Strange Potter

Harry stood in the dimly lit corner of his room at Potter Manor, staring at the enchanted mirror on the wall in front of him. It had been a while since he'd used it, but he knew exactly what he needed to do. He took a deep breath, cleared his thoughts, and then focused on the image of Hermione, visualizing her sitting in her room back at her parents' house.

His hand reached for the mirror, and with a quiet murmur of magic, the surface rippled. Slowly, the reflection morphed, and Hermione’s face appeared, framed by her messy hair and a concerned frown.

“Harry?” she said, her voice carrying an unmistakable note of curiosity. “What’s up? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Harry said, a small smile forming as he leaned in a little closer. “I just wanted to ask you something. You know the Quidditch World Cup that’s coming up, right?”

Hermione’s eyes lit up immediately at the mention of the World Cup. “Of course I know! I’ve been reading about it nonstop! The matches are supposed to be incredible this year. Why?”

Harry’s smile widened. “Well... I was thinking it would be great if you came with me. You know, to actually go see it in person. It’s been ages since we’ve done something like that together.”

Hermione blinked, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. “Wait, you’re asking me to come with you?” She leaned forward in her own mirror, her curiosity piqued. “But I thought... well, I thought it was just going to be your family and all of them. And don’t you have to go with your parents? I mean, it sounds amazing, but—”

“No, not just family,” Harry interrupted quickly, his voice soft but firm. “It’s more than that. I want you there, Hermione. You’re my best friend, and it wouldn’t be the same without you. I’m sure my parents wouldn’t mind. They’d be thrilled to have you join us.”

Hermione blinked a few times, her lips parting in surprise, before her expression softened, her eyes shimmering with warmth. “You really want me to come? That’s... that’s so sweet, Harry.”

“Of course I do,” Harry said, his voice carrying the sincerity that only their close bond could bring out. “We’ll make it a proper adventure, I promise. You won’t regret it.”

She paused for a moment, looking away as though mulling it over, and then finally nodded. “Alright. I’ll come. I mean, how could I resist? The World Cup, with you and your family? Sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Harry grinned, his heart lifting. “Great! I’ll get the details sorted, but I’m so glad you’re in.”

“Me too,” Hermione said, her smile reaching her eyes. “And Harry... thank you. For thinking of me.”

Harry shrugged modestly. “You’re always the first person I think of for stuff like this.”

For a moment, they both fell silent, the quiet comfort of their friendship filling the space between them. Finally, Hermione added, “I guess we’ll need to get some proper clothes for the occasion, won’t we? I’m going to need something really special for a world-class event like this!”

Harry laughed. “I’m sure we can figure that out.”

With one last smile, Hermione waved goodbye through the mirror. “See you soon, Harry. And don’t forget to save me a seat at the match!”

Harry grinned, feeling lighter than he had in days. “You got it. See you soon, Hermione.”

As the mirror’s surface settled back into its usual reflective state, Harry allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief. He hadn’t been sure how she’d react, but it had worked out better than he expected. The World Cup was going to be even more exciting now that Hermione would be there with him.

Regulus was standing in the middle of the living room when Harry came down, his arms crossed, chin raised defiantly. “But why can’t I bring Motto?”

Sirius sighed, rubbing his temples. “Because, Reg, a demiguise at Hogwarts would cause all kinds of problems. They’re not exactly on the approved pet list.”

Regulus scowled. “That list is stupid. Owls, toads, and cats? That’s boring.”

Natasha, sitting nearby, raised a brow. “You do realize Motto can turn invisible, right? Imagine the chaos that would cause.”

Regulus huffed. “He wouldn’t mean to cause chaos.”

Sirius snorted. “That doesn’t make it any better.”

Harry, who had been watching the argument from the couch, smirked. “You just want him there so he can sneak you sweets from the kitchens, don’t you?”

Regulus didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

“Exactly,” Sirius said, pointing at his son. “That’s why it’s a no.”

Regulus looked ready to argue further when Motto, perched on the back of the couch, let out a soft, chittering noise—clearly understanding the conversation. His large, silvery eyes blinked at Regulus before he disappeared into thin air.

Regulus groaned. “See? If he’s invisible, how would anyone even know he’s there?”

Harry chuckled, leaning back. “You know, there is a way to sneak him in…”

Regulus perked up immediately. “Really? How?”

Harry raised his glowing hand, chaos magic swirling at his fingertips. With a snap, a shimmering red mist wrapped around the air where Motto had just vanished. A second later, a tiny, wide-eyed sugar glider tumbled onto Regulus’ shoulder, his fluffy tail twitching furiously.

Regulus gasped. “Harry, what did you do?!”

Harry grinned. “Meet Motto, the world’s first sugar glider demiguise.”

Motto let out an indignant squeak, clinging to Regulus’ shirt. His tiny, beady eyes still held that same intelligent awareness—except now he was small enough to fit in Regulus’ pocket.

Sirius gaped at Harry. “You turned the bloody demiguise into a sugar glider?!”

Harry shrugged. “I mean… he fits the size requirements now.”

Regulus was torn between excitement and concern. “Wait, will he still be able to go invisible?”

Motto disappeared.

Regulus whooped. “This is brilliant!”

Sirius groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Natasha just shook her head, muttering, “You’re just like your father.”

Motto reappeared, scurrying up Regulus’ arm and chittering furiously at Harry.

Harry smirked. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’ll get used to it.”

Motto bared his tiny teeth.

Sirius sighed in defeat. “Fine. But if anyone finds out about this, I’m blaming you, Harry.”

Harry grinned. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Loki, barely had time to look up from his staged paperwork before Amelia Bones stormed into his office, her face tight with anger.

“Pettigrew has escaped,” she announced without preamble, slamming a report onto his desk.

Loki tilted his head, feigning surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“Peter Pettigrew,” Amelia repeated, her voice sharp. “The rat traitor of the Potters and servant to Voldemort.”

Loki sat back, steepling his fingers. “Gone? That seems rather unlikely, Director. Azkaban is—”

“He faked his own death,” Amelia interrupted, her tone clipped. “Lured a guard into his cell, killed him with his teeth, stole his wand, and vanished. There’s no sign of him anywhere.”

Loki allowed a moment of silence to stretch, as if carefully digesting the information. In truth, his mind was already working through the implications.

“This is... deeply troubling,” Loki said at last, keeping his Fudge persona properly flustered. “We must act swiftly. Send Aurors, contact the Hit Wizards—whatever it takes to bring him in before he causes further damage.”

Amelia nodded, already half-turned toward the door. “Sirius Black will be the first to know. He and Strange put Pettigrew away, and I doubt they’ll sit back while he’s on the loose.”

Loki forced a smile. “Yes, yes, of course. Keep me informed.”

As Amelia left, Loki leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose.

Peter Pettigrew had just made the game far more interesting.

Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor of Potter Manor’s training room, a notebook open in her lap as she excitedly flipped through pages filled with notes and sketches. Harry sat beside her, leaning in to look.

“So, I was thinking,” she said, pointing to a diagram. “I can’t use magic the way you or Wanda do, but Kamar-Taj’s techniques aren’t just about casting spells—they’re about control, movement, intention. I could adapt some of their principles into my own fighting style.”

Harry watched as she demonstrated, mimicking a stance she had seen in one of the books. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she explained how she wanted to blend what she had learned with what she could already do.

“I love this,” Harry said, his voice soft.

Hermione blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You. The way you think. The way you see things differently,” he murmured.

Before she could respond, Harry leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t rushed or uncertain—it was warm, steady, and just long enough to make Hermione’s breath hitch. When they pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, but there was a small smile on her lips.

“Well,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “if I knew that was the reaction I’d get, I would’ve started talking about this ages ago.”

Harry chuckled, nudging her playfully. “Guess I’ll just have to keep encouraging you then.”

Hermione laughed but then fixed him with a look, her fingers idly tracing the edges of her notebook. “You know, I haven’t completely forgotten about you hiding your hand from me,” she said, her tone light but firm.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know.”

“Good,” she said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek before returning to her notes. “Because I’m not letting it go just yet.”

Harry smirked, shaking his head. “Didn’t think you would.”

Their fingers brushed as they turned a page together, neither of them pulling away.

The doors to the Ministry’s main atrium slammed open with a deafening boom, making the nearest chandeliers tremble. Conversations died instantly as Doctor Stephen Strange stormed in, his Cloak of Levitation billowing behind him like an ominous storm cloud. His sharp, piercing gaze was locked forward, ignoring the startled looks from Ministry workers as he strode toward the lifts with purpose.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t ask permission. With a flick of his fingers, the nearest lift’s golden gates snapped open, and within moments, he was marching down the corridor toward the Minister’s office.

The guards stationed outside barely had time to react before the heavy wooden doors blasted open with a pulse of eldritch energy.

Inside, Cornelius Fudge—Loki in disguise—looked up from his desk, raising an eyebrow as if Strange had merely walked in unannounced rather than forced his way inside. Amelia Bones, standing near the Minister’s desk, straightened at the sight of Strange, already sensing the storm brewing. Other Ministry officials froze in place, eyes darting between the Sorcerer Supreme and the so-called Minister of Magic.

"Doctor Strange," Loki drawled, his voice carrying an air of practiced authority. "To what do we owe—"

"Why," Strange interrupted, his voice cold and sharp as a blade, "was I not informed of Peter Pettigrew’s escape immediately?" Of course he knew and began looking but Fudge should have told him immediately. By the time he got the message from the spell in Fudges office all traces of Peter from his cell had been contaminated.

The silence was thick.

Loki leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers. "Doctor, you must understand—"

"What I understand," Strange snapped, stepping forward, "Is that a known Death Eater—who should have never left Azkaban alive—is loose, and I had to find out from a bloody newspaper!" His hands flickered with restrained magic, energy crackling in the air like a storm barely held at bay. "Did it ever occur to you that this concerns everyone, not just the Ministry?"

Amelia’s sharp gaze turned to Loki before she quickly interjected. "Strange, can you track him? Like you did the first time?"

Strange exhaled through his nose. "If he's still human, yes." Without waiting for approval, he lifted his hands, tracing glowing runes in the air. A golden, intricate sigil formed between his fingers, pulsing with energy as he muttered an incantation.

The magic flared, then—nothing. The light fizzled out.

Strange frowned. He repeated the spell. The same result.

Loki raised an eyebrow in mock curiosity. "Trouble, Doctor?"

Strange clenched his jaw, his mind already racing through possibilities. He turned to Amelia. "He's in his Animagus form."

She inhaled sharply. "A rat. Damn it."

"Of course," Strange muttered, his irritation mounting. "That’s why the tracking spell isn’t working. He’s masking himself in his animal form—he’s learned." He dropped his hands, magic dissipating as he shot a glare at Loki. "This is exactly why I should have been informed immediately."

Loki gave him a measured look. "The Aurors are doing everything possible—"

"Not good enough," Strange cut in. "From now on, if something like this happens again, I expect to know the second you do. No more Ministry delays. Pettigrew is more dangerous than you’re giving him credit for, and I won’t sit back while you bumble through this investigation."

Loki exhaled slowly through his nose, but after a pause, he nodded. "Of course, Doctor Strange. We’ll be sure to keep you informed."

Strange didn’t believe a word of it. He turned sharply, his Cloak whipping behind him as he stormed out. The doors slammed shut with a final, resounding boom. I need to reapply those spells on his desk. Something effected the quill.

Loki sat back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the desk. Strange was going to be a problem. A very annoying problem.

The fire flickered in the living room of Remus and Wanda’s home, casting a warm glow that didn’t quite match the confusion in the air. At the center of it all sat Pietro and Lyall, practically vibrating with excitement as they clutched their Hogwarts letters.

Remus paced the room, running a hand through his hair. "This doesn't make any sense. You're not even a year old."

"Technically," Pietro interjected, waving his letter. "But also technically, I fixed that. I mean, come on, Dad, I had to do something! Mum was in danger! If I hadn't rushed our age up, she could've—"

Lyall groaned, tilting his head back against the couch. "We know, Pietro. You've only told us a thousand times."

"But it was really cool, right?" Pietro grinned, turning to their parents. "Like, one second, we’re babies, next second—boom! Fully functional kids! Talk about a glow-up. And now we get to go to Hogwarts! Oh, I wonder if we’ll get to sit together in the Great Hall, or maybe they’ll make a new table for ‘miracle twin babies who defied all logic and got letters before their first birthday!’"

Wanda pinched the bridge of her nose. "Pietro."

"Yes, Mum?"

"Promise me you won’t show off your magic or your age situation to anyone. Both of you." Her gaze shifted to Lyall, who was currently giving his brother the side-eye.

Pietro scoffed. "Mum, please, I’m subtle."

Lyall snorted. "You’re about as subtle as an explosion."

"Okay, rude," Pietro huffed, crossing his arms. "But still, I promise. No magic flexing, no telling people we technically shouldn’t even exist in this form yet."

Remus sighed, still looking at the letters. "I don’t know how this happened, but if you’ve been accepted, you’re going. I just want you both to be careful. No unnecessary risks, and don’t draw attention to yourselves."

Lyall gave a firm nod. Pietro, on the other hand, grinned wide. "Got it! Totally laying low, blending in, keeping my crazy cool abilities under wraps." He paused. "Oh! Can I at least tell them I have an awesome mum who fights like a goddess and a dad who’s the best teacher ever?"

Wanda sighed, but there was a small smile on her lips. "That, you can say."

Lyall rolled his eyes again as Pietro fist-pumped. "Yes! Hogwarts, here we come!"

Sirius sat at the kitchen table, lazily flipping through a newspaper when an owl tapped against the window. He barely spared it a glance as he reached over, taking the letter tied to its leg. The official Ministry seal caught his eye, and his easy demeanor shifted into something more cautious.

He broke the seal, unfolding the parchment. As his eyes scanned the contents, his grip tightened. His breath hitched. The letter crumpled slightly in his shaking hands.

Peter Pettigrew had escaped.

The chair scraped loudly against the floor as Sirius shot up, the letter clenched in his fist. “THAT FILTHY, MISERABLE—” He slammed his fist against the table, sending a cup crashing to the floor. His chest heaved. “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance!”

Remus was on his feet in an instant. “Sirius, stop. We’ll handle this—”

“Handle it?” Sirius barked out a bitter laugh, pacing like a caged animal. “The rat should’ve rotted in Azkaban! And now—now he’s out there! He won’t hide forever, Moony. He’s up to something.”

Natasha stepped in front of him, placing firm hands on his shoulders. “Sirius. Breathe.” Her voice was steel, cutting through his rage. “Losing it won’t change what’s happened.”

Sirius’ hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tight. His whole body was vibrating with unspent fury, but he forced himself to take a breath, eyes flickering to hers.

Across the room, Harry sat silent. Still. His fingers dug into his palms, his nails pressing hard into his skin. The rage inside him burned, dark and heavy, curling through his veins like fire. His vision blurred red as he stared at the crumpled letter in his godfather’s grip.

Peter Pettigrew was free. The man who had handed his parents over to Voldemort. The man who had destroyed their lives.

His breath came slow and deep, but inside, Chaos Magic swirled beneath his skin, itching to be unleashed. He could feel it thrumming at his fingertips, responding to the storm inside him.

Sirius turned, finally meeting Harry’s gaze. His anger softened for a split second, seeing the barely contained fury in his godson’s eyes.

“We’ll stop him,” Sirius vowed, voice low and deadly.

Harry’s grip tightened. His magic pulsed.

“No I will,” he whispered. And he meant it.

The morning sun cast a soft glow through the tall windows of Dumbledore’s office as he sat behind his grand desk, the latest edition of the Daily Prophet in his hands. He unfolded the paper with his usual practiced ease, expecting the usual political nonsense and minor Ministry squabbles.

Then, his sharp blue eyes landed on the headline.

PETER PETTIGREW ESCAPES AZKABAN! MINISTRY IN UPROAR!

Dumbledore’s hands tightened ever so slightly on the paper. His expression remained neutral, but a flicker of something—concern, unease—passed through his gaze.

His mind immediately turned to Sirius, to Harry. There would be rage, pain, and a thirst for justice that he wasn’t sure could be contained. And rightly so. Pettigrew’s crimes had already left deep scars—ones that had barely begun to heal.

Dumbledore set the paper down carefully, fingers steepling beneath his chin as he considered the implications. Peter had been locked away for years. If he had finally managed to escape, it was not by accident.

Which meant he had a purpose.

His eyes flickered toward Fawkes, who let out a soft, knowing trill. “Yes, my friend,” Dumbledore murmured. “It seems the past refuses to stay buried.”

His thoughts drifted to Voldemort. His followers. If Peter was free, he would not remain hidden for long.

Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair. The pieces were moving once more, and he had no doubt that whatever came next would change everything.

Despite the weight of the bad news Sirius had his priorities. Right now it was his son being prepared for school.

The bell chimed as Regulus, Lyall, and Pietro stepped into the dimly lit shop, followed closely by their parents—Sirius, Natasha, Remus, and Wanda—as well as Harry. The towering shelves loomed overhead, crammed with countless wand boxes humming with latent magic.

Garrick Ollivander turned to greet them, his pale, knowing eyes flickering with intrigue. “Ah, the next generation arrives,” he murmured, stepping forward. “A Black… two young ones with unusual magic. Both Lupins. This should be interesting.”

Sirius nudged Regulus toward the counter. “Go on, let’s see what kind of chaos your wand is going to bring.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but stepped forward. Ollivander barely hesitated before selecting a sleek, dark box and opening it. He handed the wand to Regulus, and the moment his fingers wrapped around it, the air shifted. A pulse of raw, untamed energy settled in his grip, and a faint shimmer of green flickered at the tip.

Ollivander’s brow furrowed. “Curious… Holly wood, thirteen inches. But the core—" He studied it for a long moment. "Ah. That one.”

Natasha crossed her arms. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Ollivander tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “I found the core’s source the day the Dementors attacked Diagon Alley. A single strand of hair was left behind in the street, pulsing with residual magic. I had never encountered anything quite like it, but I knew it had potential.” He turned his gaze to Regulus. “This wand is unpredictable, mischievous, and brimming with hidden power. It has chosen you.”

Regulus twirled the wand between his fingers, smirking. “Sounds like a good match.”

Sirius groaned. “That’s not remotely reassuring.”

Before he could say more, Lyall stepped up, clearly eager. Ollivander handed him a wand, but the second Lyall grasped it, a sharp crack split the air, and the tip sparked wildly.

Lyall winced. “Okay, not that one.”

Ollivander tsked and reached for another box. “Try this.”

The moment Lyall’s fingers wrapped around the handle, a warmth spread through his arm, and the connection settled. Ollivander nodded in satisfaction.

“Cedar wood, twelve inches, with a Basilisk horn core,” he announced. His gaze flickered toward Wanda. “Taken from the very Basilisk your mother slew in the Chamber of Secrets.”

Lyall turned to Wanda, wide-eyed.

She shrugged. “Seems fitting.”

Before Lyall could respond, Pietro practically shoved him aside. “Oh, hell yes! I want one of those too.”

Ollivander sighed but handed him another wand. Pietro grabbed it, and the second his fingers curled around it, a pulse of purple light flickered at his fingertips. His grin stretched wide.

“Ebony. Eleven and a half inches,” Ollivander recited, watching the boy’s reaction. “Also containing Basilisk horn.”

Pietro turned the wand over in his hands, whistling. “That’s badass.”

Lyall huffed. “And concerning.”

Remus placed a hand on Lyall’s shoulder. “At least now we know why your mother kept that fang.”

Wanda smirked. “It was a trophy.”

"I got one too." Regulus grinned. "It's on my wall."

Harry, who had been watching with amusement, leaned against the counter. “So their wands are literally connected to their mother’s magic? That’s… actually incredible.”

Ollivander studied them for a long moment. “Basilisk horn is rare. For two brothers to receive wands with the same core… it suggests a connection beyond blood.” He then turned back to Regulus. “And your wand… its core remains a mystery. The magic in that hair was unlike anything I’ve encountered.”

Regulus twirled the wand between his fingers, smirking. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Wanda lowered her spell down casting a metal shine over the boys new wands.

As the group sat in the living room, the excitement of the twins’ Hogwarts letters still fresh in the air, Regulus turned his new wand over in his hands, eyes gleaming. He knew exactly what had just happened—he’d seen it before.

“This is so cool,” he murmured, grinning as he admired the sleek, metallic sheen coating his wand. “Now mine’s just like Harry’s.”

Harry smirked, twirling his own wand between his fingers. “Yeah, it is.”

Lyall ran a clawed finger along the metal surface of his own wand, testing the texture. “Mum, you did this?”

Wanda nodded, lowering her hand as the last traces of Chaos magic faded from the air. “Strange made Harry’s first, but I made sure it was something he could rely on. And now, I’ve done the same for yours.”

Regulus’ grin widened. “Now I’ve got a wand as cool as my brother’s.”

Pietro, ever the motor mouth, twirled his wand excitedly. “This is awesome! Can I shoot lightning? No, wait—fire? What if I can control—”

Lyall rolled his eyes. “Pietro, shut up.”

Remus and Sirius exchanged glances, the weight of what Wanda had done settling in.

Sirius finally spoke. “You realize these are the toughest wands in existence now?”

Wanda crossed her arms. “I made sure of it.”

Regulus held his wand a little tighter, feeling its strength in his grip. “Good.”

As he sat on the couch, idly spinning his wand between his fingers when Lyall, curious, reached out to touch it. The moment his fingertips brushed the handle, the wand simply vanished from his grasp—only to reappear instantly in Regulus’ hand.

Lyall blinked. “What the—?”

Pietro, never one to back down from a challenge, lunged to grab it. The same thing happened—his fingers wrapped around the wand, and yet, in the blink of an eye, it was back in Regulus’ grip.

“Okay, what?!” Pietro turned to Wanda. “Mum, did you do that?”

Wanda smirked. “Not me.”

Remus leaned in, his brow furrowed in thought. “That’s not normal for a wand,” he said. “It’s almost like it refuses to be used by anyone else.”

Sirius hummed in interest. “Protective enchantments?”

Natasha, who had been quietly observing, narrowed her eyes at the wand, a flicker of recognition in her expression. She knew magic when she saw it—and she had seen something eerily similar before.

“I think I know where that core came from,” she muttered under her breath.

Regulus, oblivious to her realization, grinned and twirled the wand. “Guess it just knows who it belongs to. Cool, huh?”

Pietro huffed. “Not fair. I want my wand to do that!”

Lyall rolled his eyes. “You already have cool magic. Let Regulus have this one.”

Natasha didn’t say anything more, but as she watched the wand settle naturally in Regulus’ grip, a thought lingered in the back of her mind—one she would have to investigate.

The fireplace crackled softly, filling the cozy living room with a golden glow. Wanda sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, as she watched Lyall and Peitro play on the floor. Lyall was meticulously stacking books into a tower while Peitro lay on his stomach, animatedly chattering about everything and nothing all at once.

“And then, when we get to Hogwarts, I’m gonna be the best at spells. Well, maybe not the best, but definitely top ten. No, top five! Actually, maybe top three—oh! What if I’m the best? That’d be kinda cool, right? Lyall, do you think I could be the best?”

Lyall, who had been carefully balancing another book on his tower, rolled his eyes. “You talk too much bub.”

Peitro grinned. “And you don’t talk enough! That’s why we balance each other out, duh.”

Remus chuckled from his chair, a book resting forgotten on his lap as he watched his sons. Wanda smiled, shaking her head as she reached out and ruffled Peitro’s white-streaked hair. “You’ve certainly inherited your uncle’s energy, haven’t you?”

“I dunno, Mom, Uncle Pietro had superspeed. I just talk fast. But if I talk fast enough, does that count as moving fast? Maybe I should try running while talking—”

“Absolutely not,” Remus said quickly, exchanging a knowing look with Wanda.

Peitro huffed dramatically but leaned against his mother anyway, content to bask in the warmth of the room. Lyall, after making sure his book tower was standing strong, climbed up onto the couch and settled between his parents.

Wanda pressed a soft kiss to his head before glancing at Remus. “Can you believe they’re going to Hogwarts?”

Remus exhaled, wrapping an arm around her. “No,” he admitted, his voice full of wonder. “It feels like just yesterday they were babies.”

“Technically, we still are,” Peitro pointed out with a cheeky grin. “Just, you know, fast-forwarded a little.”

Lyall yawned, snuggling against his mother. “You’re gonna visit a lot, right?”

Wanda stroked his hair gently. “Every single day.”

“Promise?”

She smiled, pressing her forehead to his. “Always.”

Peitro looked up at his father. “And you’ll still be teaching, so I can bug you all the time!”

Remus groaned playfully. “Oh, joy.”

Wanda laughed softly as Peitro wrapped his arms around them both, squeezing tightly. Lyall followed suit, and for a moment, the four of them stayed like that—wrapped in warmth, in love, in the quiet understanding that no matter what, they would always have each other.

The grand hall of the Ministry was packed with reporters, their enchanted quills scratching furiously against parchment as the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, stood at the podium. Flashes of camera bulbs illuminated his composed expression, though behind his eyes lay something far more calculating.

Loki adjusted his bowler hat and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I understand the concerns that have arisen in light of recent events. The escape of Peter Pettigrew from Azkaban is indeed a serious matter, but I assure you, the Ministry is taking every precaution necessary to ensure the safety of our citizens.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and a reporter from The Daily Prophet raised her hand. “Minister Fudge, does this mean Azkaban’s security measures are failing? How did Pettigrew manage to escape?”

Loki gave a perfectly rehearsed sigh, tilting his head just so to feign exasperation. “Azkaban remains one of the most secure locations in our world. This was an unprecedented incident, and rest assured, we are investigating every possible factor that could have contributed to this escape.”

Another reporter cut in. “What about Hogwarts? Will the students be safe?”

A slow smile spread across Loki’s face. “Hogwarts has always been one of the safest places in the wizarding world. However, in light of this development, I am personally authorizing the presence of Aurors at the school. They will be stationed there as a precautionary measure to ensure that neither Pettigrew nor any other threat comes close to our children.”

The press exploded with questions. “Minister, will this affect the upcoming school year? Will Dumbledore agree to these measures? Is this an overreach of Ministry power?”

Loki raised a hand, silencing the room with a carefully measured look of authority. “This is not about politics, nor is it about overreach. It is about safety. I will not sit idly by while a known traitor is on the loose. The Aurors will be there to protect, not interfere. That is my promise to the public.”

He gave a small, satisfied nod as the room erupted in further questions. Behind his composed mask, Loki smirked inwardly. The pieces were moving in very fun ways.

Red lightning crackled through the air, shaking the very foundation of the room. The training dummies stood no chance against the sheer force of Harry’s Chaos Magic. With a flick of his wrist, another target disintegrated into dust, leaving scorch marks on the reinforced walls.

The door creaked open, and Wanda stepped inside. Her presence alone was enough to calm storms, but Harry’s magic was a tempest refusing to be tamed.

“You’re going to bring the manor down at this rate,” she remarked, arms crossed as she observed him.

Harry didn’t look at her. Another pulse of magic, another dummy gone. “I could rebuild it.” His voice was even, but the frustration ran deep beneath it.

Wanda took a step closer, her own magic flickering around her. “That’s not the point.”

Harry let out a slow breath, his hands curling into fists. “Peter should have never gotten out. I should’ve been ready.” His magic pulsed again, bending the space around him.

Wanda didn’t hesitate. She placed a hand on his shoulder, letting her magic weave with his, steadying the storm before it could spiral further. “You are ready, and you’re not alone.”

For a moment, Harry didn’t respond. Then, finally, his fists unclenched, and the red glow in his eyes dimmed. He turned to Wanda—not just as a mentor or family, but as the one person who truly understood.

Platonic soulmates. Two beings bound by magic, loss, and an unspoken understanding.

“I know,” he said, quieter now. “But I have to be stronger.”

Wanda’s lips twitched in the faintest of smiles. “You already are.”

She guided Harry to a nearby bench and nudged him to sit down. The weight of his own magic still crackled around him, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she sat beside him, her own power a steady presence in the air.

“Harry,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the lingering tension. “I know what this feels like. The need to be stronger, to make sure no one can ever take something from you again.” She turned slightly, looking at him, waiting for him to meet her gaze.

He exhaled sharply, eyes still glowing faintly with Chaos Magic. “I can’t let my guard down, Wanda. I won’t.”

She reached over, gripping his hand with hers. “You don’t have to. But you also don’t have to do this alone.” Her thumb brushed over his knuckles in a grounding motion. “You’ve got my back, right?”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “Always.”

She gave him a small, knowing smile. “And I’ve got yours. Remember?”

His shoulders finally relaxed, the last of the destructive energy ebbing away. He nodded, the fierce determination still in his eyes but tempered by the reminder that he wasn’t fighting this battle without her.

“Always.” He said again giving a soft smile.

Luckily the World Cup was just the distraction Harry and Sirius needed.

The atmosphere at the Quidditch World Cup was electric, the cheers of thousands still ringing in their ears as the match came to an end. The energy of the game left everyone in high spirits as they filtered out of the stadium, chattering excitedly.

Harry walked alongside Regulus, who was still buzzing with excitement from the match. "Did you see that Wronski Feint? I thought for sure Krum was going to crash!" Regulus exclaimed, eyes wide.

Harry chuckled, ruffling his godbrother’s hair. "Yeah, he’s brilliant. Nearly gave half the crowd a heart attack, though."

Nearby, Neville was laughing at something Hermione had said. "That was insane," he admitted. "I still think Ireland deserved the win, though."

"They did win," Hermione pointed out. "Krum caught the Snitch, but Ireland was ahead in points."

"Yeah, but still…" Neville grinned, shaking his head.

Sirius walked ahead with Natasha, his arm draped around her shoulders. "You know, I think Regulus is trying to memorize every single move Krum made," Sirius teased, glancing back at his son.

Regulus puffed up proudly. "Well, maybe I am!"

"Don’t let him get a new broom," Natasha smirked. "He’ll be trying to outfly Harry in no time."

Harry rolled his eyes playfully but nudged Regulus. "I’d like to see you try, kid."

Strange and Tony walked a few steps ahead with Clint, Steve, and Bruce, all of them deep in conversation.

"You know," Tony was saying, "I could build a suit specifically for Quidditch—make it faster, enhance reaction speed—"

Strange sighed. "Absolutely not."

Bruce looked intrigued. "Actually, if you engineered something lightweight enough, it could—"

"Not you too, Banner," Strange groaned.

Clint laughed. "I dunno, guys. Magic flying versus Iron Man tech flying? I’d watch that match."

The easy atmosphere was shattered by a sudden explosion in the distance.

Screams erupted.

The once bright and joyous festival of the Cup turned into sheer chaos as masked figures appeared, firing spells indiscriminately into the crowd. Tents went up in flames, and people ran in every direction.

"Death Eaters!" someone screamed.

Sirius immediately pulled Natasha behind him, his wand in hand, eyes narrowing. Harry, get Regulus out of here!"

But Harry had already moved, stepping in front of Regulus instinctively. "Stay close to me," he said firmly.

Strange’s eyes darkened as he took a step forward. With a simple wave of his hand, golden shields flickered into place, blocking curses before they could strike.

Wanda’s hands glowed red, her expression unreadable. "Enough of this," she muttered.

With a flick of her wrists, she sent a wave of raw power through the air. The nearest Death Eaters were flung backward like ragdolls, crashing into the dirt, their masks falling from their faces.

A spell whizzed toward Harry and Regulus, but Hermione jumped in front, raising her shield just in time to block the impact. The force pushed her back slightly, but she held her ground.

"You okay?" she asked, glancing back at them.

"Yeah," Harry said, gripping his wand tightly. "Stay sharp."

Neville unslung his axe, his grip steady as he positioned himself next to them. "You know, I swore I wouldn’t use this today," he muttered. "Guess that was wishful thinking."

"You think?" Harry said dryly.

Another explosion rocked the campsite, sending debris into the air. Wanda clenched her fist, and the smoke swirled unnaturally, revealing the masked figures trying to escape.

"Not today," she growled.

Her power lashed out again, catching them mid-run. They crumpled to the ground, bound by glowing red chains.

The last two Death Eaters hesitated, realizing their comrades had been taken down in seconds.

One tried to apparate away—Strange flicked his fingers, twisting the space around him, and the Death Eater reappeared exactly where he had stood.

The man let out a strangled noise before Wanda’s energy wrapped around him, slamming him to the ground.

The battlefield fell silent.

Only two Death Eaters remained standing, frozen in fear.

Harry exhaled, lowering his wand slightly, but his grip on it remained tight.

The dust was finally beginning to settle from the brief, chaotic attack as the crowd around the area started to calm down. Amelia and her Aurors were already moving quickly to handle the captured Death Eaters, making sure they were all securely restrained and ready to be taken away.

Sirius stood with his son, eyeing the aftermath with a faint, dry smile. “Well, that was something, wasn’t it?” he muttered, shaking his head. “Not exactly how I imagined the World Cup going.”

Regulus, a bit underwhelmed by the whole thing, glanced at his father. “I don’t know, Dad, I was kind of hoping for something… bigger. More explosions, maybe? Or at least some cool magic.” He crossed his arms, still processing the attack.

Sirius chuckled at Regulus' disappointed look. “I get it. I thought we’d be seeing some action too. But at least you didn’t have to see me taking down Death Eaters, huh?” He grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

Neville, who had just walked over with his parents, caught the tail end of the conversation. “Maybe you didn’t have to, but we did,” Neville said with a wry smile, giving his friend a small nod.

Frank Longbottom clapped Neville on the back, a proud look on his face. “Good job, son. You did well.”

Regulus looked over at Neville, giving a quick nod of acknowledgment. “You were good too, Neville. Didn’t lose your axe.”

Neville flushed slightly but grinned. “Yeah, well, I had to make sure it didn’t go flying.”

Sirius grinned. “He’s not wrong, Nev. No one wants to lose a good weapon.”

Alice Longbottom, who had been standing beside her husband, smiled at Neville before turning to the others. “You all did well. I’m just glad it was over quickly, but we still have to stay alert. These things don’t just stop at one attack.”

As they all began talking amongst themselves, Regulus’ gaze shifted over to Harry, who was standing off to the side, looking over the scene quietly. Harry had his arms crossed, his face thoughtful.

Sirius, noticing his son’s attention, gave a quick glance to Harry. “You alright, kiddo?”

"Yeah. Just wish I could have helped more." Harry said.

"You did fine." Sirius said patting his shoulder.

“I demand to know who conjured the Dark Mark!” Crouch’s voice boomed, his face red with anger. “Who did it? This is unacceptable!”

Harry’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the Mark, but he didn’t react. Regulus looked at his father, unsure what to do. Sirius met his son’s gaze and sighed, his voice low. “This is just typical. Don’t mind him.”

Strange, who had been observing from a distance, stepped forward with his usual calm demeanor. His voice was even but firm as he addressed Crouch. “Perhaps it’s more important to deal with the captured Death Eaters first before you start pointing fingers, Barty.”

Crouch blinked, momentarily taken aback by Strange’s calm response. He opened his mouth to retort but was quickly interrupted by Wanda, who also stepped forward. “The focus right now is on keeping the peace, not the Mark. These Death Eaters were captured, and that’s what matters.”

Amelia, ever composed, stepped in next, giving Crouch a sharp look. “Enough, Barty. We’ll investigate the Mark later. For now, we handle the captured Death Eaters.”

Crouch opened his mouth to argue but seemed to think better of it when he saw the looks from both Amelia and Strange. He scowled but didn’t press the issue any further.

Regulus, still not entirely convinced by the adults’ calmness, muttered to Harry, “Doesn’t this all feel a little off to you? Like, I get that they caught the Death Eaters, but something about all of this doesn’t sit right.”

Harry glanced over at Regulus, his expression unreadable. “I think it’s just... the calm before the storm,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on Crouch, who was now moving toward the captured Death Eaters with Amelia.

Regulus sighed, turning back to his father. “I just thought... after everything, it would’ve been more of a fight. But this?” He waved a hand vaguely at the scene. “It feels like we didn’t even get to do anything.”

Sirius smiled softly at his son. “Sometimes, doing nothing is the hardest part, Reg. It’s easy to want action, but you’ll learn—sometimes, the quiet victories are the most important.”

Regulus looked at his dad for a moment, then nodded. “I guess.”

From the corner of Harrys eye, he spotted movement near the ruins of the camp.

At the edge of the destruction, a small, trembling figure knelt before a tall man in elegant robes—Barty Crouch Sr.

It took Harry a moment to recognize Winky, the house-elf, her large eyes brimming with tears.

"You have disgraced me," Crouch said coldly. "I have no use for you anymore."

He reached into his robes and pulled out a piece of fabric, tossing it at her feet.

"I release you."

A strangled sob escaped Winky as she clutched the cloth.

Harry clenched his jaw.

The night had already shown him the cruelty of Death Eaters, but this? This was another kind of cruelty entirely.

The way Crouch had dismissed her so coldly, blaming her for the Dark Mark before casting her aside, made his stomach twist. He stepped forward, ignoring the few glances thrown his way, and crouched beside her.

“Winky?” he said softly.

The elf let out a pitiful whimper but didn’t look up. “Winky is bad! Winky has failed! Winky is disgraced!”

Harry shook his head. “You didn’t fail. Crouch failed you.”

Winky gasped, looking up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “No! Wizards is good! Winky must serve! Winky is nothing without a master!”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not nothing, Winky. You don’t need to belong to someone to have worth.”

She shook her head frantically, gripping her tea towel. “No, no, no! House-elves serve! That is Winky’s purpose! But now… now Winky is free.” She shuddered at the word, as if it physically hurt her. “Winky is alone.”

Harry hesitated, considering her words. He knew how deeply ingrained loyalty was in house-elves. If freedom made her miserable… maybe there was another way.

“If you really want to serve a family, Winky,” he said carefully, “you could serve mine.”

Winky froze. “What?”

Harry met her gaze. “You can be my elf, if that’s what you want. Not because you have to, but because you choose to.”

Winky’s eyes widened, her breath hitching. “Harry Potter… wants Winky?”

He nodded. “Yeah. But I won’t treat you the way Crouch did. You’d be part of my family. You’d have a home. And you’d never be abandoned.”

For a long moment, Winky didn’t speak. Then, with a shaky gasp, she threw herself forward, grasping his hands with her small fingers.

“Winky… Winky accepts!” she sobbed, pressing her forehead to the ground. “Winky swears to serve Harry Potter! Winky will be good elf!”

Harry squeezed her hands gently. “Then welcome to the family, Winky.”

She sniffled, but there was something new in her eyes now—hope.

The long wooden table in the Hogwarts staff room was crowded with tense faces. The school governors, including Sirius Black, sat across from Dumbledore and his staff. The atmosphere was thick with debate, parchment strewn across the table, filled with notes on the revival of the Triwizard Tournament. However, the news of Peter Pettigrew’s escape had derailed the discussion.

Sirius leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table. His knuckles were white. “You expect me to sit here and talk about a tournament while the rat who got my best friends killed is running free?” His voice was sharp with barely contained fury. "Not to mention that shite at the World Cup."

Amelia Bones spoke up firmly. “We all understand the gravity of the situation, Black. But Hogwarts cannot simply shut down over this.”

Dumbledore folded his hands together, his eyes grave. “Peter Pettigrew’s escape is indeed troubling, but I must emphasize that Hogwarts remains well-protected.”

Snape sneered from his seat. “Clearly, Minister Fudge does not share your optimism, Headmaster. He has decided to place Aurors in the school.”

McGonagall adjusted her glasses, nodding. “While I don’t appreciate Ministry interference, if Aurors are necessary for the students’ safety, I will not protest.”

Sirius scoffed. “That’s convenient, considering this tournament is already putting them in enough danger.”

Dumbledore’s gaze remained steady. “The Triwizard Tournament has not been held in two hundred years. If we are to host it, we must ensure proper safety measures are in place.”

Flitwick, his small frame barely visible behind a stack of tournament regulations, piped up, “It’s an opportunity for international cooperation. If done correctly, it could be a remarkable experience for our students.”

Sirius, however, wasn’t convinced. “And what happens when Peter uses this as a distraction? What if he’s not alone?”

Remus, sitting beside McGonagall, spoke softly but firmly. “We don’t know his intentions, but that’s why we must be vigilant. The Aurors can help, but so can we.”

A tense silence settled over the room.

One of the older governors, a stout man named Ogden, cleared his throat. “It seems we have two issues here. First, the safety of our students in light of Pettigrew’s escape. Second, ensuring the Triwizard Tournament does not become a disaster.”

Dumbledore gave a small nod. “Precisely.”

Sirius sighed, rubbing his face. He wasn’t happy, but he knew this fight wouldn’t be won today. “Fine. But I want regular reports on security, and if Pettigrew comes anywhere near this school, I don’t care what the Ministry says—I’m going after him myself.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled ever so slightly. “I would expect nothing less, Sirius.”

The discussion shifted back to tournament logistics, but the unease in the room remained. The shadow of Peter Pettigrew’s escape loomed over them all.

But one person wasn't done. The next days Wizengamot showed that.

Peter Pettigrew scurried through the dense, dark forest, his rat form darting between twisted roots and overgrown brush. He had been running for days, barely stopping to rest, driven by fear and desperation. Azkaban had nearly broken him, but now he had one goal—to find his master.

The whispers had led him here, to an abandoned, rotting manor deep within the woods. He transformed back into his human form, gasping for breath as he approached the crumbling doorway. His heart pounded as he stepped inside, the air thick with decay and something far darker.

A voice, weak but unmistakable, rasped from the shadows. "Who dares disturb me?"

Peter fell to his knees instantly, bowing his head so low it nearly touched the dusty floor. "M-Master… it’s me. It’s Wormtail."

From the far corner of the room, something stirred. A grotesque, twisted form—Voldemort, barely more than a wraith, shrouded in darkness. Red eyes burned through the gloom, piercing into Peter’s soul.

"You… live." Voldemort’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it held the same cruel authority it always had. "Why have you come?"

Peter trembled. "T-To serve, my Lord! I—I escaped! I knew you would return, that you would need me!" His voice was frantic, pleading. "The others… they abandoned you, but I never did! I came back, my Lord! I came to help!"

A long silence stretched between them before Voldemort let out a low, hissing chuckle. "Help… Yes… You shall be of use to me, Wormtail. I have been waiting for one loyal enough to answer my call."

Peter’s breath hitched as Voldemort’s presence pressed against him, suffocating and cold.

"Rise, Wormtail," Voldemort commanded, his red eyes gleaming with new purpose. "We have much to do."

Natasha sat stiffly in Strange’s study, her fingers drumming against her arm as he finished his spell. A faint, eerie glow flickered over Regulus’ wand before fading, leaving Strange studying it with a knowing expression.

“You were right,” he said, setting the wand down. “The core came from Loki’s hair. Asgard magic lingers in it.”

Natasha exhaled sharply, pressing her lips into a thin line. “Ollivander said he just found the hair. Loki must have lost it when he escaped Asgard.”

Strange nodded. “Most likely when he saved Regulus from the Dementors and used him as a hostage to slip past Thor.”

Her jaw clenched at the memory. “And now my son’s wand is tied to him.” She ran a hand over her face before standing abruptly. “Loki probably won’t care. A single strand of hair means nothing to him.”

Strange tilted his head. “But it means something to you.”

She shot him a glare. “Of course it does. I don’t want Regulus connected to Loki in any way.”

Strange leaned back. “The wand is Regulus’ now. Loki has no claim on it.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that my son keeps getting tangled up with that snake,” Natasha muttered. She shook her head, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “I just want him safe.”

Strange gave her a considering look. “Regulus is strong. And he’s got you, Sirius, and Harry looking out for him. Loki’s influence on that wand doesn’t change that.”

Natasha exhaled slowly. “I know.” She picked up the wand, rolling it between her fingers before pocketing it. “But if Loki does come sniffing around, I’ll make sure he regrets it.”

Strange smirked. “I’d expect nothing less.”

With that, Natasha turned on her heel and walked out, her mind still turning over the unwelcome connection between her son and her old enemy.

The staff room at Hogwarts was filled with a sense of urgency as the members of the staff and several governors gathered for a meeting. The heavy, oak table in the center of the room was surrounded by various professors and key figures, each of them concerned about the upcoming year and the increasing danger surrounding the Triwizard Tournament.

At the head of the table sat Dumbledore, his usual calm demeanor slightly ruffled as he sifted through a pile of papers. Beside him was Professor McGonagall, her arms crossed, her brow furrowed in thought. The air was thick with tension, but it was only when Sirius Black spoke up that the atmosphere shifted.

"This tournament is already too dangerous," Sirius said, his voice loud and insistent as he stood, his hands gripping the back of his chair. "We can’t just add more stress by canceling Quidditch. These kids have already been through enough!"

Dumbledore looked at Sirius, his expression thoughtful but firm. "Sirius, I understand your concern, but we cannot risk their safety further. The tournament is a dangerous enough event on its own, and the added pressure of Quidditch could be too much."

"That’s where you’re wrong," Sirius countered, a slight edge to his tone. "The students need an outlet. They need something normal to hold onto. Canceling Quidditch just takes away one of the few distractions they have left. It’s more than just a game for them. It's about camaraderie, teamwork, and having some semblance of normalcy."

Wanda, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, spoke up next. "Sirius is right. The kids will need this to keep their spirits up. Dumbledore, I understand the risks, but we can manage. We can get additional staff to help supervise, and Remus can assist with making sure everything is safe."

Professor McGonagall, who had been silent up to this point, finally spoke. "I agree with Sirius and Wanda. The students' well-being must be considered. We can find a way to make it work without compromising their safety." She turned her gaze to Augusta Longbottom, one of the governors, for support.

Augusta, a seasoned member of the Board of Governors, nodded in agreement. "I support Sirius’s stance on this. Frank and Alice would be happy to assist, should you need them. They’ve always been keen to help with Quidditch when necessary."

Sirius turned to Augusta, a grateful smile tugging at his lips. "I appreciate that, Augusta. Having Frank and Alice involved would go a long way in making sure everything stays under control."

Dumbledore sighed, clearly torn between his own concerns for safety and the valid points made by those around him. "I understand the sentiment, but we must also consider the bigger picture. The tournament will already put tremendous strain on the students and staff. Adding Quidditch could overwhelm them."

But Sirius wasn’t ready to back down. "We can find a way to balance both. We don’t need to let fear control our actions. If you want my help, I’m more than happy to take over and find a team to run the matches. Remus can be there to keep an eye on things, and we can rotate staff so no one is overburdened."

There was a long pause as the room fell silent, everyone waiting for Dumbledore’s response. Finally, Dumbledore raised his hands in surrender, a slight nod of agreement. "Very well, Sirius. We will allow Quidditch to proceed this year, with the condition that we have extra security measures in place. But I expect you and Remus to take full responsibility for its management."

Sirius grinned. "You won’t regret it. I’ll make sure everything runs smoothly. The students deserve to have something to look forward to."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, his voice calm once more. "We will proceed with that plan then. But I will be monitoring the situation closely. We must ensure no one’s safety is compromised in the process."

Sirius gave him a small, appreciative nod, his mind already racing with plans to bring Quidditch back into the fold. As the discussion continued, he felt a renewed sense of determination. The students had already been through enough, and he wasn’t about to let them lose the one thing that could keep their spirits high. Quidditch would continue, no matter what.