Harry Potter: The Revenant

The group hustled through the dimly lit streets of London, a mix of urgency and tension in the air. Harry, who looked like he could star in his own superhero blockbuster, tried to focus on the task at hand. His muscular frame and youthful face were a jarring contrast to his supposed age. Beside him, Lily, Rose and James strode with purpose, while Sirius, Bucky, and Natasha followed closely behind, each exuding their own brand of quiet intensity.

Their goal was a discreet airstrip where SHIELD's transport—a sleek, black cargo plane—waited. As they approached the site, Sirius decided it was time for some much-needed explanations for the Tonks family, who were still trying to wrap their heads around the sight of a pint-sized Hercules.

"Alright, team," Sirius began, flashing his usual cheeky grin. "I can see you're wondering why Harry here looks like he could bench-press a car, despite being only five years old."

Ted, the ever-practical Muggleborn, scratched his head. "Yeah, that's a bit of a head-scratcher. Last I saw, he was barely a baby."

"Buckle up," Sirius said, settling into his storytelling mode. "So, after the Dursleys died, Hydra—yes, the Nazi science geeks from World War II—got their hands on Harry."

Andromeda's eyes widened. "Hydra? The same group that experimented on people back in the day?"

"That's the one," Sirius confirmed with a nod. "They decided to make Harry their latest lab rat."

"Lab rat?" Ted echoed, looking more concerned by the second.

Bucky stepped in, taking over the narrative. "They injected him with something called the Super Soldier Serum. It's the same stuff that turned Steve Rogers into Captain America."

Ted's eyes lit up with recognition. "Captain America? You mean the Muggle superhero?"

"Yep, that's him," Natasha said, trying to keep things straightforward. "But Hydra wasn't done. They accelerated his growth and added metal claws."

Andromeda's jaw dropped. "Metal claws? Seriously?"

"Yup," Sirius said. "And they didn't stop there. They bonded his skeleton with a metal called Vibranium and mixed in some DNA from a mutant known as Weapon X."

Ted looked at Harry with a new sense of awe. "So Harry's basically a super-soldier with a side of metal claws?"

"Exactly," Bucky confirmed. "Hydra's idea was to create the ultimate weapon. Lucky us, Harry's on our side now."

Andromeda shook her head, struggling to process the whirlwind of information. "This is definitely more than I was prepared for."

Ted gave her a reassuring pat. "We'll figure it out. It's good to know Harry's with us."

Sirius's grin widened as he saw the Tonks family starting to get a grip on the situation. "That's the plan. We're heading to the US where we can keep him safe and figure out the next steps."

As they reached the airstrip, the cargo plane loomed ahead, its engines humming softly. Agent Fury, waited with an authoritative stance.

"Good to see you all," Fury said, his voice as commanding as ever. "How's the kid holding up?"

Harry managed a tired smile. "Better now, thanks to you."

Fury gave Harry an approving look. "You've done well getting through Hydra. We've got a long flight ahead. Let's get you all settled and sort out what comes next."

As they boarded the plane and settled into their seats, Sirius glanced around at his companions. Despite the chaos and revelations, he felt a flicker of hope. This was the beginning of a new chapter, and although the future was uncertain, they had each other.

With a roar of engines, the plane began its ascent, lifting them away from the past and toward an unknown, but promising, future. As Harry looked out the window, he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, things were starting to look up.

—

As the plane roared through the sky, leaving British airspace behind, the scene at Dumbledore's office was a mix of enchanted chaos and self-satisfied smirks. The trinkets and mirrors, all linked to Rose Potter, were going haywire, flashing and whirring in a way that suggested someone had just hit the "panic" button on their magical to-do list.

Dumbledore, perched behind his cluttered desk with a twinkle in his eye that could only be described as "Evil Santa Claus," peered over his half-moon spectacles at the images flickering in the magical mirrors. The images showed James and Lily Potter, along with a now five-year-old Rose, making a dramatic exit from England. It was like a soap opera, except with more magic and fewer commercial breaks.

Dumbledore sighed dramatically. "Ah, the Potters, always making things difficult. But really, is this any surprise? It seems my carefully crafted plans have been thwarted. How dreadfully unexpected." He gave himself a theatrical pat on the back, clearly reveling in his own perceived genius.

The trinkets, apparently programmed to add a bit of melodrama, continued their flashing dance. One particularly insistent mirror showed Rose, now a spoiled princess in the making, leaving the country. Dumbledore couldn't help but chuckle. "My, my, Rose. I did so enjoy raising you as the 'Girl-Who-Lived.' It was almost like having a pet project."

He leaned back in his chair, a gesture that seemed to say, "Of course, I knew this would happen." "So, the Potters have slipped away from my grasp. James and Lily, always so determined. But honestly, I have bigger fish to fry. Like Neville Longbottom."

Dumbledore's face lit up with a self-satisfied grin as he imagined the new star of his grand plan. "Neville Longbottom, the second-best option. How quaint. It's almost poetic, really. Fate's way of keeping things interesting."

His thoughts drifted to the grievances the Potters had against him: giving Harry to the Dursleys under the mistaken belief that he was a squib, raising Rose in her delusional 'savior' role, and imprisoning Sirius without a trial. "Ah, those were simpler times," he mused. "When my plans were thwarted by mere mortals. Now, it's all about making sure the backup plan—Neville—gets his turn in the spotlight."

He started rifling through papers and scrolls, his mind already racing with schemes and strategies. "Let's see how Neville handles this," he said with a flourish. "It's not like I haven't dealt with setbacks before. They're just opportunities in disguise."

As he settled back into his chair, Dumbledore's confidence was as unshakable as ever. "So, the Potters are out of my reach for now. No matter. I'm sure Neville will provide all the drama and heroics I need. After all, destiny is just another word for 'my grand plan.'"

With that, he gave a final, smug nod to the flickering trinkets and mirrors, confident that whatever happened next, he'd be right at the center of it all. After all, in the grand scheme of things, Dumbledore was always the star of his own show.

—

The air in the secret Stark Industries warehouse was dense with tension and a hint of stale coffee. Howard Stark, looking like he'd spent the past decade wrestling with spreadsheets and caffeine, led Gellert Grindelwald through a maze of high-tech gizmos and blinking lights. The real showstopper, however, was in the center of the room: a high-tech pod holding none other than Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, who was frozen solid, as if he'd just decided to take a nap in the middle of a cosmic battle.

Howard, who was clearly running on fumes and barely masking his anxiety, gestured dramatically toward the pod. "Welcome to the future of cryogenics, or at least my attempt at it. Steve Rogers, as frozen as the ice cream I never get around to eating."

Gellert Grindelwald, always one for flair, peered at the pod with a mix of fascination and skepticism. His eyes glowed with a faint light, as if he was trying to decode the very essence of the Captain's predicament. "I see you've been having some trouble with your ice cube here."

Howard sighed. "Trouble doesn't even start to cover it. I've thrown every scientific method I've got at him. Nothing. Nada. Zip. I thought maybe magic could crack this ice-cold conundrum."

Gellert arched an eyebrow and moved closer, running his fingers through the air near the pod like he was stirring a magical cauldron. "You're in luck, Howard. This isn't just about frozen technology. Steve here has been dosed with the Draught of Living Death."

Howard's eyes went as wide as saucers. "The Draught of Living Death? You mean like the potion that's supposedly the stuff of wizarding legend?"

"The very same," Gellert said with a smirk. "This potion places its victim into an enchanted slumber, one that defies all your fancy science tricks. It's why you haven't been able to revive him with all your gizmos and gadgets."

Howard scratched his head, looking like he was trying to process a particularly complex math problem. "So, you're saying my state-of-the-art tech is useless because Steve's been hit with a magical snooze button?"

"Precisely," Gellert replied, "though I must say, it's a rather elegant solution to a sticky problem. Waking him up will require a magical counter-ritual, which is a bit more nuanced than flipping a switch."

Howard let out a deep breath, his shoulders slumping. "Fantastic. I was hoping you'd have a magical fix. How long do you think this will take?"

Gellert's eyes sparkled with both confidence and a hint of mischief. "Well, it's not like we're cooking a quick dinner. It'll take some time, precision, and a bit of ancient spellwork. But don't worry, I have just the thing."

Howard looked from Gellert to the frozen Steve, his hope rekindled. "Good. Because I don't think I can handle any more bad news."

Gellert gave a reassuring nod. "No more bad news. Just a lot of work. And maybe a touch of dramatic flair. Let's get started."

As Gellert prepared his magical tools, Howard watched, a mix of anticipation and caffeine-fueled jitters. The moment had arrived, and with it, the chance to wake a hero from his frozen prison. If anyone could pull off a magical miracle, it was Gellert Grindelwald—and Howard Stark was all in for the ride.

—

The cargo plane touched down with a lurch that sent everyone's stomachs on a brief rollercoaster ride. Sirius groaned dramatically as he unbuckled his harness. "Ten out of ten landing. If by 'ten' you mean a solid two and a half."

Lily rolled her eyes, clutching a still-snoozing Rose close to her chest. "Please, Sirius. You've crashed into more things on a broom than this plane did."

"I'd like to point out that I survived all those crashes," Sirius shot back, grinning. "Which makes me an expert in bad landings."

Meanwhile, James Potter was craning his neck to peer out the window, no doubt trying to spot something—anything—American. Maybe a bald eagle, or a guy in a cowboy hat. Beside him, Harry sat silently, his eyes darting between his parents and the door of the plane. You couldn't blame the kid—he'd just escaped a Hydra science experiment that turned him into a miniature Captain America meets Wolverine combo. No big deal.

The ramp lowered with a hiss, revealing the concrete runway, a few scattered SHIELD agents, and a man standing front and center. He looked like he'd stepped right out of a spy movie, all crisp suit and unshakeable calm. You could already tell he was the kind of guy who didn't flinch, even if you hurled a fireball his way.

"Welcome to America," the man said as the group descended the ramp. "I'm Agent Phil Coulson. I've been assigned as your SHIELD liaison. My job is to keep you out of trouble."

"Good luck with that," Sirius muttered.

Coulson's face didn't even twitch. "I'll take that as a challenge."

"Wait, did you say 'trouble?'" James said, feigning innocence with the kind of over-the-top charm that would make a politician jealous. "Us? Never. We're a family of upstanding citizens."

"Sure you are," Coulson replied, so deadpan he might as well have been a statue. "And I'm sure none of you have any history of blowing things up, sneaking out of secure locations, or getting into fights that require extensive SHIELD cleanups."

Sirius gave a mock salute. "Scout's honor. I mean, if I were ever a scout, which I wasn't."

The Tonks family followed closely behind. Ted gave Coulson an awkward wave. "Uh, nice to meet you. I'm Ted. This is my wife, Andromeda, and our daughter, Tonks."

"Nymphadora," Andromeda corrected, earning a murderous glare from her daughter.

"Tonks," the younger witch said through gritted teeth. "Just Tonks. Unless you want me to turn your hair green."

Coulson nodded, unfazed. "Tonks, then."

Fury stepped off the plane last, trench coat flaring like he was auditioning for a superhero flick. "Coulson, they're all yours. Keep them under control. And if anyone asks, I've never met them."

Coulson turned back to the group, clipboard in hand. "We've arranged for you to stay in a secure SHIELD facility. Think of it as a safe house with extra security. No one knows its location except for people who specialize in keeping secrets."

"Sounds perfect," Lily said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "Does it come with tea? Or do we need to smuggle that in?"

"We have tea," Coulson replied. "Though it's probably not what you're used to. Welcome to America."

As they piled into the waiting transport, Harry glanced out the window, trying to soak in this whole "new life in a new country" thing. Sure, he'd just escaped Hydra's clutches, discovered he had claws, and moved halfway across the globe. But somehow, sitting in this car with his family and a guy who could out-stoic a stone gargoyle, it didn't feel so bad.

Until, of course, the next disaster showed up. Which, knowing their luck, would probably happen in about five minutes.

—

At a SHIELD facility on the other side of town—because let's face it, SHIELD always has another facility—Peggy Carter was in her element. Which is to say, she was running things like a boss. Her sharp blue eyes scanned the briefing room, her iconic red lipstick somehow making her look both approachable and terrifying at the same time. It was a superpower all its own.

Next to her, Billy Koenig stood clutching his clipboard like it contained state secrets—which, knowing Billy, it probably did. He was flanked by a table full of lanyards, neatly arranged by color, size, and, presumably, some top-secret SHIELD ranking system. He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat like he was about to announce the end of the world. Or, worse, that someone didn't have proper clearance.

"Before we begin," Billy said, his voice all business, "everyone will need to confirm they have their lanyards. If you don't have a lanyard, I'm afraid I can't let you proceed."

Bucky Barnes leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Seriously? A lanyard?"

Billy nodded, completely missing—or ignoring—the sarcasm. "Lanyards are crucial for maintaining security. How else would we know who's allowed to be here?"

Natasha Romanoff, perched gracefully on the edge of the table like a deadly cat deciding whether or not to pounce, smirked. "Maybe by the fact that we walked in with you?"

Billy frowned, clearly wrestling with the idea that someone might not understand the sheer importance of laminated identification. "That's... not how protocol works."

Peggy clapped her hands sharply, cutting off the brewing lanyard debate. "Enough. Let's focus on the mission, shall we? Natasha, Bucky, we need to debrief you on the Hydra situation."

Natasha slid off the table and stood with that practiced ease that only world-class spies seemed to master. "What do you want to know?"

"For starters," Peggy said, fixing her gaze on Bucky, "how is it that Hydra managed to keep their claws in you for so long without SHIELD catching wind of it?"

Bucky shrugged, his metal arm catching the room's fluorescent light. "They're good at hiding. And I wasn't exactly leaving breadcrumbs. Not voluntarily, anyway."

"And now?" Peggy pressed.

"Now?" Bucky's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked every bit like the ghost of the Winter Soldier. "Now, I'm making sure they don't do it to anyone else."

Natasha gave a small nod, her face unreadable but her eyes sharp. "He's clean. I'd know if he wasn't."

"Good," Peggy said, her voice softer now. "Because we're going to need both of you if we're to deal with what's coming."

Billy perked up, his clipboard suddenly a weapon of enthusiasm. "Do you mean the new recruits? Because I have their lanyards ready. Also, I'm running a workshop on proper badge etiquette later, and attendance is—"

"Optional," Peggy interrupted smoothly, giving him a look that said absolutely not optional without saying it aloud. "Now, as I was saying, we have reason to believe Hydra isn't just after super-soldiers. They're after something bigger. Something we've yet to uncover."

Natasha exchanged a glance with Bucky. "Bigger than a kid with metal claws and super strength?"

Peggy nodded grimly. "Much bigger. And if Hydra's as desperate as they seem, we'll need to stay one step ahead of them at every turn."

Billy tapped his clipboard again. "Right. So, lanyards?"

Peggy sighed, her patience legendary but not infinite. "Fine, Billy. Distribute the lanyards."

Billy practically beamed as he handed one to Natasha. She glanced at it, then at him. "You know I could kill you with this, right?"

Billy hesitated, then nodded solemnly. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Bucky snorted, slipping his own lanyard over his neck with exaggerated care. "You happy now?"

Billy grinned. "Immensely."

Peggy ignored the chaos and glanced at the clock. They didn't have time for games—Hydra was still out there, and whatever they were planning, it wasn't going to be good. But for now, she let the room settle. Sometimes, even in a world of super-soldiers and spy games, you needed a moment of ridiculous normalcy. Even if it involved lanyards.

—

The journey to the SHIELD facility was smooth enough—nothing to make James comment on the landing this time, which was a small miracle in itself. He was too busy admiring the streets and marveling at the sheer size of everything. Sirius, however, was busy analyzing the windows, the architecture, and muttering under his breath about how American construction was "a bit too modern for his tastes."

Lily, who had long since given up trying to reign in her husband's tendency to talk at full volume, simply smiled at Harry, who was staring out of the window in that quiet, pensive way he often did. As if he was still figuring out where he belonged in this strange new world. She couldn't blame him. After all, the kid had just discovered he was the result of some hybrid science experiment—and now he was expected to act like a normal kid.

She reached over and ruffled his hair. "You doing okay, Harry?"

He shrugged, the motion small but deliberate. "Yeah. Just thinking. About all of it."

James leaned over the seat, giving Harry a wide grin. "Kid, I can't imagine how this must feel. One minute you're in the middle of a fight, next minute you're halfway across the world, meeting secret agents and all sorts of crazy people."

Harry shot his dad a look that could only be described as "weirdly philosophical for a 5-year-old who looks like an 18-year-old." "Yeah. But I'm starting to get used to it."

"That's the spirit!" James slapped him on the back, causing him to jolt forward a little. "Soon enough, you'll be fighting off aliens and giant lizards in no time."

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was a glimmer of something else in them—maybe the spark of curiosity or maybe just an acknowledgement that, in this world, anything was possible.

The transport vehicle, a sleek SHIELD design, pulled up to a nondescript building nestled in a wooded area. It didn't look like much, just a warehouse tucked away behind layers of security. But Harry knew better by now. Things rarely were what they seemed in the world of SHIELD. Or his family, for that matter.

As they exited the vehicle, Harry noticed Coulson scanning the horizon like a hawk, never letting his attention wander for even a second. It was clear the man had a sixth sense for danger. And, judging by the expression on his face, he was constantly bracing for whatever absurdities the Potters and their allies would throw at him.

"Okay, folks," Coulson began, "We'll be staying here for a while. It's equipped for both comfort and security. You'll have your own rooms, and yes, there will be tea." He shot a quick glance at Lily, who gave him a satisfied nod. "There's also an armory in case anyone feels the need to arm themselves. But I'm sure that won't be necessary, right?"

Sirius, who had been quietly eyeing the "security" measures, perked up. "Did you say armory?"

Coulson gave him a look. "Yes, but don't get any ideas. You've got your own weapons. I'm sure you don't need any more."

"Can never have enough," Sirius muttered under his breath, but when no one laughed, he shrugged and raised his hands in mock surrender.

They entered the building, which had the cold, antiseptic feel of a government facility—sterile, utilitarian, and completely devoid of personality. Coulson led them down a series of long hallways, all bathed in a harsh fluorescent glow. The occasional SHIELD agent passed by, nodding respectfully as they went.

"Follow me," Coulson said, gesturing for them to enter a large room at the end of the hall. Inside, the walls were lined with high-tech monitors, some displaying data, others random schematics and codes. A large round table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by chairs that looked as though they'd been made for top-secret meetings.

"First things first," Coulson began, "Let's get the boring stuff out of the way." He tapped a few keys on a console, and a screen flickered to life, showing various photos of Hydra bases and other related threats. "This is what you'll be up against. Hydra isn't exactly known for letting things go, and they'll be after you. All of you."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "What, do you think we can't handle them? We've been doing this a lot longer than you, buddy."

Coulson didn't flinch. "I'm sure you have. But Hydra isn't the kind of problem you fight with bravado. They're calculated. Strategic. And they won't stop until they get what they want."

"And what exactly do they want?" Lily asked, her arms crossed over her chest.

"That's the $64 million question," Coulson replied. "They're after something... or someone. We're still figuring that part out."

James' eyes narrowed. "What makes you think they'd be interested in us, then?"

Coulson hesitated for a split second, then nodded. "Well, you've been targeted before. And with your... son's... situation, Hydra's bound to take an interest."

Harry's stomach sank at the mention of himself. He glanced at his parents, who exchanged a look. They hadn't told him everything about what Hydra had done to him, but he had a sinking feeling that this was just the beginning.

"I think we need to start with some basic training," Coulson continued, his voice steady and business-like. "Get everyone up to speed, just in case. I've already arranged for a few SHIELD agents to help. It'll be intense, but you've all handled worse."

"Yeah, sure," Sirius muttered. "Nothing like a little light espionage to kick off the morning, eh?"

Tonks, who had been standing quietly by her parents, suddenly perked up. "Do we get cool gadgets? Please tell me there are gadgets. I'm dying to see what kind of tech you guys have."

Coulson smiled faintly. "Gadgets, yes. And trust me, you'll be impressed."

Harry gave his dad a glance. James gave him a thumbs up.

"Alright," Lily said, finally breaking the silence, "Let's get to work."

It wasn't going to be easy, not with Hydra on their tail. But somehow, Harry thought, they'd make it through—just like they always did.

And maybe, just maybe, they'd even have a little fun along the way.

—

Back at the SHIELD facility, the lanyard chaos was momentarily forgotten as Peggy refocused on the task at hand. She stood in front of the large digital map on the wall, fingers tapping rhythmically against the screen. The Hydra situation was worsening—new reports were flooding in, each one more troubling than the last.

"Alright, enough of the bureaucracy," Peggy said, her tone sharp as ever. "Let's get to the heart of the matter."

Billy, still holding his clipboard like it was a weapon, cleared his throat and stepped forward. "We've identified several Hydra safehouses across the country. And by 'we,' I mean me, with some help from... well, let's just say that tracking Hydra's communications isn't exactly their strong suit. Still, they're moving fast. We don't have much time."

Natasha leaned forward, her expression hardening. "What's the next move?"

Peggy looked up from the map, her jaw clenched. "The recruits, Natasha. You and Bucky will be taking point. We've got a new team coming in for training—ones who can help us make sure this doesn't get worse."

"And they're...?" Bucky asked, his brow furrowing.

"A little unconventional," Peggy said with a glint of something unamused in her eyes. "We've got a pair of former SHIELD agents who've been off the grid for a while, a few operatives with talents you might not expect, and one who might just be a walking, talking disaster."

"Walking disaster?" Bucky echoed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"More like a walking disaster with a talent for getting out of trouble," Peggy said dryly, tapping a few commands into the screen. "And speaking of disasters, I believe the rest of the team should be making their way here now."

As if on cue, the door to the briefing room swung open, and in walked a group of people—young, but unmistakably dangerous in their own right. Among them, Harry Potter stood at the front, his expression calm but a bit distant, as if he were still adjusting to the whirlwind of recent events. Behind him, Lily and James Potter walked in, trying to balance an air of quiet authority with the chaos that usually surrounded them. And, of course, there was Sirius Black, who didn't walk—he practically floated into the room, his signature grin plastered across his face.

Billy, who had been in the middle of arranging his lanyards once more, looked up and blinked twice. "Ah, yes. The new recruits."

Harry gave him a polite, almost bored nod. "Right, well. Let's get this over with."

Billy looked a little disoriented by Harry's coolness, but Peggy was far more interested in the young wizard's presence. Her eyes flicked to Bucky and Natasha, who were both sizing up the new arrivals. Natasha's eyes lingered on Harry, reading the way he moved, the way he held himself. Harry wasn't just some kid—they all knew it. He had an aura about him that made even the seasoned agents feel a little... uncertain.

"Agent Carter," Lily said, stepping forward. "We're ready for your briefing."

Peggy nodded, leading the group to the large table in the middle of the room. "We're facing an enemy who isn't just interested in weapons—they're after something more. Something beyond what we've seen."

James glanced around the room. "So, what's the game plan?"

Peggy took a deep breath, eyes scanning the team. "The game plan is we fight back. We train, we get ready, and we don't let Hydra get ahead of us again."

Harry's eyes flicked over to Natasha, Bucky, and Peggy as they spoke. He wasn't one for making grand speeches or boasting. He knew the world they were walking into wasn't a fairytale. But there was something about the way this team operated—something about the quiet confidence that Peggy exuded—that made him feel a little less alone.

"Hydra thinks they can keep hiding in the shadows," Peggy continued, "but I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, and so do you. We're going to find them, take them down, and we're going to make sure they never get this far again."

Sirius snorted from the back of the room. "Hydra's in for a rude awakening, then."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll survive the shock," Natasha replied dryly, "but I wouldn't count on them being happy about it."

The air in the room shifted as Peggy's final words hung in the space between them. There was no question about it—this was a team forged by chaos, driven by the need to stop Hydra at any cost. Harry's thoughts drifted as he looked around. He was no stranger to dangerous battles, but the magnitude of what they were up against was starting to sink in.

Billy cleared his throat, trying to get everyone's attention again. "Right! Lanyards?"

"Billy," Peggy said warningly, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Billy froze mid-motion, eyes wide. "Right. Never mind. Lanyards are for later."

The entire room exhaled collectively, their focus on the task at hand. The next battle was already on the horizon, and this time, they weren't just fighting for their lives. They were fighting for the future.

—

Gellert straightened his coat, his movements slow and deliberate as he produced a wand that gleamed faintly under the sterile warehouse lights. It wasn't his original wand—no, Howard had heard the stories about the legendary Elder Wand—but this one still carried an air of menace, as if it had its own personality and wasn't afraid to use it.

"So," Howard said, his voice jittery, "what exactly are we doing here? You're not going to, I don't know, accidentally set him on fire or turn him into a toad, right?"

Gellert smirked, his lips curling like he found the very idea amusing. "Howard, I appreciate your concern, but please give me some credit. Steve Rogers will remain perfectly human and flame-free. Well... mostly."

"Mostly?" Howard's voice cracked a little.

Ignoring the borderline panic in Howard's tone, Gellert began tracing intricate patterns in the air with his wand, muttering words that didn't sound remotely English—or any language Howard had ever heard. Sparks of gold and blue danced in the air, forming symbols and runes that hung like glowing constellations around the pod.

"Fascinating," Howard muttered, his scientist instincts momentarily overriding his nerves. "Those symbols… are they some sort of magical code? Like a mystical version of binary?"

Gellert shot him a withering look, as though comparing ancient wizardry to computer code was deeply offensive. "Let's just say your science is still crawling while magic has been sprinting for centuries. Now hush—this requires focus."

Howard crossed his arms but stayed silent, though his foot tapped against the concrete floor. Patience was not one of his strong suits.

As Gellert continued weaving his spell, the pod began to hum. It wasn't the mechanical hum Howard was used to; this was different, deeper, almost musical. The glass of the pod glowed faintly, the frost on its surface melting away like an ice cube under a magnifying glass.

Howard leaned closer, his breath fogging the edges of the pod. Inside, Steve's features grew clearer. The man still looked impossibly young—no wrinkles, no gray hairs, nothing to suggest he'd been in this state for decades. It was like time had taken a coffee break and forgotten to come back.

"Is that supposed to happen?" Howard asked, pointing to the swirling lights inside the pod.

"Patience," Gellert said sharply. "If you're going to hover, at least make yourself useful and hand me that vial over there."

Howard grabbed the vial in question—a strange, swirling silver liquid that looked like molten metal but moved as though it had a mind of its own. "What is this stuff?"

"Phoenix essence," Gellert said, his tone casual, as if he hadn't just named one of the rarest substances in existence. "It will awaken the spirit locked in stasis."

"Of course it will," Howard muttered, handing it over. "You wizards and your shiny, impossible potions."

Gellert uncorked the vial, and a soft, melodic note escaped, hanging in the air like the faint trill of a bird. He poured the liquid into a small indentation in the pod, and the reaction was immediate. The glowing symbols flared brightly, and the musical hum turned into a resonant chord that vibrated in Howard's chest.

Steve's eyes flickered.

Howard froze, his breath catching. "Is he—did that—?"

"Not yet," Gellert interrupted, though his tone carried a hint of satisfaction. "The Draught of Living Death is stubborn. It clings. We're close, but this next part will determine whether he wakes as Captain America… or just a man who's very confused."

"Great," Howard said, his sarcasm back in full force. "No pressure or anything."

Gellert raised his wand one last time, his voice rising in a chant that echoed through the warehouse. The golden light around the pod intensified, filling the space with a warmth that felt oddly alive. Then, as suddenly as it started, the light faded, leaving only silence.

Inside the pod, Steve Rogers let out a sharp gasp, his chest heaving as his eyes snapped open.

Howard took a step back, hands in his hair. "Holy—he's awake! He's actually awake!"

Steve's gaze darted around the room, confusion etched on his face. His voice was hoarse but steady. "Where… where am I? Howard?"

Howard grinned, relief washing over him like a tidal wave. "Welcome back, Cap. You've got some catching up to do."

Gellert, standing off to the side with an air of smug satisfaction, simply said, "You're welcome."

And just like that, the legend of Captain America was reborn, with a dash of magic and a whole lot of Stark stubbornness. But as Steve's eyes settled on Gellert, narrowing ever so slightly, Howard knew the questions were about to begin—and that things were about to get very interesting.

---

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