Harry hadn't expected to be sitting across from the Ancient One, sipping tea, and discussing cosmic power levels like they were debating whether pineapple belonged on pizza. (For the record, he was firmly in the "not unless you want to be disowned" camp.)
"So," the Ancient One said, her voice as calm as ever, "mind if I take a look at the staff you liberated from Loki?"
Harry blinked. "Oh, you mean the scepter I yoinked from a literal god of mischief in the middle of a battlefield? The one glowing ominously like it's about to whisper dark secrets into my soul? Yeah, sure, take a peek."
With a dramatic flourish—because, really, what was the point of being a wizard if you couldn't be a little extra—Harry pulled the staff from his cloak and laid it on the table. It gleamed under the warm light of Kamar-Taj, its intricate carvings catching the flickering candle glow.
The Ancient One hummed, tilting her head as she studied it. "Ah, the Mind Stone. Quite the piece of cosmic bling, isn't it?"
Harry, who had been taking a casual sip of his tea, promptly choked. "Wait. This thing has an Infinity Stone? As in, one of those 'ultimate power, change-the-fabric-of-reality, Thanos-would-murder-a-small-planet-for-it' stones?"
The Ancient One nodded serenely. "Yes, indeed. And that makes four Infinity Stones currently residing on Earth."
Harry's eye twitched. "Four?! As in, we have four out of six? That's not just bad luck, that's 'someone upstairs is messing with us for entertainment' levels of bad luck."
The Ancient One took a measured sip of her tea. "Indeed. We have the Time Stone here, the Tesseract, which holds the Space Stone, is in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody—though Thor intends to take it back to Asgard—and, of course, you have the Soul Stone."
Harry squinted. "Okay, first off, I didn't 'have' the Soul Stone. It sort of... adopted me. Second, isn't Asgard a little like hiding your valuables in a glass house labeled 'please break in'?"
The Ancient One merely smiled, which was either reassuring or terrifying. "Asgard is a stronghold of immense power. It may be one of the safest places for the Tesseract."
Harry wasn't convinced. "Right. Because nothing bad ever happens to Asgard. No world-ending prophecies, no family drama, no betrayals, no giant fire demons—oh, wait."
The Ancient One lifted a single, delicate eyebrow. "Your sarcasm is noted."
Harry leaned back with a sigh. "So, let me get this straight. We have four Infinity Stones on one planet, Loki's running around causing chaos, and I've somehow become a walking anomaly that screws with your future-seeing mojo?"
The Ancient One inclined her head. "That is a fair assessment."
Harry threw up his hands. "Brilliant! Fantastic! Because nothing makes a hero's job easier than playing cosmic hot potato with universe-altering relics."
The Ancient One chuckled softly. "You may find this hard to believe, but your presence here is a sign of great potential. You are an unpredictable factor, yes, but that does not mean you are a negative one."
Harry groaned. "Oh, wonderful. I love being an enigma wrapped in a paradox. Makes life so much simpler."
The Ancient One simply studied him, eyes calm but piercing, like she was seeing through every layer of snark and finding something deeper. "Harry, you have the potential to bring about great change."
Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, yeah. Great power, great responsibility, all that jazz. Look, I'll do my best not to let the universe implode. But if some other cosmic horror shows up looking for their missing Infinity Stone collection, I'm putting in for a vacation."
The Ancient One smirked. "I'll make sure to file your request with the universe."
"Much appreciated."
Despite the ridiculousness of it all, Harry felt a flicker of reassurance. He might not have all the answers, but he wasn't alone in this. And if the Ancient One thought he had a shot at making things better, then maybe—just maybe—he could figure out a way to do exactly that.
Preferably without accidentally triggering the apocalypse.
—
The Ancient One leaned in, her expression serious—like a teacher about to tell you that your essay was so bad it might have summoned an eldritch horror. "There are things you need to know. Things I've seen. Things that are inevitable."
Harry, who had seen quite a few things himself—like a noseless megalomaniac monologuing about blood purity—felt a familiar prickle of unease. He nodded solemnly, adopting his best "I am totally paying attention and not internally panicking" face. "Alright, hit me with the doom and gloom."
The Ancient One arched a delicate brow. "This stays between us."
Harry raised a hand. "Scout's honor."
She tilted her head. "Were you ever a scout?"
"Not technically, but I did spend years surviving a homicidal snake-man's death plots with nothing but sarcasm and poor adult supervision. That counts, right?"
The Ancient One gave him a look that suggested she was debating whether to be amused or exasperated. In the end, she settled for something in between. With a flick of her wrist, a golden portal shimmered to life, and she gestured for him to follow.
Harry sighed. "Great. Nothing ominous about stepping into a glowing circle of destiny."
They moved through the Sanctum, descending into the deeper, darker chambers. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment, incense, and, oddly enough, something that reminded Harry of burnt toast. Hopefully, that wasn't a side effect of messing with time.
The Ancient One stopped before a vast, swirling mirror—except it wasn't a mirror. It was like staring into the universe's nervous system, all pulsing energy and shifting timelines. She pressed her fingers together, and the surface rippled, revealing fragmented images of futures yet to be.
Harry, ever the connoisseur of bad omens, immediately spotted an unsettling theme: destruction, fire, an awful lot of screaming. "Wow," he said. "Really leaning into the dystopian aesthetic."
The Ancient One exhaled. "You are a focal point of change. Your mere presence disrupts the natural order. The Soul Stone alone makes you an anomaly, but you? You are something beyond prediction."
Harry crossed his arms. "So basically, I'm the human equivalent of a cosmic 'glitch in the matrix.'"
The Ancient One gave a small, knowing smile. "Something like that."
"Neat. Should I be concerned?"
"That depends." She flicked her fingers, and the mirror shifted to show a towering figure in golden armor, his massive gauntlet adorned with familiar glowing stones. Thanos. "There are those who seek to bring balance through destruction. Your interference means their plans will not go as expected."
Harry squinted at the image. "Yeah, see, I feel like the phrase 'bring balance' is being used the same way a toddler 'balances' their plate by throwing half of it on the floor."
The Ancient One gave him a wry look. "Accurate."
Harry ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. "So, what? You're telling me I'm throwing the universe's predestined endgame into chaos? And here I thought I was just a guy with a questionable wardrobe and some magic tricks."
"You are far more than that." The Ancient One's gaze was calm, steady. "You carry the weight of choices not yet made, paths yet taken. And those choices will ripple through reality itself."
Harry stared at her, then at the swirling visions of potential futures. No pressure or anything.
With a deep breath, he squared his shoulders. "Well, if I'm already wrecking fate's carefully laid plans, I might as well do it properly."
The Ancient One's smile was almost imperceptible. "Good. Then let's begin."
—
As Harry stepped into the sleek, high-tech interior of Stark Tower, he barely had time to admire the ridiculously expensive decor before being greeted by Tony Stark, who was leaning against the bar like he'd been waiting specifically to roast him.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Boy Who Lived To Annoy Me," Tony said, grinning. "How was your mystical coffee date with the Ancient One? Did she finally teach you how to make tea without setting off a magical explosion?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "No explosions, unfortunately. Just a light existential crisis and some casual warnings about the fate of the universe. You know, standard Tuesday."
Tony smirked. "Did she at least throw in a free baldness prevention spell? Because, let me tell you, the day I start losing my hair, I'm getting my money back from Rogaine."
"I'll be sure to let her know you're interested in her haircare routine," Harry shot back. "She did say you were 'uniquely frustrating,' which I assume means she likes you."
"Ah, so I made an impression. Good, good." Tony clapped his hands together. "Now, let's move on to something important. Whiskey?"
"Depends. Are you going to water it down, or can I expect actual alcohol?" Harry asked, stepping up to the bar as Tony reached for a decanter.
"Please," Tony scoffed. "I don't do anything watered down. Unlike you Brits and your tea obsession, I believe in the hard stuff." He poured a generous measure into a glass and slid it across the bar.
Before Harry could take a sip, JARVIS's voice chimed in smoothly. "Sir, might I remind you that Mr. Potter is underage according to U.S. law?"
Tony waved a hand dismissively. "JARVIS, buddy, he's British. They let toddlers drink there."
"That is a gross misrepresentation of British law," JARVIS replied evenly. "Though statistically speaking, you are not entirely wrong."
Harry smirked. "See? Even your AI admits we have better priorities."
Tony pointed at him. "That right there is why we get along. Now, drink up before JARVIS calls the cops on us."
Harry took a sip, letting the warmth settle in his chest. "Not bad. Could use a little more kick, though."
Tony gasped in mock offense. "You wound me, Potter. That's a ten-thousand-dollar bottle you're casually critiquing."
"Oh, my bad, let me savor it extra hard." Harry exaggerated a slow sip before nodding approvingly. "Mmm, yes. Notes of money and mild disappointment."
"You see, JARVIS? This is what I get for being a generous host." Tony sighed dramatically before leaning back against the counter. "Alright, enough whiskey snobbery. Let's talk business. I've been thinking... I might rebrand this place."
"Oh? Going for 'House of Ego' or something more subtle?" Harry asked, swirling his drink.
"Ha. Ha." Tony deadpanned. "No, I was thinking 'Avengers Tower.' Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I mean, it's catchy, but are you sure you want to put 'avenge' right in the name? Kinda implies we're always too late to stop the bad guys."
Tony narrowed his eyes. "Okay, first of all, rude. Second, it's about justice, not just revenge. And third, it looks badass on a logo."
"So the branding is the priority. Got it," Harry said, nodding sagely. "Maybe throw in a theme song too? Something dramatic with electric guitars."
Tony snapped his fingers. "See, this is why I keep you around. You're a pain, but you've got ideas. JARVIS, remind me to look into hiring a composer. Maybe Hans Zimmer?"
"I will add it to the list, sir," JARVIS replied. "Though I would advise against attempting to strong-arm Mr. Zimmer into superhero jingles."
"Fine, fine. But the name stays." Tony lifted his glass. "To Avengers Tower—future home of the most ridiculous, overpowered, and devastatingly good-looking superhero team the world has ever seen."
Harry lifted his glass as well. "To Avengers Tower. May it survive all the dumb decisions we're inevitably going to make."
They clinked glasses, and for a moment, amid all the sarcasm and ridiculous banter, there was something real there—camaraderie, a sense of belonging. The universe might be falling apart at the seams, but at least they had good whiskey and even better company.
—
As Harry and Tony clinked their whiskey glasses together, the city skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of Avengers Tower seemed to shimmer just a little brighter. It was probably just the alcohol—or maybe the sheer satisfaction of knowing they'd saved the world again. Either way, it felt good.
Tony took a sip, then shot Harry a sideways glance. "So, Potter, feeling all warm and fuzzy about being part of the 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes' club?"
Harry smirked. "Warm, sure. Fuzzy? Not so much. That might just be the whiskey."
Tony pointed at him approvingly. "See, that's why I like you. No false modesty. None of that 'Oh no, I'm just a humble wizard, pay no attention to my godlike powers' nonsense."
Before Harry could respond with something equally cutting, the elevator doors slid open with the kind of dramatic swoosh that suggested someone was about to make an entrance. And make an entrance they did.
"TONY STARK, YOU ABSOLUTE JERK!"
Pepper Potts stormed in, her heels clicking against the polished floor like war drums announcing impending doom. Her face was a storm of emotions—relief, anger, and the kind of frustration only Tony Stark could inspire. "Do you have ANY idea how terrified I was when I heard what you were doing?! Fighting aliens, like you're trying to audition for the next action blockbuster?! You could've been killed!"
Harry, wisely, took a sip of his drink and prepared to enjoy the show.
Tony, to his credit, only flinched slightly before Pepper was on him, her emotions colliding in a powerful, unstoppable force of nature. The man had faced gods, killer robots, and intergalactic warlords, but an angry Pepper Potts? That was next-level terrifying.
"Pep, sweetheart, let's not do this in front of the kid," Tony said, attempting a charming grin while simultaneously bracing for impact.
Pepper ignored him completely and continued her tirade. "Do you have ANY idea what it's like to get a phone call that starts with 'Good news, he's not dead'?"
Tony grimaced. "I mean, it's better than a call that starts with 'Bad news, he is dead'?"
Pepper swatted his shoulder. Hard.
"I am never letting you out of my sight again," she muttered, her anger melting into something more vulnerable. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a hug that was more of a tactical maneuver than an embrace. Tony's arms wrapped around her instinctively, his bravado slipping for just a second.
"I'm sorry, Pep," he murmured, voice low and sincere. "Didn't mean to scare you."
Harry watched with a mix of amusement and secondhand emotional overload. For all of Tony's ego, this was the part of him that really mattered. The part that cared. The part that let someone like Pepper see through all the bluster.
Pepper let out a deep breath, her eyes finally flicking over to Harry, as if just realizing he was there. Her cheeks flushed slightly. "Oh, um, hi." She dabbed at her eyes and straightened her blouse like she hadn't just been screaming. "I didn't mean to—uh—make this awkward."
Harry smiled, raising his glass in a half-toast. "No worries. I was enjoying the free entertainment."
Pepper's lips twitched. "Glad to be of service."
Tony, regaining his usual swagger, gestured between them. "Potts, meet Potter. Potter, meet Potts. You two should start a law firm or something."
Pepper arched an eyebrow and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, Harry."
Harry shook her hand, his smirk widening. "Likewise, Pepper." Then he turned back to Tony. "And seriously, do you have some kind of quota on terrible puns?"
"Absolutely," Tony replied smoothly. "It's in my contract."
JARVIS, Tony's ever-dry AI, chimed in. "Sir, if I may interject, you have exceeded your pun limit for the evening."
Harry chuckled. "Thank you, JARVIS. Someone needed to say it."
Tony sighed theatrically. "Et tu, JARVIS?"
JARVIS remained unimpressed. "If I had the capacity for betrayal, sir, this would be an ideal time."
Pepper shook her head, still exasperated but clearly warming to the exchange. "So, how do you know Tony?" she asked Harry, probably hoping for a straightforward answer.
Harry grinned. "Long story short? I fell through a portal, incinerated some space whales, and next thing I knew, I was part of the world's weirdest dysfunctional family."
Pepper's eyebrows shot up. "I… feel like that raises more questions than it answers."
Harry took a sip of whiskey. "Yeah, that happens a lot."
Tony clapped his hands. "Anyway! What say we put the 'who almost died and made Pepper's stress levels spike' conversation on hold and get back to something fun? Like how we're going to profit off this whole 'saving the world' thing."
Pepper crossed her arms. "Tony."
"Relax, it's all for a good cause. Like infrastructure. And damage control. And maybe a line of action figures."
Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose. "How much is this going to cost us?"
Tony waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, just a few billion dollars. Pocket change, really."
Pepper sighed. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that."
Harry leaned back, watching them with an amused smirk. "You two always like this?"
JARVIS answered before Tony could. "Yes, Mr. Potter. This is the default setting."
Tony pointed at the ceiling. "I am literally being roasted by my own AI."
Harry raised his glass. "To being part of the weirdest family ever."
Pepper sighed but finally smiled, raising her own invisible glass. "To keeping you two from setting the world on fire."
Tony grinned. "I make no promises."
JARVIS chimed in again. "Would you like me to order additional fire extinguishers, sir?"
Harry chuckled. "Better make it a bulk order."
—
Just as Tony settled into his favorite chair—feet up, drink in hand, basking in the glory of a battle well won—the doors to the common room slid open. The Avengers shuffled in, looking like they'd gone five rounds with a garbage disposal. Which, considering the amount of alien goo still clinging to their suits, might not have been far from the truth.
Tony smirked. "So, how was cleanup? Did we finally discover where the city keeps its industrial-strength power washers, or are we still hosing down streets like it's a particularly traumatic Slip 'N Slide?"
Natasha, peeling a bit of what was either Chitauri spleen or the remains of an ill-advised street vendor snack off her shoulder, gave him a flat look. "Let's just say, there are places alien slime should never be. Ever."
Bruce sighed, tugging off his glasses to rub his temples. "I think I found out what it smells like to be inside an alien's digestive system. Spoiler: it's worse than you think."
Thor, ever the optimist, clapped a goo-covered hand onto Steve's back. Steve, to his credit, merely closed his eyes as if contemplating all his life choices. "A glorious battle, my friends! The scent of victory lingers in the air!"
Harry, sprawled lazily on the couch, lifted a hand. "That's not victory, Thor. That's Clint. He smells like a New York sewer after a bad breakup."
Clint, still wringing greenish sludge out of his sleeves, scoffed. "I'll have you know this is the scent of hard work and dedication."
"It's the scent of questionable hygiene," Pepper corrected as she entered the room, nose wrinkling in distaste. "Tony, tell me we have some sort of decontamination protocol."
JARVIS, ever helpful, chimed in. "Might I suggest the industrial wash cycle? Though, I doubt even that would be sufficient for Mr. Barton."
Steve, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly looked up. "Wait. Where's Loki?"
"Subdued," Thor assured him, waving a dismissive hand. "He is bound and under watch. I will deal with him personally."
Harry arched a brow. "By 'deal with,' do you mean an epic showdown of brotherly reckoning, or just stuffing him into a closet and hoping he forgets how to escape?"
Tony raised a finger. "Not a bad idea. Actually, let's put him in my wine cellar. It's got a lock, zero magic energy, and, most importantly, I don't have to look at him."
Pepper sighed, exasperated. "Tony, no."
Tony sighed right back at her. "Pepper, yes."
Natasha, done with the conversation entirely, sank into a chair. "If anyone needs me, I'll be pretending I don't exist for the next eight hours."
Bruce sat down next to her. "Make that ten."
Steve, still stuck on the whole 'Loki' thing, frowned. "We need to decide what to do with him. We can't just—"
Tony waved a hand. "Blah blah moral responsibility. Steve, buddy, pal, Cap—I know you're all about justice and doing the right thing, but can we shelve it for now? We just saved the world. Again. Can we at least have one night where we don't worry about intergalactic war criminals?"
Steve sighed but didn't argue. Instead, he turned to Harry. "You were great out there."
Harry grinned. "I try."
Clint snorted. "Try? The guy literally turned an alien war beast into a balloon animal mid-fight."
Harry stretched, looking smug. "What can I say? Magic's fun."
Pepper, looking over the mess they all were, shook her head. "Fine. One night. But Tony, I swear, if you lock a Norse god in the wine cellar, you're sleeping in the workshop for a month."
Tony gasped in mock horror. "Pep, you wound me."
Harry smirked. "I think you'll live, Stark."
The sun was setting over the city, casting warm gold light through the glass walls of the Tower. For all the exhaustion, the grime, the literal buckets of alien gunk they'd be scrubbing off for weeks, there was a sense of something else—something bigger than victory.
They weren't just a team. They were a family. A dysfunctional, sarcastic, wildly chaotic family. And, for now, that was enough.
—
A Day of Heroes: Reflections on the Battle for New York
By Christine Everhart
New York City has seen its fair share of weird. We've had blackouts, blizzards, subway rats the size of golden retrievers, and let's not forget the time the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man went on a rampage in the '80s (okay, maybe that was a movie, but tell me it wouldn't fit right in). But yesterday? Yesterday was next-level bizarre, even by our standards.
In case you've been living under a rock—or maybe under a collapsed building—here's what went down. Aliens. Big, ugly, heavily armed aliens decided to drop in unannounced via a giant sky portal over Midtown. It was a mess. Buildings collapsed, cars exploded, and at one point, I swear I saw a guy trying to fight a Chitauri with nothing but a baseball bat and an angry New Yorker attitude. (For the record, he did not win.)
Enter the Avengers, Earth's newest—and, let's be real, only—hope against intergalactic invasions. You know the lineup by now: Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Black Widow, Hawkeye, and that guy who turns into a giant green rage monster when provoked. Together, they fought, they conquered, and they left behind enough alien scrap metal to make a billion-dollar art installation.
But here's the twist: They weren't alone. Because amidst the chaos, dodging laser blasts and trading punches with the Chitauri, was someone new. A masked figure in black and gold, his presence so dramatic you'd think he'd walked straight out of an epic fantasy novel. They called him The Seidr. And by "they," I mean random people on the street who have no idea how naming conventions work but are very good at coming up with mysterious monikers on the fly.
"He was flying," one witness told me, still clutching her shattered coffee cup like it was a lifeline. "Like, not with wings. Just—floating. And then he threw magic. At the aliens." She paused, then added, "I think I'm in love with him."
She's not alone. Over the last 24 hours, social media has erupted with speculation about our new magical hero. #SeidrSaves was trending before the battle was even over. TikTok is flooded with footage of him conjuring golden shields, teleporting civilians out of danger, and—my personal favorite—riding a dragon. Yes, a dragon. Because why not at this point?
"It was like something out of a dream," another bystander recalled, still in shock. "There were these giant alien whale things crashing through buildings, and then—bam! The Seidr swoops in, all dramatic cloak and glowing eyes, and just wrecks them. I mean, who does that?"
Well, apparently, he does. And he's good at it.
The Avengers have yet to make an official statement about their new teammate—or if he even is a teammate. Maybe he's more of a magical freelancer? Either way, his presence changed the game. While Iron Man was zip-lining between buildings and Cap was throwing his vibranium Frisbee, The Seidr was opening glowing portals and straight-up vaporizing Chitauri left and right. At one point, he even saved Thor's hammer from getting stuck under a collapsed building, which is a sentence I never thought I'd write.
"He fought like he was born for this," one witness said. "Like he'd seen a hundred battles just like it. He wasn't just powerful—he was precise. Every move had a purpose."
Of course, not everyone is thrilled about this mysterious sorcerer showing up out of nowhere. Some officials are already asking the usual questions: Who is he? Where did he come from? And is he going to stick around, or was this a one-time 'save the world and disappear into the night' kind of deal?
What I do know is this: In a city that never sleeps, we never forget our heroes. And after yesterday, The Seidr has cemented himself as one of them.
New York will rebuild. We always do. And as we sweep up the rubble and try to figure out if alien invasion insurance is a thing (spoiler: it's not), one thing is certain—Earth might be in more danger than we realized, but at least now, it's got a little more magic on its side.
Stay tuned, folks. Something tells me this story is just getting started.
—
Harry plopped down at the kitchen table in Avengers Tower, his feet propped up on an extra chair, a steaming cup of tea in one hand and his phone in the other. On the screen? Christine Everhart's latest piece in Vanity Fair, plastered with the title: New York's Newest Myth: Who is The Seidr?
Harry squinted. "The Seidr?" he muttered, taking another sip of tea. "Seriously? That's the name we're going with?"
"Indeed, sir," JARVIS chimed in, his voice smooth and vaguely amused. "It would appear that your particular brand of reality-warping chaos has captured the public's imagination. I must say, the branding is considerably more favorable than 'The Boy Who Lived' or 'That Bloke with the Forehead Scar.'"
Harry sighed dramatically. "Great. So now I'm a walking Norse mythology reference. Loki's gonna love that." He scrolled through the article, reading snippets out loud. "'A mysterious figure with golden eyes ablaze with power, cloaked in black and gold, descended upon the Chitauri like an avenging angel.' Well, that's suitably dramatic." He smirked. "Bet Loki's kicking himself. He spent all that time calling me 'Seidr' like it was an insult, and now New York's made it my superhero name."
"The irony is, I suspect, not lost on him," JARVIS noted. "Given his well-documented penchant for dramatics, one can only imagine the levels of exasperation he is currently experiencing."
"I should send him a fruit basket," Harry mused, tapping his chin. "Or maybe a Hallmark card. 'Thinking of you in this difficult time, best wishes—The Seidr.'"
"An inspired choice, sir. Might I suggest a selection of artisanal cheeses to accompany it? I understand Asgardians have a fondness for mead pairings."
Harry snorted. "JARVIS, I don't say this often enough, but you are a treasure."
"So I have been told. Shall I schedule an official press statement? Perhaps something suitably mysterious to keep up your new mystique? 'The Seidr declines to comment, but sources say he has an affinity for tea and sarcasm'?"
Harry chuckled and went back to scrolling. The article was surprisingly decent—Everhart had a sharp wit, and she hadn't gone full tabloid with it. There were some fantastic quotes from civilians, too. One witness described him as "a force of nature," another called him "a guardian angel." One particularly enthusiastic New Yorker had referred to him as "Gandalf with an attitude problem," which, honestly, was fair.
"Fame wasn't really on my to-do list," Harry muttered. "I didn't wake up thinking, 'How can I get a bunch of strangers to know my name today?'"
"And yet, here we are," JARVIS said dryly. "On the bright side, you appear to have made a significant impact."
Harry took another sip of tea, letting the thought settle. That was the part he could get used to—not the headlines, not the dramatic names, but the knowledge that, at least for some people, he had made a difference.
And if he got to annoy Loki in the process? Well, that was just a bonus.
---
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