Harry Potter was in his element. Sparring with Natasha Romanoff was like dancing with a tornado—dangerous, fast, and exhilarating. But here's the thing: Harry wasn't just any dancer. He was a storm in his own right, and right now, Natasha's attacks felt more like she was trying to swat at a cloud.
"Not bad, Natasha," Harry said with a grin, spinning the Riyu Jingu Bang around his fingers like a baton. "But I think you've finally learned how to move like a human. Progress!"
Natasha gave him a side-eye, her jaw set but her eyes gleaming with that unbreakable confidence. "Keep talking, Potter. You're going to need that mouth when I'm done with you."
Harry smirked. Oh, he loved when she played tough. But right now, he had the kind of power that made him feel like the protagonist in every superhero movie ever made. And he was about to make it fun.
He tilted his head slightly. "Hey, Jim—how do you think we should dial this up? We giving her the full 'Dragon Ball Z' special?"
"FULL. DRAGON. BALL. Z. TREATMENT!" Jim, Harry's over-enthusiastic mental sidekick (the Riyu Jingu Bang himself), screamed in Harry's mind. "BOOM! ZAP! KA-POW! This is where things get real spicy, baby!"
Harry chuckled under his breath. Oh, yeah. This was going to be epic.
With a flick of his wrist, the staff extended, its golden form stretching like an old-school cartoon character growing to ridiculous proportions. It looked absolutely absurd. Except Harry wasn't laughing. Not yet, anyway.
"Let's see how you handle this," Harry called out. His voice was all playfulness, like he was talking to a kid at a magic show.
Natasha didn't flinch, but she did narrow her eyes. "You're getting cocky. I'm gonna take you down."
Harry's grin widened. "Oh, sweetie, you're gonna need a lot more than a few punches to even make me break a sweat."
With a sudden, exaggerated twirl of his staff, Harry launched into action. The world around them seemed to slow down. Every movement he made felt calculated, precise, and far too fast for Natasha to keep up. She threw a punch, her fists moving like a blur of red and black, but Harry sidestepped with a casual flick of his wrist, sending her hurtling backwards with a single tap of his staff. It wasn't even a real attack—just a flick—but Natasha flew back as if she'd been hit by a truck. She landed in a roll, barely maintaining her balance.
"Whooooa! What was that?" she called out, a little breathless, but clearly impressed. "I thought you were warming up!"
Harry casually twirled the Riyu Jingu Bang around again, looking like he was stretching after a long day of napping. "Oh, I am. You ready for the real deal?"
"Pfft, please. You think that's impressive? You're moving like you're in slow-mo." Natasha's voice was laced with a mixture of challenge and amusement. "I've fought bigger, badder guys than you."
"Hmm, sure, sure. But—here's the thing—I'm not just 'bigger,' I'm better. Better than you've ever fought before. But hey, I'll go easy. You asked for it." Harry's grin was all cocky confidence.
And then the air around him shifted. The moment Harry made that casual declaration, the atmosphere itself seemed to pause. Energy built in his body like a pressure cooker about to explode. Every muscle in his frame tightened, every nerve hum buzzing with power. The Riyu Jingu Bang flared to life, glowing a bright gold as Harry swung it overhead, sending a shockwave across the field that rattled the ground beneath them.
Jim was going wild. "FASTER! HIGHER! BOOM! ZAP! BANG! HIT THE GAS, HARRY, LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!"
And Harry did just that. With a grunt and a snap, he launched himself into the air, the Riyu Jingu Bang turning into a blur of gold, its tip weaving through the air like a lightning bolt with a vendetta. It was too fast for Natasha to even see, let alone counter. Every time she tried to block, he was already three steps ahead. His strikes weren't just fast—they were everywhere, a hundred golden slashes, each one more impossible than the last.
Natasha barely managed to dodge, flipping away just in time, but she wasn't winning. Not even close. The gap between them had grown so wide that it felt like she was trying to land punches on someone who wasn't even there anymore. And Harry? Harry was laughing. Full-on, belly-laughing, as if he'd just discovered a cheat code for life.
"I warned you," he said between laughs. "See, that's what happens when you make me crank it up. You're definitely outclassed here."
"YOU'RE THE BLOODY KING OF SPICE!" Jim cheered in Harry's head, making him chuckle.
And just when Natasha thought she couldn't be knocked around any further, Harry slammed his staff into the ground with a crack that could've rivaled thunder. A wave of force rippled outward, blasting dirt and debris in every direction. Natasha didn't have time to react—she had to dodge or get flattened like a pancake. As she tried to roll out of the way, she realized that she couldn't keep up. The force was too much. Harry was no longer just a fighter—he was a force of nature.
"You feeling a little overwhelmed yet?" Harry teased, spinning his staff lazily, a smirk playing on his lips. "Because, I gotta be honest—I'm just getting started."
"Don't flatter yourself, Potter," Natasha shot back, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. "You're cocky, but I'm still in this."
Harry let out a laugh. "Yeah, that's what they all say. It's cute. But I'm pretty sure I'm at least five moves ahead of you right now."
"Oh, you are cocky," Natasha muttered, but she didn't deny it. She could feel the gap between them. She knew she was being outclassed—but that just made her want to fight harder.
"Okay, okay, we've gotta take this to the next level," Harry said with a wink. "And trust me, you'll be thanking me for it later." He flicked his staff again, his voice full of playful mischief. "Jim—supercharge mode. Hit me with the 'Full Dragon Ball Z' finale."
Jim exploded with excitement. "I GOTCHA, BIG GUY! LET'S TURN THIS FIELD INTO A FIREWORK SHOW!"
And just like that, Harry blurred across the field, every movement twice as fast, every strike three times more powerful. It wasn't just a fight anymore—it was a masterclass in showing off.
"See?" Harry teased, eyes gleaming with playful arrogance. "Isn't this a little more fun?"
By now, even Jean, who had been watching from the sidelines with her arms crossed, had a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You really do know how to make an entrance, don't you?"
"Hey," Harry said, giving her a wink. "It's not every day you get to unleash a bit of Dragon Ball Z on the world. Might as well make it fun."
Natasha, though, was starting to look like she was rethinking her life choices. Her every move was being countered, blocked, or avoided entirely, and as Harry slammed his staff into the ground once more, she finally admitted what was obvious to everyone else.
"Okay, okay. You win. For now."
Harry paused, letting his staff shrink back to its normal size with a dramatic twirl. "Best out of three?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.
Jim's voice boomed in his head, practically frothing at the mouth. "BEST OUT OF THREE? LET'S BLOW THIS WHOLE THING UP, HARRY! FULL-ON KA-POW MODE!"
Harry laughed. "You know what? Maybe next time. I think you've learned your lesson for today."
Natasha rolled her eyes. "You're impossible, Lokison."
Harry gave a lazy salute. "I'm a delight, Romanoff. A delight."
And just like that, the battle was over. For now.
—
The air was still vibrating with the intensity of their sparring session. Harry—sweaty, slightly winded, and in the mood for a good laugh—was trying his hardest not to break into a full-on victory dance. After all, he had just made Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself, look like she was on the losing end of a Marvel team-up (without the whole "villains trying to destroy the world" bit).
He pulled Jim—his ridiculously powerful staff—back into its wand form, the golden magic flickering out of existence as he tucked it into the holster on his forearm. Yeah, he'd just been a walking walking-tornado of destruction, but no big deal. That was just Harry Lokison. The humble Monkey King in a Camp Half-Blood t-shirt and cargo pants. Oh, and boots. Because, you know, comfort was key when you were out here saving the world (or punching it in the face, depending on the day).
"Well, that was fun," Harry said, wiping a little sweat off his brow like he'd just finished a casual stroll through a park, not a knock-down, drag-out fight with a professional assassin.
Natasha, who'd clearly been trying her hardest to act like she wasn't just a tiny bit flustered by the display of power, gave him a death glare that was so expertly perfected it almost made Harry applaud. "That was a lot," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "You know, I was going easy on you, right?"
Harry quirked an eyebrow, a devil-may-care grin spreading across his face. "Sure you were, Nat. I mean, I could feel it. That punch you almost landed? My ear's still vibrating with the aftershocks. Good job, though. You'll get there eventually, I'm sure."
She shot him a side-eye. "You are so annoying."
Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "What can I say? Just blessed with all this raw talent," he said, flexing a bicep that was way more for show than actual use. "You'd be surprised at how often I have to hold back. Keeps the egos in check."
She crossed her arms, leaning back against one of the nearby crates. "You're impossible," she muttered, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, despite her best efforts to look irritated. "I'd almost call that a compliment, Potter."
"Only almost?" Harry asked. "You wound me. Well, maybe next time I'll just go easy on you. You know, so we can keep this balanced."
At that point, Beckendorf and Jean showed up—apparently having just finished watching the entire spectacle from the sidelines. Beckendorf, with his dark, stormy eyes and that smug smirk that could rival Harry's own, looked ready to comment, though there was something almost impressed in his voice.
"Damn, you two really know how to throw down," Beckendorf said, dragging himself over, hands in his pockets. "Honestly, I thought you were gonna turn the whole place into a crater. Guess not, though. Bummer. I had my popcorn ready." He flashed a grin, looking between Harry and Natasha. "Could've used the extra destruction to make my day interesting."
Jean was quieter, her gaze flickering over Harry for a moment like she was trying to piece together how this guy was somehow both a walking weapon of mass destruction and a total clown at the same time. She finally pushed off the crate, her platinum blonde hair flying in the wind as she gave a tiny, knowing smile.
"That was something," Jean said, leaning casually against another crate. "I didn't think you'd turn it into a circus, Potter, but here we are. Should've expected it, though. You do have a flair for the dramatic."
Harry winked, flashing that annoyingly charming grin. "You bet. Gotta keep things interesting. You ever been to a show where the main act doesn't have at least a little flair?" He looked over at Natasha, who was still trying to keep that tough-guy persona up, but Harry could see the tiniest flicker of respect in her eyes. "C'mon, Natasha. You know you love the drama. You practically live for it."
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. "Fine. You get this one, Potter. But next time? Next time, you're going down. I'll be ready."
Harry shot her a look that was equal parts challenging and playful. "Next round? I'm totally gonna give you a fighting chance. I mean, if I'm being generous. You never know, though—could be another total domination. You'd better bring your A-game."
Beckendorf raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "You sure? I mean, I'm still waiting for someone to actually beat you. Maybe next time. I'm kind of in my off-hours right now."
"Oh, I know," Harry said, leaning back, arms casually behind his head. "I'm definitely not expecting you to get wrecked by my awesomeness today, Beckendorf. Don't want to hurt that precious ego of yours."
Jean, who had been watching the exchange with more than a little amusement, finally chimed in, her voice rich with sarcasm. "No one wants to be crushed by Harry Potter's never-ending supply of power. You know, because that's so much fun. Maybe we should all just go home and let him save the world again while we sit back and watch. That sounds... thrilling."
"Oh, don't worry. Next time, I'll show you my full power," Harry said, looking at Jean with a grin so wide it almost split his face in half. "It'll be like a fireworks show, a rocket launch, and a godly intervention all rolled into one. Seriously, if you ever want to know what it's like to be in the presence of pure awesomeness, you'll want to be front and center for that."
Jean raised an eyebrow. "I'll make sure to pack snacks. And maybe a fire extinguisher."
Beckendorf was the first to speak after a few moments of silence, the cool humor not even trying to hide the glint of respect in his eyes. "Water, guys? I think we've all earned it after that show."
Harry was already reaching for a bottle. "Oh yeah, hydration is key. After going full Dragon Ball Z, I could use a break. You know, before I turn into Super Saiyan level, and destroy the world... again." He cracked the bottle open with a satisfyingly loud pop and took a long swig, his eyes momentarily closing in relief.
Jean, always composed, just nodded and took one for herself. Beckendorf grabbed a bottle as well, though his expression was more amused than impressed.
"Alright, alright," Harry said after a long moment, finishing his drink and tossing the bottle aside. "We good now? Because I'm ready to really show you guys how I go full superhero. Next round? Full-on Power Rangers vibes. You ready for that?"
Jim, who had spent the last few minutes in Harry's mind, piped up in his signature over-the-top tone. "Oh yeah, baby! You better bring the chaos! I'm so ready for this next level of insanity. C'mon, Harry, let's make it a party! What's a little destruction between friends?"
Harry raised a hand in mock exasperation. "Jim, we're always making it a party, buddy. And if you think the world's ready for the show I'm about to put on, you haven't seen anything yet."
Beckendorf, with a smirk still on his face, shot Harry a warning look. "Just promise me something, alright? If you really do go Super Saiyan, you'll give us a heads-up. I don't want to be caught in the middle of a magical explosion again."
Harry winked, already thinking about how he could actually make that happen. "Oh, don't worry. You'll get a warning. It'll be like a personal light show. You'll love it."
Jean shot him a dry look, clearly already anticipating what was to come. "As long as I don't end up with my hair singed off again, I'm all in."
Harry laughed and shrugged. "I can't make any promises, but I'll do my best."
—
Back at the Big House at Camp Half-Blood, the air was thick with the buzz of planning. This wasn't your average, run-of-the-mill planning—oh no, this was the kind of planning that would make a Greek god question their life choices. Harry's 11th birthday was coming up, and with it, the Fifth Annual Prank War. Team Lokison was on one side, sipping way too much caffeine and discussing the perfect mix of chaos, glitter, and whipped cream. Team Black was probably planning somewhere across the pond in England, at the Black Family Seaside Cabin, but Harry wasn't worried. Team Lokison had never lost. And this year, he was going to make sure that streak stayed unbroken.
"Alright, team," Harry said, leaning back in his chair, flashing a grin that could only be described as "dangerously smug." "We've got one goal here: Make sure Team Black never forgets this birthday. Ever."
"Yeah, sure," Jean muttered, lounging against the wall and flicking a lock of her platinum hair. "Sounds easy enough, Potter. But don't get too cocky. Even the best fall eventually."
"Jean, you've only just joined us," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "You don't even know what you're in for. We're like a well-oiled machine. Except instead of oil, we run on fire, sarcasm, and glitter bombs."
"Fire and sarcasm?" Natasha repeated, sounding like she was contemplating the merits of it. "That's a great combo."
Yelena, who'd been quietly sipping from her cup, chimed in with a grin. "I'm just here for the destruction. As long as it's entertaining destruction."
Katie Gardner, sitting next to Yelena, smirked. "What's the plan, then? Show us how you've mastered this level of pranking genius."
Harry leaned forward, his grin practically glowing. "It's all about timing. And knowing your enemy."
Luke, lounging nearby with his trademark snicker, added, "Which Team Black is notoriously bad at. If we were them, we'd be sweating right now."
Connor, next to Luke, raised an eyebrow. "Uh, didn't they pull off that one prank with the enchanted fireworks two years ago? We still haven't found all the glitter."
"Please," Harry waved his hand dramatically. "That was amateur hour. We do this with style. With class. With... bad puns."
Jean rolled her eyes. "I swear, if I have to endure one more of your puns, I'll personally make sure you're on the receiving end of a magical fireball."
"Jean, you wound me," Harry said, clutching his chest as though he were mortally wounded. "But trust me, you're not ready for the Shakespearean levels of wordplay I'm about to unleash. It's going to be like Shakespeare had a lovechild with the Joker."
At that moment, Jim—the golden, talkative staff that had somehow wormed its way into the group—interrupted with his usual enthusiasm. "What about spontaneous dancing? A flash mob! I could use my magic to summon a jazz ensemble, perfect for unexpected musical moments!"
Harry stopped mid-sentence, blinking in confusion. "Jim, we're planning a prank war, not Broadway. You're not on the team."
"I'm technically an advisor," Jim replied with the kind of smugness that only someone who was always wrong could carry. "And a fantastic one at that. I mean, who else has the eye for chaos like me?"
"Jim," Silena cut him off, not even looking up from where she was sketching something on a napkin, "you're a stick. You're not part of the team. At best, you're the glue holding the madness together."
Katie added, "If you're gonna keep offering advice, maybe you should upgrade to Sirius mode. At least then you'd have a bit of personality."
Jim deflated for a second—well, as much as a golden staff could deflate—but quickly recovered. "Touché, Katie. But I've got genius ideas. Ever thought about turning the Black family cabin into a maze of enchanted rubber chickens? They won't know what hit them."
Beckendorf, who had been leaning casually against the table, his arms crossed, sighed in an exasperated tone. "I swear, if I hear about those chickens one more time, I'll—"
"Stop ruining my genius, Beckendorf!" Jim shot back, flinging himself dramatically across the room. "Rubber chickens, people! It's the kind of prank no one expects. And you know what they say: Expect the unexpected."
Harry couldn't help himself. "Alright, alright. Fine. We'll throw in the rubber chickens. But don't go trying to take credit for it."
Jim grinned, not fazed. "I'll write it all down in my diary under 'The Greatest Moments of Chaos.'"
"Sure, Jim," Harry said, rubbing his temples with a grin that was half exasperated, half amused. "But listen, the birthday boy always gets the first prank. So... I've already got something special planned for Team Black. It's going to be legendary."
"You're gonna need a lot of wax for that one," Jim piped up, seemingly serious for once. "Trust me. I have a formula for that."
The group groaned collectively, but Harry just smiled. This was the kind of planning he lived for. "Alright, let's get to work. But remember, guys, we're not just doing this for fun. We're making history. And I will make sure Team Black remembers this birthday for the rest of their lives. In fact, we'll make sure their grandchildren know about it too."
Thalia, who had been unusually quiet so far, spoke up. "Just don't make it too obvious that we're pranking them. I mean, I'd like to think I still have a little dignity left."
"Thalia," Harry said, arching an eyebrow, "your dignity went out the window the moment you started stealing Clarisse's weapons for pranks last year. You're in the chaos team now. You gave up subtlety for art."
Clarisse, sitting across from Thalia, shot her a wicked smile. "Hey, I didn't need those weapons anyway. Besides, they came in handy for some... unpredictable moments."
Harry leaned forward, his eyes glinting. "Okay, people. We've got one month to prep. We need fireworks. Glitter bombs. Enchanted spellbooks. The works. Team Black won't know what hit them."
Jean stretched her arms above her head and cracked her knuckles. "So... do we get to sabotage their birthday party too, or just make their lives a living nightmare?"
"Oh, we're sabotaging everything," Harry said, eyes sparkling. "But this is about class. You know, subtle things like setting their cabin on fire... but with style."
And then, as the final touch, he added, "Let's make sure Team Black gets a show they'll never forget."
The room buzzed with energy, the plan forming like a masterpiece of chaos. Jim, while technically not a team member, could feel the thrill of it all, and offered one final piece of advice, "You're gonna need a lot of rubber chickens, trust me."
But Harry just grinned, already imagining the epic showdown. "Sure, Jim. You get the chickens. Just stay out of the execution phase."
And with that, the room went quiet, save for the sound of excited murmurs, as Team Lokison began its preparations for the greatest prank war ever.
—
As the conversation settled into a rhythm of chaos and caffeine, the resident prankster extraordinaires—Luke, Travis, and Connor—could hardly contain themselves. The moment had come to unveil their master plan, and they were practically vibrating with mischief.
Luke leaned back in his chair, feet up on the table, wearing a grin so smug it could've been its own divine entity. "Alright, alright, enough of the chit-chat. You all want to see what we've been cooking up, yeah? Trust me, this is the kind of thing that will haunt Team Black's nightmares for years."
Travis nodded eagerly, mirroring Luke's grin like a devious reflection. "Next-level pranking, people. I mean, sure, a little whipped cream here, a few rubber chickens there—child's play. This? This is art."
Connor sighed dramatically, tossing his hands in the air. "Guys, they don't need a sales pitch. They need to witness the madness."
With that, the trio sprang into action, unveiling an enormous pile of contraband spread across the table. Fireworks. Enchanted jars. Glitter. An obscene amount of marshmallow fluff. And beneath it all, blueprints—actual, honest-to-the-gods blueprints detailing the specifics of each prank. The team gathered like moths to a particularly unhinged flame.
"Beckendorf," Luke called, flicking his fingers toward the resident mechanical genius, who had been suspiciously quiet. "You're going to have to help us build this."
Beckendorf, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want me to help with... that?" He pointed to what could only be described as a Frankensteinian contraption, like a toaster had an existential crisis and tried to become a death ray.
Connor clapped him on the back. "Obviously. You're the mechanical genius. We need this thing to work."
Travis dramatically flipped open the blueprints like he was unveiling the Mona Lisa. "Step one: we fill these enchanted jars with the most annoying sound in the universe. I'm thinking constant dog barking mixed with an airhorn every five seconds."
Luke nodded sagely. "Step two: we release them in their cabin at three a.m. Step three: profit."
Silena, perched on the edge of the table, looked unimpressed. "That's cute. But if you really want to mess with them, add in some perfume charms—something overwhelming. Maybe... Eau de Rotten Fish?"
"Silena," Connor said, clutching his chest like she'd just spoken the most beautiful words in existence, "you are a goddess."
Thalia rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You want true chaos? Make them think they've stepped into an alternate dimension. Walls closing in, flickering lights, maybe a few enchanted spiders—"
Jim, who had been quiet up until now, suddenly leaped onto the table. "Spiders? Pfft. Amateurs." He pulled out a banana (where did that even come from?) and waved it like a conductor's baton. "No, no, no. We need JAZZ MONKEYS."
The room paused.
Harry, lounging like a king among miscreants, steepled his fingers. "I'm sorry, Jim, did you just say jazz monkeys?"
Jim spread his arms, his expression solemn. "Not just any jazz monkeys. A full jazz band of them. Saxophones, trumpets, drums. The works. Chaotic jazz. Completely atonal. No discernible melody. Just the sweet, sweet sound of madness."
Hermione, who had been taking deep, calming breaths through most of this, finally snapped. "This is the dumbest plan I've ever heard."
"Ah, but Hermione—" Harry turned to her, eyes twinkling. "Is it, though? Or is it... genius?"
She stared at him like he had personally insulted the Dewey Decimal System. "It's both. Somehow."
Yelena, watching all of this with a smirk, elbowed Natasha. "This is a terrible idea."
Natasha sipped her coffee. "Yep."
"Are we helping?"
"Absolutely."
Fleur, looking elegant despite the madness, tilted her head. "Zhis is, how you say... insanity."
Jim gasped dramatically. "Fleur. Darling. Light of my life. That is the highest compliment you could've given me."
Annabeth, arms crossed, finally spoke up. "Alright, but how are we pulling this off logistically? You can't just throw chaos at a problem and expect it to work."
Harry grinned. "That, my dear daughter of Athena, is where you underestimate me." He twirled the oversized wand Travis had handed him earlier, the runes glowing ominously. "This baby lets us expand our pranks into the astral plane. Funhouse illusions. Nightmare fuel. We're talking upside-down rooms, floating trees, eerie whispers in the dark. Absolute psychological warfare."
Clarisse, who had been listening with mounting horror, groaned. "You people are nightmares."
Jean, sitting cross-legged on the table, smirked. "And yet, you're still here."
Jasper, watching everything unfold like he was witnessing a car crash in slow motion, sighed. "I cannot believe I'm saying this, but... let's do it."
Kayla and Katie high-fived in the background, already plotting.
Luke clapped his hands. "Alright, team. We hit Team Black with a prank war of epic proportions. But Harry—"
Harry twirled the wand. "Yeah?"
Luke smirked. "You may be Loki's son, but you're gonna need a lot more than that to take us down."
Harry's grin turned downright villainous. "Challenge accepted, my friend."
As plans were finalized, and Jim continued his impassioned argument about why the jazz monkeys should wear tiny fedoras, one thing became certain: Team Black had no idea what was coming.
—
Meanwhile, in the Black Family Seaside Cabin, Sirius Black was having the absolute time of his life.
Now, granted, the time of his life usually involved pranking Snivellus, getting into duels, or convincing Remus that chocolate was a viable food group. But today? Today was special.
Today, he was a dragon.
"Tremble before me, puny mortal!" Sirius bellowed, crouching low and spreading his arms like wings. "I shall roast your kingdom to ashes and steal all your cookies!"
"NEVER!" declared seven-year-old Lyra Black, standing atop the couch like she was reenacting a battle scene straight out of Braveheart. Her wild black curls bounced as she raised her plastic sword, her tiny voice brimming with righteous fury. "I, the bravest knight in the land, shall defeat you, foul beast!"
Sirius let out the most dramatic dragon roar imaginable. If there were Oscars for dads playing make-believe, he would've taken home at least three. "You dare challenge me? Foolish knight! I—"
Then he stopped. Because, out of nowhere, an icy shiver ran up his spine, the kind of full-body something is terribly wrong sensation he hadn't felt since his last brush with Dementors.
Lyra blinked at him. "Daddy? Why'd you stop? I was about to vanquish you."
Sirius frowned, glancing around like he expected Death Eaters to pop out of the potted plants. "I… don't know, pup. But I just got the weirdest feeling. Like someone just decided to mess with me on a cosmic level. And I do not like it."
Before he could further contemplate his impending doom, a voice rang out from the doorway.
"Sirius! Lyra! Inside. Now."
Sirius immediately straightened up. Because here's the thing—he was a rebel, a rogue, a charming scoundrel who thumbed his nose at authority on principle. But there were precisely three people in the world whose orders he obeyed without hesitation.
One: Lyra. Because she was adorable and had him wrapped around her little finger.
Two: Lily Potter, aka Artemis. Because she had that look that could melt steel beams and shame even the most hardened of criminals.
Three: His wife, Marlene McKinnon-Black. Who was standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, exuding you're in deep trouble energy.
Sirius gulped. "Coming, dear!" He swung Lyra over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, eliciting giggles as he strode into the house.
Marlene was standing there, golden-brown hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail, looking every bit like an action hero ready to dismantle a government conspiracy. She had the distinct expression of a woman who knew something was coming and was already done with it.
"Sirius," she said, voice level but carrying that edge. "Tell me, did you do anything recently to upset Harry?"
Sirius blinked. "Harry? No. Why?"
Marlene pinched the bridge of her nose. "Because I just felt a disturbance in the Force. A big one. And if I know our godson, he's up to something."
Sirius scoffed. "Pfft, please. What could my sweet, innocent godson possibly be planning?"
Marlene gave him a look. The kind that made grown men rethink their life choices.
Sirius hesitated. "Okay, so maybe not sweet. And definitely not innocent. But still, what could he possibly be doing that would—"
Then it hit him.
His face went pale. "Oh. Oh no."
Marlene nodded grimly. "Yes. That oh-no feeling? I felt it too. And it's coming for us."
Lyra, blissfully unaware of the doom settling over her parents, clapped her hands excitedly. "Are we going on an adventure?!"
Sirius exhaled, ruffling her curls. "Something like that, pup. Something like that…"
And with that, the Black family braced themselves for whatever cosmic chaos their godson had unleashed upon the world.
---
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