Harry Potter: The Revenant

The black Stark Industries limousine pulled up to the bustling airport curb, its sleek exterior managing to look both intimidating and ostentatiously expensive—classic Stark style. Howard Stark stepped out first, adjusting his tie as if it were some kind of armor against the chaos of a public terminal. Behind him, Edwin Jarvis, the ever-dutiful butler, opened the door for Maria Stark, who was still recovering from her recent injuries but looked as poised as ever. She leaned on Jarvis's arm for support, her serene expression a stark (pun intended) contrast to the whirlwind of activity around her.

And then there was Tony. Sixteen years old, with a smirk that could either charm you or make you want to strangle him—it was a toss-up, really. He stepped out last, looking simultaneously too cool for the situation and deeply annoyed at being fussed over. His backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder, and his other hand clutched a tablet that he hadn't looked up from since they left the house.

Howard glanced at his son and sighed. "You know, Tony, you could at least pretend to care that we're seeing you off."

"I do care," Tony said without looking up. "I just multitask better than you do, old man." He tapped something on the tablet with a flourish, like he was proving a point.

Maria raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Anthony Edward Stark, you are going to put that thing down and say a proper goodbye to your parents." Her tone was light, but there was no mistaking the command behind it.

Tony hesitated for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Maria to smirk in victory—before tucking the tablet under his arm. "Fine, but only because you pulled the full-name card. That's cheating, by the way."

"Parents invented cheating," Maria quipped, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. "Now, come here and let me look at you."

Tony sighed dramatically but complied, standing still as Maria fussed over his collar. "You know, MIT isn't that far. I'll be back for Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And every other major holiday where you can guilt me into showing up."

"We're not guilting you," Howard said, though the tone of his voice suggested otherwise. "We're just making sure you don't forget where you came from. And where your funding comes from."

Tony rolled his eyes but didn't argue. "Noted. I'll send you a postcard. 'Dear Mom and Dad, MIT is great. Thanks for paying for everything. Love, your favorite child.'"

Maria laughed, though it quickly turned into a cough. Jarvis immediately stepped forward, his ever-watchful presence reassuring. "Mrs. Stark, perhaps we should get you back to the car. The air here isn't particularly kind."

"I'm fine, Jarvis," Maria said, waving him off, though she leaned a little more on his arm. "But you're right. We should let Tony get going."

Howard clapped a hand on Tony's shoulder, his expression softening for a moment. "Just... don't forget to call, alright? Your mother worries."

"And you don't?" Tony asked, though his tone was more teasing than accusatory.

Howard hesitated, then smirked. "I don't have to worry. I know you're going to be fine. You're a Stark, after all."

Tony snorted. "Pretty sure that's why most people do worry."

Maria shook her head but pulled Tony into a quick hug. "Stay out of trouble," she said, though they both knew it was a futile request.

"Trouble finds me," Tony replied, but he hugged her back.

Jarvis handed Tony his carry-on with a small smile. "Do try to behave, Master Tony. And if you can't manage that, at least don't get caught."

"Solid advice, Jarvis," Tony said with a grin. "I'll keep that in mind."

As Tony turned to head into the airport, he glanced back once, his smirk fading for just a moment. "See you guys soon."

Howard nodded, his expression unreadable, while Maria waved. Jarvis held the door open for them as they got back into the limo, and the car pulled away, leaving Tony standing on the curb, surrounded by strangers but looking completely at ease.

"MIT," he muttered to himself as he headed inside. "Let's see if you can keep up."

—

The plane was packed, as always, but Tony Stark—being Tony Stark—managed to land himself a seat in first class, naturally. He settled into his plush leather seat with the same swagger as a rockstar stepping on stage. He tossed his bag into the overhead compartment, adjusted his sunglasses, and cracked open a fresh bottle of water, all the while pretending not to notice the appreciative glances he was getting from the other passengers.

But then, he noticed her.

She was sitting next to the window, already engrossed in a book. Long brown hair, hazel eyes that sparkled like something out of a magazine ad, and that smile—oh, that smile—like she knew secrets about the universe but was willing to let you in on them if you played your cards right. Tony couldn't help but admire the view for a moment. She looked like the type of person who could make a boring six-hour flight feel like five minutes, and Tony Stark was always up for a challenge.

He flashed his signature cocky grin, hoping to get her attention. "So, I know this is the best seat on the plane, but I'm still kinda surprised they gave it to you," he said, leaning a bit toward her in that way that only he could pull off—confident but somehow smooth. "I mean, look at me. I'm Tony Stark. You're just, well, you're... you."

She glanced up, her expression unreadable for a second, then smiled. It was a dangerous smile, one that told him she knew exactly who he was but wasn't impressed by the Stark charm. Interesting.

"I'm Cynthia," she said, her voice low and sweet, with just a hint of an accent he couldn't quite place. She extended a hand. "And you're Tony Stark, I know. I've read about you. Your... adventures."

Tony smirked, shaking her hand. "I have many adventures. Some I tell people about. Some, I'm legally required to keep on the down-low. You know how it is."

"Legally required," she mused, tilting her head. "Sounds like fun."

Oh, she was good. Tony was getting all kinds of "playful but dangerous" vibes from her now. His radar for this kind of thing was practically a superpower.

"Fun? You could say that." He leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head as if he owned the entire plane. "So, Cynthia, tell me. Are you on a business trip, or are you just flying away to escape a life full of boring people who don't appreciate your... unique qualities?"

Her lips twitched with amusement, and Tony could see that she wasn't easily rattled. "Something like that," she said cryptically. "I'm... just getting away for a while."

Tony's curiosity piqued, and he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I get it. Sometimes you need to hit the reset button. Maybe see the world from a different perspective. I'm guessing you're not a fan of... well, what most people consider normal?"

Cynthia laughed softly, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she was sizing him up. "You could say that. I'm a... global citizen, I suppose."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Global citizen? Well, that sounds like the kind of title that comes with a backstory. You a diplomat? Some kind of UN hero?"

"I suppose I could tell you, but it might spoil the mystery," she replied with a teasing grin. "And where's the fun in that?"

Tony chuckled, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. He liked a challenge. And this girl? She was definitely a challenge. "Fair enough. You're keeping me on my toes, I'll give you that."

But just as the conversation was starting to get interesting, something about Cynthia shifted. Her eyes, for a split second, darkened in a way that was... unsettling. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Tony's ever-alert instincts picked it up. It was like she'd slipped into a different personality, one that wasn't quite as... warm.

The moment passed, and she smiled again, though it seemed a little more calculated. "I'm sure you have a lot of... stories to tell, Tony Stark. Perhaps, next time we meet, I can hear some of them?"

"Next time?" Tony said, flashing a grin. "Is that an invitation?"

"Oh, I don't know if I'd call it an invitation," Cynthia said smoothly. "More like a... suggestion."

"Well, you just made my day," Tony replied, eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'll be sure to put it in my calendar. But listen, you keep me guessing, I'll keep you entertained. Deal?"

She smiled again, but this time, it was different—almost like she knew something he didn't. "Deal."

Tony leaned back in his seat, letting out a low whistle. "I'll admit, Cynthia, you're a tough one to crack. But hey, I love a good puzzle."

Unbeknownst to him, Cynthia—Sinthea, really—wasn't just any puzzle. She was a ticking time bomb, and Tony Stark had just made himself a very interesting target.

As the plane ascended into the sky, neither of them knew that this meeting was just the beginning of something far more complicated and dangerous than either of them could imagine.

—

Tony spent the next hour chatting with Cynthia, throwing out his usual brand of charm, wit, and more than a few self-deprecating jokes about his overachieving nature. Cynthia, for her part, played the game expertly—just enough intrigue to keep Tony hooked but always pulling back before giving too much away.

She was a master of the verbal chess match, and Tony was loving it. This wasn't the kind of interaction he was used to. Most people were either too impressed or too intimidated by him to keep up. But Cynthia? She was different.

Eventually, their conversation drifted toward lighter topics. Tony mentioned MIT, his latest tech project (a holographic interface he was sure was going to revolutionize communication), and even managed to casually brag about being the youngest student to ever graduate from the university.

Cynthia listened, her responses carefully measured. She even seemed genuinely impressed when Tony explained the intricacies of his newest design, though there was a sharpness in her eyes that suggested she understood far more than she was letting on.

"You're quite... ambitious," she said after a while, her tone neutral.

"Well, I've been called worse," Tony quipped. "But hey, life's too short to play small ball. If you're not aiming for the stars, what's the point?"

Cynthia tilted her head, her gaze lingering on him in a way that felt... almost predatory. "And do you always hit your targets, Tony Stark?"

Tony smirked. "Always. Well, unless it's mini-golf. Don't ask me to putt. It's embarrassing."

She laughed lightly at that, though the humor didn't quite reach her eyes. "It must be exhausting, always striving for perfection."

He shrugged, pretending not to notice the subtle shift in her tone. "Nah, it's not about perfection. It's about the challenge. You know, pushing boundaries, breaking rules... annoying people who say things like, 'That's impossible.'"

Cynthia's smile sharpened. "Yes, I imagine you'd be very good at that."

Something about the way she said it made Tony pause, but before he could analyze it too much, the flight attendant appeared with their meals, breaking the moment.

---

Meanwhile, in the cockpit of the plane, everything seemed routine. The pilots chatted casually about their flight path, unaware that Hydra agents in the ground crew had tampered with their navigation systems before takeoff.

Back in first class, Cynthia—Sinthea, though she'd long since perfected her alias—was mentally cataloging every detail about Tony Stark. His mannerisms, his vulnerabilities, his ego. She'd been trained to exploit such things, and Stark was practically handing her the keys to his psyche on a silver platter.

But her mission wasn't just about observation. Hydra had plans for Tony Stark. Big ones. His brilliance, his arrogance—it made him both a threat and an opportunity.

The real question was whether she'd need to manipulate him directly or simply plant the seeds for someone else to harvest. Either way, Tony Stark was about to become a very important piece in Hydra's long game.

M

---

Tony, of course, had no idea. He was too busy trying to figure out if Cynthia was single without coming across as desperate. "So, what's waiting for you when we land? A boyfriend? A secret identity as a pop star? Or are you just planning on taking the city by storm?"

Cynthia smiled again, the kind of smile that would make anyone feel like they were the center of the universe. "Something like that," she said cryptically.

Tony leaned closer, intrigued. "You know, you're pretty good at dodging questions. Have you considered politics? You'd make a great senator."

She chuckled softly, her eyes gleaming. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Oh, it was. Trust me," Tony replied, flashing another grin.

As the plane began its descent, Tony felt oddly disappointed. For once, he wasn't in a rush to get to his destination. He wasn't done figuring out Cynthia—or enjoying the thrill of trying, anyway.

Little did he know, Cynthia felt the same way. Except for her, it wasn't a game. It was a strategy. And Tony Stark was already playing right into her hands.

As the plane landed, Cynthia adjusted her scarf and gathered her things, her expression cool and composed. "It was nice meeting you, Tony," she said as they prepared to disembark. "Maybe we'll run into each other again sometime."

Tony grinned. "Oh, I wouldn't bet against it. Destiny seems to have a thing for me."

She gave him one last enigmatic smile before disappearing into the crowd, leaving Tony both intrigued and completely unaware of just how close he'd come to walking straight into Hydra's web.

—

Tony strutted out of the airport, his duffle bag slung over one shoulder and his mind still half on the mysterious Cynthia. She was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve, and that never happened. Most people were as easy to figure out as basic circuitry for him—straightforward, predictable. But Cynthia? She was an encrypted code wrapped in a riddle. And Tony Stark loved cracking codes.

"Tony!" a familiar voice called out, cutting through his thoughts.

He turned to see James Rhodes—Rhodey to his friends—leaning against a battered old pickup truck, arms crossed, and wearing an expression that screamed How much trouble did you get into this time?

Rhodey, with his clean-cut demeanor and perpetually responsible attitude, was the exact opposite of Tony in almost every way. Which probably explained why they got along so well.

"Rhodey!" Tony grinned, dropping his bag on the curb and throwing his arms wide. "Miss me?"

"Not even a little," Rhodey deadpanned, though his smirk gave him away. "You know, some of us had normal summers. You? I'm guessing you spent yours blowing something up or hitting on every girl in New York?"

Tony feigned a look of shock. "Why can't it be both? Multitasking, my friend. It's the future."

Rhodey shook his head, already regretting the decision to pick Tony up instead of letting him take a cab. "Get in the truck before I leave you here."

Tony tossed his bag in the back and slid into the passenger seat, immediately fiddling with the truck's old radio. "How do you even drive this thing? It's like a fossil. Does it run on steam power?"

Rhodey swatted his hand away from the dials. "Touch anything, and you're walking to campus."

Tony leaned back with a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But for the record, I could probably rebuild this thing into a fully autonomous vehicle in, like, a weekend."

"Yeah, and then it'd explode two miles down the road because you skipped half the safety checks," Rhodey shot back, pulling onto the highway.

Tony pointed at him. "That only happened once. And I fixed it."

The two of them settled into an easy rhythm, the kind of banter that came from years of friendship. Rhodey was used to Tony's quirks—his ego, his impulsiveness, his tendency to talk like he was auditioning for his own reality show. And Tony knew Rhodey would always call him out when he got too full of himself, which, to be fair, was often.

"So," Rhodey said after a while, glancing at Tony out of the corner of his eye. "You look... distracted. Did something happen on the plane? Did someone finally tell you that wearing sunglasses indoors makes you look like a jerk?"

Tony smirked, adjusting the aforementioned sunglasses. "First of all, these are Ray-Bans. Iconic. Secondly, I might've met someone."

Rhodey groaned. "Here we go."

"No, no, this one was different," Tony insisted. "She wasn't impressed by me. I mean, she was, but not in the usual way. It was like... she was playing a game, and I didn't even know the rules."

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. "And you liked that?"

"Are you kidding? I loved it. She was smart, sharp, gorgeous... and mysterious. Like a Bond villain, but, you know, hotter."

"Tony, I'm begging you, don't date someone who could be an actual villain," Rhodey said, half-joking, half-serious.

Tony waved him off. "Relax. She was probably just shy. Or playing hard to get. Either way, I'm intrigued."

Rhodey rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, try not to let your intrigue get you into trouble, okay? You've got a whole year of classes to focus on. And I'm not bailing you out if you hack the campus network again."

Tony grinned. "No promises."

As they neared campus, Tony leaned his head back against the seat, already planning his next move. Cynthia might have been a mystery, but Tony Stark was nothing if not persistent. And if she was a Bond villain? Well, he'd cross that bridge when he got there. Probably with Rhodey yelling at him the whole way.

—

In the quiet confines of the New York safehouse—a secure, high-tech bunker that Howard Stark would have called homey if not for the slight hum of surveillance equipment—Howard and Lily Potter were hard at work. Their makeshift lab looked like a cross between a mad scientist's lair and a wizard's workshop. It wasn't just cutting-edge; it was bleeding edge, thanks to a mix of Howard's relentless ingenuity and Lily's mastery of magical enchantments.

"Alright," Howard muttered, adjusting his goggles as he leaned over the holographic blueprint of the team's updated gear. "Peggy's shield enhancements are solid. The vibranium-laced edges will handle almost anything Hydra can throw at her. And Bucky's arm—"

"—Isn't going to start misbehaving again, I hope," Lily cut in, her wand flicking toward a nearby rack of weapons. She was double-checking the enchantments she'd placed on them, ensuring that every charm and ward was in perfect alignment. "The last thing we need is his arm deciding it wants to take over mid-mission."

Howard waved her off with a cocky grin. "Relax, Red. That arm is more secure than Fort Knox. I've even added a few surprises—shock pulses, magnetic locks, the works. Hydra won't know what hit them."

James Potter, leaning casually against the doorframe, snorted. "If they do, it's probably because you couldn't resist leaving your name engraved on it somewhere."

"Please," Howard said, looking offended. "I'm not that vain." He hesitated, then added, "It's on the inside. Small. Tasteful."

Sirius Black, perched on a stool with an apple in one hand and a knife in the other, was no help at all. "You're both missing the bigger picture. What's really important is whether you've given me the coolest gear of the lot."

Lily rolled her eyes. "You're getting what you need, Sirius, not what'll make you look like a wizard rock star."

"Who says those things are mutually exclusive?" Sirius quipped, tossing the apple core into a trash bin with a dramatic flick of his wrist.

Lily ignored him and turned back to Howard. "The communication mirrors?"

"Better than ever," Howard said, gesturing to a sleek, hand-held device on the table. It looked like a smartphone but shimmered faintly, as if it were more than it appeared. "Thanks to young Tony's meddling—sorry, genius contributions—these babies now have a holographic interface. Think of it as FaceTime, but cooler. And with enchantments layered on top, courtesy of you, they're unhackable and practically indestructible."

"Practically?" James asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Look, Potter, you want indestructible, talk to Jesus. I'm only human."

"And a very humble one at that," James said with a grin.

Lily waved her wand again, and the mirrors floated into the air before landing gently in their respective slots. "These will do. Everyone on the team gets one, including the handheld version for Rose. I've added a location-tracking charm and emergency portkey function, just in case."

"Smart," Howard said, nodding. "Let's hope they don't need it."

The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of the upcoming mission settling over them.

"So," Sirius said, breaking the silence, "what's in the box you've been so secretive about?"

Howard and Lily exchanged a glance before Howard reached under the table and pulled out a plain-looking journal. He handed it to Lily, who sighed and reluctantly passed it to James and Sirius.

"This," Lily said, her voice low, "is everything we could find on the Siberian facility. Adler's intel, Grindelwald's notes, old SHIELD files—it's all in here. And it's not pretty."

Sirius flipped it open, skimming through the pages, his usual smirk fading. "Cryogenic chambers, brainwashing protocols… This is grim."

James frowned, looking over his shoulder. "Hydra really kept them frozen, all because they couldn't control them? What's the plan if they wake them up?"

"That's why we're sending you guys," Howard said firmly. "If anyone can handle this, it's this team."

Lily nodded, though her expression was tight. "I just hope we're not sending them into something even worse than what we're expecting."

Sirius closed the journal and set it down, his eyes unusually serious. "Don't worry, Lily. Whatever Hydra's got hiding in that frozen hellhole, they're about to wish they'd stayed buried."

Howard grinned. "Now that's the kind of optimism I like to hear."

Lily just shook her head. "Let's hope you're right."

—

In the dim light of the safehouse's armory, Harry stood before the full-length mirror, his reflection a striking mix of danger and mystique. The Revenant Armor gleamed under the flickering overhead light—an intimidating blend of crimson and black, crafted to be as functional as it was menacing. His movements were precise as he secured his wands into the custom-built holsters on his gauntlets. The Oak wand, with its Phoenix Feather core, slipped easily into the left holster, while the Ebony wand with its Dragon Heartstring core found its place on the right.

As he worked, the door creaked open behind him. Natasha Romanoff leaned casually against the frame, her sharp eyes scanning his suit. She tilted her head, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Nice look, Harry. Very 'vengeful ghost of Christmas future.' But tell me, why the wands? I thought your Vibranium claws were already a magician's best friend."

Harry glanced at her reflection in the mirror and smirked under his mask. "The claws are powerful," he said, his voice light but focused. "Think of them as sledgehammers. Great for breaking down walls, terrible for performing delicate surgery. For the kind of magic Adler taught me—subtle enchantments, intricate spellwork—you need finesse. And that's what these are for." He patted the holsters.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, watching as he retrieved the medallion Adler had given him for his birthday. The faintly glowing object seemed to hum with a quiet, otherworldly energy. "Let me guess—Grindelwald's 'reformed' wisdom strikes again?"

Harry chuckled. "Adler. Grindelwald's a chapter of the past, at least for now. This," he held up the medallion, "is supposed to amplify my magical focus. He said it might come in handy one day, so I figured why not make it part of the suit?"

Natasha crossed her arms, her curiosity piqued as Harry placed the medallion over the chestplate of his armor. With a whispered incantation, the medallion shimmered, its light spreading outward until it melted seamlessly into the crimson plating. The magic felt alive, almost breathing as it settled into the armor, enhancing its design and functionality. The armor looked complete now, more than just battle gear—it was an extension of Harry himself.

"Well, that was flashy," Natasha quipped. "But I guess it matches the rest of the getup."

Harry reached for his mask, a sleek black design charmed by Lily to distort his voice. With practiced ease, he slid it over his face, the mask melding perfectly with the hood. He turned to Natasha, the red hood now fully up, and spoke in a voice that sounded deeper, colder, and more commanding than his own. "Flashy is part of the job description. You know that better than anyone."

Natasha smirked but said nothing, her eyes lingering on the armor for a moment longer before stepping back into the hallway. "Come on, Revenant. Time to see if the rest of the team is ready."

As Harry followed her out, he took one last glance at his reflection in the mirror. The Revenant stared back, ready for the mission ahead.

—

The hangar was buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves. The team was gathered around the large cargo plane, their mission to Siberia looming on the horizon. The massive plane sat parked, its engines humming softly, ready for takeoff. The air was thick with the metallic scent of gear and anticipation.

Steve Rogers, clad in his iconic Stars and Stripes shield and matching tactical gear, adjusted his shoulder straps. He turned to Peggy Carter, who stood beside him, her Union Jack shield gleaming under the harsh hangar lights. The two exchanged a glance, admiring the symmetry of their outfits.

"You know," Steve said, a rare grin tugging at his lips, "I always thought it'd be a bit cheesy to have matching gear, but I have to admit... this looks good."

Peggy raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming at the corner of her mouth. "I think the stars and stripes suit you just fine, Steve. But, of course, I do have the superior shield."

"Really?" Steve raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Is that so?"

Before Peggy could reply, Bucky Barnes—dressed in his White Wolf gear—let out an exaggerated sigh and called out, "You two need to get a room. The only thing more nauseating than that display is your constant flirting."

Steve and Peggy shared an amused glance before turning back to their gear. "We'll keep that in mind, Bucky," Steve shot back, but the smile never left his face.

Meanwhile, James Potter and Sirius Black were leaning against a cargo crate, watching the rest of the team and occasionally throwing out jabs. "So, which of us looks better in this gear?" James asked, looking to Lily, Ted, and Andromeda, all of whom were clad in the same high-tech armor. Each piece of gear was perfectly tailored, blending practicality with sleek design, and all three wore the same dark, tactical look—slightly more understated than the others, but no less intimidating.

Ted, raising an eyebrow, shot a playful look at James. "You clearly think you're the one pulling it off, don't you?"

Lily rolled her eyes but smiled. "It's hard to compare when one of you is practically glowing with ego, and the other one has his face covered in scars."

Sirius snorted. "Just admit it, Lily. You all know I'm the best-looking one here."

Lily raised her hand. "If we're talking looks alone, Ted wins the prize. But if we're talking about who can look the least ridiculous while wearing this armor? It's clearly me."

Sirius and James exchanged an exaggerated look of disbelief, but both laughed in good nature.

Across from them, Gideon Adler—now looking far younger than his actual age thanks to the rejuvenating effects of some serious magic—was staring intently at a set of blueprints spread across a table. His tailored suit, made from Vibranium-laced fabric to match the team's gear, gave him an air of sophistication, though it was clearly not meant for fieldwork. He was deep in thought, his mind clearly elsewhere as the chatter around him continued.

"Not even a word on the gear, Adler?" Sirius teased, clearly trying to draw him into the conversation.

Adler didn't even look up from the blueprints, his fingers tracing the lines absently. "My attire is not a topic for debate right now," he replied coolly. "The mission comes first."

James snorted. "Yeah, but that suit's a bit much, don't you think? You're in the middle of a battlefield, not a gala."

Sirius snickered, adding, "What, are you expecting someone to hand you a drink, Adler? Maybe a nice canapè while we're in Siberia?"

Adler finally glanced up, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Unlike some, I don't need to rely on flashy armor or ridiculous comments to keep my focus. But please, feel free to keep making fun of me—it's hardly my first time."

Before the banter could continue, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hangar. All eyes turned to see the Revenant—Harry—step into the room, his crimson armor gleaming under the harsh lights, the red hood casting shadows over his face. Natasha Romanoff was right behind him, her sleek black outfit and signature red hair standing out like a beacon of danger.

Harry's presence was instantly commanding. He moved with the same grace and purpose as the armor he wore, his magic subtly humming in the air around him. As he reached the group, his voice—distorted by the magical charm Lily had placed on his mask—broke the silence. "Ready to take on the world?" he asked, his tone serious but laced with an edge of humor.

"Speak for yourself, kid," Bucky muttered, eyeing the armor with a raised eyebrow. "I'm just here to make sure you don't blow anything up."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bucky," Harry replied, unbothered by the jibe. His eyes flicked toward Adler, then the others, giving each one a nod. "Everyone's prepped?"

"Everything's good to go," Steve confirmed, already moving toward the cargo plane with Peggy by his side. "Let's get this show on the road."

With the team assembled and ready, there was a brief moment of quiet—then the unmistakable sound of the plane's engines roared to life, cutting through the silence like a promise. The mission to Siberia was about to begin.

---

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