What followed was essentially a three-dimensional obstacle course designed by someone with both a deeply vindictive sense of humor and unlimited access to impossible physics. Harry found himself staring at a maze of crystalline barriers that seemed to pulse with their own malevolent intelligence, structures that appeared to have been crafted by someone who'd read Escher's fever dreams and thought they showed a disappointing lack of ambition.
"Right then," Harry muttered, hovering at the entrance to what Pev had cheerfully described as 'basic aerial maneuvering practice.' "Because a simple obstacle course would be too pedestrian for the House of Rell, wouldn't it? Can't just have some hoops to fly through like a sensible alien civilization."
"Sensible is overrated," Pev replied with the kind of smile that suggested he was thoroughly enjoying his descendant's discomfort. "Besides, where's the character development in sensible? Now, the objective is simple—navigate through the course while maintaining perfect control."
Harry eyed a gap between two crystalline spires that looked barely wide enough for a particularly slim owl. "Simple, he says. And I suppose those barriers that keep shifting position are just my imagination?"
"Oh, those respond to intention and fear," Pev said casually, as if describing the weather. "The more you doubt yourself, the more difficult the path becomes. Rather like life, really, but with more potential for spectacular collision-related injuries."
"Marvelous." Harry rolled his shoulders, feeling the strange new strength coiled in his muscles like compressed lightning. "Well, I've spent the last seven years of my life doing inadvisable things in the face of mortal peril. I suppose this is just Tuesday with better special effects."
He launched himself forward with a burst of speed that would have been impossible for any human, threading through the first gap with a grace that surprised even him. The crystalline barriers sensed his approach and began their malicious dance, shifting and narrowing with what Harry could have sworn was spiteful glee.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, banking hard to avoid a spire that had decided to relocate itself directly in his flight path. "These things have personality disorders."
"Language, young heir," Pev called out, though his tone suggested he was fighting laughter. "A Kryptonian maintains dignity even when reality is actively conspiring against him."
Harry executed a corkscrew turn that would have made Victor Krum weep with envy, threading through a gap that existed in seventeen dimensions simultaneously. "Dignity is for people who aren't being chased by geometrically improbable architecture with abandonment issues."
The maze seemed to take this as a challenge, restructuring itself into something that would have given M.C. Escher nightmares and required at least three separate degrees in theoretical mathematics to fully comprehend. Staircases led in directions that didn't exist, platforms floated in defiance of gravity, and everywhere Harry looked, crystalline structures were engaged in what appeared to be an argument conducted entirely in the language of impossible angles.
"You know," Harry said conversationally as he performed a barrel roll around a structure that was definitely not designed by anyone bound by conventional geometry, "when I dreamed about having superpowers as a child, I imagined simple things. Flying around the neighborhood, maybe stopping a bank robbery or two. Not navigating a Salvador Dalí painting having an existential crisis."
Pev laughed, the sound echoing through the training space with genuine delight. "Simple dreams are for simple people, Harry. You are many things—stubborn, occasionally reckless, prone to making jokes at inappropriate moments—but simple has never been one of them."
Harry paused mid-flight to consider this, hovering effortlessly while a teacup materialized and balanced itself on his nose as if this were the most natural thing in the world. "You know, you're probably right. Even my attempts at normal teenage experiences ended up involving dragons or murderous tournaments. I should have seen this coming."
The course shifted again, becoming something that looked like the inside of a kaleidoscope designed by someone with an advanced degree in making people's brains hurt. Harry found himself flying backwards through loops that existed in colors that had no names, reading a book that appeared upside down but somehow made perfect sense in the context of eleven-dimensional space.
"Excellent form," Pev observed as Harry completed a figure-eight around structures that seemed to be made of crystallized mathematics having a philosophical debate. "Though you're still thinking like a human with superpowers rather than as someone who can transcend the ordinary limitations of existence."
"Right," Harry said, executing a turn that involved briefly existing in seven places simultaneously. "Because thinking like a human has served me so poorly in the past. Remind me, which one of us is the one who lived in a crystal for four hundred years because he couldn't figure out a better solution to his problems?"
The training ground fell silent except for the humming of impossible energies. Harry immediately realized he might have overstepped.
"That," Pev said slowly, "is a fair point. Though technically, it was a stasis pod, not a crystal. Crystals are for decoration. Stasis pods are for dramatic entrances and questionable life choices."
Harry grinned, the expression transforming his already handsome features into something that would have made angels pause in their celestial duties to appreciate the view. "There's the Kryptonian dignity I've heard so much about."
"I'll have you know that dramatic entrances are a cornerstone of Kryptonian culture," Pev replied with mock severity. "We've elevated theatrical flourishing to an art form. Where do you think your tendency toward dramatic gestures comes from?"
"I thought that was the Potter side," Harry said, performing a particularly complex aerial routine that involved threading through needle-thin gaps while juggling balls of crystallized starlight. "We're known for our ability to turn simple situations into epic adventures through the power of poor decision-making and spectacular timing."
"A family trait that spans species, apparently," Pev observed. "Though I must say, your integration of magic and flight is proceeding remarkably well. Most Kryptonians take months to achieve that level of precision."
Harry paused in his aerial ballet, hovering motionless while balancing a teacup on his nose and maintaining a small aurora around his shoulders for no reason other than it looked impressive. "Most Kryptonians didn't spend their formative years on broomsticks being chased by murderous sporting equipment and dark wizards. I've had extensive practice in creative problem-solving while airborne."
The training ground shifted one final time, becoming something that looked like the Department of Mysteries had been redesigned by architects from a civilization that thought in at least twelve dimensions and had strong opinions about the aesthetic value of controlled chaos. Crystalline workbenches held artifacts that were part wand, part alien technology, and entirely impossible. The air itself hummed with energies that made Harry's magical core sing in harmony like a choir of particularly enthusiastic phoenixes.
"Right," Harry said, settling gracefully onto a platform that existed in only three dimensions and thus felt positively mundane by comparison. "I'm assuming this is where things get either very interesting or very dangerous."
"Both," Pev confirmed cheerfully, gesturing to the workshop around them with the pride of someone showing off a particularly excellent wine collection. "This is where we begin your education in magical integration—the art of convincing magic and Kryptonian abilities to work together rather than simply coexisting in the same impossibly attractive package."
Harry examined one of the artifact-tools, which looked like a wand that had been crossed with a sonic screwdriver, blessed by beings who thought in eleven dimensions, and then polished by someone with an obsessive attention to aesthetic detail. "Let me guess—this isn't going to be as simple as 'wave wand, fly faster, job done,' is it?"
"Where would be the character development in that?" Pev asked, picking up what appeared to be a crystalline sphere filled with swirling galaxies and the occasional confused-looking star. "Magic and Kryptonian abilities, you see, are not separate systems to be used independently. In you, they will be integrated—each enhancing the other, creating capabilities that neither could achieve alone."
Harry raised an eyebrow in an expression that somehow managed to convey both curiosity and the kind of healthy skepticism that had kept him alive through seven years of magical education. "And how exactly does one integrate magic with alien superpowers? I can't imagine there's a class at Hogwarts for 'Advanced Extraterrestrial Studies' filed somewhere between Ancient Runes and Arithmancy."
"Through understanding that both magic and Kryptonian abilities are expressions of will acting upon reality," Pev explained, his voice taking on the tone of someone who had spent considerable time thinking about these concepts while sitting in a stasis pod for four centuries. "Your magic shapes the world through focused intention. Your Kryptonian powers alter physical laws through conscious direction. Together, they allow you to rewrite the fundamental rules of existence."
He gestured to the sphere in his hands, where the galaxies were now performing what appeared to be an elaborate dance routine. "Consider this: traditional magic might allow you to Transfigure lead into gold. Kryptonian abilities might allow you to rearrange matter at the atomic level. Combined? You could theoretically create entirely new elements that never existed in nature, materials with properties that violate everything science thinks it knows about physics."
Harry's eyes lit up with the kind of interest usually reserved for particularly clever Quidditch strategies, new ways to irritate Snape, or the discovery of previously unknown passages in Hogwarts that led to interesting places. "That sounds wonderfully dangerous and completely impossible. I love it already."
"I knew you would," Pev said with satisfaction. "Your heat vision, for instance, will be able to carry the properties of spells. Imagine a Cutting Curse that works at the speed of light, or a Healing Charm that can be directed with perfect precision across vast distances."
Harry began to pace, his mind racing through possibilities with the kind of enthusiasm that had made his professors either very proud or very concerned, depending on their tolerance for creative applications of magical theory. "So I could potentially heal someone on the other side of London just by looking at them?"
"With practice, yes. And your super speed combined with Apparition could allow you to travel not just quickly, but to places that don't technically exist in normal space-time. The Room of Requirement, for instance, exists in a state of dimensional flux. With the right application of integrated abilities, you could step outside conventional reality altogether."
Harry stopped pacing and turned to stare at his ancestor with the expression of someone who had just realized that everything he thought he knew about the possible was merely the opening chapter in a much larger book. "You're describing the ability to break reality."
"Not break," Pev corrected gently. "Edit. Improve. Have a civilized conversation with the fundamental forces of existence and convince them to be something better."
Harry was quiet for a moment, absorbing the implications. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a note of fascination tinged with the kind of healthy concern that came from experience with powerful magical objects and their tendency toward unintended consequences. "That's either brilliant or absolutely terrifying."
"Both," Pev agreed cheerfully. "Which is why the next phase of your education will focus on wisdom, restraint, and the moral implications of power that can reshape worlds. After all, anyone can tear down reality. It takes true skill to improve it."
Harry groaned dramatically, running a hand through hair that now seemed to catch light in ways that defied several laws of physics. "There it is. I was wondering when we'd get to the 'with great power' speech. Though I suppose when you put it in terms of reality-editing capabilities, the moral implications do become rather pressing."
"Indeed. But first," Pev's smile turned anticipatory in the way that suggested he was about to do something that would be either spectacular or deeply unsettling, possibly both, "let me show you what you'll be capable of when you master the integration of magic and Kryptonian science."
He raised his hand, and suddenly the workshop around them began to change. Not physically—though that too—but conceptually, as if the very ideas that defined reality were being gently edited by someone with administrative privileges to the universe's operating system. The crystalline walls became simultaneously transparent and opaque, existing in a state that wasn't quite either but somehow both. The floor existed in three dimensions and seventeen simultaneously, which should have been impossible but felt perfectly natural. The air itself began to show mathematical equations that described the fundamental nature of existence, written in symbols that Harry could somehow read despite having never seen them before.
"This," Pev said simply, his voice carrying the quiet pride of someone showing off their life's work, "is what happens when magic learns to think like science, and science learns to dream like magic."
Harry stared at the impossible display with the wide-eyed wonder of someone seeing magic for the first time all over again, which, in a way, he was. The equations floating in the air weren't just describing reality—they were reality, the underlying code that made existence function, laid bare and beautiful in its elegant complexity.
"That's..." Harry began, then stopped, searching for words that could adequately describe what he was seeing. "That's not just breaking reality. That's having a civilized conversation with it and convincing it to be something better."
"Precisely." Pev lowered his hand, and the workshop returned to merely being impossible rather than conceptually revolutionary, though Harry suspected the change was more about his ability to perceive the deeper layers than any actual alteration in the space. "And when you wake up, young heir, that will be your inheritance. The power to improve reality itself, one careful thought at a time."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, absorbing the implications with the thoughtful expression of someone who had learned to think carefully before accepting powerful magical gifts, having had some rather pointed experiences with cursed objects and well-meaning but dangerous magical interventions.
"That's... that's rather more than I bargained for when I climbed into your magic hibernation pod," he said finally, his voice carrying a note of bemusement. "I was expecting enhanced strength and the ability to fly. Maybe some heat vision for dealing with particularly stubborn locks. Not the cosmic power to edit the universe's source code."
"Are you afraid?" Pev asked gently, his expression serious for the first time in their conversation.
Harry considered this seriously, with the kind of careful self-reflection that came from having faced down Voldemort on multiple occasions and learning to recognize the difference between courage and recklessness. "Terrified," he admitted without shame. "But also... excited? It's like being offered the chance to become a better version of magic itself. How does one turn down an opportunity like that?"
"One doesn't," Pev said with a smile that held centuries of pride, hope, and the particular satisfaction that came from seeing potential about to be realized. "One simply learns to be worthy of it."
The mindspace began to fade around them, reality growing soft at the edges like a dream beginning to surrender to morning light. The crystalline structures became translucent, then transparent, then simply suggestions of what had been, while the impossible mathematics dissolved into whispers of meaning on the edge of consciousness.
"Is it time?" Harry asked, feeling his consciousness being drawn back toward his transforming body like a tide returning to shore.
"Twenty-eight days have passed in the physical world," Pev confirmed, his form beginning to fade as the mental construct that had housed their training dissolved. "Your body has completed its metamorphosis. Your mind has learned to direct abilities that will make you unique among all the children of both Earth and Krypton."
Harry nodded, then paused with a characteristic grin that somehow managed to be both boyishly charming and devastatingly attractive. "You know, I just realized something. When I wake up as a magical Kryptonian superhero, I'm going to have to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. Defeating dark wizards was sort of my entire career plan."
Pev's laugh was warm and rich, echoing through the dissolving mindspace like distant bells ringing across water. "My dear boy, with the abilities you're about to possess, I suspect you'll find no shortage of ways to keep busy. The universe has a way of presenting opportunities to those capable of rising to meet them."
"True," Harry agreed as consciousness faded toward awakening, his mental voice growing distant. "Though I do hope alien superhero training comes with better work-life balance than wizard prophecy management. That job had terrible hours and absolutely rubbish vacation time."
The last thing he heard was Pev-Rell's delighted laughter, following him back toward a body that was no longer entirely human, and a future that was about to become considerably more interesting than even Harry Potter had ever imagined possible.
In the fading edges of the mindspace, Pev's voice carried one final message: "Remember, young heir—power is not about what you can do, but about choosing what you should do. Use it well."
And then there was only the gentle pull of awakening consciousness, drawing Harry back to a world that was about to discover just how interesting things could become when magic learned to fly at the speed of light.
—
Consciousness returned to Harry like dawn breaking over a mountain—gradual at first, then sudden and overwhelming in its completeness. But even before his mind fully engaged, his body was already cataloguing changes with the methodical precision of someone who had spent years surviving by paying attention to details that others might miss.
The first thing he noticed was space. Not the philosophical concept—though he suspected he might have some interesting thoughts about that later—but the simple, physical reality that there was considerably more of him than there had been twenty-eight days ago. His legs stretched nearly to the end of the hibernation pod, which had definitely been longer than he was when he'd climbed in. His shoulders had broadened to the point where the crystal walls that had seemed spacious now felt almost snug.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, his voice carrying new depths that resonated in his chest like distant thunder made of honey and starlight. "Either this pod has shrunk, or I've been taking some very effective growth potions without my knowledge."
And his arms—Merlin, his arms had the kind of defined muscle that belonged on classical statues and professional Quidditch players, not on someone who had spent most of his life being described as "slight" and "wiry" by people trying to be polite about his resemblance to an underfed scarecrow.
The second thing he noticed was power. Not magical power—that had always been there, humming in his chest like a contented cat that occasionally set things on fire when it was feeling particularly affectionate. This was different. This was raw, solar energy suffusing every cell of his body, making him feel as though he'd been struck by lightning and survived to become something considerably more impressive than your average wizard.
His heartbeat was deeper, stronger, each pulse sending waves of enhanced vitality through his system that made him feel like he could wrestle a dragon and then ask it politely about its weekend plans. His senses were so acute he could hear what sounded suspiciously like Mrs. Weasley lecturing someone about proper sock-folding technique from what felt like several countries away.
"Right," he said to himself, because talking to oneself was a perfectly reasonable response to discovering one had apparently been transformed into some sort of magical superhuman. "Either I've gone completely mad, or the next twenty-four hours are going to be significantly more interesting than anticipated."
The third thing he noticed, as the hibernation pod's lid retracted with a sound like distant music played by a particularly talented orchestra of cosmic entities, was that he was no longer wearing his torn and battle-stained robes from the Final Battle.
Instead, he was dressed like someone's very attractive fever dream of what a superhero should look like if they had unlimited resources, excellent taste, and a deep appreciation for the psychological impact of really superior dramatic presentation.
"Oh, come on," Harry said, sitting up with fluid grace that belonged in poetry rather than biology textbooks. "This is taking the piss, isn't it?"
The bodysuit was midnight black, cut from material that felt like silk but moved like liquid shadow, fitting him perfectly in a way that suggested it had been tailored by someone with both advanced technology and an appreciation for the aesthetic value of well-defined abs. Red piping traced elegant lines across the torso and limbs, accentuating the dramatic improvement in his physique in a manner that was both tasteful and utterly shameless.
A golden belt sat at his waist with the weight and presence of something both decorative and functional, like jewelry that could probably stop a curse and look magnificent while doing it. Black and gold gauntlets covered his hands and forearms, their surface etched with symbols that seemed to shift between what looked like alien text and familiar runic magic depending on how he looked at them.
"Well," Harry observed, flexing his fingers and watching the symbols dance across the gauntlets, "someone's been having fun with the wardrobe department. This is either the most elaborate prank in wizarding history, or I've stumbled into some sort of cosmic costume drama."
But it was the cloak that truly completed the ensemble—a rich crimson that seemed to glow with its own inner fire, attached to a mantle of black and gold that settled across his shoulders with dramatic flair. The whole thing managed to convey both regal authority and the kind of practical functionality that suggested its wearer regularly engaged in activities that involved flying at high speeds while looking magnificent and possibly delivering witty one-liners to confused villains.
"Pev," Harry called, his enhanced hearing picking up the sound of measured footsteps approaching through the crystal corridors, "please tell me you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why I appear to have been transformed into the universe's most overdressed superhero."
Pev-Rell appeared in the doorway with the kind of timing that suggested he'd been waiting just out of sight for maximum dramatic impact—a trait that Harry was beginning to suspect ran in the family. The ancient Kryptonian's ageless face wore the expression of someone watching a particularly successful experiment come to fruition, mixed with what looked suspiciously like grandfatherly pride.
But even Pev seemed momentarily taken aback by the transformation, his silver eyes widening slightly as he took in the results of twenty-eight days of genetic restructuring and cosmic inheritance.
"My dear boy," Pev said, his voice carrying centuries of accumulated amazement, "you look..."
"Like I've been redesigned by someone with unlimited resources and strong opinions about the aesthetic value of dramatic fashion statements?" Harry suggested, standing with movements that carried unconscious elegance. His new height required him to duck slightly to avoid the pod's upper mechanisms, and he found himself having to recalibrate his spatial awareness. "Because that's rather how I feel. Though I have to say, the wardrobe upgrade is appreciated. These robes are considerably more impressive than anything I owned before."
Where once he had been perhaps five-foot-seven and slight, he now stood at least six-foot-two with the kind of build that suggested he could model for classical sculptures between saving the world and making dramatic entrances at important social functions. But more than that, there was something ineffably commanding about his presence now—as if he could make standing still look like a heroic act simply by existing with purpose.
"I was going to say 'magnificent,'" Pev replied with a smile that held centuries of anticipation. "But your assessment is also quite accurate."
Harry turned to examine himself in a mirror of crystalline perfection that Pev produced with the casual gesture of someone for whom matter was merely a polite suggestion. The person looking back at him was unmistakably himself, but himself as interpreted by someone with access to cosmic enhancement techniques and a subscription to whatever magazine featured "Most Devastatingly Attractive Beings in the Galaxy."
His dark hair, always unruly, now fell in waves that seemed to catch light from sources that didn't exist. His skin held a subtle luminescence that spoke of solar energy absorbed and transformed into something approaching perfection. But his eyes—his green eyes, always his most distinctive feature, now held depths that seemed to contain captured starlight.
"Bloody hell," Harry breathed, watching his reflection with fascination. "Hermione's going to have an absolute field day with this. Ron's going to make jokes about my hair for the next decade."
When he concentrated, his eyes began to glow with golden fire—not the harsh red of traditional Kryptonian heat vision, but something warmer, more magical, like sunlight filtered through ancient amber and given purpose.
"The integration of Kryptonian abilities with terrestrial magic has produced some unique variations," Pev explained with the pride of someone showing off particularly clever magical work. "Your heat vision, for instance, carries both solar energy and magical properties. As I explained earlier, it can melt steel or heal wounds, depending on your intent."
"Naturally it can," Harry said with the kind of resigned humor that came from a lifetime of discovering he was capable of impossible things. "Because regular heat vision would be far too simple for Harry Potter. Can't just have straightforward superpowers, oh no. Must have the mystical, versatile kind that come with moral complexity and probably require extensive practice to avoid accidentally melting important landmarks."
But it was the hood that drew his particular attention. When raised, it fell naturally over his features, creating shadows that somehow managed to be both concealing and dramatic. Only his mouth remained clearly visible, along with the golden glow of his eyes when they flared with power.
"Facial concealment enchantments," Pev explained. "Woven into the hood's fabric are charms that will obscure your features from recognition while maintaining the dramatic impact necessary for proper superhero presentation. After all, there are practical considerations to having multiple identities."
Harry reached up to touch the hood, feeling the magic woven into its fibers respond to his presence with gentle warmth. "So I can be Harry Potter when I want to buy groceries and complain about the weather, and... what exactly when I'm flying around being impossibly heroic?"
"Har-Rell," Pev said simply. "The name your Kryptonian heritage has earned. Last son of the House of Rell, heir to magic and science, bridge between two worlds."
Harry considered this, testing how the name felt in his mouth and mind. Surprisingly, it didn't feel foreign—it felt like a truth he'd always carried but never had words for, the same way his magic had always been part of him even before he'd understood what it was.
"Har-Rell," he repeated, and the name seemed to resonate through the crystal chamber with harmonics that spoke of destiny and choice in equal measure. "I rather like it. Has a nice ring to it. Very 'mysterious cosmic protector with excellent fashion sense and a tendency toward dramatically timed entrances.'"
He pulled the hood up, immediately noticing how the world looked different through the enchanted shadows—clearer, somehow, as if the concealment magic also enhanced perception. His reflection now showed a figure of mystery and power, someone who could stride into any situation and immediately command attention through sheer presence.
"So," Harry said, his voice taking on new depths through the hood's enchantments, "what happens now? Do I get a manual for my new cosmic superpowers? A guidebook for responsible reality-editing? Perhaps a strongly worded pamphlet about the importance of not accidentally melting important landmarks while learning to control heat vision?"
"You jest," Pev observed with amusement, "but there are indeed protocols to consider. The integration of Kryptonian abilities with magical power creates possibilities that have never existed before. You are, quite literally, unprecedented."
Through the hood, Harry's eyes blazed with golden fire that spoke of solar energy transformed by magic into something entirely new. The effect was both mysterious and magnificent, like looking at a living constellation that had decided to take human form and develop a sense of humor about the experience.
"Unprecedented," Harry mused. "That's just lovely, isn't it? Because what I've always needed in my life is to be even more of a unique case study. I'm sure the Ministry is going to handle this with their usual level of competence and discretion."
"Your concern about governmental reaction is understandable," Pev said with the gravity of someone who had watched civilizations rise and fall. "But remember—you are no longer bound by purely terrestrial limitations. Your abilities now transcend the jurisdictions of any single world's authorities."
Harry laughed, the sound carrying both humor and something that might have been anticipation. "Oh, that's going to go down brilliantly when I have to explain it to Kingsley. 'Sorry, Minister, but I've become a cosmic entity with jurisdiction issues. Fancy a cup of tea while we discuss interdimensional law?'"
He moved to test his new physique, stretching and flexing with the unconscious grace of someone born to inhabit a body designed for heroic action. Every movement carried power and precision, as if he'd been given not just enhanced abilities but the instinctive knowledge of how to use them effectively.
"The physical transformation is remarkable," he continued, examining his reflection from different angles. "Though I do hope it comes with improved coordination. It would be rather embarrassing to accidentally punch a hole through someone while attempting a friendly handshake."
"Your enhanced abilities come with proportionally enhanced control," Pev assured him. "The same precision that allows you to channel magic will serve you well in managing your Kryptonian heritage."
"Right," Harry said, lowering the hood and running a hand through his transformed hair. "Time to go surprise Ron and Hermione with the fact that their best friend has become a magical alien superhero with reality-editing capabilities and a dramatically improved wardrobe. This should be interesting."
He paused, glancing at his reflection one more time. Even without the hood's concealment enchantments, there was something unmistakably Harry Potter about him—the same stubborn set to his jaw, the same intelligence gleaming in his eyes, the same slight smile that suggested he was planning something that would be either brilliant or spectacularly inadvisable.
"Though I do hope they're sitting down when I show them what I can do with heat vision and enhanced strength," he added with the kind of anticipatory glee that had gotten him through seven years of magical crisis management. "Because I'm fairly certain the conversation is going to be memorable. Hermione will probably want to take notes, and Ron will either faint or ask if I can use my new abilities to improve his Quidditch game."
"And your plans beyond shocking your friends?" Pev inquired with the patient curiosity of someone who had helped guide the destinies of heroes before.
Harry's smile widened, taking on an edge that spoke of determination tempered by hard-won wisdom. "Well, I suppose I'll do what I've always done—try to make the world a better place, just with considerably more dramatic flair and significantly less chance of getting killed in the process."
He looked down at his hands, watching the symbols on the gauntlets shift and dance in response to his magical energy. "Though I suspect the universe has just become a considerably more interesting place. After all, what could possibly go wrong when you give someone with my luck cosmic-level superpowers?"
In the crystalline depths of the Fortress of Remembrance, Har-Rell—once Harry Potter, always the boy who chose love over power—prepared to return to a world that had no idea it was about to become considerably more interesting.
The golden glow of his eyes promised that the universe was about to discover just how spectacular things could become when magic learned to think like science, and science learned to dream like magic.
And somewhere in the distance, reality itself seemed to shiver with anticipation—though whether from excitement or apprehension remained to be seen.
---
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