Afterwards
As sun shined over ruined battlefield, Amelia Bones and her Aurors worked quickly, securing the area and tending to those still recovering. The infected villagers, now freed from Karl’s dark magic, were being transported to St. Mungo’s for evaluation. The destruction left in the wake of the battle was undeniable, but so was the fact that Harry Potter had been at the center of it.
Amelia stood near Strange, arms crossed as she observed the remnants of the battle. “I need answers, Doctor,” she said firmly. “How did a thirteen-year-old boy defeat a fully trained dark sorcerer? I’ve seen powerful wizards in my time, but this…” She shook her head. “This is something else.”
Strange, ever the strategist, kept his expression neutral. He had already weaved a subtle enchantment to obscure any lingering Chaos Magic from Harry. If the Aurors did any magical forensics, they would find powerful magic—yes—but nothing that would point toward the Darkhold’s influence or Chaos Magic itself.
Wanda, standing protectively near Harry, stepped forward smoothly. “It wasn’t just him,” she interjected. “Harry fought bravely, but Karl underestimated us all. My boys and I weakened Karl, and Harry landed the final blow.”
Amelia looked between Wanda and Strange, clearly not convinced. “Still, Potter fought on a level far beyond his age.”
Wanda smiled, her posture radiating calm confidence. “I trained him.”
That made Amelia pause. “You… trained him?”
Wanda nodded. “I recognized his potential early on. He has a unique magical talent, and I’ve been helping him hone his abilities. I wouldn’t send a child unprepared into battle.”
Amelia’s eyes narrowed slightly, but after a moment, she exhaled. “I suppose I can believe that. Potter has always been a… special case.” She turned her gaze to Harry, who stood silently beside Wanda, his expression unreadable. “You did a great thing here, Potter. The Ministry will recognize that.”
Harry only nodded, forcing a small smile. “Thank you.”
Strange watched him carefully. The Darkhold was not to be trusted even if he did trust Harry.
As the Aurors continued their work, Amelia took a final look at Harry. “The Minister will want to speak with you soon. Be ready.” With that, she turned, barking orders to her team.
Once she was out of earshot, Wanda placed a reassuring hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You’re safe,” she whispered. “We won’t let them see more than they need to.”
Strange nodded in agreement, though his eyes lingered on Harry a moment longer. He had seen what was coming, and he would need to be very careful with Harry from now on.
"I have a mess to clean up." Strange said. "Wong." He handed him the Darkhold. "Secure this."
"Without question." Wong wrapped the book in a cloth.
Harry's eyes locked on to the book as Wong portaled away.
The rubble of Hogsmeade still smoldered in places, the air thick with the scent of burned wood and magic. The battle was over, but the weight of what had happened still pressed heavily on them.
Harry stood with Blaise and Susan, a little away from the others. Hermione and Neville stood close by, watching but letting him speak. Blaise had seen too much, and Susan was too smart to ignore what she had witnessed. They deserved to know.
Harry ran a tired hand through his hair before exhaling. "You saw what I did back there."
Susan crossed her arms, her eyes sharp. "Yeah. And it wasn't normal magic, was it?"
Blaise tilted his head. "It looked like what Wanda Maximoff does."
Harry nodded slowly. "Because it is. I can use Chaos Magic."
Both of them stiffened. Blaise whistled low, shaking his head. "Bloody hell."
Susan blinked, clearly trying to process it. "That’s why Strange did that spell where you all disappeared? So nobody would see it."
Harry sighed. "Yeah. Not many people know. Only a few. And I need it to stay that way."
Blaise and Susan exchanged looks before nodding firmly.
"You saved my life, Potter," Blaise said, his usual cool tone a little softer. "That infected wolf would’ve ripped me apart if you hadn’t stepped in. I’m not about to start blabbing secrets after that."
Susan nodded, determination in her eyes. "Same. You’re our friend, Harry. We’ve got your back."
Hermione smiled, finally speaking up. "We knew you’d understand."
Neville clapped a hand on Blaise’s shoulder, grinning. "And now you’re part of the secret-keepers club."
Blaise smirked. "Feels like a lot of pressure."
"Welcome to my life," Harry muttered.
The clean, sterile smell of St. Mungo’s filled the air as healers bustled between patients. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting warm patches on the crisp white sheets. The ward was unusually full — packed with those who had been under Karl's dark influence.
Hagrid blinked awake, his massive form sprawled across a reinforced bed. His confused expression was mirrored by countless villagers in the room. Draco Malfoy stirred nearby, his face pale but otherwise unharmed. His mother, Narcissa Malfoy, was already at his side, holding his hand tightly.
"Draco?" she whispered, her voice quivering with relief.
He groaned and rubbed his head. "Mum? What... what happened?"
"You don't remember?" she asked gently.
He frowned. "No. I just remember walking through Hogsmeade, and then... nothing."
Narcissa's lips pressed into a thin line, but she only nodded. "It's over now. You're safe."
Further down the ward, George Weasley was sitting up, his brow furrowed in confusion. Around him, the entire Weasley family had gathered, their faces a mixture of worry and joy.
"George!" Molly cried, throwing her arms around her son. "Oh, thank Merlin you're awake!"
George winced but managed a small smile. "Blimey, Mum, I feel like I've been hit by a Hippogriff."
"You might as well have been," Fred joked, though his voice was tinged with relief. "Welcome back, mate."
Nearby, Dumbledore lay on a bed, his eyes fluttering open. His usual serene demeanor was replaced by a rare look of bewilderment.
"You've finally rejoined us," came a dry voice.
Dumbledore turned his head to see Dr. Stephen Strange standing beside his bed, arms crossed and expression unreadable.
"Ah, Dr. Strange," Dumbledore greeted, his voice hoarse. "It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude."
Strange's lips quirked in a humorless smile. "More like an apology. You tried to kill me."
Dumbledore's brows furrowed. "I... don't recall."
"No surprise there. You were under Karl's influence," Strange said bluntly. "It took quite the fight to bring you down."
Dumbledore's expression hardened. "I see. And yet, here we are, both intact."
"Just barely," Strange retorted. "You don't make it easy."
There was a tense silence between them, filled with unspoken accusations and grudging respect.
"Perhaps we shall need to discuss this further," Dumbledore finally said, his voice carefully measured.
Strange shrugged. "Perhaps. But right now, I have a large mess to clean up."
As Strange turned to leave, Dumbledore called after him. "Dr. Strange... thank you."
Strange paused, his back still to Dumbledore. "Don't mention it. Seriously."
With that, he strode down the ward, leaving Dumbledore to contemplate the strange alliance that had formed in the aftermath of the battle. Despite their differences — and there were many — Dumbledore couldn't help but acknowledge that Strange had proven himself a formidable ally. For now, that was enough.
Bruce groaned as he sat up on the couch, rubbing his temple. "Someone tell me we won."
"Define 'won,'" Tony muttered, rubbing his jaw. "Karl’s dead. Dumbledore’s in a magical coma. Half the village is in the hospital, and Loki is—"
"Missing," Natasha cut in, her voice sharp. "After using Regulus as a hostage to escape."
Thor’s thunderous scowl darkened the room. "I almost had him. He was within my grasp." His fingers curled around Mjolnir’s handle. "And then he put the boy between us."
Sirius clenched his fists. "We saw it happen. Loki stepped right in, stopped the Dementors, then—" His voice dropped into something darker. "Then he grabbed my son and used him as a damn shield."
Natasha crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "He looked us dead in the eye and vanished before we could stop him."
Regulus sat on the edge of a chair, hunched over, his face pale. "He tricked me. He acted like he was my friend, but he was always playing a game." His fists trembled. "I trusted him."
Bruce exhaled heavily, swinging his legs off the couch. "So, where’s Loki now?"
"That’s the problem," Steve said, arms folded. "We don’t know. He could be anywhere."
"He could be anyone," Wanda added, her voice low and wary.
Harry’s magic crackled beneath his skin, his jaw tight as he processed everything. Loki had been right there—posing as Regulus’ friend the whole time—and they never knew. He clenched his fist.
"We find him," Harry repeated, voice cold and certain.
"No," Natasha said firmly, stepping in front of him. "We will find him. You are not hunting Loki."
Harry’s eyes snapped to her. "He used Regulus. He’s been lying to us this whole time—"
"And that is exactly why you’re staying out of it," Sirius cut in, arms crossed. His face was hard, his usual mischievousness gone. "Loki is dangerous, Harry. And you’ve done enough. More than enough."
Harry’s nostrils flared. "That’s not your decision to make."
"Like hell, it isn’t," Sirius shot back. "You are thirteen."
Harry bristled. "That didn’t seem to matter when I was the one fighting Karl!"
"That was different," Natasha said, voice tight. "That fight found you. Loki is something else entirely."
Harry shook his head, feeling the anger bubbling too close to the surface. "So I’m supposed to just sit here while he gets away?"
"You’re supposed to recover," Sirius said, his blue eyes burning into his son’s. "You just survived a fight that should’ve killed you. And we’re not letting you throw yourself into another one."
Harry turned to Natasha, pleading now. "He’s dangerous. We can’t just let him—"
Natasha placed her hands on his shoulders, grounding him. "We’re not letting him do anything. But we are handling this, not you."
Harry looked between them, breathing heavily. "You can’t stop me."
Sirius stepped forward. "Try us."
The air between them was thick with unspoken words. For a long moment, Harry just stood there, shoulders tense, breathing hard.
Then he exhaled sharply, turning away. "Fine," he muttered, fists clenched at his sides. But the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed.
Natasha and Sirius exchanged a look—this wasn’t over. But for now, Harry wouldn’t fight them on it.
For now.
Natasha stepped closer, her hands gentle but firm as she cupped Harry’s cheek. His skin was warm, but there was something off—something beneath the surface. She could still see the faint exhaustion in his eyes, the weight pressing on him even as he tried to stand strong.
"Harry," she said softly, eyes searching his. "You scared me in there. Seeing that magic he used on you..." She swallowed, her thumb brushing lightly over his cheek. "It wasn’t just the fight. It was what it did to you."
Harry’s jaw tensed, his gaze flickering away. "I handled it."
"You shouldn’t have had to," Sirius said, stepping beside them, his expression serious but filled with concern.
Harry scoffed, shifting away from Natasha’s touch. "Karl didn’t give me much of a choice."
"That’s not the point," Natasha said, gripping his shoulders now. "That magic—whatever he did to you—it wasn’t normal. And you haven’t been the same since.
"I’m fine," Harry muttered, but it lacked his usual bite.
Sirius crossed his arms. "Bullshit."
Natasha shot him a look, but didn’t disagree. She turned back to Harry, her voice softer but unwavering. "I know what it looks like when someone’s hiding pain. I know what it means to push it down because you think you can handle it alone."
Harry stiffened, his fingers twitching.
"You don’t have to do that," she whispered. "Not with us."
For a moment, Harry didn’t answer. He wanted to tell them the truth—to say his hand still ached, that his mind kept replaying the fight, that some part of him had liked hurting Karl. But he couldn’t. Not now.
So instead, he just sighed, stepping back. "I’m tired."
It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either.
Natasha hesitated, but nodded. "Get some rest."
Sirius ruffled his hair as he passed. "You’re stuck with us, kid. Whether you like it or not."
Harry managed a weak smirk, but as he turned away, his fingers twitched again. "I'm going to take a shower."
Harry stood under the steady stream of hot water, his forehead pressed against the cool tile of the shower wall. Steam curled around him, but the heat did nothing to ease the cold knot of guilt lodged deep in his chest. He clenched and unclenched his left hand, the throbbing pain in his fingers a sharp reminder of what he'd done — and what he'd become.
The red magical hue he'd been using to mask the corruption faded, revealing his blackened, twisted fingers. The sight made his stomach churn, but it wasn't just the darkened flesh that haunted him. It was the memory of the fight.
Karl's screams echoed in his mind, mingled with the crackling chaos magic Harry had unleashed without mercy. He'd felt it — the surge of power, raw and intoxicating. He hadn't just wanted to stop Karl. He'd wanted to hurt him. To make him suffer.
Harry's breath hitched. He'd never felt that way before, not even facing Voldemort. But this time... he hadn't held back. And worse, he'd liked it.
The realization twisted inside him like a blade. He'd enjoyed killing Karl.
"No," he whispered, his voice hoarse and desperate. "I'm not like that."
But the truth lingered, undeniable. The Darkhold's influence was seeping into him, whispering promises of power and control. He could still hear its seductive voice in the back of his mind, tempting him with thoughts of vengeance and dominance.
Harry slammed his fist against the wall, the sound echoing in the shower stall. Pain radiated up his arm, grounding him for a moment.
He couldn't let anyone see this—see what he was becoming. Not Hermione, not Sirius or Natasha. Not even Strange.
Taking a shaky breath, Harry summoned his magic, forcing the red hue back over his hand. The blackened fingers vanished beneath the illusion, appearing normal once again. But he knew the corruption was still there, festering beneath the surface.
"I can control it," he muttered, trying to convince himself. "I have to."
But as he stepped out of the shower and caught his reflection in the foggy mirror, a pair of dark, haunted eyes stared back at him. And deep down, Harry wasn't sure if he could fight off the darkness alone.
At Remus and Wanda's home.
Wanda and Remus exchanged a look, pride and sorrow warring in their eyes as they took in their sons. Lyall stood strong, his bone claws retracting as he flexed his hands. Pietro, his long white streak of hair catching the light, watched them carefully, understanding their emotions without needing them to speak.
“We missed it all,” Wanda whispered, reaching out to touch Pietro’s face. “Your first steps, your first words… Everything.”
Remus swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on Lyall. “I should have been there.”
Lyall shook his head. “It’s not your fault. None of this is.”
Pietro hesitated, then spoke up. “I can fix it.”
Wanda and Remus both looked at him, confused.
Pietro took a breath. “I gave Lyall and myself memories of growing up. Of learning, training, everything that made us who we are now.” He met their gazes. “I can do the same for you.”
Wanda’s eyes widened. “You can do that?”
Pietro nodded. “I can give you every moment you missed. Not just tell you about them—you’d feel them, live them as if you were there.”
Remus exhaled sharply, the weight of lost time pressing on him. He glanced at Wanda, who looked just as torn.
“Are you sure?” Remus asked.
Pietro smiled. “If you want.”
Wanda reached for Remus’s hand, squeezing it before turning to their son. “Then do it.”
Pietro raised his hands, his magic flaring to life as he placed his fingers against their temples. A golden-red glow surrounded them as memories rushed in—Wanda and Remus suddenly finding themselves experiencing what should have been theirs all along.
They saw Lyall taking his first shaky steps, Pietro laughing as he encouraged him. Wanda calling their names as they played in the yard. Remus reading to them by the fire. Training sessions, small victories, quiet moments of love and laughter.
Tears streamed down Wanda’s face as she gasped, gripping her sons’ hands. Remus closed his eyes, overwhelmed, feeling the connection that had been missing for so long finally snap into place.
As the magic faded, Wanda let out a shaky breath, her lips trembling. “My boys,” she whispered, pulling them both into a fierce embrace.
Remus wrapped his arms around them, voice thick with emotion. “We love you both so much.”
Pietro and Lyall hugged them back, holding onto the parents they had always known, but now truly felt.
Wong paced the Sanctum Sanctorum's training hall, his steps echoing off the ancient stone walls. "You know what the Darkhold does to people, Stephen. It twists them—every single one who touches it. No one is immune."
Strange crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "Harry doesn't have the Darkhold in his possession anymore. And I won't let him fall to its corruption."
Wong's frustration boiled over. "You're acting like Dumbledore!"
Strange's brows furrowed. "That was low, even for you."
"You've been guiding Harry since he was a child," Wong continued, his voice sharp. "But you're keeping secrets—just like Dumbledore did with Potter's parents. What aren't you telling me?"
Strange exhaled slowly. "I’ve seen what could happen. I used the Time Stone when Harry was a baby to glimpse his potential futures remember?"
Wong's face darkened. "And you're playing with fate? You know that never ends well."
"I'm not playing with fate. I'm guiding him." Strange's voice softened. "I've shown him the right path. But Harry has to decide his own destiny—without being controlled."
Wong shook his head. "Even if that means risking the boy being consumed by darkness?"
Strange's eyes gleamed with determination. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure that doesn't happen."
Silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken fears. Wong finally relented, though his expression remained grim. "Then you'd better be right. Because if you aren't... we'll lose him."
Strange's expression softened as he added, "Wanda won't let Harry fall, Wong."
Wong's brow furrowed. "You’re placing a lot of faith in her."
"She's closer than him than any of us, and she's stronger than you give her credit for. She knows what darkness feels like. She clawed her way back from it." Strange's voice carried conviction. "She won't let Harry go down that path."
"And what about you?" Wong asked pointedly. "What happens if you can't stop him?"
Strange met Wong's gaze with unwavering confidence. "Then Wanda and I will do it together. We've both been there. We understand better than anyone what it takes to come back from the abyss."
Wong sighed, folding his arms. "You sound like you have it all figured out."
"Not all of it," Strange admitted. "But enough to know that Harry isn't lost—not while Wanda and I are here."
Regulus sat on the edge of the couch, staring at Pietro and Lyall like they’d grown a second head. Which, considering the weirdness of the last few days, wouldn’t have even been the strangest thing to happen.
“You’re… my age now,” Regulus finally said, disbelief clear in his voice.
Pietro tilted his head, smirking. “Technically, we should still be babies. But thanks to me, we skipped all that drooling and diaper stuff.”
Regulus blinked. “I just—” He gestured at them. “How? I mean, I know how, but… how?”
Lyall shrugged, grinning. “Magic.”
Regulus scowled. “That’s a cop-out answer.”
Pietro folded his arms, looking amused. “What, would you rather we were still in nappies? You wanna babysit?”
Regulus made a face. “Absolutely not.”
Harry chuckled, watching the exchange. Regulus had spent his entire life as the youngest of their odd little family. And now, all at once, he wasn’t.
“You’ll get used to it,” Harry said, nudging Regulus.
Regulus let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples. “I don’t think I will.” He looked at Lyall and Pietro again. “You were supposed to be babies. I met you as babies.” He pointed at them. “Now you’re my age, and I just have to—accept that?!”
“Yes,” Pietro answered easily.
Regulus groaned and slumped back. “This is so weird.”
Sirius grinned, throwing an arm around his son. “Welcome to the family, kid.”
"We remember you being our godfather too." Peitro told Harry.
"You do?"
"Yep." Lyall said. "We picked you."
Harry ran a hand through his messy hair, still trying to process everything. “I mean, yeah, I agreed to be your godfather when you were babies, but I didn’t think it would actually come up this soon.”
Pietro smirked. “Well, we didn’t think we’d be growing up this fast either, but here we are.”
Lyall nodded. “You agreed, so now you’re stuck with us.”
Harry huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Merlin, I thought being a big brother to Regulus was a handful. Now I have two magically enhanced godsons?” He looked at Sirius. “This is karma, isn’t it?”
Sirius grinned. “Absolutely.”
Regulus, standing beside his father, was still looking at the twins in disbelief. “I babysat you,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I held you when you were tiny, and now you’re my age.”
Lyall sniffed the air slightly before grinning at Regulus. “I remember your scent. You used to carry me around all the time.”
Regulus blinked. “You… remember my scent?”
Pietro chuckled. “He’s got a strong nose. But yeah, we remember you, Regulus. You and Aunt Natasha helped Mom take care of us a lot.”
Regulus crossed his arms, still baffled. “This is so weird.”
Harry clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me about it.”
Nearby, Wanda and Remus stood together, watching the scene unfold. Wanda’s eyes shimmered with emotion, her fingers curled slightly as if resisting the urge to reach for her boys again.
Remus, still adjusting to the rush of memories Pietro had given him, let out a shaky breath. “They grew up,” he murmured, almost to himself. He had just seen it all—their first steps, their first words, their laughter and fights, the way they clung to each other when they were scared. It wasn’t just knowledge in his mind; it felt real, like he had lived those moments himself.
Wanda nodded, swallowing thickly. “And we missed it.”
Remus turned to her, catching the raw regret in her voice. Gently, he reached for her hand, squeezing it. “But they remember us. They know how much we love them.”
She exhaled slowly, nodding. “Yeah. They do.”
Back in front of them, Lyall and Pietro were still talking animatedly with Harry, Regulus, and Sirius, laughing like they had known each other for years. And in a way, they had.
Wanda finally allowed a small smile to creep onto her lips. “We have a lot to catch up on.”
Remus squeezed her hand again, warmth filling his voice. “Then let’s not waste another moment.”
Doctor Strange stood before the gathered members of the Wizengamot, his cloak billowing slightly as he crossed his arms. The chamber was packed with witches and wizards eager to hear his account of the events in Hogsmeade. Cornelius Fudge, sitting at the center, adjusted his bowler hat nervously. To his left, Amelia Bones remained impassive, her piercing gaze locked on Strange.
"You requested a full report," Strange began, his voice calm but commanding. "I will provide one."
The room settled into silence as he continued.
"Hogsmeade was under siege by dark forces. Karl Mordo, a rogue sorcerer, was responsible for the attacks. His magic infected many—including Hogwarts students and faculty—turning them into mindless combatants under his control. If not stopped, he would have spread this corruption beyond the village."
There were murmurs among the Wizengamot, but Strange pressed on.
"Several forces worked together to repel the threat. The Aurors, members of the Hogwarts staff, and outside allies fought to protect those within the village." He let his gaze sweep across the room. "However, it was Harry Potter who delivered the final blow, defeating Karl Mordo and ending his control over Hogsmeade."
The murmurs became outright gasps. Many members leaned forward, whispering among themselves. A thirteen-year-old had taken down a fully trained dark sorcerer?
Fudge cleared his throat, trying to maintain order. "Doctor Strange… surely you mean that Potter assisted in some way?"
Strange met his gaze directly. "I mean exactly what I said. Harry Potter defeated Karl Mordo."
A fresh wave of shocked murmurs rippled through the chamber. Amelia Bones, though composed, raised a curious eyebrow.
"How?" a Wizengamot member asked skeptically. "A boy of thirteen—"
Strange's voice turned steely. "I won’t disclose the specifics of Potter’s magical abilities. What matters is that he fought with extraordinary courage and skill. He saved lives. If not for him, Karl would have succeeded."
There was silence. The weight of Strange’s words settled over the chamber.
Fudge, visibly rattled, cleared his throat again. "Very well… We will discuss proper recognition for Mr. Potter’s actions at a later time."
The grand chamber buzzed with tension. Members of the Wizengamot—some in their elaborate robes, others in more practical attire—murmured amongst themselves. At the center, standing before them all, was Doctor Stephen Strange.
The murmurs of the gathered witches and wizards had not quieted since the meeting began. Many were still reeling from the revelation that a thirteen-year-old had been the one to defeat Karl Mordo, but Strange was more concerned with something far greater.
“The magic Karl wielded was unlike anything your world has faced before,” Strange said, his voice carrying over the room. “Dark magic, yes, but not just any kind. This was sorcery drawn from the depths of forbidden knowledge—magic that bends the will, corrupts the soul, and warps reality itself.”
A few members scoffed, one of them, an older wizard with sharp features, leaning forward. “You say this, but you are Sorcerer Supreme. Surely you could have dealt with him before it reached this point?”
Strange’s gaze hardened. “I deal with threats across dimensions, across realities. Karl Mordo was once my ally—he knew how to hide from me. When he resurfaced, he was already too far gone. I did what I could, and in the end, it was Harry Potter who delivered the final blow.” He took a step forward, his voice growing more serious. “The magic Karl used is still out there. He may be dead, but the knowledge, the corruption, lingers. If it falls into the wrong hands again, we could face something even worse.”
Amelia Bones, who had remained silent until now, spoke up. “Are you suggesting there may be others who seek this power?”
Strange nodded grimly. “There always are. Magic like this is a temptation that few can resist.” He let his words settle, allowing the weight of them to sink in. “I am not telling you this to cause panic, but to make you aware. What happened in Hogsmeade cannot happen again.”
Fudge, seated at the center, folded his hands together. “And what do you propose, Doctor Strange?”
Strange met his gaze. “Vigilance. I suggest your Aurors work with my Order to ensure no remnants of Karl’s magic remain. If any artifacts, texts, or spells tied to what he used still exist, they need to be secured—or destroyed.”
Some in the assembly did not look pleased with the idea of foreign interference, but Amelia gave a firm nod. “I will see to it personally.”
Strange inclined his head. “Good.”
"How did this happen?" one elderly wizard barked. "A foreign sorcerer rampaged through Hogsmeade, possessed some of our finest wizards—including Dumbledore—and you only stepped in at the end?"
A sharp murmur of agreement spread across the room.
Another witch stood, her face pinched with frustration. "Doctor Strange, we were led to believe that you and your order dealt with such threats before they became disasters!"
"Yes!" another wizard added. "Why did you not act sooner?"
Strange let the accusations hang in the air for a moment. He glanced around, scanning the faces of those before him. Some were frustrated, others fearful. A few—like Amelia Bones—watched carefully, measuring his response.
Then, he spoke—his voice calm, but cutting through the room like a blade.
"You're angry. I get it," he said, stepping forward. "But let me remind you exactly who I am and what my Order is capable of."
The murmuring quieted.
"I am the Sorcerer Supreme. The highest authority in the mystical arts. My Order has existed for thousands of years—long before this Ministry was formed—and our duty is to protect this world, not just Britain.”
He turned slightly, his crimson Cloak of Levitation billowing as he moved.
"You assume that because Karl appeared here, I somehow failed. You have no idea how much worse this could have been. Karl was powerful—more powerful than most of you in this room. And yes, he was my responsibility. Which is exactly why I dealt with him."
A wizard scoffed. "No, Potter—"
"Harry Potter was a part of it, yes. And he showed incredible strength. But in the end, Karl is dead because of my actions." Strange's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping slightly. "And you do not want to test what would happen if I or my Order were ever forced to take more... direct action."
The chamber fell silent. The air felt charged, as if the very magic in the room responded to Strange’s presence.
Amelia Bones, to her credit, looked unsurprised—perhaps even a little impressed. Others, however, shifted uncomfortably.
"Now," Strange continued, smoothing his tunic. "If you'd prefer to fight the next Dark Sorcerer yourselves, be my guest. But if you want me and my Order to continue protecting this world from things far beyond your understanding... then I suggest you let me do my job."
The room remained silent.
Finally, one of the older wizards cleared his throat. "Very well, Doctor Strange. We—appreciate your service."
"Glad to hear it." Strange nodded, already turning toward the exit. "Now, if we're done wasting time, I have actual threats to deal with."
"What about the dementors he uses?" Someone asked.
"It appears they've vanished." Strange told them.
"Vanished?"
"With Karl's death."
"How?" Was a shocked response from an older witch.
"That's one of the things I need to look into. Good day."
With that, he strode toward the exit, his cloak billowing behind him, leaving the Wizengamot members sitting in stunned silence.
The night was quiet, the only sound being the soft hum of the Avengers facility in the distance. Tony stood on the balcony, whiskey glass in hand, staring out into the night sky. His shoulders were tense, his fingers gripping the glass a little too tightly.
Steve approached, his steps measured, the usual confidence in his posture slightly dimmed by hesitation. They hadn't had a real conversation since—well, since everything fell apart. Since Bucky told Tony the truth.
Tony didn't look at him. "You gonna stand there all night, or are we actually doing this?"
Steve exhaled. "I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk."
"Yeah, well," Tony took a sip, eyes still on the horizon, "you’re not the only one who’s bad at this whole feelings thing, Cap."
A small, almost sad smile flickered on Steve’s face. He moved next to Tony, resting his arms on the railing. Silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, but heavy.
Finally, Tony spoke. "She missed you, you know."
Steve glanced at him. "Who?"
Tony sighed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Morgan." He let out a dry chuckle. "Christmas morning, she looked around and went, ‘Where’s Uncle Cap?’ Like you were just gonna walk in with a shield full of presents."
Steve swallowed. "I’m sorry."
Tony shook his head, bitterness laced in his voice. "Yeah, well. Sorry doesn’t change the fact that I spent years thinking my parents died in an accident. Sorry doesn’t change what he did." His grip tightened. "And sorry doesn’t change that you knew."
Steve didn’t flinch, but Tony could tell the words hit. "I know."
"Do you?" Tony finally turned, eyes sharp and filled with something raw. "Because I don’t think you do, Rogers. I don’t think you get what it’s like to have the world pulled out from under you. To have someone you trusted—someone who was supposed to be a friend—lie to your face."
Steve sighed, nodding. "You’re right. I can’t take that back. I can’t fix what happened." He turned to face Tony fully. "But I never wanted to be your enemy, Tony."
Tony looked away, clenching his jaw. "Yeah, well… you got a funny way of showing it."
More silence.
Then Steve spoke, voice softer. "I missed her too, you know. Morgan." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Hard not to when she throws herself at me the second I walk in the door."
Tony exhaled sharply, a mix between a laugh and a sigh. "Yeah, well. She’s got a thing for old men with shields."
Steve huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "I know I can’t fix everything, Tony. But I want to be in her life… if you’ll let me."
Tony was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he muttered, "She’ll probably tackle you next time she sees you."
Steve’s smile grew a little. "I think I can handle that."
Tony nodded, lifting his glass. "Then I guess you should show up next Christmas."
It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet.
But it was a start.
Regulus sat on his bed, flipping the Bertie Bott’s Chocolate Frog gold card between his fingers. He knew it hadn’t been in his pocket before today.
Loki had placed it there right before vanishing.
His mind raced as he stared at the familiar wizard on the card. Bertie Bott grinned up at him, tipping his hat before returning to his work. It was just a normal collector’s item—except it wasn’t.
Regulus had only known Atreus for a few months, but in that short time, he’d thought he’d made a real friend. Someone who understood him, someone who wasn’t just another kid treating him like “Sirius Black’s son or the Son of the Black Widow".But it had all been a lie.
Atreus never existed. It had been Loki the entire time.
He tightened his grip on the card, torn between anger and confusion. Loki had saved his life, shielding him from Karl’s Dementors in the alley. But then, moments later, he had used Regulus as a hostage to escape Thor.
Downstairs, he could hear his parents talking—Sirius was furious, Natasha was frustrated, and the Avengers were already planning how to track Loki down.
Regulus exhaled sharply and looked at the card one more time before slipping it into his collection, tucking it between two others.
Just in case.