Harry Potter: The Revenant

The sun hung low over Washington, D.C., casting long shadows across the towering Triskelion. Deep within the heart of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Peggy Carter—Director of the world's most advanced espionage agency—sat at the head of a polished conference table. Across from her stood Howard Stark, co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D., fiddling with a small gadget that hummed faintly in his hands. Between them, the room's stark lighting reflected the gravity of the conversation to come.

Agent Nick Fury strode into the room with his usual air of confidence, his long black coat flaring slightly behind him. He wasn't one to be summoned without reason, and his sharp eyes—still intact and unpatched at this stage—swept across the room, taking in the expressions of the two legends before him.

"You wanted to see me, Director Carter?" Fury asked, his tone calm but curious.

Peggy rose, her Super Soldier frame lending her a commanding presence that had only deepened since the serum had reversed the effects of time. She gestured for Fury to sit, and when he did, she remained standing, her gaze steady.

"Yes, Agent Fury," she began. "Howard and I have been discussing the future of S.H.I.E.L.D., and your role in it."

Fury raised an eyebrow. "My role?"

Howard grinned, finally setting down the gadget with a satisfied click. "Don't look so nervous, Nick. This isn't an interrogation. It's... well, let's call it a promotion opportunity."

Fury leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "Promotion? I wasn't aware I was in the running."

Peggy folded her hands behind her back, her voice steady but laced with warmth. "You've been under observation for a while now, Fury. I've watched you lead operations that most would call impossible. From the Harry Potter rescue mission to the evacuation of the Potter family and their allies from Wizarding Britain, you've proven yourself time and again. You're resourceful, fearless, and, most importantly, capable of making hard decisions when it matters most."

Fury's usually unreadable expression flickered with surprise, though he masked it quickly. "I appreciate the compliment, but I'm guessing there's more to this than flattery."

Howard chuckled. "Smart as ever. Listen, Peggy's got a plan. A big one. And it involves you stepping up."

Peggy nodded. "I'm stepping down as Director."

Fury's composure cracked for a moment. He straightened in his chair, his brows furrowing. "You're what?"

"You heard me," Peggy said firmly. "As much as I've valued my time leading this organization, my place isn't behind a desk anymore. Not since the serum. I've been biding my time, ensuring this team—this agency—is ready to function at its peak. We're almost there, and soon, I'll be moving back into the field."

Fury processed her words carefully, his mind already racing through the implications. "And you want me to take over as Director?"

"Yes," Peggy said simply. "I've been watching you, Nick. You have the vision, the leadership, and, frankly, the grit that this role requires. You've seen the worst the world has to offer, and instead of faltering, you've found ways to adapt. You're exactly what S.H.I.E.L.D. needs for the future."

Fury leaned forward, his voice low but serious. "I'm honored, Director Carter, but this isn't exactly a small job. You're sure I'm the right person for it?"

Howard interjected, his grin widening. "We're Stark-level sure, Fury. Which is to say, 99% confident and willing to bet the house on you."

Peggy smirked but returned to seriousness quickly. "Nick, I've spent my life making tough calls, and this is one of them. You've earned this, not just because of what you've done, but because of who you are. You don't just see problems; you see solutions. S.H.I.E.L.D. will face challenges in the years ahead that none of us can predict, and I believe you're the man to lead us through them."

Fury was silent for a moment, weighing her words. Finally, he spoke, his tone tinged with both respect and a rare touch of humility. "If you think I'm ready, Director Carter, then I'll do it. But I'll warn you—I won't run things exactly the way you did."

Peggy smiled. "Good. You're not supposed to. You're supposed to make it better."

Howard clapped his hands together. "Now that's settled, let's drink to the new Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.!"

Peggy rolled her eyes but chuckled softly. "Howard, it's the middle of the day."

"And?" Howard replied, feigning innocence. "Besides, we're celebrating. That calls for at least a glass of something strong."

Fury stood, extending his hand to Peggy. "Thank you for trusting me with this, Director. I won't let you down."

Peggy shook his hand firmly, her expression warm but resolute. "I know you won't. And don't worry—you won't be doing it alone. S.H.I.E.L.D. is about teamwork, and this team is stronger than it's ever been."

As Fury left the room, his mind already racing with plans and possibilities, Peggy exchanged a glance with Howard.

"Well," Howard said, picking up his gadget again. "I think we just made history."

Peggy's smile was faint but proud. "No, Howard. We just secured the future."

—

The workshop buzzed with the low hum of Tony Stark's inventions. The young genius leaned over a pair of communication mirrors, his fingers flying as he calibrated the final holographic interface. With each tap, holographic icons flared to life above the mirror, displaying an elegant, modernized overlay that made the original enchantments look like Stone Age relics.

Tony grinned, pleased with his handiwork. "There we go. Holo-interface version 1.0. Ready for deployment."

He stretched, cracking his knuckles. "And that's my magnum opus for this trip. MIT, here I come."

Before he could fully bask in his own brilliance, the door creaked open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered figure dressed in casual civilian clothes that still somehow screamed war hero. Tony turned, raising an eyebrow as Steve Rogers stepped into the room, his presence as commanding as it was unintentional.

"Uh, hi?" Tony said, cocking his head. "You lost or just curious about what actual genius looks like?"

Steve chuckled softly, his hands held up in a disarming gesture. "I'm looking for James and Sirius. Heard they might have some baby photos of Harry for a project Peggy, Bucky, and I are working on. Mind if I ask?"

Tony's smirk faltered, replaced by an almost indiscernible tension. Steve Rogers. The guy his dad wouldn't shut up about. The man who could do no wrong, who haunted Tony's childhood like an unattainable benchmark of perfection. And now, here he was, in the flesh.

"Baby photos, huh? Sure, you'll find them in the other room," Tony said, keeping his tone light but clipped. "James and Sirius are probably debating whose Harry's favourite of the two."

Steve stepped further into the workshop, his gaze drawn to the impressive array of gadgets and projects scattered across the room. He nodded appreciatively. "Nice setup. You do all this yourself?"

Tony shrugged. "What can I say? Some people are just born great."

The corner of Steve's mouth quirked up. "And some people work their way there."

Tony bristled slightly, but Steve didn't seem to notice. His attention was on the mirrors Tony had been working on.

"These part of the Potter family's setup?" Steve asked, gesturing to the holographic display.

"Yep. Upgraded their magical communication mirrors. Now they've got a holo-interface, real-time tracking, and enhanced encryption—thanks to me," Tony replied, crossing his arms.

Steve nodded, impressed. "Howard always said you were sharp. Never thought I'd see it firsthand."

At the mention of his father, Tony stiffened. "Dad said that? News to me. All I ever heard was how I wasn't you."

Steve blinked, caught off guard. "Me?"

Tony huffed a laugh, turning back to the mirrors as if they were more interesting than the man himself. "Yeah, you. 'Why can't you be more like Steve Rogers, Tony? Steve's brave, Steve's selfless, Steve's a leader.' Blah, blah, blah. Trust me, I know the script by heart."

Steve frowned, stepping closer. "Tony, I—"

"Save it," Tony interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended. "I get it. You're perfect. You're the golden boy. And now you're here, in all your righteous glory, probably thinking about how shocking it is that Howard Stark—playboy extraordinaire—ended up a family man with a kid who's smarter than he is."

Steve hesitated, his expression softening. "It is surprising," he admitted.

Tony froze, not expecting the honesty.

"The Howard I knew… he was brilliant, but, yeah, he was a bit of a Casanova," Steve continued, his tone thoughtful rather than judgmental. "The idea of him settling down, having a family—it's hard to picture. But I can tell you this: the way he talked about you, he was proud."

Tony turned to face him fully, skepticism etched into his features. "Really?"

Steve nodded. "He said you were smarter than him, more innovative. He wasn't shy about admitting that you'd outshine him someday."

For a moment, Tony didn't know how to respond. The idea that his father might have actually been proud of him—without comparing him to Steve—was a revelation.

Steve smiled gently. "You don't have to live up to anyone else, Tony. You're already doing something incredible here. And I think your dad knew that better than anyone."

Tony swallowed hard, his usual bravado slipping for just a moment. "Huh. Guess he wasn't as bad as I thought."

"Guess not," Steve said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to find those baby photos. Can't let Peggy down."

Tony smirked, his confidence returning. "Good luck with James and Sirius. They're probably arguing about whether Harry's more handsome than they were at his age."

Steve laughed, the tension between them easing. "I'll keep that in mind."

As Steve left the workshop, Tony turned back to his mirrors, his mind racing with thoughts he hadn't expected to have. For the first time, the idea of being compared to Steve Rogers didn't feel like a weight—it felt like a challenge. One he was finally ready to accept.

—

Bucky Barnes strolled through the safehouse gardens, searching for Lily Potter. He held a small notebook in his hand, jotting down ideas for Harry's birthday photo album. Steve had already spoken to James and Sirius—who had promptly devolved into a debate about which of them Harry took after more—but now he needed Lily's input. She'd know where to find the tender, less chaotic moments from Harry's early life, if there were any.

As he rounded a corner, a rhythmic thwap-thwap-thwap of fists meeting pads drew his attention. Bucky turned toward the training area and froze at the sight before him. Natasha Romanoff and Harry Potter were sparring.

It wasn't just the sparring, though. It was the way they moved—fluid, synchronized, and far too… familiar. Natasha smirked as Harry feigned a sloppy punch, then countered her move with a quick grapple, earning an impressed laugh from her. She responded with a sweep that sent Harry tumbling, but he caught himself with a roll and sprang to his feet, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

They weren't just training. They were flirting, clear as day.

Bucky frowned, a swirl of emotions twisting in his chest. On one hand, Harry had the body of an adult—an extremely fit and agile one, thanks to the Super-Soldier serum coursing through his veins. His movements were confident, his reflexes sharp. Yet, Bucky couldn't shake the truth: Harry was still almost six years old.

"This right or wrong, Buck?" he muttered under his breath, his thoughts a tangle of uncertainty. He knew better than most how trauma aged a person, but this? It was a gray area he didn't have an answer for.

"Harry and Natasha sparring again?" Lily's voice cut through his thoughts.

Bucky turned to see Lily standing a few feet away, arms crossed, watching the scene with a small, resigned smile. She didn't seem surprised, but there was a shadow in her eyes.

"You don't seem too shocked," Bucky said, his voice low.

Lily sighed, walking up to stand beside him. "That's because I'm not."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You knew?"

"I've known for a while," she admitted, her gaze fixed on the pair. "Harry came to me a few weeks ago, confused about how he was feeling around Natasha. We had a long talk. Then I spoke to Natasha, and we talked some more. I'm keeping an eye on things."

"Keeping an eye?" Bucky asked, incredulous. "Lily, he's still a kid. Sure, he looks grown, but inside? He's not even six. You can't tell me this doesn't feel... off."

Lily's smile faded, replaced by a tired, somber expression. "Believe me, Bucky, I want to think of Harry as a child. He's my baby boy. But the truth is… he hasn't been a child for a long time."

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by her candor. "What do you mean?"

Lily's voice grew quiet, laced with regret. "His childhood died the moment Dumbledore left him on the Dursleys' doorstep like he was nothing. I didn't know at the time, of course. James and I were in that damned coma, helpless while our son was neglected, abused, treated like a slave. And if that wasn't enough, Hydra took him. Experimented on him. Tried to turn him into a weapon. By the time we got him back, he was… different. Not broken, but... hardened."

Bucky's jaw tightened. "I've been through Hydra's hell, Lily. I know what it does to you. But still, he deserves to be a kid, to have that chance."

"I agree," Lily said, her voice cracking slightly. "But it's too late for that. I hate it, but it's the truth. Harry doesn't think like a child anymore. His experiences—what he's been through—have made him grow up too fast. And while I don't like the idea of him and Natasha, I can't ignore that it's not as black-and-white as it seems."

Bucky frowned, looking back at Harry and Natasha. Harry had managed to pin Natasha, but she rolled her eyes and flipped him over with an effortless move, leaving him laughing as he dusted himself off.

"It still feels… wrong," Bucky said quietly.

Lily nodded. "It does. But I've learned the hard way that I can't shield Harry from everything. He's smart, Bucky—too smart for his own good sometimes. And he's stubborn, just like his father. If this is something he's determined about, I can't stand in his way. I can only guide him and hope he makes the right choices."

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Lily. I just… it feels like he's been robbed of so much already. This doesn't seem fair."

"None of it is fair," Lily agreed, her voice heavy with sadness. "But fairness doesn't matter to the world. All I can do is make sure Harry knows he's loved and supported, no matter what."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as Harry and Natasha exchanged a playful jab and a mock scolding. The bond between them was clear, even if it wasn't something Bucky was entirely comfortable with.

"I guess that's all any of us can do," Bucky finally said.

Lily nodded, her eyes softening as she watched her son. "Exactly."

—

Harry grinned as he adjusted his stance, circling Natasha with a spring in his step. The faint morning sun glinted off the thin sheen of sweat on his skin, though his breathing was steady.

"Come on, Romanoff," he teased, dodging a quick jab aimed at his midsection. "You can do better than that. Or is the Black Widow losing her touch?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, but the smirk tugging at her lips gave her away. "Careful, Potter. Pride comes before a fall."

Harry's grin widened. "You sound like my mum."

Natasha raised an eyebrow and feinted left before sweeping a leg out. Harry barely dodged, stumbling back a step as he caught himself. "Do I? Then maybe you should listen for once. Could save you a lot of bruises."

"Maybe I like bruises," he quipped, recovering his balance and lunging forward with a quick series of punches. Natasha deflected each one with ease, her movements fluid and precise.

"Well, that's just weird," she shot back, ducking under his last strike and pivoting behind him.

"Don't kink-shame me," Harry said, twisting around to block her next attack.

Natasha laughed—a low, melodic sound that made Harry's stomach flip, though he'd never admit it aloud. "Oh, Potter. You're lucky I tolerate you."

"Only tolerate?" Harry asked, sidestepping her strike and countering with a spinning kick. "And here I thought we were friends."

"Friends? Please." Natasha caught his kick and twisted, forcing Harry to leap awkwardly to avoid being flipped. "You're just a particularly amusing punching bag."

Harry barked out a laugh as he regained his footing. "Admit it, you'd miss me if I weren't around."

"Miss having someone this cocky to knock down a peg? Maybe," she said, her tone playful as she lunged forward.

This time, Harry anticipated her move. He sidestepped and hooked his arm around hers, using her momentum to flip her over. Natasha hit the mat with a grunt, but her expression remained calm, almost amused.

"Not bad," she said, lying flat on her back for a moment before kipping up with an effortless motion. "For a kid."

Harry froze for a fraction of a second, his expression faltering. It wasn't much, but Natasha noticed.

"Something I said?" she asked, tilting her head.

Harry forced a grin. "Just trying to decide if I should take that as a compliment or an insult."

"Your call," she said lightly, but there was a note of curiosity in her voice now. She stepped closer, lowering her hands. "Seriously, though. What's going on in that oversized brain of yours?"

Harry hesitated, but then shrugged, a faint smirk returning to his face. "If I told you, you'd probably kick me again."

Natasha studied him for a moment, her green eyes sharp. Then, with a sly smile, she stepped into his space. "I could kick you now if you'd prefer."

Harry chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "You're terrifying, you know that?"

"That's the point," Natasha said with a wink, punching him lightly on the shoulder before stepping back. "But seriously, you're doing good. You've got potential."

"High praise coming from you," Harry said, his tone warm.

Natasha shrugged, her smirk softening into something more genuine. "Don't let it go to your head. Now, ready for another round, or do you need a break, kid?"

This time, Harry rolled his eyes but laughed, the tension from earlier melting away. "Oh, it's on, Widow."

Unbeknownst to them, Lily and Bucky had quietly retreated, leaving the pair to their sparring. Lily's expression was thoughtful, her emotions a mix of worry and reluctant acceptance. Bucky followed her with a shake of his head, muttering, "Kid's got guts, I'll give him that."

—

Tony leaned back in the chair, legs propped up on the workbench, as he watched the progress bar on the holographic interface software crawl forward. "This thing is slower than dial-up," he muttered.

Across the room, Sirius Black and James Potter exchanged a glance. Sirius's grin was wide and mischievous, while James pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Patience isn't your strong suit, huh, Stark?" Sirius teased, leaning casually against the edge of the table.

Tony shot him a withering look. "When you're a genius, time is money, and I've got a lot of ideas to fund."

Steve Rogers, seated nearby with his arms crossed, chuckled softly. "You sound like your dad. Howard used to say the same thing."

Tony visibly bristled at the mention of his father, but before he could snap back, James clapped his hands together. "Alright, enough about Howard. Let's talk about something way cooler. Ever heard of Animagi?"

"Anima-what-now?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

Steve tilted his head. "Sounds Latin."

Sirius smirked, clearly enjoying the attention. "It is. An Animagus is a witch or wizard who can transform into an animal at will. It's not like some basic shapeshifting spell. It's a skill—a bond with the animal inside you."

James nodded enthusiastically. "It's incredibly rare and takes years to master. Most wizards wouldn't even try because it's so dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Steve frowned. "How so?"

"Imagine this," Sirius said, his tone low and dramatic. "You're halfway through transforming, and you get stuck. Not quite human, not quite animal. It's… not pretty."

Tony grimaced. "Sounds like a bad sci-fi movie."

"You have no idea," James said with a shudder. "That's why it's heavily regulated by the Ministry of Magic."

"Wait," Tony interrupted, holding up a hand. "Are you saying you two did this whole Animagus thing?"

Sirius's grin widened. "Oh, absolutely."

"Illegally," James added, not looking the least bit repentant.

Tony laughed, clearly intrigued. "Let me guess. You got bored and thought, 'Why not break some wizarding laws?'"

"Pretty much," Sirius said with a shrug. "James here turned into a stag, big antlers and all. Me? I'm a magnificent black dog."

Steve's eyebrows shot up. "A stag and a dog? How does that work? Do you choose the animal?"

James shook his head. "Nope. The animal chooses you. It's a reflection of your personality—who you are at your core."

Steve leaned forward, clearly fascinated. "So, it's not random?"

"Not at all," Sirius said. "James here—noble, protective, family man—of course, he'd be a stag. Me? Loyal, playful, maybe a bit wild. A dog makes sense, doesn't it?"

Tony tapped his chin, his curiosity piqued. "So, if someone like me tried this… what would I turn into?"

Sirius and James exchanged a look, then burst out laughing.

"Probably a fox," Sirius said, smirking. "Clever, resourceful, a bit sly."

"Or maybe a peacock," James teased. "You do have a flair for the dramatic."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Hilarious. Really."

Steve, still processing the information, asked, "Why did you decide to become Animagi in the first place?"

James's grin softened. "It was for Remus. Our friend. He's a werewolf, and when he transformed, he was all alone. It's dangerous for a werewolf to be around humans, but not animals. So, we became Animagi to keep him company during full moons."

Steve blinked, clearly moved. "That's… incredible."

Sirius shrugged, his grin faltering just slightly. "It wasn't always easy, but it was worth it. He's family."

Tony leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking thoughtful. "Huh. You broke the rules… for a good reason. Maybe you two aren't so bad after all."

"High praise," Sirius said with a mock bow.

The upload bar on Tony's screen dinged, signaling completion. He pushed off the desk and stood. "Looks like it's done. Now, let's see if your magical mirrors can handle a bit of Stark tech."

As Tony began tinkering, Sirius leaned toward James and whispered, "Think we should teach Harry how to become an Animagus?"

James smirked. "Let's keep that one a surprise."

—

In a sleek, dimly lit restaurant in downtown Washington, D.C., Nick Fury sat across from Alexander Pierce, his long-time friend and now the U.S. Secretary of State. The two men shared a toast, their glasses clinking softly as the ambient murmur of other patrons filled the air.

"To your promotion, Nick," Pierce said, his sharp blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he raised his glass. "Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. That's no small feat. Though I always knew you'd make it."

Fury smirked, his good eye narrowing. "Appreciate that, Alex. Didn't know if I'd ever get out of the field. Guess someone thought I was more useful behind a desk."

Pierce chuckled. "Behind a desk or not, you've got the sharpest mind in the room. You proved that back in Bogotá."

Fury's expression shifted slightly at the mention. Bogotá. It had been one of his first high-stakes missions, a hostage rescue that had become the stuff of legends. Fury had not only saved all the hostages but had personally ensured the safety of Pierce's teenage daughter, Sophie.

"That was a hell of a day," Fury said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "You gave me hell for going off the playbook, as I recall."

"I did," Pierce admitted with a wry grin. "But only because I was scared out of my mind. You saved Sophie. Saved all of them. You earned my loyalty that day, Nick. For life."

Fury raised his glass again, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. "Good to know I've got at least one ally in this mess."

They drank in companionable silence for a moment before Pierce leaned forward, his tone casual but probing. "So, what's next for S.H.I.E.L.D.? You've got your hands on some pretty powerful tools these days—super soldiers, wizards, Stark tech. Any big plans?"

Fury regarded his friend carefully. Pierce had always been a diplomat, a man who thrived on knowing everything. It wasn't unusual for him to be curious, but Fury's instincts—honed over years in the field—prickled just slightly.

"We're still cleaning up messes from the Wizarding War and HYDRA's nonsense," Fury said smoothly. "Focus now is on keeping the world safe, no matter where the threat comes from."

"Admirable," Pierce said, his smile unwavering. "Though with power like that, I'd imagine some would see S.H.I.E.L.D. as more than just a defense agency. Could be the world's police force. Or even its rulers."

Fury laughed, though the sound didn't quite reach his eye. "You've been watching too many sci-fi flicks, Alex. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't rule. We serve."

"Of course," Pierce said, leaning back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Just a thought."

Their conversation turned lighter after that—anecdotes about old missions, mutual acquaintances, and Pierce's insights into the murky world of international politics. Fury didn't notice the subtle tension in Pierce's posture or the way his eyes occasionally darted toward Fury, as if weighing something unseen.

Pierce played the role of friend and confidant perfectly, but behind his genial facade, his mind was racing. Fury's ascension to Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. was a complication. HYDRA's influence within the organization was strong, but Fury's sharp instincts and unwavering integrity posed a potential threat.

Still, Pierce thought as he drained his glass, he'd faced challenges before. Bogotá had changed his life, true—but not in the way Fury believed. That mission had shown Pierce the limits of diplomacy and the need for control, for order. It had been HYDRA that had offered him a way to ensure that order.

As they stood to leave, Pierce clapped Fury on the shoulder. "You're going to do great things, Nick. I have no doubt."

Fury smirked, his confidence as unshakable as ever. "And you're gonna keep running the world, Alex. Guess we're both where we're meant to be."

For now, Pierce thought. For now.

—

Within the mystical halls of the New York Sanctum Sanctorum, the Ancient One sat cross-legged on a floating dais, her ageless face serene yet contemplative. Around her, the ever-shifting Mirror Dimension reflected countless possibilities, timelines branching and converging like streams in a great cosmic river. The Eye of Agamotto hung heavy around her neck, pulsing faintly as if sharing her burden of foresight.

Her thoughts were consumed by a single, unassuming figure amidst the vast web of the multiverse: Harry Potter.

"An anomaly," she murmured, her voice soft yet carrying the weight of countless centuries of knowledge.

She raised a hand, and the Mirror Dimension stilled. In its depths, the image of a boy appeared—a strikingly tall and muscular figure, his body radiating power, yet his eyes held the confusion and yearning of a child. Around him, the faint shimmer of destiny flickered chaotically, as if the threads of his future refused to align.

"Born into a world of magic yet thrust into one of pain and science," the Ancient One said to herself, tracing the boy's image with her gaze. "A soul burdened with suffering, yet unbroken. A paradox."

With a flick of her wrist, the image shifted, revealing Harry's origins. The Wizarding War, his parents' love and sacrifice, and then the cruel twist of fate that left him at the mercy of the Dursleys. She winced at the sight of his hardships—a childhood stolen, a spirit tested beyond its limits.

The scene shifted again: Harry in a Hydra facility, strapped to a cold, metallic table, his small body writhing in agony as mad scientists reshaped him into a weapon. The claws, the unyielding skeleton, the accelerated healing—it was a monstrous gift, one born of cruelty.

"Hydra," she whispered, her tone laced with quiet disdain. "Always seeking to twist nature's gifts into instruments of domination."

Yet Harry had escaped, and his path had led him to S.H.I.E.L.D. Under their watchful eyes, the boy—no, the soldier—was being molded into something more. A fighter, a leader, perhaps even a symbol.

"But what will he become?" she wondered aloud. "A force of chaos or a champion of order?"

The Ancient One rose gracefully from the dais, her robes flowing like liquid light. With a gesture, the Mirror Dimension expanded, revealing a tangle of timelines that revolved around Harry Potter.

In some, he became a beacon of hope, his unique fusion of magic and science forging alliances that would reshape the world. In others, he fell prey to his own anger, becoming a destructive force that even the mightiest could not contain. And in the rarest of possibilities, he simply disappeared, consumed by the weight of his existence.

"Such potential," she mused. "Yet so precarious."

She paced slowly, her mind racing through the implications. Harry's emergence as a Super Soldier was not merely a consequence of Hydra's ambition—it was a ripple in the grand design, an unplanned variable in the delicate balance of the universe.

"The boy's heart is pure," she finally said, her voice resolute. "But it is a heart burdened with scars."

She turned to Wong, who had been silently observing her contemplations from the edge of the chamber. His brow furrowed as he processed the gravity of her words.

"Do we intervene?" he asked.

The Ancient One shook her head. "Not yet. His journey is his own, and to meddle now would risk unraveling more than we intend."

"But Hydra—"

"Hydra is a disease," she interrupted, her tone sharp. "And he is their unintended cure. But even cures can become poisons if wielded carelessly."

Wong nodded, though concern lingered in his eyes.

The Ancient One turned her gaze back to Harry's image in the Mirror Dimension, watching as he sparred with Natasha Romanoff, his movements a blend of raw power and burgeoning skill.

"Prepare the Sanctum," she instructed. "The time may come when he seeks guidance—or when his actions ripple too far beyond control. Either way, we must be ready."

As Wong bowed and left to carry out her orders, the Ancient One remained, her gaze fixed on Harry Potter.

"Fate has dealt you a cruel hand, child," she said softly. "But perhaps, through fire and steel, you may yet become something greater than any of us can foresee."

And with that, the Mirror Dimension rippled once more, its infinite possibilities swirling around the figure of the boy who was both man and weapon, destined to challenge the very fabric of his world.

---

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