Harry Potter: The Revenant

The room was heavy with tension as everyone waited for the Ancient One to explain her presence. With a slow, deliberate movement, she took a step forward, the space around her seeming to hum with a quiet, otherworldly energy. Her calm demeanor contrasted sharply with the urgent curiosity in the eyes of everyone present.

"I am the Sorcerer Supreme," she began, her voice resonating with power and ancient wisdom. "A title that perhaps means little to you, but it is one that carries the responsibility of guarding the Earth from mystical threats—threats that the common world cannot perceive."

James, Lily, and Sirius exchanged confused glances, their wands still raised but their expressions filled with disbelief. James was the first to speak.

"Sorcerer Supreme?" he repeated, his voice tinged with skepticism. "We've never heard of such a title. What are you talking about?"

The Ancient One's lips curled into a small, understanding smile, though there was no mockery in it. "You are wizards. Your world has magic, much like mine, but it is a different form. You wield your magic through wands, incantations, and potions. You live in a world built on a foundation of rules—rules that have been passed down through generations. The world I represent, however, is governed by something else entirely."

Lily stepped forward, a brow furrowed. "But we're magic users. Our power comes from the same source, doesn't it? What's different about your magic?"

The Ancient One's gaze softened. "What you practice is indeed magic, but it is but a fraction of the power that exists in this universe. I am a master of what is called the Mystical Arts. The energy I wield does not come from the natural elements, nor is it tied to the earth in the same way your magic is. My power is drawn from the very fabric of existence—time, space, and the multiverse itself."

Sirius frowned, his stance still tense, though his curiosity was beginning to win out over his suspicion. "So you're telling us that our magic is... limited? That we've been using a kind of cheap imitation?"

The Ancient One's eyes twinkled, though her expression remained serene. "No, not an imitation, Sirius Black. Your magic is incredibly potent, but it is rooted in a particular branch of reality, one that does not encompass the vastness of what exists beyond your understanding. My magic—our magic, the Mystical Arts—exists outside those boundaries, beyond the veil of time and space. I deal with forces that shape realities, manipulate dimensions, and influence fate."

There was a long, heavy silence as her words settled over the group, the weight of her revelations sinking in. Harry, still in his Revenant armor, shifted uncomfortably. He could feel the shift in the atmosphere—the change in the very air around him. He'd dealt with powerful magic before, but this was something else entirely.

"So, what does that mean for me?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with a quiet curiosity.

The Ancient One turned her gaze to him, the faintest of smiles curling her lips. "It means, young Potter, that you have a greater role to play than you realize. You are not simply a wizard. You are something... more. Your abilities, your connection to forces both mystical and cosmic, places you at the center of an event that could have consequences beyond even my understanding."

Harry furrowed his brow. "What event? What do you mean, 'more'?"

The Ancient One's eyes sparkled with an ancient wisdom as she stepped closer to him. "You will understand in time, when you are ready. There is more to your story, more to your power, than you know. And you must learn to harness it—to learn the Mystical Arts."

"Learn the...?" Lily interrupted, her voice filled with concern. "You want Harry to learn your magic? But why? What's so special about him?"

The Ancient One regarded Lily thoughtfully. "It is not just about what he is, but his potential. He is connected to forces beyond the ordinary world and makes him an essential piece of a puzzle that is only now beginning to reveal itself. It is necessary for him to learn how to wield the Mystical Arts so that he can protect not just your world, but countless others."

Harry's thoughts raced, but before he could respond, the Ancient One extended a hand to him, offering a small, intricately carved card. It was embossed with the words 177A Bleecker Street in elegant gold script.

"When you are ready, come to me," she said. "There is much to teach you, and time is of the essence."

With a final, knowing smile, the Ancient One turned and began to walk toward the portal. The room seemed to grow quieter, the energy around her slowly ebbing away. She glanced over her shoulder one last time, her eyes briefly meeting Harry's before she stepped into the golden light.

The portal flickered and began to close behind her, the last of its glow vanishing as if it had never been there. Silence reigned once more, leaving the group to digest the gravity of her words.

"177A Bleecker Street," Harry muttered under his breath, staring at the card in his hand. "I guess I've got some learning to do."

Sirius let out a long breath, his face a mix of confusion and awe. "Well, that was... something. What now?"

Steve Rogers, still looking at the spot where the Ancient One had stood, shook his head slowly. "I don't know about you guys, but I think we've just had a very strange visit from someone with a lot more power than we can even begin to understand."

Bucky, his vibranium arm resting once more on the table, grunted. "Yeah, 'strange' is definitely one way to put it."

The room was heavy with questions, the weight of uncertainty hanging in the air, but Harry, now holding the card in his hand, knew one thing for sure: his journey was far from over.

—

The silence following the Ancient One's departure stretched long and heavy, as if the air itself was weighing on the group. Harry sat at the table, turning the card over and over in his fingers, his brow furrowed in deep thought. The others remained scattered around the room, exchanging uneasy glances but saying little. Finally, it was Steve who broke the silence.

"She said you're connected to forces beyond this world." His voice was measured, but his gaze was direct, resting on Harry. "You have any idea what she meant by that?"

Harry shrugged, still staring at the card. "Not a clue. I mean, I've dealt with plenty of weird stuff—getting Vibranium claws, the whole becoming a Super Soldier nonsense—but this? This is new territory."

"New territory is an understatement," Natasha muttered, holstering her pistol. "We've faced hydra agents, and even dark wizards, but this feels... bigger."

"Bigger, yes," Lily interjected, her tone sharp with unease. "But why Harry? Why is it always him? Why does it always have to be him?"

James placed a comforting hand on her shoulder but said nothing, his own face clouded with worry.

"It's his destiny, isn't it?" Peggy said quietly, her voice thoughtful. "If what she said is true, then perhaps this was always meant to be."

"Destiny is overrated," Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "I don't like this whole 'center of it all' nonsense. It's always a bloody trap."

Harry sighed, finally setting the card down. "Trap or not, she didn't seem like she was lying. And let's be honest—if there's something I can learn that'll help protect all of you, I have to at least consider it."

Before anyone could respond, a slow clap echoed from the shadows of the room. The group turned sharply, hands moving to weapons or wands as a figure stepped into the dim light. He was tall and elegant, his sharp features framed by neatly styled blonde hair. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with amusement, though there was a quiet warmth in his expression as he looked at Harry.

"Bravo, Harry," the man said, his voice rich and smooth. "Spoken like a true Gryffindor. Always ready to dive into danger, even when you don't understand what's waiting on the other side."

"Gideon," Harry said, relaxing slightly. "You were eavesdropping?"

"Observing," Gideon Adler—formerly Gellert Grindelwald—corrected with a sly smile. "And what a fascinating show it was. The Ancient One, here in your safe house? I didn't think I'd live to see the day."

James and Sirius exchanged stunned looks, wands still raised. James's voice was sharp when he spoke. "Hold on a minute. You know her?"

"Oh, yes," Gideon said casually, taking a seat at the edge of the table as if he owned the place. "I've had... encounters with the Sorcerer Supreme before. Albus and I both, in fact."

"Dumbledore?" Sirius demanded, his disbelief clear. "What does he have to do with this?"

Gideon's smile turned wry, and he tilted his head as if debating how much to reveal. "Let's just say Albus and I were once... close. And the Ancient One, well, she didn't approve of some of our earlier... activities."

James frowned, lowering his wand slightly. "What kind of activities?"

Gideon's gaze flicked to Harry, a hint of sorrow in his eyes. "The kind that nearly tore the world apart. Albus and I were young, brilliant, and foolish. We dreamed of reshaping reality, of breaking the very rules that bind magic—and the Ancient One intervened before we could succeed."

Lily narrowed her eyes, her voice icy. "Are you saying you and Dumbledore were working together? That you were friends?"

"Friends," Gideon said softly, his expression turning bittersweet. "Lovers, perhaps, though Albus would never admit it outright. Our bond was... complicated."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Sirius looked as though someone had hit him with a Stunning Spell, and James seemed equally stunned.

"Dumbledore and Grindelwald," Sirius muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is insane."

Peggy, who had remained quiet, spoke up, her voice measured. "That explains why the Ancient One intervened. She saw the potential for disaster in your partnership."

"Exactly," Gideon said, nodding. "And she wasn't wrong. Albus and I were dangerous together. But that's ancient history." He turned his attention back to Harry, his tone softening. "What matters now is your future, Harry. The Ancient One wouldn't have come to you unless she saw something extraordinary in you. And she's right—you should learn the Mystical Arts."

Harry frowned. "Why are you so sure?"

"Because I know what you're capable of," Gideon said simply. "I trained you myself, remember? I saw the raw potential in you even when Hydra tried to twist it to their own ends. And I'm telling you, Harry—learning from the Sorcerer Supreme could make you unstoppable."

Natasha crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "And we're just supposed to trust your judgment?"

"I don't care if you trust me," Gideon said with a shrug. "I care about Harry. And if learning the Mystical Arts will keep him alive, then I'll do whatever it takes to push him in that direction."

Harry met Gideon's gaze, searching for any hint of deception. He found none. For all his flaws and his shadowed past, Gideon had always been honest with him.

"Alright," Harry said finally, his voice steady. "I'll think about it."

"Good," Gideon said with a satisfied nod. "Just remember, Harry—the Ancient One doesn't offer her tutelage lightly. If you choose this path, it won't be easy. But it will be worth it."

With that, Gideon leaned back into the shadows, his presence still lingering even as he disappeared from view. The room fell silent once more, though the tension was now accompanied by a sense of inevitability. Harry looked down at the card in his hand, the words 177A Bleecker Street gleaming faintly in the dim light.

"I guess I've got a lot to think about," he said quietly.

And for the first time in a long while, he wasn't entirely sure what his next step would be.

—

Harry stood in his room, towel draped around his neck, his damp hair falling into his eyes. The hot shower had done little to untangle the thoughts swirling in his mind. The Ancient One's cryptic words echoed in his head, Gideon's revelations added fuel to the fire, and the weight of his choices felt heavier than ever. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the card in his hand as if it might reveal more if he just stared hard enough.

A sharp knock at the door snapped him out of his reverie.

He frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was late, and most of the team would either be asleep or deeply absorbed in their own post-mission routines. Rising, he crossed the room and opened the door.

There stood Natasha, leaning casually against the doorframe. She was out of her tactical suit, dressed in simple black sweatpants and a loose-fitting T-shirt, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her expression was neutral, but the faint arch of her eyebrow betrayed a hint of amusement.

"You've got that look," she said, her voice low but tinged with a knowing edge.

Harry blinked. "What look?"

"The brooding one," she replied, stepping past him into the room without waiting for an invitation. "The one that screams, 'I'm overthinking everything and probably blaming myself for half of it.'"

Harry sighed, shutting the door behind her. "I'm fine, Natasha."

"Sure you are," she said, perching on the edge of the desk and crossing her arms. "That's why you've been up here alone since dinner, staring at that card like it holds all the answers to life."

He glanced down at the card in his hand, then set it on the nightstand. "It's a lot to process. I just needed some time to think."

Natasha tilted her head, studying him with her sharp, piercing gaze. "You're not thinking. You're stewing. Big difference."

Harry chuckled softly, despite himself. "You always know how to call me out, don't you?"

"It's a gift," she said with a smirk. Her tone softened slightly as she added, "Look, I get it. You've had one hell of a day—Ancient Ones, cryptic prophecies, revelations about your pseudo-grandfather's sordid past... It's a lot."

Harry leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. "It's not just that. It's... everything. I've spent my whole life being told I'm special, that I have some grand destiny. And every time, it comes with a cost—people I care about getting hurt, or worse. What if this is just more of the same?"

Natasha's smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more empathetic. "I won't lie to you, Harry. It probably is. But you're not the same abused kid who was taken by Hydra to be made into their weapon. You've been through hell and come out the other side stronger. And you've got something now you didn't have then."

"What's that?" he asked, his tone skeptical.

She gestured around the room. "Us. This team. We're not going to let you face this alone."

Harry looked at her, his expression softening. "You always know what to say, don't you?"

"Again, gift," Natasha said with a shrug. Then she grinned. "Plus, I've got a lot of experience dealing with guys like you. Brooders are kind of my specialty."

Harry laughed, the sound lightening the tension in the room. "Thanks, Nat. I mean it."

She stood, patting his shoulder as she headed for the door. "Anytime. Now, try to get some sleep. The world-ending nonsense can wait until morning."

As she reached the door, she paused and glanced back at him. "And Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not alone in this. Remember that."

With that, she left, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. Harry stood there for a moment, her words echoing in his mind. For the first time in hours, the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter.

He turned back to the card on the nightstand, picking it up once more. "177A Bleecker Street," he murmured, his grip tightening slightly.

"Not yet," he said softly to himself. "But maybe soon."

—

Howard Stark was slumped over his workstation, the dim light of the screens casting shadows under his tired eyes. The man who once could charm a room in seconds now looked like he'd been wrung out by a particularly vengeful Hydra agent. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loosened, and a tower of empty coffee cups sat precariously to one side of his desk. The clattering of keys was the only sound in the room, broken occasionally by Howard's muttering.

"Come on, you Hydra bastards... you're not smarter than me," he grumbled, his voice scratchy from hours of disuse. "Just give me a crack. One little—ah, damn it!"

The door creaked open, and Peggy Carter stepped in, balancing a tray with more coffee and a plate of sandwiches. Her sharp gaze softened as she took in Howard's haggard state, though her tone remained brisk.

"Howard, you look like death warmed over," she said, setting the tray down on a clear patch of his desk.

He didn't even look up. "Thanks for the compliment, Peg. Real morale booster."

Peggy rolled her eyes and placed a steaming cup of coffee next to his keyboard. "Eat something. Drink this. You're no good to anyone if you collapse before we get through this Hydra mess."

Howard finally leaned back, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "I'll sleep when I'm dead." He reached for the coffee, sipping it with a groan of appreciation. "Still the best, Peg. Don't know how you do it."

She smirked. "Years of practice. Now, what have you found?"

He pointed to the screens, where layers of decrypted text were slowly forming into readable files. "I'm getting there. Cracked the names, but I'm looking for context. Connections, proof, the whole shebang. Without it, we're just making a hit list, and I'd rather not play Hydra's game."

Peggy nodded, pulling a chair over to sit beside him. "Good. We'll need something concrete to bring them down." She paused, a hint of hesitation in her expression. "Speaking of surprises, you missed quite the show yesterday."

Howard raised an eyebrow, his exhaustion momentarily replaced by curiosity. "What kind of show?"

Peggy took a deep breath. "Apparently, magic as we know it isn't the whole story. There are wizards—like Harry, Lily, and Sirius—and then there are sorcerers. The kind that manipulate reality itself. We had a visit from their... leader, I suppose you'd call her. The Ancient One."

Howard blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he processed her words. "Wait. What? Sorcerers? As in more magic? Harry's lot wasn't enough?"

Peggy sighed. "I didn't believe it either until I saw her. She made portals appear out of thin air, Howard. She knew things about us, about Hydra, that no one should know. And she implied that Harry might need to learn their... Mystic Arts to stand a chance against what's coming."

Howard shook his head, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Mystic Arts? How's that different from the wand-waving Harry does?"

"That's what I asked her," Peggy admitted. "Apparently, wizards channel magic through their wands or innate talents. Sorcerers manipulate the very fabric of reality—time, space, dimensions. It's... bigger. More dangerous."

Howard let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. "Well, that's just great. As if Hydra, super soldiers, and secret agents weren't enough, now we've got reality-bending sorcerers to worry about."

Peggy gave him a wry smile. "It's a lot to take in, I know. But she seemed... on our side. For now."

Howard rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath. "Next thing you're gonna tell me is that Hydra's got their own sorcerers."

Peggy's smile faded slightly. "I wouldn't rule it out."

Howard groaned, draining the rest of his coffee. "Fantastic. Just what I needed to hear. Alright, back to work. If Hydra's got magic on their side, we're going to need every advantage we can get."

Peggy reached out, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Howard, take a break. Even you can't outpace a war without rest."

He gave her a half-smile, though his eyes still held a flicker of defiance. "After I crack the next layer. Promise."

She nodded, knowing better than to push further. As she stood, she added softly, "We'll get through this, Howard. Together."

As the door clicked shut behind her, Howard turned back to his screens, her words echoing in his mind. Together. For the first time in hours, he allowed himself a faint smile before diving back into the tangled web of Hydra's secrets.

—

The early morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting long, lazy shadows across the room. Harry stirred, blinking against the soft glow of sunlight. His mind was a haze of lingering thoughts from the previous night—Natasha's words, the cryptic prophecies from the Ancient One, and the unsettling revelations from Gideon. The card, the one with the mysterious address of 177A Bleecker Street, still sat on his nightstand, almost taunting him with its unanswered questions. But despite the heaviness that still clung to him, he managed to drag himself from the bed.

He rubbed the back of his neck, groaning slightly as he shuffled toward the bathroom, the lingering tiredness from the previous night still hanging over him. A hot shower helped clear the fog in his head, but it did little to untangle the web of thoughts racing through his mind. As he stepped out of the bathroom, the quiet hum of the house hit him—a far cry from the chaos he had become so used to. Howard must have still been down in the workshop tinkering with some gadget, but the rest of the house seemed still, save for the sounds of the kitchen.

Harry made his way downstairs, drawn by the comforting aroma of coffee. He stepped into the dining room and froze for a second. His parents, James and Lily, were already sitting at the table, mugs of coffee in hand, with a plate of toast and eggs in front of each of them. And sitting beside them, leaning back with his usual cocky grin, was Sirius. It was an almost surreal moment—a quiet morning with his family, something he hadn't experienced in a long time.

Lily looked up as Harry entered, her expression softening. "Morning, Harry. Sleep well?"

Harry rubbed his eyes, sitting down and grabbing a cup of coffee. "Yeah, well enough. Could have used a few more hours though."

Sirius snorted, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "You're young, kid. You'll learn to function on caffeine and adrenaline. That's basically what keeps me alive at this point."

James grinned, leaning over to ruffle Harry's hair, a familiar gesture that made Harry smile despite himself. "He's not wrong. It's a necessary life skill."

"Must be," Harry said, finally taking a sip from his mug. He looked at them all for a moment—his parents and Sirius, all gathered around him, as if this moment of peace was normal, part of the everyday fabric of their lives. It wasn't, but he didn't mind pretending for a bit longer.

Lily caught his gaze and set her coffee down, her eyes narrowing in concern. "You've been quiet this morning. What's on your mind?"

Harry hesitated, staring into his cup for a moment before setting it down on the table. He didn't want to burden them with all the swirling thoughts in his head, but something about being with them felt… grounding. He could be honest here, with them. "It's just everything, I guess. The Ancient One's cryptic words, the whole Gideon situation, Hydra, the mission… It's a lot. I feel like I'm on the verge of something big, something that's going to change everything. And I can't shake the feeling that whatever happens next, it's going to hurt people I care about."

Sirius leaned forward, his usual easygoing manner replaced with a serious intensity Harry didn't see often. "Kid, you've got a habit of worrying about everyone but yourself. You're not the same child who got thrust into this mess. You've been through hell, and you came out stronger. Yeah, there's always some new threat on the horizon, but you've got more than just us to rely on now."

James chuckled, his voice light but full of meaning. "He's right, Harry. You've got this team—this family—who's got your back. And not just us, but the people who've been there with you, too. The people who trust you."

Harry's gaze softened, and for a brief moment, he was reminded of the bond they all shared. "I know. I just... I don't want to let anyone down. I'm trying to be the hero, the one who saves the day, but it seems like there's always a price. People I love will be bound to get hurt, or worse."

Sirius gave him a knowing look, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. "Listen, kid, being the hero's a lot of weight to carry. Hell, I'm still learning that lesson myself. But you've got something that makes all the difference—this team. These people who aren't going anywhere. If that doesn't give you some peace of mind, I don't know what will."

James raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Sirius is just mad because he knows if anything happens to you, I'll be the one who has to clean up the mess. He'll just be the one cracking jokes from the sidelines."

Sirius chuckled, flicking his fork toward James in mock annoyance. "Yeah, yeah, Prongs. You're the 'responsible' one. But let's be real, you're only that way when it comes to Harry and Rose. The rest of the time, you're a mess."

Lily shook her head, a fond smile on her face as she reached across the table to touch Harry's hand. "Boys. Honestly." She turned back to Harry, her expression turning more serious. "What your father and Sirius are trying to say, Harry, is that you're not alone in this. You've got us, and we're not going anywhere."

Harry felt a lump form in his throat. He didn't deserve this—this unwavering support, this love that felt like an anchor. His mind wanted to argue, to find some way to push them away, but his heart knew better. They weren't going anywhere. And for once, he allowed himself to feel that sense of comfort, of belonging.

"Thanks, Mum," he murmured, his voice thick. He cleared his throat. "I just... I keep thinking about the card." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the mysterious piece of paper, showing it to them. "The address. 177A Bleecker Street. There's something there, something important. I can feel it."

Sirius leaned forward, a familiar gleam in his eyes. "Sounds like a place where things get weird. I like it."

James raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like something out of one of those detective novels you keep trying to read, huh, Padfoot?"

"Exactly!" Sirius said, grinning. "But seriously, Harry, this isn't a road you walk alone. When the time comes, you'll have us by your side. I've seen you fight. You've got more fight in you than anyone I know. And we'll be there to help you win."

Harry smiled at his godfather, his heart swelling with affection. "Thanks, Sirius. I mean it."

"Anytime, kid," Sirius said, his grin returning to its usual mischievous flair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm about to drink my body weight in coffee before we get into any more world-ending business."

James chuckled. "And after that, I'm sure you'll find some way to mock me for the next few hours."

Lily smiled, shaking her head in amusement. "I don't know how you two made it this far without getting arrested."

Harry chuckled softly, the tension finally starting to lift from his shoulders. He hadn't realized how much he needed this—this normalcy, this connection to the people who loved him unconditionally. For the first time in days, he felt like he wasn't carrying the weight of the world alone.

As they continued to chat, Harry's thoughts drifted once more to the mysterious address in his pocket. 177A Bleecker Street. He wasn't ready for what it might mean, but he knew he would face it when the time came.

And when that time arrived, he wouldn't be alone. Not now, not ever.

—

The quiet hum of magic permeated the air at 177A Bleecker Street, an ever-present thrum that felt alive, pulsing gently through the stone walls and intricately carved wooden furniture. The Sanctum Sanctorum was still, save for the faint crackle of a floating brazier illuminating the vast, dimly lit chamber.

Wong stood by one of the many bookshelves, his hands clasped behind his back. His usually stern face bore a trace of uncertainty as he turned his gaze toward The Ancient One, who sat cross-legged on a rug in the center of the room. A teapot floated beside her, steam rising lazily from its spout, as she poured herself a small cup.

He hesitated, then spoke, his tone as measured as ever. "Do you think he'll come?"

The Ancient One tilted her head slightly, her expression serene, though her eyes glimmered with the knowing amusement that so often accompanied her words. She set the teacup down carefully, the delicate porcelain making the faintest of clinks against the saucer. "Harry Potter is many things," she said at last, her voice calm yet enigmatic, "but predictable is not one of them."

Wong frowned, stepping closer. "With respect, you sent him the invitation yourself. You must have an idea of how he'll respond."

She smiled faintly, her head tilting to the side as if considering his words. "An invitation is not the same as a demand, Wong. Harry must choose to come here of his own accord, not because he feels he must, but because he desires to understand."

Wong folded his arms, his tone growing skeptical. "He's already carrying more burdens than anyone should. Adding this to his path—it might tip the balance."

The Ancient One looked up at him, her gaze piercing yet calm. "And yet, it is often the weight of our burdens that reveals who we truly are. Harry is a thread in the great tapestry of fate, but it is his choices that determine the pattern." She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "The question is not whether he will come, but whether he is ready."

Wong sighed, shaking his head. "Cryptic as ever."

Her lips curved upward in a smile that was almost playful. "You would not wish me any other way."

He exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, but close enough. "Fair point." His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced toward the window, where the early morning light spilled into the room. "If he does come, will you tell him everything?"

The Ancient One picked up her teacup again, cradling it in her hands as though the warmth held answers only she could see. "Truth is a matter of perspective, Wong. I will tell him what he needs to know, but not a moment sooner."

Wong raised an eyebrow. "And what happens if he refuses? If he decides he's had enough of destiny and walks away?"

The Ancient One's gaze turned distant, as if looking through time itself. "Then he will have made a choice, and the world will shift to accommodate it. Harry Potter's path is his own to walk, whether it leads here or elsewhere. But..." She set the teacup down again, her eyes flickering with an almost imperceptible flicker of mischief. "The winds of magic have a way of guiding even the most reluctant travelers to where they are meant to be."

Wong huffed softly, turning back toward the bookshelf. "I'll never get used to how you always manage to answer without answering."

"That," she said with a serene smile, "is the privilege of perspective."

A comfortable silence settled over the room as Wong resumed organizing the shelves. The Ancient One closed her eyes, her hands resting lightly on her knees as she meditated.

Far away, a young man stared at the same address on a card, his mind swirling with uncertainty, questions, and the faintest flicker of curiosity.

The threads of fate were moving, as they always did. Whether Harry would grasp them or not, only time would tell.

---

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