The distant sound of helicopter rotors grew steadily louder as a fleet of black aircraft approached Stark Tower, their sleek forms cutting through the smoke-filled Manhattan sky like mechanical ravens. Harry Potter—six feet two inches of devastatingly handsome British perfection wrapped in cosmic-powered armor that made his broad shoulders look even more impressive—immediately catalogued the approaching presences with his Soul Stone perception. Dozens of minds radiated various combinations of duty, curiosity, fear, and in several cases, something far more troubling.
His emerald eyes, now enhanced with veins of orange Soul Stone energy that made them absolutely hypnotic, narrowed with the kind of predatory focus that made grown men reconsider their life choices and strong women weak in the knees.
"SHIELD," Steve Rogers announced with military recognition, his enhanced hearing identifying the aircraft signatures long before they became visible to normal senses. The man was built like a classical statue come to life—all noble bearing and tactical precision wrapped in enough patriotic authority to make democracy itself salute.
*How delightfully predictable,* Daphne observed through their mental link, her aristocratic voice carrying that particular combination of upper-class disdain and lethal amusement that could cut glass at fifty paces. Her Space Stone attunement showed her the precise trajectory and composition of the approaching force with mathematical precision. *Government agents arriving after the actual danger has passed to assert authority over things they couldn't possibly understand even if we drew them helpful diagrams.*
Even through the armor, Harry could sense the way she moved with predatory grace—all platinum blonde elegance and hidden steel, looking like she'd stepped off the cover of Vogue even in the middle of a cosmic crisis. The woman was criminally beautiful in that aristocratic ice queen way that made lesser mortals stumble over their own feet.
*Classic bureaucratic timing,* Hermione added with scholarly disdain, her brilliant mind already beginning to probe the mental signatures of the incoming personnel through her Mind Stone consciousness. What she found made her mental voice sharpen with concern. *Harry, we have a problem. Several of these agents have... distinctly questionable loyalties.*
Her wild chocolate curls were somehow managing to look perfectly tousled rather than merely messy despite the recent battle, framing features that belonged in Renaissance paintings. Even enhanced by cosmic power, she maintained that particular combination of bookish intelligence and hidden fire that had first caught Harry's attention back at Hogwarts.
*Define 'questionable,'* Harry thought back with the tone of someone who had learned to expect the worst from government organizations, his Soul Stone perception already reaching out to confirm her assessment.
The lead helicopter touched down on the partially repaired landing platform with military precision, its rotors gradually spinning down as tactical teams began deploying with practiced efficiency. From the primary aircraft emerged a woman with short dark hair and the kind of commanding presence that suggested she'd earned her authority through competence rather than politics—Deputy Director Maria Hill, looking like she could run a small country before breakfast and still have time for coffee.
"Deputy Director Maria Hill," Tony announced through their mental link, his HUD providing immediate identification and personnel files with typical Stark efficiency. "Fury's right hand. Professional, competent, occasionally terrifying. One of the good ones, as far as government spooks go. Also, according to my facial recognition software, she could probably kill most of us with a paperclip if properly motivated."
*Speak for yourself, Tin Man,* Tonks shot back with characteristic irreverence, her violet hair shifting to a deeper purple that somehow managed to look both adorable and vaguely threatening. Even in cosmic armor, she maintained that punk rock pixie aesthetic that made her look like trouble wrapped in a leather jacket. *Some of us have universe-altering artifacts. Bit hard to kill someone who can literally rewrite the laws of physics.*
*Don't tempt fate, love,* Susan said with warm amusement, her gentle voice carrying undertones of absolute confidence in her Reality Stone abilities. The redhead moved with quiet grace, her strawberry blonde hair catching the light and her freckled features arranged in an expression of deceptive innocence that hid depths of cosmic power.
Hill approached with confident strides, her dark eyes taking in the cosmic-powered individuals with the kind of professional assessment that missed nothing. Behind her, a collection of agents in tactical gear spread out in what was clearly a standard containment formation, though their body language suggested they understood exactly how catastrophically outclassed they were.
"Avengers," Hill said with crisp professionalism, her voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to managing superhuman individuals and cosmic-level threats, "Director Fury sends his compliments on your successful defense of the city. SHIELD is here to assist with cleanup and secure any recovered alien technology."
Her eyes lingered for a moment longer than strictly professional on Harry, clearly recognizing that the devastatingly handsome man in draconic armor was probably the group's leader. It was hard to miss, really—he radiated the kind of natural authority that made people want to either follow him into battle or drag him off to a quiet corner for entirely different activities.
*And there's our first problem,* Hermione announced through the mental link, her Mind Stone consciousness focused on a pale man with thinning hair who stood slightly behind Hill. *Agent Jasper Sitwell. His surface thoughts are appropriately professional, but underneath... Harry, this man serves interests that are decidedly opposed to planetary wellbeing.*
The man in question looked like middle management given a badge and a gun—unremarkable features, thinning hair, the kind of face that disappeared in crowds. But Harry's Soul Stone perception immediately revealed the twisted loyalties lurking beneath that bland exterior like spiritual rot.
*Hydra?* Natasha asked with deadly interest, her green eyes sharpening as they focused on the unremarkable-looking agent. The redhead moved like liquid shadow even while standing still, every gesture controlled and precise in ways that suggested extensive training in very unpleasant skills.
*Oh yes,* Hermione confirmed with scholarly certainty, her brilliant mind cataloging the patterns of corruption with academic precision. *And he's not alone. There's another one—Brock Rumlow, the one with the scarred face and the tactical vest. His mental shields are better than Sitwell's, but the underlying corruption is unmistakable.*
Rumlow looked exactly like what he was—a professional killer with the kind of scarred features and cold eyes that suggested he'd seen too much violence and enjoyed far more of it than was healthy. The kind of man who could smile while breaking your fingers.
Harry's Soul Stone perception immediately confirmed Hermione's assessment, revealing the twisted loyalties and hidden allegiances that marked both agents as enemy infiltrators. Their souls carried the spiritual equivalent of malignant tumors—darkness that spoke of betrayal, torture, and genocidal ideology masquerading as patriotic duty.
*Fascinating,* he mused with the tone of someone examining particularly unpleasant insects, his devastatingly handsome features arranging themselves into an expression of aristocratic disdain that would have made his pureblood ancestors proud. *Two Hydra agents in a single SHIELD response team. Either we're incredibly unlucky, or the infiltration is even worse than I initially suspected.*
*Based on the corruption patterns I'm reading from the broader organization,* Hermione added grimly, *I'd say it's the latter. This isn't isolated infiltration—this is systemic compromise. Like a cancer that's metastasized throughout the entire structure.*
*Well, that's bloody brilliant,* Tonks observed with characteristic dark humor. *We save the world from alien invasion only to discover the good guys are riddled with space Nazis. I'd say this day couldn't get any weirder, but I've learned not to tempt fate.*
*The universe does seem to have a sense of irony,* Luna added dreamily, her silvery eyes showing glimpses of potential futures that danced like butterflies through her Time Stone enhanced consciousness. *Though the cosmic poetry of it all is rather beautiful, in a tragic sort of way.*
Agent Sitwell stepped forward with the kind of oily professionalism that immediately set Harry's teeth on edge, his unremarkable features arranged in an expression of bureaucratic authority that fooled absolutely no one with functioning survival instincts.
"Agent Sitwell, SHIELD Strategic Operations," he announced, producing official credentials with practiced efficiency while his pale eyes lingered hungrily on the cosmic artifacts. "We're here to secure the recovered Asgardian artifacts—specifically the Tesseract and the scepter recovered from the alien commander."
His voice carried that particular combination of false deference and barely concealed arrogance that Harry had learned to associate with corrupt officials who believed their positions made them untouchable. Through the Soul Stone's perfect clarity, Harry could read the man's true motivations like an open book—greed for cosmic power, loyalty to hidden masters, and barely concealed contempt for the heroes who had saved his world.
*Oh, this is rich,* Tonks observed with bloodthirsty amusement, her violet hair brightening as she struggled not to openly laugh at the agent's transparent duplicity. *He actually thinks he can just walk up and demand universe-altering artifacts from cosmic entities. The absolute brass on this tosser.*
Harry's lips curved into that devastating half-smile that had been getting him out of trouble—and into entirely different kinds of trouble—since his Hogwarts days. The expression somehow managed to be both devastatingly charming and vaguely threatening, especially when enhanced by cosmic power and aristocratic British breeding.
"I'm sorry," Harry said with that particular combination of upper-class politeness and lethal dismissal that had been perfected over centuries of imperial arrogance, "did you just demand that we hand over universe-altering artifacts to someone whose loyalties are more questionable than a politician's campaign promises?"
His voice carried that distinctive upper-class British accent that could make a grocery list sound like poetry and insults sound like compliments, each word precisely enunciated with the kind of casual authority that suggested he was accustomed to being obeyed.
*Oh, that voice,* Daphne thought privately, her ice-blue eyes heating as they tracked the way Harry's muscles moved beneath his form-fitting cosmic armor. Even after years of marriage, the man's combination of deadly competence and aristocratic charm never failed to make her pulse race. *Down, girl. We're in the middle of a cosmic crisis.*
*Speak for yourself,* Susan replied with gentle humor, her own thoughts running along distinctly appreciative lines as she watched Harry verbally eviscerate a government agent with nothing but politeness and devastating British sass. *Have you seen the way that armor makes his shoulders look? Absolutely magnificent.*
*Ladies, please,* Hermione chided with fond exasperation, though her own amber eyes were tracking the confident way Harry held himself—all controlled power and natural authority wrapped in enough devastating attractiveness to make grown women forget their own names. *Try to maintain some dignity in front of the nice Americans.*
*Though he does look rather like a conquering hero from classical mythology,* Luna added dreamily, her silvery eyes showing glimpses of potential futures where that particular aesthetic led to some very interesting private moments. *Very romantic, really.*
*Focus, all of you,* Harry said aloud with fond amusement, though his mental voice carried deep affection for his wives' eternal ability to find romance in the most inappropriate situations. *I'm attempting to conduct a professional dismantling of bureaucratic incompetence here.*
The agent's pale eyes flicked toward Harry with barely concealed wariness, clearly recognizing that he was dealing with something far beyond his understanding. The man's professional composure was starting to crack like thin ice over deep water.
"Sir, I don't believe we've been introduced—" Sitwell began with forced politeness.
"Harry Potter," he interrupted with a slight bow that managed to be both courteous and vaguely mocking, the gesture somehow making his cosmic armor look even more imposing, "cosmic consultant and professional irritant to megalomaniacs everywhere. And you, Agent Sitwell, have the spiritual equivalent of malignant tumors clouding your judgment."
*Subtle as a brick to the face,* Daphne thought with fond exasperation, though her mental voice carried warm approval of his direct approach. *I do love it when you're being deliberately provocative.*
*It's that aristocratic British thing,* Hermione observed with scholarly fascination. *He can make 'with all due respect' sound like a mortal insult while being perfectly polite about it.*
Tony Stark, still sealed inside his Iron Man armor but somehow managing to project amused fascination anyway, cleared his mechanical throat with theatrical flair.
"Okay, I have to ask," Tony said, his voice carrying that particular mix of genius intellect and barely contained excitement that suggested new patents were already being filed in his head, "how exactly do you know about spiritual tumors? Because that's either the most creative insult I've heard all week, or you've got some seriously advanced diagnostic capabilities."
"Both, actually," Harry replied with that devastating grin that made Tony's engineering brain practically vibrate with curiosity. "Trade secrets, I'm afraid. Can't go around explaining cosmic perception to everyone we meet—it ruins the mystique."
"Cosmic perception?" Bruce Banner asked quietly, his massive form somehow managing to project both scientific curiosity and slight wariness. The man looked like he could bench press a small building, but his voice carried the gentle precision of someone who understood that knowledge could be just as dangerous as physical strength.
"Among other things," Hermione said with scholarly primness, her wild curls bouncing as she tilted her head with academic interest. "Let's just say we have extensive experience with institutional incompetence masquerading as authority."
*The psychological profile is quite predictable,* Susan added through the mental link, her Reality Stone showing her the fundamental dishonesty that permeated the agent's entire existence. *Classic authoritarian personality with delusions of significance. Probably joined SHIELD for the power rather than any genuine desire to protect people.*
Steve Rogers stepped forward with military bearing, his shield somehow making the gesture look both respectful and subtly challenging. The man was built like democracy itself had commissioned a statue and then brought it to life—all noble features and unwavering moral authority wrapped in enough patriotic symbolism to make the American flag weep with pride.
"Agent Sitwell," Steve said with the kind of polite authority that could cut through steel plating, "the situation regarding the artifacts has already been decided. The scepter will remain in SHIELD custody for study, but the Tesseract is returning to Asgard with Thor."
His blue eyes held the kind of unwavering certainty that had once stared down the Third Reich and won, though Harry's Soul Stone perception could read the complex layers of the man's character—genuine heroism wrapped around core values that were both his greatest strength and his most exploitable weakness.
Sitwell's professional mask slipped slightly, revealing the calculating ambition underneath like a snake shedding its skin. "Captain Rogers, with respect, SHIELD has the resources and expertise necessary to properly study both artifacts. Keeping them together under our supervision would allow for more comprehensive analysis—"
"Would be a catastrophically bad idea," Harry interrupted smoothly, his aristocratic accent carrying that particular combination of upper-class dismissal and absolute authority that had been perfected over centuries of dealing with presumptuous bureaucrats. "Agent Sitwell, is it? I couldn't help but notice that your interest in these artifacts seems remarkably... personal."
The way Harry said 'personal' made it sound like something vaguely obscene, his voice dropping into that low register that made all his wives shiver simultaneously and lesser mortals want to either genuflect or flee in terror.
*Oh, that tone,* Daphne thought with obvious appreciation, her ice-blue eyes heating as they fixed on her devastatingly handsome husband. *All dark and dangerous and magnificently intimidating. It's criminally attractive when you do the whole 'I can see through your lies' routine.*
*He's doing the voice,* Susan observed with warm satisfaction, her freckled features arranged in an expression of barely concealed desire. *I do love it when he gets all commanding and protective.*
*Focus, ladies,* Hermione chided with academic precision, though her own thoughts were running along distinctly appreciative lines. *We're trying to dismantle government corruption, not swoon over our husband's vocal techniques.*
*Why can't we do both?* Tonks asked with characteristic irreverence. *Multitasking is a valuable skill.*
Sitwell's pale eyes flicked toward Harry with barely concealed wariness, clearly recognizing that he was dealing with something far beyond his understanding or ability to intimidate. The man's professional composure was cracking like ice over deep water.
"Sir, I don't believe I understand what you're implying—" Sitwell began with forced diplomatic courtesy.
"I'm implying nothing, Agent Sitwell," Harry said with devastating British politeness, each word precisely enunciated with the kind of casual dismissal that could make grown men weep. "I'm stating quite directly that your loyalties lie with interests opposed to planetary wellbeing, and that placing universe-altering artifacts under your supervision would be roughly equivalent to handing nuclear weapons to a toddler with anger management issues."
*Bloody hell, that's savage,* Tonks thought with obvious delight, her violet hair shifting through rainbow colors as she struggled not to openly applaud. *Bureaucratic murder by British politeness. I'm taking notes.*
Brock Rumlow, the scarred agent whose surface thoughts barely concealed his true allegiances, stepped forward with the kind of controlled aggression that suggested extensive combat training and a notable lack of survival instincts.
"Sir, I don't know who you think you are," Rumlow said with barely concealed hostility, his scarred features arranged in an expression of professional menace while his hand rested near his sidearm in a gesture that was probably meant to be intimidating, "but SHIELD has authority over all enhanced individuals and related artifacts on American soil—"
The moment his hand moved toward his weapon, several things happened simultaneously with the kind of perfect coordination that spoke of years of combat experience and marital harmony.
Daphne's Space Stone attunement flared, and suddenly Rumlow found himself frozen in place as the space around his body became as solid as concrete, trapping him mid-gesture like an insect in amber.
Hermione's Mind Stone consciousness wrapped around his thoughts like golden silk, not invasively but with just enough pressure to make it clear that his mental processes were no longer entirely his own.
Susan's Reality Stone energy began rewriting the molecular structure of his sidearm, turning the potentially dangerous weapon into what appeared to be a children's water pistol shaped like a bright pink unicorn.
Tonks' violet aura crackled with barely contained Power Stone energy, making the air around her shimmer with the kind of raw force that could punch holes through mountains.
And Luna's Time Stone showed her exactly which nerve clusters to target if violence became necessary, her dreamy expression never wavering despite the tactical precision of her enhanced awareness.
All of this happened in the space between heartbeats, so quickly that most observers would have difficulty processing what they'd witnessed.
Harry, meanwhile, simply raised one eyebrow with the kind of aristocratic disdain that could make royalty feel inadequate.
"Does it really?" Luna asked with dreamy curiosity, her silvery voice carrying strange harmonics that seemed to echo across multiple timelines simultaneously. Her Time Stone enhanced perception was showing her glimpses of potential futures where that particular assertion led to some very interesting consequences. "How fascinating. I wasn't aware that cosmic entities fell under terrestrial jurisdiction. The legal precedents alone must be absolutely bewildering."
*Oh, this should be entertaining,* Tonks thought with obvious anticipation, her violet aura beginning to crackle more visibly as she flexed her cosmic-enhanced abilities. *Please tell me someone's going to explain sovereignty laws to the nice megalomaniacs. I could use a good laugh.*
*Tony, be a dear and record this for posterity,* Daphne added with aristocratic amusement, though her focus remained on maintaining the spatial lock that held Rumlow immobile. *I have a feeling we're about to witness some spectacular bureaucratic overreach followed by an educational demonstration of cosmic superiority.*
Hill, who had been watching this exchange with the expression of someone rapidly reassessing the political implications and realizing that her afternoon had just become significantly more complicated, stepped forward diplomatically.
"Gentlemen, ladies," she said with professional calm that barely concealed her growing concern about the wisdom of challenging cosmic-level entities over bureaucratic protocol, "let's not let this situation escalate unnecessarily. Agent Sitwell, Agent Rumlow—stand down. Now."
Her voice carried the kind of authority that came from years of managing impossible situations and superhuman individuals, though her dark eyes suggested she was rapidly calculating the tactical reality of their position.
*Smart woman,* Harry observed with genuine respect. *She recognizes when she's outclassed and acts accordingly. Rare quality in government personnel.*
She activated her communication device with practiced efficiency, clearly deciding that this was a decision well above her pay grade and possibly above the pay grade of everyone she knew.
"Director Fury, this is Hill. We have a developing situation regarding the recovered Asgardian artifacts. The enhanced individuals are... resistant to standard containment protocols."
*Resistant,* Hermione repeated with scholarly amusement through the mental link. *What a delightfully understated way to describe 'could probably conquer a small planet before teatime.'*
Nick Fury's voice crackled through the comm system with the kind of weary authority that suggested he'd been dealing with impossible situations since before most of the agents were born, and had developed the kind of philosophical resignation that came from learning that the universe had a twisted sense of humor.
"Define 'resistant,' Hill. Are we talking about the usual superhero drama, or something more along the lines of 'could accidentally end civilization while trying to be helpful'?"
*Should we tell them about the cosmic entities thing?* Susan asked with gentle humor, her Reality Stone abilities maintaining the molecular restructuring of Rumlow's weapon while she pondered the philosophical implications. *Or let them figure it out on their own? I'm genuinely curious about their reaction.*
*Let them figure it out,* Harry decided with amusement, his Soul Stone perception already reading the complex web of personalities and motivations among the government agents. *It's more entertaining that way, and besides, the educational value is probably significant.*
Hill glanced at the Death Dealers—six individuals in sleek black armor who radiated the kind of casual confidence that suggested they could rewrite reality on a whim and still have time for afternoon tea—then back at her communication device with the expression of someone realizing that her job description had just become significantly more complicated.
"Sir, we're dealing with enhanced individuals whose capabilities appear to exceed all current classification parameters. They've taken possession of both artifacts and are refusing to surrender them to SHIELD custody. Also, one of them just turned Agent Rumlow's sidearm into a children's toy while another appears to have frozen him in place using what I can only describe as spatial manipulation."
*That's a remarkably accurate assessment,* Daphne observed with aristocratic approval, her ice-blue eyes tracking Hill's professional composure with genuine respect. *I like her. She doesn't panic when faced with the impossible.*
"Not refusing, Deputy Director," Harry corrected politely, his voice carrying clearly through the communication system with that devastating combination of upper-class politeness and absolute authority. "Simply pointing out that dividing the artifacts between Asgard and SHIELD represents better security than concentrating both in a single location—particularly given the apparent infiltration issues within your organization."
*Ooh, that's going to ruffle some feathers,* Hermione observed with scholarly satisfaction, her Mind Stone consciousness monitoring the psychological responses of everyone present. *Direct challenge to organizational competence with implied accusations of security compromises. Very nicely done, love.*
*Plus it has the added benefit of being absolutely true,* Susan added with warm amusement, her Reality Stone perception showing her the fundamental corruption that honeycombed the organization like spiritual rot.
There was a moment of silence through the comm system that stretched like a held breath before Fury's voice returned, carrying the tone of someone who was rapidly recalculating risk assessments and discovering that his day had just become significantly more interesting.
"Mr. Potter, is it? You want to explain to me how you know about infiltration in my organization? Because that's the kind of intelligence that usually comes with clearance levels I don't hand out to random enhanced individuals, no matter how impressive their light show."
*Because we can literally see the spiritual corruption clinging to your agents like cosmic parasites,* Harry thought with dark amusement, but said aloud: "Director Fury, let's just say that my associates and I have extensive experience with institutions that appear competent on the surface while being systematically compromised from within. The patterns are quite recognizable once you know what to look for."
His voice carried that particular combination of British understatement and casual superiority that could make diplomatic incidents sound like minor social awkwardness, each word precisely chosen to convey maximum information with minimum commitment.
*Plus Hermione can read minds and I can see souls,* he added through the mental link with characteristic directness, *but that might be a bit much for their first introduction to cosmic awareness.*
*Just a bit,* Daphne agreed with aristocratic understatement, though her mental voice carried warm affection for his tactical restraint.
Through the comm system, they could hear Fury muttering what sounded like creative profanity in multiple languages—most of which Harry's enhanced linguistic abilities identified as impressively inventive combinations of English, French, and what might have been Klingon—before his voice returned with grudging professionalism.
"All right, here's how this is going to work, and I don't want to hear any arguments from anyone whose pay grade is lower than mine," Fury announced with the kind of absolute authority that ended discussions permanently. "The Tesseract goes to Asgard with Thor—we don't have the facilities to properly contain that level of energy anyway, and frankly, I'd rather have it in the hands of someone who's dealt with cosmic artifacts before. The scepter stays with SHIELD for analysis, but under enhanced security protocols that I'll be implementing personally."
*Oh, I like him already,* Tonks thought with obvious approval, her violet hair brightening with satisfaction. *No-nonsense authority figure who doesn't tolerate bureaucratic bullshit. We should introduce him to Moody—they'd get along famously.*
*Assuming Moody could handle meeting someone with an equally impressive collection of scars and paranoia,* Hermione added with scholarly amusement.
Sitwell's face went through several interesting color changes as he processed the Director's decision, his pale features settling into lines of poorly concealed frustration that made his spiritual corruption even more apparent to Harry's enhanced perception.
"Sir, with respect, concentrating our research efforts would be more efficient—" Sitwell began with that particular brand of oily persistence that characterized middle management everywhere.
"Agent Sitwell," Fury's voice cut through the comm system with the kind of authority that could end careers and possibly lives, "did I fucking ask for your opinion on strategic distribution of cosmic artifacts?"
*Language,* Steve said automatically through the mental link, though his tone was more amused than reproving.
"No sir," Sitwell replied through gritted teeth.
"Then shut up and follow orders, or I'll find someone who can."
The implied threat hung in the air like smoke from a discharged weapon, and Harry's Soul Stone perception could read the complex interplay of fear, resentment, and calculation that flickered through the corrupt agent's consciousness like spiritual lightning.
*He's going to be a problem,* Hermione observed with scholarly certainty, her Mind Stone consciousness tracking the agent's surface thoughts as he reluctantly accepted his orders. *His masters will not be pleased about today's outcomes.*
*Good,* Harry replied with satisfaction that carried distinctly predatory undertones. *Displeased Hydra agents make mistakes. And we'll be ready when they do.*
Rumlow's scarred features were set in lines of barely controlled anger, though the spatial lock that held him immobile meant that his aggressive posturing was somewhat less intimidating than intended. His eyes held the kind of cold calculation that suggested he was already planning alternative approaches to securing the cosmic artifacts.
*He's actually contemplating violence,* Hermione observed with academic fascination, her Mind Stone consciousness probing the edges of his thoughts like a surgeon examining a particularly interesting tumor. *Against cosmic entities. The psychological profile suggests significant dissociation from reality.*
*Or just typical Hydra arrogance,* Natasha added grimly, her green eyes sharp with professional assessment and personal hatred for the organization that had once tried to control her. *They tend to believe their ideology makes them invincible, right up until reality demonstrates otherwise.*
*Should I demonstrate exactly how invincible he isn't?* Tonks asked hopefully, violet energy beginning to crackle more visibly around her armored form as the Power Stone responded to her desire for creative violence.
*Save it for later, love,* Harry replied with fond amusement, his Soul Stone perception monitoring the tactical situation while appreciating his wife's enthusiasm for educational violence. *We'll have plenty of opportunities to educate Hydra agents about the difference between cosmic power and wishful thinking.*
Hill, clearly recognizing the tactical reality of the situation and demonstrating the kind of professional competence that had earned her position, gestured for her agents to stand down despite the obvious reluctance of several team members.
"Agent Sitwell, prepare the scepter for transport to a secure facility. Enhanced containment protocols," she ordered with crisp efficiency that somehow managed to sound both authoritative and diplomatic. "Agent Rumlow..." She paused, clearly processing the fact that one of her agents was currently immobilized by spatial manipulation. "Once you've been released, coordinate with the cleanup teams for alien technology recovery."
*Diplomatic phrasing,* Daphne observed with aristocratic approval, releasing her spatial lock with a casual gesture that allowed Rumlow to stumble forward as normal physics reasserted itself around his position. *She's handling this remarkably well, considering the circumstances.*
Rumlow straightened with visible effort, his professional composure barely concealing his humiliation at being casually neutralized by what he probably still thought of as enhanced individuals rather than cosmic entities. His scarred features arranged themselves into an expression of forced professionalism.
"Yes, ma'am," he said through gritted teeth, though his eyes promised that this wasn't over.
*Such delightful optimism,* Luna observed dreamily, her Time Stone showing her glimpses of futures where Rumlow's continued antagonism led to some very educational consequences. *The threads of destiny suggest his learning curve is about to become quite steep.*
Thor stepped forward with godly bearing, the pseudo-Tesseract glowing softly in his massive hands like captured starlight. The Norse god looked exactly like what he was—divine nobility wrapped in enough raw physical power to arm-wrestle a mountain and win, his blonde hair catching the light and his blue eyes holding depths of ancient wisdom.
"I give my word as Prince of Asgard that our vaults will keep this artifact secure until such time as the universe no longer has need of such precautions," he announced with the kind of formal authority that came from centuries of royal responsibility and the absolute certainty that his word was worth more than most governments.
*Which should be sometime in the next few years,* Harry added through the mental link with British understatement that made all his wives want to drag him off somewhere private for entirely non-cosmic purposes.
*Assuming our purple stalker maintains his current timeline,* Luna said dreamily, her silvery eyes showing glimpses of potential futures where cosmic arrogance met properly motivated love backed by universe-altering power. *The threads of destiny suggest he's becoming increasingly impatient.*
*Let him come,* Susan said with gentle steel underlying her warm voice, her Reality Stone abilities humming with barely contained power. *We'll be ready.*
Steve Rogers stepped forward with military precision, accepting the pseudo-scepter from Harry with the kind of formal courtesy that somehow managed to convey both respect and subtle challenge. The man was built like democracy itself had commissioned a statue and then brought it to life, all noble features and unwavering moral authority.
"SHIELD will keep this secure," Steve said with absolute conviction, his blue eyes meeting Harry's emerald ones with the kind of unwavering certainty that had once faced down the Third Reich and won. "You have my word on that, and I don't give my word lightly."
*And Steve Rogers' word is actually worth something,* Tony observed with genuine respect, his mechanical voice somehow managing to convey warmth despite the electronic distortion. *Unlike certain government agencies that shall remain nameless but start with 'S' and end in 'systematic infiltration by Nazi death cults.'*
*Language,* Steve said automatically through the mental link, though his tone carried more fond exasperation than actual reproach.
*Technically, I didn't use any profanity,* Tony replied with obvious amusement. *Just accurate historical categorization.*
*The man has a point,* Natasha added dryly, her green eyes tracking the various SHIELD agents with professional assessment. *Though his timing could use work.*
Hill coordinated the handoff with professional efficiency, though Harry's Soul Stone perception could read her underlying concerns about the political implications of this entire situation. The woman was clearly competent and genuinely dedicated to protecting the world, but she was operating within a system that had been compromised in ways she was only beginning to suspect.
*She's good people,* Harry observed with genuine respect. *Competent, dedicated, and smart enough to recognize when she's dealing with forces beyond her understanding.*
*High praise from someone who regularly critiques institutional incompetence,* Hermione noted with scholarly amusement.
As the SHIELD teams began their withdrawal—a process that involved considerably more nervous glancing at the cosmic-powered individuals than was probably outlined in their standard operating procedures—Sitwell cast one last calculating look at the departing Death Dealers, his pale eyes promising that this was not the end of his interest in cosmic artifacts.
*He's going to be a problem,* Hermione observed with scholarly certainty, her Mind Stone consciousness tracking the agent's surface thoughts as he reluctantly followed orders while already planning ways to circumvent them.
*His masters will not be pleased about today's outcomes,* Susan added with gentle satisfaction. *And displeased Hydra operatives tend to make desperate decisions.*
*Good,* Harry replied with the kind of predatory satisfaction that made his wives shiver with appreciation. *Displeased enemies make mistakes. And we'll be ready when they do.*
*Speaking of being ready,* Daphne said with aristocratic concern, her Space Stone attunement already reaching toward their next destination with mathematical precision, *we should probably discuss our next moves before certain purple megalomaniacs realize their timeline has been dramatically accelerated.*
*Quite right,* Harry agreed, his Soul Stone perception already cataloging the various cosmic signatures scattered across the galaxy like a treasure hunter's map. *Time to collect the rest of our cosmic jewelry collection.*
*With pleasure,* they chorused in perfect synchronization, their combined will already beginning to bend the very fabric of possibility itself.
Somewhere in the cold dark between stars, Thanos was making plans based on increasingly outdated intelligence. He was about to discover that the game had changed more dramatically than he could possibly imagine.
The universe was about to become a much more interesting place.
---
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