"…I'm sorry, Harry, for not sharing these with you sooner."

  Lupin said it apologetically, the two of them still sitting in the dining room where their talk had stretched on for quite a while. Maverick had brought Harry over earlier, and before Sirius arrived, Lupin had slipped into sharing old stories from his school days—little pieces about James and Lily that Harry had never once heard before.

  Harry nodded slowly. "I get it, Professor. Nobody could've seen this coming, I guess." Then, after a small pause, he smiled. "Anyway… I really am grateful… for coming to Hogwarts to protect me, I mean."

  Lupin chuckled at that. "Well, I realized soon enough that it wasn't really needed. If I'd known beforehand you had someone like Professor Caesar as your mentor, I'd have skipped the job entirely and gone straight to hunt for Padfoot."

  Harry laughed under his breath, and his eyes drifted to the living room where Maverick sat lazily watching a program on Magic Vision.

  "And you're not quite right about one thing, Harry," Lupin added, making him turn back.

  "What do you mean?"

  "About nobody realizing the truth." Lupin tilted his chin toward the other room. "Professor Caesar had already pieced it together a while ago. It was his arrangements that made my friend's freedom come so easily. So if anyone deserves the thanks, it's him."

  Harry followed his gaze back to Maverick, a small warmth rising in his chest as he gave a quiet nod. Just then, Maverick turned his head away from the glowing screen toward the front door, and right on cue, the handle moved, and in came the man they had all been waiting for.

  Sirius Black stepped inside, looking like he hadn't had the best day—worn out, probably from fending off reporters. He pulled off his coat right away and turned toward the living room. His eyes first met Maverick's smirk, then went further back to Moony, and finally landed on the one person he had been longing to see. In that instant, his weariness vanished, replaced by a wide, unrestrained smile.

  Harry also met his eyes, and for a moment, it was like the most important person he hadn't seen in years had suddenly appeared. He froze, his eyes welling up as he finally looked the man in the face.

  "Siri… Sirius…"

  "Harry…"

  They both called out each other's names, and Sirius stepped forward toward the frozen boy.

  "It's like I'm looking at Prongs… you look so much like him. Except for the eyes, of course—they're Lily's, through and through," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Then, unable to hold back any longer, he swept his godson into a tight embrace, his hands trembling slightly, and Harry, still stunned, didn't pull away.

  "I'm… so, so sorry, Harry… for letting it happen to your parents," Sirius choked out, his voice breaking. Harry, having finally shaken off his shock, wrapped his arms around him too without thinking, holding him just as tightly.

  "It's not your fault… Mr. Sirius Black…" Harry whispered, just as trembling, and there wasn't a hint of blame in his voice.

  Pulling back just slightly, Sirius smiled and said, "If you want… you can call me Godfather, Harry. Or just Sirius. No need for formalities when it comes to family."

  While the two began to reminisce, Maverick stood up from his seat and gave Lupin a small nod before heading toward the front door.

  Harry and Sirius exchanged confused looks, and Harry asked, "Professor, where are you going?"

  "I'm sure you and your godfather have a lot to talk about, kid," Maverick said with a smile and a shrug. "It's your first meeting… I don't want to sit here staring at two grown men getting all emotional."

  Harry's cheeks flushed slightly, still hesitant—or maybe just shy. Maverick caught the look, let out a soft sigh, and told the kid not to worry. He glanced at Sirius and gave him a nod too, then walked out, and Lupin, after giving his friend a hug and congratulating him for his freedom, followed soon after.

  Harry didn't notice how time had flown that day, at long last, he was finally meeting his godfather and learning more about his parents. Before he knew it, it was starting to get dark, and snow had begun falling outside, when Maverick and Lupin returned carrying some takeout.

  Compared to when they had left, the atmosphere was much lighter now. Sirius and Harry were laughing together over another story Sirius was recalling, and it was impossible not to smile watching them.

  "Professor Caesar! Professor Lupin!" Harry called, running over. Maverick could tell the kid was in a great mood—not that he was a gloomy kid, but right now, he was practically radiating enough positive vibes to light up a Hungarian Horntail Patronus.

  Before long, the four of them were in the dining room, enjoying an early dinner with light conversation—the kind that made the room feel warm and easy. Maverick also passed along Dumbledore's message, and Sirius, without giving it much thought, agreed to meet the old man. Perhaps a few days later, as the new year approached, he would want to spend the festive occasion with his godson, whom he had been disconnected from for over a decade.

  Maverick didn't linger in the house much longer and, seeing that Harry had insisted on staying the night, he left the boy in the care of the two adults. He trusted Remus and Sirius to look after a teenager since Harry wasn't exactly a clueless kid anymore, but he still gave them instructions to update the Dursleys before stepping back out into the evening. Vernon might not mind his wife's nephew being gone, but Petunia had completely changed how she felt about Harry, so it was best not to make her worry.

  Outside, the night was still young. Speaking of the New Year, Maverick had a date with a certain reporter tonight, and a whole holiday planned with her for the rest of the break. He would much rather spend his evening with her than with two grown men and a kid.

  As for official business, Sirius was now part of his plans moving forward, but that could wait since the man had just regained his freedom. After school started, Maverick would assign him tasks, and thanks to his early intervention in this year's plot, the rest of the semester at Hogwarts would… should, probably, pass without any major trouble.

  ---

  Diagon Alley.

  Late December brought a crisp, biting chill even to this always-bustling street of enchanted buildings. The night sky was dark and cloudy, but moonlight still managed to peek through in spots, glinting off rooftops dusted with frost. Puffs of smoke curled lazily from chimneys, mingling with the cold air, while snowflakes drifted down, catching the glow of tiny, enchanted lanterns that floated above the cobbled streets.

  Despite the late hour, a few magical pedestrians hurried along, cloaks pulled tight against the cold and wands tucked safely in their pockets, leaving faint trails of sparks behind them. The shop windows glowed warmly, some displaying moving, bewitched toys or dancing ornaments. Christmas decorations hadn't disappeared just yet, lingering and twinkling as if holding onto the season a little longer. The alley felt alive, yet quiet; the usual bustle slowed by the chill, giving the street a cozy, magical hush beneath the winter sky.

  The headquarters of the Magical News Network had its main base in the magical streets of MACUSA, but at the same time, a branch had been opened in Europe as well. And of course, it couldn't be anywhere else but her soon-to-be husband's home turf. With Maverick's help, Isabella had snagged a good chunk of land, and now the office was tucked into the cramped alley full of stalls and shops in the magical heart of London. And by coincidence—or maybe not—it wasn't far from Maverick's own business too, the Magitech store.

  Until now, Isabella had been running the network's operations from London. At first, most of their coverage focused on Quidditch, and being closer to the last European tournament had made things easier. Over time, she had expanded to cover other noteworthy events, from interviews with famous wizards to everyday magical happenings in both America and Europe.

  It wasn't much yet, since she and the company were still finding their rhythm, but a few scheduled programs were airing now, and tuning in to their daily evening news broadcast had become a regular routine in many wizarding households.

  The London branch of the Magical News Network was a two-story building, its facade lined with enchanted glass windows that shimmered with moving headlines and floating ticker texts. It didn't look anything like the usual shops around here, which seemed like they belonged in museums.

  So with this new, unusually modern building, second only to Maverick's own store, the historic street finally started to feel a bit more up-to-date, and in time, he was hoping more buildings like it would start popping up.

  When Maverick arrived, the nightly news was long over, and most of the staff had already called it a day, leaving only a few lingering in the building. Feeling a bit drained after the long day, he made a beeline for Isabella's office. There, he found her buried in a mountain of papers, glasses sliding down her nose as she scribbled notes frantically.

  Since when had she started wearing glasses, he thought, raising a brow before shrugging. It… wasn't a bad look on her, and right now, just seeing her like this made his gut tighten in more ways than one.

  "Hello gorgeous…"

  Still keeping the invisibility up, he slipped behind her, bent down, and whispered in her ear.

  Her reaction to his tease, though, wasn't what he expected. She didn't flinch, didn't jump—like she had been expecting him all along—and instead gave a slow, sultry smile, eyes sparkling, shoulders tilting just slightly, as she turned her head enough to meet his gaze and see his figure come into view.

  "Do you have to sneak into my office like that every time, Ricky?" she said, shoving the papers aside. She stood, resting her hands on his shoulders, and he slid his hands to her hips, pulling her just a little closer.

  Maverick sighed, smiling, and shrugged. "I… will try to knock next time… but forget about that… I'm starving right now."

  "For food, right?"

  Hours—and ten thousand words later—they found themselves on the other side of the ocean, in Los Angeles, sitting at Spago in Beverly Hills, where the sun was still hanging low in the sky.

  ---

  Meanwhile, a few dozen miles away from their current location, in Malibu, California…

  The late afternoon sun hung low over Zuma Beach, casting long, golden shadows across the sand and turning the Pacific into a mix of deep blue and green streaked with sunlight. A warm, dry wind carried the smell of salt and sunscreen, lifting tiny bits of sand across the dunes. It was a quiet, lazy hour: sunbathers dozed, and only the most determined swimmers braved the chilly water. For now, the waves were mostly empty.

  Then, suddenly, from within the churn of the breaking waves, a figure rose.

  It didn't stumble out like a tired swimmer. Instead, it moved with an unsettling, deliberate grace, water sliding off a form that looked completely alien. Tall and unnervingly slender, its skin had the texture of emerald stone. A ridged, prominent brow shadowed large, black eyes, and its face was sharp and severe, moving with the stillness of a predator.

  The first figure paused for a moment, a statue of green against the shimmering waves, foam swirling around its knees. Then, from the surf behind it, three more identical forms emerged, their dark, liquid eyes scanning the shoreline, the cliffs, and the few scattered humans.

  Because of the time, not many people were on the beach. The first figure that emerged scanned the shoreline with calculating eyes, pausing briefly on a woman some distance away who was just about to enter the water.

  Not long after, something impossible began to happen—or at least impossible to any ordinary human eye. Its skin, or whatever passed for it, began to melt and reform, flowing over itself in a fluid, almost hypnotic motion.

  Moments later, where the alien had stood, a woman in a bright turquoise bikini now smiled faintly, brushing her wet hair back as if she had just stepped out of the surf. Every detail was flawless: the sunlight glinting off her sunglasses, sand clinging to her tanned legs, and the playful ripple of water sliding off her shoulders.

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  As it glanced behind, the three figures that had followed also no longer looked like... well, aliens. Each had taken the form of another human from the beach: a man in red swim trunks adjusting his towel, a teenager in a rash guard lugging a surfboard, and an older woman in a wide-brimmed sunhat scrolling on her phone.

  The first alien—now fully the woman—surveyed the others briefly, then nodded approvingly.

  "You all know what to do," it said, voice calm but authoritative. The three behind her nodded solemnly.

  No commotion arose, and no one on the beach noticed the impossible transformation that had just occurred. Even the humans whose forms they now wore seemed oblivious, caught up in their own routines or too lazy to pay attention to anyone else around them.

  With their disguises complete, the four figures moved toward the city, blending seamlessly into the late-afternoon crowd. From their brief exchange, though, it was clear they were here to look for something—or perhaps, someone.

  —————————

  The morning sun dragged itself lazily over the horizon, painting the rooftops with a thin sheen of gold that glittered against the frost. Winter was in no mood to loosen its grip, the air so sharp it could bite through a scarf, and the streets below carried that brittle calm only found on frozen mornings.

  By the time breakfast rolled around, the wizarding world were humming with gossip. Papers rustled open on kitchen tables, in corner cafés, even at cluttered office desks—and every single headline shouted the same story.

  From Britain to the rest of Europe—and even a few overseas presses—yesterday's Wizengamot fiasco went global, with front pages ripping apart the circus of English magical politics in full view of the world.

  Yes, on paper the assembly had been called to clear Sirius Black's name and expose Peter Pettigrew, but in print, those were just merely just afterthoughts. The true spotlight fell on the English magical government itself, with critics circling like vultures over the state of their politics.

  "Minister Toppled in Broad Daylight!" one French paper declared.

  "The Fall of Fudge: A Lesson in Power," sneered the Germans.

  Even the Americans chimed in with their usual flair: "London in Flames—Politically, Anyway."

  Every column tore into the politics of England's magical elite—mocking, dissecting, and questioning what kind of circus they were running across the Channel. It was a coup, plain and simple. But since it had gone off clean, by the book, and actually worked, there wasn't much anyone could do about it—except laugh at how ridiculous it all looked in the end.

  Fudge, right up until the final moment, hadn't even realized what was happening. What made it more ridiculous still was that he had engineered the conditions himself—convening a grand assembly that needn't have happened at all.

  Yet by gathering so many, he gave his haters both the stage and the numbers they required. In other words, it was his own hands that had prepared the grounds for something as drastic as the impeachment of a sitting Minister.

  Article after article dragged him through the mud, painting him as the biggest fool. For a while, the English magical community would be the punchline, sneered at for ever having such a clueless, bumbling leader.

  Maverick, sitting at the small dining table in his Los Angeles hotel room, set the paper aside, the corner of his lips curling as he finished the article. Honestly, he hadn't expected yesterday's drama to blow up this big, with even papers that hadn't been at the auditorium splashing it across their headlines. Still, it wasn't a big deal.

  At most, Jameson's new government would take some heat for a while, but like every other scandal, it would dry up soon enough. This wasn't the twentieth century, nor the matured politics of the Muggle world from his previous life, where sanctions came down the moment a legitimate government got overthrown in some surprise coup.

  "Ricky!"

  Maverick looked up at the sweet sound of his fiancée's voice and couldn't help but swallow hard—absolutely because he was thirsty, and not because she was wearing his shirt… just his shirt. She strolled over, a coffee cup in hand freshly prepared for him.

  Last night, after dinner, they had gone to a Muggle movie, which, to his inner child's surprise, turned out to be Batman Returns. The story followed the script he remembered from his previous life almost exactly.

  The only difference seemed to be the cast, for some reason, but the cinematography was way better, so even though he had seen it before, he had a blast watching it. As for Isabella… well, he guessed she enjoyed it too. Probably. Who doesn't like Batman, right?

  "What's so interesting on the news that you've been lost in it all this time?"

  "The what?" he asked, still unable to tear his eyes away from his half-naked lioness.

  "The paper."

  "Oh… the paper," he said, glancing at it briefly before returning his gaze to her. "It's about yesterday's hearing. Everyone's calling it a coup d'état."

  Isabella slid the cup to him and settled across from him, shrugging. "What else could it be? Don't forget—it was you who orchestrated all that. Did anyone connect the dots?"

  Taking a sip from the steaming cup of caffeine, he shook his head. "The articles are mostly about how big a moron Fudge was… and a little heat aimed at Jameson."

  "Or maybe the papers don't dare make accusations against you, Mr. Speaker… lest they face your archmagical wrath," she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

  "How is that possible? I am a law-abiding, civilized, well-respected wizard," Maverick said, raising his chin dramatically, which only made her chuckle.

  "So… what's on the agenda today?" she asked after a moment.

  Maverick's expression softened into a thoughtful pause before his grin widened, and he stood up. "Today… my lady darling." He circled the table, and before she could react, he scooped her up in a princess carry.

  Her startled gasp only made him chuckle more as he continued, "How about some Venice barbecue? I hear the restaurants near the beach are absolutely worth it."

  Isabella squirmed slightly in his arms, laughing. "At least let me change first before you Apparate…"

  "Apparate?" he shook his head, winking as he carried her into the bathroom. "Today, we're going the old-fashioned way."

  She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. Then, after a long—very long—shower, they checked out of the hotel, rented a car, and drove leisurely, taking in the sights as they made their way toward the neighboring district of the city.

  ---

  Venice, a district within Los Angeles known for its beaches, boardwalk, and canals, wore a mellow chill today.

  The sky was bright and almost cloudless, the kind of afternoon that felt cool on the skin yet gentle enough for a leisurely stroll along the boardwalk, with seagulls calling lazily overhead. Even in the middle of winter, snow was basically unheard of here, and the weather stayed mild and dry, with daytime highs around 20°C and cool, crisp evenings.

  Inside a cozy corner of a bustling beachside restaurant, Maverick and Isabella settled into their seats, the hum of chatter and clinking cutlery surrounding them. A basket of ribs sat between them, the smoky aroma mingling with the tang of barbecue sauce.

  Maverick leaned back slightly, grinning as Isabella took her first bite, wiping her fingers on a napkin with a teasing glance. For a moment, the bustle outside felt worlds away, leaving just the warmth of good food, soft conversation, and each other's company.

  And the food was indeed good. A little messy, sure—but that's barbecue—and besides, who cared when the flavors of meat and sauce melted in your mouth, impossible to get enough no matter how much you ate.

  They chatted about everything and nothing, time slipping by without them even noticing, and of course, the food—before long, it had all turned to bones. It was shaping up to be a perfect start to an excellent holiday… or so they thought.

  Until—

  Boom!

  The bustling chatter inside cut off abruptly, and everyone's heads ducked instinctively at the loud bang from outside, followed by sharp cries and startled yelps echoing through the restaurant as people scrambled to see what had happened.

  It sounded like an explosion—not massive, but not small either—and Maverick and Isabella also turned their heads toward the restaurant's large windows.

  "Hmm… a duel?" Isabella squinted at the block across the road, casting a wandless cleaning charm over her sauce-stained hands.

  Boom!

  Boom!

  Boom!

  Three more sharp bangs rattled the street. Inside, apart from Maverick and Isabella, chaos reigned now—people screamed, ducked, and scrambled for the exits, unwilling to be anywhere near whatever was causing the explosions across the street.

  Maverick furrowed his brows as well, extending his magical senses to see who had dared ruin his lunch date. But then, the crease of concentration on his face eased, as he took in—or rather, guessed at—the figures out there.

  At least one of them looked familiar—he had met him once before—but…

  "They're not wizards. Although… you have a point," he muttered under his breath. "No ordinary muggle weapons could do that."

  Isabella's curiosity flared, her reporter instincts kicking in, and Maverick caught from the corner of his eye that she was itching to get a closer look.

  He let out a quiet sigh, then unhurriedly cast a Notice Me Not around them. Once the charm took hold, he turned them invisible and, without a word, Apparated to high above the scene where the ruckus was unfolding.

  "Merlin… is that human body Transfiguration?" she exclaimed.

  They watched as a woman in green, oddly patterned tights leapt from rooftops and darted through alleys, chasing a man who, at one point, flickered into another form—and then another.

  "It certainly looks like it," Maverick said, nodding thoughtfully. By now, he was fairly certain about what was happening, and his earlier guess was quickly solidifying.

  For starters, the man frozen in momentary shock was none other than Nick Fury—whom he had seen during his inauguration assembly as High Councilor for the World Security Council.

  So the woman chasing the shape-shifter has to be Carol Danvers, aka Ms. Marvel. As for the shapeshifter… that would have to be a Skrull soldier.

  "Isn't this straight out of the Captain Marvel plot," he muttered to himself with a frown, then added silently, but… isn't it a bit early for this?

  "What plot?"

  Isabella's sudden question snapped him out of his thoughts, and the crease in his brow eased. "Nothing," he said quickly, though the grin that followed gave him away. A spark lit in his eyes.

  Alien technology. Spaceships. A cat. And, of course, the bloody Tesseract—housing the Space Stone itself.

  "I know that look…" Isabella folded her arms over her petite mountains, one brow arched high as she studied him.

  "What look?" he asked back, though the curl of his lips didn't budge.

  "That look you always get whenever something happens. Next thing I know, you're knee-deep in the middle of it."

  "I—" He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again just as quickly. Was this what they called a woman's sixth sense? But never mind that for now.

  So instead, his grin only widened. "Say, honey… you up for a super interesting adventure?"

  —————————

  Author's Note:

  You can find this story on Webnovel, Fanfiction, and ScribbleHub, all under the same author name: RyanFic. Updates drop first on Webnovel!

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