I do not own any of the source material for this story. Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.
...
Kamar-Taj Compound, Kathmandu, Nepal, July of 2003
Master Hamir had told Harry he should rest after his battle with the Hulk, but Harry was too worked up to heed the advice. Instead he wrote a letter for Dr. Banner, leaving it at his bedside table in the suite that was prepared for him, before checking the coordinates he'd memorized from the cabin against a world map in his room. Harry raised his eyebrows when he found the spot on a world map. It was just beyond the northwestern edge of a Native American reservation in Wyoming, on national forest land. Only the most intrepid hunters and hikers were likely to visit that valley, and the cabin was well out of the way of any hiking trails, which confirmed Harry's suspicion that whoever built it had done so with the specific intention of creating a hiding place.
Now he paced the darkened courtyard where he'd first arrived, his mind racing. He knew that Thaddeus Ross would escape any repercussions from his actions in Canada thanks to his numerous political connections, which meant that Harry would have to resort to more underhanded methods to cripple the old war monger. Ross would have to blunder in a way so egregious and so public that no amount of political maneuvering could cover it up, and even then, there was a chance the justice system would let him off with a slap on the wrist. To neutralize him for good, Harry would have to intervene directly in the court proceedings. A telepathic nudge or two would be required to nullify any political pressure on the court.
A dirty trick? Certainly. Still, considering the trouble men like Ross caused, Harry felt it would be worth it.
Banner would need a safe place to hide until then. Even with meditation techniques from the Masters of the Mystic Arts helping him, he would never be able to live a completely normal life as long as he was a fugitive. Perhaps he could be sent somewhere isolated with an amulet to conceal him from electronic surveillance. That way, he would be mostly free to get on with his life, yet still be easy to contact should the need arise.
As Harry paced, he thought back to his dreams. He had taken to recording them in a journal, which he stored in a pocket dimension that he could summon it from at will. Pausing, he lifted his hand and pulled the deceptively small book, bound in black leather, out of thin air and began rifling through the pages in search of the vision he was thinking of. He recalled the hours he and Ron had spent working on Professor Trelawney's dream diary homework assignments, filling up the stupid little booklets she had handed out with bogus predictions of his own painful demise while an exasperated Hermione pointed out the inconsistencies, and he snorted in wry amusement. For a wild moment he wondered how Ron, Hermione, and Trelawney would react if they could see him now. He had gone from making up rubbish for the sake of an easy grade to routinely experiencing true prophetic dreams and recording them as often as he remembered them, all thanks to an unfathomably powerful cosmic entity that he now shared a body with. Ron would have been gob smacked, Hermione skeptical, and Trelawney a mixture of jealous and unjustly prideful.
Harry was smiling slightly when he finally found what he was looking for. It was a full color drawing of a green giant with a smaller, black humanoid shape at its center. Underneath the image he'd written a list of bullet points in black ink: Anger, Strength, Confusion. Possession? One is two, and two is one. Conjoined? Friend or Foe?
Frowning, Harry conjured another pen and scribbled an addendum in blue ink. Genius Scientist, turns into green rage monster when stressed, possible ally . Hoping that his recent experiences might put them into better context, Harry flipped through the journal's slightly battered pages in search of similar entries. To his disappointment, the only tidbits he found that might concern Banner were an image of the Hulk fighting a misshapen creature of similar size with spikes protruding from its back and joints, several lists and pictures of strangely colorful individuals that included a creature that was doubtlessly the Hulk, and, oddly, an image of a red version of the last. Harry studied these clues intently, but he couldn't make sense of them, so he decided to let it go at that.
After sending the journal back to its pocket dimension, Harry conjured a sheet of paper and wrote a message for Teddy. He enchanted the letter into a paper airplane and sent it through a portal to New York. As the circle of orange gold sparks closed, a new question bobbed to the surface of his mind. How had he transported himself to Wyoming, of all places, in the first place?
It wasn't apparition, nor was it something that could be accomplished through the Mystic Arts unless the practitioner was within a magical sanctum over which they held authority. The sensation of it was unique as well, but what truly alarmed him was that it had been involuntary. If it happened again, what would stop him from materializing inside a wall, or at the bottom of the ocean, or in space? Perhaps this new teleportation ability was an instinctive recreation of the phoenix bird's ability to instantly transport itself from place to place in a burst of flames, as Fawkes had once done. It was a handy ability to be sure, but it would be worse than useless if he couldn't control it.
Just one more thing for my already long to-do list , he thought. Deciding his head was getting too crowded, Harry sat himself cross-legged in midair and forced himself to relax. Soon he was lost in the emptiness of meditation, oblivious to the passage of time.
The sound of a phone ringing shattered his tranquility. It took him a moment to remember what the odd ringtone meant, and he scowled when he did. Why on Earth was SHIELD calling him now?
Harry apparated to the room that had been set aside for his exclusive use at the compound before he pulled out the prepaid flip phone, which was reinforced against magic by tiny runes engraved into the casing and answered. "What's going on?" he demanded.
"Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused?" The voice on the other end of the line was deep, rough, and very annoyed. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Harry wasn't sure where he'd heard it before. Then it clicked. He'd heard it through the memories of a pair of highly capable spies two years ago; Nick Fury, the director of SHIELD.
Harry's scowl deepened somewhat. "You'll need to be more specific, Mr. Fury."
"Don't play dumb with me, Phoenix, or whatever you call yourself!" Fury snapped. "I know perfectly well that you kicked General Ross's ass in Canada, and somehow spirited one Dr. Bruce Banner, a very dangerous fugitive, to safety. I have so many questions I don't even know which one to ask first."
"I know how that feels," Harry muttered. Unfortunately, Fury heard him.
"Don't mock me! You said not to call unless it was an emergency, but why would I trust you to help in an emergency when I don't know anything about you?"
Harry had to admit the director had a point. "I understand why you're wary, but I'm not out to hurt anyone. Ross attacked first, after I warned him explicitly not to start a fight he couldn't win. I don't think anyone understands just how powerful Banner becomes when he transforms,"
"Oh, I'm certain of that much," Fury growled. "Ross has always been a little trigger happy, and it only got worse after his last campaign overseas. He's caused me plenty of headaches, what with his obsession with super soldiers. But you have to realize that I can't trust you blindly, especially after you've gone and done something like this."
"No, I don't suppose you can." Harry thought for a moment. "It would be irresponsible of someone in your position to rely on one short, sketchy encounter with some of your agents to get my measure. I get that, but you have to understand that I can't just tell you all of my secrets. If I did, it would put both of us in danger."
Fury snorted. "Don't talk to me of hiding information because it's dangerous. I keep secrets and tell lies for a living . I concede that there might come a day where I need your help, but there's no way I'm trusting you unless you answer at least a few of my questions."
"We can't have a conversation like that over the phone," Harry said firmly. "I can keep you from tracking me, but the calls I make aren't secure."
"Point," Fury conceded. "But if I meet with you in person, I'd be putting myself at your mercy. I'd have to trust you not to throw me over the rainbow."
It was Harry's turn to snort. "Surely you've figured out that aggression isn't really my style by now. I'm trying to work with you, not against you."
"I suppose so," Fury mused. He sighed before he continued. "Alright, let's say we agree to meet in person. I have no clue where you are, and unlike you the logistics of international travel do limit my movements."
That made Harry smile slightly. "I know that your organization maintains its primary headquarters in Washington D.C., and that you spend much of your time aboard a flying aircraft carrier, very impressive technology by the way." The revelation of just how much Harry knew made Fury groan audibly. It must have been incredibly infuriating for the world's premier spy to learn that a powerful superhuman he had no control over knew so much about his organization. "But there's no way you'd actually invite me to either of those places. Tell you what. You can set up a meeting at a time and place of your choice, wherever you like, and send me the address a week in advance. I can get there on my own."
Fury was silent for so long that Harry wondered whether the director would actually go for it. Finally, he said "You haven't specified whether I can bring agents with me. Can I trust you not to lash out if I bring extra security?"
Harry almost laughed at the question. "Do you honestly think I care either way? The only reason Ross's troops gave me such a hard time was because I was distracted fighting something as strong as I was. If Banner hadn't transformed, I could've ended that battle in about a second. A bunch of your minions and their guns won't make any difference." He paused for a moment. "You can bring as many agents as you want if it'll make you feel better, but I will ask that the meeting itself stays between us. No eavesdropping allowed, and if I tell you something in confidence, you'll keep it to yourself unless I say otherwise. I will extend the same courtesy towards you."
Harry didn't mention how his telepathic abilities would make it impossible for Fury to control the flow of information. For the moment, what the director didn't know would not hurt him.
Fury hesitated once more before responding. "I have bosses to answer to. If they don't go for it, there's not much I can do, at least officially, and you'll find that they're not as reasonable as I am."
"Fair enough," Harry allowed. He had seen firsthand how much trouble bad bosses could cause. "But if you don't get back to me soon, I'll have to assume the offer has been rejected."
"I'll keep that in mind," Fury said. "It shouldn't take more than a day or two." Without further word, he ended the call.
As Harry replaced the phone in its hidden pocket of reality, he became aware of a presence at the edge of his peripheral vision. Turning, he was surprised to see the Ancient One standing in the open doorway to his chambers, still dressed in black robes. Her face was expressionless. Harry looked at her, wondering how he ought to react.
Feeling uncharacteristically apprehensive, Harry spoke in a quiet, hesitant voice. "I didn't just make a big mistake, did I?"
"No," the Ancient One said. Harry motioned for her to enter and shut the door behind her, then sat himself in midair, waiting for her to say more. "But there is something you and I need to discuss, for it has a great bearing on the alliances you will build in the future. You won't like it, but you must hear it nevertheless." Harry felt a sense of foreboding. "A question, first. Why didn't you let General Ross die?"
An expression of genuine surprise blossomed on Harry's face. "I wanted to, believe me," he managed to say. "He's the kind of man who would try to weaponize Teddy's metamorphosing and pick a fight with the Masters of the Mystic Arts simply because he can't control them, but I couldn't let him die. For one thing, Banner would never forgive me for letting him kill people while he's transformed. For another, killing Ross wouldn't solve the problem he represents. He has supporters and allies who think exactly the same way he does, and some may be even worse than he is. If I'm going to force such people out of positions of power, I have to draw them out of the shadows and make their true nature plain for all to see. I have to make them so despised by the public that their political allies will have no choice but to sever all ties with them. To make their very ideology synonymous in people's minds with things like racism and genocide. By saving Ross's life I've already proved I value human life more than he does, and the powers that be will notice."
The Ancient One digested this in silence. Uncertainty made Harry ask, "You don't think I made the right call."
"Your reasoning is sound," she assured him. "I would have let the general die and dealt with the consequences another time, but then, my heart is colder than yours."
Harry searched her face but saw nothing discernible in her expression. "What is it, then?"
The Ancient One seemed to brace herself, as if she were preparing herself to say something unpleasant. "Suppose that General Ross didn't have so many political allies to clean up his messes. Suppose that he truly was the lynchpin whose death would protect the lives and rights of superhumans for decades to come, and that the short-term consequences would be worth it. Would you let him die then? Or suppose you found yourself confronted with an entity whose actions threaten to destroy the world, and the only way to stop them is to kill them, or let someone else kill them? Say, a mortal being possessed by the essence of Dormammu."
That threw Harry for a loop. "I don't want to kill anyone," he admitted, trying not to think about the horrible idea of being possessed by Dormammu.
"No one with your kind of compassion would. That's one of the things the Phoenix Force looks for in a host, you know. No one who desires endless battles and death should have that kind of power."
"Then why are you asking me this?"
"I'm trying to prepare you for the day when choosing to be merciful will be a mistake."
"What?!" Harry gaped at his mentor in disbelief.
"Your decision to spare Ross's life showcases your capacity for forgiveness, empathy, and honor," she continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "And you have the means to take advantage of the fallout of that decision without endangering any more lives. But you won't always have the luxury of sparing your conscience in the line of duty. Soon you will count terrorists, genocidal alien warlords, and cosmic horrors that revel in the despair of mortals among your enemies. Will you spare their lives, too, knowing what kind of damage they can cause and the pointlessness of trying to imprison them?"
Harry struggled to formulate a response. It wasn't as if he didn't have blood on his hands. He'd killed Quirrell in his first year, when he was only eleven. He'd killed the Serpent of Slytherin barely a year later, but he'd never taken a life deliberately since then. Even during the battles with Voldemort and his Death Eaters all the deaths he caused were indirect; a stunning spell that inadvertently sent a Death Eater toppling over a broken battlement, a Full Body Bind on another a split second before the ceiling over his head collapsed, an accidentally overpowered Impediment Jinx that stopped one's heart, and so on. Even Voldemort's death was a result of Harry goading the man into offing himself by using the wrong wand against the right person. Not once since the end of his first year at Hogwarts had he deliberately ended another human being's life with his own hands.
Of course, that hardly made him a saint. He'd attempted the Cruciatus Curse more than once. Granted, he was never very good at it, but he had tried. And he was disturbingly good at most other forms of combat magic he studied, regardless of their level of lethality.
The Ancient One seemed to know what he was thinking. "I'm not saying you should go around killing every potential threat to the world," she said. "That is the last thing either of us want. But there will come a time when you will have to kill once again. Not in self-defense, and not by indirect means. As the host of the Phoenix Force, you have a responsibility to maintain the balance of the cosmos, and part of that responsibility is deciding who should live and who should die, and forgive my use of the phrase, for the greater good."
Harry felt as if he were falling off his broom in third year again, and he shook himself. "During the fight in Canada," he began, "I didn't feel like myself. The Phoenix Force has always helped me before, but when I started channeling its power in actual combat something changed. It wanted to kill the soldiers, and I wanted to save them. I was fighting both them and myself, not to mention the Hulk. How am I supposed to save anyone if I can't get along with the very entity that chose me for the task?"
"I can't tell you," the Ancient One said softly. At Harry's skeptical expression she smiled. "Contrary to what my attitude implies, I do not know everything. I have never dared to channel the power of the Phoenix, and I have only ever met one other host in my life. I don't have the answers you need. You must discover them for yourself."
Having said her piece, the Ancient One rose and left the room, leaving Harry to mull over her words in brooding, silent solitude.
...
When Bruce Banner woke up, the last thing he remembered was the feeling of absolute panic that had overtaken him when he heard a gunshot ring out. After that…
Looking around, Bruce saw that he was in a dimly lit room with dark wood walls, gridded glass and metal windows flanked by gauzy curtains, an antique armoire, a writing desk, and what appeared to be a meditation mat. The bed he found himself lying in was spartan in design, with plain white sheets and no decoration, but it was very comfortable. Glancing down, he saw that someone had dressed him in a simple gray shirt and trousers made of what appeared to be linen.
It took Bruce a moment to realize what the strangest thing about his current situation was. There was no pain. He knew that he had transformed in Canada, that he had attacked the soldiers and his would-be rescuer, but the lingering ache that accompanied his return to consciousness was absent. Whenever he became the Other Guy, every organ in his body tore itself apart and regenerated, like getting a hundred full body workouts all at once. There should have been some lingering pain and fatigue, but instead he felt refreshed, even well rested. Stranger still, the Other Guy was quieter than he had ever been since he'd first emerged in Bruce's head. It was the closest he'd felt to being alone with his own thoughts since the accident.
What had happened? How long had it been since he reverted that he felt no lingering pain?
As he got to his feet, Bruce noticed a folded slip of paper with his name written on it in black ink sitting innocuously on his bedside table. He reached for it, sat himself on the edge of the bed, and unfolded it in his hands. It was a letter, and he began to read it.
Dr. Banner,
I'm sorry about what happened in Canada. It was my fault, you see. I had set up a barrier to keep you from getting shot, but I forgot to tell you it was there, and the sound of a gun pointed at you being fired must have startled you enough to trigger the transformation. I managed to keep the Other Guy, as you call him, from killing any of the soldiers, but they kept on shooting at me, and it wasn't easy to keep them at bay while I was fighting you. That green rage monster is much stronger than anyone realizes. I myself accidentally caused a few deaths. Sloppy of me, really.
The compound you find yourself in is called Kamar-Taj. It is the headquarters for an organization that protects the world from apocalyptic threats most people are completely oblivious to. I came here to learn about my new powers and to make a fresh start. Everyone here is broken in some way when they arrive, and most initially come for healing. They won't bat an eye at your alter ego.
I can't promise that you'll be cured here, or that you'll be taught the same arts practiced by the masters, but you can learn how to control the Other Guy. Someone will come to check on you and show you around, and from there the decision about what to do next is yours. I know that as a scientist you're going to have an extremely hard time accepting what you'll see and hear in this place as fact, so here's a bit of advice. Forget everything you think you know.
I'll see you soon.
Yours sincerely,
Harry Potter
P.S. While I was subduing the Other Guy, we accidentally injured a teenager in a cabin. The head trauma is bad enough that he'll almost certainly have amnesia, so he's going to be staying at the compound to heal, and that could take a while. I don't know anything about him, not even his name. In the meantime, I have a plan to get General Ross out of your hair for good, as well as his political allies, many of whom are just as dangerous as he is. No one should have to suffer through what you have.
Bruce reread the letter twice, then set it down on the bedside table. He ran a hand over his face, thinking.
Fact: Potter was powerful enough to match the Other Guy blow for blow.
Fact: Despite Potter's efforts, there was at least one collateral casualty, whom Potter felt obligated to bring to this place for recovery.
Fact: Bruce was now being given what appeared to be free room and board by people who were apparently completely unafraid of the Other Guy, and for good reason.
Fact: Whatever this Kamar-Taj was, it was clearly separate enough from mainstream society that Potter had felt the need to advise Bruce to let go of his scientific mindset for the duration of his stay.
Fact: Bruce had no choice but to go along with all of this, because he had no idea where he was or what he was doing.
Bruce sighed. He really was out of his depth here, and the only way to find his footing was to forge ahead, so he got to his feet and gently pushed the doors to the room open. The hallway beyond was dimly lit by old fashioned lamps. Bruce was no architecture expert, but the style, decor, and construction reminded him of pictures he'd seen of east Asian temples and monasteries, and he wondered how far he'd traveled while he was unconscious. As he made his way down the hall, he heard a second set of footsteps nearby, growing louder as he approached a junction. When he passed the threshold, he found himself standing in a warm, sunlit room with low tables surrounded by cushions and filled with the smell of burning incense.
The owner of the second pair of feet he'd heard turned out to be an old Tibetan man with dark skin, black hair cinched in a high topknot, and a long, thin, graying beard and goatee who was entering the chamber from a hallway to Bruce's left. He wore round glasses and a set of blue and silver robes that reminded Bruce of pictures he'd seen of mountain-dwelling monks. Was that what this place was? Some ancient monastery full of secret knowledge that was too dangerous for the world at large? A year ago, Bruce would have scoffed at the idea, but he'd seen Harry Potter's telekinetic abilities firsthand, and the man had mentioned there were others like him. Perhaps this monastery taught and policed people with superhuman abilities, which would explain how Bruce had drawn their attention.
The old man looked straight at Bruce, and something in his ancient eyes told Bruce that the Other Guy didn't scare the man in the slightest. That, more than anything convinced Bruce that he should trust what Potter had told him in the letter.
New York Harbor, NYC, USA, July of 2003
The warehouse SHIELD ultimately chose for their meeting with Phoenix looked like something out of an old mafia movie. Located in the oldest and least used section of New York Harbor, it was one of a dozen identical buildings which together had once served as a haven for smugglers, human traffickers, mobsters, and others in need of secret meeting places. These days SHIELD used the place for sting operations and field training scenarios, but never before had it served as the setting of a clandestine meeting with a potential asset who was too powerful and mysterious to control.
From the outside, the warehouse was completely ordinary and unremarkable. If one were to investigate the interior, however, they would find that it was nearly empty save for a few empty shipping containers, most of which were stacked along the walls to the ceiling, obscuring the windows. The resulting clearing was occupied by a plastic folding table surrounded by three metal chairs and four sets of flood lamps mounted on tall, ungainly metal stands. Behind the sparse few containers left on the warehouse floor crouched SHIELD agents dressed in black combat gear and carrying assault weapons.
Director Nick Fury was sitting in an unmarked black van a ways a stone's throw away from the warehouse, concealed behind one of its neighbors, as he and his team waited for Phoenix to show up. Built for use as a mobile command center during small, quick operations, the back of the van was a technology geek's wet dream, filled with computers and control interfaces that looked like they belonged in a spy movie. Or aboard a space shuttle.
It had taken a great deal of persuasion on Fury's part to convince the United Nations World Security Council to agree to the telekinetic's offer of a meeting. They had numerous objections, most of which stemmed from their egos rather than any sense of prudence. First, they complained that Phoenix was a complete unknown and very powerful, which was true. Then they wailed that Fury was needlessly putting himself in danger by meeting with the man personally, never mind that Fury went into the field far more often than anyone with the directorship ought to and they had never been concerned for his safety before. After that had come the posturing about protocol, how outsiders bowed to SHIELD and not the other way around, and so on.
Fury had told them to put a sock in it. He freely admitted he was a prideful, manipulative, controlling, paranoid bastard, but he also knew where to draw the line. The Council had no such restrictions, and their decisions were often reactionary at best. Their job was to keep SHIELD in check, but more often than not it was Fury who had to keep them in check. Their solution to every problem was to shoot at it and experiment on the remains, but Fury had learned from experience that such an attitude was foolish at best.
Unconsciously he reached up and felt the skin around his eye patch. Stupid cat , he thought darkly. He sincerely hoped that Phoenix didn't have any psychotic pets. Carol's flerken had been bad enough for a lifetime, thank you very much.
A telltale light flashed on one of the consoles, and the tech operating it flicked it off, peering at his screen in search of whatever anomaly had set it off. "Sir, we've detected an object hovering right on top of the meeting point," she reported without looking up. "Humanoid shape and size, twenty meters from the ground. No movement."
Fury glanced at Phil Coulson, the only other person present in the vehicle. The agent's face remained expressionless, but Fury knew him well enough to recognize the twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes. Wordlessly, the director reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wad of dollar bills, which he passed to a now openly smirking Coulson before he all but flounced out the van's rear doors. The tech watched this exchange with a gob smacked expression, then started to giggle. Coulson silenced her with a look, then followed his boss, pocketing the money with untoward smugness.
Coulson and Fury made their way across the warehouse district's concrete pavement to the site of the meeting and looked up. There, floating above the warehouse, was a humanoid figure illuminated by the beams of flashlights held in the hands of suited SHIELD agents gathered around the place, having appeared seemingly from nowhere.
Fury stared at the telekinetic for a long moment. Phoenix was dressed in strange, dark green clothing like nothing he'd ever seen before, complete with a cowl that cast unnaturally long shadow over the man's face. Fury noted that Phoenix had ditched the cloak he'd reportedly worn in Canada.
"You can come down now. Slowly, if you please."
Phoenix remained impassive for a moment, then began to descend. He landed silently ten feet from Fury and Coulson, and though Fury could not see his face, he had the impression that the telekinetic was studying him. For a long moment, no one spoke.
Coulson broke the silence. "Well, we have everything set up inside." He gestured at the warehouse. "Right this way." And he led the way through the door.
…
Harry did not take the metal seat that was offered to him. Instead he looked Fury directly in the eye and said "I told you that this meeting was to be private, Director. Send your agents outside, or I will."
Fury hesitated, then barked "Everyone out!"
Harry studied the agents as they shuffled out from their places of concealment behind the few shipping containers left in the warehouse. To their credit, none of them complained or sent him a dirty look, though a scan of their surface thoughts told him that many of them wanted to. Fury's right hand, one Phil Coulson, looked uncertain as to whether Harry's demand that the observers leave included him, but Harry was quick to say, "You may stay."
When they were alone, Harry raised his left hand and made an odd beckoning gesture. Instantly several small devices shot up from beneath the table and chairs as well as the inside of Fury's black trench coat, flew to a spot above Harry's hand, and crushed themselves into powder. Giving the one-eyed spymaster an unimpressed look that not even the shadow over his face could conceal, Harry moved to one of the chairs and sat. Fury sighed as he and Coulson took the ones on the opposite side of the table.
Not one for small talk, Fury immediately opened his mouth and demanded "Who are you?"
Harry stared at him, then shook his head. "If you think I'm going to just tell you, then you're a fool. I have a life outside of this," he gestured vaguely at their surroundings, "and I'm not going to put it at risk by telling a super spy my real name. This is not negotiable. The identity of the person beneath this hood will remain a secret from anyone who I don't consider family. If you have a problem with that, too bad."
Fury looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, but Coulson spoke up before he could retort. "That's perfectly understandable. The higher ups won't like it, but you have no reason to care about that either way. We're here to build trust, and we haven't earned any from you."
Harry felt his respect for Coulson rise. "True. But then, I haven't exactly earned your trust either," he said.
Coulson looked relieved. "Thank you for understanding. Now, let's get one thing straight. Are you human?"
Harry hesitated, but the moment was so brief no one noticed. "Yes and no. Genetically I'm as human as you are, but ever since the day I was born I've been… different."
"Different how?" asked Coulson, appearing genuinely interested. "We've encountered people with superhuman abilities before, but they're almost always genetically mutated in some way, or else using technology."
Again, Harry found himself hesitating. This was harder than he thought it would be. "You wouldn't believe me."
"Why not? We've dealt with some pretty weird stuff in the past. Try us."
"How weird?"
Now it was Coulson's turn to hesitate. Sensing intense discomfort from the agent and a sense of quiet, warning menace from Fury, Harry focused on the latter's surface thoughts and caught several flashes: a blonde-haired woman wreathed in an aura of golden-white light, a man transforming into a creature with greenish skin and pointy ears like an elf's, a cube that appeared to be made of glass, glowing with a fierce blue light, and the words "Kree," and "Skrull."
Perplexed, Harry decided to embrace his inner Gryffindor and kick the hornet's nest. "You think I'm an alien. Or that I was raised by aliens." Coulson paled, though almost imperceptibly, and Fury got half a curse out before he regained control of himself. Harry did not need to be a telepath to interpret those reactions. "You wouldn't believe it was possible if you hadn't already encountered incontrovertible proof that it was so." A vein pulsed in Fury's temple, reminding Harry of Vernon. Coulson was sweating. "You don't have to confirm or deny as much," he continued. "But it's clear that's what you assumed of me."
Without a word, both spies nodded. Harry sat back, weighing whether to search for more information in their minds, but decided that such an act was too contrary to his desire for mutual trust. It wasn't as if he needed to know; his curiosity was too idle for that. If they wanted him to know more, they would tell him.
Harry pressed on. "I can assure you that I am a human being born and raised on Earth, but not Earth as you know it," he said.
Fury's scowl, which seemed to be his default expression, deepened. "The way you make it sound," he ground out, "there's a lot more to our little corner of the universe than we realize."
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Harry said. "You know so little about how the world really works that I can barely take you seriously when you claim to be familiar with 'weird stuff' as you call it."
Coulson blinked. Fury's scowl became a venomous glare. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, nearly shouting.
Harry didn't answer immediately. Instead, he decided to do something bold. Muttering a spell under his breath, he flicked his hand to summon a steaming pot of hot tea, a trio of plates, a tray of chocolate chip biscuits, and three porcelain mugs. Coulson and Fury's jaws dropped as the pot poured its steaming contents into each of the mugs and several cookies flung themselves onto the plates
"Tea?" he offered, levitating the mugs into the air and taking his own into his hand.
Fury stared at his mug before leaning away from it in a clear rejection, but Coulson robotically accepted his own and took a tentative sip. His expression brightened. "I admit I'm no connoisseur and that I usually prefer coffee, but this has got to be the best tea in the world."
Harry almost smiled, remembering when he'd had a similar reaction the first time he'd tried it. Due in part to their open mindedness, international connections, and many millennia of operation, the Masters of the Mystic Arts were experts in all branches of the culinary arts. This particular blend of tea was the Ancient One's favorite.
Fury seemed to be in no mood to follow his colleague's example. In all probability he wanted to wait and see what side effects the tea would have on Coulson before trying it for himself, disregarding the fact that Harry was drinking it as well. Then again, it would have been extremely easy for Harry to fake drinking it, so the man might have a point. "I haven't poisoned this tea, you know," he said. "Or the biscuits. Sorry, I know you call them cookies."
As Harry helped himself to one, Fury asked in a low voice "How did you do that?"
Harry almost smiled. "How do you think I did it?" At Fury's glare he added, "I'm not making fun of you. The explanation will be rather hard to believe, and I want to know what conclusions you would draw without it."
Fury's expression softened somewhat. "I'm no expert, but I would say you've learned how to bend light and sound to make stuff invisible. You had this ready from the moment you arrived, probably prepared it somewhere near here, and kept it hidden until you wanted to reveal them."
Were it not for his reduced emotional reactions courtesy of meditation, Harry would have laughed his head off at the theory. It was ridiculous! Even he could not do something like that without casting spells. As it was, he let out a soft snort. "Not even close. Try again."
Fury was glowering again. This time, it was Coulson who tried to puzzle out the physics behind Harry's trick. "You teleported this here from wherever it was made," he said, popping the last fragment of his biscuit into his mouth. "I've read theories about wormholes. In theory, you can fold space like a piece of paper and bring two points close together, then form a tunnel between them. You could have telekinetically achieved something similar, though I imagine it would be extremely difficult."
Harry almost sighed. "Closer, but no. I'm not powerful enough to bend space, not directly, at any rate. The amount of energy that requires is beyond anything I can summon, at least for now."
Fury's one eye narrowed. "You speak as if you're certain you're growing stronger."
"I am growing stronger," Harry affirmed. "My powers have been growing for years, and even I don't know what my upper limits will be."
"You stated that Banner's alter ego is stronger than anyone realizes, and you barely surpassed him in terms of raw power. And now you're telling me you're getting stronger?"
"I did. The green giant could, if worked up enough, punch the ground hard enough to generate earthquakes so powerful they'd send half the eastern seaboard crumbling into the Atlantic. A few years from now I'll be powerful enough to flatten him with no effort at all."
"How?!" Fury demanded. "What are you?"
"I thought," Coulson interrupted, sounding uncannily like a father settling a dispute between his six-year-olds, "he was going to tell us how he summoned these scarily tasty refreshments." He sipped his tea.
Harry decided he liked Phil Coulson. "I made this," he gestured at the treats, "a few hours ago and contained it in a pocket dimension, out of sync with the normal fabric of space and time. Imagine taking a blanket and folding a small portion of it and sewing the folded portion shut in a way that hides the fact that it was folded at all, and that comes close to what I did."
Phil's expression didn't change, but his eyes betrayed his fascination. "You said you can't directly fold space. How did you create a pocket dimension?"
Harry almost smiled. "Tell me, agents of SHIELD, do you believe in magic?"
Phil's eyes narrowed. Fury all but growled. "If you're going to waste our time with jokes and fairytales-"
"I assure you I am being perfectly serious," Harry said, all traces of warmth or humor gone. "You know some of what I can do, and so far, you haven't been able to come up with an explanation. You say you're familiar with weird stuff, yet you dismiss the possibility that magic could actually exist even when the proof is right in front of you."
Coulson spoke before Fury could. "It's not that we don't believe you're telling the truth," he said carefully, "but we've encountered people who call their abilities magic, when in reality it was simply a superhuman ability created from advanced science. Many primitive cultures call technology beyond their level magic. So far, there has been a scientific explanation for everything SHIELD has encountered. What makes you so certain that what you can do is really magic? It's just telekinesis, isn't it?"
Harry shook his head. "I can assure you that what I do really is magic, but my definition of the word 'magic' is very different from yours. The line between science and the mystic arts is much blurrier than it appears."
"How would you define magic, then?"
Channeling his inner Ancient One, Harry said "Magic is the art of using energies drawn from other planes of existence to impose one's own will on the rules of reality. At the root of existence, mind and matter meet, but taking advantage of that fact is a science in much the same way that nuclear physics and biochemistry are sciences. At the same time, magic is unique in that it behaves much like a living thing. It is, in essence, the science of defying science."
As he spoke, he conjured a fireball in his hand and began to manipulate it, sculpting it into a perfect, vertically oriented ring, changing its colors from yellow to green to blue and back again, before twisting it into a complex, spherical net and finally dissolving it into a swarm of bright pink butterflies, which flew into the air before dissolving into soap bubbles.
...
Nick Fury's mouth had fallen open. He had thought nothing could shock him more than the Skrulls and Carol's powers, but what he'd just seen was impossible! Even Phil, dependable, unflappable Phil Coulson, looked shocked.
Fortunately, Phil recovered quickly. "That doesn't sound very magical," he managed to say.
Phoenix shrugged. "What were you expecting? A charlatan showing off a rabbit pulled from a hat?"
His sense of wonder and astonishment vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, Fury ground out "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I understand. You're saying you can manipulate matter and energy to break physics with your mind?" His thoughts whirled. This was a threat beyond anything he had imagined. He had been rattled by the display of power Phoenix had given Barton and Romanoff years ago, and now the telekinetic had admitted his power was constantly growing. If he ever became hostile, there was no telling how much damage he could cause.
But the idea of magic, real magic, was the worst of it.
Concealing objects in pocket dimensions? Turning fire into butterflies? Was Phoenix able to travel around the world so quickly by using magic? Could he teleport? Most alarming of all… "You called magic a science. That implies that you're not the only person who can use it. Scientific investigation takes time, and manpower."
"People have been studying magic for a long time, Director," Phoenix said simply. "But magic users are a secretive lot, and for good reason. You can't seriously believe I taught myself how to do what I can do."
"What I believe is that you're messing with forces you have no business playing with," Fury snapped. How could SHIELD's intelligence be this flawed? It was humiliating! "And that makes you a danger to the safety of the world. You're a threat. Hell, all you magic users are threats, and you've been hiding yourselves. I'm surprised you haven't destroyed the world already!"
"Sir," Phil said, voice urgent, "I really don't think-"
"How dare you," Phoenix said icily, cutting Phil off. "I came here to build trust, yet the moment I start revealing my secrets you respond by calling me and my kind threats. Little wonder that magic is such a well-kept secret when the people in charge want to burn us all at the stake, like those fanatics who conducted the Salem Witch Trials, or the Spanish Inquisition. What right do you have to call the study of magic a threat? What do you know about magic? Are you a wizard, now, Director?"
Fury flinched, but Phoenix pressed on ruthlessly before he could say anything else. "Magic users hid themselves out of self-preservation, yes but that doesn't mean we're putting people in danger. The Masters of the Mystic Arts have existed since the founding of Jericho, and they haven't destroyed the world yet. And we can't stop practicing magic or submit ourselves to your authority just to satisfy your paranoia."
"Why not?" Fury all but shouted back, ignoring the nervous look on Phil's face. "SHIELD protects people from the things that go bump in the night. I think magic more than qualifies."
Phoenix threw back his hooded head and laughed derisively. The furnishings shook, and Fury felt his blood run cold. Perhaps I should have listened to the Council after all , he thought.
"You think you're the ones protecting people from what goes bump in the night, as you say?" Phoenix chortled, every word dripping with scorn. The tea and cookies he'd summoned vanished. "You struggle to contain mundane threats like terrorists and rogue mutants, and up until a few minutes ago you were completely ignorant of the existence of magic. Meanwhile, the Masters of the Mystic Arts are in a state of constant war with beings so horrible that if I told you half of what I know about them you'd run away in terror at the mere mention of them."
Fury felt it then; a sense that he was standing next to an armed nuclear warhead. No, an erupting volcano. Phoenix was emitting an aura of power and menace so intense it was all the director of SHIELD could do not piss himself. It was an invisible, yet undeniable certainty that he was in the presence of something other , something that could crush him like a gnat with the tail end of a thought if it wished, and he had just made it very angry. He was sweating, and it took all of his strength to force his next sentence out. "What threats?"
"Just as there are aliens not native to this planet, there are entities who are alien to this very reality. Parallel worlds and dimensions without end."
Impossible. "Parallel worlds are a theory," Fury all but whimpered, "and a flimsy one at that. What you're speaking of is impossible."
Phoenix moved so fast, it was as though he had teleported. One moment, he was sitting on the opposite end of the table, the next he was hovering in front of Fury, the table was ten feet away, and the green-clad man had his right thumb pressed to Fury's forehead.
"No, it isn't. Open your mind !"
What happened next would be ingrained into Nick Fury's memories with all the permanence of the Great Pyramid of Giza. For one brief moment he felt a pressure against his skull, against his very thoughts, and suddenly his depth perception was back; could see as perfectly as he had the day he joined SHIELD. Next second, he was airborne.
Nick was falling upwards with the speed of a bullet fired from a sniper rifle. He felt nothing but a strange coldness and the disorientation of spinning and flipping through freefall, smelled nothing, tasted nothing. He crashed through the roof of the warehouse and noticed only because he saw metal splinter around him. He shot into the night sky, passing clouds, an airplane, a space telescope, screaming useless denials as he went. "Hoooooly shiiiiit! Oh no, No, NO, NO, NOOO! This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't-"
Fury's string of panicked cries abruptly cut off. He was floating in the vacuum of space, the shining orb that was the Earth laid out below him and the starry black void of space everywhere else. He spotted a metallic glow rapidly approaching him. A satellite the size of an articulated truck.
Fury reached for it and managed to catch the transmitter antenna. Instantly he felt himself jerked irresistibly backward. The Earth passed beneath him so quickly it blurred and twisted around him. His hold on the satellite broke, and he screamed as he hurtled through a tunnel of darkness and multicolored light.
The voice of Phoenix echoed in his ears, sounding strangely distant and quiet yet at the same time utterly impossible to ignore. "You think you know how the world works?"
The tunnel of psychedelic lights shifted into a kaleidoscope of colors and shadows. Twisted things Fury didn't have a name for zipped past him. Streams of green, gold, blue, and violet energy erupted from each of his limbs and bent crazily like rubber bands. Phoenix spoke again. "You think that your single-minded focus on logic and provable science can explain everything that happens in this strange and wonderful world we call home? You believe that this tangible universe we experience is all there is?"
The streams of light disappeared. The kaleidoscope became a maelstrom of black particles that resembled iron filings, drifting amidst a deep blue void in clouds that pulsed to a rhythm Fury could not hear. Jets of orange sparks streaked across the void, setting the black clouds ablaze. Everything spun and tilted again, and Fury saw a dozen images of his own body floating before a grouping of the black dust clouds that fashioned themselves into concentric rings. Fury merged with the images of himself and hurtled through the eye of the formation and into a pulsating tunnel of yellow and green lights that flickered with ghostly black flames.
"What is real?" Phoenix asked, his tone too casual to be taunting. "What mysteries lie beyond the reach of your senses?" Fury could not answer. He hurtled through a luminous yellow sky dotted with white stars, black webbing stretching across it to connect thousands of reddish violet spheres as large as the full moon. As he passed one of the spheres, a mountain of green flesh emerged from behind it. The creature was surely too large to have hidden behind the planetoid, too large to hide behind Jupiter itself. It kept emerging, length after nauseating length of horror until Fury realized it was just a tubular limb, one of half a dozen gigantic, writhing arms emerging from a sphere of snotty green flesh with a single enormous, lidless maroon eye at its heart, glowing with unmistakable malice.
"We are not alone. We never have been," Phoenix hissed. A colossal green tentacle reached for Fury, but before it could touch him, he collided with one of the giant black webs, and suddenly he was in a landscape of bulging, fleshy structures, illuminated by a sickening orange glow. The cancerous terrain pulsed with green light, which shifted to golden yellow and condensed into geyser like streams.
Fury fell into a column of liquid amber light and was blasted into a fleshy vortex. It rippled outwards from a bottomless black void, and Fury hurtled straight through it, emerging in a twisting cavern, illuminated by a cold white light, made entirely from human limbs, naked and clothed, smooth and scarred, healthy and shriveled, dark and pale. The limbs writhed and twisted, reaching for him.
"No," he all but moaned as they grabbed him and dragged him towards a wall of hissing hands. He looked down and saw his fingertips warp, each sprouting another hand that grew and grew until the tips of those new fingers sprouted more hands, and again until he realized his entire body was sprouting hands. "Motherfu-!" they wrapped around him, cutting off his speech, dragging him to the walls until he was part of the cavern of hands, and then he was outside his own body again. He was tiny and what he had been was a giant. He fell through his own dilated pupil and down a fleshy black tunnel.
The tunnel became the void of space, black as the darkest night, filled with glimmering stars. Fury fell past clouds of glowing gas and icy dust, past a planet orbited by metal ships fashioned into impossible shapes and towards its blinding white sun. "Our reality is not unique. Our universe is just one of an infinite number, our history a single branch of the tree of time," said Phoenix.
He continued to speak even as Fury collided with the star, only to find himself drifting through a place made of shifting, crystalline fractals. "Worlds without end. Some are almost identical to our own right until the moment a key event plays out differently. Every 'what if' scenario is real, somewhere out there." Fury saw himself reflected in the luminous, cracked planes, over and over again. He saw his own face, a thousand versions of it. Some smiled, some frowned, some laughed, some cried. Some had both eyes intact, while others were confined to life support equipment, and still others bore scars he never had.
"Some worlds are so alien that our physics would break down instantly upon exposure to the matter and energies native to them." As Phoenix said the last word, the cracked mirror darkened, revealing a thousand planets in countless colors. "Some are benevolent and lifegiving, others filled with malice and hunger."
The mirrors folded away into a smooth void again. Fury was floating in a black sky stained with purple stars and sickening, multi-colored auras. Planets constructed of melted, reddish purple flesh drifted past, illuminated by swirling vortexes of glowing particles. "Dark, hostile places where entities older than linear time lie ravenous and waiting."
Fury saw the space in front of him contort into a giant face with eyes like purple suns. It glared at him, and just for a moment Fury knew its thoughts. It was hungry and cruel. It wanted to devour him, to devour his world, to cause pain and destruction on a scale to make the gods weep, to conquer and rule, and its patience was infinite. Evil .
Next second Fury was whisked away into the void of space, but it wasn't space as he knew it. Against the blackness he saw, instead of the glimmer of stars, an endless nebula, a vast cloud of gases glowing in colors he never imagined existed. "Who are you in this vast multiverse, Mr. Fury?" Phoenix asked, in barely more than a whisper.
Fury floated there, still as a statue, as if paralyzed by the question. Then his world bent like a rubber band and he shot off into the void once more. He passed through space so quickly that the glow of stars and other things became streaks in his vision, a blinding light show that grew brighter and brighter until he saw only whiteness.
Then he hit the floor. Pain shot through his arms and legs from the force of impact. His head spun, and he could breathe again. His heart raced at the speed of sound. It took Nick a moment to realize that his depth perception was gone. He had only one eye again. Somehow, that reassured him, as if it were some indicator that he could trust his senses again. He was shaking when he looked up, and it took all of his strength to muster the words he rasped at Phoenix, who was standing over him magisterially.
"Ne-never. Do that. Again."
Suddenly Phil was there, helping Nick to his feet. The agent's face was white, and his lips were trembling.
"I saw that," he all but whimpered. "I saw all of it. How did you- what did you do?!"
Phoenix floated into the air and summoned the overturned furnishings. Nick found himself in his chair again, a rattled looking Phil sitting beside him, as Phoenix addressed him. "I pushed your astral form out of your physical body and sent it on a sojourn through the multiverse," Phoenix explained. "I also temporarily linked Phil's consciousness with yours so that he could see what was happening to you from a third person perspective. I guarantee that everything you both saw was very real."
For once, Fury was at a loss for words. Fortunately, Phil was quick to recover. "We're barely a blip on the radar to someone like you," he said. There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice. Or the awe. Phoenix said nothing. "Why tell us any of this? Why come here at all? Why reveal yourself in the first place?"
"Because," Phoenix murmured, "It's high time that you received a wakeup call about the way you approach superhumans and advanced science. For too long you have had free reign to meddle with powers beyond your understanding, and the sorcerers, in their arrogance, have done nothing about it. Humanity has the potential to become one of the greatest civilizations in the universe, yet we're wasting it killing each other for the pettiest reasons. The current status quo is leading us to our own destruction, and I, for one, am sick of it."
Fury remained speechless, but Phil, bless him, seized the initiative. "What do you want from us?"
Despite his shadowed face, Fury had the impression that Phoenix was relieved. "For all my power, I can't be everywhere at once. I can't change the world by my lonesome, not without going down a very dark path." Fury could hear the emphasis placed on the word 'dark.' "We have a long road ahead of us, and it starts with bridging the gap between my world and yours. Right now, the biggest obstacle to that goal is General Thaddeus Ross. I have a problem with people like him, and unless I'm greatly mistaken, so do you. I don't want him dead, but I do want him and those like him stripped of power before they cause irreparable damage in their search for super soldiers."
Fury finally found his voice. "For once, you and I are in complete agreement."
They talked for over an hour after that, planning the downfalls of a truly alarming number of corrupt politicians, military men, and select members of the CIA and FBI who were on their watch lists. No other mention of magic was made save for the promise Phoenix extracted that they would keep its existence a secret until he told them otherwise. By the time they were finished, Fury was so exhausted he could barely get to his feet.
He stumbled, and as Phil caught him by the arm, Phoenix approached. "May I?" he asked, his tone sympathetic. Phil opened his mouth with a denial on his lips, but Fury waved him away and nodded permission. Phoenix placed the palm of his hand against Fury's chest, directly over his heart, and he felt a surge of strength buoy him to his feet. He felt rejuvenated, energetic even.
"What did you do?" he asked, trying and failing to conceal a note of abject gratitude.
"I lent you some of my strength," Phoenix explained. "It'll keep you on your feet for another hour or so, but when it wears off, you'll crash even harder than you would under normal circumstances after such a long day, so take it easy."
Fury nodded. In a low voice, Phoenix added "I'm sorry for dragging your astral form through the multiverse like that. One mistake and I could have killed you or driven you mad."
Fury's gratitude vanished. "Get out of here before I change my mind about all this and shoot your brains out," he snapped.
There was a loud crack, like a whip, and Phoenix vanished.
Potter Household, Greenwich Village, Manhattan, July of 2003
Two weeks after the meeting with Fury and Coulson, Harry sat in his living room watching the news with no expression on his face apart from a twinkle of satisfaction in his green eyes. The light of the setting sun outside shone through the windows, casting long shadows on the red and gold rug where Teddy sat, his back against the couch as he fiddled with a Rubik's puzzle cube.
The top story that evening concerned alarming footage of a battle between American soldiers, a green sasquatch-like creature, and a man with telekinetic powers on Canadian soil. The name of the man who transformed into the creature had been concealed by advanced editing software, but everything else was unchanged.
Many so-called experts appeared to talk about terrorism, human experimentation, and the sovereignty of the United States. Many debates were held about the apparent dangers of superhumans and the American government's tendency to meddle where it wasn't wanted. Many arguments nearly erupted into shouting matches, with both sides holding nothing back, but the general consensus was that Brigadier General Thaddeus Ross was out of order, that it was very lucky the mysterious telekinetic had attempted to minimize casualties, and that it was highly suspicious that the incident had initially gone unreported.
The torrent of damning evidence had only just begun. Harry mused that it was an excellent birthday present as he took a bite of chocolate cake made with ingredients supplied by Daniel Drumm.
As Harry finished his slice, he heard a whizzing sound and looked up in time to see a tiny sling ring portal deposit a note onto his coffee table. Banishing the remnants of his desert to the table to rest alongside Teddy's, Harry summoned the note and found exactly two words, written in the Ancient One's elegant script.
He's awake.
Harry's pulse quickened.