Strange Potter

The room was silent as the four of them stood in the spacious study, their determination palpable in the air. Sirius, Remus, Wanda, and Natasha watched intently, offering support to their children, who were attempting something monumental: the Animagus transformation.

Neville stood first, his face focused with deep concentration. His magic flared briefly, and the transformation was seamless. His body grew larger, shifting in shape, until he stood before them as a majestic lion, its golden mane flowing like a regal crown. The others watched, impressed, as Neville roared softly, the sound both powerful and confident.

"Well done, Neville!" Sirius exclaimed, a proud grin spreading across his face. The lion's amber eyes turned to him in acknowledgment before Neville quickly transformed back, his human form taking shape once more.

Next, it was Hermione’s turn. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and focused, the air crackling with magic. Her body shimmered, and within seconds, she had transformed into a sleek, beautiful owl. Her feathers were a soft shade of brown, and her sharp, intelligent eyes blinked rapidly as she flapped her wings. Natasha smiled at the sight of her, clearly pleased with the success.

"Impressive, Hermione," Remus said with a nod, watching as the owl hopped lightly around the room, its movements graceful and calculated. She gave one last flap and transformed back, the familiar Hermione once again standing before them.

Regulus was the next to step forward. His transformation, however, was different. He wasn’t just an animal—his magic seemed to twist the transformation into something deeper, more primal. His body began to shift, fur sprouting along his skin. His eyes glowed a fierce red as he transformed into a sleek, white wolf. His movements were smooth and deliberate, a sense of power emanating from him as he padded across the room. He let out a soft growl, his eyes glinting in the low light. The wolf was a reflection of Regulus's inner strength.

"That's extraordinary, Regulus," Wanda said softly, her voice filled with awe. Regulus, even in wolf form, looked proud but kept his distance, sensing the approval in the room. After a few moments, he transformed back into his human self. His breathing was calm, and he smiled at his family.

Then came Harry. He stepped forward, but something in the air changed as he focused on his transformation. Unlike the others, Harry’s magic seemed to fight him, twisting and pulling in different directions. His body shimmered erratically, and for a moment, it looked like nothing would happen at all. Then, with a sudden burst of power, Harry’s body began to shift rapidly—his form morphing into one animal after another.

A hawk. A snake. A jaguar. A massive wolf. His body contorted and changed, each form flickering in and out of reality as his Chaos Magic mingled with the transformation, forcing it into something unpredictable and raw. His face twisted with pain, the transformations not seamless but jagged, as though his very essence was being stretched and torn by the power inside him.

"Harry!" Natasha’s voice broke through, her concern evident as she stepped forward. Sirius, Remus, and Wanda stood rooted to the spot, watching in horror as Harry fought to maintain control.

Strange, who had been standing quietly in the corner, observing the scene, finally moved. His expression shifted from concern to recognition as he realized what was happening. Harry’s Chaos Magic was reacting with the Animagus transformation in ways that shouldn’t be possible. The boy was not simply turning into one animal. His power was reshaping him, and in doing so, he was shifting into multiple forms. Not just a lion, or a wolf, or a bird—but anything he willed.

Strange's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to Harry. The boy’s magic, raw and untamed, had twisted the very fabric of the Animagus transformation. It wasn’t that Harry could become a single animal—he could become any animal, his form constantly in flux, his magic overriding the very rules that governed the transformation.

"Stop! Harry, focus!" Wanda's voice cut through the chaos, and her eyes locked with his. She reached out, her magic enveloping him in a protective cocoon, urging him to regain control.

With a sharp gasp, Harry collapsed to the floor, sweat beading on his forehead. His breathing was ragged, and his hands trembled as he pushed himself up. "I—I couldn’t… control it…" His voice was hoarse, but there was relief in his eyes. He looked up at his parents, his expression both apologetic and exhausted.

Remus knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It’s okay, Harry. We’ll help you through this." His voice was gentle, understanding.

Strange stood nearby, his face thoughtful. "This is unlike anything I’ve seen," he muttered, his eyes scanning Harry carefully. "Harry, you’re not just an Animagus. You are... more. Your Chaos Magic is allowing you to shift into any form, any creature, at will. It’s a form of shape-shifting far beyond what should be possible. This could be dangerous if not controlled properly."

Harry’s eyes widened. "But how...?" he began, but his voice trailed off.

Strange exchanged a glance with Wanda and the others before responding. "It’s your magic, Harry. It’s... evolving in ways I didn’t expect. You’re not just tied to one form. You can become any creature—any form you desire. The question now is how to control it."

Harry’s heart sank. He had always known his magic was different, but this? This was something he never could have anticipated. As much as he had wanted to master the Animagus form, this new ability was both a gift and a curse.

Wanda stepped closer to him, her hand gently resting on his head. "We’ll figure this out, Harry," she said softly. "We’ll work together, just like we always have."

For a moment, Harry allowed himself to lean into her touch, feeling the warmth of his family around him. "I guess I'm just born to break the rules of magic." 

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the aged wooden walls of the Headmaster’s office. Albus Dumbledore sat behind his grand desk, fingers steepled, eyes distant as he brooded over the ever-growing obstacles in his plans. He had spent decades playing the long game, maneuvering events toward what he believed was the greater good. Yet, time and time again, forces beyond his control had derailed his carefully laid intentions.

Harry Potter was meant to be his responsibility. It was for the boy’s own protection, for the future of the wizarding world. And yet, from the moment Voldemort had fallen, from the very night James and Lily had perished, Stephen Strange had stolen that control away from him.

He had initially believed that Sirius Black had truly betrayed the Potters. That was a failure of his own judgment, one that he had come to regret. But before he could correct it, Strange had intervened once again. It was Strange who had ensured Black never saw the inside of Azkaban, Strange who had protected him from the Ministry’s wrath and brought Peter to them.

Every attempt to take Harry under his wing, to shape his path, had been met with an invisible but unbreakable resistance. The Sorcerer Supreme was always there, standing between him and the boy. Even now, with the Triwizard Tournament underway, Strange had stormed into the Great Hall alongside Harry’s so-called family, demanding answers in front of everyone.

Dumbledore clenched his jaw. He had intended for the Goblet of Fire to remain unquestioned, to be handled quietly. But no—Sirius and Natasha had refused to let the discussion leave the Great Hall. Strange, with his insufferable omniscience, had ensured the entire school heard their accusations. That damnable wizard always knew more than he should.

And yet, despite all of his interference, there was still one undeniable truth—Harry was a Horcrux. Dumbledore had known it for years. The scar was one, he knew that the day he laid Harry on his relatives doorstep. No matter how fiercely Strange guarded the boy, he could not change what was woven into Harry’s very soul.

Dumbledore’s hand tightened into a fist. Harry would have to die, eventually. The only way to rid the world of Voldemort completely was to ensure the fragment of his soul inside the boy was destroyed. That was the price of victory.

And yet, even as the thought settled in his mind, something nagged at him. A question he had ignored for too long.

Why had the scar not reacted more violently over the years? Why had the connection between Harry and Voldemort seemed... weaker than he expected? The boy had suffered nightmares, yes, but the bond should have been stronger. 

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed. At first I thought it was merely his Occlumency but what if it's something more?

Had Strange done something?

The idea was absurd. Removing a Horcrux from a living soul without killing the host was impossible. And yet... Strange had always acted as though he knew something Dumbledore did not. As though Harry’s fate was not what Dumbledore had long believed it to be.

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

What if the Horcrux was already gone?

What if Strange had removed it all those years ago, the night he took Harry?

Dumbledore’s breath hitched as the implications struck him. If Harry was no longer a Horcrux, then everything—everything—had been thrown off course. His calculations, his plans, his sacrifices. He had spent years believing Harry was tethered to Voldemort’s survival, that the boy’s death was inevitable. But if that link had been severed…

A deep sense of unease settled in his chest.

Strange had been a thorn in his side for too long. But now, Dumbledore realized, he had been more than just an obstacle. He had been playing a game entirely separate from Dumbledore’s own. And for the first time in decades, Albus Dumbledore had no idea what the future truly held.

If he removed it...Have I been wrong for so long? Was I truly working to the death of a young boy for nothing? I need more answers!

In the dimly lit chamber adjacent to the arena, the Triwizard champions gathered for the selection of their dragons. A velvet bag rested on a pedestal, containing miniature replicas of the dragons they would face. Each champion would draw a model to determine their opponent.

Cedric Diggory stepped forward first, his expression calm but focused. He reached into the bag and withdrew a small figure of a Swedish Short-Snout. The dragon's metallic blue scales glinted under the chamber's light.

Fleur Delacour approached next, her demeanor poised. She delicately pulled out a model of a Welsh Green, its emerald scales shimmering.

Viktor Krum's turn followed. With a stoic expression, he drew a Chinese Fireball, recognizable by its vibrant red color and golden spikes.

Finally, it was Harry's turn. He reached into the bag, fingers brushing against the remaining model. Drawing it out, he revealed a Hungarian Horntail, notorious for its ferocity and black scales adorned with bronze horns.

Cedric approached Harry after the selection, offering a supportive smile. "Good luck, Harry," he said earnestly. "For what it's worth, I never believed you put your name in the Goblet."

Harry appreciated Cedric's words, nodding in gratitude. Despite the daunting task ahead, he felt a sense of calm. However, from the corner of his eye, he noticed Professors Remus Lupin and Wanda Maximoff observing the proceedings, their expressions a mix of concern and restrained anger. Their evident worry contrasted with Harry's composed demeanor, highlighting the gravity of the challenge he was about to face.

Strange stood at the edge of the enclosure, his crimson Cloak billowing slightly in the chill morning breeze. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows across the rocky terrain where four massive dragons lay in uneasy slumber. Even bound by enchanted chains, their presence radiated raw power, and Strange wasn’t about to underestimate them.

“Are you certain they’re secured?” McGonagall asked, her sharp eyes scanning the creatures.

“As secured as they can be,” Bagman chimed in, though his voice lacked confidence. “The handlers used the strongest binding spells—”

“That won’t be enough,” Strange interrupted, stepping forward. He extended his hands, golden runes swirling into existence as he inspected the glowing, pulsating chains wrapped around each dragon. The creatures shifted restlessly, their primal instincts resisting captivity.

The Hungarian Horntail, the most vicious of the lot, growled low in its throat, its slitted eyes snapping open to glare at the sorcerer. Strange barely spared it a glance. Instead, he traced a sigil into the air, the symbols glowing brighter before embedding themselves into the chains.

The metal bindings pulsed with new strength, the enchantments deepening as the Mirror Dimension’s geometry layered over them. Strange worked swiftly, reinforcing the magical tethers with additional spells from Kamar-Taj—protection sigils, containment runes, and temporal locks that would ensure the dragons could not break free until the task was over.

Charlie Weasley, watching with the other dragon handlers, let out a low whistle. “That should hold them. Merlin’s beard, that’s impressive.”

Strange nodded but didn’t relax. He had seen too many instances where overconfidence led to disaster.

“These will hold,” he said, turning to McGonagall. “But if any external force tries to tamper with them, I’ll know.”

McGonagall looked relieved. “Thank you, Doctor Strange. I take it you’ll be watching?”

“Oh, definitely,” Strange said, his gaze flicking toward the Horntail one last time. Its wings twitched, sensing something unnatural about its reinforced bindings.

A quiet tension hung in the air.

Strange sighed. “I have a feeling this tournament is going to be very interesting.”

The crisp autumn air buzzed with excitement as students and staff gathered near the Hogwarts grounds, eagerly awaiting the arrival of guests for the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. The sky, usually filled only with the occasional owl, was now roaring with the sound of an approaching jet—Tony Stark’s sleek, copper-colored Quinjet.

The moment it came into view, students gasped and pointed, murmuring among themselves. Even the visiting Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students looked impressed. The Quinjet descended smoothly, landing just outside the protective wards of the castle. As the hatch lowered, the Avengers stepped out, one by one.

Tony Stark led the way, his signature smirk in place, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky. Natasha and Sirius were right behind him, their eyes searching for their sons. Clint Barton whistled as he took in the towering castle. Bruce Banner looked around, taking deep, steady breaths, likely keeping the other guy in check.

But it was Steve Rogers who caused an unexpected stir.

From where he stood near the staff, Albus Dumbledore’s usually unreadable expression wavered, his piercing blue eyes widening in recognition. He took a step forward, scanning Steve’s face as if confirming what he already suspected.

"Impossible," Dumbledore murmured.

Steve, noticing the older wizard’s gaze, tilted his head, studying him in return. "You look familiar," Steve admitted. "Though… older than I remember."

Dumbledore smiled, though there was something wistful in it. "The passage of time is kinder to some than others, Captain Rogers."

The night air was crisp, the winds biting, as Albus Dumbledore, disguised in the military garb of an officer, moved through the darkened streets of Berlin. His mind was sharp, focused on his mission, yet the undercurrent of unease never fully left him. He had heard rumors, whispers of strange happenings—an object, a statue that had been tampered with, and the magical energy surrounding it. But Albus could not, in good conscience, reveal the true nature of his investigation. Magic wasn’t something he could openly discuss in the context of this war. He had to keep his mission under wraps.

He knew that the Nazis had dabbled with forces far beyond ordinary understanding, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something darker—more dangerous—than simple espionage. Albus, ever the strategist, had moved carefully, keeping his real objectives hidden behind the veil of an officer’s rank. He had spent months tracking down rumors and seeing where the leads might intersect, and this particular lead had led him directly to a Hydra compound. It had seemed like a dead end, until tonight.

As he slipped into the shadows of a nearby alleyway, Albus caught sight of someone—a figure in the distance. His gaze sharpened instinctively, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to ponder whether this could be the lead he’d been waiting for.

Then, suddenly, the world seemed to explode around him. Gunfire echoed, flashes of light blinding him momentarily as his senses screamed at him to take cover. Soldiers shouted orders in German, their boots thundering on the cobblestones, but he had little time to process it. A sharp pain pierced his side as he took cover, trying to make himself as small as possible.

Through the haze of smoke, he saw a figure approach—tall, with piercing blue eyes, a shield strapped to his back. A soldier, yes, but one unlike any he had seen before. The man moved like lightning, taking down Hydra agents left and right with swift, precise movements, his shield cutting through the air like a weapon of its own.

Albus barely had time to register what was happening when the man came closer. The soldier paused, spotting him, and in a fluid motion, he reached down, lifting Albus off the ground.

“You okay, sir?” the soldier asked, his voice calm yet urgent.

Albus, a bit dazed but trying to maintain his composure, nodded. “I believe so. Thank you... I wasn’t expecting such... a spectacle.” He quickly dusted off his uniform, trying not to reveal the extent of his shock. "Who are you?"

The soldier didn’t hesitate. “Steve Rogers. My unit’s been assigned to clean up the Hydra mess. You... not exactly who I expected to see out here.” His eyes flickered over Albus, noticing the officer’s uniform, the way he had moved during the chaos.

Albus offered a strained smile. “I’m with the British military. Intelligence. I was looking into some of their... activities here.”

“Hydra?” Steve raised an eyebrow, though he seemed to think it over for a second. “Yeah, they’ve got their claws in pretty deep. We’re still piecing together the whole picture. But come on, we’ve got to get you out of here.”

Albus didn't hesitate. He was no stranger to danger, and he knew how to take advantage of a moment. The Hydra facility was still crawling with enemies, but Steve's unit seemed to have the situation well in hand. It wasn’t the first time he'd been caught in a firefight, but there was something... different about this soldier. There was a quiet authority, an unshakable calm to Steve Rogers, a man who seemed to understand the weight of responsibility.

“Thank you,” Albus said again as Steve pulled him into the safety of a nearby alley. “I—”

“No time for pleasantries,” Steve interrupted, already leading him toward the safety of the other soldiers who had taken cover in a nearby building. “We’re pulling out, but we’ve got more work to do. You with us?”

“I’ll follow your lead,” Albus replied, surprised at how easily the words came. He was a leader, one of great skill, but there was something about Steve Rogers that made him willing to trust him without question.

Steve flashed him a quick, reassuring smile. "Good man."

Once they were safely away from the Hydra compound and the immediate danger had passed, Albus couldn’t help but ask the question that had been nagging at him.

“You know... we’re both here for different reasons, aren’t we?” He glanced at Steve, who was checking over his equipment. “You’re fighting for freedom, yes? But what do you truly know about Hydra?”

Steve paused, looking at him. “I know they’ve got ties everywhere. They’re trying to take the world with their twisted ideology.” He said it with a quiet intensity, the conviction in his words giving a weight to his meaning. “And I know what it’s like to fight for something bigger than yourself.”

Albus studied Steve for a moment, then smiled softly. "We’re not so different, you and I."

Steve didn’t respond right away. He just looked out over the desolate battlefield that had now fallen quiet, the wreckage of Hydra’s work scattered across the landscape. “Maybe not,” he said, before turning back to Albus. “But we’ll both do what we can to stop them. That’s all we can do.”

Albus thought for a moment. “I suppose so.”

As the two men stood there, a strange connection formed between them, forged through the heat of battle and the shared responsibility of stopping a greater evil. Albus didn’t know it yet, but his life was about to change in more ways than one, and this chance meeting with Steve Rogers would be but the beginning of a long journey of understanding.

But for now, the war raged on, and Albus had more pressing matters to deal with. He would, for the time being, continue to play his part—one foot in the magical world, the other in a world full of muggles fighting their own war. And with Steve Rogers standing beside him, there was, for a brief moment, hope.

"You know each other?" Tony asked, glancing between them.

"In a way," Dumbledore admitted, his voice carrying the weight of decades. "During the war, I had the honor of meeting the legendary Captain America. You were… quite the soldier."

Steve nodded slowly, his own memories stirring. "Yeah… I remember a British officer who wasn’t exactly like the others. Didn’t think much of it at the time, but you… did stand out."

"A perk of magic," Dumbledore said with a knowing glint in his eyes.

Before they could continue, the sound of rushing footsteps signaled Harry and the others arriving. Harry’s eyes immediately found Natasha and Sirius, who rushed to check on him. Lyall and Pietro, practically bouncing on their feet, ran toward their parents. Regulus, trying to maintain his cool, gave a nod to his father before side-eyeing Tony's jet with fascination.

"You sure know how to make an entrance," Harry said, grinning at Tony.

Tony grinned back, ruffling his hair. "Had to. Big moment, kid. You ready to kick some medieval wizard butt?"

Harry huffed. "I’d rather not be in this at all."

Natasha’s sharp gaze snapped to Dumbledore. "And yet, here we are."

The tension in the air was thick, but before things could escalate, Steve clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. "Whatever happens, you’ve got all of us here for you."

Harry nodded, feeling the weight of their support. With the Avengers in his corner, he felt just he could win anything.

But he forgot two fans watching.

"Colin! Colin, look!" Dennis whispered excitedly, tugging at his brother's sleeve. "They're here! The Avengers!"

Colin, a bundle of energy himself, grinned widely. "I know! I've already got Natasha and Tony's autographs, but we have to get all of them today."

Before Dennis could reply, both of the boys dashed forward, eager to approach the superheroes they’d admired for so long. Tony Stark, in his usual cocky yet charming style, stood by the open door of the jet, greeting the crowd with a smirk.

"Hey there, fellas. Got room for one more autograph?" Tony called out with a wink.

Both Creevey brothers practically rushed to him, breathless with excitement. Colin thrust his camera at Tony. "Could you sign this one too?" he asked eagerly, before darting in for a selfie with him. Natasha Romanoff was beside Tony, signing photos for some younger students, and Colin quickly got another shot with her before hurrying back to Dennis, who was still in shock.

"Did you get them?" Dennis asked in disbelief, clutching his signed photo.

"Of course!" Colin grinned widely. "But look—Bruce and Thor! We have to get them too!"

Before they could get closer, the ground rumbled slightly, the Bifrost lighting up the sky above them with a rainbow beam. The crowd gasped in awe as the beam solidified, and moments later, Thor stepped down, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. His hammer Mjolnir was slung casually over his shoulder, the godly aura surrounding him unmistakable.

Dennis looked up at his brother, eyes wide. "Colin, we have to ask him! Can we lift his hammer?"

"You're on your own for that," Colin chuckled, already pulling out his camera for another picture. "I'll just get the photo."

Thor boomed in his usual jovial voice, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Ah! I see we have some eager young ones wishing to test their strength! I am Thor, God of Thunder, and though few have been worthy, I welcome the challenge!" With a broad grin, he held Mjolnir out before them, the hammer gleaming under the sun.

Dennis hesitated for a moment, then reached out to lift it, his hands gripping the handle. He gave a mighty tug but found that the hammer didn’t budge. His face scrunched with effort, but it refused to lift. Thor chuckled, and with a playful wink, he placed his hand gently on Dennis’s shoulder.

“Do not be discouraged, young one. It takes more than mere strength to lift Mjolnir,” he said, his voice booming with good-natured laughter. “But perhaps in time, you will prove worthy.”

Colin, sensing the moment was too good to pass up, quickly snapped a picture. "This is going to be the best photo yet!" he grinned.

Dennis let out a sigh of defeat, but smiled nonetheless, realizing he’d had the chance to test the hammer. "At least I tried, right?"

"You did well, Dennis!" Tony called over from the jet, clapping him on the back. "Next time, maybe you'll lift it. But hey, you could still try to lift my car. I guarantee that’s easier."

The two Creevey brothers, starstruck and smiling ear to ear, stood in awe of the Avengers. Thor smiled down at them, before turning to walk with his friends toward the castle.

"Come along, children," Thor said in his deep, booming voice. "I believe we have a tournament to enjoy. And, as much as I love a good photo op, there are heroes to watch today."

The boys stood there for a moment longer, before Colin, ever the enthusiastic photographer, took a few more snaps of Thor, Tony, and Bruce as they made their way to the tournament grounds. It was a day they’d never forget.

Then Regulus saw a small figure came sprinting down the ramp.

“MORGAN!” Regulus shouted, his face lighting up as he bolted toward her.

Morgan practically launched herself at him, and Regulus caught her in a tight hug, spinning her around once before setting her down. “You made it!” he said, beaming.

“Of course, I did!” she huffed, hands on her hips. “Did you really think I was gonna miss watching my best friend’s big brother fight a dragon?”

Regulus grinned. “When you put it like that, yeah, I should’ve known.”

Tony who adjusted his sunglasses and smirked. “Alright, where’s the overgrown lizard? I came to watch it cry.”

Morgan looked up at her dad with a pout. “Daddy, dragons don’t cry.”

“They will if Harry pulls off something crazy,” Regulus said, eyes twinkling.

Sirius clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Let’s get moving. Don’t want to miss the action.”

Regulus nodded eagerly and grabbed Morgan’s hand, pulling her along toward the stands.

As they reached the crowd, Morgan’s eyes went wide. “Whoa.” She stared at the enormous arena and the rising stands filled with Hogwarts students and guests from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. “This is so cool.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Regulus said, his excitement bubbling over. “Harry’s gonna do something insane, I just know it.”

Morgan grinned. “Good. He better, or I’m gonna be so mad.”

From behind them, Tony chuckled. “Kid’s already setting expectations. I like it.”

As they found their seats, Regulus nudged Morgan. “Glad you’re here.”

Morgan squeezed his hand. “Me too.”

"I'll be right back. Got to go make sure Harry's ready." Regulus told her. "Save my seat?"

"No promises." She smirked.

Harry stood in the tent designated for the champions, his fingers running over the smooth, dark green scales of his armor. The Basilisk hide was flexible but stronger than steel, enchanted further by Wanda and reinforced with the best enhancements Tony Stark could provide. It fit like a second skin, light yet unyielding, built to take whatever the tournament could throw at him—including a dragon.

He could hear the muffled roar of the crowd outside. The first champion was already out there, facing their dragon, but Harry tuned it out. His focus was on the battle ahead.

Neville, Hermione, and Regulus had insisted on helping him prepare. Neville had loaned Harry his axe, just in case. Harry had considered the sword but was only allowed to enter with his wand, well at the start. Hermione double-checked the protective enchantments on his armor, mumbling under her breath about how unfair the tournament was. Regulus, arms crossed, simply watched him with an assessing gaze.

"You sure about this, mate?" Neville asked. "We could still cause a distraction—Pietro could babble nonsense to the judges until they forget what’s happening."

"I heard that!" Pietro called from outside the tent.

Harry smirked. "Tempting, but no. If I’m stuck in this thing, I’ll do it my way."

Regulus huffed. "Well, if you’re determined to be a Gryffindor about this, at least make it look good. We have a reputation to uphold."

Hermione shot him a glare but turned back to Harry. "You have a plan, right?"

Harry flexed his fingers, feeling the crackle of Chaos Magic just beneath his skin. He exhaled slowly. "Yeah. I have a plan."

Outside, the roar of the dragon signaled the next champion's turn was up. Harry rolled his shoulders, adjusted his armor, and smirked.

"Time to do this."

Hermione slipped inside after the others left, her face flushed, eyes filled with something fierce and unyielding. Before he could say anything, she was in front of him, grabbing his hands.

"You don’t have to say anything," she whispered, her voice just above a breath. "I just… I couldn't let you go out there without telling you."

Harry barely had time to register her words before she pulled him into a deep kiss. It wasn’t frantic or rushed, but full of warmth, of certainty. He felt himself melt into it, every thought of dragons and danger fading under the weight of her closeness.

When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his. "I love you, Harry," she whispered, her fingers tightening around his.

His breath caught, and for a moment, all he could do was look at her—Hermione, brilliant and brave and standing here for him. He smiled, a real, unwavering smile.

"I love you too," he said, meaning every word.

She exhaled in relief, her fingers brushing his cheek. "Then come back to me in one piece, okay?"

He chuckled, though his throat was tight. "I'll do my best."

She kissed him again, softer this time, then stepped back, reluctant but determined. As she slipped out of the tent, Harry straightened. The weight in his chest had changed. The nerves were still there, but now, there was something stronger—something worth fighting for.

With one last breath, he turned toward the entrance. It was time to face the dragon.

The tension in the arena was palpable as Harry stepped forward, facing the Hungarian Horntail. The massive dragon snarled, flames licking at its sharp teeth, its yellow eyes locked onto him with deadly intent. The audience held their breath, expecting him to pull out his wand, to dodge and weave, to use magic to survive. But Harry had a different plan.

With a smirk, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a his wand. "Accio F.R.I.D.A.Y!"

Tony's glasses flew off his face but he didn't flinch. In fact he grinned.

"He's not..." Bruce said.

"He is." Tony smirked.

Harry grabbed the glasses and put them on. “Friday,” he murmured under his breath.

“Connection established, kid,” came the AI’s smooth reply in his ear. “Are we calling in the big guy?”

Harry grinned. “Oh yeah.”

Above the arena, the sky suddenly roared—not with dragon fire, but with something mechanical. A massive shadow loomed overhead as a giant suit of armor descended from the clouds, its thrusters screaming against the air. Larger than even the Hulkbuster, the armor gleamed in the sunlight, its bulky plating reinforced for one singular purpose—dragon slaying.

The crowd gasped as the armor landed with a deafening thud, shaking the ground. The Horntail recoiled, its wings flaring in alarm.

From the stands, Tony Stark leaned back, arms crossed, a smug grin on his face. "We taught him well."

"You taught him this." Steve corrected.

"Guilty!" Tony shrugged.

Harry stepped forward, the armor opening at the chest. He climbed in, feeling the suit seal around him, the HUD lighting up with dragon-specific analytics.

“Let’s see how tough you really are,” Harry muttered, flexing the suit’s fingers as the crowd erupted in frenzied whispers.

Harry felt the weight of the suit as it hummed to life. The suit was far larger than he expected, designed for extreme combat situations. His senses were flooded with the sharp scent of the dragon’s smoke-filled breath, the creature’s fiery gaze locking onto him from across the field.

The dragon was wild, its dark scales glistening in the sun. It thrashed its head, its sharp, jagged teeth exposed in a snarl. It had been anticipating this moment, and so had Harry.

"Alright, big guy, sorry girl, lets dance." Harry muttered under his breath, hearing only the soft hum of the suit’s interface in his helmet. He instinctively adjusted the armor's settings, adding power to the thrusters in his legs. His heart raced but his mind focused. He had one job: get the golden egg, and he wasn't about to let a fire-breathing beast stand in his way.

As the dragon lunged toward him, Harry surged forward. The suit moved with an unnatural grace, despite its size, aided by the arc reactors built into its legs. He dodged the dragon’s fiery blast, feeling the heat even from inside the armor, and planted his feet solidly on the ground. He was ready.

The dragon lunged again, snapping its massive jaws. But Harry was faster, his massive armored hand gripping the dragon’s outstretched snout with incredible force. His gauntlets flexed and fired a series of electric shocks directly into the beast’s face, stunning it for just a moment.

The dragon recoiled, its eyes filled with fury. But Harry wasn't finished. He launched himself into the air with the thrusters on his back, soaring up high above the creature. The massive armor made an imposing silhouette against the sky, the suit's arms raised as Harry aimed and fired several powerful repulsor blasts directly at the dragon’s wings. Each blast struck with perfect precision, sending a shockwave through the air.

The dragon shrieked in agony as it tried to stabilize, its wings battered and weakened. It attempted to dive at Harry, but Harry was already in motion. He landed with an earth-shaking thud, the ground cracking beneath the massive weight of the armor.

The Hungarian Horntail staggered to its feet, preparing for one final charge. But before it could move, Harry stomped forward with incredible force, his massive gauntlet grabbing the creature’s neck and pulling it down.

The Horntail roared, fire surging from its mouth. The DragonSlayer armor raised an arm, deploying an energy shield that absorbed the blast effortlessly. Harry smirked inside the helmet.

“Nice try,” he quipped before slamming his fist into the dragon’s snout.

The impact sent a shockwave through the arena, and the Horntail reeled back, dazed. Harry didn’t let up. He activated the armor’s thrusters, launching himself forward with immense force. With a calculated punch to the dragon’s jaw, the great beast’s eyes rolled back, and with a final groan, it collapsed to the ground—completely knocked out cold.

Silence stretched over the arena. Then, chaos.

The crowd exploded into cheers, students and adults alike jumping to their feet. Even the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students looked impressed. The judges were too stunned to react, and in the stands, Tony just laughed.

“Did he just—” Sirius started.

Natasha sighed. “Of course he did.”

Dumbledore, standing with the other professors, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Merlin help me…”

Harry stepped out of the armor as it powered down, the front opening to let him out. He adjusted his glasses with a satisfied smirk and turned to the judges’ table.

“I believe that’s my golden egg,” he said casually.

Tony clapped loudly from the stands. “That’s how you handle a dragon!”

The champions’ tent buzzed with tension as the other competitors whispered among themselves. The first task had just ended, and Harry sat on a conjured bench, rolling his stiff shoulders. His Dragonslayer armor—Tony’s creation—had performed flawlessly. The Horntail hadn’t stood a chance against its reinforced plating, jet-assisted mobility, and flame-resistant coating. It had been over in minutes, leaving the crowd in stunned silence.

Now, the armor was neatly packed away, and he was left in his Basilisk amor, waiting for the inevitable confrontation.

The tent flap flew open.

Sirius and Natasha stormed in first, followed by Wanda, Remus, and Strange. Natasha was grinning proudly, ruffling his hair before pulling him into a tight hug.

“You were amazing, kid,” she murmured, then shot a sharp look at the fuming judges who had followed them in. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Regulus barreled into his brother next, beaming. “That was so cool! You didn’t even need magic, just boom—outmaneuvered that dragon and took the egg!”

“I knew the armor would work,” Tony said smugly, stepping inside. “Dragons are big, dumb lizards when you’ve got the right tech.”

A bushy haired missile slammed into Harry next. "You're bloody insane!" Hermione hugged him tightly.

"Hey. It worked." Harry hugged her back.

"AHH!" Hermione groaned. "I hate that saying!"

"But you love me." Harry whispered.

"You're lucky." Hermione smiled back with a blush.

The judges, however, were anything but pleased.

Dumbledore’s expression was unreadable, though there was a slight frown creasing his forehead. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff looked outright furious. Bagman, for once, seemed at a loss for words.

“This is outrageous!” Karkaroff snapped, rounding on Harry. “This was supposed to be a test of magical ability! Not—whatever that was!” He gestured wildly toward the armor case.

“He completed the task,” Strange said coolly, arms crossed. “Within the rules, I might add. There was no stipulation on how he had to retrieve the egg.”

“His magic wasn’t even tested,” Maxime argued, shaking her head.

Wanda stepped forward, her eyes glowing faintly. “Oh? And what would you have preferred? That he faced a deadly dragon with just a wand while others have the advantage of experience?” Her voice was deceptively calm, but there was steel underneath.

“This tournament is about ingenuity, courage, and resourcefulness,” Remus added. “Harry showed all of those today. If your complaint is that he was too prepared, then perhaps you should question the fairness of pitting a fourth-year against grown competitors in the first place.”

Sirius smirked, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Face it. You lot just don’t like that he beat your little test in minutes without breaking a sweat.”

The judges exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unprepared for the fierce defense surrounding Harry.

“His score will be affected,” Dumbledore finally said, his tone neutral. “This was meant to be a magical contest.”

Strange scoffed. “If you start penalizing competitors for using their strengths, you’re proving this whole tournament is just an excuse to throw children into life-threatening situations.” He turned to Harry, nodding. “You did well, kid. And you did it on your terms.”

"Thanks Doc." Harry exhaled, tension finally leaving his shoulders. He hadn’t broken any rules, and he had gotten the egg. Let them argue. He had a family that had his back, and right now, that was all that mattered.

Fleur Delacour crossed her arms. "That was impressive," she admitted. "But I wonder if you can face the next task without your suit."

"Guess we’ll see," Harry said, gripping the golden egg tighter.

Tony smirked, leaning toward Sirius. "Whats the next task? Ill get started on something new."

Sirius groaned. "No, absolutely not."

As the debate between the judges and the Avengers continued, Hermione gave Harry a look. "You are unbelievable."

Harry just grinned. "Yeah, but that was fun, right?"

The Gryffindor common room was alive with excitement, the warm glow of the fireplace casting flickering light over the gathered students. Cheers and laughter filled the air as Harry was practically shoved into the center of the celebration.

"You were brilliant, mate!" Seamus clapped him on the back. "Using Starks suit!"

"You wore Ironmans suit!" Colin and Dennis said at the same time.

Neville grinned, standing beside Hermione and Regulus. "I knew you'd be fine," he said, his arms crossed. "Not that I wasn't nervous, but you had a plan."

Regulus beamed up at his brother. "You should've seen the Slytherins' faces! Priceless!"

The Weasley twins sauntered over, grinning from ear to ear. "And now," said Fred.

"For the next challenge!" finished George.

Harry raised a brow. "I just survived a dragon, and you're already talking about the next task?"

"Better to be prepared," Fred said, nudging him toward the couch. "Go on, open the egg!"

The golden egg gleamed in Harry’s hands, warm from the firelight. Around him, students leaned in eagerly. Taking a breath, he undid the latch and lifted the egg open.

A high-pitched, ear-splitting screech filled the room. Instantly, everyone recoiled, covering their ears.

"Merlin’s beard!" Lee Jordan shouted. "Close it, close it!"

Harry slammed the egg shut, the sound cutting off immediately. The common room was left in stunned silence, save for a few people shaking their heads and rubbing their ears.

"Well," said George, blinking. "That was pleasant."

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron groaned, shaking his head.

Harry, however, was frowning, his mind working quickly. "I think I know what language that was."

Hermione perked up beside him. "You do?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah… I’ve heard something like it before. It wasn’t just noise. It was a language."

The common room waited in anticipation, and Hermione, already catching on, pressed further. "Well? What language, Harry?"

Harry hesitated for only a moment before meeting her eyes. "Mermish."

“Boy Who Lived...Now Ironclad? Harry Potter’s Use of Stark Technology in First Task Raises Eyebrows”

By: Rita Skeeter

The Triwizard Tournament has taken an unexpected turn, as Harry Potter, the famed "Boy Who Lived," used an unusual piece of technology in his quest to conquer the first task: an Iron Man suit created by none other than billionaire Tony Stark.

Potter, who had previously captured the world's attention with his magical feats, stunned onlookers and the judges alike when he donned a sleek, highly advanced suit of armor. The armor, which many are speculating could only be the product of Stark Industries' most cutting-edge designs, allowed Potter to face off against a ferocious Hungarian Horntail in a way no other champion could.

"I've never seen anything like it," said one shocked spectator, who wished to remain anonymous. "It was like watching a wizard play Quidditch in a full suit of enchanted metal. He was practically invincible."

However, not everyone is enamored by Potter's victory. The magical community has been divided, with some arguing that his use of muggle technology—particularly a piece of equipment that many view as too powerful for the likes of Hogwarts—crossed the line from magical skill to technological cheating.

"I understand the need to protect oneself during the tournament," commented Amos Diggory, a well-respected member of the Ministry. "But there's a fine line between using magic and relying on non-magical technology to win. If that's the case, Potter has essentially bypassed the entire purpose of the Tournament."

Others, however, believe that Potter's strategy is nothing short of brilliant.

"It's ingenuity at its finest," said Hermione Granger, one of Potter's close friends, when interviewed after the event. "Harry didn't cheat. He faced a challenge head-on with the resources available to him, and if that means using technology to help him, then so be it. Not all of us have to rely solely on wands and spells."

The divide was also reflected in the student body. While many of Harry’s fellow Gryffindors—especially Neville Longbottom, who witnessed the event first-hand—were awestruck by his ability to adapt and overcome such a dangerous foe, other students, including those from Durmstrang, voiced their disapproval.

"I didn't think magic would be this easy," one Durmstrang student muttered. "It felt like watching a Quidditch match with a cheat code. Where's the challenge in that?"

Meanwhile, students like Lyall and Pietro Lupin—both of whom have witnessed Harry's unique blend of magic and technology firsthand—were quick to defend their friend.

“Harry's not a cheater,” Lyall said firmly. “He used what he had to get through a situation. If anyone had a chance to do the same, they would’ve done it, too.”

Despite the divided opinions, one thing is clear: Harry Potter’s victory over the dragon in the first task has shifted the conversation in the Triwizard Tournament. With his Iron Man suit, he’s raised the stakes for the remaining champions and left the magical world questioning where the line should be drawn between magic and muggle technology.

As for Harry, when asked about his decision to use the suit, he shrugged.

“I just wanted to get through the task,” Harry said simply. “Sometimes, you need more than magic to survive.”

With two more tasks left, it seems clear that the young wizard has already made his mark on this year's tournament—and the question remains: just how far will Potter push the boundaries of magic, technology, and everything in between?

Editorial: "A Change in the Game"

By: The Daily Prophet Editorial Team

While Harry Potter’s use of the Stark-designed suit in the Triwizard Tournament is certainly a conversation starter, it raises a deeper question: is this truly a tournament of magical prowess, or has it evolved into something far beyond our traditional expectations?

We must consider the role of muggle technology in the magical world. Stark Industries' contributions to the non-magical world are well known, but what does it mean when a piece of that technology infiltrates a sacred magical competition? Does it diminish the integrity of the tournament, or does it reflect the new world we live in, where magic and muggle innovation often collide?

As the tournament progresses, we must ask ourselves: where do we draw the line between cleverness and unfair advantage? And perhaps more importantly, do we even want to draw one at all?

It’s a debate that will surely continue to unfold in the coming weeks as we witness the next two tasks. For now, though, one thing is certain: Harry Potter’s mark on the Triwizard Tournament has already been made.

"Well that was more even than I expected." Harry laid the paper down.

"Fudge seems to be keeping Rita on a short leash." Neville nodded.

"Thanks for do the comments guys." Harry nodded to his friends.

"Any time." Hermione squeezed his hand.

The Great Hall buzzed with excited chatter. Students leaned over their tables, animatedly discussing the spectacle they had just witnessed. Even some of the professors seemed at a loss for words.

"A dragon," Seamus repeated for what had to be the tenth time, eyes wide. "And Potter just—just flew in that thing like it was nothing! No broom, no wand, just—!"

"Some kind of Stark suit," Dean interjected, grinning. "Tony Stark’s tech. I’ve read about it. But against a dragon?"

"Not just any dragon," Susan Bones added. "A bloody Hungarian Horntail! The most dangerous one they had!"

At the professors’ table, McGonagall rubbed her temples while Flitwick looked positively giddy. "Marvelous bit of charm work," the tiny professor mused. "I dare say Non-Magical ingenuity is vastly underestimated in our world."

Snape, arms crossed, merely sneered. "It’s an affront, using that... contraption in a magical tournament."

"An impressive affront," Remus said mildly, sipping his tea. "You have to admit, Severus, even without magic, Harry outmaneuvered a dragon."

Snape scowled deeper but said nothing.

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched the pureblood students struggle to comprehend what had happened. Even Malfoy looked bewildered.

"Did you see the look on Karkaroff’s face?" Neville chuckled beside him. "He looked ready to keel over."

Hermione grinned, nudging Harry. "You do realize you just caused an uproar? The entire concept of 'Non-Magicals being defenseless' just took a serious hit."

"Good," Harry said, popping a piece of bread into his mouth. "About time I shook things up."

Across the hall, a group of Slytherins muttered among themselves. "Magic is still superior," one sneered, though there was uncertainty in his voice.

"Is it?" Blaise Zabini countered, tapping the table. "That dragon didn’t seem to care whether it was magic or Muggle tech. It still lost."

In the shadows, however, Voldemort’s remaining followers were watching. And they were not pleased.

The Wizarding World was in an uproar. The Daily Prophet’s latest issue had caused an explosion of debates across Britain, with the front page displaying an image of Harry Potter—clad in a gleaming red-and-gold suit of armor—blasting the Hungarian Horntail out cold with metal fists.

A Pub in Diagon Alley

“Did you see the way that boy flew?” a wizard exclaimed, slamming his mug of butterbeer onto the table. “No broom! No magic—just pure Muggle engineering! And he won!”

“That wasn’t a fair competition,” a woman scoffed, adjusting her green robes. “Magic should be tested against magic. Not…whatever that was.”

“A Muggle invention bested a dragon,” an older wizard muttered, rubbing his beard. “And here we are, priding ourselves on our so-called superiority.”

Silence fell over the table. The idea was unsettling. For centuries, they had considered Muggles weak—defenseless against the power of a single wand. But Potter had shattered that belief in a single day.

The damp, stone walls of Azkaban did little to dull the brightness of the Daily Prophet’s front page. Lucius Malfoy’s sharp eyes traced the image of Potter in the metallic suit, hovering above a downed dragon, arms raised in victory.

A cold fury bubbled in his chest. This was not how things were meant to be.

“This…this is what the world has come to?” he muttered under his breath, gripping the newspaper tightly. “A Potter relying on Muggle filth?”

His grip trembled, crumpling the page slightly. The boy had not only survived, but had thrived outside of the wizarding world’s traditions. That suit—built by a filthy Muggle, no doubt—had proven more powerful than spells centuries old.

Lucius turned his gaze toward the tiny barred window, eyes narrowing.

If Muggles could create something that could rival dragons, then the wizarding world had underestimated them. Badly.

As the last class of the day ended, Harry was making his way toward the Gryffindor common room when Professor McGonagall called out, “Mr. Potter, a word.”

Harry stopped, turning to face her with a curious look. He had a feeling he knew what this was about.

McGonagall adjusted her spectacles. “As you are aware, the Yule Ball is a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament. As a champion, you are expected to attend and lead the opening dance.”

Harry frowned. “Yeah… about that. I won’t be going.”

McGonagall blinked, clearly not expecting that response. “Excuse me?”

Harry crossed his arms. “I always spend Christmas with my family. I wasn’t exactly planning on changing that just because my name got thrown into this mess.”

McGonagall’s lips thinned. “Mr. Potter, the Yule Ball is not optional for champions. It is a formal event meant to promote unity between the schools.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s a dance, Professor. You’re telling me that a stupid dance is more important than me spending the holidays with my family?”

“The traditions of the tournament are not—”

“If it’s that important, take it up with my parents,” Harry interrupted, his tone firm. “Because I’m not changing my plans.”

McGonagall let out a slow breath, clearly debating her response. Finally, she gave a small nod. “Very well, Potter. I will speak with them.”

Harry nodded in return. “Good luck with that,” he muttered under his breath before turning and walking off, leaving McGonagall shaking her head as she watched him go.

The soft hum of the Prefect Bathroom echoed as Harry and Hermione stood in front of the large, intricately carved mirror. The water in the pool shimmered, a faint mist rising from it as the sound of distant waterfalls filled the air. Harry, his gaze fixed on Hermione for a moment, tried to ignore the flush creeping up his neck.

Hermione had stepped into the water already, the bright green of her bathing suit making her stand out against the smooth, polished marble. Harry followed her, but not without a brief hesitation as his eyes lingered. It wasn’t the first time she had caught his attention like this, but every time, it still made his heart skip a beat.

"Harry, are you just going to stand there?" Hermione teased, raising an eyebrow as she glanced back at him. She knew the effect her presence had on him, and she was more than a little aware of his distracted expression.

Harry cleared his throat, shaking himself out of his daze. "I—sorry. I'm just...thinking about how nice this place is."

It wasn’t a total lie. The Prefect Bathroom was, by all accounts, amazing. But Hermione’s swimsuit, and the way the water hugged her body as she swam, was certainly...distracting. He couldn’t deny it.

"You look great, by the way," Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

Hermione’s smile was quick and knowing. "You too," she said, her gaze briefly flicking over him. The workout schedule he’d kept—courtesy of Natasha—had certainly paid off. Harry had always been in good shape, but now, after years of intense training, his abs and lean muscle had become impossible to ignore.

Harry’s attention immediately flicked to Hermione, noticing the toned muscles in her arms and legs. She had taken up his training regime without a second thought, determined to stay strong alongside him. She wasn’t just keeping up; she was excelling. Harry couldn’t help but admire the way her body had transformed, with more strength in her shoulders and a certain grace in the way she moved. She was powerful, and it was beautiful.

"Ready to hear what the second task is?" Hermione asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts.

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling the weight of what they were about to do. The second task wasn’t just a game. It was a challenge that would push them both to their limits. They had to succeed.

Hermione gestured for Harry to come closer. The golden egg was floating gently beside the pool, and they both knew it would reveal the clue they needed for the next challenge. Harry crouched beside her, and they both closed their eyes, listening for the sound of the clue as the egg began to hum.

When it opened, a loud, eerie noise echoed out, and both of them instinctively submerged into the water. The coldness of the pool didn’t even register as they dove beneath the surface, their bodies gliding through the water as the words from the egg filled their ears.

Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you're searching ponder this;

We've taken what you'll sorely miss,

An hour long you'll have to look,

And to recover what we took,

But past an hour, the prospect's black,

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

When they surfaced, Harry wiped his face, his gaze finding Hermione’s. She looked back at him, her eyes intense and focused.

"Well, that was...terrifying," she murmured, her voice tinged with both excitement and worry.

Harry smirked. "You think we can pull it off?"

"We’ve gotten this far, haven’t we?" Hermione replied, flashing him a grin.

He reached out, squeezing her hand briefly. "Together, yeah. We can do anything."

Her smile softened, and before she could respond, he leaned in, kissing her forehead. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it felt right. A quiet promise between them in a world that felt anything but quiet.

And, for a moment, it was just the two of them—facing the future together, no matter what the tournament threw at them.

"Wait until Doc hears of this." Harry grinned.

"Oh." Hermione grinned back. "To be a fly on that wall."

In Dumbledore’s office, the tension was palpable as Strange and Wong stood facing the headmaster, flanked by the three other judges of the Triwizard Tournament. The room was unusually silent, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the stone walls. The weight of the decision that had just been made hung in the air.

Strange, his usual calm demeanor gone, exhaled sharply. His eyes, usually warm with a hint of humor, were now sharp and unwavering, focused on the group before him. Wong stood beside him, equally stoic, but there was an undeniable tension in his posture.

“We’ve heard about the tasks,” Strange began, his voice low but intense. “And I must be clear: no hostages will be put in the lake. Not one, not ever. You understand?” His tone left no room for negotiation. “If any of you attempt that... any of you involved in that decision... I will personally see to it that the consequences are swift.”

The room seemed to freeze at his words. Dumbledore, who had been sitting at his desk, hands clasped in front of him, looked up slowly, his blue eyes meeting Strange's with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Stephen,” Dumbledore began softly, trying to steer the conversation with the usual diplomatic air he possessed. “I understand your concern, but the tradition—”

“Tradition?” Strange’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade. “You don’t put children in harm’s way for the sake of tradition, Albus. You don’t use them as bait for a task, no matter how grand it may seem. I won’t allow it, and neither will Wong.” He turned his head slightly to look at Wong, who nodded in silent agreement.

“We have the ability to hold accountable those who would dare violate the safety of the students,” Wong added, his voice calm but no less stern. “In your world, that might be a legal matter. In our world, it’s a matter of right and wrong.”

There was a brief silence. The judges exchanged looks, unsure how to react to this unprecedented demand. They had been accustomed to holding their power over the students with little interference. But the sheer force of Strange's presence and his words had shaken them.

“We don’t intend for anyone to be harmed,” one of the other judges said hesitantly. “But it’s a part of the tasks—”

Strange’s eyes flashed with warning, his magic subtly crackling in the air, though he kept it under control.

“No. Not. A. Single. Hostage.” Strange’s voice was cold and unwavering, every word precise. “If anyone is put in harm’s way... I will have the full measure of your law, or lack thereof, taken to my court. I will make sure you face the consequences of that. And I assure you, there is no room for leniency.”

The judge who had spoken earlier swallowed hard. It was clear that Strange’s words weren’t an idle threat. His reputation, and his power, were well known, even if the extent of his authority in the magical world wasn’t fully understood by all. And with Wong at his side, they knew the consequences would be swift and severe.

Dumbledore, always the calm negotiator, finally spoke again, his voice quieter but firm. “Very well, Stephen. We will take your concerns under advisement. But we ask that you trust us to ensure the safety of all students involved. We do not wish for anyone to be placed in danger.”

Strange studied Dumbledore for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if he was deciding whether or not to press further. “Know this: any attempt to put those students in harm’s way, and you’ll find out how far my reach truly goes.”

With that, he turned on his heel, Wong following him out of the office without a word. The door clicked shut behind them, and for a moment, the room was still.

The remaining judges exchanged uneasy glances. The power that Strange had just demonstrated, though subtle, was undeniable. They had been warned.