The Morning After - Avengers Tower
The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the luxurious penthouse suite that Tony Stark had provided for his newest—and most cosmically dangerous—teammates. The room itself was a masterpiece of modern architecture and obscene wealth, all clean lines and expensive materials that somehow managed to look both minimalist and opulent simultaneously.
Harry Potter lounged against the mahogany headboard of what had to be a custom-made California king bed, looking like sin incarnate despite being dressed in nothing more threatening than charcoal grey pajama bottoms and a fitted white t-shirt that clung to his broad chest in ways that made constitutional monarchies question their commitment to democracy. His dark hair was perfectly tousled in that way that suggested either divine intervention or really excellent genetics, and his emerald eyes—enhanced now with veins of orange Soul Stone energy that made them absolutely hypnotic—tracked the morning news with the kind of casual authority that made grown women forget their own names.
A bone china teacup sat balanced in his long-fingered hands, steam curling upward in delicate spirals that seemed to frame his classical features like some Renaissance master had decided to paint the modern concept of devastating masculinity.
His five wives were scattered around the room in various states of morning magnificence, each one a vision that would have launched a thousand ships and possibly started several small wars.
Daphne Greengrass-Potter sat at the elegant vanity like she'd been carved from marble by an artist with very specific fantasies about aristocratic perfection. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded over one bare shoulder as she drew a silver brush through the silken strands with movements that belonged in classical poetry. She wore a silk chemise in midnight blue that cost more than most people's cars and made her look like every wealthy man's forbidden dream.
"Darling," she murmured in that cut-glass accent that could make a grocery list sound like seduction, catching Harry's eyes in the mirror with a smile that promised very interesting consequences, "you're staring."
"Can you blame me?" Harry replied with that devastating grin that had been making strong women weak in the knees since his teenage years, his voice carrying that particular combination of upper-class British authority and barely contained wickedness that made aristocratic rebellion sound like a perfectly reasonable life choice. "You're criminally beautiful in the morning light, love. I'm merely appreciating the view."
Daphne's ice-blue eyes heated in a way that made the ambient temperature seem to rise several degrees. "Flatterer."
"Truth-teller," Harry corrected with unrepentant charm. "There's a significant difference."
Hermione Granger-Potter was curled against Harry's left side like a contented cat, her wild chocolate curls barely contained by what appeared to be one of his dress shirts—the white cotton hanging loose on her petite frame in a way that managed to be both modest and incredibly alluring. She had a technical manual on arc reactor theory balanced on her drawn-up knees, because even in the aftermath of cosmic intervention, her brilliant mind couldn't resist the lure of new knowledge.
"According to this," she said with scholarly excitement that made intellectual curiosity look devastatingly attractive, "Tony's miniaturized fusion reaction should be physically impossible with current materials science. The energy containment alone requires breakthrough advances in at least three separate fields of physics."
"Hermione, love," Harry said with fond amusement, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head that made her shiver against him, "you're analyzing theoretical physics while wearing nothing but my shirt. It's incredibly distracting."
"Everything about Hermione is incredibly distracting," Susan observed from her position by the windows, where she was performing what could only be described as yoga poses designed by someone who understood exactly how attractive flexibility could be. Her strawberry blonde hair caught the morning light like spun copper, and her simple cotton camisole and shorts somehow managed to make casual morning attire look like a magazine photo shoot.
"That's because she's brilliant and beautiful and makes reading technical manuals look like foreplay," Tonks added cheerfully from the center of the room, where she was engaged in what might charitably be called interpretive dance but looked more like an extremely attractive person testing the limits of human flexibility. Her violet hair shifted through interested shades of purple as she moved, and her sports bra and leggings left very little to the imagination—not that anyone was complaining.
"Are you actually doing yoga," Daphne asked with aristocratic amusement, "or are you just showing off for our husband?"
"Can't I do both?" Tonks replied with unrepentant grin, executing a particularly impressive stretch that made several people in the room forget how to breathe properly. "Multitasking is a valuable life skill."
Luna Lovegood-Potter sat cross-legged on the Persian carpet like some ethereal wood sprite who had wandered into the modern world and decided to stay. Her silvery hair flowed around her shoulders like liquid moonlight, and she wore a flowing nightgown that seemed to shimmer and shift in the morning light. Her luminous grey eyes were fixed on patterns only she could perceive, enhanced now by Time Stone awareness that showed her glimpses of past and future dancing together like cosmic butterflies.
"The probability matrices are quite beautiful this morning," she announced with dreamy satisfaction. "Like watching destiny arrange itself into pleasing geometric configurations."
"Only you could make temporal mechanics sound like interior decorating, love," Harry said with warm affection, his Soul Stone perception showing him the vast cosmic awareness that danced through Luna's consciousness like living poetry.
The television continued its analysis of yesterday's events with the kind of breathless excitement that came from witnessing impossible things and trying to explain them with inadequate vocabulary.
"—structural engineers are calling the restoration work 'unprecedented' and 'architecturally impossible,'" the CNN anchor continued with barely contained amazement. "Buildings that were completely destroyed have been rebuilt to specifications that exceed original construction by significant margins. Mayor Bloomberg has announced the formation of a special committee to study these new construction techniques—"
Susan smiled with gentle satisfaction, stretching her arms above her head in a movement that made her look like a classical statue come to life. "I do love it when my reality manipulation work gets proper appreciation."
"Your reality manipulation work," Harry said with obvious appreciation, his emerald eyes tracking the graceful lines of his wife's form, "makes cosmic intervention look like performance art. Absolutely magnificent."
"Such a flatterer," Susan replied with warm amusement, though her freckled cheeks carried a flush that suggested the compliment had found its mark.
"Truth-teller," Hermione corrected absently, not looking up from her technical reading. "Harry doesn't flatter—he observes accurately and comments accordingly."
"Plus he's got excellent taste in wives," Tonks added with characteristic lack of false modesty, her hair shifting to a particularly vibrant shade of purple that matched her obvious satisfaction. "Credit where it's due."
The news broadcast shifted to psychological analyses that completely missed the true source of Manhattan's dramatically improved mood, though the effects were impossible to ignore.
"—what psychologists are calling an 'unprecedented surge in community cooperation and optimism,'" the anchor continued with obvious fascination. "Crime rates have dropped by nearly thirty percent overnight, emergency services report the most efficient coordination in departmental history, and social media sentiment analysis shows positivity spikes that exceed all previous measurements—"
"The Seidr's Soul Stone work," Daphne observed with aristocratic satisfaction, using Harry's new codename in a way that made it sound like both a title and an endearment. "Nothing quite like cosmic-level psychological intervention for improving public morale."
*God, I love it when you use that voice,* Harry thought with obvious appreciation, his enhanced awareness picking up the subtle ways Daphne's accent wrapped around his codename like verbal silk.
*I know you do,* Daphne replied through their mental link, her ice-blue eyes meeting his in the mirror with a smile that promised very interesting private conversations. *It's one of my more refined torture techniques.*
*Speaking of refined torture,* Tonks interjected with mental laughter, *have you seen the way Hermione looks when she's concentrating on technical manuals? Because that's definitely cruel and unusual punishment for anyone trying to have a civilized conversation.*
*I can hear every thought you're having,* Hermione pointed out with scholarly precision, though her tone carried warm amusement rather than actual reproach. *And I'm reading about miniaturized fusion reactors, not performing interpretive seduction.*
*Same thing, really,* Harry observed with fond appreciation. *You make intellectual curiosity look devastatingly attractive, love. It's been driving me mad since Hogwarts.*
*Everything about all of you drives everyone mad,* Susan added with gentle humor, her Reality Stone enhanced perception showing her the complex web of attraction and affection that connected their little family. *We're ridiculously attractive cosmic entities with universe-altering power and no sense of appropriate restraint.*
*Is that a problem?* Luna asked with dreamy curiosity, her Time Stone consciousness showing her glimpses of potential futures where their combined attractiveness caused minor diplomatic incidents.
*Only if you consider international incidents caused by devastating good looks to be problems,* Harry replied with characteristic British understatement.
Tony Stark's voice suddenly crackled through the room's sophisticated intercom system with the kind of dramatic flair that suggested he'd been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.
"Rise and shine, cosmic entities of indeterminate classification," Tony announced with that particular combination of genius intellect and showman's instincts that had made him famous across multiple industries. "Breakfast is served in the main dining room for any universe-altering champions who feel like joining us mere mortals for coffee, strategic planning, and what I'm told are genuinely legendary pancakes."
His voice carried that distinctive rapid-fire delivery that suggested his brain was operating at approximately three times normal human speed, processing multiple conversations and calculations simultaneously.
"Fair warning," Tony continued with obvious amusement, "Pepper arrived earlier with the kind of determined expression that usually means she's decided to take care of everyone whether they want to be taken care of or not. She's made her famous buttermilk pancakes, which means you might want to hurry before Rogers eats them all. Super soldier metabolism is apparently a bottomless pit when it comes to breakfast foods."
*Tony Stark at eight in the morning,* Hermione observed with scholarly fascination. *I'm detecting at least four different stimulants in his system through the audio analysis, plus what appears to be the lingering effects of approximately six hours of sleep and several pots of coffee.*
*The man runs on controlled chaos and caffeine,* Harry noted with genuine respect for Tony's dedication to functioning at peak capacity despite what had to be exhaustion. *I can respect that level of professional commitment.*
*Plus he's got excellent timing,* Daphne added with aristocratic appreciation. *Interrupting our morning domestic bliss right when we were all getting properly settled and comfortable.*
"Should we get dressed and join them?" Susan asked with practical consideration, though her tone suggested she was equally happy with either option. The morning light through the windows cast her in a golden glow that made her look like some renaissance master's interpretation of pastoral beauty. "Or continue enjoying our morning peace and ridiculously attractive family bonding time?"
"I vote for ridiculously attractive family bonding time," Tonks said with cheerful hedonism, abandoning her pseudo-yoga routine to sprawl dramatically across the foot of the bed in a way that somehow managed to look both casual and precisely calculated for maximum visual impact. "The universe can wait another hour for us to save it."
"The universe has been waiting for cosmic intervention for quite some time," Luna observed with dreamy matter-of-factness, tilting her head with that characteristic expression of otherworldly certainty that usually preceded either profound wisdom or completely inexplicable observations. "A few more minutes won't significantly alter the probability matrices."
She paused, her silvery eyes suddenly focusing with the kind of sharp attention that meant her Time Stone enhanced consciousness was picking up something important in the immediate timestream.
"Though Nick Fury will arrive in approximately thirty-seven minutes," she announced with serene confidence, her enhanced temporal awareness showing her glimpses of immediate futures that danced through her consciousness like cosmic mathematics made visible. "Flying at a steady one hundred thirty miles per hour from SHIELD headquarters in a helicopter that's painted black because he believes it looks more intimidating than standard government colors."
Harry nearly choked on his tea, his emerald eyes widening with the kind of surprise that suggested his Soul Stone perception hadn't picked up the approaching governmental presence.
"Nick Fury is coming here?" he asked with that particular combination of curiosity and wariness that came from years of dealing with authority figures who had strong opinions about cosmic intervention. "Today? This morning?"
"In thirty-six minutes and forty-three seconds," Luna corrected with dreamy precision, her Time Stone consciousness tracking the approaching helicopter with mathematical certainty. "He's reviewed our files—what few exist—and decided that cosmic entities operating on his planet without proper authorization require personal evaluation."
*Personal evaluation?* Daphne repeated with aristocratic disdain that could cut glass at fifty paces. *We saved his bloody planet from alien invasion, and he wants to evaluate our credentials?*
*Bureaucrats are remarkably consistent across realities,* Hermione observed with scholarly resignation. *Power plus paperwork equals the inevitable desire to categorize and control everything, regardless of practical considerations.*
*Plus he's probably calculating the political implications,* Susan added with gentle understanding. *Cosmic entities represent variables that can't be controlled through normal governmental channels. That has to be terrifying from an administrative perspective.*
"What kind of personal evaluation are we talking about?" Harry asked with the tone of someone who had learned to expect the worst from government interactions. "Standard enhanced individual interview, or something more along the lines of 'please demonstrate your cosmic power for the nice recording equipment while we figure out whether you're a threat to national security'?"
"Both," Luna replied with that particular combination of otherworldly serenity and matter-of-fact certainty that made cosmic awareness sound like weather reporting. "Plus psychological profiling, loyalty assessment, and what appears to be a rather thorough background check into our dimensional origins."
She paused thoughtfully, her enhanced consciousness processing multiple potential timelines simultaneously.
"He's quite impressed by our tactical effectiveness," she continued with dreamy satisfaction, "though he has concerns about accountability and operational oversight. Very thorough man, actually. Reminds me a bit of Mad-Eye Moody, but with better organizational resources and significantly more suspicious about cosmic entities."
*Mad-Eye Moody with a government budget and interdimensional jurisdiction,* Tonks observed with obvious amusement. *That's either reassuring or absolutely terrifying, depending on whether you're on his good side.*
*Given our track record with authority figures,* Harry noted with characteristic British understatement, *we should probably assume we're not automatically on anyone's good side until proven otherwise.*
Luna's expression shifted slightly, her Time Stone enhanced awareness picking up additional threads of approaching possibility.
"Speaking of cosmic evaluation," she announced with the kind of casual certainty that made reality-altering revelations sound like minor social observations, "the Time Stone will be arriving here as well. Today. The Ancient One has decided that the current cosmic situation requires more... direct intervention than her usual policy of mystical observation from the shadows."
This time Harry did choke on his tea, the bone china cup rattling against its saucer as he processed the implications of another cosmic-level entity deciding to involve itself in Earth's defense.
"The Ancient One?" Hermione asked with scholarly excitement that made academic curiosity look devastatingly attractive, her brilliant mind immediately cataloging the strategic implications. "The Sorcerer Supreme? She's actually getting involved in cosmic politics?"
"Not directly," Luna clarified with dreamy precision, her enhanced temporal awareness showing her beautiful fragments of approaching possibilities. "She's sending a student. Someone with significant mystical training and cosmic awareness, though not quite at her level of power and experience."
Her silvery eyes grew thoughtful as she processed additional timestream information.
"Very dramatic entrance planned," she continued with obvious amusement. "Something about 'testing the worthiness of Death's chosen champions' and 'ensuring proper cosmic stewardship of universe-altering artifacts.' Quite theatrical, really, but in a scholarly way rather than Loki's aristocratic drama queen routine."
*A student of the Ancient One,* Harry mused with the kind of tactical consideration that came from years of dealing with magical authorities who had strong opinions about proper protocol. *That could be either very helpful or very problematic, depending on their instructions and personal interpretation of cosmic responsibility.*
*Mystical communities can be remarkably territorial,* Daphne observed with aristocratic understanding born from extensive experience with wizarding politics. *Even when you're trying to save the universe, someone always wants to verify your credentials first.*
*Plus there's the whole question of dimensional sovereignty,* Susan added with practical concern. *We're technically interdimensional immigrants operating cosmic artifacts on someone else's planet. That probably raises all sorts of mystical jurisdiction issues.*
*The threads of destiny suggest cooperation rather than conflict,* Luna assured them with serene confidence, her Time Stone showing her glimpses of potential futures where alliances were forged and cosmic powers worked together. *Though there will be some initial... dramatic tension. Someone apparently wants to make sure we're properly respectful of local mystical traditions.*
*Local mystical traditions?* Tonks asked with characteristic irreverence, her violet hair cycling through interested shades of blue and green as she processed this information. *We're cosmic champions of Death herself wielding universe-altering artifacts in service to preventing universal genocide. How much more respectful of mystical traditions can we possibly get?*
*You'd be surprised,* Harry replied with fond exasperation developed through extensive experience with magical bureaucracies. *There's always someone who wants to check whether you've filled out the proper forms before allowing you to save reality.*
Susan had risen from her stretching routine with the kind of fluid grace that made casual movement look like choreographed seduction, moving toward the walk-in wardrobe with practical consideration.
"If we're going to be meeting with both Nick Fury and a mystical representative in the same morning," she said with gentle wisdom, selecting clothing options with her Reality Stone enhanced perception, "we should probably present ourselves as professional cosmic champions rather than cosmic champions having a relaxing morning in bed."
Her voice carried that warm, slightly husky quality that made practical observations sound like intimate suggestions, and Harry found himself watching the graceful lines of her figure with obvious appreciation.
"Plus," Daphne added with aristocratic interest, rising from the vanity with movements that belonged in classical sculpture, "I'm genuinely curious about Pepper Potts' legendary pancakes. American breakfast cuisine enhanced by Stark-level wealth and attention to detail sounds like it might be worth experiencing."
*And we should probably brief the other Avengers about these incoming visitors,* Hermione noted with tactical consideration, reluctantly setting aside her technical manual with the expression of someone abandoning fascinating research for necessary social obligations. *Strategic coordination is essential for proper first impressions, especially when those first impressions involve government officials and mystical authorities with strong opinions about cosmic intervention.*
Harry set down his teacup with a sigh that carried centuries of dealing with dramatic cosmic entities, mystical authorities, and bureaucratic complexity.
"Right then," he said with that devastating combination of British authority and fond resignation that made administrative responsibility sound like seductive suggestion, "let's get dressed, warn our new teammates about incoming governmental and mystical visitors, and try to make it through breakfast without accidentally starting any interdimensional incidents or causing diplomatic crises."
His emerald eyes swept across his wives with obvious appreciation, taking in the collection of devastating beauty and cosmic power that somehow constituted his family.
"Though I have to say," he continued with that charming grin that made even mundane observations sound like flirtation, "you're all criminally attractive in the morning light. It's going to be difficult to focus on saving the universe when I'm constantly distracted by how magnificent you all look."
*Flatterer,* Daphne observed with aristocratic pleasure, though her ice-blue eyes held the kind of heated appreciation that suggested his compliments were finding their mark.
*Truth-teller,* Harry corrected with unrepentant charm. *There's a significant difference, and you know it.*
*The day is young,* Luna observed with dreamy optimism, her Time Stone consciousness showing her glimpses of potential futures filled with cosmic diplomacy, mystical testing, and hopefully excellent breakfast foods. *Plenty of time for interdimensional incidents after we've had proper nutrition and strategic coordination.*
*That's... not entirely reassuring,* Harry replied with characteristic understatement.
*I thought it was rather encouraging, actually,* Tonks said with cheerful anticipation, beginning to select clothing for what promised to be a diplomatically complex morning. Her violet hair brightened with obvious excitement at the prospect of cosmic drama mixed with professional superhero status. *Nothing like a bit of governmental and mystical authority conflict to keep things interesting.*
As Death's Champions began preparing for what Luna's temporal awareness suggested would be a very busy day indeed, the morning sun continued to stream through Tony Stark's expensive windows, casting everything in golden light that seemed almost prophetic.
Somewhere in the depths of SHIELD headquarters, Nick Fury was reviewing classified files on cosmic entities and wondering how his relatively straightforward job of planetary defense had suddenly expanded to include interdimensional relationships, mystical diplomacy, and the kind of enhanced individuals who could probably conquer small nations before teatime.
And in a hidden sanctuary protected by ancient magic and cosmic wards, a student of the Ancient One was preparing for a journey that would either forge new alliances in the coming cosmic war, or demonstrate exactly why mystical traditions existed in the first place.
The universe, it seemed, had both a definite sense of timing and an occasionally twisted sense of humor.
*And occasionally a preference for dramatic irony,* Harry observed as he watched his wives begin their morning preparations with the kind of casual competence that made even getting dressed look like performance art designed to test his self-control.
*The universe's sense of humor is usually at our expense,* Hermione replied with scholarly resignation, though her tone carried warm affection for the cosmic forces that seemed determined to make their lives as eventful as possible.
*Plus we're ridiculously attractive cosmic champions with universe-altering power,* Daphne added with aristocratic satisfaction, selecting a morning ensemble that would probably cause minor diplomatic incidents just by existing. *If we're going to be the universe's entertainment, we might as well look absolutely magnificent while doing it.*
*That's the spirit,* Harry said with fond amusement, beginning his own morning preparations for what promised to be a day of cosmic diplomacy, mystical testing, governmental evaluation, and hopefully some of Pepper Potts' legendary pancakes.
After all, even universe-saving champions needed proper nutrition before dealing with authority figures who had strong opinions about cosmic intervention.
*Plus,* he added with that devastating grin that made even mundane observations sound like seductive promise, *I have complete faith in our ability to charm our way through whatever bureaucratic and mystical complications the day might bring.*
*Charm our way through,* Tonks repeated with obvious amusement. *Is that what we're calling cosmic-level reality manipulation backed by universe-altering artifacts now?*
*When it comes to dealing with government officials and mystical authorities,* Harry replied with British understatement that made diplomatic strategy sound like casual conversation, *charm is often significantly more effective than raw power.*
*Though we have plenty of raw power as backup,* Susan noted with gentle satisfaction, her Reality Stone abilities humming with barely contained cosmic force.
*Just in case charm proves insufficient,* Daphne added with aristocratic pragmatism that somehow made contingency planning sound elegant.
The morning was shaping up to be very interesting indeed.
—
The dining room of Stark Tower was a masterpiece of modern luxury that somehow managed to look both impossibly expensive and warmly inviting—all clean lines and sophisticated materials arranged with the kind of casual elegance that only unlimited wealth and genuinely excellent taste could achieve. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of Manhattan's skyline, where the morning sun painted the glass and steel canyons in shades of gold and amber that made even urban architecture look poetic.
The massive dining table—carved from what appeared to be a single piece of Brazilian walnut and polished to mirror brightness—was set for what looked like a formal breakfast designed by someone who understood that presentation was just as important as substance. Bone china place settings alternated with crystal glasses that caught and scattered the morning light like captured rainbows, while sterling silver cutlery gleamed with the kind of subdued elegance that whispered rather than shouted about its cost.
The Avengers were already assembled around the table like some sort of superhero breakfast club, each one looking exactly like what they were—extraordinarily competent individuals who happened to save the world on a regular basis and had learned to make casual conversation over coffee while discussing matters of cosmic significance.
Steve Rogers sat at the head of the table with the kind of natural authority that made leadership look effortless, his blonde hair perfectly styled despite the early hour and his blue eyes alert with the tactical awareness that never quite shut off. He wore a simple navy sweater that somehow managed to make casual morning attire look like a recruitment poster for democracy itself, and his coffee cup sat in his hands with military precision.
Tony Stark lounged in his chair with that particular combination of controlled energy and caffeine-fueled genius that suggested his brain was operating at approximately three times normal speed, processing multiple conversations and engineering calculations simultaneously. His perfectly maintained goatee and designer clothing somehow made him look like a cross between a Fortune 500 CEO and a rock star who had decided to diversify into world-saving, which was probably accurate.
Bruce Banner sat quietly beside Tony, massive form somehow managing to project both intellectual curiosity and carefully controlled strength, his dark eyes thoughtful behind wire-rimmed glasses as he reviewed what appeared to be technical specifications on a tablet. He wore a simple button-down shirt that emphasized his impressive physique while maintaining the scholarly aesthetic of someone who held multiple PhDs in fields that most people couldn't pronounce.
Natasha Romanoff was positioned with tactical precision where she could observe all entrances while maintaining casual conversation, her red hair catching the morning light and her green eyes sharp with the professional assessment that never quite turned off. She wore fitted jeans and a black cashmere sweater that somehow managed to look both elegant and practical, as though she might need to transition from breakfast conversation to international espionage at any moment.
Clint Barton sat with the relaxed alertness of someone whose superhuman accuracy extended to social situations, his coffee cup positioned exactly where muscle memory dictated for optimal defensive positioning. His casual clothing—jeans and a flannel shirt that looked comfortable enough for extended tactical operations—somehow made him look like everyone's favorite neighbor who happened to be able to put arrows through targets from impossible distances.
Thor occupied his chair with divine bearing that made even breakfast seating look like a royal court, his blonde hair catching the light like spun gold and his blue eyes holding depths of ancient wisdom mixed with genuine affection for his mortal companions. He wore what appeared to be Midgardian casual clothing—dark jeans and a sweater that probably cost more than most people's cars—but somehow managed to make modern fashion look like contemporary interpretations of Asgardian formalwear.
And presiding over this collection of world-saving excellence like some sort of culinary goddess was Virginia "Pepper" Potts, looking exactly like what she was—the kind of devastatingly competent woman who could run a multinational corporation, manage Tony Stark's chaos, and produce legendary pancakes all before most people had their first cup of coffee.
She wore a silk blouse in soft gold that complemented her auburn hair perfectly, paired with tailored slacks that suggested both professional authority and personal style. Her movements around the dining room carried the kind of efficient grace that came from years of managing impossible situations and unreasonable geniuses, while her warm smile suggested that she actually enjoyed the challenge.
The breakfast spread itself was a work of art that probably violated several laws of physics—stacks of buttermilk pancakes that seemed to glow with their own internal light, perfectly golden French toast arranged like architectural marvels, eggs prepared in at least four different styles, bacon that crackled with mathematical precision, fresh fruit arranged in patterns that belonged in high-end magazines, and enough coffee to fuel a small military operation.
"Good morning, everyone," Pepper said with the kind of warm authority that made even cosmic entities want to mind their manners, her voice carrying the distinctive combination of Southern charm and Manhattan sophistication that came from extensive experience managing both corporate boardrooms and superhero breakfast meetings. "I trust everyone slept well after yesterday's excitement?"
"Like babies," Tony replied with obvious satisfaction, gesturing grandly toward the breakfast display with theatrical flair, "though I suspect our cosmic guests might have had more interesting dreams than usual. Side effects of universe-altering artifacts, probably."
*He's not wrong,* Luna observed through their mental link, her Time Stone enhanced consciousness having spent the night processing glimpses of potential futures that danced through her awareness like cosmic butterflies. *I saw approximately forty-seven different variations of how this morning's conversations might unfold.*
*Any of them particularly concerning?* Harry asked with the tone of someone who had learned to take Luna's precognitive abilities seriously.
*Only the ones where Nick Fury arrives in a bad mood,* Luna replied with dreamy optimism. *But the probability matrices suggest excellent pancakes in all potential timelines, so the day isn't a complete loss regardless of diplomatic complications.*
As if summoned by cosmic timing and the promise of legendary breakfast foods, the Death Dealers made their entrance with the kind of casual elegance that made even walking into a room look like performance art designed to test everyone's self-control.
Harry led the way, wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that somehow managed to make business casual look like classical sculpture given contemporary form. His dark hair was perfectly tousled in that way that suggested either divine intervention or really excellent genetics, and his emerald eyes—enhanced now with veins of orange Soul Stone energy—carried the kind of casual authority that made grown women forget their own names and international treaties seem negotiable.
Behind him, his wives moved with synchronized grace that spoke of years of shared experiences and cosmic enhancement that had taken already devastating attractiveness and refined it into something that approached cosmic forces of nature.
Daphne wore a silk blouse in ice blue that matched her eyes perfectly, paired with a pencil skirt that emphasized her elegant curves and made aristocratic breeding look like an art form. Her platinum blonde hair fell in perfect waves that caught the morning light, and her movements carried the kind of refined grace that made nobility look like casual competence.
Hermione had chosen a fitted blazer in deep burgundy over a silk blouse, the professional ensemble somehow making scholarly achievement look devastatingly attractive. Her wild curls were tamed into an elegant updo that revealed the graceful line of her neck, and her amber eyes held the kind of brilliant intensity that made intellectual curiosity look like seduction.
Susan wore a flowing dress in warm coral that complemented her strawberry blonde hair and freckled complexion, the fabric moving around her like captured sunlight. She looked like kindness and warmth given physical form, with just enough hint of cosmic power beneath the gentle exterior to make smart people pay attention.
Tonks had selected leather pants and a fitted top in deep purple that somehow managed to look both punk rock and elegantly sophisticated, her violet hair catching the light like spun gemstones. She moved with predatory grace that suggested she could transition from breakfast conversation to creative violence without missing a beat.
Luna wore a flowing dress in silvery grey that seemed to shimmer and shift in the morning light like captured moonbeams, her long hair flowing free around her shoulders. She looked ethereal and otherworldly, like a fairy tale princess who had wandered into the modern world and decided to save it from cosmic genocide.
The Avengers' reactions were immediate and telling—Steve's coffee cup paused halfway to his lips, Tony's rapid-fire commentary stuttered to a halt, Bruce's tablet tilted forgotten in his hands, Natasha's tactical assessment expanded to include 'ridiculously attractive cosmic entities' as a new variable, Clint's precision-calibrated reflexes had to consciously prevent him from staring, and Thor's divine awareness recognized kindred cosmic forces wrapped in forms designed to make mortals question their commitment to merely earthly concerns.
Pepper, meanwhile, stepped forward with the kind of professional warmth that came from extensive experience managing impossible situations and unreasonable geniuses.
"You must be Harry Potter and his associates," she said with genuine pleasure, extending a manicured hand toward Harry with the confidence of someone accustomed to dealing with enhanced individuals, cosmic entities, and billionaire inventors with attention deficit disorder. "Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries and professional handler of superhero breakfast meetings."
Harry accepted her handshake with that devastating smile that had been charming people out of their better judgment since his teenage years.
"Harry Potter, cosmic consultant and professional irritant to megalomaniacs everywhere," he replied with characteristic British charm, his voice carrying that distinctive upper-class accent that could make diplomatic introductions sound like flirtation. "Though I have to say, Ms. Potts, Tony's description of your legendary pancakes may have been understated. They look absolutely magnificent."
"Please, call me Pepper," she said with obvious amusement at his formal courtesy, "and thank you. Though I have to admit, when Tony told me I'd be cooking for cosmic entities this morning, I wasn't entirely sure what constituted appropriate breakfast cuisine for universe-altering champions."
Tony, who had been watching this exchange with obvious delight, cleared his throat with theatrical flair.
"Ladies and gentlemen, cosmic entities of indeterminate classification," he announced with that particular combination of genius intellect and showman's instincts, "I present Virginia Potts, CEO extraordinaire and the only woman brave enough to keep me organized, fed, and occasionally sane. Pepper, meet the Potters—Harry and his five wives, also known as the most attractive disaster relief crew in multiversal history."
*Potts meeting the Potters,* Hermione observed through their mental link with scholarly amusement. *The alliterative possibilities alone are rather entertaining.*
*Trust Tony to find wordplay amusing at eight in the morning,* Daphne added with aristocratic fondness, though her ice-blue eyes were tracking Pepper's reactions with genuine interest.
*She's good people,* Harry noted with approval, his Soul Stone perception reading Pepper's spiritual signature like an open book of competence, genuine kindness, and the kind of practical wisdom that came from years of managing impossible situations. *Smart, capable, and grounded despite spending her professional life surrounded by cosmic-level chaos.*
"The pleasure is entirely ours," Daphne said with aristocratic grace, stepping forward to offer her own perfectly manicured hand. "Daphne Greengrass-Potter, former political strategist and current cosmic champion. Your reputation for managing impossible situations precedes you, Pepper."
"As does your legendary competence," Hermione added with scholarly respect, her brilliant mind clearly cataloging the administrative challenges represented by Tony's lifestyle and finding them genuinely impressive. "Tony mentioned that you've been handling enhanced individuals and unusual situations for years. That kind of experience must be invaluable in this line of work."
"Plus the pancakes smell absolutely divine," Susan said with warm appreciation, her gentle voice carrying genuine pleasure at the breakfast display. "Tony wasn't exaggerating about your culinary talents."
"And we do appreciate excellent cooking," Tonks added cheerfully, her violet hair brightening with obvious anticipation. "Saving the universe works up quite an appetite, and proper nutrition is essential for optimal cosmic intervention."
"The probability matrices suggest this will be a very harmonious breakfast," Luna announced with dreamy certainty, her silvery eyes showing glimpses of potential timelines where excellent food and good company created the foundation for lasting alliances. "Very positive energy patterns, actually."
Pepper's expression suggested she was rapidly recalibrating her understanding of 'enhanced individuals' to include 'ridiculously attractive cosmic entities with impeccable manners and seriously advanced abilities,' but she handled the adjustment with the kind of professional grace that had made her legendary among SHIELD personnel files.
"Well then," she said with warm efficiency, gesturing toward the breakfast spread with obvious pride, "shall we eat while the food's hot? I have a feeling you'll need proper nutrition for whatever cosmic challenges the day might bring."
"Wise woman," Steve said with military approval, rising from his chair with the kind of natural leadership that made even breakfast seating arrangements look like tactical decisions. "Though I have to ask—how did you know to prepare for six additional people? Tony's notifications aren't usually this specific about houseguests."
"FRIDAY mentioned that our cosmic consultants would be joining us for breakfast," Pepper replied with the kind of casual competence that made managing Tony's AI systems sound like routine administrative work, "though she may have understated their... impact on breakfast conversation dynamics."
*Impact on breakfast conversation dynamics,* Tonks repeated with obvious amusement. *That's a delightfully diplomatic way of saying 'ridiculously attractive people who make normal social interaction significantly more challenging.'*
*We do tend to have that effect,* Harry acknowledged with fond resignation, settling into his designated chair with fluid grace that somehow made sitting down look like magazine-worthy choreography. *Years of practice being inadvertently distracting.*
*Inadvertently,* Daphne observed with aristocratic skepticism, taking her own seat with movements that belonged in classical sculpture. *Harry James Potter, you couldn't be inadvertently attractive if you tried. It's a constitutional impossibility.*
*She's got a point,* Hermione added with scholarly assessment, settling gracefully beside Harry while somehow making intellectual analysis sound like intimate commentary. *Your attractiveness is definitely intentional. Or at least, consciously maintained.*
*I maintain nothing,* Harry protested with wounded dignity, accepting coffee from Pepper with that charming smile that made service industry professionals question their career choices. *I simply exist. Any attractiveness is entirely accidental.*
*Accidental attractiveness,* Susan repeated with gentle humor, her warm voice carrying fond amusement at her husband's consistent refusal to acknowledge his own devastating impact on social situations. *Like accidental nuclear reactions or accidental cosmic intervention.*
*The man could probably cause international incidents just by walking through airports,* Natasha observed dryly, her professional assessment having expanded to include 'potential diplomatic complications caused by excessive attractiveness' as a legitimate security concern.
*He's caused several minor diplomatic incidents already,* Tony added with obvious fascination, his genius brain clearly cataloging the social dynamics for future reference. *The French ambassador's wife spent twenty minutes yesterday asking Coulson for Harry's contact information.*
*The French ambassador's wife?* Steve asked with the tone of someone whose understanding of enhanced individual complications kept expanding in unexpected directions.
*Apparently cosmic power comes with enhanced pheromone production,* Bruce observed quietly, his scientific mind struggling to categorize phenomena that didn't fit into standard biological parameters. *Or possibly reality distortion fields that affect human perception of attractiveness. The psychological implications are fascinating.*
*Both, actually,* Luna said with dreamy matter-of-factness, her Time Stone consciousness showing her the complex interplay of cosmic enhancement and human psychology. *Cosmic power tends to amplify existing characteristics, including physical appeal and social magnetism. Very efficient for diplomatic purposes, though occasionally problematic for maintaining low profiles.*
Thor, who had been observing this exchange with divine amusement, cleared his throat diplomatically.
"In Asgard," he observed with the tone of someone sharing cultural wisdom, "cosmic power has long been associated with enhanced physical appeal and social authority. It's considered a natural consequence of spiritual development and magical mastery."
*Spiritual development,* Hermione repeated with scholarly interest, her brilliant mind immediately cataloging the anthropological implications. *So enhanced attractiveness is actually a side effect of cosmic awareness and magical advancement?*
*Among other things,* Harry confirmed with characteristic British understatement, his Soul Stone perception showing him the complex ways cosmic power interacted with human psychology and social dynamics. *Though I have to say, it makes maintaining operational discretion rather challenging when people keep staring.*
*People keep staring because you're criminally attractive and radiate cosmic power like a walking advertisement for genetic superiority,* Daphne observed with aristocratic precision, her ice-blue eyes tracking the way every person in the room kept glancing at her husband with obvious appreciation.
*Plus the voice doesn't hurt,* Tonks added with characteristic directness, her violet hair shifting to interested shades of blue as she watched Harry's effect on their breakfast companions. *That aristocratic British accent could probably negotiate peace treaties just by reading the phonebook.*
*The voice is rather unfair,* Pepper agreed with obvious amusement, settling into her own chair with the kind of efficient grace that came from years of managing breakfast meetings that involved superhuman individuals and cosmic complications. *Makes ordinary conversation sound like seduction techniques.*
*It's not seduction techniques,* Harry protested with wounded dignity that fooled absolutely no one. *It's simply proper elocution and classical education.*
*Right,* Tony said with obvious skepticism, his engineering brain clearly running calculations on the acoustic properties of Harry's voice and their psychological impact. *And I'm sure the way every woman in a fifty-foot radius starts paying attention when you speak is just coincidental.*
*Completely coincidental,* Harry insisted with that charming grin that made even obvious lies sound charmingly self-deprecating.
The breakfast conversation continued with the kind of easy camaraderie that suggested cosmic entities and Earth's mightiest heroes were finding common ground in shared responsibilities, excellent pancakes, and the universal experience of dealing with attractive teammates who couldn't acknowledge their own devastating impact on social situations.
*Though I should mention,* Luna added with dreamy certainty, her enhanced temporal awareness picking up approaching threads of possibility, *we have approximately twenty-three minutes before Nick Fury arrives with strong opinions about cosmic oversight and interdimensional jurisdiction.*
*Twenty-three minutes,* Steve repeated with military precision, his tactical mind immediately shifting to preparation mode. *Enough time to finish breakfast and coordinate our approach to governmental evaluation.*
*Assuming we can finish breakfast without anyone getting distracted by cosmic attractiveness or accidentally starting diplomatic incidents,* Natasha added dryly, her green eyes tracking the complex social dynamics with professional assessment.
*The pancakes are excellent,* Susan observed with warm appreciation, her Reality Stone enhanced perception showing her the perfect balance of ingredients and cooking technique that had created breakfast foods worthy of magazine covers. *Definitely worth focusing on, regardless of cosmic distractions.*
*Everything about this morning is excellent,* Pepper said with obvious satisfaction, surveying her assembled collection of superheroes and cosmic entities with the kind of maternal pride that came from successfully managing impossible breakfast logistics. *Good food, interesting company, and hopefully enough caffeine to handle whatever governmental complications Director Fury might bring.*
*Plus,* Harry added with that devastating combination of British charm and cosmic confidence, *we haven't accidentally caused any interdimensional incidents or diplomatic crises yet. The day is definitely off to a promising start.*
*Yet,* Daphne observed with aristocratic precision that somehow made cautious optimism sound elegant.
*The key word being 'yet,'* Tony agreed with obvious amusement, his genius brain clearly already calculating probability matrices for various forms of cosmic chaos that might unfold before lunch.
The morning sun continued to stream through the tower's expensive windows, casting everything in golden light that seemed almost prophetic. Breakfast was proving to be excellent, the company was engaging, and somewhere in a helicopter approaching Manhattan, Nick Fury was reviewing classified files and wondering exactly how his relatively straightforward job of planetary defense had expanded to include cosmic oversight, interdimensional diplomacy, and the kind of enhanced individuals who could probably conquer small nations before their second cup of coffee.
The universe, it seemed, had both excellent timing and an occasionally twisted sense of humor when it came to bureaucratic complications and ridiculously attractive cosmic champions.
But the pancakes really were legendary.
---
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