- BLACKROCK -

5:57pm - August 31st, 1976 - Blackrock Manor, Scotland - Earth - Universe Designation: 1.638.2

The grandeur of Blackrock Manor was overwhelming, its imposing architecture designed to intimidate even the most self-assured visitor. Tall spires reached into the sky, their shadows stretching over the carefully maintained gardens. Harry's eyes lingered on the darkened windows of the upper floors, where the faintest flicker of light suggested the ancient house was alive. The air was dense with the palpable hum of ancient wards, layered so intricately that Harry's own magic pulsed in response.

Beside him, Rose kept pace, her expression calm yet wary. Sirius and James walked slightly ahead, trading jokes in hushed tones that seemed to negate the formality of the occasion. Behind them, Fleamont and Euphemia carried themselves with the quiet dignity expected of their lineage, though Fleamont leaned closer to Harry as they approached the grand entrance. "Just remember," he murmured. "The Blacks value decorum, but they respect authority above all else. Speak with conviction. Don't let them push you,"

Harry nodded, his face betraying none of the tension he felt. Beside him, Rose glanced over, her voice low but firm. "We've faced worse,"

The grand double doors opened with a resonant creak, revealing a male house-elf clad in an immaculate black tunic embroidered with the Black family crest. He bowed deeply, his large eyes glimmering with a mixture of servitude and suspicion. "Master Arcturus awaits you in the dining hall," He announced, stepping aside to allow them entry.

The entrance hall was cavernous, lit by glowing orbs suspended in midair. Tapestries depicting moments of Black family triumph hung from the walls, their enchanted figures sneering at the newcomers. James gave one of the portraits a cheeky wink, prompting Sirius to stifle a laugh as the painted Black witch huffed indignantly and turned her back on them.

The dining hall itself was a masterpiece. A long mahogany table stretched nearly the entire length of the room, gleaming under the light of enchanted chandeliers. The walls were lined with portraits of Black ancestors, their gazes sharp and judgmental. At the head of the table sat Arcturus Black III, his silver hair impeccably combed, his robes dark and immaculate. His commanding presence left no doubt that he was the patriarch of the family. "Welcome, Lord Potter," Arcturus said as Harry approached, rising to his feet. His voice was calm but carried an undertone of scrutiny. He turned to Rose, who bowed her head in respect. "And Miss Potter, if I am not mistaken. Please, take your seats,"

The rest of the family was already assembled. Walburga Black, seated to Arcturus' right, regarded Harry with a piercing glare, her features sharp with disdain. Orion, her husband, sat beside her, his expression cold and distant. On the opposite side sat Cygnus Black, his wife Druella, and their three daughters. Bellatrix, her posture rigid and eyes filled with suspicion. Andromeda, her thoughtful gaze moving between the newcomers and her family. And Narcissa, her expression carefully neutral.

Harry had only ever met Bellatrix and Narcissa in his first life, and the girls in front of him were not at all similar to their future doppelgangers. Bellatrix was sixteen, the same age as Harry and Rose, and had no visible signs of insanity whatsoever. Narcissa was only twelve, and betrayed none of the stress of having a husband who was also a Death Eater.

Harry and Rose's eyes lingered on Andromeda Black. The fourteen-year-old girl only slightly resembled the doppelganger that had trapped Rose with the Codders and who Augery had unceremoniously killed before their escape. But she was different, also. Andromeda exuded an aura of confidence and unseen power that her old doppelganger had never possessed.

Turning away, Harry continued to survey the table. Further down the table, Pollux and Cassiopeia Black sat with stern, disapproving looks, whispering occasionally to one another. Having spotted each memeber of the family, Sirius leaned over to Harry and muttered, "Welcome to the family madhouse," earning a quiet chuckle from James.

The first course was served by house-elves. Bowls of steaming soup appeared in front of each guest, the aroma rich and inviting. Conversation remained polite at first, with topics limited to inconsequential matters such as Quidditch and the latest Ministry appointments. James and Sirius carried much of the discussion, their banter eliciting a few amused smiles. Even from Andromeda and Narcissa. Rose maintained a quiet but steady presence, occasionally chiming in with sharp observations that drew approving nods from Euphemia. Harry, however, remained watchful, waiting for the inevitable shift in tone.

It came during the second course, when Pollux Black leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on Harry. "Lord Potter," he began, his voice heavy with skepticism. "It's quite the feat, claiming the title of Lord Black without prior notice. One might almost call it...unprecedented,"

Harry set down his fork with measured precision, meeting Pollux's gaze evenly. "It's hardly unprecedented, Lord Pollux," he replied. "The stipulations governing the Black family's inheritance are quite clear. By blood and by the records at Gringotts, I am the rightful heir,"

Pollux's lips curled into a thin smile. "And yet, you were raised in France, far removed from the affairs of this family. It raises questions, does it not?"

"Circumstances required it," Harry said calmly. "My parents felt it was safer for Rose and I to be raised away from the political tensions of Britain. A decision made out of necessity, not disdain,"

Walburga Black's sharp voice cut through the room like a blade. "Convenient," she sneered. "Too convenient. A Potter raised in exile suddenly claiming our legacy,"

"Exile?" Rose interjected, her tone cold but polite. "I don't recall exile involving tutors, training, and the security of an old French estate,"

Walburga's glare shifted to Rose, who met it without flinching. The tension was palpable, but before it could escalate further, Arcturus raised a hand, silencing the room. His voice was calm but commanding. "Enough. Lord Potter, what do you intend to do with the legacy you have inherited?"

Harry straightened in his chair, his voice steady as he addressed the table. "I intend to rebuild House Black into what it should have always been. A force for unity and progress within the wizarding world. The old ways have their place, but we cannot cling to traditions that isolate and divide us,"

A heavy silence fell over the room. Then, Bellatrix let out a sharp laugh, her dark eyes narrowing as she studied Harry. "Unity and progress?" she mocked. "You would tarnish our legacy with such idealistic nonsense?"

"On the contrary," Harry replied, turning to face her fully. "I would strengthen it. True strength lies in adaptability, not stagnation,"

Bellatrix's sneer deepened, but her retort was interrupted by Narcissa's soft voice. "And how would you propose to accomplish this, Lord Potter? Changing the nature of a house is no small feat,"

Harry's gaze shifted to Narcissa, his expression calm. "It begins with leadership and vision. By setting an example. By demonstrating that House Black can thrive not through fear and isolation, but through strength and purpose," Narcissa nodded slightly, her expression thoughtful, though she said nothing more.

By the end of the meal, the Black family's dissatisfaction was palpable. Walburga and Orion were visibly seething, while Pollux and Cassiopeia exchanged whispered criticisms. Only Arcturus seemed unfazed, his expression unreadable as he rose to address the table. "I have made my decision," he declared, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "Lord Potter will assume full authority over House Black. I will step aside," The announcement was promptly met with outrage. Walburga's voice rose in protest, echoed by Pollux and Cygnus.

Even Bellatrix's composure faltered, her dark eyes flashing with anger. "This is madness!" she cried. "You would hand over our legacy to a stranger?"

Arcturus silenced the room with a single glare. "My decision is final,"

Harry inclined his head, his voice calm despite the storm brewing around him. "Thank you, Lord Arcturus. I will not betray your trust,"

As the Blacks began to leave, Bellatrix lingered, her gaze lingering on Harry with a mixture of distrust and disdain. Without a word, she turned and followed her family out.

Rose placed a hand on Harry's arm, her voice low. "Well, that went better than expected,"

The dining hall was quiet now, save for the faint rustling of house-elves clearing the table and the soft murmur of Fleamont and Euphemia conversing with Arcturus near the hearth. Sirius had already wandered off, muttering something about needing a drink, while James loitered by the doorway, his usual exuberance tempered by the evening's tension. Rose stood at Harry's side, her sharp eyes flickering between the retreating figures of the Black family as they departed in groups, their whispers echoing faintly in the corridors beyond.

"Pollux is going to be trouble," she said quietly, her voice carrying only to Harry. "And Walburga...she's not going to let this go,"

Harry nodded, his expression unreadable. "I didn't expect them to accept me overnight. This was never going to be easy,"

Rose smirked faintly, her gaze following Bellatrix as she lingered in the doorway, speaking in hushed tones to Narcissa and Andromeda. "Not all of them seem entirely against you," she remarked, her tone neutral. "Bellatrix was biting, but she wasn't as outright hostile as I expected. Andromeda...I think she's considering your words,"

"Bellatrix is wary, not convinced," Harry said, his voice low. "Andromeda might see reason, but it's too soon to tell. Narcissa's the real mystery,"

Rose tilted her head, considering Narcissa's carefully blank expression throughout the night. "She's observant, but I don't think she'll act without knowing which way the wind is blowing,"

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Then we make sure we're the ones shaping the wind,"

As Rose and James drifted toward the hearth to join Fleamont and Euphemia, Harry turned toward the doorway, his gaze locking with Bellatrix's. Her sisters had departed, leaving her standing alone, her dark eyes narrowed in calculation. "Lord Potter," she said, her voice sharp as she stepped toward him. The formality dripped with sarcasm, but there was a keen edge beneath it. "A moment?" Harry inclined his head, gesturing for her to continue.

Bellatrix closed the distance between them, her posture rigid and her gaze unwavering. "I'm trying to decide whether you're incredibly naive or just foolishly ambitious," she said, her voice quiet but cutting. "You think you can walk in here with your pretty words and noble ideals and change the course of generations?"

Harry met her glare with calm resolve. "I think it's worth trying,"

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "You don't understand what you're dealing with. The Black family isn't some tame creature to be led around by the leash of your morals. We are power, and power doesn't bow to sentiment,"

"True power doesn't need to bow," Harry replied, his voice steady. "It evolves. It adapts. That's what makes it enduring,"

For a moment, Bellatrix seemed caught off guard, her expression flickering between skepticism and something resembling curiosity. "You talk as if you know what it means to wield power," she said, stepping closer. "But talk is cheap,"

Harry's gaze hardened, his voice lowering. "You have no idea what I've seen, what I've endured to get here. Power is meaningless without purpose, Bellatrix. And if this family can't find a purpose beyond its own pride, it will crumble under the weight of its arrogance,"

She studied him in silence, her sharp features unreadable. Finally, she stepped back, her lips curving into a faint smirk. "We'll see if you can back up those words, Lord Potter. Don't disappoint me," With that, she turned and strode from the room, her dark robes billowing behind her.

This left Harry by himself standing by the hearth, the warm glow of the flames casting long shadows across the room. Arcturus joined him, his presence quiet but commanding. "You handled yourself well," the elder Black said after a moment, his tone devoid of the usual sharpness. "Better than I expected,"

"Not everyone seems to agree," Harry replied, his gaze fixed on the fire.

Arcturus chuckled dryly. "The Black family doesn't agree on much. But make no mistake, you've made an impression tonight. Whether that impression will serve you or destroy you remains to be seen,"

Harry turned to face him, his expression serious. "Why did you step aside, Lord Black? You've held this family together for decades. Why put your trust in me?"

Arcturus studied him, his piercing gaze unwavering. "Because I see something in you. A conviction that most of this family has lost. Walburga and Pollux think power is about control. Bellatrix thinks it's about domination. But you...you understand that power is a tool. And tools must be used wisely,"

Harry inclined his head. "I won't let you down,"

"See that you don't," Arcturus said, his voice carrying an unspoken warning. "The Blacks are a formidable force, but they are also fragile. If you push too hard, they will shatter,"

Harry stepped out of the dining hall and into one of Blackrock Manor's many adjoining parlors. The air outside the room felt lighter, but the weight of the evening still pressed on his shoulders. He stood near the large bay window, gazing out over the sprawling, moonlit gardens. The encounter with Bellatrix replayed in his mind. Her skepticism hadn't surprised him, but the faint glimmer of curiosity he'd glimpsed had. It wasn't approval - far from it - but it was an opening. One he might exploit.

"Thinking of your next speech already, Lord Potter?" Rose's voice interrupted his thoughts. She stepped into the room, her sharp brown eyes appraising him as she approached.

"Just replaying the evening," Harry admitted, turning to face her. "Bellatrix is going to be a problem. Walburga and Pollux are already sharpening their knives. And as for Orion...I'm not sure he even cares about the outcome, as long as it doesn't affect his precious status quo,"

Rose smirked, crossing her arms. "And yet, you handled yourself well. Arcturus stepping aside in your favor is a victory, even if it's only the first step,"

"First step," Harry echoed, exhaling slowly. "This family feels more like a minefield than a legacy,"

Rose's gaze softened, and she placed a hand on his arm. "You'll navigate it. You've dealt with worse,"

Before Harry could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor. A moment later, Sirius and James burst into the parlor, their expressions a mix of excitement and mischief.

"Harry," Sirius began, leaning casually against the doorframe. "You're missing the best part of Black family dinners,"

"And what's that?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The after-dinner chaos," James chimed in, grinning. "Bellatrix and Walburga are practically tearing each other apart in the drawing room. Something about her defending Andromeda's 'rebellious tendencies',"

Rose tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Andromeda?"

Sirius nodded, his tone softening. "She's always been different. Doesn't quite fit into the Black mold, you know? Bellatrix might be skeptical of you, but she has this strange soft spot for her sisters. Doesn't stop her from arguing with them, though,"

Harry frowned, filing away the information. Bellatrix's loyalty to her family, fractured though it might be, could prove useful...or dangerous. "And what about Narcissa?" he asked. "She barely said a word all evening,"

Sirius shrugged. "She's only twelve. She watches, listens. That's her way,"

"Observant," Rose muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "That makes her dangerous in her own right,"

Sirius grinned, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "See? You two are already learning. Now come on, let's watch the show. If we're lucky, Walburga might implode,"

Harry shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'll pass. I've had enough family drama for one night,"

James laughed, dragging Sirius out of the room. "Suit yourself, Harry. But you're missing out,"

The gardens of Blackrock Manor stretched far beyond the eye could see, a labyrinth of twisting paths and towering hedges. It was interspersed with marble fountains and statues of long-forgotten Black ancestors. The moon hung low in the sky, casting the grounds in a silver glow that softened the edges of the imposing estate. Harry wandered aimlessly, the cool night air biting at his skin, but he welcomed it. It was a reprieve from the heavy atmosphere of the manor.

He paused near a small stone bench beneath an old yew tree, its gnarled branches spreading out like skeletal arms. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine. For a brief moment, Harry allowed himself to close his eyes, the tension from the evening slipping away. The whispers of the Codex and the hum of Feral Magic inside him quieted, though they never truly disappeared. "Not many people willingly linger outside Blackrock Manor at night," a voice called out, light and teasing, breaking the silence.

Harry turned sharply, his hands instinctively clenching at his sides. But his tension eased as he saw Andromeda Black approaching, her figure illuminated by the moonlight. She wore a simple green cloak clasped at her throat with a silver brooch, and her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders. There was a disarming confidence in the way she carried herself, her hands clasped loosely behind her back. "I needed some air," Harry said, gesturing vaguely toward the manor behind him. "It's...stifling in there,"

Andromeda stopped a few paces away, tilting her head as she studied him. "That's one way to describe it. Though I'd say tonight went better than most family gatherings,"

Harry raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Better? I've had calmer duels,"

Her soft laugh caught him off guard, its genuine warmth a stark contrast to the tension he'd felt during dinner. "That's the Black family for you. Arguments and power struggles are as traditional as the family motto. You'll get used to it. Assuming you stick around long enough,"

"That's the plan," Harry replied, his voice steady. He met her gaze directly. "I'm not here to undermine the family. I'm here to rebuild it,"

Andromeda's expression shifted, the amusement fading into something more thoughtful. She regarded him for a long moment, her sharp eyes searching his face. "You've given them a lot to think about. Bellatrix won't admit it, but she's listening. And Narcissa...she's harder to read, but she watches everything. As for the rest..." She shrugged lightly. "They'll take longer,"

"And you?" Harry asked, his tone light but probing. "What do you think?"

Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a guarded expression. She glanced away briefly, as though weighing her words. "I think you're walking a very dangerous line, Lord Potter. But...I'm curious to see where it leads,"

Harry nodded, appreciating her honesty. "If you ever want to talk about that curiosity, my door's open,"

Andromeda smirked, tilting her head. "I'll keep that in mind,"

She turned to leave but paused, looking back at him. "You surprised them tonight, you know. The rest of the family...they didn't expect you to hold your ground. But that's only the first battle. If you want their loyalty, you'll have to do more than talk,"

Harry smiled faintly. "I've never been one for half measures,"

Andromeda's lips twitched, almost forming a full smile. "Good. You'll need that,"

Later that night, Harry returned to his guest room in the east wing of the manor. The room was as grand as the rest of Blackrock Manor, its dark wooden furniture polished to a mirror-like shine. Heavy velvet drapes framed the tall windows, and a roaring fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Harry dropped into the armchair by the fire, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. Exhaustion weighed on him. Not just physical, but mental. The evening had been a trial in diplomacy, and though he had held his ground, he knew it was only the beginning.

He glanced toward his satchel, which sat on the desk across the room. The faint hum of the Codex Infernum was barely audible, but its presence was impossible to ignore. It was as though the book was alive, its whispers clawing at the edges of his mind.

They don't trust you. the Codex hissed, its voice like a shadow sliding through his thoughts. They never will. Show them why they should fear you.

Harry clenched his fists, the leather of the armchair creaking beneath his grip. "Shut up," he muttered under his breath, though the whispers continued, insidious and unrelenting.

You could silence them all. Command them. Bend them to your will.

He stood abruptly, pacing the length of the room as he fought to push the voice away. The whispers grew louder, coiling around his thoughts like smoke. But as the pressure mounted, a new sensation washed over him. A cool, steady presence that seemed to quiet the chaos.

Images flickered in his mind, unbidden. He saw the bald woman again, her expression filled with worry and urgency. She stood in a room bathed in soft light, her hands raised as though reaching out to him. This time, her lips moved, forming words he couldn't hear. Before he could make sense of her presence, another figure appeared. A bald man in a wheelchair. His face was unfamiliar, but his gaze was piercing, as though he could see through Harry's very soul. The man's expression was unreadable - neither hostile nor welcoming - but his presence was powerful.

And then, just as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone, leaving Harry alone in the dimly lit room. The whispers of the Codex had fallen silent, but the encounter left Harry unsettled. He sat back down, leaning his head against the high back of the chair and closing his eyes. Whatever lay ahead, he knew one thing for certain. The forces converging around him were far greater than even the Black family's politics. And he had only just begun to unravel their mysteries.

1:21am - August 31st, 1976 - Bones Family Home, Wales - Earth - Universe Designation: 1.638.2

The sharp scent of ink and parchment filled the study as Amelia Bones rifled through a stack of documents on her cluttered desk. The normally tidy space was now a chaotic spread of crime scene photographs, reports, and maps covered in red markers and hastily scrawled notes. In the flickering lamplight, the images of carnage stood out starkly. Voldemort's lifeless body sprawled across marble, his face twisted in shock. The scattered remains of his most loyal Death Eaters. And the carved torso of Minister Harold Minchum, still faintly visible in the black-and-white photographs.

Amelia's lips pressed into a thin line as she leaned forward, her sharp gaze moving between the photos. Her brother, Edgar Bones, stood behind her, arms crossed, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. Across the room, Alastor Moody paced slowly, his wooden leg tapping against the floor with each step. His magical eye swiveled independently, scanning the room, as though expecting an attack at any moment.

"It's one person," Amelia said, her voice firm and unyielding. She picked up a photograph of Voldemort's corpse, holding it up for the others to see. "No team, no group. Every attack was executed with impossible speed and efficiency,"

Moody stopped pacing, his magical eye snapping to her. "You don't have proof of that," he grumbled, though his tone lacked conviction.

"I have something better," Amelia shot back, dropping the photograph onto the desk and reaching for a rolled-up map. She unfurled it with a sharp snap, revealing a spread of Britain and parts of Western Europe. Red markers dotted the map, each one accompanied by small annotations in Amelia's precise handwriting.

"A trail," she said, tapping the map with her finger. "Whoever is responsible for this isn't just attacking indiscriminately. There's a pattern. Every target has been connected to Voldemort's operations, directly or indirectly,"

Edgar leaned closer, his brow furrowing. "That doesn't rule out a team. It's efficient, yes, but there's nothing to say one person could manage this alone,"

Amelia turned sharply, her brown eyes blazing. "You haven't seen all the reports, Edgar. No witnesses, no magical signatures, no evidence left behind. These attacks weren't just precise. They were surgical. Even the best team would leave something behind. This...this is different,"

Moody grunted, taking the map from her and scrutinizing it closely. "You mentioned a pattern. Care to elaborate?"

Amelia nodded, pulling a folder from the pile and flipping it open. "It started with smaller targets. Outposts where Voldemort's Death Eaters were gathering supplies. Every one of those outposts was destroyed within minutes. Then it escalated. Key Death Eaters eliminated in their homes, their wards breached without a trace. Finally, we have the big ones. Voldemort himself, his inner circle, and the Minister of Magic,"

Moody's magical eye swiveled back to her. "And you think one person could pull all that off?"

"I don't just think it," Amelia said. "I know it,"

"Let's say you're right," Edgar said cautiously. "What kind of magic are we talking about? This goes beyond anything we've seen from even the most skilled duelist,"

Amelia hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of the map. "I don't think this was just magic," she admitted. "There's something...unnatural about these attacks,"

Moody snorted. "Unnatural? You think Voldemort and his lot haven't been dabbling in the unnatural for years? Dark magic leaves marks, Bones. These attacks might not leave traces, but that doesn't mean there's no magic involved,"

"That's where you're wrong," Amelia countered. She reached for another folder, this one filled with reports from the Department of Mysteries. "I've been following rumors. Stories of people with abilities far beyond anything we know. It started with whispers from the Continent, but then I found something more concrete," She spread out a series of documents, each one stamped with the crest of the International Confederation of Wizards. The topmost page was a heavily redacted report detailing experiments conducted in secret during the last Muggle world war.

"These experiments," Amelia said, her voice steady but grim. "They were conducted by both Muggle and magical forces. They were trying to create super-soldiers. Individuals who could surpass the limits of both magic and physical capability,"

Moody's brow furrowed. "Sounds like Muggle nonsense,"

"Maybe," Amelia conceded. "But there's more. Look at this," She handed him a report from the early 1950s. The language was cryptic, but the descriptions were clear. Enhanced reflexes, accelerated healing, and destructive capabilities that went far beyond standard magic.

"They called them 'special individuals'," she explained. "Mutations, they said. But these aren't just stories, Moody. There are records. Disappearing families, isolated incidents of people displaying extraordinary abilities before vanishing completely,"

Edgar leaned over the map, his gaze following Amelia's annotations. "You're saying these 'special individuals' have something to do with this?"

"I think it's possible," Amelia said, her voice gaining momentum. "There's a trail that leads across the Atlantic. After the war, a lot of these experiments were buried. The Muggles called it a 'cover-up'. But I found something...something that didn't get buried deep enough," She tapped the map again, her finger resting on a specific location. Westchester County, New York.

"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," she announced.

Moody raised an eyebrow. "A Muggle school?"

"No," Amelia said firmly. "At least, not entirely. It's disguised as a Muggle institution, but there are magical signatures surrounding the property. Ones we've never seen before. The wards are unlike anything the Ministry recognizes, but they're there,"

Edgar frowned. "And what makes you think this school is connected to the attacks?" Amelia handed him a heavily redacted Ministry document, her finger pointing to a name buried in the text. Professor Charles Xavier.

"This man has been associated with cases of extraordinary individuals for the last decade," she explained. "The reports are vague, but they suggest he's running some kind of haven. A place where these individuals can learn to control their abilities,"

Moody grunted, his expression skeptical. "You think one of his students—or maybe the professor himself—took out Voldemort and the Minister of Magic?"

"I think it's worth investigating," Amelia said. "Whoever did this is unlike anything we've encountered before. If they're connected to Xavier, then he might have the answers we're looking for,"

The room fell silent as Moody and Edgar exchanged glances. Finally, Edgar spoke, his tone cautious but resolute. "If you're right, Amelia, and these people are as powerful as you think, we're not just walking into uncharted territory. We're diving headfirst,"

Amelia nodded. "I know the risks. But this isn't just about finding out who's responsible. It's about understanding what's out there. If someone has the power to destroy Voldemort without leaving a trace, then we need to know whether they're an ally...or a threat,"

Moody's magical eye swiveled to the map again, lingering on the red marker over Westchester County. "If you're going to investigate this, you'd better tread carefully. We don't know what kind of game we're walking into,"

"I'll be careful," Amelia promised. "But I won't stop until we have answers,"

12:55am - September 1st, 1976 - Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Westchester County, New York- Earth - Universe Designation: 1.638.2

The cool hum of Cerebro filled the chamber as Charles Xavier adjusted the helmet, his fingers deftly manipulating the controls on the console. The room was dim, the only light emanating from the machine itself, casting a faint blue glow on the sleek surfaces. Beside him, Hank McCoy, better known as Beast, stood with his arms crossed, watching the process with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"Are you certain this is wise, Charles?" Hank asked, his voice tinged with concern. His blue fur seemed to shimmer in the low light, his keen intellect evident even in the faint arch of his brow. "You've never encountered anyone who actively resisted Cerebro's influence before,"

Charles glanced at him, his expression calm but thoughtful. "Wise? Perhaps not. Necessary? Yes," He adjusted a dial, the hum intensifying. "This presence...whoever or whatever it is, stands out among all others. It's like a beacon, radiating power far beyond anything I've sensed before,"

Hank leaned closer, his tone skeptical. "And yet you've described it as...opaque. Unreadable. What exactly are you hoping to find?"

Charles smiled faintly, his fingers pausing on the controls. "Answers, my friend. Answers and perhaps...understanding," Charles closed his eyes, allowing the power of Cerebro to extend his consciousness outward. The familiar flood of voices and thoughts washed over him as he connected with the minds of mutants across the world. It was overwhelming at first. Millions of whispers, dreams, fears, and hopes cascading through him like a roaring river. But he had long since mastered the art of navigating the torrent, his focus sharp and precise.

He pushed further, his mind seeking the presence that had caught his attention days ago. It was unlike anything he had ever sensed. A force of raw, unyielding magic intertwined with something...alien. It burned brightly in his mental landscape, both familiar and foreign, and he was drawn to it like a moth to flame. Finally, he found it. A mind ablaze with intensity, its thoughts layered like an impenetrable fortress. Charles paused, taking a moment to steady himself before reaching out.

Harry Potter sat cross-legged in his guest room at Blackrock Manor, his head bowed and his eyes closed. The room was silent, save for the faint crackle of the fireplace. He wasn't meditating - he didn't have the patience for that - but he was trying to quiet the voices that had plagued him all evening. The Codex Infernum pulsed faintly from his satchel, its whispers growing more insistent, and the residual hum of Feral Magic coursed through him, a constant reminder of its volatile presence. Then, without warning, he felt it. A presence pressing gently against his mind, foreign but not hostile. Harry's eyes snapped open, his instincts immediately on edge.

In Cerebro, Charles frowned, his mental touch probing carefully at the edges of Harry's mind. The surface was chaotic, like a storm, filled with fragments of pain, determination, and a power that seemed to ripple through every thought. But beneath the chaos was something else. A wall, ancient and unyielding, reinforced by forces that defied comprehension. "Remarkable," Charles murmured, his voice tinged with awe.

"What is it?" Hank asked, stepping closer to the console.

"This mind..." Charles trailed off, his focus deepening. "It's...extraordinary. There's magic here. Real magic, interwoven with something entirely alien. But there's more. Barriers I've never encountered before,"

Inside Harry's mind, the Codex stirred, its voice sharp and venomous. Someone dares to intrude? Pathetic. Let me deal with this, boy. I'll show them what it means to trespass-

"Quiet," Harry hissed aloud, silencing the dark whispers. But as he tried to focus, a surge of raw energy coursed through him. Magic, ancient and primal, rising to meet the intruder. His scar burned faintly, though Voldemort's presence was long gone. This was something else. Something new.

Charles recoiled slightly, his mental touch met with an unexpected force. It was neither violent nor welcoming, merely...defensive. He pushed gently, trying to convey his intentions, his mental voice calm and measured. "I mean no harm. I only wish to understand -" The response was immediate. A burst of energy erupted from Harry's mind, throwing Charles back into Cerebro with such force that Hank rushed to steady him.

"Charles!" Hank's voice was sharp with concern as he gripped the professor's shoulders. "Are you alright?"

Charles nodded slowly, though his face was pale. "I'm fine," he said, his voice faint. "But...I wasn't alone in there,"

"What do you mean?" Hank asked, his tone both curious and wary.

Charles removed the Cerebro helmet, his gaze distant as he processed what had just happened. "This boy's mind...it isn't his alone. There are...entities within it. Layers upon layers of magic, each one older and more powerful than the last. And there's something darker. Something predatory. It's as though his very essence is at war with itself,"

Hank frowned, his claws tapping against the console. "And yet you're considering reaching out to him again, aren't you?"

"I have to," Charles said firmly. "Whoever he is, whatever he is, he's at the center of something far greater than himself. I could sense it. The ripples extending outward, touching not just this world but others. If we can understand him, perhaps we can help him. Perhaps he can help us,"

Hank's skeptical expression softened slightly. "If anyone can reach him, it's you, Charles. But be careful. It sounds like you're dealing with forces far beyond even your experience,"

Charles smiled faintly. "A good challenge, then,"

Back in his room, Harry sat motionless, his mind racing. He had felt the intruder's presence. A calm, almost kind touch that had been quickly overwhelmed by the defenses within him. The Codex had retreated, its whispers silenced for the moment, but the Feral Magic still pulsed faintly, restless and untamed. "Who are you?" Harry muttered, his gaze fixed on the fire. Whoever had tried to reach him wasn't malevolent, but their presence had stirred something within him. Something that had responded instinctively, casting them out.

He rose to his feet, pacing the length of the room. The visions of the bald woman and man resurfaced in his mind, their expressions filled with urgency and purpose. Were they connected to the presence? Or were they something else entirely? Harry shook his head, forcing the thoughts away. He didn't have time for speculation. There were too many forces converging around him, too many enemies waiting in the shadows. Whoever had tried to reach him would have to wait.

Back at Xavier's School, Charles sat alone in his study, the faint light of dawn creeping through the windows. His mind replayed the encounter, each detail etched into his memory. The boy's mind was unlike anything he had ever encountered. An enigma wrapped in power and pain. But there was something else. Beneath the chaos, beneath the layers of defenses, Charles had sensed a flicker of something fragile. Hope. "I'll find you," Charles murmured to himself, his voice resolute. "And when I do, I'll help you understand. Whatever you are, whoever you are. You're not alone,"

Updated: 3/7/2025