Harry Potter: The Revenant

The SHIELD cargo plane taxied to a halt on the private airstrip under the watchful gaze of the ever-paranoid Alastor Moody. Standing at the edge of the open cargo ramp, Moody surveyed the surroundings, his magical eye spinning in its socket while his normal one squinted suspiciously at the figures waiting for him on the tarmac.

Two men stood near a SHIELD jeep, their casual stances betraying the unmistakable confidence of those who'd seen more than their fair share of battles. Moody recognized them instantly, though he double-checked anyway—because Constant Vigilance wasn't just a motto; it was a way of life.

"James Potter and Sirius Black," he muttered to himself, his lips curling into a grimace. "What in Merlin's name are they doing here?"

He'd read about them in the Daily Prophet, of course. The articles had been almost too ludicrous to believe—James and Lily Potter waking from a five-year magical coma, Sirius Black exonerated of betraying the Potters and cleared of murdering Peter Pettigrew. Moody had dismissed most of the details as Ministry propaganda, but there were enough kernels of truth for his sharp mind to piece together the gist.

As the ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss, Moody stomped down to the tarmac, his staff clicking against the metal floor. His magical eye locked onto James first, scanning him from his wild, greying hair to his scuffed boots. "Potter," he barked, his gruff voice carrying across the open space, "you look like you've been dragged backward through a dragon's nest. And Black..." His gaze snapped to Sirius, whose trademark smirk was already firmly in place. "Still managing to be an insufferable git, I see."

Sirius clutched his chest in mock offense. "Alastor, you wound me! Here I was, hoping for a warm reunion, and all I get is verbal abuse. And after all these years."

Moody's good eye narrowed as his magical one swiveled rapidly, as if expecting Sirius to pull a prank out of thin air. "If you think I'm letting my guard down for even a second, Black, you're madder than I thought. And you, Potter—" He pointed his staff accusingly at James. "What in the name of Merlin's spotted pajamas are you two doing here? Shouldn't you be... I don't know, recovering from your coma or something equally sensible?"

James chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair in that infuriatingly casual way of his. "Good to see you too, Moody. And no, I'm not exactly the 'rest and recover' type. You know that."

"And neither am I," Sirius added, stepping forward with a theatrical flourish. "Though I hear Azkaban is great for working on your patience. And your tolerance for dementor roommates."

Moody grunted, his magical eye swiveling again. "So the Daily Prophet wasn't spewing complete rubbish for once. You're really back. Both of you."

"Surprise," James said dryly. "And before you ask, yes, Lily's back too. Fully recovered, and as sharp as ever."

"Sharper," Sirius added with a grin. "She's already made me apologize about fifty times for things I don't even remember doing."

"Good," Moody growled, though his tone softened slightly. "The lot of you gave us all a bloody heart attack back then. And Black—don't think I've forgotten how much of a nuisance you were as my Auror recruit."

"Ah, those were the days," Sirius said with mock nostalgia. "Dodging hexes, causing mayhem, driving you to the brink of madness."

James smirked. "To be fair, Moody, you did hex him a few times. And I'm pretty sure you enjoyed it."

"I did," Moody admitted without hesitation. "And I'd do it again, given half a reason."

Gideon Adler, who had been standing slightly behind Moody, finally decided to intervene. He stepped forward with his usual calm, calculated demeanor. "Alastor, James and Sirius are part of the team we've assembled for this operation. As is Lily."

Moody's magical eye stopped spinning for a moment, fixing Adler with an intense glare. "You're telling me these two clowns—" he jabbed his staff in James and Sirius's direction—"are on the team? Along with Lily?"

Adler nodded, his expression unwavering. "Indeed. Given their experience and skills, they are invaluable assets. James and Sirius were among the best Aurors in your program, were they not?"

"Best?" Moody huffed, turning back to James and Sirius. "They were insubordinate, reckless, and a bloody headache. But I'll give them this—they were effective. And Potter's wife—she's got a brain sharper than any blade. If she's in, I'll trust her judgment. Not sure I can say the same for these two."

James grinned. "Don't worry, Alastor. We've matured. Well, mostly."

"Speak for yourself," Sirius quipped. "I'm still the same charming rogue I've always been."

Moody rolled his eyes. "Merlin help us all."

"Don't worry, Moody," James said with a smirk. "We'll behave... mostly."

Adler clapped his hands together, signaling it was time to move on. "If we're finished catching up, the safehouse awaits. We've much to discuss, and I'm sure Alastor will feel better once we're behind wards and shields."

Moody grunted again, his magical eye already scanning the horizon for potential threats. "Fine. But if anything goes sideways, don't expect me to say I didn't warn you."

As they climbed into the waiting vehicles, Sirius leaned over to James, whispering just loud enough for Moody to hear, "He's missed us, hasn't he?"

James chuckled. "Oh, definitely. But don't push your luck."

Moody, overhearing, barked out, "Constant Vigilance, Black! That includes shutting your trap!"

Sirius just grinned wider, and the convoy rumbled off the tarmac, leaving behind only the faint echo of Moody's grumbling. Whatever lay ahead, it was clear the team was in for an adventure.

—

The jeep pulled up to the nondescript safehouse nestled in the New York countryside, its surroundings quiet save for the distant hum of cicadas. Moody, ever vigilant, was already scanning the perimeter, his magical eye spinning wildly in its socket while his wand hand twitched reflexively. He stepped out of the vehicle, staff in hand, boots crunching against the gravel driveway.

The house itself was nothing special to look at—a two-story structure that seemed more suited for a suburban family than an elite team of operatives. But Moody knew better than to judge a book by its cover, and the faint hum of layered wards tingled against his magical senses.

"Good wards," Moody muttered approvingly, though his tone was begrudging. "Complex, but solid. Looks like you didn't half-arse it, Potter."

James smirked as he hopped out of the jeep, Sirius following closely behind. "We learned from the best, Moody. You think I'd risk my family with anything less?"

"Good to know you can still think," Moody grunted, hobbling toward the front door with his staff tapping the ground rhythmically. His magical eye flicked to Adler as he followed. "So what's the bloody story here? I'm assuming the big reveal hasn't hit yet, given the smirks these two have been throwing my way."

Adler gave a polite, unreadable smile. "I think you'll find the answer inside, Alastor. We've made... additions to the team. Necessary ones."

Moody grumbled under his breath, his hand tightening on his staff. "I don't like surprises, Adler. Not since that fiasco in '47. I trust you remember."

"Oh, I remember," Adler replied smoothly. "But this is a pleasant surprise, I assure you."

Moody gave a noncommittal grunt but said no more as Sirius pushed open the door. "After you, Moody. Prepare yourself."

"If this is a joke, Black, I swear—" Moody began, but his words caught in his throat as his magical eye whirled wildly. The room before him was spacious yet unassuming, with a few couches and tables scattered about. But it wasn't the decor that caught his attention.

It was the people.

Standing near the center of the room was Lily Potter, her fiery red hair tied back, looking every bit the youngest-ever recruit to the Department of Mysteries that Moody remembered. But beside her stood three figures that made him stop in his tracks.

"Bloody hell," Moody muttered, his wand arm instinctively lowering just a fraction. His magical eye locked onto the man in the crisp blue tactical armor with the white star emblazoned across his chest. There was no mistaking him—the jawline, the shield resting casually by his side. "Steve Rogers."

"Captain America," James said with a grin, crossing his arms. "Well, technically both are correct."

Steve stepped forward, his hand outstretched, a warm smile on his face. "Alastor. It's been a while."

Moody stared for a moment before finally grasping Steve's hand in his gnarled one. "You haven't aged a bloody day," he muttered, his eyes darting to Steve's face and then to the metal shield. "Still playing the hero, I see."

"Old habits die hard," Steve said with a chuckle. "Good to see you again, Moody."

"Good to see him," Sirius whispered to James. "Though I'm sure he's seeing him with that magical eye of his in ways we can't imagine."

James smirked. "Bet he's trying to figure out how much of Rogers is enhanced and how much is just dumb luck."

Moody ignored them, his magical eye swiveling to the man standing just to Steve's right. His brow furrowed as he took in the long dark hair, the faint scarring on his face, and—most prominently—the metallic arm glinting under the room's light. "Bucky Barnes," he muttered, his tone laced with equal parts surprise and suspicion.

Bucky shifted awkwardly but nodded. "Yeah. Most people call me the White Wolf these days."

"I don't care what they call you," Moody barked. "You've got a bloody metal arm, lad. What happened to you?"

Bucky's expression darkened, but before he could reply, Steve stepped in. "Long story. Let's just say he's back on the right side of things now."

"Hmm," Moody said, his magical eye sweeping over Bucky's arm. "We'll see about that."

"And what about me?" came a voice, crisp and confident. Moody turned, his good eye widening just slightly at the sight of the woman stepping forward, her posture as impeccable as ever. "Surely you haven't forgotten me, Alastor."

"Peggy Carter," Moody said, his tone softening just a fraction as he took in her sharp suit and no-nonsense expression. She looked every bit the fearless operative he remembered, though there was a subtle shift in her stance—something lighter, freer. "Still barking orders, I assume?"

"Only when it's necessary," Peggy replied, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Though from what I hear, you've been doing plenty of that yourself."

Moody let out a low chuckle, surprising even himself. "Not as much as I used to. Takes too much energy these days."

Peggy stepped closer, her eyes flicking to his magical one. "You look... different. But the same where it counts."

"That's what happens when you lose half your bloody body parts," Moody replied gruffly. "And what about you lot? How in Merlin's name do you look the same as you did in '45?"

Peggy's smile faltered slightly, but Adler stepped in smoothly. "That's part of the briefing, Alastor. Suffice it to say, certain factors have allowed them to remain in peak condition. They're invaluable to the mission."

Moody's magical eye swiveled to Adler, narrowing slightly. "You're being cagey, Adler."

"And you've always been suspicious," Adler replied, his voice calm but firm. "It's why I wanted you here."

Moody grunted, turning his attention back to the trio before him. "So, you're telling me that Captain America, his metal-armed pal, and the lady who could out-strategize half the Ministry are part of this little... team of yours?"

"That's right," Steve said, his tone earnest. "We're here to help. Just like we did before."

"Before," Moody repeated, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief. "Bloody hell. I don't know whether to feel reassured or concerned. But knowing my luck, probably both."

Sirius clapped Moody on the shoulder, his grin as wide as ever. "Relax, Moody. With this lot, we're practically unstoppable."

"That's what you said the last time," Moody muttered, his good eye narrowing at Sirius. "And look how that turned out."

The room fell silent for a moment before Bucky broke it with a wry smile. "He's not wrong."

Moody sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. Let's get on with it. But don't expect me to start trusting anyone just because they look heroic." His magical eye swiveled to Adler again, lingering for a moment. "I'll be watching. All of you."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Steve said with a nod, his voice steady.

Peggy smiled faintly. "Welcome to the team, Alastor. It's good to have you back in the fight."

Moody snorted. "Fight's never stopped, Carter. Just changes the battlegrounds." With that, he stomped toward the nearest chair, his staff tapping against the floor as he muttered to himself, "Unbelievable. Captain America, a bloody wizard war, and me in the middle of it. Just like old times."

—

Moody sat heavily in a chair that had clearly been reinforced with some sort of magic—or Vibranium, if the way it didn't creak under his bulk was anything to go by. His magical eye whirred, flicking between the photographs spread out on the table and the faces of the room's occupants. It was a lot to take in, even for someone as seasoned and cynical as Alastor Moody.

James leaned forward, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a rare seriousness that Moody had only seen during his Auror training days. "I know it's a lot to process, Moody, but we needed you to hear it all. No half-truths."

Moody grunted, leaning on his staff. "You're damn right it's a lot. You're telling me your boy—the kid we all thought died last year—is alive, kidnapped by bloody Hydra of all people, and... that happened to him?" He jabbed a finger at one of the photographs, a grainy image of a towering, muscular figure that looked like it had stepped out of a nightmare. "And you're calling that your six-year-old son?"

James's jaw clenched, but it was Lily who spoke, her voice steady despite the faint tremor beneath it. "Yes, Alastor. That's Harry. Hydra experimented on him. They... they injected him with the Super Soldier Serum, spliced his DNA with something—or someone—called Weapon X, and coated his skeleton with Vibranium." Her hands tightened into fists. "They were turning him into their weapon."

Moody's magical eye swiveled toward Adler, who stood off to the side, arms folded, his expression unreadable. "And you—this descendant of Grindelwald nonsense—decided to grow a conscience and help the lad?" His good eye narrowed. "Or is there more to this story than you're letting on?"

Adler's lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. "You always were a sharp one, Alastor." He straightened, his gaze meeting Moody's directly. "I won't insult your intelligence. I'm not a descendant of Gellert Grindelwald. I am Gellert Grindelwald."

The room fell silent. Moody's grip on his staff tightened, the wood creaking under his fingers. "You're telling me... you broke out of Nurmengard, and now you're playing the bloody hero? Forgive me if I don't start clapping."

Sirius, leaning casually against the wall, chimed in, "Yeah, that was about my reaction too. But turns out, he's not the same Grindelwald we all grew up fearing. He's... well, different now." His smirk softened into something resembling sincerity. "And he saved Harry."

"Saved him," Moody repeated, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You're telling me Grindelwald—the Grindelwald—grew a bloody conscience and decided to help Shield rescue a six-year-old boy from Hydra?"

"It's true," Peggy said, her voice calm but firm. "And he didn't just help rescue Harry. He helped rescue Bucky as well." She glanced at Barnes, who had remained silent, his metal arm resting on the table.

Moody's magical eye whirred, locking onto Bucky. "So you're telling me Hydra did to you what they were planning to do to the Potter boy? Turned you into a puppet?"

"Yeah," Bucky said quietly, his voice rough. "For a long time, I was their puppet. But I'm free now. Thanks to him." He nodded toward Adler, his expression conflicted but sincere.

Moody leaned back in his chair, his magical eye darting between them all. "So let me get this straight. Grindelwald—sorry, Adler—gets a conscience, teams up with this Black Widow I've heard whispers about, and helps Shield rescue Harry and Barnes here. Meanwhile, your boy's been turned into a bloody magical Super Soldier, and you're telling me he's not even here because he's off doing something 'important.'" He snorted. "You expect me to buy all this?"

"We're not asking you to buy it, Moody," Steve said, stepping forward, his voice steady and authoritative. "We're asking you to be part of the solution. Harry's been through hell, and so has his family. We're working to stop Hydra from doing this to anyone else, and your experience is invaluable."

Moody's magical eye swiveled to Steve, narrowing slightly. "And what's in it for me, eh? Why should I trust any of you, especially with him"—he gestured toward Adler—"standing here like some reformed saint?"

Adler stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Because I've spent decades reflecting on my actions, Alastor. Nurmengard was not just a prison; it was my penance. And when I saw what Hydra was doing—using magic and science to create horrors—I knew I had to act. I won't ask for your trust. I'll earn it."

Moody stared at him for a long moment, his magical eye unblinking. Then he let out a low chuckle, though it lacked any real humor. "Well, Grindelwald, you've certainly got a way with words. Fine. I'll stick around. But if you so much as blink wrong, I'll end you myself. Constant vigilance."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Adler replied with a faint smile.

James clapped Moody on the shoulder, his grin returning. "See? Told you it'd all make sense eventually."

"It doesn't," Moody muttered, shaking his head. "But when has anything in this bloody world ever made sense?" He glanced around the room. "Now, about this Infinity Formula you mentioned..."

—

Moody's eye whirred again, scanning the room as if expecting trouble to leap out from the shadows. He wasn't one for unnecessary surprises, and this whole setup—from the breakneck pace of being dragged into this covert operation to the bizarre twist of Grindelwald's redemption—had his paranoia buzzing. But when James nudged him toward the door of a smaller room where they'd apparently be having their "strategy" session, the old Auror didn't flinch. He'd seen and survived worse, and this? This was just another bloody puzzle to solve.

James knocked once, and before anyone could say another word, a deep, gravelly voice from the other side called out, "Come in."

The door swung open, revealing a broad-shouldered man in a black suit, his white shirt crisply pressed, but his face—more specifically, his left eye—was unmistakable. A pair of dark sunglasses hid his features from view, but the sharp, intense presence could only belong to one person.

"Well, well, well," Moody muttered under his breath. "A younger version, eh? Nicholas Fury, I presume?"

Fury stood up from behind the desk, his posture as rigid as a steel rod. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead, revealing a sharp, calculating eye that gleamed with cold intensity—much like Moody's own. "Alastor Moody," Fury greeted with a nod. "I've heard a lot about you. Though I didn't expect to find you in bed with the likes of Grindelwald." His lip curled into a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eye. "Guess the world's full of surprises."

Moody stared at Fury for a moment, sizing him up with his magical eye, which whirred in a way that suggested it was particularly interested in the younger man's every movement. He'd heard of Fury, of course—the new Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., the guy who didn't care who you were, only if you could get the job done. He was more than familiar with the legend, and though he didn't trust many people, Fury's reputation was one of calculated pragmatism. It made him dangerous in a different kind of way.

"Didn't expect to be dealing with another one-eyed bastard," Moody grumbled, taking a step into the room and ignoring Fury's outstretched hand. "But then again, I suppose the world's got a way of pairing up people who've got a knack for seeing what others don't."

Fury's lips twitched upward into a smirk, and he dropped his hand. "Some people see more with one eye than others see with two." He gestured to a chair opposite his desk. "Sit down, we've got things to discuss. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Moody grunted and sat, his eye continuing to scan the room—always on alert. "You'd better start explaining, Fury. What's the deal with this Infinity Formula? And why exactly do I need it?"

Fury sat back in his chair, his fingers steepling in front of him. "You want to fight Hydra, and you want to keep up with the kind of firepower they're using. Simple as that." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "And don't tell me you're not interested in the Infinity Formula. I know a man like you—grizzled, paranoid, doesn't trust anyone—including himself—who would leap at a chance to undo the damage of aging and fighting a battle you can't win with just your natural abilities anymore."

Moody's magical eye swiveled to Fury, narrowing in suspicion. "I don't take kindly to people guessing my motives, Fury," he grunted, his tone terse. "But you've got a point. I'm not in this to die a slow death, especially not while there's still work to be done. So, what's this Formula supposed to do?"

Fury leaned back in his chair, looking almost amused, though his eye never left Moody's. "The Formula's Howard Stark's work. It's based on some old tech he's been tinkering with, combining science and magic. It's a way to reverse aging—keep someone in their prime indefinitely. Essentially, it's the next step in preserving humanity's best assets, and it'll be the key to keeping our team in fighting shape. You want to join us, you want to keep up with what's coming down the line, then you're going to need it."

Moody's magical eye flickered. "Reverse aging, eh? Sounds like something even the likes of me could use. But you think I'm going to just trust this formula because Stark promises it'll work?"

"I'm not asking you to trust Stark," Fury shot back. "I'm asking you to trust me. If you want to be part of this operation, then the Formula's your best shot at surviving long enough to see it through. Because let's face it, Alastor—Hydra's already ahead of the game. And they've got wizards on their side now. It's going to take more than just magic to beat them. You're going to need everything at your disposal."

Moody rubbed his weathered face with his good hand, grumbling to himself before speaking again. "I didn't become an Auror by trusting anyone blindly, Fury. But... I've seen enough of this mess to know I can't take it all on alone anymore. Hell, I've barely managed to stay ahead of these Hydra bastards as it is."

Fury gave him a look that was part challenge, part understanding. "That's why I'm offering you the Formula, Alastor. You're not the only one who's getting old in this fight. You need it as much as anyone else. We've got a war to win—and I'm not about to let anyone get left behind, even you."

Moody sat back in the chair, eye still whirling, as if weighing Fury's words. His fingers drummed on the armrest. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to stick around a little longer. Not like I've got any better options, anyway."

Fury leaned forward again, eyes sharp. "You've got a choice, Alastor. You've always had a choice. But if you want to make a real difference—and maybe save your hide in the process—then you'll take the Formula when Stark's ready. It's that simple."

Moody's gaze hardened as he locked eyes with Fury. "Fine. I'm in. But make no mistake, Fury—Constant Vigilance," he growled, a grim promise in his voice. "I don't care how shiny that damn Formula is. If I see any sign of foul play, I won't hesitate."

Fury's grin was sharp, almost predatory. "Wouldn't expect anything less, Alastor. Now let's get to work."

The two men shared a brief, unspoken understanding—a mutual respect forged by decades of fighting in the shadows—and for the first time in a long while, Moody felt like he might just be part of something bigger than his own survival.

—

Back at Kamar-Taj, the stillness of the grand halls was interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridors—loud, purposeful, and more than a little angry. Wong was on a mission, his expression tight with disapproval, his every step radiating a tension that was hard to ignore. And it wasn't just the usual disgruntlement that came from his role as protector of Kamar-Taj's sacred halls. No, this was personal.

He turned the corner sharply and nearly collided with Harry Potter, who was just entering the building, his brow furrowed with confusion. The moment their eyes met, Wong's glare could have melted stone.

"You," Wong growled, pointing a finger at Harry with all the authority of a strict headmaster.

Harry raised his hands defensively. "Wong, listen, I—"

"No!" Wong snapped, cutting him off. "You do not get to just waltz back here after what you've done!" He took a menacing step forward, making Harry instinctively retreat. "Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

Harry blinked, taken aback by the intensity of Wong's fury. "Uh, I'm just—what did I do?"

"Don't play innocent with me, Potter!" Wong growled, voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "You magically copied books from the Library of Kamar-Taj. You know the rules—no one takes anything without permission!" He spat the last word as if it were a curse, his usually composed demeanor now a whirlwind of anger.

Harry's eyes widened, realizing what Wong was referring to. "Oh, right, that. Look, Wong, I didn't actually take anything. I made copies." He raised a hand, attempting to calm the situation. "Magical photocopies, not actual books! I didn't steal anything. I—"

Wong's eyes narrowed. "The Ancient One gave you permission?" His voice was sharp, demanding, though there was still doubt in his tone.

Harry hesitated for a second before nodding. "Well... kind of. She didn't say the words, but she didn't say no either." He scratched his head awkwardly. "I just thought it was, you know, fine. I mean, I was making copies for my parents and Sirius—not to keep for myself."

Before Wong could respond, a soft voice interrupted from behind them.

"It's true, Wong."

Wong's face hardened, and he turned to face the Ancient One, who had appeared, her robes flowing as though she'd materialized from the ether itself. Her calm, serene presence only made the tension more palpable. She gave Wong a level look, one that could quiet a storm. "I did not give Harry explicit permission, but I knew what he intended to do. He would not break our rules."

Wong's frustration boiled over, though he kept his voice measured. "You knew? The rules—"

"Are not as rigid as you think," the Ancient One interrupted, her gaze soft but firm. "Harry's actions did not pose a threat to the sanctity of our Library. His heart is in the right place. He merely wished to share knowledge with his loved ones."

Harry, still feeling awkward in the middle of this, rubbed the back of his neck. "I just figured... Well, you know, things could go south for me at any moment, and I wanted to leave something behind—something my parents could remember me by. They've been through enough, and it seemed... I don't know, like the right thing to do."

Wong took a step back, but the disapproval still simmered in his gaze. "But you know the power of the knowledge housed in Kamar-Taj. You can't just go copying things on a whim."

Harry shrugged, trying to defuse the tension. "Look, I get it. I didn't mean any harm. And I won't do it again. Just—"

The Ancient One raised a hand, silencing both men. She smiled at Harry, a small, knowing smile that carried the weight of centuries of wisdom. "Harry Potter has a good heart, Wong. He has not taken anything that could harm us, and his actions were motivated by love, not greed. Let this be a lesson, though, Harry," she added, her tone turning more serious. "Kamar-Taj is a place of discipline, and we must respect its rules, even when our intentions are pure."

Wong shot Harry a look that suggested he didn't entirely agree with this leniency, but he didn't argue with the Ancient One. He was, however, still clearly unsettled. "Next time, Potter," he said gruffly, "ask before you do something like that. No more sneaking around. Understood?"

Harry gave him a sheepish grin. "Yeah, yeah. Understood."

"Good," Wong muttered, still not entirely convinced, but at least slightly mollified.

The Ancient One stepped closer to Harry, her eyes kind but unwavering. "You are part of this world now, Harry. You must learn its rules, its consequences, and its responsibilities. And sometimes, those responsibilities come with sacrifices."

Harry nodded solemnly, understanding the weight of her words. "I know. I'll be careful. I promise."

Wong turned to leave, shaking his head as if still grappling with the situation. "If you'd asked me, I would have told you it was a bad idea," he muttered under his breath.

The Ancient One watched him go with a slight smile. "Wong," she called out softly, "sometimes, a little bit of rebellion is the only way to move forward."

Harry chuckled quietly, but it was the Ancient One's expression—calm, but with a flicker of something deeper—that stayed with him. "I'll keep that in mind," he said with a small nod.

As Wong disappeared down the hallway, Harry turned back to the Ancient One. "Thanks," he said sincerely. "I wasn't trying to cause trouble. I just wanted to make sure my family knew what was going on... if something happened."

The Ancient One studied him for a moment, her gaze lingering on Harry's face. "Your love for them is clear, Harry. Just remember, knowledge comes with a burden. It's not just about sharing it, but about bearing the weight of what it can do. Be mindful of that."

"I will," Harry promised, though the undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice lingered, a hint of the weight that the Ancient One had mentioned starting to settle in.

The Ancient One gave him one last look of understanding. "Good. Now, go. There are bigger challenges ahead, and you'll need all your strength to face them."

Harry nodded and turned to head toward his room, but his mind was already on the next mission. The weight of responsibility was starting to press in, and while he had no idea what the future held, he was ready to face it—no matter how complicated it became.

---

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