your money from your Shield account anytime.”

After a few more excited minutes of tinkering around with the device, his curiosity slowly started to dwindle beneath a disappointing realisation.

Sighing, he held up the phone glumly, turning to Natasha. “It’s a great present—” It really was. “—and I thank you with all my heart, but I doubt I’ll ever get much use out of it. Magic and muggle…just don’t seem to mix well.”

If there was one thing he did not like about Hogwarts, it was its nosey, little wards that insisted on ruining anything remotely electrical. He could already imagine where this high-end, top of the line Smartphone was about to end up: In his inventory, gathering dust.

Contrary to his expectations, however, Natasha simply gave a low chuckle. “Oh, ye of little faith. Give me some credit. I may not be able to shoot fireballs out of a stick, but I do know how to perform my due diligence. As long as your ancient castle follows the same principle as its American counterparts, I’ve been assured your magic should cause no trouble in its working.” She paused, shooting him an uncertain frown. “Of course, ‘should’ is not quite as sure as ‘will’, so maybe take that with a grain of salt. While the American wizards are unlikely to break any agreement with Shield by purposely screwing up, I don’t trust them enough to give you complete assurance of their work.”

Harry nodded slowly, staring at the device in his hands. Now that he concentrated on it closely, he could feel the faintest sliver of arcane wafting off of it. It wasn’t particularly ‘weak’ as opposed to being subtle, almost as if he was observing it from behind a veil of some sort…

[Skill Levelled Up: Mana Sensing] Lvl 27

Nice.

Still, that didn’t surprise him quite as much as having his earliest suspicion being confirmed. He’d always known there was a possibility of Shield and Macusa having some kind of agreement, but it was another thing entirely to see the results with his own eyes. He was beginning to realise, for all his high status and connections within the organisation, Shield was still very much a mysterious power that he knew very little about. He distinctly remembered reeling from the information he’d managed to syphon out of the young shield agent before the mission began. Apparently, there were three different Shield Academies in total, each filled to the brim with some of the brightest minds in the country, and one even requiring a Ph.D. simply as a form of entry.

It did get him thinking about the other party involved though. How likely was it that the American wizards solved a problem the Wizarding World at large was still plagued by? Were they simply that advanced? Or, like he highly suspected, did they actually receive Shield’s help in this regard? It would also explain how Natasha got them working on a simple Christmas present for him—likely some clause in their deal—and why this ability of theirs was still unknown in the Wizarding community. While England was terribly racist and dismissive against muggles or anything concerning them, he was sure the wider World would still be very interested in learning to manipulate ‘muggle magic’.

Of course, while all this was swell and well, the fact remained he now held a very convenient device in his hands that was about to make his life in Hogwarts even easier. The thoughtfulness—if not the practical value—behind the gift almost matched up to the magical suitcase he’d received from Lily. And that was something he still considered his greatest possession behind the Holly wand to date.

It made him terribly self-conscious of his own gifts. Lily had absolutely loved the little locket, of course—especially as it had an inbuilt camera capable of recording precise memories that she’d made ample use of on the Beach day—but Harry had a suspicion she would’ve liked his gift even if he’d simply wrapped up a pile of sand inside a thin polythene and called it gold.

Others hadn’t been nearly as pleased with his gift-selection. Black especially did not seem to appreciate the book ‘Art of Tact and Discretion: When to keep your mouth shut’ as much as Harry had expected. James had looked more confused than anything when he unwrapped a Glock pistol and a basic guide on handgun handling from his own package. Even Midget had shot him a wide-eyed, almost guilty look when she got a book herself, ‘Fooling the Half-blind: Masks and Disguises to Manipulate the Unsuspecting’.

It had all left him feeling terribly annoyed. Worse, he’d thought himself so clever! He’d put so much thought into all the selections, whole-heartedly believing he was close to gaining a basic mastery of human emotions and social norms.

Now here he was, holding an invaluable gift and having what to show for in return? Should he even give her that? What if she repeats the confusion and irritation of others? What if his selection once again falls short of the expectations? Coming from her, it would be far worse than all the others’ combined.

He should’ve just given everyone socks and sweaters; that seemed to be the most common theme, no matter how dull.

Swallowing down a bout of annoyance, he glanced at Natasha, feeling slightly overwhelmed. “...Thanks.”

Her head tilted at him, a teasing little smirk dancing on her lips that quickly petered out when she met his eyes. He did not know what she saw, but he could see her become almost flustered in real-time.

“W-well, it wasn't entirely from me.” She stumbled out her words hurriedly, surprising him a little; Harry had never seen her out of sorts before. “I got the idea when Kara told me how enamoured you were with her laptop, while Steve pressured the wizards to make this their priority.” She stopped her babbling and cleared her throat almost embarrassedly, quickly finding back her equilibrium. “Assuming everything works correctly though, you’ll be happy to know you can access the Internet anytime and anywhere now. Think of this like a mini-version of Kara's laptop, only further enhanced and upgraded by Shield.”

Harry stared at her for a long few seconds, lips slowly widening into a grin. He had no idea what set off her cheeks flaming, but instantly found it to be Midget-level of cuteness. It suddenly struck him how young Natasha truly was. She was usually so stoic and in-control, and held such a high place in his mind, that he constantly compared her with Lily; yet, she was far closer in age to a 7th year Hogwarts’ student than to his mother.

He must’ve been staring a tad too long, for she quickly rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, shut it.” Her voice was a perfect mixture of abashed and annoyed. “I was caught off-guard by your teary, puppy-dog eyes, that’s all. I’d half expected you to find the phone useless or irrelevant, so I'm just glad you like it.”

“I didn’t say anything.” He protested half-heartedly, still smirking, “But regardless of your…intentions, or whoever gave you the idea, I still thank you for the gift.”

He received a huff for his troubles, though he noticed her blush had yet to abate. And wasn’t it interesting, for her to even think he would dislike something so invaluable...perhaps he wasn’t as bad at this as he’d first thought. Perhaps others simply didn’t appreciate the brilliance of his gifts…

Harry put the iPhone back in the box and willed the entire package inside his inventory, his own earlier hesitation disappearing away. ‘Ah, what a way to start the year.’

Coincidentally, this also gave him a convenient entry to finally reveal his own selection, and he did so with no further preamble.

Turning to the red-headed Widow, he accessed his Inventory once more. “Speaking of gifts, I’ve got something for you as well…” He fixed his attention on the few remaining packages sitting in his personal space, and pulled them out into the real world one by one.

There was still a gnawing sense of anxiousness within his heart, bracing for another disappointing reception—he’d put the most effort in Natasha’s gift, even asking Lily for help, so he'd be more than just a little annoyed if she doesn't start singing his praises soon.

Then again, he supposed it was all quite inconsequential. He was still figuring out this gift thing, and while a complete sweep-through of failures was a bit disappointing, it was still his first attempt. Even Black had assured him it was the thought that counted, rather than the contents…though Harry suspected that had something to do with Lily’s quickly-darkening glare. For all her divine beauty, she could look unbelievably fierce when she wanted.

“I’ll be damned…” Natasha did a double-take as he piled up the goodies, almost managing to ram them against a pick-up truck, whose owner did not sound at all enthused if his colourful description of her lower brain-power was anything to go by. Yet, the Widow did not seem to care one whit, her attention only half on the outside world. “You actually got me something?” She blinked owlishly at the glittering mess. “Why so many ‘somethings’ though?”

Harry smiled smugly, anticipation slowly gripping his heart. “Not all are for you, of course.” Two distinctly wrapped cubes rested on his lap, one bigger than the other by a handspan, alongside a couple of thinly wrapped booklet, one of which remained fully bared. The biggest cube was entombed within a glowing Onyx foil dotted with silver crystalline stars; he’d picked it up in one of the magical supermalls, as they reminded him of the vastness of the night sky. “The big one is yours.” He handed over the twinkling bundle. “And these three are for Kara, Barton, and Belova. I was hoping you could deliver it for me.”

Kara’s was naturally the second largest, though it was quite hard to lose when the competition was a couple of thin slip books. Barton and Belova both got one each.

Natasha gingerly grabbed her present with one hand, gently placing it on her lap, though her eyes flitted in annoyance when he shoved the other packages her way.

“And here I thought I was special.” She muttered under her breath. “How come they made your gift-list at all? I thought you didn’t even like Yelen—oh, nevermind.” Her eyes crinkled in amusement, finally taking in the title of the unwrapped book. “ ‘Not Inexperienced but Incompetent: Becoming your better self’?” She glanced up at him, arching an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I thought it fit her best.” Harry defended his choice vehemently. “She was quite incompetent in the last mission, and I still haven't received my compensation for saving her life. Perhaps this will help her improve…”

Natasha's eyes went back to the road, sighing. “Why do I get the feeling my present is just a long catalogue of books on how not to die?”

He folded his hands, scowling. “Perhaps that's exactly what I should've given you.”

Such blatant contempt for his brilliant gifts…and she hadn’t even opened it yet! Next Christmas, he was definitely sticking to socks and underwears.

Natasha chuckled, leaning over to muss his hair. “Don’t worry, I would’ve still taken it, if only to keep it as a memento. Though judging from your words, I’m guessing it’s something else.” Quite climatically, their ride came to an end right that instance and she parked them alongside a sparsely placed line of automobiles that formed a long arm to one of the tallest buildings in America. “Well, only one way to find out.”

Harry closed his mouth, the gruelling sense of anticipation back in full force. It was a strange feeling, he introspected absently. Like a mixture between one part urging an abrupt exit off the car before she could open the damn thing, and another part rearing to snatch the dark parcel from her hands and run away without looking back.

In the end, he contended to simply fold his arms and peer over her shoulder as the second best redhead in town very carefully pulled the onyx magical paper apart. A simple box of gleaming polished wood revealed itself, and Natasha quickly popped off the lid without preamble.

Harry held his breath, watching her eyes quietly take in the glistening mouths of vials neatly stacked within the box, all simmering in a faint, multicoloured warmth and giving off an overwhelming mixture of earthly and medicinal smell.

“It’s an assortment of healing potions.” He explained unprompted, too angsty to sit still in silence. “The purple ones are Wound-cleaners and the red ones are Blood-replenishers—you already used one of 'em when you got yourself stabbed, along with the essence of Dittany,” He leaned slightly closer, lifting a finger at the row of green vials. “—these ones.” He paused, waiting for her to speak, before pointing to the side of the box’s wooden frame. “There’s a guide stuck to the side, so you don’t need to memorise them right away.”

Still silent—unusually so—the redhead Assassin trailed her fingers along the vials almost numbly, before tearing the rest of the twinkling paper with a methodical rip, revealing the tiny pop-up book.

Harry watched her carefully, frowning lightly as she continued her inspection in mute silence. “What? If you’re worrying about its practicality in battle, you’ll also find a ballistic vest underneath the box; its got a magically enlarged pockets on the front to store over a dozen vials…among a couple other protective enchantments, though I'll let them surprise you.”

She followed his words and retrieved the thin vest, slowly unfolding it wide and brushing it's material with the back of her hand, still mute. Her mouth opened, once, closed again, lips pressed thin.

…And then she glanced up. Her eyes held the most alluring of conflicts, so full of emotions he couldn't even begin to decipher, yet deep enough to completely submerge him within for but a brief, halted moment.

“This—” Her voice hitched and her eyes misted. She blinked rapidly and the wetness within left Harry stunned. “Thank you.” She continued a paused moment later, solemn and quiet as if she stood upon a holy ceremony. “This is the most valuable gift I've ever received.” Almost subconsciously, she hugged the fabric of the vest to her chest, “I'll make sure to use it well.”

Finally, some appreciation!

He pushed his discomfort over her tears away, forcing a tiny grin upon his face, an elbow casually propped against the open window sill. “Yeah, well, considering how suicidal you were in the last mission, I’m hoping this would give you one less excuse to throw your life away.” He paused at her snort, relieved.

He was beginning to realise how deeply he disliked watching someone he cared about in pain.

“Alright then,” He glanced out the window, towards the great towering building beside them; the sun had climbed up high behind it, and he wagered his group of wizards were already at the destination. This would be his first time entering through its mundane entrance. “I should probably get going now—umph!”

Suddenly a pair of arms spread around his neck, dragging him close and tight into a bush of silken red that smelled mesmerizingly sweet. “Thank you. For everything.” Natasha's breath danced against his left ear. “You take care of yourself now, you hear me?” Her hold grew even tighter, nails almost digging in his back “I’ll be really pissed if after all this you end up a charred husk in some dragon’s stomach.”

For a second he stilled in place, caught utterly off-guard—still not quite fond of surprise hugs…then he let himself melt into her, settling his hands around her waist with a scoff. “Please, if anything, that dragon should be more afraid of becoming my dinner. I’ve heard a lot of good things about their flesh.”

As another car loudly reared beside them, his favourite Widow finally released him, a forced smirk back on her face, holding none of her usual confidence and carelessness. It was almost…sad, like watching something inevitable but unable to do anything.

“Alright, now git.” She shooed him away. “Your friends are likely waiting for you inside. Send me a message when you reach England.”

Harry nodded, exiting the car. “Give this to Steve, will ya?” He dropped a tiny, folded paper slip through the window, only a single word written within ‘Yes'. “He’ll understand.” And with one last wave, he followed upon her advice and took his leave…

…Then he had to come back and ask her where the fuck he was supposed to go, which completely ruined his dramatic exit. Her soft laughter, however, proved a far better farewell than anything he could've otherwise received.

With a final wave of goodbye, Harry entered the Macusa headquarters through the massive muggle building, bidding the American lands a temporary goodbye.

He had accomplished everything he came here to do…now it was time he truly tackled the wizarding World.

Werewolves, Vampires, Dragons and Unicorns…the magical world was too well hidden away, and it was time he sought out the means to empower himself even further.

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A day after New Year’s Eve saw Potters and Co. back in the English lands, arriving straight within the outer bounds of the Ministry headquarters. While he would remember the last couple of weeks with a nostalgic fondness, Harry had to admit his true passion would forever rest in growing stronger. And now that he had the luxury to be lax with allocating his stats, he put more thought in plotting his next path to power.

After all the excitement of the holidays, the warmth of Hogwarts’ walls was a welcome sight indeed. He hadn’t thought he would ever miss its occupants, but he’d grown used to the stares of awe and random students waving at him; excited if he waved back. Perhaps he was growing conceited from all the fawning, but a part of him reveled in the mark he’d already left on the school just half a year into his grand beginnings.

The Castle itself hadn't changed much in this brief period, though some Christmas decorations still hung on the walls and ceiling. It was no longer the biggest event in Hogwarts though, for a different type of fervour seemed to pass through its students with the start of a new year; a fervour that infected every single soul in the castle, from lowly firsties and grave-faced seniors to all the professors and the Headmistress: The start of the Senior Dueling Tournament.

A frenzy of excited whispering gripped the castle and it wasn't rare to see students duelling in the Hallways, no matter how many detentions were laid out. Had Harry not known better, he would've wondered if all of them might not be walking around with Systems of their own, hungry for their next rewards with each duel won.

But that was fine. Because Harry was the same, more so than any.

After all, from the success he'd wrought out of its mini version, he was very much looking forward to participating again.

It was time, finally, to see what magic could really offer him.

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AN: Oh man, what an end to 2023. Sadly, my year wasn't nearly as good as Harry's. This chap is two months too late, ik. Still, hope you enjoyed! Had a lot of trouble writing this, and I've realised I'm just not built to be a slice-of-life type of writer.

Anyway, a belated Merry Christmas and a very happy New Year to all of you! I know this came way too late, and I'm gonna post one last update to address that before ending this year.

Good day and be seeing ya!