- MYSTERIA -

1:41am - September 3rd, 1976 - Batcave, Below Wayne Manor, Gotham City, United States of America - Earth - Universe Designation: 1.638.2

Gotham had always been a city defined by chaos. Shadows ruled its streets, and crime seemed to seep from its very foundations. In the last six months, however, even by Gotham's standards, things had escalated into a storm of violence and betrayal.

Three times. Three. In six months, Joker had managed to escape Arkham Asylum, and each time had been a reminder of why Gotham feared him most. The first escape had been a classic Joker stunt. A trail of painted clown cars, explosive confetti, and bodies left smiling grotesquely in the moonlight. Batman had captured him within two days, but not before Joker had taken over an entire amusement park, rigging it with acid sprayers and his signature laughing gas.

The second breakout had been bloodier. Joker had killed two guards and used their access cards to slip into the Gotham tunnels. His target? Gotham General Hospital. He'd wired the entire basement with explosives, demanding a "show" in exchange for the lives of dozens of patients. Bruce had been forced to race against time, disarming the bombs one by one while Robin worked on evacuations. Joker hadn't escaped unscathed that time. Batman had nearly crushed his windpipe when he found him, but the maniac's laughter still echoed in Bruce's ears.

The third escape, however, was different. Subtle. Quiet. Joker had vanished from his cell without a single sound, leaving behind only a crude drawing of a broken bat scrawled in blood. The city held its breath, and for days, nothing happened. Then the broadcast hit. Joker's face filling every screen in Gotham, his voice like a knife scraping glass. Joker's crime spree had been swift and relentless. A bank robbery turned hostage circus, a city bus coated in acid, and a bomb dropped into the Gotham River, poisoning its southern channels. Batman had stopped him again, but not before Joker's actions left scars on both the city and its protector.

Amidst the Joker's reign of madness, a shift had occurred. One Bruce hadn't anticipated. Harleen Quinzel, the Joker's young and reckless accomplice - known to the masses as Harley Quinn - finally broke up with her 'Puddin'. Harley had always been chaotic, a wild card with a loyalty only Joker could exploit. But something had snapped after his second escape. Batman suspected the constant abuse had worn her thin, or perhaps she'd finally seen what Joker really was. Whatever the reason, Harley left him, quite literally, with a bang. She'd rigged his hideout with fireworks and set them off while he was asleep, blasting herself free from his control.

What happened next surprised even Bruce. Rather than vanish, Harley sought out someone new. Someone who'd been circling Gotham's underground for months. Poison Ivy, seventeen and already notorious for her eco-terrorism streak, took Harley under her wing. Rumor spread quickly through the criminal networks of Gotham. Harley and Ivy were inseparable. Some said Ivy was using Harley as muscle for her botanical crusades, but others whispered that the two were closer. Partners in crime and in heart.

Batman had observed their alliance carefully. Though Harley had pulled back from outright destruction, her antics alongside Ivy were growing bolder. They sabotaged chemical plants, looted pharmaceutical companies, and uprooted entire streets with giant vines. Gotham's underworld buzzed with gossip about the 'Queens of Gotham'. Still, Bruce couldn't help but feel a sliver of relief. Without Joker's manipulation, Harley Quinn was still dangerous, but at least she was no longer Gotham's deadliest pawn.

Harleen Quinzel wasn't the only one being discussed in the shadows of Gotham's underbelly. At sixteen, Selina Kyle had shed her life as an unnoticed orphan and turned herself into something more. Catwoman. Agile, cunning, and always ten steps ahead, Selina had begun leaving her mark on Gotham's wealthiest circles. It started with a series of audacious robberies. Jewelry stores, art galleries, and high-profile parties. Selina left calling cards at every scene. Crude sketches of a cat's head and the teasing catchphrase 'Catch me if you can'. The media adored her, dubbing her Gotham's Cat Burglar, and the GCPD was humiliated by her ability to evade capture.

Her heists weren't just petty thefts. They were performances. Selina always left a path of clues behind, daring anyone to try and stop her. Batman had intercepted her twice already. The first time, she had escaped through sheer speed, diving off a rooftop with a flick of her whip. The second time, they'd exchanged words. A moment of tension in the moonlight. Bruce couldn't deny her skill. Selina was smart, fast, and resourceful. The problem was her morality. A gray line that constantly blurred. She was no Joker, no Riddler, but she was unpredictable. He suspected she was testing her limits. Seeing how far she could go before Gotham's vigilante finally caught her.

But Gotham's rising tide of crime hadn't gone unnoticed by everyone. While Selina Kyle prowled the rooftops and Harley Quinn made mischief with Poison Ivy, a third young woman decided to step into the chaos and fight back. Barbara Gordon.

Barbara, the sixteen-year-old daughter of GCPD Officer James Gordon, had watched Gotham spiral into deeper turmoil. Between the Joker's escapes, Ivy and Harley's botanical destruction, and Selina Kyle's thefts, the police were constantly playing catch-up. Her father, an officer of the law, worked tirelessly to keep the city from falling apart, but Barbara saw the cracks forming in the system.

Unlike most, Barbara was brilliant, resourceful, and stubborn. She'd been raised on tales of justice and integrity, and while her father fought crime by day, she decided to take up the mantle at night. Donning a suit of her own design - a lightweight, armored costume in black and gold - she took to the streets as Batgirl. Her debut was small, thwarting a simple mugging in Old Gotham. But word spread fast. Witnesses described her as a 'shadow in the night' and 'Batman's kid sister'. The next night, she stopped an armed robbery. The week after, she uncovered two of Selina Kyle's hideouts, leaving the stolen goods for the police.

When Batman first encountered her, it was on a rooftop overlooking Gotham Square. She had just disabled a gang of thugs with stunning precision, her movements sharp and practiced. Bruce had been torn. On one hand, she was untrained, far too young to face Gotham's true monsters. On the other, her intelligence and sheer determination were undeniable. Over time, he found himself keeping a watchful eye on her, impressed by her progress.

Batgirl and Catwoman had already clashed twice. Their rooftop skirmishes were legendary. Selina's agility versus Barbara's drive. Neither won outright, but both walked away knowing the other was a worthy rival.

In the heart of all this chaos, Batman's world was far from quiet. As he stood before the Batcomputer in the sprawling cavern of the Batcave, Bruce couldn't help but notice the storm that Gotham had become. Joker's madness, Harley's newfound independence, Selina's unpredictable rise, and Barbara's vigilant rebellion were threads of the same chaotic tapestry. But now, something even worse seemed to loom on the horizon.

The Batcave was alive with quiet intensity. The faint dripping of water from the ceiling echoed off the stone walls, a stark contrast to the clicking of keys on the Batcomputer. Bruce Wayne stood at the center, tall and imposing in his dark suit. His sharp gaze was fixed on the flickering screens, where lines of data streamed across the computer's interface. Temperature readings, magical energy spikes, and seismic activity plotted on an expansive holographic map of Europe. Bright crimson dots clustered over the UK, blinking ominously against the dark map. A static-filled satellite image centered on the ruins of an old manor.

Standing nearby was Alfred Pennyworth, a tray of tea balanced perfectly in his hands. The ever-loyal butler and confidant watched the glowing data with a critical eye, though his face betrayed little more than concern. Perched against the edge of the console was Dick Grayson, better known as Robin. The youngest member of the team was clad in his sleek green and red uniform, his black domino mask firmly in place. His arms were crossed over his chest as he frowned at the readings on the screen. "Looks like someone's setting off fireworks over there. What are we even looking at here?"

Bruce didn't answer immediately, his gloved hands tapping a series of keys. With a swipe, he enlarged several key energy graphs, isolating readings from August onward. The graphs spiked violently at various locations across the map, their waves jagged and unnatural. Bright markers indicated 'epicenters' of activity. Old ruins, manors, and secluded estates that lay in smoldering decay. Bruce finally spoke, his voice deep. "These energy spikes began appearing about a month ago. They started in remote parts of Scotland and spread outward into areas across the UK and mainland Europe. The epicenters all share one common link. Each location is tied to Voldemort and his followers,"

Dick straightened up, his brows furrowing under his mask. "Death Eaters? The ones that were wiped out in a single day? It broke the news in the magical world,"

Bruce didn't look away from the screens. He brought up another screen, this time showing close-up satellite imagery of one of the manors. A vast ruin, half-buried in ivy and decay. The ground around it was scorched black, deep fissures spider-webbing outward. "These aren't just traces of old magic. It's...not natural,"

Alfred's usual composed demeanor gave way to a slight frown as he placed the tea tray down on a nearby table. "Forgive me, sir, but I fail to see why such occurrences require the Dark Knight's intervention. Isn't this a matter best left to wizards and their Ministry of Magic?"

Bruce's jaw tightened as he turned to face them. "The Ministry of Magic isn't equipped to handle this,"

"And you are?" Dick interjected, skepticism lacing his words. "I mean, you're Batman, but this isn't exactly in our playbook,"

Bruce's icy glare silenced him momentarily. "Look closer," He enlarged another data file, this time showing raw energy readings. Pulsing waves, erratic and unstable, lit up the screen in a sickly green light. "This isn't just magic. There's something else here. Something...alien,"

The word hung in the air for a beat, sharp and final. Alfred's brow furrowed deeply. "Alien?" he repeated. "You're suggesting that an alien did this?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting," Bruce said. His voice remained steady, though his gaze darkened with grim resolve. "We've all seen what Superman is capable of when he is angry," The silence from Alfred and Dick spoke volumes. Unfortunately, Bruce had already confirmed with Clark that Superman was not involved, meaning whatever was behind these energy spikes would remain a mystery.

Dick stepped closer to the screen, squinting at the highlighted map. "And you're saying these spikes started last month? What's been happening since then?"

Bruce tapped another key, pulling up corresponding satellite footage and archived reports. "Destruction," he said flatly. "Manors, outposts, and safe houses once owned by Voldemort's Death Eaters have been obliterated. Not by conventional means, and not by wizards. These locations were purged," The screen displayed crumbling ruins and scorched earth. Fissures ran like claw marks across the ground, and debris lay scattered as though thrown by a force beyond comprehension. The aftermath looked more like a battlefield than anything else.

"Whoever's behind this -" Bruce continued. "- isn't leaving survivors. There are no magical signatures, no traceable spells, and no witnesses. The only evidence is the energy readings. Raw, unstable, and powerful,"

Dick's voice dropped, his earlier bravado fading into unease. "What kind of power are we talking about here?"

Bruce turned sharply toward him. "Enough to threaten the fabric of reality,"

The Batcave fell into silence, the weight of his words pressing down on the three of them. Alfred was the first to break it, his voice steady. "Do you believe this is a threat, sir?"

Bruce didn't hesitate. "Yes," He tapped another series of keys, pulling up detailed timelines and energy trajectories. The markers on the screen flashed brighter as patterns emerged. "These anomalies are growing more frequent. If this continues, we could see larger dimensional ruptures. Or worse,"

Dick frowned. "Worse than what, exactly?"

Bruce's hands stilled, his gaze hard as stone. "Cross-world incursions. Whoever, or whatever, is behind this could tear open a pathway to other universes,"

Dick ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "So...worst-case scenario? We've got invaders from another dimension knocking on our door?"

"Exactly," Bruce confirmed. "And if we're not ready, we won't be able to stop them,"

Alfred, ever the voice of reason, stepped forward. "If these readings are as dangerous as you suspect, sir, might it not be wise to seek help from others?"

Bruce nodded. "I'm already ahead of you." With another key tap, a data packet began uploading. The screen displayed encrypted transmission logs with red-caped insignias and golden lasso emblems. "I'm sending everything we know to Superman and Wonder Woman," Bruce said. "They need to be aware of the situation. If this escalates, we'll need all hands on deck,"

Dick's expression lightened slightly. "So, we're calling in the cavalry?"

"If necessary," Bruce replied, though his voice lacked reassurance. He turned back to the screen, his focus unwavering as he studied the swirling anomalies. "But for now, we need to gather more intel," The computer beeped softly as the energy markers shifted again. Bruce zoomed in on one of the most recent locations. A cluster of ruins in northern Scotland. The energy readings spiked violently before fading into nothing, like a storm passing through and vanishing without a trace.

A long silence stretched between them. Dick finally pushed himself away from the console, pacing toward the edge of the platform where the Batmobile sat waiting. "So what's the plan? Fly across the pond and go looking for alien bogeymen?"

"Not yet," Bruce replied. "First, I'll run deeper scans on the anomalies. We need more precise coordinates and intelligence before making a move,"

"And when we do?" Dick pressed.

Bruce's expression darkened, his voice as cold and resolute as steel. "We prepare for war,"

"Sir," Alfred said softly, breaking the silence. "Shall I prepare for your departure should it become necessary?"

Bruce's gaze didn't waver. "Do it,"

As Alfred disappeared to make the preparations, Dick joined Bruce again, his tone lighter in an attempt to deflect the tension. "I hope Clark's got a good plan for this one,"

Bruce didn't answer, his focus narrowing on the screen. Something unnatural, something deliberate was happing in Britain. Bruce Wayne didn't believe in coincidences. Whatever this was - whoever was responsible - they had left a trail. And the World's Greatest Detective intended to follow it.

9:44pm - September 2nd, 1976 - Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry- Earth - Universe Designation: 1.638.2

The air in Dumbledore's office hummed with quiet tension. The books lining the walls, the softly ticking instruments on the shelves, and Fawkes perched serenely on his golden stand all offered a sense of safety to those inside the Headmasters office. One that Harry found increasingly fragile. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, hands folded together, his expression expectant and calm. The Heads of Houses were arranged in their respective chairs. McGonagall with her spine straight and her gaze sharp, Flitwick leaning forward eagerly, Sprout's expression warm, and Slughorn lounging with his typical, genial curiosity.

Harry stood in the center of the room while Rose sat slightly off to the side, quiet and watchful. The Codex sat in Harry's satchel, strapped tightly against his hip. Its presence was oppressive, a faint hum of malevolence swirling through his mind. Speak. The Codex whispered sharply, coiling in his thoughts. Let them know how weak they are. They do not understand. They cannot prepare.

Harry shook off the voice, focusing on the matter at hand. "Thank you for gathering," he began, his tone calm. "There are changes I would like to propose to the Hogwarts curriculum. Changes that will better prepare the students for what lies ahead,"

McGonagall arched an eyebrow, her lips thinning. "Go on, Potter,"

Harry nodded. "I'm proposing the creation of two electives for third-year students and above. These electives will supplement the current Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum and help bridge the gap between theory and practical survival,"

"Survival?" Slughorn repeated. "Surely the curriculum already prepares them well enough for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s,"

"Their exams won't save them in a real fight," Harry said bluntly, ignoring the Codex's pleased hiss. "We cannot rely on a system designed to test knowledge but not application. What good is a perfectly executed Expelliarmus if you freeze under pressure? What use is theory if you can't react when it matters most?"

Flitwick's eyes gleamed with interest. "And what exactly are these electives, Harry?"

Harry drew a breath, choosing his words carefully. "The first elective would be Defense Against the Common Arts. While we focus primarily on magical threats - Dark creatures, hexes, curses - we ignore non-magical dangers entirely. This course will train students to recognize, respond to, and survive those threats. They'll learn basic hand-to-hand combat, situational awareness, ambush tactics, and how to think quickly in the absence of a wand,"

"Hand-to-hand combat?" Horace Slughorn repeated, his expression somewhere between bemusement and skepticism. "Surely you're not suggesting our students...brawl like Muggles?"

Harry's gaze sharpened slightly, though his tone remained calm. "Non-magical threats can be just as dangerous, Professor Slughorn. Magic doesn't solve everything. If a wizard loses their wand or is ambushed, knowing how to think quickly or defend themselves without magic could save their lives,"

Magic always wins. The Codex whispered with disdain. It flows through your veins. Stop pandering to their weakness. Teach them your strength.

Harry ignored it, his gaze meeting Slughorn's until the older man muttered a reluctant, "I suppose there's logic to that,"

Filius Flitwick's eyes gleamed with interest. "It's a fascinating idea! Adaptability is key in any duel, after all,"

Harry nodded. "Exactly. Wizards who rely only on their wands are limiting themselves unnecessarily. This course will broaden their skillset and prepare them for anything,"

Pomona Sprout smiled warmly. "It's unconventional, but I can see the value in it. Especially with how unpredictable the world has become,"

Harry shifted slightly, moving to his second proposal. "The second elective would be a Duelling Club. While Hogwarts has had versions of this in the past, I want it to be formalized and structured. The club would focus on duelling theory and technique. Testing students' spellwork, agility, and strategic thinking. It would give them a space to practice combat spells in a controlled environment, learn from their mistakes, and sharpen their instincts,"

McGonagall's eyes lit up with approval. "That's something our students desperately need. Far too many rely on flashy wandwork and forget that duelling is an art,"

"Exactly," Harry agreed. "I'll personally oversee the club's sessions. Students will spar, learn advanced counter-curses, and study tactical movement. I believe it should prepare them not just for duels, but for real-life combat scenarios,"

Horace Slughorn rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "An admirable proposal. I do have some rather gifted Slytherins who could benefit from such refinement,"

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. "And do you envision these electives being optional, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Both courses would be open to students from third year and above. Defense Against the Common Arts will appeal to students interested in self-preservation and practical skills, while the Duelling Club will cater to those who want to push their magical abilities further,"

"Both proposals have merit," Pomona Sprout said, her tone thoughtful. "The world isn't what it used to be. Our students need to be prepared for the unexpected,"

Flitwick clapped his small hands together. "I agree! Both will instill discipline and practical skills. It's high time we had something like this,"

The room fell silent for a beat as the Heads of Houses considered the proposals. McGonagall spoke first. "I approve. These electives fill a glaring gap in our curriculum, and I imagine they'll be popular among students,"

Slughorn finally relented, his mustache twitching. "Well, I can't say no to fostering talent, can I? Very well, Potter. You have my approval,"

Dumbledore's gaze turned back to Harry. "It seems unanimous, Harry. You may proceed. I trust you'll handle the details of organizing these electives,"

"I will," Harry assured him. "Thank you,"

The room felt lighter now, but Harry's shoulders didn't relax. As the Heads of Houses rose to leave, Harry spoke again, his voice quieter. "Headmaster, Professor McGonagall. If I could have a word with you and Rose. Privately," McGonagall frowned slightly, but she and Dumbledore exchanged a glance before nodding. Flitwick, Sprout, and Slughorn exited the room, their murmurs fading as the door clicked shut. Harry's demeanor shifted the moment they were alone. He straightened slightly, his expression darker. More serious.

"What troubles you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked softly.

Harry met his gaze. "I saw him. Tracker,"

The name sent a chill through the room. Rose stiffened visibly, her face paling. "You're sure?" she whispered.

Harry turned to the window, his voice low. "He was outside the wards. I saw him clear as day. Cloak. The hound at his side. Snuffles. Watching me,"

"That's impossible," Rose said. "The torching wiped them out, Harry. We saw it,"

"We thought we did," Harry replied, clenching his jaw. "But Tracker's here. Which means the Domus Mortis survived,"

McGonagall glanced between them, her brow furrowed deeply. "You need to explain what this Tracker is,"

Rose turned toward her, her voice strained with anxiety. "Tracker was one of the Gladiators of the Domus Mortis. A hunter. He never failed to track down his targets. Once he had your scent, he would find you. No matter where in the Multiverse you hid,"

"And the hound?" McGonagall asked quietly.

"Snuffles," Harry said, his tone dark. "Part shadow, part beast. Tracker's partner in every hunt. It's more creature than dog. An extension of him. A predator that doesn't tire,"

McGonagall's lips thinned, the gravity of their words were beginning to sink in.

"This changes everything," Rose said. "If Tracker's here, then others could be as well. Harry's right. If part of the Domus Mortis survived, they'll be looking for us. They'll stop at nothing,"

"We should leave," Harry added, his voice sharper now. "We're putting everyone here in danger,"

"Running will solve nothing," Dumbledore said softly, though his tone carried authority. "It will only delay what must come. If the Domus Mortis has survived, you will not outrun them forever. But here, Harry, you are not alone. You have allies. Together, we can prepare,"

Prepare? The Codex purred, its voice dripping with disdain. You seek to prepare these sheep? They will not survive. You know what awaits them. You saw the torching. They are weak. Powerless.

Harry's hand curled into a fist. "You don't understand, sir. If Tracker is here, he's not alone. And if it's not a Gladiator, it could be worse. A Council Member. A Master. If that happens, this world won't stand a chance,"

Dumbledore's gaze softened, though his eyes gleamed with an unshakable resolve. "Then we will stand together, Harry. We will face them. Do not underestimate the strength of those who call this world home,"

Rose looked torn, her hazel eyes darting to Harry. "What if he's right, Harry? What if we can win this time?"

"We barely won before," Harry muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not without paying the price,"

The Codex stirred again, its voice insidious and relentless. Flee. Let them burn. This world is not your burden. Save yourself. Power bends to you alone. Harry forced the voice away, though it lingered like smoke in his mind. He straightened, his jaw set with determination. "I'll stay. But I won't sit back and hope for the best. I need to find others. People with power. Allies who can stand with us if it comes to that,"

"Wise," Dumbledore murmured. "You may find help where you least expect it,"

Harry thought of the visions. The bald woman with the worried expression and the man in the wheelchair whose gaze pierced through him. Were they real? Were they watching him? He couldn't wait for them to return. He needed to be proactive. "If they come -" Harry said softly. "- we'll need all the help we can get,"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "And you shall have it, Harry,"

As Harry and Rose left the office, the oppressive weight of their conversation hung over them like a shroud. Harry's steps were heavy, his mind racing with possibilities. Tracker is here. The Domus Mortis survived. He turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, where the sun was setting behind the mountains. The war with Voldemort had been a shadow compared to what he feared would come. For the first time in a long while, Harry felt truly afraid. Not for himself, but for those who had no idea what awaited them.

The Codex whispered again, soft as silk. They will not survive. You know this. You know what is coming.

Harry ignored it, though it took more effort than he cared to admit. His grip on the strap of his satchel tightened. The weight of the Codex was a constant reminder of power. Of danger. Of a past he could never truly escape. The First Wizarding War was over. But another was already on the horizon. And Harry knew, deep in his bones, that this was just the beginning of something truly horrifying.

8:41pm - September 3rd, 1976 - Gringotts Bank, London - Earth - Universe Designation: 1.638.2

The cavernous marble halls of Gringotts were alive with the muffled hum of coin counters, the scrape of parchment, and the occasional creak of ancient wooden carts echoing through the stone. Goblin clerks moved across the floor, their eyes surveying everyone who entered. Unlike most patrons, Harry Potter did not approach the counters. He strode straight toward the grand doors at the far end, flanked by goblin guards whose gleaming spears reflected the torchlight.

Rose walked in step with him, her movements sharp and purposeful. The weight of the Codex Infernum in Harry's satchel pulled on his shoulder like an anchor. Its whispers scraped against the edges of his mind, slithering in and out of his thoughts.

You seek allies? Weak mortals who will only disappoint you? the Codex hissed. Power bends to you alone, Harry Potter. Stop pretending otherwise.

Harry tightened his grip on the strap of his satchel, refusing to answer the cursed book. "Harry," Rose murmured, her hazel eyes flicking toward him. "You're tensing up again,"

"I know," he muttered. "It's the Codex,"

"Put it away for now," Rose said. "We need clear heads for this,"

Harry didn't respond, but he did his best to tune out the sinister muttering as the two were ushered into a private meeting chamber deep beneath the bank. The room was lit by low, golden lanterns that threw shadows across the long oak table at its center. Sitting at the head of the table was Ragnok. His sharp, weathered features were unreadable, but his shrewd gaze flicked immediately to Harry's satchel. Torvik sat beside him, twirling a dagger between his fingers like a casual game.

"Harry," Torvik greeted with a wry smirk, his sharp teeth gleaming in the low light. "Back again to seek the impossible, I take it?"

"You know me well," Harry replied dryly, settling into one of the carved chairs. Rose perched beside him, her silence steadfast.

Ragnok leaned closer. "Speak plainly, Lord Potter. What do you need?"

Harry exhaled, unbuckling the satchel at his side and placing it carefully on the table. He didn't remove the Codex, but its oppressive weight seemed to thrum against the wood, the air around it subtly darkening. The goblins exchanged glances, their disdain for its presence palpable.

"First," Harry began, "I need you to track down two individuals. I don't know them personally, but I've seen them in visions,"

"Visions?" Ragnok repeated, his gaze narrowing.

"Yes," Harry continued. "I believe they hold power that could help us face what's coming." He leaned forward. "The first is a man called Charles Xavier. The second is known as The Ancient One,"

Ragnok's face remained impassive, but Torvik let out a low whistle. "The Ancient One? That is no simple name, Potter. The tales of that being stretch back centuries, into the deepest corners of magical history. And Xavier...well, that's a Muggle name, isn't it?"

"I suspect Xavier isn't entirely ordinary," Harry replied carefully. "I saw him surrounded by others. Individuals with power. I need their locations,"

Ragnok exchanged a look with Torvik before nodding slowly. "I will dispatch agents to dig into these names. If they are connected to magic, or anything beyond, Gringotts will find them,"

Torvik turned to Harry with a knowing look. "It won't come cheap, though. Even for you, Lord Potter,"

Harry smirked faintly. "I think my vaults can cover it,"

Ragnok's sharp teeth glimmered as he produced a small, polished gold card, its surface emblazoned with the Gringotts crest and intricate runes. "On the subject of your vaults, we have been testing the new financial system for esteemed clients. This is the first Gringotts Gold Card." He slid it across the table. Harry recognized it as the card he had been discussing with them before. "It functions as a direct conduit to your vaults, allowing you to make purchases without physical coin. A more...modern convenience,"

Harry picked up the card, its edges cool and perfectly smooth. "How many shops will accept this?"

"We have outfitted merchants in Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley with the appropriate charms. Your card will work there," Ragnok said. "Consider it another advantage of your station,"

"Appreciated," Harry replied, tucking the card carefully into his robes.

Ragnok's face grew darker then, his gaze falling on the satchel. "That grimoire of yours..."

"The Codex Infernum," Torvik muttered, his voice low with distaste. "Dark magic rolls off it like filth. You carry it with you?"

"It's mine to bear," Harry said evenly.

"Destroy it," Ragnok snapped, his eyes glittering. "That kind of magic corrodes everything it touches. The longer you keep it, the more it will twist you,"

Harry shook his head. "I can't destroy it. Not yet. It's dangerous, yes, but it's also a weapon. One I may need,"

Ragnok exchanged a glance with Torvik, who sighed heavily. "Then tread carefully, Harry Potter. Magic like that doesn't take kindly to being wielded. If you let your guard slip for even a moment, it will devour you,"

The Codex seemed to stir, its whispers rising like a sinister tide. They fear me. As they should.

Harry closed his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly to silence it. "I'm aware of the risks. But I don't have the luxury of being cautious anymore,"

Ragnok's gaze lingered on him for a long moment before he relented. "Very well. But do not say we didn't warn you,"

The sky was ablaze. Streams of solar fire swirled and danced in furious arcs as Harry hovered next to the sun, his silhouette a dark speck against the churning brilliance of the star. The sun's energy surged around him, its heat washing through his skin, feeding him. The Codex, however, remained unyielding, its whispers amplified by the quiet of space.

You are not ready for what's coming. You are weak. You seek allies, but none will be enough.

Harry's eyes glowed faintly, molten gold reflecting the fiery chaos below. "Shut up," he muttered, the sound lost in the vacuum.

They will betray you in the end, Harry Potter. All of them. Your power is yours. No one else will stand when the Domus Mortis arrives.

His pulse quickened. The image of Tracker's shadow lingered in his mind, its black hound snarling in the distant void. He could almost hear its guttural growl. Feel the chill of the Domus Mortis creeping back into his reality. Fear clawed at him. A rare, unwelcome sensation. Fear for this world. For the people who had no concept of what awaited them.

"No," Harry whispered again, anger pooling like molten iron in his chest. "I won't let them win."

The Codex laughed softly, its voice like fractured glass. You think you can stop them? You think you can protect this world with their help? They are nothing to the Domus Mortis.

The whispers echoed, feeding his frustration. His fists clenched at his sides, his magic humming beneath his skin. His breathing grew ragged as power rippled through him, a storm barely restrained.

You know you are the only one who can end this. Who can end her.

"ENOUGH!" Harry roared.

His eyes snapped open, twin beams of green heat vision bursting forth, cutting through the black void and into the raging surface of the sun. The beams carved massive arcs of white-hot energy, slicing through the molten surface like knives through flesh. The solar winds roared in response, flaring outward in blinding waves. Harry hovered there, his chest heaving, the power flowing through him like fire and ice. Slowly, the heat vision flickered and died. The sun's surface churned where his beams had struck, but its fury remained eternally indifferent.

Harry let his head hang forward, his heart pounding in his ears. The Codex fell silent. For now.

"I'll find them," Harry whispered to himself, his voice raw. "Xavier. The Ancient One. Anyone else who stands a chance. I'll find them,"

He exhaled slowly, his body steadying as the sun's energy wrapped around him, calming his magic. Soothing his frayed nerves. There was no more time for hesitation or second-guessing. Whatever remained of the Domus Mortis would come, and when they did, they would find him ready. At least he hoped.

Updated: 3/8/2025