The next three days passed in a blur of activity that would have exhausted Harry's pre-enhancement self but merely kept his cosmic metabolism pleasantly engaged. Each morning began with Mrs. Weasley's insistence on "proper breakfast" (which apparently meant enough food to fuel a small army), followed by expeditions to various corners of magical London to tick items off Hermione's increasingly annotated list.
Day two started at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, a sprawling establishment that had apparently been serving magical families since the fifteenth century and showed no signs of modernizing its approach to customer service. The proprietor—a witch who introduced herself as Madame Wiseacre with the kind of formal dignity that suggested she took her family business very seriously—listened to their requirements with the focused attention of someone mentally calculating both profit margins and professional reputation.
"Communication mirrors," she said, leading them through aisles packed with every conceivable form of magical equipment. "For international use, you'll want the premium range—self-charging, encrypted channels, and most importantly, compatible with American magical frequencies."
"American magical frequencies?" Ron asked, following behind with the slightly glazed expression of someone who'd already spent two hours shopping and was beginning to question his life choices.
"Different magical infrastructure," Madame Wiseacre explained with the patience of someone who'd given this explanation countless times. "American magical networks operate on different resonance patterns than British systems. Standard communication mirrors won't work across the Atlantic without significant modifications."
She pulled out a set of mirrors that looked like they'd been crafted from silver starlight and impossible elegance—each one roughly the size of a dinner plate, with frames carved in intricate patterns that seemed to shift when viewed peripherally.
"These are our top-of-the-line international models," she said, handling them with obvious pride. "Encrypted private channels, emergency broadcast capabilities, and they'll work anywhere in the world regardless of local magical infrastructure. They're also keyed to respond only to authorized users, so you don't need to worry about someone stealing them and accessing your communications."
"How much?" Harry asked, already suspecting the answer would be substantial.
"Five hundred galleons for a set of six," Madame Wiseacre said. "Which includes the mirrors themselves, the initial keying ceremony, and a comprehensive instruction manual that actually explains how they work rather than just telling you to 'wave your wand and speak clearly.'"
Harry noticed Hermione's eyes light up at the mention of comprehensive instruction manuals, and decided that any magical equipment that made Hermione that enthusiastic was probably worth the investment.
"We'll take them," he said.
The baby supplies section turned out to be simultaneously adorable and slightly overwhelming. Rows upon rows of miniature furniture, enchanted toys, and specialized care equipment designed for magical infants with unpredictable abilities. Madame Wiseacre guided them through with professional expertise, pointing out essential items while steering them away from expensive novelties that looked impressive but served no practical purpose.
"Magical nappies," she said, pulling out a package that glowed faintly. "Self-cleaning, comfort-adjusting, and they'll alert you when they need changing. Considerably more sophisticated than Muggle alternatives and worth every Knut given how much laundry they'll save you."
"We'll need enough for extended travel," Hermione said, already calculating quantities. "At least two months' supply, assuming we can purchase additional supplies in America if needed."
"Sensible," Madame Wiseacre approved. "For the portable crib, I recommend the Dreamweaver model—it interfaces with protective enchantments, maintains optimal temperature regardless of external conditions, and most importantly, it can be collapsed into a carrying case small enough to fit in a handbag."
She demonstrated, and the elegant wooden crib folded itself into a package roughly the size of a book with movements that suggested considerable magical sophistication.
"That's brilliant," Ginny said with genuine admiration. "How does it maintain structural integrity when collapsed?"
"Dimensional folding," Madame Wiseacre explained. "The crib doesn't actually shrink—it folds through several dimensions simultaneously, maintaining its full size in magical space while occupying minimal physical space. When you expand it again, it simply unfolds back into normal three-dimensional reality."
Harry's enhanced understanding of spatial magic allowed him to appreciate the theoretical elegance of this approach, though he suspected most parents just appreciated not having to lug full-sized cribs around during travel.
They added feeding bottles that sterilized themselves, formula that adjusted its nutritional content based on the infant's needs, and a collection of toys that were simultaneously educational and entertaining without being annoyingly loud or prone to singing the same three bars of music for hours on end.
"One final item," Madame Wiseacre said, leading them to a display case that held what appeared to be delicate silver bracelets. "These are monitoring charms—you place one on the infant's wrist, and the paired bracelet worn by the parent or guardian will alert them to any distress, discomfort, or magical anomaly. Essential for children with unpredictable magical abilities."
Given Teddy's reality-responsive nature and documented tendency to make interesting things happen when emotional, Harry decided monitoring charms were definitely essential rather than optional.
By the time they left Wiseacre's, Harry had spent another thousand galleons and acquired enough baby equipment to care for Teddy in comfort regardless of what chaos their American adventure produced.
Slug & Jiggers Apothecary was their next stop, and Hermione approached it with the focused intensity of someone who'd spent considerable time researching exactly what medical supplies would be necessary for their expedition. Her list—naturally—was comprehensive enough to stock a small hospital.
"Basic healing potions," she said, moving through the shop with practiced efficiency. "Blood-Replenishing, Skele-Gro in case of bone injuries, Pepperup for common colds, Burn-Healing Paste for obvious reasons..."
"Why would we need Burn-Healing Paste?" Ron asked, though his tone suggested he suspected he already knew the answer.
"Because Harry shoots energy beams from his eyes and we're going to be teaching another person with similar abilities how to control cosmic fire projection," Hermione replied with the patient tone of someone stating obvious facts. "Burn injuries seem like a reasonable concern."
"Fair point," Ron conceded.
They added specialized potions for treating magical exhaustion, antidotes for common poisons, and several vials of something called "Reality Stabilization Elixir" that the apothecary recommended for anyone dealing with beings whose magical signatures might fluctuate unpredictably.
"Given that you're traveling with both a cosmically enhanced wizard and a metamorphmagus infant," the apothecary said when Harry asked about the elixir, "reality stabilization seems prudent. It won't prevent magical anomalies, but it will help keep them from cascading into larger problems."
The infant medical supplies were even more specialized—potions designed specifically for young children, with carefully calibrated dosages and flavor profiles that wouldn't traumatize small people who needed medicine.
"Magical children can be unpredictable," the apothecary explained as she packaged their purchases. "Their abilities often manifest in response to discomfort or distress, which means administering medicine can become... complicated. These formulations are designed to be gentle, effective, and non-threatening to developing magical cores."
Flourish & Blotts provided books—armfuls of books that made Ron groan and Hermione practically vibrate with academic joy. They acquired comprehensive guides to American magical culture, histories of MACUSA (the Magical Congress of the United States of America), regional magical traditions, etiquette manuals, and several volumes on the cultural differences between British and American magical communities.
"Did you know," Hermione said, reading aloud from one of the cultural guides as they browsed, "that American wizards are considerably more integrated with Muggle society than British wizards? They're much more comfortable with Muggle technology, and their magical communities often exist in parallel with Muggle areas rather than completely separate."
"That's going to be interesting," Harry observed. "I wonder if that'll make it easier or harder to navigate their society."
"Easier in some ways, harder in others," Hermione predicted. "We won't stand out as much for not knowing Muggle customs, but we'll probably seem very British and formal compared to American magical folk."
The Muggle clothing expedition took them to Oxford Street in London, where they spent several hours acquiring what Hermione deemed "appropriately American casual wear." This apparently meant jeans, comfortable shirts, practical shoes, and layers that could adapt to unpredictable Kansas weather.
Harry discovered that shopping for Muggle clothes while possessing cosmic enhancements presented unique challenges—most off-the-rack shirts didn't quite fit his transformed shoulders, and finding trousers that accommodated both his height and his enhanced physique required trying on approximately seventeen different pairs before finding ones that worked.
"You've gotten too pretty for normal-people clothes," Ginny observed as Harry emerged from yet another fitting room looking frustrated. "Your cosmic makeover has made you incompatible with standard British tailoring."
"This is why I liked robes," Harry muttered. "Robes don't care about shoulder width or whether your cosmic enhancement program included extra muscle definition. Robes just... fit."
Eventually they found enough suitable clothing to satisfy Hermione's standards for "prepared for various American social contexts," though Harry privately thought they could have saved time by just commissioning magical clothing that would adjust itself to fit properly.
The afternoon of day three found them back at the Ministry, collecting their completed documentation from Agnes Pemberton. She handed over a folder containing six passports—proper Muggle passports with photographs, biographical information, and official stamps that looked entirely legitimate despite having been created through strategic application of Memory Charms and bureaucratic manipulation.
"These will satisfy American immigration authorities," she said with professional satisfaction. "Your backstory is straightforward—you're British citizens on holiday, planning to visit Kansas for agricultural tourism and cultural exchange. Simple, believable, and unlikely to attract unnecessary attention."
"Agricultural tourism?" Ron repeated. "That's actually quite clever."
"Americans love foreigners who express interest in their regional culture," Agnes explained. "Tell them you're fascinated by Midwestern farming traditions and want to learn about American agricultural techniques, and they'll be happy to show you around and probably invite you to dinner."
Harry tucked the passports away carefully, making a mental note to ensure they didn't get mixed up with their magical identification or accidentally subjected to cosmic energy that might cause the enchantments to behave oddly.
The final major purchase came on day four, when they returned to Magnificent Trunks & Cases to collect their commissioned expansion trunks. Barnaby Trunk looked both exhausted and thoroughly satisfied as he led them to a back room where five magnificent pieces of luggage sat in a neat row, each one a masterpiece of magical craftsmanship.
"They're ready," he announced with obvious pride. "Five interconnected mansion-trunks, each one customized according to your specifications. Let me walk you through the features."
He opened the first trunk—keyed to Harry—and gestured for them to descend. The stairs led down into what could only be described as a comfortable bachelor apartment—living area with comfortable furniture, small but well-equipped kitchen, private bedroom with an actual proper bed, bathroom with surprisingly luxurious fixtures, and a study area complete with desk and bookshelves.
"The walls are enchanted to display whatever scenery you prefer," Barnaby explained, touching a control panel that made the walls shift from neutral cream to a view of rolling Scottish hills. "Climate control throughout, self-cleaning charms on all surfaces, and the storage capacity is essentially unlimited thanks to some creative dimensional folding."
"This is incredible," Harry breathed, looking around at what was essentially a mobile home that could be carried in a trunk.
The portal connections were equally impressive—a section of wall in each trunk's common area that could activate to provide direct passage to any of the other four trunks, subject to authorization from the destination trunk's owner.
Hermione's trunk included expanded library space and a work area that looked like it could support serious academic research. Ron's featured a comfortable entertainment area and what Barnaby described as "optimal relaxation accommodations." Ginny's had excellent lighting for reading and a collection of comfortable seating that suggested Barnaby understood the importance of personal space.
But it was Andromeda's trunk that truly showcased Barnaby's skill. The nursery area occupied a prominent position near the entrance—easily accessible but separated enough to provide quiet for a sleeping infant. The specialized crib they'd purchased from Wiseacre's fit perfectly into a space that had clearly been designed with infant care in mind, complete with monitoring charms, temperature regulation optimized for small children, and safety features that made accidental injury essentially impossible.
"This is beautiful work," Harry said with genuine appreciation. "You've exceeded every expectation."
"It's what I do," Barnaby replied with modest pride. "Though I'll admit, this project was particularly satisfying. It's not often someone commissions interconnected mansion-trunks for international superhero consulting work."
They paid the remainder of the agreed price—another thousand galleons that Harry authorized without hesitation—and arranged for the trunks to be delivered to the Burrow that afternoon.
"One week of shopping," Hermione said as they made their way back home via Floo, "and we've acquired everything on the list plus several items I didn't know we needed but are clearly essential."
"Welcome to expedition planning with unlimited funding," Harry replied. "Where 'did we really need that' becomes 'well, it might be useful' which rapidly transforms into 'obviously this was essential all along.'"
"No regrets," Ron said firmly. "The trunks alone are worth every Galleon. I've got my own mansion that fits in a box. That's brilliant."
Back at the Burrow, they spent the evening organizing their new acquisitions, packing clothes into the trunks, setting up the communication mirrors, and generally transforming abstract plans into practical reality. Mrs. Weasley supervised with maternal efficiency, occasionally adding items they'd forgotten—extra socks, a comprehensive first aid kit, several packages of her homemade biscuits "just in case American food isn't filling enough."
"Mum," Ron protested, "we've got five mansion-trunks with fully equipped kitchens. I think we can manage food."
"Nevertheless," she replied with the kind of maternal certainty that brooked no argument, "you're taking the biscuits. And this jar of jam. And these preserves. And perhaps this fruit cake..."
By the time she finished, they had enough homemade provisions to survive several months of intensive snacking.
"Right," Harry said as the evening drew to a close and they stood looking at the organized chaos of their preparations, "tomorrow we visit Andromeda and Teddy, explain our plans, and see if she's still willing to join us on this adventure now that she knows exactly what 'international superhero consulting' actually entails."
"She'll come," Ginny predicted. "Andromeda Tonks survived being disowned by the Black family, raised Tonks to be brilliant and brave, and is currently managing a reality-responsive metamorphmagus infant on her own. She's not going to be intimidated by a trip to Kansas."
"Fair point," Harry agreed. "Though I should probably mention the cosmic energy interactions and the possibility of minor reality fluctuations before she commits to international travel with us."
"Always lead with the cosmic complications," Ron advised sagely. "Sets proper expectations for the relationship."
As Harry settled into Charlie's dragon-scale room that night—Ginny having been convinced by her mother that propriety required at least the appearance of separate sleeping arrangements—he reflected on how quickly his life had transformed from "mysterious cosmic education abroad" to "preparing for international adventure with comprehensive shopping lists and expensive magical luggage."
Three days ago, he'd been navigating goblin banking and Ministry bureaucracy. Now he had five interconnected mansion-trunks, complete travel documentation, enough supplies to equip a small expedition, and the beginnings of actual concrete plans for their American adventure.
Tomorrow, they'd collect Teddy and Andromeda.
And then—finally—they could stop preparing and start actually doing the thing they'd been planning.
International travel, superhero consulting, and the ambitious goal of helping a cosmic farm boy learn to manage reality-altering abilities without accidentally destroying any major agricultural infrastructure.
It was going to be interesting, complicated, and probably occasionally terrifying.
But with proper preparation, comprehensive supplies, and friends who were willing to travel halfway around the world to help someone they'd never met, Harry was starting to think they might actually pull this off.
Or at least fail in interesting ways while making excellent memories and possibly revolutionizing international magical cooperation in the process.
Either way, it beat hunting Horcruxes.
—
The morning sun painted Andromeda Tonks's cottage in shades of gold that made even the grief-worn shutters look hopeful. Harry stood at the garden gate with his friends arrayed behind him like a slightly nervous diplomatic delegation, and tried to organize his thoughts into something resembling a coherent explanation for why traveling to Kansas with a cosmic-powered wizard and his equally cosmic farm-boy counterpart was a perfectly reasonable life choice for a woman still processing the loss of her daughter.
"Right," he said to the assembled group, "let's try to present this in a way that sounds like sensible planning rather than elaborate chaos held together by optimism and expensive luggage."
"Too late for that," Ron observed. "We are elaborate chaos held together by optimism and expensive luggage. Might as well own it."
"Ron has a point," Ginny agreed. "Andromeda's not stupid—she'll see through any attempt to make this sound sensible. Better to be honest about the chaos and emphasize the comprehensive preparation."
"And the fact that we genuinely want to help both her and Teddy," Hermione added. "This isn't just about Harry's cosmic responsibilities or superhero consulting. It's about family taking care of family."
Harry nodded, feeling something settle in his chest. They were right—Andromeda deserved honesty, not sales pitch. He knocked on the cottage door with careful attention to his enhanced strength and the structural integrity of woodwork that had probably been serving the Tonks family for generations.
The door opened to reveal Andromeda looking considerably more rested than she had during their previous visit. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back neatly, her robes were fresh, and most importantly, her eyes held the kind of cautious hope that suggested she'd been doing some thinking about their previous conversation.
"Harry," she said warmly, then noticed the crowd behind him. "And you've brought reinforcements. Come in, all of you—though I should warn you the sitting room isn't designed for large gatherings. We may need to get creative with seating arrangements."
The cottage's interior was exactly as Harry remembered—cozy, well-loved, and carrying the particular atmosphere of a home where someone was working very hard to build new routines around the absence of people who should have been there. The sitting room featured comfortable furniture that showed signs of frequent use, family photographs that made Harry's enhanced vision pick out details he'd rather not notice about how young Tonks had been, and a playpen in the corner where Teddy was currently engaged in what appeared to be intense negotiations with a stuffed dragon.
The moment Teddy caught sight of Harry, his hair exploded into that same cosmic gold, and he let out a delighted squeal that made everyone in the room smile despite the complicated emotions swirling through the space.
"Someone's happy to see you," Andromeda observed with obvious affection as Teddy made urgent grabbing motions toward Harry. "He's been doing that color-shifting thing constantly since your last visit. I think you made quite an impression."
Harry moved to the playpen with the careful grace his enhancement training had drilled into him, scooping up Teddy with movements so gentle they would have made bomb disposal experts envious. The moment Teddy settled against his chest, that golden glow spread between them—magical resonance made visible, family recognition at the deepest possible level.
"Hello, trouble," Harry murmured, and Teddy responded by grabbing his nose with one determined fist and gurgling something that might have been approval or might have been commentary on Harry's failure to visit more frequently.
"He's gotten stronger," Andromeda noted. "His grip, I mean. Yesterday he accidentally bent one of his feeding spoons."
"Bent it?" Hermione asked with immediate academic interest.
"Crushed it into an unrecognizable shape," Andromeda clarified. "Which shouldn't be possible for a six-month-old, but apparently reality-responsive metamorphmagi have opinions about standard child development milestones."
Harry examined Teddy with his enhanced senses, noting the way the baby's magical signature had strengthened since their last visit, the subtle shimmer of power that surrounded him like an aura, and most interestingly, the way Teddy's energy patterns seemed to synchronize with his own.
"He's responding to our magical resonance," Harry said thoughtfully. "My presence is apparently accelerating his development—not dangerously, but enough to be noticeable. His body's trying to match my capabilities, which at six months old means enhanced strength, probably enhanced durability, and possibly the beginning of other abilities we haven't identified yet."
"That's..." Andromeda paused, searching for appropriate words. "Should I be concerned?"
"Only in the sense that you'll need to baby-proof for a child who can potentially break things through casual handling," Hermione said, already making notes. "But it's not harmful to him—just accelerated development that requires adjusted expectations."
"Right," Andromeda said with the tone of someone who'd already adjusted her expectations so many times that one more adjustment barely registered. "Enhanced baby strength. Add it to the list of interesting complications."
They settled into the available seating with the creative efficiency of people accustomed to making do with limited space. Harry claimed the most comfortable chair and kept Teddy in his lap, where the baby seemed perfectly content to examine his godfather's face with the intensity of a scholar studying ancient texts.
"So," Andromeda said once everyone was settled and tea had been distributed with the kind of British efficiency that persisted even in the face of cosmic complications, "you mentioned international travel and extended American adventures during your last visit. I've been thinking about that proposal, and I have questions."
"That's entirely reasonable," Harry said. "Ask anything. We want you to have complete information before you make any decisions."
Andromeda pulled out a piece of parchment covered in neat handwriting that suggested she'd been doing considerable research and planning of her own. "First question: logistics. You're proposing to take a six-month-old baby on an international trip that will involve Muggle travel, magical consulting work, and potential exposure to another individual with cosmic powers. What provisions have you made for Teddy's care during this adventure?"
Hermione immediately pulled out her comprehensive list—now annotated with multiple additions and cross-references—and began explaining in detail. The specialized baby equipment from Wiseacre's, the medical supplies calibrated for magical infants, the monitoring charms that would alert them to any distress or discomfort, and most importantly, the dedicated trunk that would provide Andromeda with everything she needed to care for Teddy in comfort regardless of external circumstances.
"May I see this trunk?" Andromeda asked.
"We brought it with us," Harry said. "It's outside in the garden—full-sized trunks are a bit awkward to maneuver through cottage doors, even magical ones."
They trooped out to the garden, where Andromeda's trunk sat looking deceptively ordinary despite containing several thousand square feet of living space and enough enchantments to protect against everything short of direct military assault.
Harry opened it and gestured for Andromeda to descend first. He followed with Teddy still in his arms, carefully navigating the stairs while his enhanced spatial awareness ensured he didn't accidentally bump the baby's head on anything.
Andromeda's reaction to the trunk's interior was everything Harry had hoped for. Her eyes widened as she took in the comfortable living space, the well-equipped kitchen, the private bedroom, and most importantly, the dedicated nursery area that Barnaby Trunk had designed specifically for Teddy's care.
"This is..." She moved through the space with obvious wonder, running her fingers along surfaces that responded to her touch with gentle warmth. "This is extraordinary. You've created a mobile home."
"Complete with portal connections to the other four trunks," Harry explained, showing her the wall section that would activate for travel between spaces. "So if you need help with Teddy, or if there's an emergency, or if you just want company, you can step directly into Ron's trunk, or Hermione's, or mine. We're all connected."
Andromeda tested the nursery area with the practiced eye of someone who'd been caring for an infant and knew exactly what was needed. The crib fit perfectly into its designated space, the monitoring charms were positioned optimally, and the temperature regulation system was already adjusting itself to optimal infant-comfort settings.
"The self-cleaning charms are comprehensive," Hermione added, pointing out the relevant enchantments. "You won't need to worry about laundry or cleaning—the trunk handles it automatically. And the storage capacity is essentially unlimited, so you can pack whatever you think you might need without worrying about space constraints."
"How much did this cost?" Andromeda asked, though her tone suggested she suspected the answer would be substantial.
"Don't worry about the cost," Harry said firmly. "I've got more money than I know what to do with, and this is exactly the sort of thing I should be spending it on—taking care of family."
Andromeda's eyes glistened slightly, and she blinked rapidly as though trying to hold back tears through sheer force of Black family dignity. "Harry, this is too generous. I can't possibly accept—"
"You're not accepting charity," Harry interrupted gently. "You're accepting support from family who wants to help. There's a difference."
"Besides," Ginny added, "we need you with us. Not just for Teddy's sake, though that's important. We need your experience, your wisdom, and frankly, your ability to keep Harry from developing an ego about being the experienced cosmic superhero in the group."
"My ego is perfectly manageable," Harry protested, though Teddy chose that moment to grab his ear and tug with enhanced infant strength, rather undermining his dignified objection.
Andromeda laughed—genuine, warm laughter that transformed her entire face and made her look years younger. "Alright. I can see you've thought this through properly. What's the second phase of your plan? You've got the logistics sorted, but what about the actual purpose of this expedition?"
They climbed back out of the trunk and returned to the cottage's sitting room, where Harry laid out the situation with as much honesty as he could manage. The son of El, currently living in Kansas and discovering abilities similar to Harry's own. The documented incidents of impossible rescues and unexplained phenomena. The concern that without proper guidance, a young man with reality-altering powers might accidentally cause problems he couldn't fix.
"And you think you're qualified to provide this guidance?" Andromeda asked, though her tone was more curious than skeptical.
"I think I'm uniquely positioned to understand what he's going through," Harry replied. "I know what it's like to discover you have abilities that exceed normal human limitations. I know the temptation to use those abilities to help everyone, to fix everything, to be the hero people need. And I know the dangers that come with that kind of power when it's not properly understood or controlled."
"You're also eighteen years old," Andromeda pointed out. "Barely older than this farm boy you're planning to mentor."
"True," Harry conceded. "But I've got experience he doesn't have. I've faced down dark wizards, survived impossible odds, and I've had a month of intensive cosmic education from someone who understands these abilities far better than anyone on Earth. I'm not perfect, and I'm definitely not claiming to have all the answers. But I can help. And that's got to count for something."
Andromeda studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she glanced at Teddy, who was contentedly playing with Harry's fingers while his hair shifted through shades of cosmic gold that matched his godfather's enhanced coloring perfectly.
"Teddy needs a father figure," she said quietly. "Remus would have been brilliant at it—patient, kind, wise in ways that came from experience rather than books. You're not Remus, Harry. But watching you with Teddy, seeing how naturally you interact with him, how carefully you're planning to keep him safe while also giving him opportunities to develop... I think you might be exactly what he needs."
"I'll do my best," Harry promised. "I can't replace Remus or Tonks. But I can be here, be present, be the godfather who shows up and helps and loves him unconditionally."
"That's all anyone can ask," Andromeda said, and her smile was warm despite the grief that still lingered around her eyes. "Alright. I'll come with you to Kansas. But I have conditions."
"Name them," Harry said immediately.
"First: if at any point I feel that Teddy is in danger—not theoretical danger, but actual, immediate danger—we leave. No arguments, no negotiations. His safety is my priority, and nothing else matters."
"Agreed," Harry said without hesitation. "His safety is all our priorities."
"Second: I want regular communication with home. I know we'll have those international mirrors you mentioned, but I need to know I can reach out to friends here if I need support or advice."
"Absolutely," Hermione confirmed. "The mirrors have encrypted channels that will work anywhere in the world. You'll be able to contact anyone with a paired mirror at any time."
"Third: I want to be involved in decision-making. This isn't an adventure where I'm just along for the ride while you lot make all the important choices. If we're doing this as a family, then I want my voice heard in planning and execution."
"Done," Harry said firmly. "We need your perspective—you've got more life experience than all of us combined, and frankly, having an actual adult in the group will probably prevent several disasters that we're too young and stupid to foresee."
Andromeda's laugh was surprised and genuine. "Well, at least you're honest about your limitations."
"Harry's very good at honest self-assessment," Ron offered. "It's one of his more endearing qualities. That and his ability to attract mortal peril like a magnet attracts iron filings."
"Thank you for that character reference, Ron," Harry said dryly. "Very helpful."
"Just keeping you humble, mate."
They spent the next hour working through practical details. Andromeda made a list of items she wanted to bring—personal effects, family photographs, Teddy's favorite toys, and several boxes of Tonks's belongings that she couldn't bear to leave behind but didn't want cluttering the cottage in her absence.
"I'll need to make arrangements for the cottage while I'm gone," she said, mentally organizing tasks with the efficiency of someone who'd spent decades managing Black family property and politics before being disowned. "Ward maintenance, security checks, forwarding arrangements for post..."
"I can help with that," Bill offered. "Gringotts has property management services specifically designed for extended absences. They'll maintain the wards, handle security, and ensure the cottage stays in good condition while you're traveling."
"That would be helpful," Andromeda said with obvious relief. "How quickly can they set that up?"
"I can have someone out here tomorrow," Bill assured her. "Standard service for valued clients, and given that you're traveling with Harry Potter, I suspect they'll prioritize the arrangements."
"Being associated with Harry Potter has to be good for something," Andromeda said with dry humor. "Beyond the obvious benefits of cosmic protection and expensive magical luggage."
They began the process of packing Andromeda's trunk—a task that turned out to be more emotional than Harry had anticipated. Each item she chose to bring carried stories, memories, connections to a life that had been forever changed by war and loss.
The photographs were particularly difficult. Andromeda handled them with careful reverence, explaining each one as she packed them into protective cases that would keep them safe during travel.
"This was Tonks at seven," she said, showing them a picture of a young girl with bubble-gum pink hair grinning mischievously at the camera. "She'd just discovered she could change her appearance at will, and she spent three days cycling through every hair color imaginable before settling on pink as her signature look."
"She was beautiful," Ginny said softly.
"She was magnificent," Andromeda corrected with fierce pride. "Brilliant, brave, absolutely impossible to control, and the best daughter anyone could have asked for." Her voice wavered slightly. "She would have been so proud of Teddy. So proud of what he's becoming."
Harry reached over and squeezed her shoulder gently, careful of his enhanced strength. "She'd be proud of you too. Raising him alone, managing everything, and now being brave enough to trust us with this adventure."
"Trust and desperation aren't entirely different," Andromeda said with a slight smile. "Though I suppose that's true of most parenting decisions."
The baby equipment they'd purchased was integrated into the nursery area with Hermione's characteristic organizational efficiency. Each item was tested, positioned optimally, and checked to ensure it interfaced properly with the trunk's existing enchantments.
"The monitoring charms are particularly important," Hermione explained as she calibrated them. "They'll alert you immediately if Teddy experiences any distress, discomfort, or magical anomaly. Given his reality-responsive nature and his tendency to synchronize with Harry's cosmic signature, we want to catch any problems early."
"What kind of problems should I be watching for?" Andromeda asked.
"Honestly? We're not entirely sure," Harry admitted. "Teddy's unique—metamorphmagus abilities combined with whatever he's inheriting from his parents' magical legacies, all filtered through reality-responsive capabilities that we're still trying to understand. The monitoring charms will catch anything unusual, and then we can assess whether it's normal development or something that needs attention."
"That's... simultaneously reassuring and concerning," Andromeda observed.
"Welcome to parenting a magical child with unprecedented abilities," Ginny said cheerfully. "Where 'normal' is negotiable and 'unusual' could mean anything from 'spontaneous hair color changes' to 'accidentally bending the laws of physics during naptime.'"
By mid-afternoon, Andromeda's trunk was packed with everything she deemed essential for extended travel. Clothes, personal effects, family photographs, Teddy's favorite toys, medical records, legal documents, and several boxes of Tonks's belongings that Andromeda simply couldn't leave behind.
"I know it's probably silly," she said as they secured the last box in the trunk's storage area, "but I need to have some of her things with me. Her favorite jacket, her Auror badge, the letters she wrote home during training... they're all I have left of her, and I can't bear to let them out of my sight."
"It's not silly," Harry said firmly. "It's love. And there's nothing silly about wanting to keep the people we love close, even when they're gone."
They returned to the cottage to find Teddy had tired himself out and was sleeping peacefully in his portable crib, his hair still that cosmic gold but his expression perfectly content. Harry looked down at his godson and felt something fierce and protective settle in his chest.
"We're going to take good care of him," he promised Andromeda. "All of us. Whatever happens in Kansas, whatever complications arise, Teddy's safety and wellbeing come first. Always."
"I know," Andromeda said softly. "I can see it in how you look at him, how carefully you plan, how much you care. You're going to be a wonderful godfather, Harry. Remus would be so proud."
The cottage required its own preparations for extended absence. Bill walked Andromeda through the Gringotts property management protocols, explaining how the goblins would maintain the wards, conduct regular security checks, and ensure the building remained in good condition.
"They'll also forward any post to our American address," he explained. "Though I'd recommend notifying friends and family that you'll be traveling, just so they don't worry when you don't respond to letters immediately."
Andromeda made a list of people to notify—friends from her pre-disownment days who'd stayed loyal despite Black family disapproval, Tonks's former colleagues at the Auror office who'd been checking in regularly, and several neighbors who'd been helpful during the difficult months since Tonks and Remus died.
"I'll send owls tomorrow," she decided. "Explaining that I'm traveling with family for an extended holiday and will be in contact via mirror rather than post."
"That should work," Hermione approved. "Vague enough to avoid uncomfortable questions, specific enough to satisfy people's concerns about your wellbeing."
As the afternoon stretched toward evening, they gathered in Andromeda's sitting room for final planning discussions. Teddy had woken from his nap and was currently engaged in serious negotiations with a toy dragon that Harry had enchanted to make friendly noises when squeezed.
"So," Andromeda said, reviewing her notes with the kind of focused attention that suggested she was mentally organizing everything they'd discussed, "when do we actually leave for this adventure?"
"Day after tomorrow," Harry said. "That gives us time for any last-minute preparations, lets Bill finalize the property management arrangements, and allows us to actually get a decent night's sleep before attempting international travel with a baby and enough magical luggage to equip an expedition."
"Sensible," Andromeda approved. "And the travel arrangements themselves?"
"First-class commercial flight from London to Kansas City," Hermione explained, consulting yet another set of notes. "I've already made the reservations—six passengers, including one infant, with seat selections that give us maximum privacy and comfort. The flight is approximately nine hours, accounting for time zones and standard commercial aviation speeds."
"Nine hours on a Muggle airplane with a six-month-old," Andromeda said slowly. "That's going to be... interesting."
"We've prepared for that," Ginny assured her. "Entertainment for Teddy, backup supplies in case of any disasters, and the understanding that babies cry on airplanes and that's just part of the experience. The Muggle passengers will cope."
"Or complain loudly to flight attendants who can't do anything about it," Ron added cheerfully. "Either way, not really our problem. We've paid for our seats, we'll do our best to keep Teddy comfortable, and if other passengers are annoyed by normal infant behavior, that's their issue to manage."
Andromeda looked slightly alarmed by this cavalier attitude toward potential infant-related chaos, but before she could object, Harry intervened with characteristic pragmatism.
"We're not going to let Teddy scream for nine hours," he assured her. "But Ron's right that some level of fussing is normal and expected. The key is being prepared with everything we need to keep him as comfortable as possible—feeding supplies, entertainment, clean nappies, quiet spaces if he needs to sleep. The monitoring charms will help us anticipate problems before they become major issues."
"And if all else fails," Hermione added, "we can take turns walking him up and down the aisle. Studies show that movement often helps soothe fussy infants, and the exercise will be good for us after sitting for hours."
"You've really thought this through," Andromeda said, her expression softening. "All of it. The logistics, the preparations, Teddy's specific needs... I can see you're taking this seriously."
"Of course we are," Harry said. "This isn't just an adventure—it's a responsibility. We're taking care of family, and that means doing it properly."
They spent the remainder of the afternoon finalizing details, answering Andromeda's questions, and generally ensuring she felt confident about the expedition. By the time they prepared to leave, the cottage felt less like a place of grief and more like a waystation—somewhere that would wait patiently for its occupants to return with new stories and hopefully fewer sorrows.
"Come to the Burrow tomorrow," Harry said as they stood in the garden, preparing to Apparate back to the Weasley home. "Spend the day with all of us, let Mrs. Weasley fuss over Teddy and feed everyone until we can't move, and get comfortable with the group dynamics before we attempt international travel together."
"I'd like that," Andromeda said. "And Harry? Thank you. For including us, for planning so carefully, for..." Her voice caught slightly. "For giving me something to look forward to instead of just surviving each day."
Harry stepped forward and hugged her carefully, mindful of his enhanced strength and her human fragility. "You're family," he said simply. "This is what family does."
As they Apparated back to the Burrow—Ginny side-alonging with Harry while the others handled their own transportation—Harry reflected that preparing for this expedition had taught him something important about the cosmic enhancement he'd received.
The powers were impressive, certainly. The enhanced strength, the flight, the energy projection—all of it was useful and occasionally spectacular. But the real gift was simpler: the resources and confidence to help people he cared about, to plan properly for challenges ahead, to take care of family in ways that actually mattered.
Tomorrow, Andromeda and Teddy would join them at the Burrow for final preparations. The day after, they'd board a commercial aircraft and begin their American adventure.
And somewhere in Kansas, a young man with powers similar to Harry's own was probably learning to control abilities that could reshape reality, completely unaware that help was on the way.
It was going to be interesting, complicated, and probably occasionally chaotic.
But with comprehensive preparation, expensive magical luggage, and family who cared enough to plan everything down to the smallest detail, Harry was starting to believe they might actually succeed.
Or at least fail in interesting ways while creating excellent memories and possibly revolutionizing international superhero consulting in the process.
Either way, it beat sitting around wondering what to do with cosmic powers and unlimited funding.
Adventure, here we come.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!