I do not own any of the source material for this story. Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly /

...

Kamar-Taj Compound, Kathmandu, Nepal, November of 2001

The Ancient One's voice was soft and soothing, the sort of tone she'd use to sing a lullaby. It was a voice she only used for two things: mind manipulation magics, and meditation instructions. Today, it was the latter, and Harry was her sole student. "You're apparition ability is similar to what you're attempting now," she was saying. "You must focus on a single destination and form a clear picture of it in your mind. The clearer the image, the easier it will be conjure a portal. Conversely, the less clear your picture, or the less you focus on it, the more time it will take for the gateway to appear."

They stood in one of the many courtyards of Kamar-Taj overlooking the mountains surrounding Kathmandu. Reserved as it was for private training sessions, the square of leveled cobblestones was too small for more than one sparing pair and boasted a gurgling fountain on one side.

"Foreknowledge of your destination is essential, but distance is also something to consider. When you're traveling from one end of the globe to another the portal becomes that much harder to form. Most sorcerers can travel between planets, and more powerful ones can traverse solar systems. You're probably going to have an even greater effective travel range once you master the technique, but if you are pushing the limits of that envelope or visiting a spot you only know by reputation such as the top of Mt. Everest, the portal will take longer to form, and in a fight those extra seconds could cost you your life."

Harry glanced at her without moving his head to show he was listening, but he did not really see her. He was pointing his left forefinger at a spot directly in front of him while his right hand traced a circle before him. In his mind he saw a derelict room, a room he had not visited in nearly three months. He focused all of his attention on that room and his yearning to enter it, and let his energies flow of their own accord, mimicking what he'd felt when he had held a sling ring in his hand. The sensation of holding a sling ring was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was as though he had been standing in a revolving door, a door that spun so rapidly it was impossible to see the myriad places it could lead to, a door that could deposit him anywhere he wished if only he knew how to operate it.

A circle of orange-gold sparks appeared in the air a few feet in front of Harry's hand, rapidly expanding as the air it surrounded shimmered and the image of a decaying foyer flickered into existence. Harry lowered his hands as the portal stabilized. He glanced at the Ancient One and saw that she was smiling slightly, as though she'd won a small bet.

Though she was by no means a complete stoic, the Ancient One was unflappably serene, and her expressions and body language were always rather subdued. From her, a smile like that was the equivalent of Oliver Wood whooping when Harry caught the Snitch in record time at the Quidditch match refereed by Snape in his first year. "Well done," she said, sounding genuinely impressed. "You managed it on your first try. Most people need four or five just to even start."

Harry flushed in embarassed pride. It was one thing for magic to be easier to perform without a fragment of a foreign, hostile soul leeching off him. It was quite another to control magic itself and perform a task as complex as apparition, if not more so, almost perfectly after just one try. It would have been too much, he supposed, to wish that he could do this without losing everything he held dear first.

Almost everything, Harry corrected himself. He still had Teddy; that boy had Harry wrapped around his thumb the instant they met, godson or no. "Well, I did choose a place I was already familiar with," he said modestly as he willed the portal to close.

The Ancient One shook her head. "If you think that matters, then your self-esteem issues run deeper than I realized. Every initiate starts with a place they already know. If anything this should have been more difficult for you since you lack a sling ring to focus your powers through."

Harry couldn't argue with her there. The wand magic he had used for most of his life was faster, easier to learn, and more energy efficient than its wandless counterparts. By all rights, creating a swirling firestorm the size of Central Park without a wand should have left him at least a little winded, but when he'd done so while practicing on a magically concealed island in the Indian Ocean he'd felt no more tired than he had when telekinetically lifting a feather.

The Ancient One spoke again. "Let's try something else. A portal to a place you've seen in a photograph but never visited. A famous city or landmark will do."

Harry considered her words and extended his hands once more. He knew he ought to choose a place he'd always been interested in visiting and had seen plenty of pictures of. Egypt, perhaps? But something told him he ought to go somewhere else. It sounded like birdsong, so faint as to be less than a whisper, and yet he heard it; the whisper of the Phoenix Force. The degree to which Harry could trust the cosmic entity was almost entirely dependant on his own emotional balance. It was… whispering to him, a gentle insistence.

Harry let the Phoenix guide him as he opened the portal and stepped through, only subconsciously aware of the Ancient One following him.

Harry opened his eyes and lowered his arms, turning slowly to take in his new surroundings. He was standing on a narrow mountain ridge carpeted with trees. Cool, crisp air fresher than anything he'd ever experienced filled his nose as he took a deep breath and closed the portal. Down the mountain to his right was a small lake full of brown water and tiny islands. On the other side lay the mottled, grayish checkerboard that was the city of Kathmandu. Channeling the Phoenix to enhance his eyes, a trick he'd simply called 'Phoenix Sight,' he could just make out the tallest tower of the Kamar Taj compound, with its golden roof and white walls.

Harry turned his gaze back on the Ancient One and saw that she looked unsurprised by his odd choice. That confused him, and he said as much.

"I saw this moment when I peered into the future," she explained. "You may want to look behind you."

Harry blinked as he tried to puzzle out the non-sequitur, but a sound from behind him interrupted his nascent train of thought. Turning, he caught sight of something enormous, white, and made of metal streaking through the morning sky on a collision with his face. It was a commercial passenger jet, a 747 painted in the colors of the Nepalese flag, and two of its four engines were in flames.

With a yelp of surprise, Harry did not respond accordingly so much as react on instinct. He thrust out with both hands and focused with all his mental might on the stricken aircraft. Power flowed through him like a river of all consuming fire, a torrent of invisible energy that wrapped itself around the incoming aircraft in a fraction of a second and-

Harry barely had time to correct himself. If he instantly brought the entire airplane to a complete stop when it was descending at hundreds of kilometers per hour, the inertia would likely kill everyone on board anyway. Instead, he used his telekinetic grip to shift its vector, pulling up the nose so that it overshot the ridge, missing his head by meters, and guided it towards the main runway of Kathmandu's international airport. An Arresto Momentum slowed its descent, so that it looked as though the 747 were gliding through an invisible wad of jelly.

Harry used Phoenix Sight to track the plane as he eased it out of his telekinetic grip, extending the landing gear and setting it down as gently as he could in the middle of the runway. It wasn't a party soft landing, and the acceleration of being shoved about by Harry's telekinetic grip had probably rendered everyone on board unconscious. Still, the people on board would live, and hopefully walk away with nothing but a bit of soreness and a thrilling story for their friends and family.

Harry released the power and lowered his arms, then rounded on the Ancient One."What the hell was that about?" he demanded, sounding distressingly like Uncle Vernon had when Dumbledore summoned Kreacher into his living room at ten past eleven one summer night.

The old sorceress had the grace to look apologetic. "Your mere presence has changed the timeline," she explained. "Certain events have been erased from the continuum. Some crises have been delayed, while others have been accelerated. This is but one example you will encounter. That plane had a design flaw that would have caused it to crash one way or another; in the original timeline its engines failed over an inhabited part of the Himalayas two years from today. There were no survivors."

Harry's thoughts immediately flew to his recent onslaught of strange dreams. Most of them had passed out of his memory, but there was one that stood out vividly; a bird made of fire floating above a black plain where six towering figures stood in a line between a set of six glowing gems that glowed with the light of a rainbow and an army of twisted creatures led by a giant Harry saw as a black hole of ferocity, narcissism, and frighteningly unbreakable resolve.

Madness.

Harry didn't have a clue who the beings standing on the field might be, but the identity of the giant firebird was all too obvious. He wordlessly conjured another portal and shot the Ancient One a pointed look. Raising a thin eyebrow, she followed him through.

They stood on a sloping field of healthy green grass crisscrossed by veins of black soil that betrayed the true nature of the young volcanic island. A breeze tinged with the salty scent of the ocean made their robes billow around them. Located in the heart of the Indian Ocean and concealed by powerful enchantments, the vaguely shield-shaped landmass had been used by the Masters of the Mystic Arts for a little over a century ever since its growth had stabilized as a retreat and as a training ground far away from the hubbub of Kamar-Taj and the city around it.

Harry stared out over the pristine fields and unspoiled blue ocean beyond for a long moment, then turned to face the Ancient One. "Can the Phoenix Force see the future?" he asked.

Her raised eyebrow would have been answer enough. "The Phoenix Force is one of the most powerful forces in all of existence," she said. "It can do anything. The only limits are those of its host and those which it has placed on itself. But from what you've told me of the seers of your world, I can't imagine why you of all people would want to be able to look into the future."

Harry shook his head. "I don't. But it looks like I don't have a choice." He paused for a moment. "I've been having… dreams. Like nothing I've ever experienced before. In the past, I've had nightmares and sojourns into Voldemort's mind, but that was only because of the soul fragment stuck in my head. These dreams, though, they're not like that. They're random and chaotic, and the things I see… They all seem to be metaphors. Visions with a deeper meaning than what I perceive on the surface, yet I can't understand what I see in most of them. And they come and go at random.

"Sometimes I can sleep for several nights in a row without a single vision, and sometimes I get an onslaught so rapid I can't remember most of them the next morning." Harry felt his legs and tongue go leaden as he forced his next words out. "I'm scared of those visions. Why I keep getting them when I'm not even supposed to be a seer. Why they feel so real. What they might mean."

Harry stopped to take a breath, opened his mouth to keep speaking, and then he closed it abruptly. The Ancient One let the silence linger until it was clear Harry had said his piece before she answered.

"The Phoenix Force touches all aspects of creation. It connects with and manipulates the concepts of where, when, how, thought, energy, and mortality as easily as you and I breathe the air of this planet we call home. These visions are not in themselves something to be afraid of. The future is always in motion. Nothing is set in stone until it has left the present for the past. Whenever I use the Eye to look into the future, I can only see possibilities and the events that lead to them.

"Record everything you remember of these visions. Focus less on the events they predict and more on the people and entities you see. Often one person can be found at the center of multiple possibilities, and if you follow their path, it will grant you a greater degree of insight into what the future is most likely to hold."

The last sentence made Harry's eyes widen in sudden understanding. "What about objects?" he blurted.

The Ancient One tilted her bald head to one side. "Some items can play a central role in future events, yes. What have you seen?"

Harry lifted a hand and concentrated. He had little practice with conjuring illusions save those used to disguise his own appearance, but now was as good a time as any to try for something more extroverted. Six glowing lights appeared over his open palm, each glowing a different color of the rainbow. The lights were arranged in a slowly rotating circle in a purple field so dark it was almost black, shot through with veins of gold that somehow looked sickly. In the center of the circle was an amorphous, bird-shaped mass of fire that flapped its phantom wings so rapidly one might have thought it was caught in a storm and struggling to escape a violent updraft.

The Ancient One stared at the image for a long moment, clearly startled though doing her best to conceal it. "You said the stone in the Eye of Agamotto has siblings, and together they form a rainbow that can rewrite the fabric of the universe," Harry said gravely. "This is the rainbow you were referring to, wasn't it."

She nodded. "I think the meaning of this particular vision is clear enough. Someone is attempting to gather the Infinity Stones, and whatever end they wish to use them for will put you at odds with them."

Harry sighed, letting the illusion fade away and lowering his hand. "As long as whoever it is doesn't run around calling themselves 'the Dark Lord' I don't mind," he said, the insincerity of his nonchalance painfully obvious.

The Ancient One sighed. "Recall what I told you about the consequences of your arrival in this dimension."

Harry blinked. "You said that the timeline has been rewritten. Some things that were almost certainly going to happen have been erased, and some things are going to happen much sooner than before." He sharpened his gaze as he continued to stare at her. "You haven't foreseen this before."

"Not exactly. I knew that someone was attempting to gather the Stones, but I also knew that I would not live to see the outcome. The events that will lead to my death are inevitable, but now I have even less time to find my successor and prepare him for what is to come."

It took Harry a moment to process the full meaning of her words, and when he did, his heart plummeted. "No," he whispered. "You can't mean…"

She offered him a sad smile. "It is not your fault. I've lived on borrowed time for six centuries. Losing a decade will make no difference."

Harry sank to the grassy floor. He felt hollow. He wanted to claw his heart out, to wail at the unfairness of it all. This, he thought distantly, was how it had felt to discover the bodies of Remus and Tonks during the ceasefire at the Battle of Hogwarts. The smell of burning plant fiber infiltrated his nostrils, and he realized belatedly that the ground for a foot around him was charred and smoking. He pictured a cleansing fire and poured his chaotic emotions into it, forcing his mind to calm itself. When the burning ceased, he opened eyes he had not noticed he'd closed and stared at the Ancient One.

She was his teacher, his first friend since his arrival. She'd saved him, saved Teddy when he'd reached his lowest point, and now he was going to lose her. Despite the ever-changing nature of the future, she had not foreseen a single timeline where she survived whatever cataclysm he'd inadvertently accelerated with his presence. His mouth felt dry.

"When?" Harry asked, his voice ragged.

The Ancient One pursed her lips. "Most of the world will be ringing in 2006 when my successor finds his way to Kamar-Taj. After that… Maybe a year."

Harry ran a quick mental calculation. It was November of 2001. He'd only been in this dimension for eight months. He still had another six years with her. Dimly he realized he'd only known Dumbledore for six years as well. Was that the cosmic limit to the amount of time he would have with a mentor? If so, then his luck truly was cursed. Still, this time he had advanced warning. He could prepare himself for what was to come.

Three days later, Harry found himself sitting at the small desk in his room with Teddy in his lap as he studied the papers detailing his (false) life story, educational background, financial records, and other paraphernalia; all part of the plan to seamlessly insert him into the technologically advanced society that dominated his new homeworld without drawing unwanted attention from government spies and security agencies. All he had to do now was choose a place to live. He had considered rebuilding the derelict version of Potter Manor where he'd first arrived, but decided it wouldn't be healthy to hold onto the past like that.

His old home was gone, and there was no use clinging to it.

On the Ancient One's advice, Harry had acquiesced to the idea of living in the same city as one of the Sanctums so that the Sorcerers would always be nearby to lend a hand should he need one. He'd quickly discounted Hong Kong, however, preferring to live in a city where he already spoke the language. Now he had four different potential homes to choose from; two options in New York, two in London. His carefully invested emergency supply of gold would allow him and Teddy to live comfortably in any one of them for the next five years; more than enough time to find a stable job.

Teddy was studying the papers as well, though to call what the toddler was doing 'studying' was a bit of an overstatement. Harry watched with fond amusement as his godson held one of the sheets detailing a London apartment he'd been considering in front of his face, eyes squinting as he struggled to read it. It would have been an impressive sight if Teddy wasn't holding the paper upside down. Gently, Harry tugged the slip of paper out of Teddy's slightly sticky hands (he was due for a bath within the next hour) and turned it right side up.

Teddy stared at the page a moment longer, then shook his little head. "No!" he said emphatically.

Harry gave the diagram of the apartment's internal layout a long look. "Definitely not," he agreed; the arrangement of rooms was rather atrocious. As he tossed that one aside, Teddy suddenly pointed at another, babbling excitedly.

"That one, that one!" he said in what Harry had learned to recognize as his I'm not taking 'no' for an answer voice.

Harry skimmed through the sheet of paper that had captured his godson's interest. It was the larger of the two New York townhomes he had to choose from; four bedrooms, four bathrooms, and surprisingly spacious by New York standards considering his budget, it was within walking distance of the New York Sanctum yet out of the way of major traffic routes. Harry felt the corners of his lips twitch upward as he read the address. "What do you think?" he asked Teddy, only half joking.

"It's pewfect," Teddy said, nodding imperiously, his face morphing into what looked unnervingly like a much younger version of Sirius. The aristocratic features combined with the decisive gesture made him look like the world's smallest, cutest king, and Harry felt his heart melt. He committed the address to memory and conjured a slip of parchment with the words and a message already printed into it. Telekinetically, Harry folded the memo into a paper airplane and sent it zooming through the Sanctum to inform Master Karl Mordo of his choice.

Manhattan, New York City, New York, November of 2001

There was little fuss the day Harry moved into his new home at the Southwestern end of Greenwich village. It was a four story townhouse with pristine white outer walls and large windows, one side facing a street barely wide enough for two lanes of vehicle traffic, it reminded him of a less gloomy version of 12 Grimmauld Place, though it looked distinctly out of place in New York. None of his neighbours questioned the unusually smooth movement of furniture and personal effects into the house or the secretive nature of the young single father who lived there. Indeed, the only ones who ever paid them any attention were a kindly young couple and their two children who lived two doors down and the older couple across the street.

No one other than Harry, the Ancient One, and Daniel Drumm knew that powerful spells had been placed on the house that would deflect the attention of anyone with remotely hostile or nosy intent. In theory, as long as he and Teddy lived there, not even the most desperate criminals would consider attempting to break into it, and spies, government employed or otherwise, would ignore it altogether. This last detail was crucial; the unnatural nature of Harry's "save the plane" stunt in Kathmandu was too glaringly obvious to passed off as a lucky trick of the wind, and already the sorcerers' informants were passing word that spy agencies all over the world were searching doggedly for the mysterious force that had saved flight NI 600. Harry didn't even bother watching the news reports; he knew from experience what they were likely calling it.

To Harry's great amusement, the home address read "12 Morton Street, Manhattan" despite the fact that there was no house number eleven preceding it or a number thirteen following it. On his first night there, Harry had another onslaught of prophetic dreams. This time he only remembered one of them: a white silhouette outlined in emerald green light standing on a platform floating on a sea of black water under a black sky, staring into a pair of giant purple eyes that loomed out of the darkness like a grotesque imitation of a binary sunset.

Harry did not need to look up the anecdotes of ancient sorcerers stored in Kamar-Taj's library to recognize those eyes.

…

SHIELD Helicarrier, Southern Atlantic Ocean, November of 2001

Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, Hawkeye and Black Widow, the best agents SHIELD had ever seen, stared at their handler as if he'd grown a second head. Clint spoke for the both of them. "Let me get this straight," he said, not bothering to conceal his incredulity behind his famously unbreakable mask of professionalism. "Fury wants us to track down whatever saved that plane in Nepal on a hunch? Even if an enhanced individual and not some piece of advanced tech was responsible, they've left no trace. No amount of surveillance equipment can track them down, assuming they even exist.

"How do you expect us to find them?! And if by some fluke we actually do find them, if they exist, how the hell are we supposed to deal with them? They must be decent enough if they saved a crashing plane, but if they turn hostile we're screwed. We're good at what we do, Phil, but even we can't fight someone who can break our necks with their mind. Assuming we find them in the first place, of course."

Phil Coulson waited until he was certain Clint's rant was over before he allowed a tiny, sympathetic smile to mar his own unflappable mask. "I agree that it's pointless, at least with the information we have. I advised Director Fury to wait and see. If whoever or whatever this is risked exposure to save lives once, it'll probably do so again, but the Council's riding him hard to find this… telekinetic, if that's what we're really dealing with. Public news outlets are already going nuts, and people are demanding answers we don't have. This would have been bad enough under normal circumstances, but after 9/11… I say do your best. You may get lucky."

"And if we don't?" Natasha asked, speaking for the first time since their little meeting began.

Phil shrugged. "Then we recall you for something more useful."

"And if we do get lucky? What then?" she insisted. "I've seen the footage. Whoever or whatever this is may be too powerful to fight."

Phil's grim expression was answer enough. Clint's childish groan was only a partial exaggeration of his feelings on the matter, but for once no one bothered to call him out on it.