Harry tossed the Vanity Fair aside—because let's be honest, who needed that much drama about Hollywood when there was real chaos to deal with?—and grabbed the Daily Bugle like it was the greatest thing he'd ever laid eyes on. Well, maybe the second greatest thing. He was still getting used to the whole "superhero world" thing. The front page didn't disappoint: a giant headline screamed, "Avengers? More Like Vigilantes in Tights!" and under it, a cartoon of the Avengers—each one looking like they'd been hastily sketched by a twelve-year-old with a crayon—fighting a huge alien dragon. Pure gold. Jameson, man. The guy was like a human grenade of hot takes.
Harry snorted and shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "J. Jonah Jameson, Tony described him as the man who could make saving the world sound like a parking ticket violation."
On the little holographic screen built into the coffee table, JARVIS's voice chimed in, smooth as silk. "Shall I prepare a response to Mr. Jameson's latest editorial, sir? Perhaps a carefully worded rebuttal—or a full-on roast?"
Harry let out a low chuckle. "Oh, JARVIS, you know me too well. But I'm afraid the man's ego is so fragile, any attempt at a roast would probably end with him blaming the Avengers for the state of the economy."
JARVIS's voice had that wry edge, as if he were smirking. "I shall make a note of it, sir. Should the opportunity arise, I'll ensure to highlight the economic implications of heroism in tights."
"Perfect," Harry muttered, and took a sip of his tea. "Let's see how he spins this one."
—
Daily Bugle Exclusive: Avengers Under Scrutiny!
By J. Jonah Jameson
In the wake of yesterday's chaos, the city finds itself divided over the role of our so-called 'saviors,' the Avengers. While some hail them as heroes, others question their methods and the destruction left in their wake.
Eyewitness accounts paint a vivid picture of the battle that raged across our streets. The Avengers, led by Iron Man and their newest member, the enigmatic figure known as "The Seidr," engaged in a fierce struggle against extraterrestrial invaders, including reports of a colossal black and gold dragon.
But amidst the chaos and destruction, questions linger about the Avengers' approach to combating such threats. Critics point to the collateral damage inflicted upon our city, with buildings left in ruins and countless lives disrupted.
"I get it, they're trying to save us," remarked one bystander, surveying the aftermath. "But at what cost? How can we trust them to protect us when they leave such devastation in their wake?"
Others, however, are quick to defend the Avengers, citing their unwavering dedication to defending humanity against impossible odds.
"They saved us, plain and simple," insisted another witness. "I'd rather have them fighting for us than sitting back and doing nothing."
Yet, perhaps the most intriguing aspect of yesterday's battle is the emergence of "The Seidr," a mysterious figure whose arrival coincided with the Avengers' most desperate hour. Eyewitnesses describe the figure as a powerful sorcerer, capable of wielding magic with unparalleled skill.
"I've never seen anything like it," one eyewitness recalled, awe evident in their voice. "The Seidr was like something out of a legend, standing toe-to-toe with the invaders and holding his own."
As the city grapples with the aftermath of yesterday's events, one thing is certain: the Avengers' actions have sparked a debate that will undoubtedly shape the future of our city. Whether they are hailed as heroes or condemned as vigilantes, one thing remains clear—the world will be watching.
—
Harry put the paper down, still grinning. "Vigilantes in tights. Wow. If he's trying to make them sound like a circus act, mission accomplished."
"Should I prepare a suit and tie for you, sir?" JARVIS interrupted, ever the one for cutting in with the perfect timing. "I believe 'Vigilante in Tights' might be a new calling for you as well, judging by your recent attire choices."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You've got me there, JARVIS. But I like to think I'm more of a 'mysterious, enigmatic hero' type. With a flair for drama."
"Of course," JARVIS agreed smoothly. "And nothing says mysterious quite like turning up in tights. It's very... avant-garde."
"Tell me about it," Harry muttered, feeling just a hint of the sarcasm dripping from JARVIS's words.
The article went on, diving deeper into the Avengers' destruction—oh yeah, sure—and how they left chaos behind in the wake of their battle with the Chitauri. Jameson's words got harsher, his criticisms like verbal grenades. There were reports of "collateral damage," of "broken buildings," of "heroes" who thought they could save the day while turning Manhattan into a wrecking yard. If there was an award for "Best Rant About Superheroes," Jameson was clearly the front-runner.
A few quotes popped up from witnesses, but Harry couldn't help himself; he started doing some commentary of his own.
"'I get it, they're trying to save us,'" Harry read aloud, mimicking the voice of a New Yorker who clearly didn't understand how aliens worked. "Buddy, I get it—but at what cost? Dude, last time I checked, aliens don't exactly RSVP. 'Sorry, we're just going to drop by and destroy your city for fun.' Like they're checking out AirBNB listings or something."
JARVIS's voice cut through his sarcasm. "Shall I note that down for future reference, sir? We could add it to your superhero portfolio: 'Alien Casualties, Negotiations Pending.'"
Harry snickered. "Put it on the list. I'm basically a walking headline at this point." He flipped the page, reading on.
The article shifted to "The Seidr," the mysterious sorcerer who had joined the fight. According to Jameson, the guy was a total wild card. No name. No past. Just a black and gold, magic-wielding mystery man who apparently had somehow stood his ground against alien invaders. Eyewitnesses were going wild, calling him a "legend" and a "living myth." Harry raised an eyebrow. The Seidr? Well, that was… a little dramatic.
"Geez, sounds like I'm a fan-favorite already," Harry muttered, enjoying the bit of attention, though not exactly loving the weird way Jameson kept calling him a "mysterious figure" like he was a late-night TV guest star.
A soft chuckle came through the speakers. "The press does tend to inflate the hero factor. I suppose this means you're one step closer to becoming the next superstar, sir."
Harry closed the paper with a decisive snap. "Let them gossip. We both know the truth. Now, it's time to show them why they're going to need a new headline."
And then, just for fun, he added with a wink, "Though I do think we should start a petition to rename me something cooler than 'The Seidr.' Maybe 'The Awesome.'"
"Shall I prepare the PR materials, sir?" JARVIS responded, deadpan.
"Absolutely. And make sure we get some merch. Maybe some hoodies, a mug, and a signed photo."
"Naturally," JARVIS said, as if it were the most reasonable request in the world.
Harry chuckled, then stood, ready to dive headfirst into the next mess this world had to offer. No headline was going to define him. He'd be the one writing the next chapter. And this one? It was going to be legendary.
—
The kitchen was a battlefield at that moment—except it wasn't a supervillain fight or some kind of alien invasion. No, this battle had all the high-stakes drama of a caffeine-deprived billionaire facing off against an inanimate object. Tony Stark staggered in, looking like a man who'd just wrestled with an entire espresso machine and lost. He barely spared Harry a glance as he headed straight for the coffee maker, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, like a man on a mission.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Rough night?" he asked, knowing full well that the answer would likely involve either a world-ending crisis or Tony's usual tendency to drink his body weight in cocktails at some rooftop party.
Tony grunted, his eyes never leaving the coffee maker. "You could say that," he muttered, sounding like he'd been up all night fighting alien invaders—and possibly some rogue servers that refused to update properly. The coffee machine gurgled ominously, as if to say, "I'm with you, man."
Harry sipped his tea with an exaggerated air of royal elegance, just to be that extra level of annoying. "Ah, the elixir of life," he said with a grin. "You Americans and your obsession with coffee. It's like the blood of your culture."
Tony didn't even look up. "Tea, huh?" His voice had that smug smirk of someone who'd won at least one sarcastic battle that morning. "Trying to keep it classy, I see."
Harry, channeling every ounce of his inner British aristocrat, raised an eyebrow. "Well, Stark," he said, looking like a proper nobleman, "some of us prefer sophistication over..." He waved a dismissive hand at Tony's cup like it was a crime against humanity. "Whatever that concoction is."
Tony raised an eyebrow and then took a long sip of his coffee, as though he'd just unlocked the secrets of the universe. "To each their own, Your Highness," he replied, raising his mug like he was making some sort of exaggerated toast, before draining it like it was the last drink on Earth.
Harry shrugged, smirking. "I'd argue that the fact I'm still alive without coffee speaks volumes, but I'm not here to get into a life choices debate." He gestured to the counter. "There's a breakfast fit for a superhero waiting for you."
Tony's eyes immediately darted to the plate of chocolate chip pancakes, stacked high like a sugary tower of salvation. His face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, and Harry swore he could see a little sparkle in Tony's eye. "Thanks, Harry," he said, practically bounding over to the plate. "You're a lifesaver."
As Tony dug in, devouring the pancakes with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just discovered food for the first time, Harry leaned back, watching with a bemused grin. The chaotic, sarcastic, "don't-give-a-damn" energy of Tony Stark had already become something of a staple in his new life. Despite the mess, the constant banter, and the wild unpredictability, it felt... comforting. This wasn't just a team—this was a family. And yeah, there might be explosions and endless battle cries along the way, but there was also this: small moments of camaraderie where you found yourself laughing in the middle of a chaotic morning.
"I'm telling you," Tony said with his mouth full, "you've got a future in pancakes. If this superhero thing doesn't work out, you've got a back-up career." He took another bite like he'd been starving for weeks.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, I'd consider a career change, but I'm afraid I'm not the pancake-flipping superhero type. Besides, I've got bigger things on my plate."
Tony looked up, pancake halfway to his mouth. "Bigger things? You're talking about saving the world? Because, spoiler alert, that ship sailed when you joined the team."
"Oh, I wasn't talking about the world," Harry said, suddenly serious. "I meant, you know, I've got to get my superhero name sorted out. I'm not exactly feeling the 'The Seidr' vibe. Kinda sounds like I'm the villain in a Viking drama." He shrugged. "It's a work in progress."
Tony snorted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah, well, you don't have to be a god to be cool. Just look at me." He flashed a grin so wide it was practically a trademark. "Well, maybe a little godly. But that's a whole other level of complex."
Harry's lips twitched. "Complex is an understatement when you're Tony Stark. You've got layers... like an onion. A very shiny, expensive, ego-filled onion."
JARVIS chose that moment to pipe up, his voice as dry as a British manor house in winter. "Sir, if I may remind you, you've already had your third cup of coffee this morning. I'm concerned for your health."
Tony gave an exaggerated sigh, like the weight of JARVIS' concern was the burden of his very existence. "JARVIS, you're supposed to be on my side. Who asked for a personal trainer disguised as a voice assistant?"
"Well, sir, I do believe that was you, when you requested health advice last week. The fact you've ignored it since then is hardly my fault," JARVIS replied, completely unphased.
Tony stared at the coffee cup like it had personally offended him. "Fine, fine. I'll go easy on the coffee. But no promises for the next five minutes."
"Promise or not," Harry muttered under his breath, "you're gonna need all the help you can get if we're facing that mess again."
Tony just smiled, shaking his head as he shoveled in another forkful of pancakes. "Yeah, well, at least the mess is more interesting now. The Avengers, with their... questions, the hero stuff, the magic... What could go wrong?"
Harry grinned as he picked up his tea. "I don't know. But I'm looking forward to finding out."
The morning might've been chaotic, but Harry couldn't help but feel that, in the grand scheme of things, this—this weird, messy, banter-filled life—was exactly where he was meant to be. And somehow, that made it all worth it.
—
The kitchen had turned into something of a feeding frenzy. The scent of fresh coffee and chocolate chip pancakes floated through the air like a siren song, pulling the Avengers in from every corner of the tower.
Natasha was the first to arrive, striding into the kitchen like she owned the place. "Breakfast is served," she said, with the kind of smirk that suggested she'd just unearthed a treasure chest full of gold—if that gold was made of pancakes and caffeine.
Thor followed closely, his long stride practically sending the door off its hinges. His eyes went wide as saucers the moment he saw the pancakes. "By Odin's beard, this is perfect!" he boomed, and if Harry didn't know better, he'd swear Thor was about to start performing a Viking battle dance in celebration of the glorious breakfast before him.
"Easy there, Thunder Boy," Clint said with a lazy grin as he wandered in behind Natasha, not looking nearly as impressed by the pancakes as Thor. "It's just pancakes, not Mjolnir."
"Pancakes and coffee," Tony Stark chimed in, appearing with the kind of energy that could only be fueled by some combination of questionable decisions and a really strong caffeine addiction. "It's like you know the way to my heart, Harry." He reached for the coffee machine, barely sparing Harry a glance.
JARVIS' voice floated in just as Tony was about to pour himself a third cup. "Sir, I must again recommend moderation in your coffee consumption. We don't need a repeat of yesterday's incident with the—"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Tony waved off, holding up the cup like a knight preparing to swing a sword. "But JARVIS, you've got to admit, it's like you're dealing with a Ferrari engine here. Gotta keep it running smooth, right?"
"An accurate analogy, sir, though I must point out the engine appears to be in need of a few repairs," JARVIS replied dryly.
Steve Rogers walked in just then, the epitome of good old-fashioned Americana—tall, blonde, and walking like he was on the set of a superhero movie. His eyes immediately went to the pancakes, and a rare, soft smile tugged at his lips. "Looks like we made it just in time," he said, pulling up a chair next to Clint.
Clint gave a mock salute with his coffee cup. "You guys always do. Me and Nat? We're like the breakfast radar. Always one step ahead."
"Quite true," Natasha added, her usual icy demeanor melting ever-so-slightly as she grabbed a plate and piled it high with pancakes. "I can always sense the potential for a good meal."
Bruce Banner wandered in last, looking like he'd just gotten back from a personal battle with a stack of scientific equations. His usual "I'm-just-a-guy-who-turned-into-a-green-monster" aura was on full display as he grabbed a cup of coffee and took a sip like it was the answer to all his problems.
"Thanks, Harry," Bruce said, his voice calm but sincere, the kind of quiet gratitude that came with being stuck in a lab for twelve hours straight. "This is exactly what I needed after... well, you know. Early morning experiment stuff."
"Yeah, I know," Harry said with a wink, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The 'I'm-just-scientifically-fiddling-around-with-universe-destroying-machines' kind of stuff." He shot Tony a pointed look. "Which reminds me, Stark. How was that whole 'build-your-own-doomsday-device' project going?"
Tony didn't flinch. "Hilarious. Really, I should've gotten you a thank-you card for your enthusiasm," he said, finally taking a seat. "But let's not pretend you're the only one who can wield the destructive power of breakfast." He cut into his pancakes like he was carving into an ancient relic, eyes gleaming with unrestrained joy. "Perfection," he muttered under his breath.
Thor, meanwhile, was already digging in with the enthusiasm of a hungry lion on a sugar rush. "These are no mere mortal pancakes!" he declared between bites. "This, I suspect, is the work of the gods themselves!"
"Thor, for the last time, it's just pancakes," Clint said, rolling his eyes. "I promise you, no gods were involved. Just a well-timed trip to the grocery store and some decent cooking skills."
"But taste, Clint!" Thor countered, stabbing another pancake. "You cannot deny the taste of this ambrosia!"
"Let him have his moment," Natasha muttered, side-eyeing Tony as he demolished his own stack. "Everyone needs a little fantasy in their life."
Harry, leaning against the counter with his tea in hand, watched the group with a smirk. "You guys sure know how to turn breakfast into an Olympic sport," he quipped.
Bruce nodded, smiling sheepishly. "Not much else to do when the world keeps trying to end every five minutes."
"Right?" Harry replied with a snort. "I mean, you think you've seen it all, and then you find yourself in a world with talking robots, giant green rage monsters, and pancakes that have more mystical properties than most magic spells. What's next, huh?"
Clint raised his coffee mug in mock seriousness. "Don't tempt the universe, Harry. It has a very twisted sense of humor."
Steve gave him a playful look. "Hey, if you guys can take on aliens and robots, I think you've earned the right to be a little whimsical."
Harry took a sip of his tea, then set it down with a loud clink. "Well, in that case," he said, eyes twinkling, "I'm just waiting for my new superhero name to come through. How about... The Sassy Brit? No? Too much?"
"Perfect," Tony said with a grin, tossing a napkin in Harry's direction. "You'll be the new face of the Avengers—right after 'Sass' and 'Coffee Guy'."
"I'll take it," Harry said with a chuckle, grabbing a pancake for himself. "After all, someone's got to bring the personality around here." He shot a look at Clint and Natasha. "And apparently, that someone is me."
The kitchen was filled with laughter, clinking silverware, and the comforting sounds of everyone simply... being themselves. Despite the chaos of their lives, moments like this—pancakes, coffee, and sarcasm—reminded them why they were a team, a family, bound together by more than just world-saving. It was the little things that made it all worthwhile. And for Harry, in that moment, it felt like home.
—
As the Avengers picked at the last remnants of pancakes—because, let's be real, who doesn't stretch out the joy of a good breakfast?—Steve Rogers, ever the Captain America, turned to Harry with that thoughtful look that only a super soldier with way too much decency could muster.
"So, Harry," Steve began, leaning forward with a genuine curiosity, "what's next for you now that you're part of our merry band of misfits?"
Harry had a million things to say—mostly snarky quips about superhero drama and how they could all probably use a group therapy session—but before he could even open his mouth, Clint Barton, a.k.a. the human version of a wet blanket when it came to matters of importance, interrupted with a hint of grimness in his voice.
"Yeah, well, Fury's got a little something for you," Clint said, leaning in with all the seriousness of a guy who was constantly walking around like the world was on fire. "He needs help digging into HYDRA's secret stash of bad decisions. You've got a knack for that sort of thing, and it's high time we pulled more strings."
"Good to know," Harry replied, squinting at Clint. "What, like a treasure hunt, but with more evil and fewer pirates?"
"Exactly," Clint said, without a single crack in his voice. Honestly, Clint was just way too much of a professional. It was kind of terrifying.
Before Harry could fully wrap his head around the fact that he'd just been handed a job from the guy who literally led a team of Avengers, he turned to Bruce. "Hey, what's the date today?"
Bruce, who'd been scrolling through his phone like he was trying to figure out how to send a text without making eye contact, barely looked up. "It's April 27th," he said, like he wasn't running through a lab in his head. You know, the usual.
Harry nodded, as though that cleared up everything. "Perfect. I'll send Fury the names I got from Sitwell's mind," he said, folding his arms like he was preparing for something monumental. "But first? A little vacation. You know, R&R—Rest and Recuperation. Some me-time to recharge the ol' magic batteries. I'm thinking a beach, a few mojitos, and absolutely zero world-saving for a couple of days."
Clint, who was actually the best at reading between the lines (probably because he'd spent so much time lying to bosses about why he was out of the office), gave Harry a pointed look. "Sure, sure. You're saving the world and all that, but gotta decompress before jumping back in, right?" He flashed Harry a grin that could almost be considered a sympathy smile.
"Exactly," Harry said with a self-satisfied smirk. "Because you can't save the world on an empty stomach... or brain. Plus, I have a very strict do-not-disturb-unless-a-nuclear-missile-is-involved rule."
Tony, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet (probably still reeling from the pancakes, because who wouldn't be?), leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "A vacation, huh? Sounds nice. Maybe you can take me along next time. I could use a break from being, you know, a genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist. It gets exhausting being this perfect."
Harry turned to Tony with a wicked grin. "Oh, no problem. We'll find a nice beach for you to sit on and gaze into the horizon while you try to figure out how to invent a new kind of super sunscreen that doesn't make you look like a walking lobster after ten minutes in the sun."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Well, now, that's a thought. Maybe I'll design it with a little bit of, I don't know, arc reactor technology for the ultimate tan."
"Right. The most Tony Stark way of getting a tan ever." Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes.
Meanwhile, JARVIS decided to chime in like he'd just been waiting for the perfect moment to ruin the fun. "Sir, I must recommend that you avoid the beaches of the Mediterranean this time of year. The UV radiation levels are... exceptionally high for someone with your fair complexion."
"Great, thanks JARVIS," Tony muttered, glaring at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. "Next time, just take away all my fun. Really."
Thor, who'd been unusually quiet, finally broke his silence, looking up from his stack of pancakes like he'd been in some kind of breakfast trance. "A vacation sounds most delightful, Harry," he said, nodding sagely. "Perhaps I should accompany you? I would enjoy the company of warriors on the battlefield... or, you know, just in general."
"Sure, Thor. Because nothing says vacation like an Asgardian god showing up to your beach house." Harry raised an eyebrow at Thor. "Let's just keep it chill, yeah? No bringing Mjolnir to my vacation home. I'm pretty sure the insurance doesn't cover that."
"I will be mindful of my hammer, young Harry," Thor said with a dramatic flourish, reaching for another pancake like he was ready to bless it with divine approval.
Natasha, who had been silently observing the whole scene like she was watching a train wreck happen in slow motion, leaned back in her chair with a smirk. "If you really want to vacation, maybe you should try something less... dangerous than taking Thor anywhere."
"I don't know," Harry said with a snarky grin. "If Thor's on vacation, at least you know there will be an apocalypse. You just have to plan accordingly."
Clint nodded in agreement, clearly entertained by the back-and-forth. "Yeah, that's the thing about Thor. Plan for Armageddon, and anything less is a bonus."
Bruce, who'd been hanging in the background like the cool scientist he was, finally looked up from his phone. "Okay, so, are we done with the vacation talk? Can we get back to saving the world now?"
"You're right, Bruce," Harry said, pushing his chair back with a sigh. "But honestly, saving the world is exhausting. So, yes, we'll get to that... but first, I'm taking my beach days. You all can have fun with HYDRA's evil empire. I'll be on a very important mission to get some sun and not think about evil overlords for a minute."
With that, the Avengers fell into a comfortable silence, the kind you get when you all know what's coming next and don't need to say it out loud. They might've been a team of world-saving superheroes, but they were still just a bunch of people—some with super strength, some with wings, some with brains that could melt the internet—and they had each other. That was enough for now.
—
Harry Apparated to the ruined castle in Scotland, and, let me tell you, it was like walking into a dream that had been abandoned and forgotten. The place had all the charm of a haunted mansion, minus the cool ghosts. In fact, it was kind of a depressing sight, with overgrown vines and broken stone archways littering the ground like an abandoned movie set. The last time he'd been here, this place had been the epicenter of magic and chaos, not to mention the site of some of his most heart-pounding adventures. Now? Well, now it looked like the worst-ever episode of "Extreme Makeover: Castle Edition."
As he wandered through the remains of what used to be a towering fortress, Harry couldn't help but feel a lump form in his throat. Hogwarts had been more than a school—it had been his home, his battlefield, and occasionally, the site of his most epic snack raids. Seeing it reduced to rubble was like hearing that the last book in your favorite series had been cancelled. Not cool. Not cool at all.
But then, as he shuffled past a broken arch, his foot snagging on some overgrown ivy, a sense of weird comfort hit him. He could almost hear the faint echoes of distant laughter, of bickering friends and late-night mischief, floating through the ruined halls. It was like walking through a giant scrapbook of his past, but instead of glossy photos, he got crumbling stone and an extra dose of existential dread.
"Alright, let's not get too sentimental," he muttered to himself, kicking a loose rock down the overgrown path. "It's just a pile of bricks. No biggie."
Just as he was about to engage in a one-sided debate about the nature of emotional attachment to decaying architecture, a small group of students caught his eye. They were out here, armed with clipboards and cameras, looking like they were hunting for the next big science breakthrough, or maybe just hoping to snap the world's most "ruinously picturesque" Instagram photo. Intrigued, Harry approached them, trying to look casual.
"Hey, what's up?" he called, grinning as he strolled up, hands shoved in his pockets. "I see you're digging into the local plant life. You know, I hear that magic mushrooms grow around here, but—before you get any ideas—that's not what you're looking for."
The students looked up at him like he had just materialized out of thin air. Which, to be fair, he had. One of the more enthusiastic ones waved him over. "You know about this stuff?" she asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. "We're cataloguing thel flora and fauna in the area. Some of these species aren't found anywhere else!"
"Ah, a fellow fan of mystical weeds and enchanted greenery," Harry replied with a wink. "I can't say I've spent much time cataloguing, but I have definitely gotten into trouble with a few plant-based entities over the years." He let that sink in for a moment, adding a dramatic pause. "Like Devil's Snare. Not fun."
The students laughed nervously, clearly unsure if Harry was joking or about to conjure a plant monster from the depths of the castle's rubble. Just as he was getting into the conversation and imagining what kind of trouble they could get into together, a voice cut through the air with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt.
"Stop! What are you doing here? This is a restricted area, and you're not allowed!"
Naturally, Harry spun around, fully expecting an angry groundskeeper with a broomstick and a vendetta. But no, it was a woman—tall, confident, and definitely not your average librarian or wandering ghost. She had an air of authority about her, which, let's be real, made Harry feel about as comfortable as a rabbit in a wolf's den.
Her eyes locked onto him, narrowing ever so slightly as if she were trying to read him like one of those annoying textbooks that no one ever wanted to finish in school. Harry could practically feel her scanning him, like a phone doing one of those weird "is this guy a wizard or just a super weird tourist?" checks.
Before he could respond with some well-timed sarcasm (trust me, he was about two seconds away from it), the woman's gaze softened ever so slightly. And Harry could've sworn he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes. The kind that makes you think someone knows your embarrassing high school secrets.
"You're not supposed to be here," she repeated, but there was a certain curiosity in her voice now, like she was trying to figure out whether he was some rogue archeologist or a magical anomaly.
Harry grinned, feeling a flash of mischief tug at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, believe me, I get that a lot," he said with a shrug. "I tend to wander where I'm not supposed to. Just ask any of my old professors." He paused. "Except for the ones who tried to kill me. Don't ask them."
She gave him a skeptical but amused glance. "Who are you, exactly?" she asked, her voice shifting from stern to something warmer, more intrigued.
Caught a bit off guard by her sudden shift in tone, Harry hesitated for a second before responding. "Just a traveler passing through. You know how it is. Can't resist the charm of crumbling ancient ruins."
The woman eyed him for a long moment, clearly not convinced, before taking a step closer. Her presence was... magnetic. Harry couldn't help but feel like she knew exactly who he was—or at least suspected something very interesting about him.
"I'm Sersi," she said, introducing herself with a small, curious smile. "And I'm afraid you're trespassing. But I think… I think you already knew that."
Harry smirked, his inner wisecrack detector going into overdrive. "I've been kicked out of worse places," he said, extending his hand. "Name's Harry Potter. And while I'd love to exchange pleasantries and bond over our shared love of ancient ruins, I'm thinking this is probably not the best place for it."
Sersi's hand met his, and Harry could feel something shifting between them. Not in a creepy way, mind you, but in the sense that sometimes, when you meet someone important, you just know. This wasn't just another random run-in with an annoyed stranger. No, this was the kind of thing that had "plot twist" written all over it.
As they shook hands, Harry realized that something extraordinary was about to unfold. And for once, he didn't mind being in the thick of it.
"Well, Harry Potter," Sersi said with a sly smile, "I think you and I have some talking to do."
Oh, this was going to be fun.
---
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