I just thought I'd share some quick thoughts on how I'll refer to the wizarding race throughout this (and any other) fic. Personally, I find the terms 'Wix' and 'Wixen' to be beyond ridiculous. Can you imagine someone with an accent like Viktor Krum wanting to check if a woman they like was a witch? "...but you are vixen, da?" I'm sure Hermione would have responded well to that...

So instead I'm going with the route of using 'wizard' in the same way 'man' can refer to humanity as a whole, along with 'magical' and 'wizarding'.

Eg:

Mankind - Wizardkind

Race of Man/Race of Men - Race of Wizards/The Wizarding Race

Muggles - Wizards/Magicals

So on and so forth

Ok, I admit this was mostly a rant against 'Wixen', but I will actually be using the naming scheme I described above. Especially considering the entire Wizarding Race is currently composed of a single wizard.

Chapter 2: The Sister's Letter

14:47, Potter's cottage, two miles outside Seahaven-Upon-Thames, Essex, 14th January 2011

Harry stood in his office, gazing out the window while his mind mulled things over. Spread out on his desk behind him was the scroll Death had given him. It was much larger when unravelled than its small size would imply, and the majority of its contents were beyond Harry's understanding.

He had spent the last hour trying to understand exactly what Death had given him, and thus far he had only grasped the basics. It was very clearly instructions for a ritual, an Immensely powerful ritual at that, but aside from that, all he could figure out was that the ritual required two people and used one of the silver spheres as an ingredient. Meaning, assuming he could find someone to aid him, he could complete the ritual three times. Lot of good that did him considering he didn't even know what the ritual did.

The spheres, though, were exactly what they felt like, nearly pure energy. He had no idea how much energy was contained within each, but he knew it was immense – the output of a star over its entire lifetime immense – and incredibly dangerous, which was why the orbs were currently in the most secure location he had; the most heavily warded section of his treasure-trunk.

Harry's concentration was broken when a deep red phoenix flew past the window, one of the seven that had followed him from his old world, and now hung around his garden in order to feed off the magic he provided.

Harry turned to the only item he had yet to examine, the letter. With a lazy flick of his wrist, Harry summoned the letter to his hand from the pocket of yesterday's robes. Once again, the letter filled Harry with a sense of calm and happiness; in many ways, it had the opposite effect of Death's presence.

Harry took a moment to examine the envelope, which was entirely unremarkable bar the fact it glowed softly, which wasn't all that uncommon from the perspective of a wizard; there wasn't even an address or name written on it, which was understandable considering the method of delivery. Harry opened the letter and began to read.

To Harry James Potter, Master of Death, Child of Fate, Favoured of Chance, Remainder of the Wizards, Etc…

I understand my sister has recently completed a bargain with you and has bestowed upon you a great gift. I congratulate you; most fare far worse when dealing with my sister, but then again, your family does have a history of dealing with Death. Ignotus' blood has served you well, it seems.

Despite, or more likely because of, the fact it was her own folly, and a not-so-small amount of meddling from our mother, that allowed you to gain the title of her master, Death clearly holds you no ill will, which speaks more to your character than anything else ever could. Could you imagine how troublesome Death would be if she resented having a master? She might've been so problematic that I would've allowed her to retrieve the Hallows, but what might've been is of no consequence, what is, is what matters for this discussion.

Many things can be said about my sister, but none would say she truly understands the living. Even her aeons spent conversing with the dead have given her surprisingly little insight into the minds of those yet to enjoy her tender embrace. I, however, do not have the same issue and can see where she fell short with her gift. Please do not think I am in any way disparaging my sister, on the contrary, I am incredibly pleased she has made this much progress towards truly understanding, but that does not change the fact she did not go far enough.

So, I am offering you my own deal, of a sort. I will give you what my sister left out, to the best of my ability. Sadly, I cannot give this particular gift with the same potency she could, but as I have no sway over her (as she has no sway over me) I cannot force her to give it herself, so I will offer it in her stead.

There is a price, of course, the very nature of the universe demands it be so. However, in order to discuss this deal further, I would rather we meet in person. Sadly, because we currently have no connection to speak of, the only way to do so is via an official audience. Since I doubt you'll want to go to the lengths of summoning me (it very well may be impossible to do so), I have made a separate deal that you accepted by opening the envelope that held this letter.

Three conflicts the likes of which even you cannot imagine are brewing. At the focus of the first will be several objects of great power. Take one of these objects in your hand, and you will have won an audience with me. I look forward to meeting you in person, Harry.

Kind Regards,

Life

P.S:

I would advise you to continue training in preparation for the coming conflicts, in which you will definitely want to take a side. Gathering allies would also be wise, for even if the side of life wins the wars, Earth will most likely be laid waste without significant aid, and I doubt either of us wants to see that happen again.

Harry collapsed into his chair, too shocked to move. His heart was beating so loudly he could hear it, his magic was swirling within him, threatening to burst forth and wreak havoc. His fists clenched the letter tightly, only a hairsbreadth away from tearing the paper. His eyes, wet with unshed tears and glowing with barely contained power, were locked on the last line of the letter as, unknown to him, a spell on the letter took hold of him.

I doubt either of us wants to see that happen again.

That line seemed to push itself straight through his mental defences towards the deepest parts of his consciousness. In less than a heartbeat, it breached the final defences his mind had (the locked door of a dungeon cell) and let his memories loose.

Images flashed before Harry's eyes, each staying just long enough to be comprehended before vanishing to be replaced by the next. With each memory, one of his senses would flare up, or a burst of emotion would stab through him, or both.

The sky above London, darkened by a firestorm kept away only by a faint blue dome, Fear. A tunnel filled with corpses which lay cooked in their own boiling blood, heads exploded, Horror, The Stench. A lone deer limping through a dying forest, lesions and blisters covering most of its skin, Hopelessness. Teddy Lupin clutching his girlfriend with fearful eyes, Sorrow. A wall of fire consuming all in its path rushing towards him, Searing Heat, Suprise. Hermione and Luna, putting on a brave face for the masses that had gathered in Trafalgar Square, their internal worry and pain clear to anyone that knew them, although it was more muted with Luna, Longing. Hogwarts castle under a black sky, surrounded only by wasteland and an extremely small black lake, Loneliness. Two stiff, blackened, vaguely human forms wrapped in his own badly burnt arms, Heartbreak, Pain. The remains of a vast marble building, now nothing but rubble, Despair.

Harry released the paper and collapsed to the floor with a mighty cry, his magic bursting out of his skin and whipping up a whirlwind in the office, fragile items shattered while the stronger were bashed apart by repeated collisions. Both windows and the door were blown off their respective hinges after a particularly intense burst of magic.

Memories, emotions, and feelings swirled together until they were indistinguishable as he wept. Faces of the dead, dying, and soon to be dead occupied his vision; from the mountains of nameless, and often faceless, strangers to every person he had ever loved. He could feel his flesh being repeatedly incinerated from his bones, his skin cracking as it was blackened, his blood boiling in his veins. He could smell the cooked flesh of countless men, women and children, the electricity in the air, and the smoke of the fire that stretched from horizon to horizon. He could hear the resounding explosions in the sky above, the whoosh of the firewall, and the wail of panicked children as parents tried in vain to comfort them. He could taste the radiation in the air, the dust and debris that clogged the atmosphere, and the blood from the cut in his own tongue.

Whatever spell had bypassed his defences seemed to wear off as a new emotion rose up within Harry, pushing the others aside until he was no longer affected by them; now he was filled with determination so potent it felt like rage. Immediately he regained control of his magic and recalled it to himself, repairing everything as he did so. Then, using more force than was necessary, he seized the memories, emotions, and feelings that had overwhelmed them and forced them back into the dungeon of the castle in his mindscape, triple-checking and reinforcing his mental defences while he was at it.

Harry vowed to himself that he would never let such desolation befall Earth, no matter the time, effort, or sacrifices he would have to make, he would serve as the shield between evil and the helpless, the 'good man' as the old saying goes, who will not stand by and do nothing, and if his identity became known and he was once again worshipped, or feared, he would pay that price, and pay it gladly, so that nobody would have to go through what he had.

Harry stood up silently, a small wave of his hand removing all evidence of his explosive breakdown on his face, and moved to sit at his desk. After an hour spent apologising to the phoenixes for disturbing them with his outburst, and many hours of planning, he stumbled back to his bedroom and collapsed into an uneasy slumber.

12:30, S.H.I.E.L.D. Regional HQ, the City of London, 15th January 2011

'The Worshipful Company of Speculators', like many of London's Livery Companies, no longer fulfilled its original purpose, facilitating land appraisals for the crown. Now it served as a charity foundation and space for the public to rent for parties and other functions.

Unofficially, however, the WCS served as a front to cover the traffic generated by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents as they headed to and from S.H.I.E.L.D. regional HQ, which actually occupied most of the Guildhall the WCS only pretended to occupy. That was why Harry was standing in said Guildhall, covered by his invisibility cloak and further protected by a Silencio.

Natasha had checked in here briefly when she arrived in London for the Franks case, and Harry had found its location when scanning through her mind. At the time, he only noted it in order to avoid the general vicinity, but now the same information came in useful to provide his first target.

Harry, though, wasn't happy with what he had found. AT first, he had found exactly when he expected for a regional headquarters: communication centre, temporary accommodation, well-stocked armoury (containing, to Harry's amusement, a longbow, three broadswords, a half-dozen blunderbusses, and two RPG launchers with one round of ammunition between them), holding cells (one of which contained Eugene Franks), and plenty of storage full of all kinds of supplies. The problem came when he came across the commander of the facility, a short, brown-haired woman, who was eating a bacon butty in her office. Harry scanned through her mind, looking for more information on S.H.I.E.L.D. and their operations when he came across another name, HYDRA.

Within an hour Harry was back at his cottage, sprawled out on his couch and feeling too annoyed to do much of anything. After he discovered the true allegiance of the base's commander, he retraced his steps and scanned all the agents he came across; nearly a third were secretly working for HYDRA.

It seemed all of his plans were out the window already; much to his chagrin. S.H.I.E.L.D., with its far reach and deep pockets, would've made an ideal ally against any future threat to Earth; but with the involvement, or infection, of HYDRA, S.H.I.E.L.D. became less of a valuable ally and more a potential enemy.

After an hour of stewing, and a light lunch, Harry roused himself. The next target on his list of allies to recruit was in America, as were further opportunities to see how deep an infiltration HYDRA had really managed. A little trip seemed to be in order.

21:32, Stark Tower, New York City, 21st January 2011

Tony Stark was having a good day. He had spent the morning tinkering with the Mark VII suit schematics with Jarvis before having his favourite food for lunch, a cheeseburger, and spending the afternoon hosting the latest Stark Weapons Expo with his girlfriend and co-CEO Virginia 'Pepper' Potts. After that roaring success, they both attended the after-party and now they were flying back to his tower for a nightcap and private celebration.

Tony landed on the pad outside his suite and put Pepper, who he had been carrying bridal style, down beside him. Despite the low light levels, he could see the faint blush and wide smile on her face from the moonlight flight through New York they had just shared. He flipped up the front of his mask and leaned in to kiss her when Jarvis spoke.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mr Stark, but I am getting detecting an anomaly inside the tower."

Tony sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose while Pepper giggled at his reaction. "Damnit, Jarvis, what kind of anomaly?"

"There appears to be a dampening field of some description somewhere in your personal accommodations, I am having trouble localizing it any further. All of my cameras on those floors also seem to be inoperative."

With another sigh, he flipped his mask back down and began walking toward the tower. "Stay behind me, Pep… or better yet stay out here until I'm sure it's safe." He didn't need to look back to know she was obeying; she wasn't stupid after all. "I swear, Jarvis, if this is a false alarm, I'm going to relegate you to a coffee machine for a month."

"Of course, sir" was the A.I.'s only reply. Room by room Tony, still in his armour, swept the penthouse in the dark: living room, lab, gym, kitchen, bathroom, and several guest bedrooms, with occasional commentary from Jarvis stating each room was clear. When he was outside the door to his office, Jarvis spoke again. "Sir, I have been able to narrow down the location of the disturbance. It appears to be on the balcony connected to your office."

Tony didn't say anything as he slowly opened the door; from what he could see almost nothing had been disturbed. Both the desk and the mini bar seemed undisturbed, and nothing else seemed to be missing. The only thing out of place was the door to the balcony, which had been left open. Silently he approached the open door and, after a moment of silence, stepped out onto the balcony.

"Mr Stark! I'm glad you've finally arrived; would you care to join me for a drink?"

Tony turned to find a familiar man sitting on an oak rocking chair. He was covered by a large, white robe which reached all the way down to the floor, white gloves, and an eerie green mist that swirled endlessly inside his hood, obscuring his face. Beside the figure was another rocking chair, and between the chairs, a table with two wooden flagons sat on it, both full to the brim with a frothy yellow liquid. Tony, after a moment of hesitation, sat down on the spare chair and flipped up his mask, although he didn't let the man out of his sight. 'Where had this chair come from, anyway?'

"Dorothy? What are you doing here? Last time I saw you was…"

"Afghanistan," The man interrupted, laughing, "yes, I remember. That was what, nearly two years ago?" The figure reached out and took one of the flagons from the table before taking a sip of the drink; well, it looked like that happened, it was impossible to tell with the fog in his hood.

"Tony? Are you in here?" Pepper shout-whispered as she entered his office. "It's been fifteen minutes!"

"Oh, my apologies!" The man said, standing up, "I didn't realise you had company. We're out here!"

"Tony, who's that?" Pepper asked cautiously.

"A, Uhm, friend… I think." Tony replied as he stood as moved to put himself between the unexpected visitor and the door.

"You think? What does that…" She trailed off as she stepped onto the balcony and saw the robed figure. "Tony?"

"Hmm? Yes, Pep?" Tony asked nonchalantly, still keeping himself between the man and Pepper.

Before Pepper could respond, the man spoke again. "Tell me, Mr Stark, do you trust Miss Potts here? You are Miss Potts, right?"

"Absolutely, with my life," Tony said firmly, while Pepper nodded absently before looking at Tony incredulously. Tony, because he still hadn't taken his eyes off the man, didn't see her reaction.

"Good, then she can join us. Miss Potts, please have a seat," he gestured to a third rocking chair that hadn't been there a moment earlier, "and join us for a drink," he gestured again, this time to the table where a third flagon full of amber drink had appeared. Then, without waiting for either of their reactions, he sat back down and lifted up his drink again for another sip.

For two minutes the figure sat in his chair, rocking in silence, sipping his drink slowly, while Tony and Pepper both looked on, unsure of what to do. Eventually, though, they both sat in the empty chairs and took the offered drinks.

"You know you can take the armour off, right Stark? It looks quite uncomfortable." The figure took another sip.

"Says the man in the Halloween costume. You warm enough in there?"

The figure snorted in amusement. "I wore the robes so you would recognize me, but yes, I am quite content with the temperature."

"I seem to recall I was wearing armour when we met."

"That armour and what you're wearing now are very different things."

"Says the man who's had his wings clipped."

The man laughed before addressing Pepper. "Is he always like this, Miss Potts?"

Pepper, who was watching the two interact warily with her untouched drink cradled in her hands, nodded; they once again settled into an uncomfortable silence. Pepper took a hesitant sniff of her drink, and finding nothing objectionable, took a sip; she let out a little moan of delight when she tasted the bubbly beverage. "What is this?" Pepper asked before taking another sip, Tony also tried it and found the taste quite pleasing, which he vocalised with a quiet "Hmm, not bad".

"It's called butterbeer; it's one of the traditional drinks of my people."

For several more minutes, they sat and drank in silence; the figure spoke again when everyone had finished their drinks. "Right, now on to business! Would you like to talk out here, or move somewhere more comfortable?"

"Business!" Pepper interrupted before Tony could answer. "What business? I don't even know who you are!"

The man laughed and stood. "My apologies Miss Potts…" the fog vanished as he lowered his hood, revealing white skin, obsidian-black hair, emerald eyes, a crooked scar, and an amused smile "…my name is Harry Potter."

AN:

There we have it, Chapter two! What did you guys think? I think I captured Stark's character quite well, personally. I'm not *quite* happy with Harry's breakdown at the hand of Life's letter, but I (thankfully) can't say I've ever suffered trauma even remotely comparable. Constructive feedback on that would, as always, be welcome.

Easter Egg for this chapter is the location of Potter's Cottage, 'Seahaven-Upon-Thames'. Seahaven is the name of the town in "The Truman Show", take from that what you will. :)