The debrief happened in the *Marauder*'s main conference room, which Tony had transformed into what could only be described as "tech-bro war room meets magical museum." Holograms of artifacts rotated in mid-air like the world's most expensive screensaver. Magical signature readouts scrolled past in neon blue. Historical documentation projected across every available surface.
Tony stood in the center of it all like a conductor about to lead the world's nerdiest orchestra.
"Okay," Harry said, walking in with the kind of deliberate calm that usually preceded either brilliant strategy or spectacular violence. He was still in his tactical gear, which did *things* for his shoulders that Natasha absolutely noticed while pretending not to. "Talk to me. How catastrophically did we commit theft today?"
"*Theft?*" Tony clutched his arc reactor like Harry had personally wounded him. "Harry. Buddy. Pal. Guy-who-somehow-makes-brooding-look-like-a-competitive-sport. We didn't commit theft. We executed—" He paused for dramatic effect, "—a systematic cultural artifact preservation initiative in full accordance with international protocols."
"That's just theft with paperwork," Natasha observed from where she'd perched on the conference table, one leg crossed over the other in a way that made Harry's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.
"The *best kind* of theft," Tony corrected, pointing at her with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for people who'd just discovered they could write off private jets as business expenses. "My lawyers have already filed paperwork with three separate governing bodies, all of whom are suddenly *very* interested in the fact that founder-era magical artifacts were being stored in what is essentially a student lost-and-found with delusions of grandeur."
Jean Grey walked in carrying approximately four cups of coffee, which she distributed to herself using telekinesis because apparently being a cosmic-level psychic meant never having to use your hands for mundane tasks. "Define 'interested,'" she said, already working on coffee number one.
"I mean they're racing to file official support for what we're doing because none of them want to be the people who said 'no' to responsible artifact preservation," Tony said, pulling up holographic documents that scrolled past faster than humanly readable. "The International Magical Artifacts Preservation Committee has basically offered to rubber-stamp anything we do. The Department of Magical History sent me what I can only describe as a love letter. And—*and this is my favorite part*—someone from the British Ministry sent me a message so carefully worded it probably required three lawyers and a thesaurus, suggesting they've been 'aware of artifact storage concerns at Hogwarts for some time and appreciate SHIELD's initiative to address them.'"
"Translation: they knew and did nothing," Ororo said, making her entrance with the kind of regal grace that came from literally controlling the weather. Her white hair was still slightly windswept from the extraction, and Harry's eyes tracked to her with the kind of focus usually reserved for tactical assessment. Or at least that's what he was telling himself.
"They didn't just do nothing," Sirius corrected, sprawling in a chair with his feet on the conference table because he was apparently determined to be the world's most irreverent war hero. "They actively avoided doing something because doing something would require admitting there was a problem in the first place."
"Which means," James said, following his friend's logic with the ease of decades of partnership, "Dumbledore's going to quietly accept this because the alternative is explaining his security failures on the record."
"Not just quietly accept it," Sirius grinned with the kind of feral joy usually associated with predators spotting wounded prey. "He's going to have to *thank* us. Publicly. Because his other option is a very awkward conversation about why founder-era artifacts were kept in a room that students could literally walk into."
Harry leaned against the wall, arms crossed in a way that made his biceps do interesting things against his tactical gear. Tonks, who'd just walked in with her hair currently a vibrant purple that matched her excellent mood, absolutely did not stare. Much.
"So we've turned an elaborate heist into something everyone's going to claim they supported all along," Harry said slowly, and there was something dangerous and satisfied in his voice that made Natasha's pulse quicken in ways that had nothing to do with professional admiration.
"That's not a heist," Natasha corrected, sliding off the table with the liquid grace of a predator. She moved closer to Harry, deliberately invading his personal space in the way she did when she wanted his attention. "That's *responsible artifact preservation through international cooperation.*"
Their eyes met. Held.
"You're enjoying this way too much," Harry said, and his voice had dropped half an octave.
"You're enjoying that I'm enjoying this," Natasha countered, and her smile was absolutely wicked.
"Get a room," Tony said without looking up from his holograms. "Seriously. There are rooms. Plural. I designed this ship. I know exactly how many rooms there are. Get one."
"We have a room," Natasha said innocently.
"Several, actually," Jean added, not looking up from her coffee.
"This is a professional debriefing," Ororo said with the kind of diplomatic neutrality that absolutely did not hide her amusement.
"Is it though?" Tonks asked, having flopped into a chair with absolutely no regard for professional posture. "Because it feels more like we're all celebrating the fact that we just pulled off the most elaborate bureaucratic victory in modern history while also watching Harry try not to combust from sexual tension."
"I'm not—" Harry started.
"You absolutely are," Laura said from the corner where she'd been quietly sharpening her claws because apparently that was how she relaxed after high-stakes magical artifact extraction. "Your heartbeat increased approximately forty percent when Natasha moved closer."
"I have enhanced senses," Laura added helpfully. "It's very obvious."
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in the universal gesture of 'I'm surrounded by people who delight in my suffering.' "Can we focus on the fact that we just acquired approximately fifteen thousand magical artifacts of historical significance?"
"We can," Tony agreed cheerfully. "But we're also going to acknowledge that you're dating five incredibly competent women who all know exactly how to push your buttons, and you're standing there trying to maintain professional composure while they're all looking at you like you're the prize at the end of a very successful mission."
"I'm not—" Harry tried again.
"Honey," Jean said, and there was nothing but affection in her voice. She set down coffee cup number two and moved to stand next to him, one hand settling on his arm with casual intimacy. "You're absolutely the prize. We discussed this. Multiple times. You lost the argument every time."
"I don't remember losing any arguments," Harry said, but his voice had gone softer, and his hand came up to cover Jean's automatically.
"That's because you were distracted by winning other things," Natasha said, moving to his other side with the deliberate grace of someone staking territory.
"Are we doing this now?" Ororo asked, though she was already moving closer with the kind of regal amusement that suggested she knew exactly what was happening and approved wholeheartedly.
"We're absolutely doing this now," Tonks confirmed, bouncing up from her chair. "Because we just pulled off the heist of the century, nobody can complain about it, Dumbledore's going to have to thank us, and I think we've earned the right to embarrass our fearless leader a little bit."
"A little bit?" Laura asked, finally sheathing her claws.
"Okay, a lot," Tonks amended. "We've earned the right to embarrass him a lot."
Harry looked around at the five women who'd somehow decided he was worth their time, attention, and apparently coordinated efforts to make him lose his composure during professional debriefings. His expression cycled through several emotions—exasperation, affection, resignation, and finally something warm and genuine that transformed his whole face.
"You're all terrible," he said, but there was nothing but love in his voice.
"We're the best," Natasha corrected, going up on her toes to kiss his jaw. "There's a difference."
"We're excellent at theft," Jean added, pressing against his other side.
"Artifact preservation," Tony corrected loudly. "We're excellent at *artifact preservation.* For legal reasons, that distinction is very important."
"Right," Ororo said with a smile that could melt glaciers. She moved in front of Harry, one hand coming up to rest against his chest. "Artifact preservation that happens to involve systematically removing everything from Dumbledore's secret warehouse."
"While making it look like we did everyone a favor," Tonks added, sliding in next to Jean with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just won the lottery.
"And ensuring nobody can complain without admitting their own failures," Laura finished, taking position next to Natasha with the quiet satisfaction of a predator who'd just helped pull off a successful hunt.
Harry looked at Tony with an expression that clearly said 'help me.'
Tony looked back with an expression that clearly said 'you're on your own, buddy.'
"For the record," Tony said, "I think this is adorable. Slightly nauseating, but adorable. You've got five gorgeous, competent, terrifying women who are all clearly in love with you, and you're standing there like someone just told you that you won the lottery but you're not sure if it's taxable."
"I—" Harry started, then stopped, clearly trying to figure out what he was even arguing about anymore.
"You've got nothing," Sirius said helpfully. "Just accept that you've somehow become the protagonist of the world's most complicated romance while also running SHIELD's magical operations. That's your life now."
"I hate all of you," Harry said without any heat whatsoever.
"You love us," Natasha corrected, her hand sliding up to cup his face. "Say it."
"I love you," Harry said immediately, then seemed to realize he'd been ambushed into sincerity. "All of you. Even when you're ganging up on me during professional debriefings."
"*Especially* when we're ganging up on you during professional debriefings," Jean corrected, and kissed him with the kind of casual intimacy that came from years of knowing exactly what made him tick.
"This is still a professional environment," Ororo observed, though she was smiling as she said it.
"Is it though?" Tonks asked. "Because I'm pretty sure we left 'professional' somewhere around the time we decided to systematically loot Dumbledore's treasure room and replace everything with passive-aggressive documentation."
"That's not looting," Tony said automatically. "That's—"
"Artifact preservation, we know," Laura finished. "You've mentioned it approximately forty-seven times."
"I'm going to mention it forty-seven more times because that's what's going to keep us out of magical prison," Tony shot back. "You're welcome for the legal framework that makes this entire operation technically legitimate."
"We appreciate your legal framework," Harry said, finally extracting himself from the circle of affectionate, dangerous women with the air of someone who'd surrendered the battle but was prepared to win the war. "Now can we please focus on the actual mission debrief? Like, for example, the fact that we successfully extracted fourteen thousand artifacts without anyone noticing until it was too late to stop us?"
"Fourteen thousand, three hundred and eighty-seven," Natasha corrected automatically. "Plus the seventeen we're returning to maintain the legal fiction that this was always about preservation rather than acquisition."
"Right," Harry said. "Seventeen items we're returning with a letter that's basically three pages of weaponized politeness."
"It's beautiful," Tony said with genuine pride. "The letter manages to thank Dumbledore for allowing us to identify and return Hogwarts property while also subtly implying that his security was so bad that we had to step in before something catastrophic happened."
"How subtle are we talking?" James asked with interest.
Tony pulled up the holographic letter. "Scale of one to ten, where one is 'aggressively obvious' and ten is 'only lawyers would notice'? I'd say we're sitting at about a six. Subtle enough that Dumbledore can't officially complain, obvious enough that he'll know exactly what we're saying."
"That's art," Sirius said appreciatively. "That's genuinely beautiful passive-aggressive art."
"Thank you," Tony said with a small bow. "I have excellent lawyers and zero shame about using them to win bureaucratic warfare."
"Speaking of which," Harry said, his commander voice firmly back in place even if his hair was slightly mussed from Jean's fingers. "How confident are we in our legal position? And I want honest assessment, not 'Tony Stark successfully argued his way out of congressional oversight' optimism."
Tony's expression shifted, becoming more genuinely thoughtful—which was how you knew he was about to say something actually important rather than just entertaining.
"Honest assessment? We're rock solid," he said, pulling up detailed legal documentation. "Everything in that room fell into one of three categories: student contraband that nobody officially owns, items of unclear provenance that have been there so long they're effectively abandoned property, or historical artifacts that predate Hogwarts and arguably belong to the international magical community rather than any single institution."
"And the seventeen items we're returning?" Harry asked.
"Legitimate Hogwarts institutional property that we're returning in accordance with international preservation protocols," Tony confirmed. "Which makes us look responsible, reinforces that this was always about preservation, and gives Dumbledore exactly nothing to complain about without looking like he's opposed to responsible artifact management."
"It's perfect," Natasha said with professional admiration. "We're going to pull off the most elaborate bureaucratic victory in SHIELD history, and by the time anyone processes what happened, Dumbledore's going to be the one explaining security failures."
"And we get founder-era magical artifacts," Tonks added with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just discovered they were getting paid to do their favorite hobby. "Which is definitely the best part."
"That's definitely the best part," Harry agreed, and his expression had shifted into something fierce and satisfied. "Because we're not just acquiring artifacts. We're eliminating a genuine security vulnerability, preventing potential catastrophe, and making it look like we did everyone a favor in the process."
He looked around the room—at Tony with his holograms, at his team who'd pulled off an impossible extraction, at the five women who'd somehow decided he was worth loving despite his tendency to accumulate apocalyptic problems like other people collected stamps.
"I'm authorizing sessions two, three, and four," Harry said with the kind of finality that ended arguments before they started. "I want this done thorough, complete, and documented to the point where Dumbledore can't sneeze without acknowledging that what we did was not only legal but necessary."
"And if he complains anyway?" Ororo asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
Harry's smile was sharp enough to cut steel. "Then we let Tony's lawyers explain—in very small words—exactly why he should have secured those artifacts decades ago. And then we let the international magical community ask him some very pointed questions about institutional responsibility."
"That's cold," James observed.
"That's command," Harry corrected. "And that's what happens when you leave security vulnerabilities sitting around for decades and hope nobody notices."
"I love it when you get all decisive and commanding," Natasha said, not bothering to hide her appreciation. "It's extremely attractive."
"Everything he does is extremely attractive," Jean said matter-of-factly. "That's not news."
"Can we maybe save the flirting for after the professional debrief?" Harry tried, though his ears had gone slightly red.
"No," all five women said in perfect unison.
"I regret so many of my life choices," Harry muttered.
"You regret nothing," Tonks corrected cheerfully. "You're just embarrassed because we're all very publicly appreciating you and you don't know how to handle positive attention."
"I can handle positive attention," Harry protested.
"You absolutely cannot," Laura said with the blunt honesty of someone who'd watched him try and fail to accept compliments approximately six hundred times. "You deflect, change the subject, or try to redirect credit to other people. You're terrible at accepting that you're competent, attractive, and worth the attention of five extremely selective women."
"I'm not—" Harry started, then caught the look on all five faces and clearly decided this was an argument he'd already lost. "Fine. I'm terrible at accepting compliments. Can we please get back to the actual mission debrief?"
"We never left the mission debrief," Ororo said with regal amusement. "We're simply conducting it with appropriate appreciation for our commanding officer's many qualities."
"His *many* qualities," Jean agreed with emphasis that made Tony cough into his hand to hide his laugh.
"You're all fired," Harry said without any conviction whatsoever.
"You can't fire us," Natasha pointed out. "We're essential personnel. Also, you love us."
"Also that," Harry admitted, and his expression softened in the way it only did around them. "Alright. Fine. You win. I'm competent, apparently attractive according to extremely biased sources, and lucky enough that five incredible women decided I was worth their time. Happy?"
"Very," they said in unison, and the smiles they directed at him could have powered a small city.
"Great," Harry said, visibly trying to regain control of the briefing. "Now can we *please* talk about session two?"
---
Session two began the next morning at oh-dark-thirty, which was apparently when Jean felt recovered enough from maintaining portal stability to do it all over again. The team assembled in the pre-dawn darkness with the kind of grim efficiency that came from people who'd done impossible things so many times they barely counted anymore.
"Alright," Harry said via comm from the *Marauder*'s command center. He was monitoring approximately forty different data feeds while simultaneously coordinating with three international magical governing bodies, which was apparently just a normal Tuesday for him. "Session two focuses on secondary-tier artifacts. Still historically significant, probably won't rewrite magical theory, but definitely worth preserving."
"And by 'preserving' you mean 'systematically removing from Dumbledore's treasure room,'" Tonks said cheerfully as she stepped through Jean's portal into the Room of Hidden Things.
"I mean conducting responsible artifact preservation in accordance with international protocols," Harry corrected, but there was affection in his voice. "Try to remember the official terminology. Tony's lawyers worked very hard on it."
"Tony's lawyers are artists," Tonks agreed, already moving toward a shelf of items that were glowing with the kind of magical signature that suggested their creators had very strong opinions about how they should be handled.
"Tony's lawyers are expensive," Tony's voice cut in. "But worth every penny because they're about to make Dumbledore look foolish through the application of international law."
"I love bureaucratic warfare," Sirius said happily, carefully extracting what appeared to be a medieval sword that was definitely more than it seemed. "It's like regular warfare but with more paperwork and fewer explosions."
"Speak for yourself," Natasha said, examining an artifact that appeared to be radiating both magical and explosive potential. "Some of these items look like they could absolutely explode if handled incorrectly."
"Please don't let anything explode," Harry said with the weary patience of someone who'd said those exact words approximately six thousand times in his career. "We're trying to maintain the fiction that this is a careful, professional operation."
"It *is* a careful, professional operation," Jean said, maintaining the portal with one hand while telekinetically sorting artifacts with the other because apparently being a cosmic-level psychic meant multitasking on a level that made everyone else look inefficient. "We're just acknowledging that 'careful and professional' sometimes includes 'dealing with potentially explosive magical artifacts created by people with questionable life choices.'"
"Fair point," Harry conceded. "How's the extraction going?"
"Smooth," Natasha reported, already three artifacts ahead of the documentation schedule. "We're maintaining pace for approximately six-hour operation. Should have another significant chunk moved by end of session."
"And the portrait?" Harry asked.
There was a pause.
"The portrait is watching," James said slowly. "And I think... processing?"
"Processing what?" Harry asked, his tone sharpening into full tactical assessment.
"Processing the fact that we're systematically removing everything while maintaining perfect documentation and legal justification," James clarified. "I think it's having an existential crisis about whether to report us or congratulate us."
"Let's help it decide," Harry said, and his voice had shifted into that particular tone that meant he was about to do something either brilliant or completely insane. Possibly both.
The comm crackled as Harry apparently adjusted frequencies to address the portrait directly.
"Hello," Harry said with perfect professional courtesy. "I'm Commander Harry Potter, SHIELD Magical Operations. I understand you're observing our artifact preservation initiative."
The portrait's voice came through with the kind of authoritative disapproval usually reserved for professors catching students in the middle of spectacular rule violations. "I believe I should inform someone that SHIELD is currently systematically removing the entire contents of this room in what I can only describe as an elaborate and well-organized extraction operation."
"You should absolutely inform someone," Harry agreed immediately. "I'd recommend starting with Dumbledore. Let him know that SHIELD is conducting a fully authorized international artifact preservation initiative with support from three separate governing bodies. All documentation is available for review."
There was a pause. The portrait was clearly not expecting that response.
"You're... authorized?" the portrait asked slowly.
"Completely," Harry confirmed. "The International Magical Artifacts Preservation Committee, the Department of Magical History, and the British Ministry have all filed official support for what we're doing. You can verify with any of them. I'd be happy to provide contact information."
"But you're *removing* everything," the portrait protested.
"We're securing artifacts that were being stored in an unsecured student facility," Harry corrected, and his voice had taken on that particular edge that came right before he explained something in terms that made arguing seem actively foolish. "Founder-era magical artifacts were accessible to students. That represents a security vulnerability of the highest order. We're addressing it."
"By taking everything," the portrait said slowly.
"By preserving everything in properly secured facilities where they can be studied, documented, and protected from potential misuse," Harry said with absolute confidence. "The alternative was leaving them in an unsecured room where literally any student could potentially access items that could rewrite magical theory or cause catastrophic harm."
The portrait was quiet for a long moment. The team continued working, carefully extracting items while the bureaucratic battle played out over comms.
"That's..." the portrait started, then paused. "That's actually a legitimate security concern."
"It's a *catastrophic* security concern," Harry corrected. "Which is why three international governing bodies immediately supported our initiative. Nobody wants to be the person who argued against responsible artifact preservation."
"But Dumbledore—" the portrait began.
"Will need to explain why these artifacts weren't properly secured in the first place," Harry finished smoothly. "Which is why I'm confident he'll ultimately support what we're doing. Because the alternative is a very public conversation about institutional security failures."
Another long pause.
"You've thought this through," the portrait observed.
"I command SHIELD's magical operations," Harry said with matter-of-fact confidence. "Thinking things through is literally my job. Now, you can absolutely inform Dumbledore about what's happening. I'd actually prefer you do. That way when he objects—and he will object—everyone will already have context that this was a legitimate, authorized, internationally supported preservation initiative."
"That's..." the portrait said slowly, and there might have been admiration creeping into its voice. "That's actually quite clever. You're preemptively establishing the narrative."
"I'm establishing the facts," Harry corrected. "The narrative is just what happens when facts are inconvenient for people who should have addressed security vulnerabilities decades ago."
"I think," the portrait said carefully, "I'll inform Dumbledore that SHIELD is conducting an internationally authorized artifact preservation initiative and that you seemed very confident about the legal framework supporting your actions."
"That's perfect," Harry said with obvious approval. "Thank you for your cooperation."
The comm clicked off.
There was a moment of silence in the Room of Hidden Things.
Then Tonks started laughing—the kind of delighted, slightly unhinged laugh that came from watching someone pull off something so audaciously brilliant that it defied explanation.
"Did you just," she managed between laughs, "Did you just weaponize politeness to make a portrait complicit in our heist?"
"Artifact preservation," Harry corrected automatically.
"He absolutely did," Natasha said, and there was something fierce and proud in her voice. "He just turned a potential security breach into an asset by being so confident and legally justified that the portrait couldn't figure out how to object."
"That's my guy," Jean said with obvious affection, not even looking up from the three artifacts she was simultaneously documenting via telekinesis.
"Your guy is terrifying," James observed. "In the best possible way."
"He's perfect," Ororo said with regal satisfaction. "Decisive, strategic, and apparently capable of winning arguments through the application of bureaucratic procedure and unshakable confidence."
"I'm just doing my job," Harry's voice came through the comm, but there was warmth there—the kind that came from knowing he was surrounded by people who appreciated exactly how hard he worked to keep them safe.
"Your job is being unfairly attractive while making Dumbledore's life complicated?" Laura asked with the blunt curiosity of someone who'd spent years learning how normal human interaction worked.
"That's a side benefit," Harry said, and they could hear the smile in his voice. "The actual job is keeping you all alive while preventing magical catastrophe."
"Multi-talented," Natasha observed.
"That's why we love him," Jean agreed.
"Can we maybe focus on the extraction?" Harry tried, though his voice had gone softer in the way it did when his girlfriends were being particularly affectionate. "We're on a schedule."
"We're ahead of schedule," Natasha corrected, checking her tactical display. "Which means we have time to appreciate our commanding officer's many talents."
"His *many* talents," Tonks agreed with emphasis.
"You're all terrible," Harry said, but there was nothing but affection in his voice.
"We're the best," five voices said in perfect unison.
---
By hour three of session two, they'd moved another massive chunk of the warehouse—easily fifty percent of what remained, leaving mostly furniture and lower-priority items for the final sessions. The team had settled into a comfortable rhythm: extract, document, scan, portal, repeat.
Tonks was currently examining what appeared to be a decorative bottle filled with shimmering liquid that was giving off extremely confusing magical signatures.
"Is this a love potion?" she asked, holding it up to the light. "Or a curse? Because the magical signature is like... both? And also neither?"
Jean paused in her documentation, extending her psychic senses to examine the bottle. Her expression cycled through curiosity, confusion, and then genuine fascination.
"Both," she confirmed after a moment. "Whoever created this was apparently very conflicted about their feelings and decided to weaponize their emotional confusion. There's love magic and curse magic all twisted together. It's actually fascinating from a magical theory standpoint."
"And absolutely going in the 'do not open under any circumstances' category," Natasha decided immediately. "Because we do not need bottles of weaponized emotional confusion potentially destabilizing other research projects."
"Fair point," Tonks agreed, carefully packing the bottle in reinforced magical containment. "Although I have to say, this is what I love about this job. Where else do you get to handle weaponized emotional confusion and call it professional work?"
"SHIELD, apparently," James said, passing her another item to document. "Weaponized emotional confusion courtesy of centuries of magical history and questionable life choices."
"That should be our motto," Sirius suggested, carefully levitating a medieval tapestry that was definitely cursed. "'SHIELD Magical Operations: Dealing with Centuries of Questionable Life Choices.'"
"I'm not putting that on official letterhead," Harry said via comm, but there was amusement in his voice.
"Why not?" Tonks asked. "It's accurate."
"It's *too* accurate," Harry corrected. "Tony's lawyers worked very hard to make us sound professional and legitimate. I'm not undermining that with humorous mottos."
"Spoilsport," Tonks said cheerfully.
"Commander," Harry corrected. "The word you're looking for is 'commander.'"
"Sexy spoilsport commander," Tonks amended.
There was a pause.
"I'm not engaging with that," Harry said finally.
"You just engaged with it by responding," Natasha pointed out, carefully extracting what appeared to be a medieval weapon that was radiating enough magical potential to qualify as a weapon of mass destruction.
"I'm choosing not to engage *further*," Harry corrected.
"That's still engaging," Jean observed, telekinetically sorting three artifacts simultaneously while maintaining perfect portal stability because apparently cosmic-level psychics could multitask on difficulty settings that broke normal people.
"I hate all of you," Harry said without any heat whatsoever.
"You love us," five voices said in perfect unison.
"That too," Harry admitted with obvious affection. "Now can we please focus on the extraction? We're approaching hour four and I'd like to maintain our schedule."
"We're still ahead of schedule," Natasha reported, checking her tactical display with professional efficiency. "Current pace puts us at approximately sixty percent extraction by end of session."
"Perfect," Harry said with satisfaction. "Keep it up. And someone please make sure Tonks doesn't accidentally open the bottle of weaponized emotional confusion."
"I'm not going to open it!" Tonks protested. "I'm a professional!"
"You're a professional chaos agent," Sirius corrected affectionately. "There's a difference."
"I'm a professional *Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.*," Tonks said with dignity. "Who happens to occasionally engage in creative problem-solving."
"Is that what we're calling 'accidentally setting things on fire'?" James asked with interest.
"That was *one time*," Tonks protested. "And technically it was your fault for daring me."
"I dared you to test the artifact," James said. "Not to test it by seeing if it was flammable."
"Well how else was I supposed to test it?" Tonks asked reasonably.
"Literally any other way," Natasha said, though there was clear amusement in her voice. "Any single other testing method that didn't involve fire."
"Where's the fun in that?" Tonks asked.
"I'm surrounded by chaos agents," Harry said with the weary patience of someone who'd accepted his fate. "I'm commanding a team of highly competent chaos agents who delight in making my life complicated."
"You love it," Ororo said with regal amusement, carefully extracting what appeared to be a weather-modification artifact with the kind of casual competence that came from literally being able to control the weather. "You'd be bored otherwise."
"I wouldn't be bored," Harry protested. "I'd be *relaxed.*"
"You'd be miserable," Jean corrected gently. "You're not good at relaxing. You're good at solving impossible problems with beautiful, competent people who understand exactly how your mind works."
There was a pause.
"That's unfairly accurate," Harry admitted finally.
"We know you," Natasha said, and there was something fierce and warm in her voice. "We know that you need challenge, purpose, and people who can keep up with you. That's us."
"Lucky me," Harry said, and it came out softer than he probably intended—the kind of vulnerable honesty that only emerged around people he trusted completely.
"Lucky us," five voices said in unison.
"Alright," Harry said, clearly trying to regain professional composure. "That's enough emotional honesty for one extraction operation. Can we please finish this session so Jean can rest before session three?"
"I'm fine," Jean said automatically.
"You're maintaining portal stability across dimensional boundaries while telekinetically sorting artifacts and drinking your fourth cup of coffee," Harry said with the firmness of someone who knew exactly when to pull rank. "You're excellent, but you're not infinite. We finish this session, you rest, and then we continue when you're recovered."
"I love it when you get all commanding about my wellbeing," Jean said with obvious affection. "It's extremely attractive."
"Everything he does is extremely attractive," Tonks said cheerfully. "We've established this."
"Can we *please*—" Harry started.
"No," five voices said in unison.
"I regret so many life choices," Harry muttered.
"You regret nothing," Laura said with absolute certainty. "Your heartbeat is steady, your stress hormones are normal, and your emotional state is consistent with someone who's content and happy despite mild embarrassment."
"I have enhanced senses," Laura added. "You can't lie to me about your emotional state."
"That's cheating," Harry protested.
"That's biology," Laura corrected. "Not my fault you're terrible at hiding your feelings from people with superhuman sensory capabilities."
"This is my life now," Harry said with resignation. "Commanded by five women who can read me like a book and delight in calling me on my bullshit."
"That's love," Natasha said matter-of-factly. "We love you enough to call you on your bullshit while also supporting your competence and appreciating your many attractive qualities."
"I'm ending this conversation," Harry announced.
"You can't end the conversation," Jean pointed out. "You're on comms. You can only mute yourself."
"Which would be unprofessional during an active operation," Ororo added with regal amusement.
"I hate all of you," Harry said without conviction.
"You love us," they said in unison, and the affection in their voices could have powered the entire *Marauder*.
---
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