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Chapter Text

The autumn wind rustled through the maple trees lining the quiet street in Forest Hills, Queens. It was well past midnight when Professor McGonagall finally abandoned her feline form, transforming from the tabby cat that had been perched on the Parkers' front fence into her familiar stern-faced human appearance. She smoothed her emerald robes with practiced efficiency and adjusted her pointed hat with a sharp tug.

"You were right to suggest this location, Minerva," came the gentle voice of Albus Dumbledore as he appeared with barely a whisper of displaced air, his arrival marked only by the faint scent of lemon drops. His long silver beard caught the streetlight as he approached the modest two-story home, his eyes already taking in every detail of the neighborhood with keen interest. "Though I confess, I'm not entirely certain how to approach this particular conversation. It's not every day one explains the existence of magic to unsuspecting relatives."

McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line, her Scottish accent crisp with concern. "They have no idea, do they? About Lily's... abilities? Not the slightest inkling?"

"None whatsoever. As far as Ben and May Parker know, their young cousin Lily Evans was simply a bright girl who went off to boarding school in Scotland and later married James Potter, a fellow student she met there." Dumbledore's blue eyes, usually twinkling with mischief, were heavy with sadness tonight. "Lily was quite adamant about protecting her Muggle relatives from our world. She felt it was safer for everyone involved."

"Hmm." McGonagall adjusted her spectacles with a disapproving sniff. "While I understand her reasoning, it does make our current situation rather more complicated, doesn't it?"

"Indeed it does, Minerva. Indeed it does."

The distant sound of a motorcycle engine growing steadily louder interrupted their quiet conversation. Both wizards looked up as Hagrid's enormous form descended from the night sky, his flying motorbike puttering with mechanical hiccups as it made its surprisingly gentle landing on the street. The bike gave one final sputter before falling silent.

"Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid called softly, his massive frame moving with unexpected delicacy as he dismounted. His voice was thick with emotion, barely controlled grief evident in every syllable. "I've got him here. Little Harry." He carefully extracted a bundle of blankets from the motorcycle's sidecar, cradling it as though it contained the most precious thing in the world. The bundle stirred slightly, revealing a sleeping infant with a distinctive lightning bolt-shaped cut on his forehead.

"How is he, Hagrid?" McGonagall asked, her usual stern demeanor softening considerably as she gazed at the child. There was genuine maternal concern in her voice that she rarely allowed others to hear.

"Sleeping like a baby, he is. Hasn't made a sound the whole journey, bless him." Hagrid's black eyes were wet with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. "Can't believe James and Lily are gone, Professor. Just can't believe it. They were good people, the best. And little Harry here..." His voice broke slightly.

"I know, Hagrid." Dumbledore's voice was infinitely gentle, the kind of tone reserved for moments of deepest sorrow. "Their sacrifice will not be forgotten. And now we must ensure their son has the chance to grow up in the peace they died to secure."

McGonagall cleared her throat delicately. "Perhaps we should proceed? The longer we wait, the more difficult this becomes."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, then looked toward the house with its warm yellow porch light. "We must wake them. This cannot wait until morning." He approached the front door and knocked three times, each rap measured, respectful, but unmistakably purposeful.

After several long minutes punctuated by the distant sound of footsteps on stairs and muffled voices, the porch light flickered on. The door opened to reveal a man in his early thirties with kind eyes, tousled brown hair, and the sort of face that immediately put people at ease. Ben Parker squinted against the sudden brightness, his expression shifting from drowsy confusion to growing concern as he took in the unusual sight of three strangers on his doorstep—one of them holding what appeared to be a baby.

"Can I help you folks? It's awfully late for—" Ben paused, his natural Midwestern politeness warring with protective instincts as he noticed the infant. "Is everything alright?"

"Mr. Parker," Dumbledore interrupted gently, his voice carrying the weight of authority and tragedy. "I am Professor Albus Dumbledore. This is Professor McGonagall and my colleague Hagrid. We come with grave news about your wife's cousin, Lily Potter."

Ben's face immediately transformed, all traces of sleepiness vanishing as genuine alarm took its place. "Lily? What's happened? Is she—May!" he called over his shoulder, his voice urgent but controlled. "May, you need to come here. Now."

Quick footsteps hurried down the stairs, and soon May Parker appeared beside her husband, her auburn hair hastily pulled back in a messy bun, a floral robe wrapped hastily around her nightgown. She was shorter than Ben, with expressive dark eyes that immediately took in the scene with sharp intelligence. Her gaze fixed on the baby in Hagrid's massive arms.

"Oh my God, is that—? Lily's baby?" May stepped forward instinctively, her maternal instincts kicking in as she noticed the child. "What's wrong? Where are Lily and James? Are they hurt?" Her New York accent became more pronounced with her rising anxiety.

"Wait, wait, wait," she continued, her mind racing as she processed the scene. "Three strangers show up at my door after midnight with my cousin's baby, and you're professors? Professors of what? And why does he—" she gestured at Hagrid, "—look like he just stepped off the set of a Viking movie?"

McGonagall's eyebrows rose slightly at May's rapid-fire questioning. "Mrs. Parker, perhaps—"

"And another thing," May interrupted, now fully in protective mode, "how do I know you are who you say you are? You could be anybody. Ben, should we be letting strangers with a baby into our house?"

"May," Ben said gently, placing a calming hand on her shoulder, "let's hear what they have to say."

"I'm just saying, this is all very strange, Ben. Very, very strange."

Dumbledore's expression grew even more grave. "Mrs. Parker, your caution is both understandable and admirable. Perhaps we might come inside? This is a conversation best had in private, and I assure you, we mean no harm to you or your family."

Ben and May exchanged worried glances. Ben's natural inclination to help others warred with his protective instincts, while May continued to study the unusual group with suspicious eyes.

"Please," Hagrid spoke up, his voice breaking slightly. "It's about little Harry here. He needs help."

Something in the giant man's voice—pure, unfeigned grief—seemed to reach May. Her expression softened slightly. "Alright. But I'm warning you, any funny business and I'm calling the police. Ben's got a baseball bat, and I know how to use a rolling pin."

"I don't doubt it for a moment," Dumbledore said with the first hint of his usual twinkle returning to his eyes.

They led the unusual group into their modest living room, May immediately reaching for baby Harry as Hagrid carefully, almost reverently, transferred the sleeping child to her arms. She cradled him naturally, her face softening with wonder even as concern deepened the lines around her eyes.

"He's beautiful," she whispered, her voice suddenly tender as she looked down at the child. Then she looked up sharply, her protective instincts reasserting themselves. "But where are his parents? Why are you bringing him to us in the middle of the night? And why does he have this mark on his forehead?"

Ben moved to look over her shoulder, his own expression growing tender as he gazed at the baby. "He does look like Lily, doesn't he? Same eyes."

Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles and cleaned them slowly, the gesture buying him a precious moment to find the right words. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with sorrow. "I'm afraid I have terrible news. Lily and James Potter were murdered last night."

The words hung in the air like a physical blow. May gasped, her hand flying to her mouth while her other arm instinctively tightened protectively around Harry. Ben moved quickly to support his wife, his own face draining of color with shock.

"Murdered?" Ben's voice was hoarse with disbelief. "But who would— Lily was just a teacher, wasn't she? And James, he worked in sports management or something like that, right?"

"Actually," May said, her voice shaking, "now that I think about it, we never really knew what they did for work. Lily was always vague about it in her letters. Said it was complicated."

McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged a meaningful look that didn't escape May's sharp eyes.

"Okay, what was that?" May demanded, her grief temporarily overridden by suspicion. "What aren't you telling us?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Parker," Dumbledore began carefully, settling into his most diplomatic tone, "there are things about your cousin that you were never told. Things that Lily herself requested remain secret to protect you and your family."

"What kind of things?" May asked, her reporter's instincts from her brief journalism career beginning to surface in full force. "Professor, you said? Professor of what exactly? And where? Because I called that school in Scotland once—Hogwarts, right?—and they said they'd never heard of any Lily Evans."

Ben looked at his wife in surprise. "You called her school?"

"Of course I called her school! My baby cousin disappears to some fancy boarding school in Scotland, stops coming home for holidays, and you think I'm not going to check up on her?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose appreciatively. "You are quite thorough, Mrs. Parker."

"You bet I am. So what's the deal? What was this mysterious school that doesn't seem to exist?"

"Magic," Dumbledore said simply.

The room fell into stunned silence. Ben blinked several times, his mind clearly struggling to process what he'd just heard. May's mouth opened and closed soundlessly before she found her voice.

"I beg your pardon?" Ben finally managed, his voice faint.

"Did you just say magic?" May's voice rose an octave. "Like, magic magic? Rabbits out of hats, abracadabra magic?"

"Lily Evans Potter was a witch, Mrs. Parker," Dumbledore continued patiently. "A very talented one. She attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—the boarding school you knew about, though not its true nature. Magic is real, and your cousin was part of our world."

May stared at him for a long moment, then looked down at baby Harry, then back up at Dumbledore. "You're serious. You're actually, completely serious."

"I am indeed."

"Ben," May said slowly, "I think these people might be insane."

"Now, hold on a minute," Ben said, his natural inclination toward giving people the benefit of the doubt kicking in. "Let's just... let's hear them out."

"Hear them out? Ben, they're talking about magic! Like, actual magic!"

McGonagall stepped forward with the air of someone who'd had this conversation many times before. "Perhaps a small demonstration would be helpful?" She withdrew her wand with practiced efficiency.

"Is that a stick?" May asked incredulously.

"It's a wand, dear," McGonagall replied with barely concealed exasperation. With a gentle flick of her wrist, she caused the living room lamps to dim and brighten in sequence, then made a small potted plant on the side table burst into full bloom with fresh, vibrant flowers.

Ben sat down heavily on the couch, his legs suddenly unsteady. "This is... this is impossible."

"Well, that's new," May said faintly, staring at the plant. "That's definitely new."

"Blimey," Hagrid interjected, "you're taking this better than most Muggles do. Usually there's more screaming."

"Muggles?" Ben echoed weakly.

"Non-magic folk," Hagrid explained helpfully. "That's what we call people like you."

"Oh, we have a name now," May muttered. "Great. Just great."

"I understand your shock," Dumbledore said kindly, his voice taking on the patient tone of someone accustomed to explaining the impossible. "Lily struggled with the same revelation when she first learned of her abilities at age eleven. She wrote to me once about how difficult it was to keep this secret from the family she loved. But I assure you, magic is very real, and it was a fundamental part of who your cousin was."

May was staring at Harry again, her mind clearly racing. "So he's... he's like her? He has magic too?"

"Indeed. In fact, Harry is perhaps the most famous child in our world, though he knows nothing of it yet."

"Famous?" Ben echoed, looking alarmed. "Famous for what?"

Dumbledore's expression darkened considerably, the warmth leaving his eyes. "The man who killed Lily and James—a dark wizard named Voldemort—he tried to kill Harry as well. But something extraordinary happened. Something that has never occurred before in all the recorded history of magic."

"What kind of something?" May asked, her arms unconsciously tightening around Harry.

"The curse that should have killed this child instead rebounded upon its caster. Voldemort was destroyed, and Harry survived with only this mark." He gestured gently to the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead.

"That's not a birthmark," Ben said quietly, understanding dawning.

"No, Mr. Parker. It is the mark left by a killing curse that failed to kill."

"Our world is celebrating tonight," McGonagall added, her voice carrying a note of pride mixed with sorrow. "The most feared dark wizard in a generation has been defeated by a one-year-old child. But Harry... Harry needs a home. A family."

May's voice was very small when she spoke. "And you want us to take him?"

"Lily and James had no other living relatives," McGonagall explained. "James's parents died of dragon pox several years ago, and Lily's parents, as you know, passed when she was still at school."

"But more importantly," Dumbledore continued, "Lily's sacrifice for her son created powerful magical protections. Ancient magic, the kind that runs deeper than any spell or charm. Those protections can only be maintained if Harry lives with someone of Lily's blood."

"Blood?" Ben asked, looking confused.

"Family," Dumbledore clarified with infinite patience. "You, Mrs. Parker, as Lily's cousin, share that bond. As long as Harry calls your house home, as long as he can truly call it home, he will be protected from those who might wish him harm."

May looked at her husband, who was studying the sleeping baby with growing tenderness. "Ben?"

"He's just a baby, May," Ben said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "He's lost everything. His parents..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Then he looked up at Dumbledore, his eyes reflecting both determination and concern. "This magical world—is it safe? Will Harry be safe with us?"

"Safer than anywhere else in either world," Dumbledore assured him. "The protection I speak of is perhaps the most powerful magic known to wizardkind. And should you agree to this, we will ensure that Harry wants for nothing. There are... financial provisions... that will see to his care and education."

"We don't need your money," May said quickly, then paused. "Well, okay, we might need some of your money. Do you know how much college costs these days?"

Despite everything, Ben chuckled. "That's my practical wife."

"Hey, someone has to think about these things."

May was quiet for a long moment, gazing down at Harry, who chose that perfect moment to open his bright green eyes—eyes so much like Lily's—and look up at her with innocent curiosity.

"Oh," May whispered, her heart visibly melting. "Oh, you're awake, aren't you, sweetheart?"

Harry gurgled softly and reached up with one tiny hand, which May caught with her finger. His grip was surprisingly strong.

"When Lily and I were little girls," May said quietly, her voice growing distant with memory, "she always said she wanted to change the world. Make it better somehow. She was this quiet, bookish kid, you know? Always reading, always asking questions. I used to tease her about it." Her voice caught slightly. "I never understood how a shy, bookish girl like her planned to change anything."

"She did change it, Mrs. Parker," Dumbledore said gently. "She saved it. And now she's given us the chance to raise the boy who will grow up in the better world she died to protect."

Ben reached over and gently touched Harry's other tiny hand. The baby's fingers immediately curled around Ben's finger with that instinctive infant grip, and Ben's face melted completely with emotion.

"Look at that," Ben said wonderingly. "He's got quite a grip."

"Course he does," Hagrid said, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief the size of a dinner napkin. "He's got Potter strength and Evans determination. Going to be quite something when he grows up, this one is."

"We'll take him," Ben said suddenly, his voice thick but certain. "Of course we'll take him. He's family."

May nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Yes. Yes, absolutely. He's ours now."

"Just like that?" McGonagall asked, sounding almost surprised by their quick decision.

"Just like that," May confirmed. "What, did you expect us to debate about it? A baby needs a home. His parents are gone. We're family. It's not complicated."

"Well," Ben added with a slight smile, "it's a little complicated. But the important part isn't."

Hagrid, who had been sniffling throughout the entire conversation, let out a small sob. "Professor, I told you they were good people. Little Harry's going to be just fine here. Better than fine."

"Indeed," Dumbledore smiled, the first genuine smile to cross his face on this terrible night. "I can see that already."

"There is one more thing," McGonagall interjected in her practical way. "Harry will need to return to our world when he turns eleven—to attend Hogwarts as his parents did. It is his right and his heritage."

"Eleven years," May said thoughtfully. "That gives us time to figure out how to explain all this to him."

"Until then," Dumbledore continued, "it might be best if his... heritage... remains between us. Let him have as normal a childhood as possible."

"What about when strange things happen?" May asked with practical concern. "Because they will, won't they? I mean, if he's got magic..."

"Most likely," McGonagall admitted. "Magic often manifests in young wizards during times of strong emotion—fear, anger, excitement. Objects might move on their own, glass might break, his hair might change color."

"His hair might change color?" Ben asked, fascinated despite himself.

"Oh yes," Hagrid chimed in. "I've seen magical children turn their hair every color of the rainbow when they're upset. Quite impressive, actually."

May looked down at Harry's currently jet-black hair. "Well, at least we'll know it's not normal teenage rebellion."

"The important thing," McGonagall continued, "is that you try not to punish him for these incidents. He won't be able to control them, and harsh treatment only makes accidental magic worse."

"Punish him?" Ben looked appalled. "We'd never punish a child for something he can't control."

"You'd be surprised how many people do," McGonagall said dryly.

"Yeah, well, we're not those people," May said firmly. "Are we, Ben?"

Ben chuckled softly, still letting Harry hold his finger. "After tonight, honey, I think we can handle a little magic. I mean, how much weirder can it get?"

"Don't say that," May warned. "You'll jinx us."

"Actually," Dumbledore said with a small smile, "jinxes are quite real in our world."

"Great," May muttered. "Note to self: watch the language around magical baby."

As if responding to the sound of his new aunt's voice, Harry gurgled softly and smiled—his first smile in a world that had already changed so dramatically for him.

"Oh my God, Ben, look at that smile," May whispered, completely enchanted. "He's perfect."

"He really is," Ben agreed, his voice full of wonder.

"Right then," Hagrid said, wiping his eyes again. "I should be getting back. Got to return the bike to Sirius... well, I suppose I should explain about Sirius too, shouldn't I?"

"Please don't tell me there's more," May said weakly.

"Nothing too dramatic," Dumbledore assured her. "Just that Harry has a godfather—Sirius Black—who is currently... indisposed."

"Indisposed how?"

"He's in prison," McGonagall said bluntly. "For murdering thirteen people."

"What?!" both Ben and May exclaimed simultaneously.

"Including his best friend Peter Pettigrew," Hagrid added sadly.

May stared at them in horror. "And this person is Harry's godfather?"

"Was," Dumbledore corrected gently. "The betrayal of James and Lily's location to Voldemort drove Sirius quite mad, I'm afraid. He's no longer a consideration in Harry's care."

"Okay," May said slowly. "Okay. So no psychotic godfather to worry about. That's... good."

"Very good," Ben agreed emphatically.

"Right, well, I'll be off then," Hagrid said, clearly emotional about leaving Harry. He knelt down beside May's chair, bringing his enormous face level with the baby. "You be good for your new mum and dad, little Harry. They're going to take real good care of you."

Harry reached out and grabbed Hagrid's finger, which was nearly as big as his whole hand.

"Blimey," Hagrid whispered. "Going to miss you, little one."

"You can visit," May said impulsively. "I mean, if you want to. If that's allowed."

Hagrid's face lit up. "Could I? Really?"

"Of course," Ben said warmly. "You're obviously important to him."

"Just... maybe call first?" May added. "You know, so we can prepare the neighbors for... well, you."

"I'll use the telephone," Hagrid promised solemnly, as if this were a great concession.

"Do you know how to use a telephone?" Ben asked curiously.

"Well... no. But I'll learn!"

McGonagall stood, smoothing her robes with brisk efficiency. "We should go as well. It's been a very long night for everyone."

"Wait," May said suddenly. "How do we contact you? I mean, if something happens, or we have questions, or..."

"A very good point," Dumbledore acknowledged. He reached into his robes and withdrew what appeared to be an ordinary fountain pen. "This is a special quill. If you write with it on any piece of paper, your message will find its way to me."

"A magical pen," Ben said wonderingly. "We have a magical pen now."

"We have a magical baby," May pointed out. "A pen is the least of our worries."

"Indeed," Dumbledore chuckled. "You are quite right, Mrs. Parker."

He paused at the door, turning back with a serious expression. "One final thing. Harry's story will be told and retold throughout the magical world. Books will be written, songs sung, legends born. But the Harry those stories will be about is not the child you'll be raising. Remember that. Raise him to be himself, not the legend others will make of him."

"We will," Ben promised solemnly. "We'll raise him to be a good man. That's what Lily would have wanted."

"That is exactly what Lily would have wanted," Dumbledore agreed.

As the three magical visitors made their way to the door, Harry began to fuss slightly in May's arms.

"Oh, what's wrong, sweetie?" May cooed, automatically beginning to rock him gently. "Are you hungry? Ben, we need to get baby supplies. Formula, diapers, clothes... Oh God, we need everything."

"We'll figure it out," Ben said confidently, wrapping his arm around his wife and new nephew. "We always do."

"Welcome home, Harry," May whispered, kissing his forehead gently just below the lightning bolt scar. "Welcome to the family."

Outside, the first hints of dawn were beginning to touch the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and gold. It marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of another in the life of the Boy Who Lived—who would now grow up not just as a wizard, but as a Parker, surrounded by love, guided by wisdom, and taught that with great power must come great responsibility.

As the door closed behind their unusual visitors, Ben and May Parker settled onto their couch with their new son, beginning the most important adventure of their lives.

"So," May said after a long moment, "our nephew is a famous wizard."

"Apparently so."

"And he defeated the most evil wizard in the world."

"When he was one year old."

"By accident."

"Seems like it."

May was quiet for another moment, then looked up at Ben with a slight smile. "You realize this means we're probably going to have a very interesting next few years."

Ben looked down at Harry, who had fallen back asleep in May's arms, looking for all the world like any other innocent baby.

"You know what, May? I think that's exactly what we need."

---

An hour later, May stood in the doorway of the room at the end of the hall, her hand trembling slightly on the light switch. The room was exactly as they'd left it three years ago—pale yellow walls that Ben had painted with such care, a white crib with soft bedding still in its protective plastic, a rocking chair by the window where May had planned to nurse, and a mobile of dancing bears hanging motionless above where a baby should have been sleeping.

"Are you sure about this room?" Ben asked softly from behind her, Harry sleeping peacefully in his arms. "We could set up something temporary in our bedroom, or—"

"No," May said, her voice barely above a whisper. "This is... this is what it was meant for." She stepped into the room, her fingers trailing along the crib rail. "It's been waiting."

Ben watched his wife carefully as she moved around the space, removing the plastic covering from the mattress with practiced efficiency. Five years of marriage had taught him to recognize the signs—the way she held her shoulders just a little too straight, the careful control in her movements when she was fighting strong emotions.

"The sheets are still in the dresser," May said, her voice artificially bright. "I washed everything when we first set it up, so they should still be clean."

"May—"

"And look, the mobile still works." She wound the small key, and the bears began their gentle dance as a soft lullaby filled the room. "I bought this at that little shop in the Village, remember? The day after we found out I was..." She trailed off, her hand stilling on the mobile.

Ben set Harry gently in the center of the bed and moved to his wife's side. "Honey, we don't have to do this tonight. We could—"

"Yes, we do." May's voice was firm now, decisive. "He needs a proper place to sleep, and this is his room now. It's Harry's room." She said the name like she was testing how it felt. "I just need to get the sheets."

She moved to the dresser with purposeful steps, pulling out soft yellow sheets covered in tiny ducks. Ben watched as she made up the crib with the same meticulous care she brought to everything important in her life, tucking corners with precise hospital corners their neighbor Mrs. Chen had taught her.

"There," she said, stepping back. "Perfect."

Ben carefully lifted Harry from their bed and placed him in the crib. The baby stirred slightly but didn't wake, instinctively curling into the soft mattress. In the dim light from the hallway, the lightning bolt scar was barely visible against his forehead.

"He looks so small," May whispered, her hands gripping the crib rail.

"He is small. He's just a baby."

They stood in silence for several minutes, watching Harry sleep. The mobile had wound down, but neither of them moved to restart it.

"Ben," May said finally, her voice catching, "I need to tell you something, and I need you to let me say it all before you try to make me feel better about it."

Ben's hands covered hers on the rail. "Okay."

"I'm devastated about Lily. I am. She was like the little sister I never had, and knowing she's gone, that she died like that..." May's voice broke slightly. "It's breaking my heart."

"I know, honey."

"But Ben, I'm also..." She took a shuddering breath. "I'm happy. I'm happy that Harry is here, that he's ours now, and that makes me feel like the most terrible woman in the world."

Ben started to speak, but May held up her hand.

"Let me finish. Please." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "When Dr. Martinez told us I couldn't... that we'd never be able to have children, I thought my life was over. I thought I'd never get to be a mom, never get to use this room, never get to..." She gestured helplessly at the carefully prepared nursery.

"And now, suddenly, I have this beautiful baby boy who needs me, and I'm happy about it. But the only reason he needs me is because his parents are dead. Because my cousin, who I loved, is dead." Her voice rose with distress. "What kind of person is happy that a baby is orphaned?"

"May—"

"I keep thinking that if I'm a good person, I should only feel sad right now. I should only be mourning Lily and James. But instead, when I look at Harry, all I can think is 'finally, finally I get to be a mother,' and that makes me feel like a monster."

Ben was quiet for a long moment, studying his wife's face in the soft light. When he spoke, his voice was gentle but firm.

"Do you remember what you said to those professors earlier? About how it wasn't complicated?"

May nodded, sniffling.

"You were right. The important part isn't complicated." He turned to face her fully. "May, loving that little boy doesn't make you a bad person. Being grateful that you get to be his mom doesn't diminish how much you loved Lily."

"But—"

"No buts. Think about it this way—Lily loved you, right? You said she was like your little sister."

"She was."

"So if she had to choose someone to raise her son, someone to love him and take care of him, don't you think she'd want it to be someone who was happy about it? Someone who saw it as a blessing instead of a burden?"

May looked down at Harry, who had rolled onto his side and was making soft baby sounds in his sleep.

"Your cousin died protecting her child," Ben continued. "And now that child is going to grow up with parents who wanted him so desperately that they built him a room and waited three years for him to fill it. That's not terrible, May. That's beautiful."

"You think she'd be okay with it? With me being happy?"

"I think she'd be relieved." Ben's voice was warm with certainty. "I think she'd be grateful that the person raising her son isn't just doing it out of duty, but out of love. Out of joy."

May was crying now, but the tears seemed different somehow—lighter.

"I've been so angry for so long," she whispered. "Angry at my body, at God, at the universe for taking away my chance to be a mom. And now, suddenly, I'm a mom anyway. Just not the way I planned."

"The best things in life rarely go according to plan."

May reached into the crib and gently stroked Harry's dark hair. "Hi, baby," she whispered. "I'm your Aunt May. Well, I guess I'm just May now. Your mom." The word felt strange and wonderful on her lips. "I'm going to take such good care of you. I promise."

Harry stirred at her voice, and for a moment his green eyes opened and looked directly at her.

"Ben, look. He's looking at me."

"He knows you're his mom already."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

May carefully picked up Harry, cradling him against her chest. He settled immediately, making contented baby noises.

"I'm still sad about Lily," she said quietly. "I'm going to be sad about that for a very long time."

"That's okay. You should be. That's what love looks like when someone is gone."

"But I'm also happy. Scared and overwhelmed and completely unprepared, but happy."

"That's what love looks like when someone arrives."

May looked up at her husband with wonder. "When did you get so wise?"

"I married a woman who asks the hard questions. It's been educational."

She laughed through her tears, the sound soft in the quiet nursery. "We're really doing this, aren't we? We're really going to be parents."

"We're already parents. From the moment we said yes."

"From the moment I saw him in that giant man's arms," May corrected. "I knew. I knew he was ours."

"Lily knew too," Ben said quietly. "Somehow, I think she knew this was where he belonged."

May looked around the room—at the bears dancing slowly in the breeze from the heating vent, at the books already lined up on the shelves, at the rocking chair positioned perfectly by the window for reading bedtime stories.

"This room has been waiting for him," she said with sudden certainty. "All this time, it's been waiting for Harry."

"And now he's here."

"Now he's here." She kissed the top of Harry's head gently. "Welcome home, baby. Welcome to your room."

Ben put his arms around both of them, and they stood there in the soft light, a new family born from loss but held together by love. Outside, the first full morning of their new life was beginning, and for the first time in three years, the nursery at the end of the hall was exactly what it was meant to be.

A place where their child could sleep, safe and loved and home.

Chapter Text

Nine Months Later - Harry's Second Birthday

The Parker backyard looked like a craft store had exploded in the most delightful way possible. Red, blue, and yellow streamers twisted through the air like colorful snakes, balloons bobbed and weaved in the crisp October breeze, and a small army of toddlers had taken control of the lawn with the strategic precision of tiny generals planning maximum chaos.

May Parker stood at the kitchen window, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun that had started the day looking much more intentional, watching the beautiful disaster unfold outside. She was wearing her favorite jeans—the ones with paint stains from when she'd helped Ben refinish Harry's crib—and a sweater that had already collected fingerprints from approximately seven different children.

"Ben, honey!" she called through the open window, her voice carrying that particular tone that meant business. "Tommy Chen is about to eat that pinecone, and I'm pretty sure Sarah Martinez just figured out how to unlatch the gate!"

Ben Parker, looking slightly frazzled but grinning widely, jogged across the yard with Harry perched on his shoulders. His button-down shirt had somehow acquired grass stains and what looked like juice box residue, and his usually neat hair was sticking up at odd angles—though not as impressively as Harry's, which seemed to defy both gravity and hair gel on a molecular level.

"Got it!" Ben called back, swooping down to redirect Tommy toward more edible options while simultaneously hip-checking the gate closed. "Crisis averted! Well, this crisis. I'm sure they're planning seventeen more."

Harry giggled from his perch, his bright green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Daddy funny!"

"Your daddy is something, alright," May muttered fondly, returning to the elaborate train-shaped cake that was currently testing both her artistic abilities and her sanity. She'd been working on it since six in the morning, and it now sported multiple train cars, tiny fondant wheels, and a level of detail that would have made professional bakers weep—either with joy or terror, she wasn't sure which.

The doorbell rang, and May quickly wiped her frosting-covered hands on her apron before hurrying to answer it. She pulled open the door to find her sister-in-law Mary Parker standing there with a warm smile, looking annoyingly put-together despite having just driven three hours with a four-year-old.

Mary's blonde hair was pulled back in a perfect low ponytail, not a strand out of place, and her casual outfit somehow managed to look both comfortable and effortlessly stylish. She had that scientist's precision about her appearance—everything exactly where it should be.

"May! Oh my god, you look..." Mary paused, taking in May's flour-dusted apron and slightly manic expression. "You look like you've been having an adventure."

"That's one way to put it," May laughed, pulling Mary into a warm hug. "I've been up since dawn working on this cake, and I'm pretty sure I've used every bowl in the kitchen. Twice. How was the drive? Please tell me Peter behaved better than last time."

"The drive was actually great—Peter slept for the last hour, which was a miracle. And Richard only got lost once, which is practically a record for him." Mary stepped aside to reveal her husband emerging from their car, his sandy hair catching the afternoon light as he carefully helped a sleepy-looking little boy out of his car seat.

Richard Parker was tall and lean, with the kind of easy smile that made people instantly comfortable. He had Ben's warm eyes but a more animated energy, the kind of person who talked with his hands and got excited about everything from new scientific discoveries to particularly good sandwiches.

"May!" Richard called out, jogging up the walkway with Peter's hand firmly in his. "Sorry we're a few minutes late—we had to stop for an emergency bathroom break and then Peter insisted on bringing exactly twelve toy trains, which required very careful car Tetris to fit in the trunk."

"Twelve trains seems perfectly reasonable for a train-themed party," May said seriously, crouching down to Peter's level. "Hi there, sweetheart. I love your shirt!"

Peter Parker looked up at her with serious brown eyes that were exactly like his father's but somehow seemed older, more thoughtful. He was wearing a striped t-shirt and jeans, and clutching a small backpack that was undoubtedly full of the aforementioned trains.

"Hi, Aunt May," he said softly, still half-hiding behind Richard's legs. "Is Harry really turning two? That seems very little."

"It is pretty little," May agreed gravely. "But he's getting bigger every day. Just this morning he managed to climb onto the kitchen counter all by himself to steal a piece of banana before breakfast."

"That's pretty impressive," Richard said, ruffling Peter's hair. "When you were two, you couldn't even reach the doorknobs yet."

"I'm much taller now," Peter announced with the dignity of someone who had recently had this fact confirmed via careful measurement against the refrigerator.

"You absolutely are. Come on, let's go find Harry and Uncle Ben. I think Harry's going to be very excited to see you."

They made their way through the house and out to the backyard, where Ben was currently mediating a dispute between two toddlers over who got to use the red bucket in the sandbox. Harry had wandered over to watch the proceedings with the fascination of someone observing a nature documentary.

"Richard!" Ben's face lit up as he spotted his brother. "You made it! And look at this guy—Peter, you've grown at least a foot since Christmas!"

"Three and a half inches," Peter corrected seriously. "We measured."

"Three and a half inches! That's practically a growth spurt." Ben abandoned his sandbox diplomacy to give his brother a proper hug, then crouched down to Peter's level. "Harry's been asking about you all week. He keeps saying 'Peter come? Peter come?' It's been pretty adorable."

As if summoned by his name, Harry toddled over with the determined gait of someone who had places to be and things to do. His dark hair was doing something particularly creative today—no matter how much May had tried to tame it that morning, it insisted on sticking up in approximately seven different directions.

"PETER!" Harry announced with the enthusiasm of someone discovering their favorite person in the entire world. He threw his arms up in the universal toddler gesture for "pick me up immediately."

Peter looked down at his little cousin with careful consideration, then glanced at his father for permission before crouching down to Harry's level instead of picking him up.

"Hi, Harry," Peter said solemnly. "Happy birthday. You're two now, which is bigger than one but smaller than four."

"Two!" Harry agreed enthusiastically, holding up three fingers in a way that suggested he was still working on the whole numbers concept. "Big boy!"

"You are a big boy," Peter nodded seriously. "Do you still like trains?"

Harry's entire face transformed with joy. "TRAINS! Choo choo!" He began running in a small circle, making what could generously be called train noises but sounded more like a very enthusiastic sneeze.

"I brought some of my trains to share," Peter announced, which caused Harry to stop mid-choo and stare at him with the kind of awe usually reserved for magic tricks.

"Share trains?" Harry whispered, as if the concept was almost too wonderful to believe.

"Yep. They're in my backpack. We can play with them after cake, okay?"

"Cake?" Harry's attention span, typical for a nearly-two-year-old, immediately shifted to this new and exciting topic. "Birthday cake?"

"The most amazing train cake you've ever seen," May said, appearing beside them with perfect timing. "Hi, Peter, sweetheart. Are you hungry? I've got juice boxes and goldfish crackers, and I think someone might have hidden some grapes around here somewhere."

"I like grapes," Peter said shyly. "Thank you, Aunt May."

"You're so polite!" May beamed, then looked around at the chaos of children scattered across their yard. "Okay, troops, let's think about gathering everyone up for cake time!"

"Already?" Ben checked his watch and looked surprised. "Wow, time flies when you're preventing small children from eating landscaping."

"Speaking of which," Richard said with a grin, "Peter, remember what we talked about in the car. What are the birthday party rules?"

Peter straightened up with the seriousness of someone reciting very important information. "Don't eat anything that isn't food. Don't climb on things that aren't for climbing. Share nicely. And if I'm not sure about something, ask a grown-up."

"Excellent. You're officially ready for toddler party duty."

"What about Harry?" Peter asked, looking at his cousin with concern. "Does he know the rules?"

Harry, who had been listening to this exchange with great interest, suddenly announced, "No rules!" and took off running across the yard with his arms spread wide like an airplane.

"Well," Ben said philosophically, "at least he's honest."

Mary laughed, the kind of bright, delighted sound that made everyone around her smile. "I remember when Peter went through his 'no rules' phase. It lasted approximately six months and involved a lot of creative childproofing."

"We're still in the creative childproofing phase," May admitted. "Yesterday I found Harry standing on his toy box trying to reach the top shelf of his closet. When I asked him what he was doing, he said 'getting bear' in the most reasonable tone, like obviously that explained everything."

"Did he get the bear?" Peter asked with genuine curiosity.

"He did, actually. I'm still not entirely sure how."

Ben and May exchanged a quick look—the kind of marital communication that happened without words. Harry's occasional unexplainable achievements were becoming more frequent, and they were running out of ways to dismiss them as normal toddler behavior.

"Alright everyone!" May called out in her best crowd-control voice. "Cake time! Everyone to the picnic table!"

The announcement of cake caused an immediate stampede as eight toddlers and one preschooler suddenly remembered why they were there. There was a brief traffic jam at the patio door as everyone tried to get through at once, which resulted in a lot of giggling and mild chaos.

"Single file, guys!" Ben called out, gently organizing the line. "The cake isn't going anywhere!"

Harry, with the confidence of the birthday boy, marched straight to the head of the line. Peter, torn between following the rules about waiting your turn and wanting to stay close to his cousin, hesitated for a moment before Harry grabbed his hand and pulled him along.

"Peter come too!" Harry announced, as if this settled any possible objections.

"Is that okay?" Peter asked Ben uncertainly.

"Absolutely," Ben said warmly. "Birthday boy gets to choose his cake partner."

The adults followed the children out to the backyard, where the picnic table had been transformed into something out of a Pinterest board. May had outdone herself—the train cake sat in the center like a magnificent centerpiece, complete with multiple cars, tiny fondant people waving from windows, and two bright candles shaped like the number two.

"May, this is incredible," Mary breathed, staring at the cake. "Did you really make this yourself?"

"I may have gotten a little carried away," May admitted, but she was clearly pleased with the reaction. "I found the design online and thought, how hard could it be?"

"Famous last words," Richard laughed. "It looks amazing, though. Peter, look at that detail work!"

Peter was indeed studying the cake with the kind of intense focus he usually reserved for his favorite books. "Aunt May, how did you make the wheels so round?"

"Very carefully and with a lot of muttering under my breath," May said honestly. "The first batch looked more like squares."

Harry had climbed up onto the bench and was staring at the cake with wide eyes, clearly overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all. "Big cake," he whispered.

"It's a very big cake," Ben agreed, lifting Harry up so he could see better. "What do you think, buddy? Ready to make a wish?"

"What's a wish?" Harry asked, tilting his head in that way that made him look exactly like a confused puppy.

"A wish is when you think about something you really want," Peter explained seriously, "and then you blow out the candles and maybe it'll come true."

"Like magic?"

"Sort of like magic," Ben said carefully. "But the real magic is having all the people who love you here to celebrate with you."

"That's very smooth, Dad," Richard said quietly, grinning at his brother.

"I have my moments."

The other children had arranged themselves around the table with varying degrees of patience. Tommy Chen was systematically trying to lick frosting off his finger despite not having touched the cake yet, Sarah Martinez was standing on her tiptoes trying to get a better view, and the Johnson twins were having a whispered argument about something that seemed very important to them.

"Okay, everyone," May said, pulling out her phone for pictures, "let's sing happy birthday to Harry!"

"Wait!" Peter suddenly exclaimed. "I want to help him blow out the candles. Is that okay, Harry?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Peter help!"

"Happy birthday to you," the assembled crowd began singing, and Harry's face transformed with delight. He clapped along with the rhythm, occasionally shouting "BIRTHDAY!" in the middle of verses, while Peter stood beside him with the serious expression of someone taking their candle-blowing duties very seriously.

When they reached "Happy birthday, dear Harry," Peter's clear voice rang out above the others, and Harry turned to beam at his cousin with obvious adoration.

"Make a wish, sweetheart," May whispered in Harry's ear.

Harry screwed up his face in concentration, staring at the candles with the intensity of someone making a very important decision. He looked at Peter, then at Ben and May, then at all the smiling faces around him.

"I wish..." he said loudly, apparently not understanding the concept of silent wishes, "I wish Peter stay forever and we have cake every day and... and..." He paused, thinking hard. "And trains!"

"Those are excellent wishes," Ben said solemnly. "Now blow out the candles."

Harry took a deep breath, and Peter leaned in to help. Together, they blew with all their might—and not only did both candles go out, but several balloons that had been tied to the fence posts suddenly popped in quick succession, as if they'd all decided to join the celebration.

The children cheered at the unexpected balloon finale, completely delighted by what they assumed was part of the planned entertainment. The adults, however, exchanged glances. A gentle breeze had picked up at exactly the right moment, though May noticed with growing concern that the wind seemed to have originated from exactly where Harry was standing.

"Wow!" Peter exclaimed, eyes wide. "That was the best candle-blowing ever! How did you make the balloons pop too?"

Harry looked around with the vaguely confused expression of someone who couldn't quite remember what they'd been doing. "Don't know. Birthday magic?"

"Must have been birthday magic," Ben said quickly, shooting May a look that said they'd discuss this later. "Okay, who wants cake?"

The announcement of actual cake distribution caused a renewed frenzy of excitement. May began the delicate process of cutting and serving pieces while managing to keep order among a group of sugar-impatient toddlers.

"I want the engine!" Tommy Chen announced.

"I want a wheel!" Sarah Martinez countered.

"Can I have the caboose?" Peter asked politely, which earned him an approving smile from Mary.

"Harry gets first pick," May announced diplomatically. "What piece do you want, birthday boy?"

Harry studied the cake with the seriousness of someone making a life-altering decision. Finally, he pointed to a section that included part of the engine and two cars. "Big piece! For sharing with Peter!"

"You want to share your birthday cake?" Ben asked, clearly touched.

"Peter my cousin," Harry said matter-of-factly, as if this explained everything about cake-sharing obligations.

"That's very sweet, Harry," Mary said softly, and May noticed her eyes were a little misty.

As the adults began the complex logistics of cake distribution—which involved remembering who was allergic to what, who didn't like chocolate (a concept Harry found personally offensive), and who needed their cake cut into very specific shapes—the children scattered around the yard to eat their treats.

Peter and Harry settled on the porch steps, where Peter was carefully showing Harry the proper technique for eating cake without getting it in your hair.

"You have to take smaller bites," Peter explained patiently. "Like this. See? Otherwise it gets all over your face."

Harry attempted to follow this advice, with limited success. Within thirty seconds, he had managed to get chocolate frosting on his cheek, his nose, and somehow behind his left ear.

"Harry," Peter said with the long-suffering tone of someone dealing with a particularly challenging student, "you're supposed to eat it, not wear it."

"Tastes good everywhere!" Harry announced cheerfully, taking another enthusiastic bite.

Richard, who had been watching this interaction with obvious amusement, sat down on the steps beside them. "You know, Peter, when you were two, you once got so much spaghetti sauce in your hair that we had to give you a bath in the kitchen sink."

"Really?" Peter looked skeptical.

"Really. Your mom has pictures. You looked like a very small, very confused tomato."

Mary appeared with a wet napkin and began the process of de-chocolating Harry's face. "Some things never change. Peter still manages to get food in impossible places."

"I do not!" Peter protested, just as a piece of cake fell off his fork and landed squarely on his shoe.

"Point proven," Richard said with a grin.

As the afternoon wore on, the party hit that perfect sweet spot where the children were happy and occupied, the adults could actually have conversations, and nobody was crying. Peter had retrieved his backpack of trains and was showing Harry how to make them go around a track he'd built in the sandbox.

"This one is Thomas," Peter explained, holding up a blue engine. "He's the main character. And this is Percy—he's Thomas's best friend."

"Best friend," Harry repeated solemnly, clutching Percy to his chest.

"Yeah. Best friends stick together and help each other and share their toys."

"Like us?"

Peter considered this with the gravity of someone making an important pronouncement. "Yeah. Like us. We're cousins, but we can be best friends too."

From the patio, where the adults were finally getting a chance to sit down with their own pieces of cake, May watched this interaction with a full heart.

"They're really bonding," she said softly to Mary.

"Peter's been talking about Harry all week," Mary replied. "He keeps asking when we're going to move closer so they can play together more often."

"About that," Richard said, settling into one of the patio chairs with a contented sigh. "We have some news."

Ben looked up from his cake, immediately alert to the tone in his brother's voice. "Good news or 'we need to borrow money' news?"

"Definitely good news. Mary got the position at Empire State University."

"Richard!" Mary smacked his arm lightly. "I was going to tell them!"

"Sorry, I got excited. You tell them the rest."

Mary's face lit up with barely contained excitement. "The genetics department offered me exactly the kind of research position I've been dreaming about. Hereditary traits, genetic expression, inherited characteristics—it's everything I've been working toward."

"Mary, that's incredible!" May exclaimed, jumping up to hug her sister-in-law. "Congratulations! I'm so proud of you!"

"Thank you. The thing is, it would mean moving to the city. We've been looking at houses in Forest Hills, actually."

Ben nearly choked on his cake. "Forest Hills? As in, our Forest Hills?"

"The very same. We found a few places we want to look at, all within about a ten-minute drive from here."

May felt like she might cry from happiness. "You're moving here? Really?"

"Well, not here exactly," Richard clarified, "but close enough that Sunday dinners and impromptu playdates would be completely feasible."

From the sandbox, they heard Harry's delighted laughter followed by Peter's patient voice: "No, Harry, the train goes on the track, not in your mouth."

"Everything goes in his mouth," Ben explained to Richard. "It's like he's conducting a scientific experiment to determine the taste and texture of every object in the house."

"When does the position start?" May asked, still processing the wonderful news.

"January," Mary said. "Which gives us a few months to find a house, sell our place upstate, and make the transition. Speaking of which, we wanted to ask a favor."

"Anything," May said immediately.

"I want to come down next month to really look at houses and get familiar with the area, but dragging Peter to twenty different open houses seemed like cruel and unusual punishment for a four-year-old."

"Especially since he'll probably have very strong opinions about which houses have the best yards for train tracks," Richard added with a grin.

"Would you mind if we left him here for a weekend? He could play with Harry, and we could focus on house-hunting without having to worry about keeping him entertained."

"Are you kidding?" May was practically bouncing with excitement. "We'd love to have Peter for a weekend! Right, Ben?"

"Absolutely. Harry would be thrilled. He's been asking when Peter can come for a sleepover ever since you visited at Christmas."

"Peter would love that too," Mary said. "He's been asking if Harry could be his little brother. When we told him about moving closer, he got very excited about the possibility of 'teaching Harry everything he needs to know.'"

"Such as?" Ben asked, amused.

"According to Peter's list, which he wrote down very carefully, Harry needs to learn: how to tie his shoes, how to ride a bike, how to build the ultimate blanket fort, the proper way to eat ice cream so it doesn't drip, and the complete backstory of every Thomas the Tank Engine character."

"That's quite a curriculum," Richard laughed.

"Peter takes his big cousin responsibilities very seriously," Mary said fondly.

From across the yard, they heard a small commotion. Peter and Harry had apparently decided that the sandbox was insufficient for their train empire and had begun expanding operations onto the lawn. What started as a simple track had somehow become an elaborate transportation network involving blocks, toy cars, and what appeared to be most of the party decorations.

"Harry," Peter was saying in his patient teacher voice, "you can't just put the train anywhere. It has to follow the track, see? Otherwise the passengers get confused."

"Passengers?" Harry asked, peering into the train car.

"The little people inside. They're trying to get somewhere important, so we have to make sure the train goes the right way."

Harry nodded very seriously, then carefully placed the train back on the track. As he did, several of the blocks that had been precariously balanced as part of their construction suddenly shifted and settled into a much more stable configuration, as if they had rearranged themselves.

Peter stared at the improved structure with obvious admiration. "Wow, Harry, that's way better! How did you know to do that?"

Harry looked around with the confused expression he got when things happened that he didn't quite understand. "Don't know. Just... looked better that way."

"You're really good at building things," Peter said with genuine admiration. "Can you teach me how to make them stay up like that?"

"I don't know how," Harry said honestly. "They just... do it."

Ben caught May's eye and saw his own concern reflected there. These incidents were definitely becoming more frequent, and Harry was getting old enough to notice that other children couldn't make things "just happen" the way he could.

"Maybe we should think about getting those boys cleaned up for dinner," May suggested, standing up and brushing cake crumbs off her jeans.

"Do we have to?" Peter called out, apparently having superhuman hearing when it came to discussions of ending fun activities.

"Afraid so, buddy," Richard said. "We've got a long drive ahead of us."

"Can't we stay for dinner? Please?" Peter's bottom lip jutted out in the universal expression of childhood disappointment.

"We really should get going," Mary said gently. "But remember, we're coming back soon to look at houses."

"And then we'll live here?" Peter asked hopefully, scrambling to his feet.

"Close to here," Richard confirmed. "Close enough that you and Harry can have playdates whenever you want."

Harry, who had been quietly listening to this conversation, suddenly perked up. "Peter stay forever?"

"Not forever," Ben explained, lifting Harry up and brushing sand off his clothes. "But Peter's family is going to move much closer to us, so you'll see each other much more often."

"Every day?"

"Maybe not every day," May said gently, "but lots of days. Would you like that?"

Harry's face lit up like Christmas morning. "YES! Peter stay! We play trains every day!"

"Well, not every day," Peter said with four-year-old practicality. "Some days I'll have to go to school and stuff. But we can play trains a lot!"

"What's school?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity.

"It's where kids go to learn things. Like letters and numbers and how to read books."

"I want to learn letters!"

"When you're bigger," Ben promised. "Right now you're just the right size for learning how to put on your own shoes and brush your teeth."

"I can brush teeth!" Harry announced proudly. "Watch!" He pretended to brush his teeth with his finger, making enthusiastic scrubbing motions.

"Very impressive," Mary laughed. "Peter, we really do need to start packing up your trains."

"Okay," Peter said with resignation, then turned to Harry with sudden inspiration. "Harry, do you want to keep one of my trains until I come back? Like a... like a friendship train?"

Harry's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Really. Which one do you want?"

Harry looked over the collection of trains with the seriousness of someone making a very important decision. Finally, he pointed to Percy, the green engine he'd been playing with earlier.

"Percy," he said firmly. "He's nice."

"Percy is a great choice," Peter agreed, placing the train carefully in Harry's hands. "You have to take really good care of him, okay? And when I come back, you can tell me all the adventures he had."

Harry clutched Percy to his chest like a precious treasure. "I take good care. Promise."

"I know you will."

The two boys hugged with the fierce affection of children who had decided they belonged together, and May felt her heart squeeze with emotion. Peter's natural kindness and Harry's enthusiastic affection for his older cousin were creating exactly the kind of bond she'd hoped for.

As Richard and Mary gathered their things and Peter reluctantly packed up the remaining trains, the party began winding down. The other families had already departed, leaving behind the pleasant debris of a successful children's celebration—stray balloons caught in tree branches, cake crumbs scattered across the patio, and that particular kind of exhausted happiness that came after a day well spent.

"Thank you so much for including us," Mary said, giving May another hug. "This was exactly what Peter needed. He's been a little anxious about the move, but seeing how excited he is about being closer to Harry... I think it's going to be great for both of them."

"Harry's going to miss him," Ben said, watching their son wave goodbye from the porch while still clutching Percy. "He keeps asking when 'Peter come back.'"

"Soon," Richard promised. "And next time, maybe we can convince May to share that cake recipe. I haven't had anything that good since our wedding."

"I'll email it to you," May laughed. "Fair warning though—it requires patience, a lot of coffee, and the ability to start over when your first attempt looks like a train wreck. Literally."

As the car pulled away, with Peter waving frantically from the back window and shouting promises to take good care of Harry's friendship train, the Parker family stood on their front porch feeling that particular mix of contentment and exhaustion that came after hosting a successful party.

"Well," Ben said, looking around at the chaos of their backyard, "I'd say that was a complete success."

"Complete success and complete disaster," May agreed cheerfully. "Look at this place. It's going to take hours to clean up."

Harry, who had been unusually quiet since Peter's departure, suddenly tugged on Ben's pants leg. "Daddy? When Peter come back?"

"Soon, buddy. A few weeks, maybe a month."

"That's a long time."

"It might seem like a long time, but you know what? We can count the days on the calendar, and we can play with Percy while we wait."

Harry held up the small green train, studying it carefully. "Percy misses Thomas."

"I bet he does. But Percy is brave, and he knows Thomas will be back soon. Just like Peter will be back soon."

"And then we'll be neighbors?"

"Close to neighbors," May confirmed. "Close enough that you can play together all the time."

Harry seemed to consider this, then nodded seriously. "Good. I like Peter. He's my best friend."

"That's wonderful, sweetheart. Having a best friend is one of the most special things in the world."

As they began the process of cleaning up—which involved a lot of trash bags, several trips to the recycling bin, and discovering cake in places cake had no business being—May reflected on the day. Harry had been so happy, so completely in his element with Peter and the other children. For a few hours, he'd been just a normal almost-two-year-old having a birthday party, not the famous Harry Potter with a destiny hanging over his head.

"Penny for your thoughts," Ben said, appearing beside her with an armload of deflated balloons.

"Just thinking about how normal this felt," May said softly. "How right. Like this is exactly where he's supposed to be."

"He is exactly where he's supposed to be," Ben said firmly. "He's home, May. This is his life now. Birthday parties and friendship trains and learning to share cake."

"I know. It's just... seeing him with Peter today, seeing how naturally they connected... it made me think about everything he might have had if things had been different."

Ben set down the balloons and took her hands, his expression serious but gentle. "May, listen to me. We can't change what happened to his parents. We can't give him back the life he might have had. But we can give him the best possible life he can have now. And judging by today—by the way he laughed and played and shared his cake and made friends—I'd say we're doing pretty well."

May smiled, leaning into his warmth. "When did you get so wise?"

"I married a woman who makes me want to be the best version of myself," Ben said simply. "That tends to have a clarifying effect."

From inside the house, they heard Harry's voice calling out: "Mommy! Daddy! Percy wants dinner!"

"And there's our cue," May laughed. "Come on, let's go feed the train."

As they headed inside, May took one last look at their backyard. Tomorrow, she'd finish cleaning up the streamers caught in the maple trees and find all the stray pieces of cake that had somehow migrated to impossible locations. Tonight, she'd give Harry a bath and help him put Percy safely on his nightstand, and she'd read him stories until he fell asleep with chocolate still smudged on his cheek.

And in a few weeks, when Richard and Mary came back to look at houses, the real adventure would begin. Peter and Harry would become the kind of cousins who grew up more like brothers, the kind who shared secrets and adventures and the unshakeable conviction that they could take on the world together.

It wasn't the life Harry Potter was supposed to have. But for Harry Parker, it was going to be perfect.

Chapter Text

One Year Later - Spring in Forest Hills

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen windows of the Parker house, illuminating what could only be described as the aftermath of a breakfast battle that had clearly been won by entropy. Harry Parker, now a sturdy three-year-old with an impressive case of bedhead that seemed to mock the very concept of brushes, was sitting at the kitchen table wearing more scrambled eggs than he'd apparently eaten.

"Harry, sweetheart," May said with the patient tone of someone who'd had this conversation many times before, "the eggs are supposed to go in your mouth, not on your shirt. Or your hair. Or, somehow, your elbow."

She paused, genuinely puzzled. "How did you even get eggs on your elbow?"

"But they're more fun on my shirt," Harry replied with the unassailable logic of a three-year-old. "Look, it looks like clouds! And this part looks like a dinosaur! See?"

From across the table, Peter Parker—now a dignified five-year-old who took his role as older cousin very seriously—shook his head with world-weary disappointment. "Harry, you can't wear your breakfast. That's not how eating works."

"Says who?" Harry challenged, taking another bite and somehow managing to get egg in his hair despite the spoon being nowhere near his head.

"Says everyone! Says science! Says... says the Constitution!" Peter looked desperately around for backup. "Right, Uncle Ben?"

Ben Parker, who was attempting to read the morning paper while simultaneously preventing Harry from using his orange juice as finger paint, looked up with the expression of a man who'd learned to choose his battles carefully and had lost most of them anyway.

"Well," Ben said diplomatically, folding his paper with the resignation of someone who knew he wouldn't be reading it today, "I think the general consensus is that food works better when it's inside your body rather than decorating the outside of it."

"See?" Peter said triumphantly. "Uncle Ben agrees with me. He's very smart about these things."

"Uncle Ben is smart about everything," Harry agreed cheerfully, then brightened considerably. "But Peter, look!" He held up a forkful of eggs. "If I put it here..." He carefully placed the eggs on his nose, "then it's almost inside! It's like... pre-inside!"

"That's not—Harry, that's not how—" Peter looked around desperately for adult intervention. "Aunt May! Harry's being weird again!"

"Weird is Harry's specialty," May said fondly, approaching with a damp washcloth and the expression of someone who'd done this dance many times before. "Come here, you little mess maker. Let's see if we can find your actual face under all that breakfast."

"Is there treasure under there too?" Harry asked hopefully as May began the archaeological excavation of cleaning him up.

"Well, let's see... we've got egg, we've got what I think is jam from yesterday, and... oh my goodness, is that Play-Doh?"

"That's from my art project!" Harry said proudly. "I was making a sculpture of Uncle Ben!"

"You were making a sculpture of me?" Ben asked, looking touched despite himself.

"Yeah! It was gonna be really good but then I got hungry and ate some of it."

"You ate Play-Doh?" Peter stared at his cousin in horrified fascination.

"Just a little bit. It's okay, it tastes like... like purple."

"Purple isn't a taste," Peter said with five-year-old scientific authority.

"It is if you try hard enough," Harry replied with absolute certainty. "Everything can be a taste if you're brave."

Ben caught May's eye over the top of Harry's head and grinned. Harry's unique philosophy of life never failed to entertain them, even when it involved consuming art supplies.

"Speaking of weird," May said, glancing out the kitchen window while scrubbing what might have been syrup off Harry's cheek, "looks like we're getting new neighbors. There's a moving truck across the street."

Both boys immediately abandoned breakfast and scrambled to the window, Peter boosting Harry up so he could see over the sill.

"Big truck!" Harry announced with the enthusiasm he reserved for vehicles of any kind. "Really, really big truck! It's like a truck that ate other trucks!"

"Moving truck," Peter corrected automatically, then pressed his face against the glass. "That means new people are moving in. I wonder if they have kids."

"What kind of kids?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity. "Big kids? Little kids? Medium kids? Cat kids?"

"Cat kids aren't a thing, Harry."

"They could be. Maybe the new people are very advanced."

"Kids?" May repeated, joining them at the window. "That would be nice. The Hendersons moved out last month, and Mrs. Chen says the house has been empty too long. Empty houses make neighborhoods sad."

"How can a neighborhood be sad?" Harry asked, apparently finding this concept fascinating.

"Well," Ben said, coming over to investigate the commotion, "neighborhoods are like families. When someone's missing, everyone feels it a little bit."

Indeed, the large moving truck was disgorging what seemed like an endless stream of furniture and boxes, supervised by a moving crew that looked like they'd been at it since dawn. Professional movers with the kind of efficiency that came from doing this dance hundreds of times, carrying everything from couches to what looked like an unusually large number of books.

"They have a lot of stuff," Peter observed. "Like, a LOT of stuff. More stuff than us."

"Maybe they're stuff collectors," Harry suggested helpfully. "Maybe that's their job."

"Can we go see?" Harry asked hopefully, bouncing slightly on his toes. "Please? I want to meet the new people! I want to see if they're nice!"

"They're probably busy getting settled," May said gently, though she was clearly as curious as the boys. "Moving is hard work. Maybe we should let them get organized first."

"But what if they have kids and the kids are lonely and need friends right away?" Peter asked with the kind of earnest concern that made adults remember why they loved children so much. "What if they're scared because everything's new and different?"

"That's very thoughtful of you, Peter," Ben said warmly, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Tell you what—why don't we keep an eye out, and if we see any kids, we can think about going over to introduce ourselves."

"Or we could make them cookies!" Harry suggested with sudden inspiration, clapping his hands together and sending the last of his breakfast eggs flying. "Everyone likes cookies! Even sad people! Even scary people! Even people who don't like anything!"

"That's actually not a bad idea," May mused, already mentally reviewing her baking supplies. "I was planning to do some baking today anyway. Fresh cookies are a nice welcome gift. Very neighborly."

"Can we help?" Peter asked eagerly, his eyes lighting up. "I'm very good at stirring. And measuring. And not making messes."

He shot a pointed look at Harry.

"And I'm very good at eating!" Harry added helpfully, completely missing the subtext. "And tasting! And making sure everything's delicious!"

"I'm sure you are, buddy," Ben laughed, ruffling Harry's already chaotic hair. "But maybe we should focus on making enough cookies to actually give some away this time."

"What happened last time?" Harry asked innocently.

"Last time you 'quality tested' so many cookies that we only had three left to give to Mrs. Chen," Peter reminded him.

"But they were really, really good cookies! I was being thorough!"

"Thorough," May repeated with amusement. "Is that what we're calling it?"

The morning progressed with the usual controlled chaos that had become the Parker household norm. Peter, who was spending the day with Ben and May while Richard and Mary attended a conference in Boston, was in his element helping May with the cookie preparation while Harry provided enthusiastic but somewhat counterproductive assistance.

"Peter, can you measure out the flour?" May asked, setting up the mixing bowls with practiced efficiency. "Two cups, level."

"Two cups, level," Peter repeated seriously, climbing onto his special step stool. He approached the flour canister with the concentration of a surgeon performing a delicate operation. "Should I use the scooping method or the spooning method?"

"My goodness, someone's been paying attention," May said with impressed surprise. "Where did you learn about different measuring methods?"

"Dad showed me," Peter said proudly, carefully scooping flour. "He said precision is important in both science and cooking because they're basically the same thing, just with different equipment."

"Your dad's absolutely right. Richard always was smart about these things."

Meanwhile, Harry had assigned himself the crucial task of quality control, which seemed to involve tasting every ingredient individually with scientific thoroughness.

"Harry," May said, noticing him with his finger in the sugar bowl, "what are you doing, sweetie?"

"Making sure it's good sugar," Harry replied with complete seriousness, licking his finger thoughtfully. "We can't give bad cookies to the new people. That would be rude. And maybe illegal."

"Illegal?" Ben asked, appearing in the doorway with raised eyebrows.

"Well, if you give someone bad cookies, isn't that like... like lying but with food?"

"That's..." Ben paused, considering this. "That's actually a surprisingly sophisticated ethical question."

"I'm very sophisticated," Harry agreed solemnly. "But I need to test more sugar to be sure it's all equally good."

"Harry, sugar is sugar," Peter said, pausing in his careful flour measuring to stare at his younger cousin. "It doesn't have different parts. It's not like... like a sandwich where one end might have more mayo."

"How do you know?" Harry challenged. "Have you tested all the parts? What if this sugar is happy sugar and that sugar is sad sugar? What if they taste different?"

"That's..." Peter considered this with the scientific mind he'd inherited from both his parents, his brow furrowing in genuine thought. "That's actually a good point. Maybe we should test it more thoroughly. You know, for science."

"Oh no," May laughed, quickly moving the sugar bowl out of reach. "I'm not having both of you eating raw sugar. That's a recipe for disaster of the highest order."

"What kind of disaster?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity, apparently finding the concept of sugar-related disasters fascinating rather than concerning.

"The kind where you both bounce off the walls for three hours like tiny, adorable tornadoes and then crash so hard you sleep until tomorrow," Ben explained with the voice of experience.

"I want to bounce off the walls!" Harry announced excitedly, beginning to demonstrate with some experimental bouncing. "That sounds amazing! Do I get to pick which walls?"

"Trust me, buddy, it's less fun than it sounds," Ben assured him, gently catching Harry mid-bounce. "And your Mom would never forgive me if I let you turn into a sugar tornado."

"I wouldn't mind being a tornado," Harry mused. "Tornadoes are very powerful. And spinny."

As they continued their cookie-making enterprise—which involved a lot of flour getting places flour wasn't supposed to be, Peter patiently explaining proper mixing technique to an increasingly chaos-oriented Harry, and May performing minor miracles to keep the actual cookies on track—they kept an eye on the activity across the street.

Around mid-morning, Ben noticed a car pull up behind the moving truck.

"Looks like the family's arriving," he called to May, wiping cookie dough off his hands. "Want to come take a look?"

The whole household migrated to the living room window, where they had a better view of the street. A sedan had parked behind the moving truck, and they watched as a man and woman got out of the car—both looked to be in their thirties, the woman with auburn hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, the man tall and lanky with the kind of animated gestures that suggested he was already talking enthusiastically about something.

"They look nice," May observed, adjusting Harry on her hip so he could see better.

"The man's very tall," Harry noted with interest. "Like a giraffe person. I like giraffes."

"He's not a giraffe, Harry," Peter said, but he was studying the new neighbors with intense curiosity.

But it was what happened next that really caught their attention. The woman opened the back door of the car and helped out a little girl who looked to be about Peter's age. The child had bright red hair that caught the morning sunlight like fire, and even from across the street, they could see she was wearing a sundress that was clearly her favorite—the kind of outfit that had been chosen for comfort and beloved familiarity rather than impressing new neighbors.

"There's a kid!" Peter exclaimed, his face lighting up with excitement.

"A girl kid," Harry observed with the matter-of-fact tone of someone making a scientific notation.

"So?" Peter said, though his voice carried a slightly different tone than usual. "Girls can be friends too. Some of the best kids in my class are girls. Sally Martinez is really good at math, and Emma Chen knows everything about dinosaurs."

"I know that," Harry said patiently. "I was just being specific. Specificity is important."

The little girl was looking around the neighborhood with obvious curiosity, taking in the tree-lined street, the neat houses with their small front yards, the general suburban quietness of Queens on a weekday morning. When her gaze swept across the street, she seemed to notice the faces in the Parker window. She raised one small hand in a tentative wave.

Without thinking, all four Parkers waved back enthusiastically.

"She waved at us!" Harry announced with delight, waving both arms like he was trying to signal aircraft. "I like her already! She has good waving technique!"

"You don't even know her name," Peter said, but he was still staring across the street with unusual intensity, his hand pressed against the window glass.

"Names aren't the most important thing," Harry declared with three-year-old wisdom. "What's important is that she waves back when you wave at her. That means she's polite. And probably nice."

"Names are important too," Peter corrected automatically, but he seemed distracted, still watching the red-haired girl. "I wonder what her name is. And where she's from. And if she likes science."

"Only one way to find out," Ben said, making a decision with the tone of a man who'd recognized the signs. "May, how are those cookies coming along?"

"First batch should be out of the oven in about ten minutes," May replied, reading the subtext in her husband's voice perfectly. "Second batch maybe fifteen minutes after that."

"Perfect. I think that's just enough time for us to get these boys cleaned up and ready to make a good first impression."

"Really?" Peter's voice cracked with excitement, his whole face lighting up. "We can go meet them? Right now? Today?"

"We can go introduce ourselves and welcome them to the neighborhood," Ben confirmed. "That's what good neighbors do. That's what makes a neighborhood feel like home."

"YES!" Harry shouted, doing a little victory dance that involved a lot of arm waving and what could generously be called spinning. "I want to meet the girl with the fire hair! And the giraffe man! And the other lady!"

"But first," May said firmly, looking at both boys with the expression of someone who'd learned not to underestimate the cleaning challenge ahead of her, "we clean up. And I mean really clean up. Peter, you've got flour in your hair and on your shirt. Harry, you somehow have what looks like cookie dough on your ear."

"How did I get cookie dough on my ear?" Harry asked, reaching up to investigate with genuine puzzlement.

"That's one of life's great mysteries," Ben said solemnly. "Right up there with how socks disappear in the dryer and why you can never find a pen when you need one."

"Maybe the cookie dough jumped," Harry suggested helpfully. "Maybe it's very athletic cookie dough."

Twenty-five minutes later, after what could only be described as a minor miracle of child cleaning and clothing selection, the Parker family stood at the end of their driveway with a plate of still-warm chocolate chip cookies. Peter had been scrubbed until he gleamed and was wearing his favorite striped shirt—the one that made him feel particularly mature and responsible. Harry had been contained in his second-best outfit (the first-best having fallen victim to breakfast) and his hair had been wrestled into something approaching order through the liberal application of water and determination.

"Remember," May said quietly as they approached the house across the street, "we're just introducing ourselves and welcoming them to the neighborhood. We're not staying long—they have a lot to do today."

"And we're being polite and helpful," Ben added, balancing the cookie plate carefully.

"And not too weird," Peter said, shooting a meaningful look at Harry.

"I'm always weird," Harry replied cheerfully, skipping slightly to keep up with the adult strides. "That's my job. I'm professionally weird."

"Harry's right," Ben said with a grin. "But maybe we can aim for friendly weird instead of chaos weird today."

"What's the difference?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity.

"About thirty minutes of cleanup time," May muttered under her breath.

The moving truck was still being unloaded, and the family was clearly in the thick of directing traffic—where boxes should go, which furniture belonged in which room, and the million other details that came with relocating an entire life. The tall man was gesturing animatedly at a moving crew, explaining something with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested he found the whole process fascinating rather than stressful.

"Excuse me," Ben called out as they approached, his voice friendly but not intrusive. "Sorry to interrupt—we're the Parkers from across the street. We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood."

The man looked up from where he'd been consulting with one of the movers about what appeared to be a very heavy box marked 'BOOKS - FRAGILE - VERY HEAVY - SERIOUSLY, IT'S REALLY HEAVY,' and his face broke into a genuinely warm smile.

"The Parkers! We were hoping to meet you. I'm Philip Watson, and this is my wife Madeline." He gestured to the auburn-haired woman, who was currently supervising the careful transport of what looked like a very expensive piano with the intensity of someone watching heart surgery.

"Careful with that! It's older than any of us and twice as valuable!" Madeline called to the movers, then turned to the Parkers with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, family heirloom. If anything happens to that piano, my mother will never forgive me. Or speak to me again. Or acknowledge my existence."

"I'm Ben, this is my wife May, and these are our boys—Peter and Harry."

"Nice to meet you all," Madeline Watson said, wiping her hands on her jeans before shaking hands with Ben and May. "Sorry we're not at our most presentable—moving day, you know how it is. Chaos with a side of panic."

"We remember," May said sympathetically, thinking of their own move to Queens years earlier. "We brought cookies. Nothing fancy, but we thought you might not have had time for lunch yet."

"Cookies!" The little red-haired girl appeared as if summoned by magic, looking up at the adults with bright green eyes full of hope and what appeared to be chocolate smudged on her chin.

"And you must be...?" Ben asked gently, crouching down to be at her eye level.

"I'm Mary Jane," she said with the careful pronunciation of someone who'd been taught to introduce herself properly to adults. "But everyone calls me MJ. Are those chocolate chip cookies? They smell really, really good."

"They are indeed," May confirmed, offering the plate. "Would you like one?"

"May I please?" MJ looked to her parents for permission with the practiced politeness of a five-year-old who'd been well-trained in cookie protocol.

"One cookie," Madeline said with a smile. "We haven't had lunch yet, and I don't want you spoiling your appetite."

"But if they're really good cookies, won't they make lunch taste better by comparison?" MJ asked with five-year-old logic.

Philip laughed—a warm, delighted sound. "She's got you there, Maddie. That's sound scientific reasoning."

MJ selected a cookie with careful deliberation, examining the chocolate chip distribution with the seriousness of a quality control expert, then took a bite. Her face lit up with delight.

"These are really good! Like, really, really good! Did you make them yourself?"

"We all helped," Peter said, stepping forward with sudden confidence, his chest puffing out slightly with pride. "I measured the flour, and Harry did quality control on the ingredients."

"Quality control?" MJ looked intrigued, tilting her head with curiosity.

"I tasted everything to make sure it was good," Harry explained with complete seriousness. "It's a very important job. Someone has to make sure the sugar is happy and the chocolate chips aren't sad."

"Sugar can be happy?" MJ asked, her eyes widening with interest.

"Oh yes," Harry nodded solemnly. "Happy sugar makes better cookies. It's science."

MJ giggled—a bright, musical sound that made Peter stand up a little straighter and Harry grin with satisfaction.

"That does sound like very important work," MJ said seriously. "I like to help cook too. My mom lets me crack eggs, but I'm not very good at it yet. I always get shells in the bowl. And sometimes on the counter. And sometimes on the floor."

"That happens to everyone at first," Peter said with the wisdom of someone who'd mastered egg-cracking months ago and felt very sophisticated about it. "You have to tap them just right—not too hard, not too soft. There's a technique to it."

"Really? Maybe you could show me sometime?" MJ asked hopefully, looking at Peter with the kind of admiration that made his face turn slightly pink.

Peter's voice was carefully steady. "Sure, I could do that. If it's okay with your parents. I'm very good at eggs now. I hardly ever get shells in the bowl anymore."

"That's very sweet of you, Peter," Madeline said, and May noticed she was trying not to smile at Peter's obvious attempt to be impressive.

"How old are you, MJ?" Harry asked with typical directness.

"I'm five. How old are you?"

"I'm three, but I'm very mature for my age," Harry replied with complete seriousness, standing up as tall as he could. "Peter's five too. That means you're the same age, which is good for being friends. Age matching is important for friendship compatibility."

"Friendship compatibility?" Philip repeated with obvious amusement. "That's quite a concept."

"Harry reads a lot of books," Ben explained with a grin. "Sometimes I'm not sure where he gets these ideas."

"I think about things," Harry said matter-of-factly. "Thinking is one of my hobbies."

"Are you looking forward to starting school here?" May asked MJ gently.

"I guess so," MJ said, though she didn't sound entirely convinced. Her voice got a little smaller. "I miss my old school and my old friends. And my old bedroom. And the tree outside my old bedroom that I could climb to the roof."

"You climbed to the roof?" Peter asked, his eyes widening with a mixture of admiration and concern.

"Only a little bit. And only when Mom wasn't looking. She doesn't like roof climbing."

"Roof climbing is generally frowned upon," Madeline confirmed dryly. "For mysterious reasons like gravity and emergency room visits."

"But Mom says I'll make new friends here," MJ continued, looking around at the Parker family hopefully. "She says New York kids are just as nice as California kids."

"You will make new friends," Peter said with sudden earnestness, stepping closer to MJ. "The kids here are really nice. Most of them, anyway. And if anyone's not nice to you, you can tell me and I'll... well, I'll think of something to do about it."

MJ studied Peter with obvious interest, her head tilted thoughtfully. "You'd do that? Even though you don't really know me yet?"

"That's what friends do," Peter said simply, with the kind of straightforward honesty that made adults remember why children were often better people than grown-ups. "And neighbors. We look out for each other."

Harry nodded sagely. "Peter's very good at looking out for people. He looks out for me all the time. Like when I tried to see if I could fly off the swing set."

"You tried to fly off the swing set?" MJ asked with fascination rather than concern.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Harry said philosophically. "Turns out gravity is very strong. And the ground is very hard."

"That's because you're not supposed to fly off swing sets," Peter said with the patient tone of someone who'd had this conversation before. "That's not how swing sets work."

"But how do you know until you try?" Harry countered.

"Because some things you can figure out without trying them," Peter explained. "That's called using your brain before you use your body."

MJ laughed again, and Peter's face went from pink to definitely red.

"I like how you think," she said to both boys. "You're both very interesting."

"MJ," Philip called from where he was directing the movers with what appeared to be an antique desk, "can you come help us figure out where your toys should go? The movers need to know which room gets the box labeled 'VERY IMPORTANT TOYS - HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE.'"

"Coming, Dad!" MJ called back, then turned to the Parker family. "Thank you for the cookies. And for coming over to say hi. It's nice to know there are friendly people here who make really good cookies."

"Anytime," Ben said warmly. "If you need anything—recommendations for grocery stores, doctors, the best place to get pizza, anything at all—we're right across the street."

"That's very kind of you," Madeline said gratefully. "Actually, I don't suppose you know anything about the elementary school? MJ will be starting kindergarten in the fall, and I'm a little nervous about finding the right fit."

"Peter goes to Forest Hills Elementary," May said enthusiastically. "It's a wonderful school. Really wonderful. The kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Rodriguez, is absolutely lovely. Patient, creative, great with kids who are still figuring out how to sit still."

"Really?" MJ perked up considerably. "Peter, do you think you could show me around the school sometime? So I know where everything is before the first day?"

"I..." Peter seemed to be having some kind of internal struggle between excitement and nervousness, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "I mean, yes! I could definitely show you around. I know where everything is. I could show you the library and the cafeteria and the playground and the art room and where the bathrooms are and which water fountains work best..."

"That sounds perfect," Madeline said with a warm smile. "Thank you, Peter. That's very thoughtful of you."

"And I could show you the really good climbing tree in our backyard," Harry added helpfully. "It's almost as good as a roof, but much safer. Mom approves of it."

"I approve of it with supervision," May corrected gently.

"We should probably let you get back to your moving," Ben said, recognizing the signs of a five-year-old who was getting overwhelmed by his own enthusiasm and might soon say something embarrassing. "But seriously, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you so much," Philip said warmly, his hands gesturing expressively. "It's wonderful to know we've got such thoughtful neighbors. Really wonderful. Makes the whole moving experience feel less... chaotic."

"Moving is always chaotic," Madeline said with a laugh. "But good neighbors make it bearable."

As the Parker family made their way back across the street, the adults chatting about practical neighborhood details—the best grocery store, the most reliable dry cleaner, which pizza place delivered—the boys were unusually quiet.

"MJ seems very nice," May said casually as they reached their own driveway.

"She's okay," Peter said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing completely.

"Just okay?" Ben asked with barely concealed amusement.

"I mean, she seems smart. And she likes cookies. And she asks good questions. And she has very..." Peter paused, searching for the right word while his face reddened. "Very bright hair."

"Bright hair," Harry repeated thoughtfully, bouncing slightly on his toes. "Like fire hair. Like sunset hair. I like fire hair. It's very dramatic."

"It's not fire hair," Peter said quickly, his voice slightly higher than usual. "It's just... red. Really red. Pretty red." He paused, realizing what he'd just said, and his face went crimson. "I mean... I just meant... it's a nice color. A very... nice color."

"Pretty red?" May asked gently, trying to hide her smile.

"I mean... I just meant... it's interesting. Scientifically. Red hair is actually pretty rare. It's a genetic thing. Recessive genes and stuff." Peter was clearly trying to sound academic and scientific rather than admiring.

Harry, with the intuitive understanding that sometimes came with being three and not yet concerned with social complexities, reached up and patted Peter's arm consolingly.

"It's okay, Peter. I think her hair is pretty too. And she seems nice. And she likes cookies. And she wants to learn about eggs. I think she'll be a very good friend."

"Yeah," Peter said quietly, sneaking one last look back at the Watson house where they could see MJ helping her parents organize boxes on the front porch. "I think she will too."

As they reached their own front door, May caught Ben's eye with a look that clearly said *our little boy has his first crush* and Ben's answering expression that said *this is going to be interesting and adorable and probably a little chaotic.*

"So," May said as they settled back into the house, "I was thinking we might invite the Watsons over for dinner once they're settled in. What do you boys think?"

"YES!" both boys said simultaneously, though for clearly different reasons—Harry because he liked meeting new people and learning about their stories, and Peter because... well, because MJ had pretty red hair and a nice laugh and seemed to think he was interesting.

"I could show MJ my trains," Harry said excitedly, already planning the agenda. "And my books! And my room! And the backyard! And the really good climbing tree! And maybe the secret hiding place under the porch!"

"That's very thoughtful, Harry," Ben said warmly. "What about you, Peter? Anything special you'd like to show MJ?"

Peter was quiet for a moment, thinking seriously with the kind of concentration he usually reserved for particularly challenging homework problems.

"I could show her how to crack eggs properly," he said finally. "And maybe... maybe I could show her the really good climbing tree in the backyard. The one with the branches that go up really high where you can see the whole neighborhood."

"That sounds perfect," May said softly. "I think MJ would like that very much."

From across the street, they could hear the sounds of moving—instructions being called out, furniture being scraped across floors, the general organized chaos of a family making a new place into a home. And if they listened carefully, they could occasionally hear MJ's bright laughter mixing with her parents' voices and Philip's animated explanations of where everything should go.

"I hope she likes it here," Peter said quietly, still looking out the window toward the Watson house.

"I think she will," Ben said, putting a gentle hand on Peter's shoulder. "Especially with neighbors like us to help her feel welcome."

"And especially with a friend like you to show her around," May added, ruffling Peter's hair affectionately.

Peter smiled—not the self-conscious, embarrassed smile from earlier, but a genuine, warm smile full of possibility and the kind of quiet excitement that came with making a new friend.

"Yeah," he said softly, watching as MJ appeared in one of the upstairs windows of her new house, waving down at her parents in the yard. "I think we're going to be really good friends."

And as if she could sense his thoughts, MJ looked across the street and spotted Peter in the Parker window. She waved enthusiastically, and Peter waved back immediately, his face lighting up with genuine happiness.

It was the beginning of what would become one of the most important friendships of their young lives—though none of them knew it yet. For now, it was just a three-year-old boy excited about having a new playmate who appreciated the complexity of sugar emotions, a five-year-old boy discovering that girls could be just as interesting as science experiments and comic books, and a five-year-old girl who was already feeling less lonely about her big move to New York.

Sometimes the most significant moments in life looked exactly like ordinary Tuesday mornings in Queens, complete with chocolate chip cookies, moving trucks, and bright red hair catching the spring sunlight.

Chapter Text

Six Months Later - A Saturday Morning in October

The Parker living room had been transformed into what could only be described as the most elaborate superhero headquarters that couch cushions, bedsheets, and the contents of May's linen closet could provide. Fort walls constructed with engineering precision that would have made Richard Parker proud stretched across the room, creating a maze of tunnels, secret hideouts, and what Peter had designated as "SHIELD headquarters" with a hand-drawn sign taped to the coffee table that featured remarkably detailed sketches of Captain America's shield.

"Okay, listen up, team," Peter announced with the serious authority of someone who had not only read every Captain America comic book at least three times, but had also organized them by publication date and cross-referenced them with historical accuracy. "This is Operation Cookie Liberation, and it's our most important mission yet."

Mary Jane Watson, now six years old with brilliant red curls that caught the October sunlight streaming through the windows, had seamlessly integrated herself into the Parker boys' elaborate fantasy games over the past months. She sat cross-legged behind the "prison bars" made of dining room chairs, wearing one of May's old scarves as a makeshift lab coat and holding a wooden spoon like it was some kind of scientific instrument.

"Got it, Captain," she said with mock seriousness, then immediately broke character to add, "But Peter, why does the Red Skull want to steal cookie recipes anyway? Couldn't he just, you know, buy a cookbook? They have them at the library."

"MJ, that's not how evil schemes work," Peter explained patiently, adjusting the red towel cape May had helped him fashion with safety pins. "Villains never do things the easy way. It's like... it's like a rule. If they did things the easy way, they wouldn't be villains, they'd just be people who wanted cookies."

"That actually makes a weird kind of sense," MJ admitted, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Okay, so I'm Dr. Watson, brilliant scientist who's discovered the secret to making cookies that taste like happiness itself."

"Exactly! And you've been captured by the Red Skull—that's me—because I want to use your happiness cookies to make sad cookies instead, which will make everyone in the world miserable so they're easier to control!"

Three-and-a-half-year-old Harry Parker emerged from behind the couch wearing a red, white, and blue striped shirt that May had found at a thrift store, a pot lid strapped to his arm with one of Ben's old belts, and an expression of determination that suggested he was taking his superhero responsibilities very seriously indeed. His emerald green eyes sparkled with excitement as he struck what he clearly believed was a heroic pose.

"Never fear, Dr. Watson!" Harry announced, his voice carrying the kind of dramatic flair that suggested he'd been practicing in the mirror. "Captain America is here to save you from the evil Red Skull and his diabolical cookie plot!"

"Harry, you can't just say 'diabolical,'" Peter protested with six-year-old indignation. "You have to earn the right to use advanced villain vocabulary. What does diabolical even mean?"

Harry paused, clearly stumped. "It means... really, really bad? Like, worse than when you put ketchup on mac and cheese?"

"That's actually a pretty good definition," MJ said approvingly. "The ketchup thing is definitely diabolical."

"Hey!" Peter protested. "Ketchup on mac and cheese is a perfectly reasonable food choice! Uncle Ben does it!"

From the kitchen, Ben Parker's voice carried over the elaborate play structure with the warm amusement of someone who had been eavesdropping with great enjoyment: "I heard my name being taken in vain! Are my culinary choices being maligned by superheroes?"

"Uncle Ben!" Peter called back. "Tell them ketchup on mac and cheese isn't weird!"

"Peter, my boy," Ben replied, appearing in the doorway with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder and flour in his hair, "I've learned that defending my food choices to a room full of six-year-olds is a battle even Captain America couldn't win."

"See?" Harry said to Peter with vindicated satisfaction. "Even Uncle Ben knows it's weird."

"That's not what he said!"

"It's what he implied," MJ added helpfully, grinning at Peter's outraged expression.

"You're all against me," Peter declared dramatically, throwing his red cape over his shoulder. "This is what drives people to become supervillains, you know. Mockery of their perfectly reasonable condiment choices."

"Poor Peter," May called from the kitchen, where she was apparently collaborating with Ben on some kind of baking project that involved a suspicious amount of giggling. "Oppressed by anti-ketchup prejudice. However will you cope?"

"I'll cope by taking over the world with my army of sad cookies!" Peter announced, climbing onto the coffee table and spreading his arms wide. "And then everyone will have to eat mac and cheese with ketchup!"

"That's definitely a supervillain origin story," Harry agreed sagely, raising his pot lid shield. "A tragic one, too. I almost feel sorry for you, Red Skull."

"Don't feel sorry for me!" Peter protested. "I'm supposed to be menacing! Fear my evil cape of... of... evil cape-ness!"

"That's not a real phrase," MJ pointed out, rattling her chair-prison bars. "And also, your cape is just Aunt May's old beach towel. I can see the little seahorses on it."

Peter looked down at his cape with wounded dignity. "The seahorses add character. Evil seahorses."

"Evil seahorses," Harry repeated thoughtfully. "You know what? I can work with that. Evil seahorses are definitely something Captain America would fight."

The truth was, Ben was grateful for the elaborate game and the easy banter between the children. Peter had been staying with them for the past week while Richard and Mary were traveling for work—some kind of collaborative research project with Oscorp that had required them to fly to several different facilities across Europe. Richard had seemed unusually tense before leaving, mentioning something about "complications with Norman" and "intellectual property concerns" that had made Ben uneasy, though he'd tried not to show it.

Peter, for his part, was handling his parents' absence with the resilience that had always amazed Ben and May. The six-year-old had simply unpacked his bag in what had become "his" room—the small den that they'd converted into a guest space with Superman sheets and a bookshelf full of science books that were probably too advanced for him but which he read anyway—and settled into the Parker household routine as if he'd always belonged there.

Which, in many ways, he had.

"Alright, Red Skull!" Harry announced, brandishing his pot lid shield with the kind of theatrical flair that suggested he'd been studying action movies. "Your reign of cookie terror ends today! Surrender now, or face the full might of this shield!"

"NEVER!" Peter declared, assuming what he probably thought was a menacing stance but which mostly made him look like he was trying to balance on a tightrope. "My evil plan is already in motion! Soon, all the cookies in New York will taste like... like... brussels sprouts!"

"Brussels sprouts?!" MJ gasped with genuine horror. "Peter, that's the most evil thing I've ever heard! You can't make cookies taste like vegetables! That's against the laws of nature!"

"And deliciousness," Harry added with deep concern. "What about chocolate chip cookies? And snickerdoodles? And those amazing double-chocolate ones Aunt May makes?"

"Especially those ones!" Peter cackled, getting into character. "Those will taste the most like brussels sprouts of all!"

"Your evil plan ends here!" Harry declared, charging forward with his shield raised. "I'll never let you destroy the sacred trust between children and cookies!"

"That's actually a really good superhero speech," MJ commented approvingly. "Very inspiring. I feel motivated to escape and help."

What followed was an elaborate battle sequence that involved considerably more creativity than actual combat skills. Harry used his shield with surprising effectiveness, bouncing it off couch cushions and catching it with the kind of precision that made Ben wonder if the boy had been practicing. Peter countered with dramatic cape flourishes and what he described as "evil energy blasts" accompanied by sound effects that were probably disturbing the neighbors.

The battle raged across the living room, with both boys putting considerable effort into their performance. Harry launched himself off the couch with increasingly acrobatic moves that made Ben grateful May wasn't watching, while Peter provided running commentary on his own villainous tactics.

"You cannot defeat me, Captain America!" Peter announced, standing on the coffee table with his arms spread wide and his seahorse cape billowing dramatically. "I have the power of advanced evil science and really good balance!"

"And I have the power of justice!" Harry replied, scrambling up onto the opposite end of the couch. "And friendship! And the unshakeable belief that cookies should always taste good!"

He threw his pot lid shield with surprising accuracy, the metal disc spinning through the air with perfect form. Peter, caught up in the drama of the moment, dodged with such theatrical enthusiasm that he lost his footing on the coffee table.

For a moment, it looked like he was going to fall backwards onto the hardwood floor in a way that would definitely require ice packs and possibly a trip to the emergency room.

Instead, something strange happened.

Peter seemed to hang in the air for just a moment longer than gravity should have allowed, his body adjusting mid-fall with impossible grace. He didn't just land—he touched down in a perfect crouch that would have impressed an Olympic gymnast, his feet making barely any sound on the floor.

"Whoa," MJ breathed from her chair prison, her green eyes wide with amazement. "Peter, how did you DO that?"

Peter looked around with the confused expression of someone who wasn't entirely sure what had just happened. "I... I don't know. I just... really didn't want to fall on my butt in front of everyone?"

"That was AMAZING!" Harry said with unabashed admiration, jumping down from the couch. "You looked like a real superhero! Like you could actually fly or something!"

"I can't fly," Peter said automatically, but there was uncertainty in his voice as he stared at his hands. "Nobody can fly. That's not... people don't just..."

Ben, who had been watching from the kitchen doorway with growing concern, felt a familiar chill of recognition. The same chill he'd felt when Harry made things happen that shouldn't be possible. When objects moved in ways that defied explanation, when problems solved themselves just a little too conveniently.

But this was different. This wasn't Harry's accidental magic—this was something else entirely.

"Peter," Ben said gently, moving into the room with careful casualness, "are you okay? That was quite a fall you almost took there."

"I'm fine," Peter said, though he was still staring at his hands like they might hold some kind of answer. "I guess I'm just getting better at... at landing? Maybe all those gymnastics classes Mom signed me up for are finally paying off."

"You take gymnastics?" MJ asked with interest. "That explains so much. I always wondered how you could climb trees so well."

"And how you never get hurt when we're playing tag," Harry added. "You're like... impossible to catch, but in a good way."

May appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and leaving a faint dusting of flour on the fabric. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she had the kind of warm, slightly chaotic energy that made children feel immediately comfortable around her.

"What's all the excitement about?" she asked, looking around at the elaborate fort construction with obvious affection. "I could hear superhero sound effects from the kitchen. Very impressive ones, I might add."

"Peter did this amazing flip thing when he fell off the coffee table," Harry explained eagerly. "Like, he was falling backwards and then he just... didn't. He turned it into this perfect landing instead."

"Did he now?" May said, her tone carefully neutral as she exchanged a quick glance with Ben. "Well, that's certainly... athletic of him."

"It was like something out of a movie," MJ added. "Peter, you should definitely consider a career in stunt work. Or maybe actual superhero-ing, if that ever becomes a real job."

"MJ, superhero-ing isn't a real job," Peter said with the patient tone of someone explaining something obvious. "It's more like... like a calling. You don't do it for money, you do it because it's the right thing to do."

"That's very noble of you," Ben said, ruffling Peter's hair affectionately. "But maybe we should focus on more realistic career goals for now. Like finishing first grade."

"I'm already reading at a fourth-grade level," Peter pointed out matter-of-factly. "Mrs. Henderson says I might be able to skip second grade if I keep improving at this rate."

"Show-off," MJ said, but she was grinning. "What else are you freakishly good at?"

"I'm not freakishly good at things," Peter protested. "I just... pay attention. And I like learning stuff."

"He's being modest," Harry said loyally. "Peter's good at everything. He helped me build the best sandcastle at the beach last month, and he knows all the constellations, and he can solve those puzzle games that make my brain hurt."

"Those are just logic puzzles," Peter said, clearly embarrassed by the attention. "They're not that hard once you figure out the pattern."

The doorbell rang, interrupting what was clearly building into a mutual admiration session between six-year-olds.

"I'll get it," Ben said, grateful for the distraction. Peter's increasingly frequent moments of impossible coordination were something he and May had been quietly discussing, and he wasn't ready to address it head-on yet. Not when there might be other explanations. Not when Peter was so obviously happy and well-adjusted despite everything.

But when Ben opened the front door, his heart immediately dropped to somewhere around his shoes.

Two men in dark suits stood on his porch, their expressions carrying the kind of careful gravity that Ben recognized with horrible, familiar certainty. One was older, with gray hair and the weathered face of someone who'd delivered difficult news many times before. The other was younger but had the same official bearing, the same terrible professional sympathy in his eyes.

"Mr. Parker?" the older man said gently. "I'm Agent Morrison with the State Department. This is Agent Chen. May we come in? We have some information about your brother Richard and his wife Mary."

Ben's mouth went completely dry, his hands suddenly unsteady on the doorframe. "Are they... is everything alright?"

"Sir, I'm afraid we have some very difficult news to share."

From the living room came the sound of renewed superhero battle, Harry's voice calling out with innocent joy: "Red Skull! You can't escape justice forever! Captain America always finds a way to win!"

Ben's legs felt suddenly unsteady, the cheerful sounds of children playing seeming to come from very far away.

"Please," he said quietly, stepping aside to let the agents in. "Please come in."

As the agents entered, Ben caught a glimpse of the living room where Peter was helping Harry rebuild their fort, both boys completely absorbed in their architectural project. MJ was providing commentary from her position as liberated scientist, and all three children were laughing with the kind of pure, uncomplicated joy that made the world seem safe and manageable.

In about thirty seconds, Ben was going to have to destroy Peter's world completely.

"Boys," Ben called out, his voice carefully controlled despite the way his heart was hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. "Could you come here for a minute?"

"But Uncle Ben," Peter called back, not looking up from the couch cushion he was carefully positioning, "we're right in the middle of the most important part! Harry's about to reveal Captain America's secret strategy for defeating the Red Skull's brussels sprouts cookies!"

"Boys, please. Right now."

Something in Ben's tone cut through the game atmosphere immediately. Peter's head snapped up, his brown eyes instantly alert with the kind of intuitive understanding that had always made him seem older than his years. There was something about the quality of Ben's voice that triggered every instinct Peter had developed for recognizing when adults were trying to prepare children for bad news.

"Uncle Ben?" Peter said quietly, standing up slowly and unconsciously moving closer to Harry. "Is everything okay?"

Harry, picking up on the sudden tension with the sensitivity that often surprised adults who underestimated his emotional intelligence, abandoned his shield and moved closer to Peter with instinctive loyalty.

"MJ, sweetheart," Ben said gently, "could you go find Aunt May? I think she's in the kitchen finishing up that cake she was working on."

"But we're in the middle of our game," MJ protested, then stopped as she took in Ben's expression and the two strange men standing in the hallway with their serious faces and official-looking briefcases. Her voice got smaller, more uncertain. "Is something wrong?"

"Just go find Aunt May, okay? Tell her we have... visitors."

MJ nodded solemnly and slipped past the agents, her red curls catching the afternoon light as she headed toward the kitchen. Ben watched her go, grateful that at least one of the children would be spared the immediate impact of what was about to happen.

Peter was studying the agents with the analytical intensity he brought to everything that puzzled him, his young mind clearly trying to process the significance of official-looking strangers appearing at their door with expressions that suggested the world was about to change in ways that couldn't be undone.

"Uncle Ben," Peter said quietly, and his voice was steady but very small, "those men look like they have the kind of important news that changes everything. Like... like the kind of news that means things are never going to be the same again."

Ben's heart clenched at the devastating accuracy of Peter's assessment. The boy had always been too perceptive for his own good, too quick to understand the implications of adult behavior and facial expressions.

Ben knelt down to Peter's eye level, his hands gentle but solid on the boy's shoulders. Harry moved closer, instinctively understanding that something monumentally significant was happening even if he couldn't grasp what it might be.

"Peter, these men are from the government. They came to talk to us about your mom and dad."

Peter's face went very still, his brown eyes searching Ben's face with desperate intensity. "They're supposed to come home tomorrow. They said they'd be back tomorrow for Sunday dinner. Mom promised to bring me a souvenir from London, and Dad said he'd help me with my science project on Monday."

"I know, buddy. I know that's what we all expected."

Agent Morrison stepped forward slightly, his voice infinitely gentle in the way that professionals learn when they have to deliver the worst possible news to people who don't deserve to hear it.

"Peter, my name is Agent Morrison. I work with the State Department, and I help families when there are problems with people traveling overseas."

"What kind of problems?" Peter asked, though his voice suggested he was already beginning to understand that any problems serious enough to bring government agents to their door on a Saturday afternoon were not the kind that had easy solutions or happy endings.

Ben's hands tightened slightly on Peter's shoulders, anchoring them both for what was coming.

"Peter," Agent Morrison said carefully, choosing each word with obvious consideration, "yesterday evening, the airplane your parents were traveling on encountered severe weather over the Atlantic Ocean. Despite the best efforts of air traffic control and emergency rescue services, the plane was lost."

The words hung in the air like physical objects, too large and terrible to be real, too impossible to actually mean what they seemed to mean.

Peter stared at the agent for a long moment, his six-year-old mind clearly struggling to process information that was fundamentally incomprehensible.

"Lost?" Peter repeated finally, his voice very small and uncertain. "What do you mean lost? Like... like when Harry lost his favorite toy truck in Central Park and we spent three hours looking for it?"

Harry, who had been listening with the focused intensity of someone trying to understand adult conversation that was just beyond his comprehension, suddenly grasped enough to be frightened.

"Dad," Harry whispered, tugging on Ben's shirt with increasing urgency. "What does 'lost' mean when it's about Peter's mommy and daddy? That's not the same kind of lost as toy trucks, is it?"

Ben closed his eyes for just a moment, gathering strength he wasn't sure he had.

"No, Harry," he said very gently. "Not that kind of lost."

Peter was still staring at Agent Morrison, his young face cycling through confusion, disbelief, and the beginning of a terrible, adult understanding that was far too big for someone his age to carry.

"You mean..." Peter's voice was barely a whisper. "You mean they're not coming home tomorrow? They're not coming home for Sunday dinner?"

"No, son. They're not coming home tomorrow."

"You mean they're not coming home ever?"

The direct, devastating clarity of a six-year-old's question hit the room like a physical force. Agent Morrison's professional composure wavered slightly at the stark honesty of it.

"No, Peter. I'm very sorry, but they're not coming home ever."

For a moment, the house was absolutely silent except for the sound of Peter's breathing, which was becoming increasingly rapid and shallow as his mind tried to process the impossible.

Then Peter said, in a voice so quiet Ben had to strain to hear it: "But they promised. They promised they'd be back for Sunday dinner, and Mom always keeps her promises. Always. She never breaks promises, not even little ones about ice cream or staying up late. She never breaks promises."

"I know, buddy," Ben said, his own voice breaking around the edges. "I know they promised."

Harry, sensing the magnitude of what was happening even if he didn't fully understand the details, moved closer to Peter until he was pressed against his cousin's side, his small hand finding Peter's and holding on tight.

"Peter?" Harry said uncertainly, his green eyes wide with confusion and growing fear. "Are you okay? You look... you look really scared and really sad at the same time."

Peter looked down at Harry with eyes that suddenly seemed much older than six years old, eyes that held a kind of knowledge that children shouldn't have to carry.

"Harry," Peter said with careful control, his voice steady despite the tears that were starting to gather, "my mom and dad... they were in an airplane, and something really bad happened, and now they can't come home anymore. Not tomorrow, not next week, not ever."

Harry's eyes widened as he processed this information with the slow, careful consideration he gave to concepts that were too large for his understanding.

"Ever?" Harry asked in a whisper.

"Ever."

Harry was quiet for a moment, his three-year-old mind working through implications that were far too enormous and painful for anyone his age to fully grasp. Then he wrapped his arms around Peter's waist in the fierce, wordless hug of someone offering the only comfort he knew how to give.

"I'm sorry, Peter," Harry said into Peter's shirt, his voice muffled but absolutely sincere. "I'm really, really sorry. That's the saddest thing that ever happened."

And that was when Peter finally broke.

The tears came all at once—not the dramatic sobbing of a child having a tantrum, but the deep, wrenching grief of someone whose world had just fundamentally changed in ways he was only beginning to understand. His shoulders shook with the force of emotions too large for his small body to contain, and he made the kind of quiet, broken sounds that seemed to come from somewhere much deeper than his throat.

Ben immediately gathered both boys into his arms, holding them tight against his chest while Peter cried with raw, devastating pain that made Ben's own eyes burn with unshed tears.

"I've got you," Ben whispered into Peter's hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I've got both of you. You're going to be okay. We're all going to be okay."

It was a promise he wasn't sure he could keep, but it was the only thing he could think of to say in the face of such absolute devastation.

From the kitchen, they could hear May's voice calling out with cheerful obliviousness: "MJ, sweetheart, what did you need to tell me? Did the boys finally manage to destroy the living room completely?" Then, closer and with growing concern: "Ben? Is everything alright?"

A moment later, May appeared in the living room doorway with MJ at her side, took one look at the scene—the agents with their careful expressions, Ben kneeling on the floor with both boys in his arms, Peter's shaking shoulders—and understood immediately.

"Oh no," May breathed, her hand flying to cover her mouth. "Oh, Ben. No. Please tell me this isn't..."

"Richard and Mary?" May asked, though her eyes already held the answer.

Ben nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat that felt like it might choke him.

"Plane crash," he managed. "Yesterday evening."

May's legs seemed to give out slightly, and she sank onto the couch, pulling MJ with her. Tears were already streaming down her face, but she was trying to hold herself together for the children's sake.

"Peter," she whispered, looking at the little boy who was still crying against Ben's shoulder. "Oh, sweetheart. Oh, my brave, wonderful boy."

Agent Morrison cleared his throat gently, his voice respectfully quiet. "I know this is an incredibly difficult time, and I'm sorry to have to address practical matters right now, but there are some legal issues we need to discuss. Arrangements, guardianship, the boy's custody and living situation..."

"We're his guardians," Ben said immediately, his voice fierce with protective authority that brooked no argument. "Richard and Mary named us as Peter's legal guardians in their will. We have all the paperwork, all the legal documentation. He stays with us."

"Of course," Agent Morrison said gently. "We just need to make sure all the legal requirements are properly handled, that everything is in order. The boy's welfare is our primary concern."

Peter lifted his head from Ben's shoulder, his face streaked with tears but his voice surprisingly steady given everything that had just happened.

"Uncle Ben?" Peter said quietly. "Does this mean I get to stay with you and Aunt May and Harry? Like, stay-stay? Not just for visits and vacations?"

Ben's heart clenched at the hope and fear warring in Peter's voice—hope that he wouldn't be alone, fear that even this small comfort might be taken away from him.

"Yes, Peter," Ben said firmly, meeting the boy's eyes with absolute certainty. "You get to stay with us. Forever and always. You're our boy now. You've always been our boy, but now it's official."

"Really? Even though I'm not actually your son?"

"Peter Parker," May said firmly, moving from the couch to kneel beside Ben and wrap both boys in her embrace, "you listen to me very carefully. You ARE our son. You're our son in every way that matters, and you always have been."

Peter nodded solemnly, processing this information with the serious consideration he gave to all important life decisions.

"What about my stuff? My toys and my books and my clothes and my pictures of Mom and Dad?"

"Everything that was your parents' belongs to you now," Agent Chen spoke up gently. "And everything that's yours will come here, to your home."

"But this already is my home," Peter said with simple, devastating honesty, looking around the living room with its elaborate fort construction and scattered superhero accessories. "This is where I belong. This is where my family is."

Harry, who had been unusually quiet during this exchange, suddenly spoke up with the kind of profound observation that sometimes came from very young children.

"Peter," he said seriously, "you know what this means?"

Peter looked at his younger cousin with curious, red-rimmed eyes. "What?"

"It means we're not just cousins anymore. We're like... like brothers. Real brothers who live in the same house and eat breakfast together every day and share all our toys and fight over who gets the bathroom first in the morning."

Peter considered this for a moment, then a small, genuine smile appeared through his tears.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I guess we are brothers now."

"And I've always wanted a big brother," Harry said with deep satisfaction, as if this had been a long-standing wish that was finally being fulfilled under tragic circumstances. "Especially a big brother who knows how to do really good Captain America impressions and can help me reach the cookies on the high shelf and teach me about science stuff."

Despite everything, Peter laughed—a small, watery sound, but genuine and sweet.

"I can definitely help you with all of those things," Peter promised solemnly.

MJ, who had been watching this entire exchange with the wide-eyed gravity of someone witnessing something she understood was monumentally important, suddenly spoke up from her position on the couch.

"Peter," she said quietly, her green eyes serious and kind, "I'm really sorry about your mommy and daddy. That's probably the saddest thing I've ever heard, and it makes my heart hurt just thinking about how sad you must feel."

Peter looked at her over May's shoulder, his eyes still red from crying but no longer actively leaking tears.

"Thanks, MJ," he said simply. "I'm really, really sad about it. Probably the saddest I've ever been in my whole life."

"But you know what?" MJ continued with the earnest intensity that made her such a good friend. "You still have Uncle Ben and Aunt May and Harry. And you still have me. And we all think you're absolutely wonderful, and we're going to take really good care of you and make sure you always know how loved you are."

"That's right," Harry chimed in, nodding with sage three-year-old wisdom. "And brothers don't let each other be sad alone. So whenever you're sad about your mom and dad, I'll be sad with you, and that way it won't be so scary."

Peter smiled again, stronger this time, and hugged Harry tightly.

"Thanks, guys," he said, his voice still thick but steadier. "I think... I think I'm going to be okay. It's going to be really hard for a really long time, and I'm going to miss Mom and Dad every single day forever. But I think maybe I can learn to be okay again. Eventually."

After the agents left with promises to handle all the necessary paperwork and arrangements, the house felt strangely quiet despite being full of people who loved each other. The elaborate superhero fort seemed suddenly trivial in the face of such enormous real-world tragedy, though none of them had the heart to dismantle it yet.

"What do we do now?" Peter asked, looking around at his family with the practical question of someone trying to navigate an entirely new reality.

"Now," Ben said gently, "we take things one day at a time. We eat dinner together, and we tell stories, and we read bedtime books, and we wake up tomorrow and figure out what tomorrow needs from us."

"And we make sure you always remember how much your mom and dad loved you," May added softly. "We'll tell you stories about them, and look at pictures, and make sure you never forget how proud they were of their brilliant, kind, amazing son."

"And we keep playing games," Harry said with practical three-year-old wisdom, "because games make sad feelings a little bit smaller and more manageable."

Peter looked at the ruins of their Captain America game, then at Harry, then at the pot lid shield lying forgotten on the floor.

"You know what?" he said thoughtfully. "I think Captain America would understand about this. About having to keep going when something really terrible happens. That's kind of what superheroes do, right? They find ways to keep protecting people and helping people even when their own hearts are broken."

"That's exactly what superheroes do," Ben agreed, his voice warm with pride and love. "They find strength they didn't know they had, and they take care of the people they love, and they never give up hope that things can get better."

"Then I guess that's what I'll do too," Peter said with quiet determination that was remarkable in someone so young. "I'll be like Captain America. I'll keep going, and I'll take care of Harry and MJ and you and Aunt May, and I'll try to make Mom and Dad proud of the person I grow up to be."

"And we'll take care of you right back," Harry said firmly, picking up his pot lid shield and offering it to Peter. "Partners?"

Peter took the shield, hefting its familiar weight, and managed a genuine smile that reached his eyes for the first time since the agents had arrived.

"Partners," he agreed. "Always and forever."

Outside, the October sun was beginning to set over Queens, painting the Parker house in warm golden light that made everything inside seem safe and protected and precious. It wasn't the same house it had been that morning—it was now home to different joys and different sorrows, different hopes and different fears.

But it was still a home filled with love, where a six-year-old boy who had lost everything could begin to discover that sometimes, when the worst possible thing happened, it could also reveal just how much love there was in the world waiting to catch you when you fell.

Chapter Text

Three Months Later - A Cold February Evening

The Parker household had settled into new rhythms over the winter months, the kind of comfortable domestic patterns that made it easy to forget how dramatically their family had expanded. Peter's science books now occupied an entire shelf in the living room, his clothes hung next to Harry's in the closet they now shared, and his distinctive laugh had become as much a part of the house's evening soundtrack as Harry's enthusiastic storytelling and Ben's off-key humming while he cooked dinner.

What had become impossible to ignore, however, were the increasingly frequent incidents that defied rational explanation.

It had started small—Peter's uncanny ability to catch things that should have fallen, his tendency to land on his feet no matter how awkward the tumble. But the breaking point had come three days ago, during what should have been a perfectly ordinary Tuesday afternoon.

Harry had been constructing what he called his "super tower"—a precarious arrangement of blocks that defied several laws of physics. Peter had been at the kitchen table working on homework while MJ sprawled on the floor reading. When the tower inevitably began to collapse, Peter had reached out one hand without even standing up.

The tower had stopped mid-fall. Completely. Every block frozen in perfect suspended animation six inches from the floor.

"Huh," MJ had said, looking up from her book. "That was weird."

"Weird but helpful," Harry had agreed. "Thank you, Peter."

Peter had stared at his hand like it belonged to someone else. "I don't think I... How did I do that?"

And that was when May had made the phone call.

---

Now, three days later, Ben paced the living room while May sat at the kitchen table, staring out at the February evening. The knock came at exactly eight o'clock—precise and punctual.

"I'll get it," Ben said, his voice carrying tension that hadn't been there since Harry's early days.

Ben opened the door to reveal Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, looking slightly travel-worn but exactly as they had nearly three years ago.

"Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall," May said, stepping aside. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Mrs. Parker, Mr. Parker," Dumbledore replied, his voice carrying that familiar gravitas that somehow made even the most extraordinary circumstances seem manageable. He removed his traveling cloak with careful deliberation. "Your message suggested some urgency regarding young Harry's development."

"Harry's fine," Ben said quickly. "Thriving, actually. But we have some concerns that go beyond just Harry."

McGonagall's sharp eyes immediately catalogued the domestic details—family photos, children's artwork on the refrigerator, the comfortable chaos that spoke of a house where children were genuinely loved.

"What kind of developments?" she asked, settling into the offered chair with professional alertness.

May exchanged a look with Ben, then took a steadying breath. "Before we get into the current situation, there's something we need to address. Something we probably should have done before now." She paused, gathering courage. "Harry doesn't know. About his parents, about what happened, about what he is. As far as Harry knows, Ben and I are his biological parents."

Dumbledore's expression grew very still, his blue eyes sharpening with sudden focus. "He believes you to be his birth parents?"

"He was so young when he came to us," Ben explained, his voice slightly defensive. "Not even two years old. He adapted so well, so quickly. We told ourselves we'd explain when he was older, but then Peter came to live with us, and MJ became practically family, and Harry was so happy..."

"We kept putting it off," May admitted quietly. "Every time we tried to bring it up, he was doing so well. We didn't want to burden him."

"And now?" McGonagall asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

"Now we're wondering if waiting was a mistake," Ben said heavily. "Because things are happening that we can't explain, and not just with Harry."

He told them about Peter's increasingly frequent displays of impossible abilities. The perfect catches, the impossible landings, the incident with the falling blocks.

"Peter Parker," Dumbledore repeated thoughtfully. "The nephew you've been caring for since his parents died."

"That's right. And before you ask—no magical heritage that we know of. Richard and Mary were both scientists, completely normal."

"Should be and is are often quite different things when it comes to magical manifestation," McGonagall said dryly.

"So you think Peter might be...?" May let the question hang in the air.

"I think," Dumbledore said gently, "that we should speak with the children. All of them. There are questions that need answering, and some truths that can no longer be postponed."

"All of them?" Ben asked. "MJ too?"

"Mr. Parker," McGonagall interrupted with the certainty that came from decades of experience, "when magical children cluster together as naturally as these three seem to have done, it's rarely coincidence."

The implication hit both parents like a physical force.

"You think MJ might be magical too?" May whispered.

"I think we should gather all three children and see what we can learn," Dumbledore said with infinite patience. "But first, we need to address Harry's situation. He needs to understand who he really is."

---

Twenty minutes later, all three children sat on the living room couch with alert attention. Peter, now six and a half, sat in the middle with his characteristic combination of curiosity and caution. Harry, almost four, was curled against Peter's side with instinctive trust. MJ, also six, sat cross-legged at the end of the couch, her green eyes bright with interest.

"Boys," Ben began, settling into the chair across from them while May perched on the arm beside him, "and MJ, we need to talk about some important things."

Harry looked up immediately. "Are we in trouble? Because if this is about Peter teaching me to climb the really high part of the oak tree, I want you to know that I asked him to do it and he said no like five times before I finally convinced him."

"We're not in trouble," Peter said quickly, though uncertainty colored his voice. "But this feels like the kind of conversation adults have when they need to explain something really big and complicated."

"Very perceptive, Peter," Dumbledore said gently, leaning forward. "This is indeed about something quite large and complicated, though I hope not too frightening."

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said with careful politeness, "are you here because of the thing with Peter and the blocks? Because that was pretty weird, but I don't think Peter did it on purpose. And anyway, it was helpful, so maybe weird isn't always bad."

Peter flushed, his hands fidgeting. "I still don't understand how that happened. I just... I wanted the blocks not to make a mess, and then they didn't."

"That's exactly what we're here to discuss," McGonagall said, her voice warmer than usual. "But first, Harry, there are things about your own family that you need to understand."

Harry tilted his head with interest, clearly expecting some previously unknown detail about Ben and May.

"What about my family?"

Ben and May exchanged one final look, and May nodded slightly.

"Harry," Ben said gently, "do you remember asking why you had different colored eyes than Mom and me? Different hair color?"

"Yeah, but lots of kids don't look exactly like their parents," Harry said matter-of-factly. "MJ has red hair and her mom has brown hair. Peter has brown eyes and his dad had blue eyes. Genetics is complicated."

"That's true," May said softly. "But Harry, the reason you don't look like us is because we're not your biological parents."

Harry stared at her, his four-year-old mind working to process this information.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice smaller than usual.

"We mean you were born to different parents," Ben said gently. "A mother and father who loved you very much, but who died when you were very young. And because they loved you so much, they made sure you would come to live with people who would love and take care of you."

"So you chose me?" Harry asked, and there was something hopeful in his voice that made May's eyes fill with tears.

"We absolutely chose you," May said firmly. "The moment we met you, we knew you belonged with us. But Harry, your first parents—your biological parents—were very special people. Their names were Lily and James Potter."

"Potter?" Harry repeated, testing the unfamiliar name. "So my real name is Harry Potter?"

"Your real name is whatever you want it to be," Ben said quickly. "You're Harry Parker because that's who you are, that's the family you belong to. But you were born Harry Potter, and that's part of who you are too."

Peter, who had been listening with growing amazement, suddenly spoke up. "Wait, Uncle Ben. When you say Harry's parents died... how did they die?"

Dumbledore leaned forward, his voice taking on the gentle tone he used for difficult concepts. "Peter, Harry's parents died protecting him from a very dangerous man. A wizard who wanted to hurt people who disagreed with him. They sacrificed their lives to keep Harry safe."

"A wizard?" MJ interrupted, her scientific mind immediately focusing on the most improbable element. "Like, an actual wizard? With magic and spells and stuff?"

"Like an actual wizard," McGonagall confirmed. "Because Lily and James Potter were magical people. Wizards. And Harry—" She looked directly at the four-year-old. "Harry, you're a wizard too."

Absolute silence fell over the living room as three children processed this information.

MJ was the first to speak, her voice filled with scientific skepticism and obvious fascination. "Magic is real? Like, actually real? Not just stories and movies?"

"Magic is quite real," Dumbledore said with a slight smile. "Would you like me to demonstrate?"

"YES!" all three children said simultaneously.

With a gentle flick of his wand, Dumbledore caused the living room lights to dim and brighten in a pattern that spelled out "HELLO CHILDREN" in soft, glowing letters that hung in the air before fading.

Harry stared at the display with wide eyes, then looked down at his hands with sudden understanding. "Is that why weird things happen around me sometimes? Like when I got really upset about my goldfish dying and all the plants in the house suddenly bloomed? Or when I was really angry at Tommy Chen for being mean to Peter and his bike chain kept falling off?"

Ben and May exchanged startled looks. They hadn't connected those incidents to Harry specifically.

"Yes, Harry," McGonagall said gently. "Those were examples of accidental magic. All young wizards experience it when their emotions are particularly strong."

"Cool," Harry said with typical four-year-old adaptability. "So I'm magic. That explains a lot, actually."

Peter, meanwhile, was staring at his own hands with growing recognition. "Professor McGonagall, when you say all young wizards do accidental magic... does that mean...?"

"Yes, Peter," she said kindly. "The abilities you've been demonstrating—the enhanced reflexes, the ability to influence objects without touching them—those are magical in nature. You're a wizard too."

Peter blinked several times, his analytical mind clearly running through recent incidents and finding new explanations. "But that's impossible. My parents weren't magical. They were scientists. They studied genetics and completely normal, non-magical things."

"Magic doesn't always follow bloodlines predictably," Dumbledore explained patiently. "Sometimes it appears in families with no magical history, sometimes it manifests in response to trauma or great need."

"Like after my parents died?" Peter asked quietly.

"Quite possibly. Extreme emotional stress can sometimes activate latent magical abilities."

MJ, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly raised her hand as if in school. "Professor McGonagall, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, dear."

"Lately I've been having really weird dreams. Dreams where I know things before they happen, or where I see things that haven't happened yet but then they do. And sometimes, when I'm really concentrating on something I'm reading, I can understand languages I don't actually know. Is that... could that be...?"

McGonagall's eyebrows rose with obvious interest. "That could very well be early manifestations of magical ability, yes. Prescient dreams and intuitive understanding of languages are both documented magical gifts."

"So all three of us are magic?" Harry asked, looking around at his friends with obvious delight. "That's the best thing ever! We're like... like a magical superhero team!"

"We're like the X-Men," Peter said with growing excitement, his scientific fascination overtaking initial shock. "Except with magic instead of mutations. This is the coolest thing that's ever happened to me."

"Does this mean we get to go to magic school?" MJ asked hopefully. "Because regular school is fine and everything, but magic school sounds way more interesting."

"When you turn eleven," Dumbledore said with a smile, "you'll receive letters inviting you to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The same school your parents attended, Harry."

"Wait," Peter said, his mathematical mind immediately calculating. "MJ and I are six, and Harry's four. That means MJ and I would go to magic school two years before Harry does."

A moment of silence fell as all three children processed this implication.

"NO," Harry said firmly, crossing his arms with determined authority. "Absolutely not. We stick together. That's the rule. We don't do anything important without each other."

"Harry, that's not how it works," MJ said gently, though she looked troubled by the prospect. "Schools have age requirements. You can't just decide to skip ahead because you want to."

"Why not?" Harry demanded, his green eyes flashing with stubborn determination. "If I'm magic, why can't I use magic to be older? Or why can't Peter and MJ use magic to be younger? There has to be a way to fix this."

"Harry," Peter said patiently, "magic doesn't work like that. You can't just change how old you are."

"How do you know?" Harry challenged. "You just found out about magic five minutes ago. Maybe age-changing is totally normal in the magic world."

"Actually," Dumbledore interjected with gentle amusement, "there are ways to manipulate time, but they're extraordinarily dangerous and heavily regulated by the Ministry of Magic. And age cannot be permanently altered by magical means."

Harry's face fell with genuine disappointment. "So Peter and MJ have to go to magic school without me?"

"For two years, yes," McGonagall said kindly. "But they would return for holidays, and you would join them when you turn eleven."

"That's not the same," Harry said, his voice getting smaller. "Two years is forever when you're four. I'll be completely different by the time I'm six, and they'll be different too, and we won't fit together the same way anymore."

The adult insight of this statement from such a young child left the room momentarily speechless.

"Harry," MJ said seriously, scooting closer to him on the couch, "listen to me very carefully. Peter and I aren't going anywhere without you that we don't absolutely have to. And even when we have to, we're still going to be best friends. We're still going to be family. Some things don't change just because you get older."

"Promise?" Harry asked, his voice very small.

"Promise," Peter said firmly. "Besides, think about it this way—MJ and I can go to magic school first and figure out all the best parts, and all the things to avoid, and by the time you get there, we'll be like your personal tour guides."

"And we'll write you letters every single day," MJ added. "With pictures and everything. You'll probably know more about Hogwarts than most kids who actually go there."

Harry considered this, his four-year-old mind working through the implications. "Every day? Even when nothing interesting happens?"

"Especially when nothing interesting happens," Peter grinned. "I'll write you letters about what I had for breakfast and whether the stairs moved in any particularly exciting ways."

"Stairs that move?" Harry perked up with immediate interest. "The magic school has moving stairs?"

"Apparently," MJ said, looking at McGonagall for confirmation.

"Among other architectural features that would be considered... unusual... in the non-magical world," McGonagall confirmed with the ghost of a smile.

"Okay," Harry said decisively. "I can wait two years for moving stairs. But only if you promise to tell me about every single magic thing you learn, and you have to teach me whatever you can when you come home for holidays."

"Deal," Peter said immediately.

"Absolutely deal," MJ agreed.

Ben, who had been watching this negotiation with mixture of wonder and concern, finally spoke up. "Professors, this is all fascinating, but I have to ask—is it safe? Having three magical children living so close together, going to the same school? Especially given Harry's... history."

"Actually," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "I believe it may be the safest possible situation. The three of them seem to have formed a natural protective bond, and their combined magical potential creates a kind of... reinforcing stability."

"Like a magical support system," May said, understanding immediately.

"Precisely. And given Harry's unique circumstances, having friends who understand and share his magical nature could prove invaluable."

Harry, who had been listening to this adult conversation with focused attention, suddenly asked the question that had been building throughout the evening.

"Uncle Ben, Aunt May," he said seriously, looking between his parents with earnest green eyes, "does finding out about my birth parents and the magic stuff change anything about us being family? Because you're still my mom and dad, right? Even if I wasn't born to you?"

The simple honesty of the question hit both Ben and May like a physical force.

"Harry James Parker," May said firmly, using his full name in the way that meant she was about to say something very important, "you are our son in every way that matters. You always have been, and you always will be. Learning about Lily and James Potter doesn't change that—it just means you have more people who loved you, not fewer people who love you now."

"Exactly," Ben added, his voice thick with emotion. "You're our boy, Harry. That's never going to change."

Harry nodded solemnly, then brightened with typical resilience. "Good. Because I like being a Parker. And I like having Peter as my brother and MJ as my... what are you exactly, MJ? You're not my sister, but you're more than just a friend."

"I'm your chosen family," MJ said seriously. "That's what my mom calls it when people aren't related by blood but they love each other like family anyway."

"I like that," Harry said with satisfaction. "Chosen family. And now we're all magical, which makes us even more of a team than we were before."

"The most magical team in Queens," Peter agreed with a grin.

"The most magical team anywhere," MJ corrected. "We're going to be amazing at magic school. Well, Peter and I are going to be amazing first, and then Harry's going to be amazing when he catches up."

"I'm going to be the most amazing," Harry declared with four-year-old confidence. "Because I'll have two extra years to think about how to be amazing while you guys are learning the basics."

Dumbledore smiled, watching the easy camaraderie between the three children with obvious satisfaction. "Indeed. I have the distinct impression that Hogwarts won't know what hit it when you three arrive."

As the evening wound down and arrangements were made for future meetings, the Parker house felt both exactly the same and completely different. The same family routines continued, the same bedtime stories were told, but now there was magic woven through it all.

Later, after Dumbledore and McGonagall had departed, Ben found May in the kitchen washing tea cups.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked gently, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I'm thinking," May said slowly, "that we've just learned our children are going to attend a magical boarding school in Scotland, fight dark wizards, and probably have adventures that will turn my hair gray by the time they're fifteen."

Ben chuckled softly. "Probably."

"And I'm thinking that somehow, despite how impossible and terrifying that sounds, I'm not actually worried about it."

"No?"

"No. Because they have each other. Harry and Peter and MJ—they're a team. They take care of each other, they bring out the best in each other, and they face everything together." She leaned back against his chest. "I think they're going to be just fine."

From upstairs came the sound of whispered conversation as three children who had just learned they were magical settled into sleep, making plans and sharing dreams and promises to always stick together.

And in the kitchen of a house in Queens, two parents who had started the day with perfectly ordinary children went to bed as guardians of three young wizards who would someday change the world—though none of them knew that yet.

For now, it was enough to know that they were family, they were magical, and they were home.

—

Later That Night - The Boys' Shared Bedroom

The bedroom that had once been just Peter's was now a comfortable study in organized chaos. Two beds flanked the window, with Peter's neat scientific posters sharing wall space with Harry's more eclectic collection of drawings, photos, and what appeared to be a hand-drawn map of their neighborhood with detailed notations about the best climbing trees. MJ had claimed the reading nook in the corner as her own during the frequent sleepovers that had become routine, and her current book lay open on the cushions.

All three children lay in the darkness, supposedly settling down for sleep, but the whispered conversation that had been going on for the past hour showed no signs of winding down.

"Okay, but seriously," MJ whispered from her makeshift bed on the air mattress between the two beds, "are we just going to pretend this is normal? Like, 'Oh hey, turns out we're all magical, pass the juice box'?"

"What else are we supposed to do?" Peter whispered back, his voice carrying that practical tone that had developed since his parents died. "Freak out? Panic? Decide we don't want to be magical?"

"I don't think you get to decide not to be magical," Harry said thoughtfully from his bed near the window, where he could see the stars. "I think it's like... like having brown eyes or being tall. It's just what you are."

"But this is so much bigger than eye color," MJ insisted, rolling over to face both boys in the dim light filtering through the curtains. "This changes everything. We're not just regular kids from Queens anymore. We're wizards. Like, actual wizards who are going to learn spells and fly on broomsticks and probably fight dragons."

"Do you think there are actually dragons?" Peter asked with immediate scientific interest, his fear temporarily overridden by curiosity.

"Professor McGonagall mentioned something about dragon pox when she was here before," Harry said helpfully. "So probably yes."

"Dragon pox," Peter repeated wonderingly. "That suggests dragons are common enough to have diseases named after them. Which means they're probably documented, studied, maybe even domesticated for certain purposes..."

"Peter," MJ interrupted gently, "you're doing the thing where you get excited about the research possibilities and forget to be amazed by the actual magic."

"Sorry. It's just... this explains so much." Peter's voice grew more animated despite his attempt to whisper. "All those times I knew I was going to fall and then somehow didn't. All those times I caught things that should have been impossible to catch. I thought maybe I was just getting really good at sports, but it was magic the whole time."

"What's it feel like?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity. "The magic stuff when it happens?"

Peter was quiet for a moment, considering. "It's like... you know that feeling when you're about to sneeze, and your whole body gets ready for it? It's sort of like that, but instead of sneezing, something impossible happens. Like the world shifts just a little bit to make room for what I need."

"That's a really good description," MJ said approvingly. "For me, the dreams are like watching a movie that hasn't been made yet. Everything's really clear while it's happening, but when I wake up, it's hard to remember the details until whatever I dreamed actually starts happening."

"And the language thing?" Peter asked.

"That's weird too. It's like... you know how sometimes you hear a song in a language you don't speak, but somehow you understand what it means anyway? It's like that, but with words on a page."

Harry listened to both his friends describe their magical experiences, his four-year-old mind working to process everything. "I think my magic is different," he said slowly.

"Different how?" MJ asked gently.

"Well, Peter's magic helps him do things better—catch better, land better, not get hurt. And MJ's magic helps her know things—what's going to happen, what things mean. But my magic just... happens. Like, I get really mad or really scared or really happy, and then weird stuff occurs around me."

"That makes sense," Peter said thoughtfully. "You're younger, so maybe your magic is less... focused? Like, maybe as you get older, you'll learn to control it better."

"Do you think they'll teach us how to control it at magic school?" Harry asked hopefully.

"That's probably the whole point of magic school," MJ said reasonably. "I mean, you can't just let a bunch of kids run around doing accidental magic forever. Eventually someone would notice."

"People haven't noticed already?" Peter asked.

"Think about it," MJ said with the logical tone she used when she was working through a problem. "How many times have we had weird things happen around us, and the adults just found ways to explain it normally? Like when Harry got upset about his goldfish and all the plants bloomed, Aunt May said it must have been the new fertilizer she'd been using."

"And when I caught that glass that fell off the counter from like six feet away, Uncle Ben said I had really good reflexes," Peter added.

"Adults are really good at not seeing things they don't expect to see," Harry observed with startling insight for someone his age.

"Yeah, but now Uncle Ben and Aunt May know," MJ pointed out. "Everything's different now."

They lay in contemplative silence for a few minutes, each processing the magnitude of this change.

"Are you guys scared?" Harry asked quietly.

"A little," Peter admitted. "Not about the magic part—that's actually kind of amazing. But about going away to school. I've never been away from Uncle Ben and Aunt May for more than a few days."

"And I've never been away from my parents for more than a week," MJ added. "Magic boarding school sounds incredible, but it also sounds really far away from everything familiar."

"At least we'll have each other," Harry said firmly. "Well, Peter and MJ will have each other, and then I'll join them later."

"Harry," Peter said seriously, "you know we're not going to forget about you just because we're at school for a few months at a time, right?"

"I know," Harry said, though his voice was small. "It's just... two years is a really long time when you're four. What if by the time I get to magic school, you guys are all grown up and sophisticated and you don't want to hang out with me anymore?"

"Harry James Parker," MJ said with the firm authority of someone making a solemn vow, "listen to me very carefully. I don't care if Peter and I become the most powerful wizards who ever lived, and I don't care if we learn to turn people into toads or ride dragons or whatever amazing magic stuff there is. We will never, ever be too grown up or too sophisticated to want to hang out with you."

"Promise?" Harry whispered.

"I promise," MJ said firmly. "Peter, tell him."

"Harry, you're my little brother," Peter said with quiet intensity. "Not just my cousin, not just my friend—my actual brother. And brothers stick together forever, no matter what happens. Magic school, growing up, becoming adults, having families of our own someday—through all of it, we stick together."

"Plus," MJ added with a grin that was audible in her voice, "we're going to need you. Peter's going to get so excited about all the academic stuff that someone's going to have to remind him to have fun, and I'm going to want to know everything about everything, so I'll need someone to help me find all the secret passages and hidden rooms."

"You think there are secret passages?" Harry perked up immediately.

"Harry, it's a magical castle that's a thousand years old," Peter said with scientific certainty. "There are definitely secret passages. Probably dozens of them."

"And I bet most of the students never find them because they're too busy with their regular classes and homework," MJ added. "But we'll have an advantage."

"What kind of advantage?"

"We're a team," she said simply. "We think differently from each other, we're good at different things, and we share information. That's how you solve puzzles that other people can't solve."

Harry was quiet for a moment, processing this. "So even though I'll be the youngest and I won't know as much magic as you guys when I first get there, I might still be useful for figuring out castle mysteries?"

"Harry," Peter said gently, "you're always useful. You see things the rest of us miss, you ask questions we don't think to ask, and you're brave in ways that make the rest of us braver too."

"Really?"

"Really. Remember when Tommy Chen was being mean to that new kid at school, and MJ and I were just going to ignore it because we didn't want to get in trouble? You marched right over there and told Tommy that being mean to people smaller than you makes you a bully, and bullies are the worst kind of people."

"And then Tommy stopped being mean," MJ added. "Because even though you're three years younger than him, you weren't afraid of him, and that made Peter and me not afraid of him either."

"I don't like bullies," Harry said matter-of-factly. "They're not fair."

"See? That's exactly what I mean," Peter said warmly. "You have really good instincts about right and wrong, and you're not afraid to do something about it when you see something that's not fair."

"Those are going to be really important qualities for a wizard," MJ agreed. "Especially since we'll probably run into bullies at magic school too."

"Are there wizard bullies?" Harry asked with interest rather than concern.

"There are bullies everywhere," Peter said with the wisdom of someone who had encountered them in regular school. "But I bet wizard bullies are more complicated to deal with."

"How so?"

"Well, think about it. Regular bullies can push you around or steal your lunch money or call you names. Wizard bullies can probably do all that plus magic stuff."

"What kind of magic stuff?"

"I don't know," Peter admitted. "Maybe they can make your books disappear, or turn your hair weird colors, or make you trip over things that aren't there."

"That does sound more complicated," Harry agreed thoughtfully. "But we'll have magic too. So it'll be even."

"Plus, we'll have each other," MJ said firmly. "And I bet there are rules at magic school about using magic to hurt people."

"There better be," Harry said with four-year-old authority. "Otherwise it wouldn't be fair."

Another comfortable silence fell as they each contemplated the future that had suddenly opened up before them.

"Guys," MJ said quietly, "can I tell you something that might sound weird?"

"Weirder than finding out we're all wizards?" Peter asked with gentle humor.

"Fair point. Okay, so... I'm actually kind of relieved."

"Relieved about what?"

"About finding out I'm magical. Because lately I've been having all these dreams and understanding things I shouldn't understand, and I was starting to worry that maybe something was wrong with me. Like, maybe I was getting sick, or maybe my brain was broken."

"Your brain definitely isn't broken," Harry said with absolute certainty. "You have the smartest brain of anyone I know."

"But it was scary, not knowing why weird things were happening. And now I know it's not because I'm sick or broken—it's because I'm magical. That's so much better."

"I know exactly what you mean," Peter said softly. "All those times I did impossible things, I kept trying to convince myself it was just luck, or that I was getting really good at sports. But deep down, I knew something was different about me, and I didn't know if it was good different or bad different."

"And now you know it's good different," Harry said with satisfaction.

"Yeah. Now I know it's definitely good different."

"What about you, Harry?" MJ asked. "How do you feel about finding out you're adopted and magical and the son of famous wizards who died saving you?"

Harry was quiet for so long that Peter and MJ began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. When he finally spoke, his voice was thoughtful and surprisingly mature.

"I feel sad about Lily and James Potter," he said carefully. "I'm sad they died, and I'm sad I never got to know them. But I'm not sad about how my life turned out. Uncle Ben and Aunt May are the best parents I could have asked for, and Peter's the best brother, and you're the best friend who's basically family."

He paused, working through his feelings with four-year-old honesty.

"I guess I feel like... like I got to be loved by more people, not fewer people. Like, Lily and James Potter loved me enough to die protecting me, and Uncle Ben and Aunt May love me enough to make me their real son even though I'm not the baby they lost, and you guys love me enough to be my family even though we're not related at all."

"That's beautiful, Harry," MJ whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"And the magic part is just... exciting. Like finding out I have a special talent I didn't know about. Like if someone told you that you were really good at painting, but you'd never tried painting before, so now you get to find out just how good you are."

"You're going to be amazing at magic," Peter said with complete confidence. "Both of you are."

"All three of us," MJ corrected. "We're going to be amazing together."

"The magical Parker-Watson team," Harry said with sleepy satisfaction.

"Is that what we're calling ourselves?" Peter asked with amusement.

"I like it," MJ said. "It has a nice ring to it."

"The magical Parker-Watson team," Peter repeated thoughtfully. "Yeah, I like it too."

They settled into a more comfortable quiet, the initial excitement and anxiety of their revelations beginning to give way to exhaustion. But just as they were all beginning to drift toward sleep, Harry spoke up one more time.

"Hey, guys?"

"Yeah?" Peter and MJ replied in unison.

"Do you think our parents know? I mean, do you think Uncle Ben and Aunt May and MJ's parents knew we were magical before tonight?"

"I don't think so," MJ said thoughtfully. "I think if they knew, they would have told us earlier. Especially after some of the really obvious stuff."

"But they handled it pretty well for people who were completely surprised," Peter observed.

"That's because they're good parents," Harry said simply. "Good parents love their kids no matter what, even if their kids turn out to be magical wizards who are going to go to boarding school in Scotland and probably have adventures that give their parents heart attacks."

"You think we're going to give them heart attacks?" MJ asked with concern.

"Not on purpose," Harry said reasonably. "But think about it. We're going to a school where the stairs move and they teach you how to turn things into other things and there are probably dangerous magical creatures and definitely other kids who might not be as nice as we are."

"When you put it like that, it does sound kind of terrifying from a parent perspective," Peter admitted.

"But they're going to let us go anyway," MJ said with quiet certainty. "Because they trust us, and because they want us to learn about our magic and be the best wizards we can be."

"And because they know we'll take care of each other," Harry added.

"Always," Peter agreed softly.

"Always," MJ echoed.

"Always," Harry whispered.

And finally, as the winter night settled more deeply around the Parker house, three newly-discovered young wizards drifted off to sleep, dreaming of moving staircases and secret passages, of spells yet to be learned and friends yet to be made, secure in the knowledge that whatever adventures lay ahead, they would face them together.

In the morning, they would wake up as magical children in a world full of new possibilities. But tonight, they were simply Peter, Harry, and MJ—best friends and chosen family, bound together by love and loyalty and the absolute certainty that some things were more powerful than magic.

Some things like the promise to stick together, always and forever, no matter what.

Outside their window, the first snow of the winter began to fall, and if the snowflakes seemed to spiral in particularly beautiful patterns around the Parker house, if they seemed to dance with just a little more grace than ordinary snow... well, that was probably just the winter wind.

Or maybe it was three young wizards dreaming magical dreams, their unconscious powers reaching out to touch the world with wonder.

In a house in Queens where magic had taken root alongside love and laughter, anything was possible.

Chapter Text

The years between Harry's fifth birthday and Peter and MJ's eleventh passed in a blur of carefully managed magical incidents, whispered conversations with professors, and the gradual expansion of their magical circle. What had started as three children discovering their abilities had grown into something much larger and more complex.

—

The Watson Revelation

The conversation with Philip and Madeline Watson had been, in MJ's words, "like watching my parents' entire understanding of reality get turned upside down and shaken like a snow globe." Professor McGonagall had arrived on a Tuesday evening in March, her presence lending official weight to what might otherwise have sounded like an elaborate prank.

Philip Watson stood in his living room, tall and angular, running his hands through his graying hair in that particular way he had when trying to process impossible information. His mind, accustomed to the logical progression of academic research, was attempting to categorize and file away concepts that defied categorization.

"Magic," he repeated slowly, his voice carrying that distinctive cadence of someone working through a complex theorem, staring at the teacup McGonagall had just transformed into a mouse and back again. "Our daughter has... magic. Actual, literal, scientifically impossible magic."

"Well, not scientifically impossible," he corrected himself immediately, because Philip Watson was constitutionally incapable of letting an inaccurate statement stand. "Obviously it's not impossible if it's happening right in front of me. Just... operating according to principles that current scientific understanding hasn't... hasn't catalogued yet."

Tu

McGonagall's lips twitched in what might have been approval. "That is a remarkably rational response to the impossible, Mr. Watson."

"Oh, he's always like this," Madeline interjected with fond exasperation, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "When MJ was three and claimed she could talk to the neighbor's cat, Philip spent two weeks researching feline communication patterns before admitting that maybe something unusual was happening."

"I maintain that thorough investigation is the appropriate response to anomalous phenomena," Philip replied with dignity, then paused. "Although I admit that 'magic' wasn't one of my working hypotheses."

MJ, perched on the edge of the couch between her parents, was wîiickpkatching this exchange with barely contained delight. At nine years old, she had developed a sophisticated appreciation for her father's particular brand of intellectual overthinking.

"Dad," she said with patience beyond her years, "remember when you spent six months trying to figure out the mathematical probability of me guessing every multiple choice answer correctly on my practice tests?"

"That was legitimate statistical analysis," Philip protested. "The odds of randomly achieving those results were approximately—"

"Fourteen million to one," MJ finished. "I remember. You made charts."

"Good charts," he defended. "Very informative charts that clearly demonstrated that either you had developed unprecedented test-taking intuition, or something genuinely unusual was occurring."

"Quite considerable magical ability, actually," McGonagall interjected with her characteristic directness. "The prescient dreams and linguistic intuition she's demonstrated suggest she may have natural gifts for Divination and Ancient Runes."

Madeline, who had been listening to this exchange with the expression of someone watching a tennis match played with concepts instead of balls, suddenly focused on the practical implications.

"And she'll need to go to boarding school in Scotland," she said faintly, sinking deeper into her chair.

"Well," McGonagall replied with what might have been the ghost of a smile, "that depends entirely on her citizenship status and the negotiations currently underway between the British Ministry of Magic and the Magical Congress of the United States of America."

Philip's head snapped up with the alertness of someone who had just heard his favorite type of complex problem. "Negotiations? What kind of negotiations? Are we talking about educational treaties? International jurisdiction agreements? Immigration law?"

"All of the above," McGonagall replied crisply. "Plus several categories of magical law that have no non-magical equivalent."

"Oh, this is going to be fascinating," Philip said with genuine enthusiasm, completely forgetting his earlier overwhelm in favor of intellectual curiosity. "Madeline, do you realize we're witnessing the development of unprecedented international magical educational policy? The bureaucratic implications alone—"

"Philip," Madeline interrupted gently, "our daughter is magical and might have to go to school in another country."

"Right. Yes." Philip's expression shifted back to parental concern. "That's... that's the important part here. Our daughter. Not the fascinating bureaucratic processes that will determine her educational future."

MJ grinned at her parents. "I love you guys. Dad, you can research the magical bureaucracy all you want. Just... maybe after you finish processing the fact that I can actually do magic?"

"Oh, I've processed that," Philip said with a wave of his hand. "Magic exists, you have it, Professor McGonagall is here to help us understand the educational implications. What I'm having trouble processing is the idea of you being thousands of miles away for most of the year."

Madeline reached over and squeezed MJ's hand. "We just found out our daughter is extraordinary in ways we never imagined. The last thing we want is to send her away before we've had time to... to understand what this means for our family."

McGonagall's expression softened in a way that suggested she'd had this conversation with many worried parents.

"Mrs. Watson," she said gently, "I understand your concerns. But I think you'll find that the proposed arrangement may address many of them in ways you haven't yet considered."

Which had led to the most complicated year and a half of bureaucratic wrangling that Ben Parker had ever witnessed from the outside.

---

The International Exchange Program

"The fundamental issue," Professor Dumbledore had explained during one of his increasingly frequent visits to the Parker household, his voice carrying that particular warmth that made even the most complex problems seem manageable, "is that American magical children fall under the jurisdiction of MACUSA—the Magical Congress of the United States of America. Normally, Peter and Mary Jane would be expected to attend either Salem Witches' Institute or Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Ben Parker, comfortable in his favorite armchair with a cup of coffee that had gone cold while he tried to follow the intricacies of international magical law, looked up with the expression of a man trying to navigate unfamiliar but important territory.

"But?" he prompted, because Ben had learned over the years that most conversations that started with 'normally' were heading somewhere decidedly abnormal.

"But Harry's unique circumstances, combined with the remarkable magical resonance between the three children, present an opportunity for unprecedented international cooperation," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling with the particular satisfaction of someone who had spent months engineering exactly this outcome.

May, curled up on the couch with her own coffee and a legal pad covered in notes from previous conversations about magical education, gave Dumbledore the look she usually reserved for Peter when he was being deliberately evasive about something important.

"Professor Dumbledore," she said with the gentle firmness that had made her an effective nurse and an even more effective aunt, "that's a very diplomatic way of not answering Ben's question. What aren't you telling us?"

Dumbledore chuckled, a warm sound that filled their living room with something approaching paternal fondness.

"You have an excellent instinct for detecting incomplete information, Mrs. Parker. What I hadn't mentioned initially is that MACUSA has been looking for an excuse to establish stronger ties with British magical education for years. The American magical schools, while excellent, have different strengths and specialties than Hogwarts, and there has been growing interest in creating some kind of exchange program."

"And Harry being famous in the magical world gives you the leverage you need to make that happen," Ben said with the understanding of someone who had spent years working with people and understanding how systems actually functioned.

"Harry Potter's presence provides the perfect catalyst," Dumbledore agreed. "Though I prefer to think of it as an opportunity rather than leverage."

Peter, who had been listening to this conversation from his position on the floor where he was supposedly doing homework but actually absorbing every word, looked up with nine-year-old directness.

"So basically, me and MJ get to go to Hogwarts with Harry because Harry's famous and the magical governments want to be friends with each other?"

"That's... not entirely inaccurate," Dumbledore replied with evident amusement.

"Cool," Peter said, and went back to his homework with the casual acceptance that characterized his approach to most magical complications.

"You're telling me," Ben said slowly, setting down his coffee and leaning forward with the posture of someone working through the implications, "that Harry being famous in the magical world is actually helping Peter and MJ go to school with him?"

"In essence, yes. MACUSA is quite interested in maintaining positive relations with the family of the Boy Who Lived. And I have proposed an exchange program that benefits magical education on both sides of the Atlantic."

May made a note on her legal pad, then looked up with the practical concern that always emerged when she was trying to plan for unusual circumstances.

"And how long did you say these negotiations were going to take?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said with the slight pause of someone delivering news they knew wouldn't be entirely welcome. "International magical bureaucracy moves at its own pace. I'm afraid we're looking at approximately eighteen months before final approvals are in place."

"Eighteen months," Ben repeated, glancing at Peter and MJ, who were both trying to look like they weren't hanging on every word of this conversation. "That takes us right up to when they'd be starting school anyway."

"Indeed. Which gives us time to identify the other participants in the program and ensure that everyone is properly prepared for the transition."

The program, when it was finally approved after exactly eighteen months and two weeks of negotiations, was surprisingly comprehensive. Five American students would attend Hogwarts for their complete magical education, while the next year five British students would attend Ilvermorny. The exchange would be permanent rather than temporary, allowing for deep cultural and educational integration.

"And how," May had asked during one of the final planning meetings, her legal pad now filled with multiple pages of notes and questions, "do you choose five American children for this opportunity?"

"Very carefully," Dumbledore had replied with a twinkle in his eye that suggested he had been looking forward to this question.

---

The Selection Process

The selection of the other three American students had been a process that combined magical ability with psychological compatibility. Dumbledore and the MACUSA representative, a sharp-eyed witch named Aurora Sinclair who spoke with the precision of someone accustomed to navigating complex political situations, had spent months identifying candidates.

Aurora Sinclair was the kind of woman who could make bureaucratic efficiency look like an art form. She had arrived for her first meeting with the Parker family wearing robes that managed to look both traditionally magical and professionally contemporary, carrying a leather portfolio that contained what appeared to be several inches of carefully organized documentation.

"The selection process," she had explained in her clear, authoritative voice, "requires us to consider not just magical ability, but compatibility with the existing group dynamic, academic preparation, family stability, and psychological resilience."

"That sounds incredibly complicated," May had observed.

"It is incredibly complicated," Aurora had agreed with a slight smile. "Which is why we've been working on it for the better part of a year."

The first candidate they had identified was Ned Leeds, a cheerful eleven-year-old from Brooklyn whose magical talent manifested as an extraordinary ability with magical creatures and an intuitive understanding of complex magical theory that far exceeded his age.

George Leeds was a Brooklyn public school teacher who had spent thirty years dealing with every possible variety of childhood chaos, so when his son started attracting stray cats, healing injured birds, and somehow knowing when the neighbor's elderly dog was going to get sick, George had taken it in stride with the pragmatic acceptance of someone who had learned that weird things happened to kids sometimes.

"Look," George had said during his first meeting with Aurora Sinclair, his Brooklyn accent making everything sound simultaneously practical and slightly confrontational, "I don't pretend to understand what's going on with Ned. But the kid's happy, he's not hurting anybody, and if you're telling me there's a school where he can learn how to do... whatever it is he's doing... then I'm listening."

His wife, Helen, had been more emotional about the whole situation.

"He's just so young," she had said, dabbing at her eyes with tissues while trying to maintain her composure. "And this school is so far away. How do we know he'll be okay? How do we know he'll fit in?"

"Ned's magical signature suggests he'll be particularly gifted at Care of Magical Creatures and possibly Arithmancy," Aurora had explained patiently. "But more importantly, his personality profile indicates he'll integrate well with your existing group. He's loyal, kind, and has a natural inclination toward friendship rather than competition."

When they had finally arranged for Ned to meet Peter, MJ, and Harry, the result had been immediate and obvious compatibility. Ned had walked into the Parker living room, taken one look at the three friends, and announced with characteristic Brooklyn directness, "You guys seem cool. Want to see me make plants grow really fast?"

The second candidate was Felicia Hardy, a sharp-minded girl from Manhattan whose magical abilities seemed to center around luck manipulation and probability alteration.

Walter Hardy was a museum security consultant who had built his career on understanding how people moved through spaces, how systems failed, and how to prevent both accidental damage and deliberate theft. So when his daughter started finding lost objects with uncanny precision, avoiding accidents that should have been unavoidable, and somehow always ending up in exactly the right place at exactly the right time, Walter had noticed.

"At first I thought she was just observant," Walter had explained to Aurora during their initial consultation, his British accent carrying the careful precision of someone accustomed to writing detailed reports. "But then I started keeping track. The statistical probability of the things that happen around Felicia... it's not normal."

Felicia's mother had been less analytical and more worried.

"She's not doing anything wrong," she had insisted. "But sometimes it feels like the world just... arranges itself around her. Like reality bends a little bit to make sure things work out in her favor."

"Miss Hardy presents some interesting challenges," McGonagall had noted during the evaluation process, with characteristic understatement. "Her magical gifts could easily be turned toward... less constructive purposes. But placed in the right environment, with the right influences, she could become an extraordinary witch."

"You mean she could use her luck magic for bad things?" Harry had asked with nine-year-old directness during one of their planning meetings.

"I mean she'll need friends who help her understand that true luck comes from making good choices, not just manipulating outcomes," Dumbledore had replied gently.

When Felicia had finally been introduced to the group, she had spent the first hour sitting quietly in the corner, watching the other children interact with the wariness of someone accustomed to being either feared or misunderstood. But MJ's straightforward friendliness and Peter's genuine scientific curiosity about her abilities had gradually drawn her into the conversation.

"You know what I like about you guys?" Felicia had said eventually, after Peter had spent twenty minutes asking detailed questions about exactly how her probability manipulation worked and MJ had simply accepted the demonstration as if magical luck was the most normal thing in the world. "You don't act like I'm scary or dangerous just because my magic is weird."

"All magic is weird," Harry had replied matter-of-factly. "That's what makes it magic instead of just... regular stuff."

The third candidate was Gwen Stacy, whose magical talents were perhaps the most unusual of all.

Captain George Stacy was a twenty-year veteran of the NYPD who had seen enough strange things in his career to maintain a healthy skepticism about most unusual claims. But when his daughter started demonstrating reflexes that defied human limitation, balance that seemed to ignore gravity, and an investigative intuition that consistently led her to solutions that experienced detectives missed, George had been forced to consider possibilities that weren't covered in any police manual.

"I've been a cop for twenty years," George had told Aurora during their first meeting, his voice carrying the measured tone of someone accustomed to giving testimony. "I know the difference between normal good instincts and something genuinely unusual. What Gwen can do... it's not normal."

"Can you give me a specific example?" Aurora had asked, making notes in her professional portfolio.

"Last month, she was playing in the park when she suddenly grabbed a toddler and pulled him away from the swing set. Three seconds later, one of the swings broke and would have hit the kid right where he'd been standing. When I asked her how she knew, she said the chain 'looked wrong' even though I examined it later and the failure point was completely internal."

"Miss Stacy's magical profile is quite remarkable," Aurora had explained to the Parker family during one of their coordination meetings. "Enhanced reflexes, improved balance and coordination, and what appears to be an innate ability to understand the connections between seemingly unrelated events. She'd make an excellent Auror someday, if that's the path she chooses."

"An Auror?" Peter had asked, looking up from the homework he was definitely not doing while listening to the adults talk.

"A magical law enforcement officer," McGonagall had clarified. "They investigate magical crimes and apprehend dark wizards."

"Like magical police?" MJ had said with immediate interest.

"Something like that, yes."

Gwen had fit into the group as naturally as if she had always been part of it, her investigative instincts perfectly complementing Peter's scientific approach and MJ's intuitive understanding. Within weeks of her first meeting with the others, she and Peter had developed a friendship based on their shared fascination with understanding how things worked—whether those things were magical abilities, complex problems, or the social dynamics of their expanding friend group.

---

The Growing Community

What none of the adults had quite anticipated was how naturally the six children would bond once they were all aware of their magical abilities. Monthly gatherings had been arranged, ostensibly for "acclimatization and preparation," but in practice they had become elaborate playdate-slash-study sessions where six magical children worked out their abilities together under the watchful eye of various professors.

The first official gathering had been held at the Parker house on a Saturday afternoon in October, with all six children, their parents, and Professor McGonagall crowded into the living room for what Aurora had described as "preliminary compatibility assessment."

Ned had immediately attached himself to Harry with the enthusiasm of someone who had found his perfect complement. Where Harry was intuitive and impulsive, Ned was methodical and careful. Where Harry's magic burst out in moments of strong emotion, Ned's magic seemed to flow constantly in small, helpful ways.

"It's like having a magical assistant," Peter had observed, watching Ned somehow convince a stubborn jar of pickles to open for Harry without even touching it.

"I prefer to think of it as collaborative magic," Ned had replied seriously, then grinned with the infectious happiness that characterized most of his interactions. "But yeah, Harry and I just... work well together."

"How does that work exactly?" Gwen had asked with the systematic curiosity that she brought to all interesting problems. "The collaborative magic thing? Are you sharing magical energy, or complementing each other's abilities, or..."

"I think we're just really good at understanding what the other person needs," Harry had said thoughtfully. "Like, when I get frustrated because something isn't working the way I want it to, Ned always knows how to help me think about it differently."

"And when Ned gets overwhelmed by all the magical stuff happening around him, I can help him focus on just one thing at a time," Harry had added.

Professor McGonagall, who had been taking notes throughout this exchange, had looked up with evident satisfaction.

"That kind of intuitive magical cooperation is quite rare," she had told the parents who were watching this interaction with various degrees of amazement. "It suggests that these children will be able to support each other through the more challenging aspects of magical education."

Felicia had taken longer to integrate, her natural wariness warring with genuine fascination for this group of children who seemed so effortlessly accepting of magical weirdness. But MJ's straightforward friendship and Peter's scientific curiosity about her abilities had gradually won her over.

The breakthrough had come during their third group meeting, when Peter had spent an entire afternoon asking Felicia detailed questions about exactly how her probability manipulation worked, with the genuine scientific interest of someone trying to understand a fascinating new phenomenon rather than the fearful curiosity of someone confronted with something dangerous.

"You know what I like about you guys?" Felicia had said during that meeting, after she had successfully taught Peter how to influence coin flips through careful magical suggestion and MJ had taken dozens of photos to document the process. "You don't act like I'm scary or dangerous just because my magic is weird."

"All magic is weird," Harry had replied matter-of-factly. "That's what makes it magic instead of just... regular stuff."

"Besides," Peter had added with the logical directness that characterized his approach to most problems, "your magic isn't any weirder than mine. I can stick to walls and lift things that should be way too heavy for me. That's pretty weird too."

"And I dream about things before they happen," MJ had contributed. "Which is definitely weird."

"And I can talk to snakes," Harry had said cheerfully. "Which is apparently really weird even by magical standards."

Gwen had fit in as if she had always been part of the group, her investigative instincts perfectly complementing Peter's scientific approach and MJ's intuitive understanding. Within months, she and Peter had developed a friendship based on their shared fascination with understanding how things worked—whether those things were magical abilities, complex problems, or the social dynamics of their expanding friend group.

"I think," Ben had confided to May after one particularly chaotic but successful gathering where six magical children had somehow managed to reorganize their entire living room furniture using various combinations of their abilities, "we're watching something pretty special here."

"You mean six magical children who are definitely going to give their teachers heart attacks?" May had replied with fond concern, surveying the living room that now looked like it had been arranged by someone with a completely different understanding of how furniture was supposed to work.

"I mean six children who are going to change the magical world," Ben had said quietly, watching Peter explain to Ned and Gwen exactly how he had managed to stick the coffee table to the ceiling while Harry and MJ worked together to make sure it would stay there. "Maybe both magical worlds."

---

## Present Day - The Morning of Departure

Now, two years later, the Parker household was in the kind of organized chaos that only occurred when multiple families were trying to coordinate something unprecedented while managing the emotional complexity of a major separation.

It was 6:30 in the morning, and the Parker living room looked like a staging area for a very unusual military operation. Trunks sat by the front door, packed with carefully selected belongings and labeled with the kind of detailed organization that May Parker brought to all important endeavors. Suitcases for the parents were stacked nearby, because this wasn't just a drop-off—this was a full family expedition to see Diagon Alley and get their first real look at the magical world their children would be inhabiting.

Ben stood in the kitchen, making his fourth pot of coffee of the morning while trying to project an air of calm competence that wasn't entirely authentic. He was wearing his best khakis and a button-down shirt that May had ironed specifically for this occasion, because even though they were traveling by magical means to a magical destination, some things required proper preparation.

"Peter!" he called toward the staircase. "You ready up there? Professor McGonagall said the Portkey doesn't wait for anybody, and I don't want to find out what happens if we miss our magical flight!"

"Almost ready!" Peter's voice drifted down from his bedroom, followed by the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor. "I'm just trying to fit everything into my trunk!"

"What exactly is 'everything'?" May called back, appearing in the kitchen doorway with her hair pulled back and wearing the kind of practical outfit she usually reserved for particularly challenging days at the hospital. "Because we went over the packing list seventeen times, and everything on that list should fit in your trunk with room to spare."

"Well," Peter's voice carried the defensive tone of someone who knew they were about to be caught doing something they weren't supposed to be doing, "the official packing list didn't account for all the extra stuff Harry wanted me to take."

Ben and May exchanged a look that conveyed entire volumes of parental communication about the ways in which their children consistently exceeded expectations for creative problem-solving.

"What kind of extra stuff?" May asked with the patient tone of someone preparing to solve a logistical problem.

Harry appeared at the top of the stairs, his nine-year-old face wearing an expression of determined helpfulness that both adults recognized as a warning sign.

"Just important stuff!" Harry called down. "Like extra photos of all of us, and letters for Peter to open when he misses home, and emergency chocolate, and the compass Uncle Ben gave him, and—"

"And about fifteen other things that seemed really important when we were packing them last night," Peter finished, appearing next to Harry with his hair sticking up in all directions and his trunk balanced precariously in his arms.

"Harry," May said gently, "sweetie, Peter can't take everything. His trunk has to fit on the magical transportation, and he needs room for all the school supplies he's going to buy today."

"But what if he needs something we didn't think of?" Harry asked with the serious concern of someone who had been worrying about this possibility for weeks. "What if magic school is completely different from what we imagined and he needs something important that we forgot?"

Ben set down his coffee and walked over to the bottom of the stairs, looking up at both boys with the expression of someone who understood that this conversation was about much more than overpacking.

"Harry," he said quietly, "come down here for a minute."

Harry carefully navigated the stairs, his expression showing the kind of careful control that suggested he was working hard to be mature about something that was actually making him quite anxious.

Ben crouched down so he was at Harry's eye level, a gesture that had become routine for important conversations over the past five years.

"You know what I think?" Ben said conversationally. "I think you're worried that if Peter doesn't have everything he might possibly need, something bad might happen to him."

Harry nodded seriously, not quite trusting his voice.

"And I think you're trying to solve that problem by making sure he has everything you can think of that might help him."

Another nod.

"That's very thoughtful of you," Ben continued. "And it shows how much you love Peter and want him to be okay. But you know what's going to help Peter more than having extra stuff?"

"What?" Harry asked quietly.

"Knowing that he has a little brother who believes in him," Ben said with quiet conviction. "Knowing that he has a family who trusts him to figure things out and handle whatever comes up. Knowing that we're proud of him and confident that he can take care of himself and his friends."

Harry considered this with the seriousness he brought to all important information.

"So I should stop trying to pack extra stuff for him?" he asked.

"I think you should trust Peter to know what he needs," Ben replied. "And trust that if he needs something he doesn't have, he's smart enough and resourceful enough to figure out how to get it or do without it."

"But what if—"

"Harry." Ben's voice was gentle but firm. "What if we focus on what we know instead of what we're worried about? We know Peter is smart. We know he's got good friends who will help him. We know the professors at Hogwarts have been teaching children for a very long time and they know how to keep them safe. We know that Professor McGonagall wouldn't be taking him somewhere that wasn't safe."

Harry nodded slowly, processing this logic with the careful attention he gave to all of Ben's important advice.

"Okay," he said finally. "But I still want him to have the emergency chocolate. Just in case."

Ben smiled, ruffling Harry's hair with paternal affection. "I think emergency chocolate is always a good idea."

Peter, who had been listening to this exchange from the top of the stairs, came down carrying a much more reasonably sized trunk.

"I kept the emergency chocolate," he told Harry seriously. "And the letters, and one photo of all of us. But I left the compass here so you can take care of it while I'm gone."

"Really?" Harry asked, brightening considerably.

"Really. That way I'll know it's safe, and you'll have something of mine to look after until I come home for Christmas."

May, who had been watching this interaction with the expression of someone trying not to cry at 6:45 in the morning, cleared her throat and announced with determined cheerfulness, "Breakfast is ready! And we need to eat quickly because the other families are going to be here in thirty minutes."

The kitchen table had been expanded with folding chairs to accommodate what May had privately started thinking of as "the magical breakfast summit." She had made enough pancakes, eggs, and bacon to feed a small army, because she had learned over the years that nervous energy required substantial fuel.

Harry, his anxiety somewhat relieved by his conversation with Ben, had recovered enough appetite to apply himself seriously to his breakfast. Peter was eating with the mechanical efficiency of someone whose stomach was too nervous for proper appetite but who understood the practical necessity of fuel.

"So," Ben said conversationally, buttering his toast with the kind of careful attention that suggested he was also managing his own anxiety, "who wants to remind me exactly what we're doing today? I want to make sure I understand the schedule."

"Portkey to Scotland at eight o'clock," Peter recited with the precision of someone who had reviewed this schedule multiple times. "Tour of Hogwarts with Professor Dumbledore. Lunch at the castle. Another Portkey to London. Shopping in Diagon Alley. Dinner somewhere in magical London. Portkey back to New York tomorrow morning."

"And we're staying where tonight?" May asked, consulting the notes she had written on a piece of paper that was now covered in multiple colors of ink representing various conversations and clarifications.

"The Leaky Cauldron," Peter replied. "Which is apparently a magical inn that's been around for like five hundred years and serves as the entrance to Diagon Alley."

"A five-hundred-year-old inn," Ben repeated thoughtfully. "That's older than our entire country."

"A lot of the magical world is older than our country," Harry added with nine-year-old matter-of-factness. "Professor Dumbledore told me that Hogwarts has been around for over a thousand years."

"A thousand years," May said softly. "That's... that's hard to even imagine."

The doorbell rang, cutting through their morning routine with the sharp reminder that this was actually happening, right now, today.

"That'll be the Watsons," Ben said, checking his watch with the precision of someone trying to maintain control over an inherently uncontrollable situation. "Right on time."

May opened the front door to reveal Philip and Madeline Watson, both wearing the kind of carefully selected outfits that suggested they had also spent considerable time thinking about what was appropriate for a day in the magical world. Behind them, MJ bounced slightly on her toes with nervous energy, her red hair pulled back in a practical ponytail and her backpack obviously stuffed with art supplies.

"Good morning!" Madeline called with the bright cheerfulness of someone working hard to project confidence. "Are we ready for our magical adventure?"

"As ready as we can be for something we've never done before," Ben replied with a grin, stepping aside to let them in.

Philip immediately gravitated toward the coffee pot with the focused intensity of someone who had been up late the night before making lists and contingency plans.

"I have questions," he announced without preamble, which was such a characteristic Philip Watson opening that everyone in the room immediately smiled.

"Of course you do," May said fondly. "What kind of questions?"

"Practical questions," Philip replied, accepting a mug of coffee with the gratitude of someone receiving a life-saving medication. "For instance, what's the exchange rate between American dollars and magical money? Are there magical customs regulations we need to be aware of? Do they have magical passports? What happens if someone gets motion sick during Portkey travel?"

"Dad," MJ said with fond exasperation, "you've been researching this for six weeks. Don't you already know the answers to most of those questions?"

"I know what the books say," Philip corrected. "But I want to know what the practical reality is going to be like. There's often a significant difference between theoretical knowledge and applied experience."

Madeline rolled her eyes affectionately. "He's been like this since Professor McGonagall first mentioned international magical travel. I caught him trying to research the physics of Portkey transportation at two in the morning last week."

"Did you find anything interesting?" Peter asked with genuine curiosity.

"Nothing conclusive," Philip replied with the disappointed tone of someone whose research had failed to yield satisfactory results. "The magical physics literature available to non-magical researchers is surprisingly limited."

"Probably because most of it doesn't make sense without actually being able to do magic," Harry suggested helpfully.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Philip muttered into his coffee.

The doorbell rang again, and this time it was George and Helen Leeds with Ned, followed immediately by the Hardy family, and finally the Stacys, until the Parker living room was full of nervous parents and excited children and enough luggage to supply a small expedition.

George Stacy, wearing his off-duty clothes but somehow still managing to look like a cop, took one look at the organized chaos and immediately appointed himself logistics coordinator.

"Alright," he announced with the authoritative tone that had served him well through twenty years of managing complex situations, "let's do a quick headcount and make sure everyone has everything they need before the professor gets here. Kids over here, parents over there, luggage by the door."

"I like him," Ben murmured to May, watching George efficiently organize eleven people and approximately seventeen pieces of luggage into something approaching manageable groups.

"He reminds me of you," May replied, "when you're trying to manage one of Peter's science fair projects."

Walter Hardy, who had been quietly observing this family chaos with the analytical eye of someone accustomed to assessing security situations, spoke up with his precise British accent.

"Has anyone actually done magical travel before, or are we all about to experience this together?"

"All together," Helen Leeds replied with nervous laughter. "Though Professor McGonagall assured us that it's perfectly safe, even if it's not particularly comfortable."

"Define 'not particularly comfortable,'" Felicia's mother requested with the tone of someone who liked to be prepared for unpleasant experiences.

Gwen, who had been listening to this adult conversation with the focused attention she brought to all potentially useful information, looked up from where she was double-checking her packed belongings.

"Professor McGonagall said it feels like being grabbed behind the navel and yanked through space really fast," she reported with characteristic precision. "She also said it's over in about thirty seconds and that the main side effect is mild disorientation."

"Mild disorientation," George repeated with the skeptical tone of someone who had learned to be wary of official descriptions that used the word 'mild.' "In my experience, when officials say 'mild,' they usually mean 'you're going to hate this but it won't kill you.'"

"That's... probably accurate," Walter agreed with dry humor. "I've found that magical authorities have a tendency toward understatement when describing unpleasant experiences."

Ned, who had been quietly organizing his own belongings with the methodical care he brought to all important tasks, looked up with genuine concern.

"What if someone throws up during the magical travel?" he asked with the practical worry of someone who had a sensitive stomach. "Like, is that a normal thing that happens, or would that be really embarrassing?"

"Oh honey," Helen said immediately, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder with maternal reassurance, "I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time, if it happened. These professors have been doing this for years."

"Besides," Peter added with the logical optimism that characterized his approach to most problems, "we're all going to be experiencing it together. If someone gets sick, we'll all be too busy dealing with our own weirdness to judge anybody else."

"That's actually a really good point," MJ said thoughtfully. "We're going to be too busy being amazed and terrified and excited to worry about normal embarrassing stuff."

"Plus," Felicia added with a slight grin, "if my luck magic works the way I think it does, probably none of us will throw up anyway. The universe seems to like arranging things so that embarrassing stuff doesn't happen to people I'm friends with."

"Really?" Harry asked with immediate interest. "Your magic can do that?"

"I think so?" Felicia replied, sounding slightly uncertain. "It's hard to tell exactly how it works, but good stuff tends to happen around me, and bad stuff tends to... not."

"That's amazing," Ned said with genuine admiration. "My magic mostly just makes animals like me and helps me understand complicated things. Your magic actually changes how the world works."

"All magic changes how the world works," Philip interjected with the precision of someone who had spent considerable time thinking about magical theory. "The question is whether it changes reality temporarily, or whether it influences probability, or whether it operates according to principles we don't understand yet."

"Dad," MJ said with fond exasperation, "maybe save the magical physics discussion for after we've actually experienced magical travel?"

"That's an excellent point," Philip agreed. "Direct observation should precede theoretical analysis."

Chapter Text

The conversation was interrupted by a sharp, authoritative knock on the front door that somehow managed to convey both politeness and absolute expectation of immediate response.

"That'll be Professor McGonagall," Ben said, moving toward the door with the measured steps of someone preparing for a significant moment. His voice carried that particular quality of steady reliability mixed with quiet anticipation—the voice of a man who had learned to approach the extraordinary with practical grace.

He opened the door to reveal Professor McGonagall in traveling robes that somehow managed to look both practical and impressively formal, flanked by a woman who could only be Aurora Sinclair and carrying what appeared to be an old leather boot.

"Good morning," McGonagall said briskly, stepping into the living room and taking in the assembled families with the assessing gaze of someone accustomed to managing complex group logistics. Her Scottish accent carried that crisp authority that could make even chaos feel organized. "I trust everyone is prepared for departure? We have a very precise schedule to maintain."

"Define prepared," May said with characteristic directness, gesturing at the chaos of luggage, nervous parents, and teenagers who seemed to be vibrating with equal parts excitement and terror. Her energy filled the room—warm, practical, and completely unintimidated by magical authority. "Because if prepared means 'packed and caffeinated,' we're good. If it means 'mentally ready to be launched through space by a magical boot,' then we might need a few more minutes."

Aurora Sinclair followed McGonagall into the room, and her presence immediately shifted the energy from nervous family chaos to something more official and organized. She was exactly the kind of person who could make international magical bureaucracy look like a sophisticated art form, with that particular quality of making complex situations feel both manageable and slightly theatrical.

"Good morning, families," Aurora said with warm professionalism, her voice carrying the kind of authority that made you feel like everything was going to work out perfectly because she was clearly the sort of person who had contingency plans for her contingency plans. "I'm Aurora Sinclair from MACUSA, and I'll be accompanying you through the international aspects of today's journey. I understand this is everyone's first experience with Portkey travel?"

A chorus of confirmations and nervous laughter filled the living room.

"Oh good," Phillip Watson said with that particular combination of intellectual fascination and barely contained anxiety, his hands gesturing expressively, "because I was, uh, I was worried this might be routine for everyone else and we'd be the only ones having that whole, you know, 'what if this goes catastrophically wrong' kind of thought process."

"Dad," MJ said with fond exasperation, her voice carrying that perfect blend of teenage mortification and genuine affection, "you literally spent an hour last night researching the theoretical physics of magical transportation. You know more about this than anyone else in the room."

"Theoretical knowledge, yes," Phillip replied, still gesturing, "but there's a significant difference between understanding something in principle and, uh, actually being launched through space by enchanted footwear."

"It's a boot, Phil," Madeline Watson said with gentle amusement, her warmth providing the perfect counterbalance to her husband's nervous energy. "A magical boot. We've moved past the footwear identity crisis."

"Excellent," Aurora continued with a reassuring smile that somehow made everyone feel like they were in extremely competent hands. "Then let me explain exactly what we're going to do, step by step, so everyone knows what to expect."

She gestured to the leather boot that McGonagall was now placing in the center of the coffee table with the kind of casual precision that suggested this was completely routine.

"This is our Portkey," she explained, "which has been enchanted to transport all of us to a designated arrival point near Hogwarts Castle. In approximately ten minutes, it will activate automatically, taking us from here to Scotland in about thirty seconds."

"Thirty seconds?" Harry asked, his voice carrying that particular combination of nine-year-old curiosity and the kind of direct intensity that made adults pay attention. "How fast are we going to be moving?"

"Well," Aurora replied with the kind of smile that suggested she genuinely enjoyed answering questions from curious children, "we won't technically be moving through space in the conventional sense. We'll be... folding space, essentially."

"Like origami but with geography?" Ned asked with immediate interest, his Jacob Batalon enthusiasm making everyone smile. "That's so cool!"

"How does it know when to activate?" Peter asked with that particular combination of scientific curiosity and barely contained excitement that made him bounce slightly on his feet.

"Magical chronometry," McGonagall replied crisply. "The spell is keyed to precise temporal coordinates that account for international time zones and magical transit schedules."

"So it's like a magical GPS?" Gwen asked with her systematic approach to understanding new concepts, her voice carrying that particular combination of scientific precision and genuine wonder.

"More like magical scheduling software," Helen Leeds said with practicality, "which honestly makes more sense than half the actual scheduling software I use at work."

"The precision required is actually quite remarkable," George Leeds added with thoughtfulness, "considering the variables involved in international time coordination."

"Essentially, yes," Aurora confirmed. "Though considerably more sophisticated than non-magical timing devices."

Walter Hardy, who had been examining the Portkey with the analytical eye he brought to security assessments, spoke up with that particular combination of polite curiosity and professional wariness.

"And this device has been tested for safety with groups this size? Forgive me, but in my professional experience, it's always worth confirming safety protocols before unusual procedures."

Felicia looked up at her father with affection mixed with slight embarrassment. "Dad, they've been using these things for centuries. I think they've probably figured out the safety stuff by now."

"Safety protocols are never a bad question, sweetheart," Walter replied with gentle authority. "Especially when the procedure involves magical transportation of my daughter to another continent."

McGonagall's expression softened slightly, as if she appreciated both the practical concern behind the question and the paternal protectiveness driving it.

"Mr. Hardy, Portkeys have been used for international magical travel for over three centuries. This particular Portkey has been specifically calibrated for a group of exactly this size and composition, and has been tested multiple times with equivalent loads."

"Plus," Aurora added with the kind of professional confidence that came from years of managing complex international magical logistics, "MACUSA and the British Ministry have coordinated all the necessary international clearances and emergency protocols. If anything goes wrong—which it won't—we have comprehensive backup plans."

"What kind of backup plans?" George Stacy asked with directness, because asking about contingencies was second nature for a police captain. "Because in my line of work, 'comprehensive backup plans' usually means someone thought of three different ways things could go sideways."

"Multiple redundant Portkeys, emergency contact protocols with both magical governments, medical support on both ends of the journey, and alternative transportation arrangements if needed," Aurora replied promptly. "Though again, these are purely precautionary measures."

"Alternative transportation?" Peter asked with immediate curiosity. "Like what? Flying carpets? Dragon-back rides?"

"Brooms, actually," McGonagall replied with what might have been amusement. "Though I suspect that would be considerably less comfortable for a group this size."

"Wait, flying brooms are real?" MJ asked with artist's fascination. "Like, actually real real?"

"Very real," McGonagall confirmed. "You'll be seeing quite a few of them during your time at Hogwarts."

"This is the best day ever," Ned said with pure joy. "We haven't even gotten to the magic castle yet and we're already talking about flying brooms."

Ben, who had been listening to this exchange with the focused attention of someone trying to understand unfamiliar but important systems, nodded approvingly with that particular combination of practical assessment and quiet confidence.

"That sounds thorough," he said. "I appreciate knowing that you've thought about the what-ifs. In my experience, the people who plan for problems that probably won't happen are usually the same people who make sure those problems actually don't happen."

"In magical travel," McGonagall said with dry humor, "thinking about the what-ifs is not optional."

May, who had been quietly observing this entire exchange while mentally cataloging every detail with the protective intensity that characterized her approach to anything involving Peter, suddenly spoke up with characteristic directness.

"Okay, but can we talk about the important stuff?" she said, fixing McGonagall with that particular combination of warmth and absolute determination. "Like, what happens if one of them gets motion sick during this magical boot transportation thing? Because Peter gets carsick on the highway sometimes, and I'm pretty sure magical space-folding is going to be significantly more intense than the BQE."

"Aunt May," Peter protested with teenage mortification, "I do not get carsick that often!"

"Honey, you turned green driving through the Holland Tunnel last month," May replied with fond maternal ruthlessness. "I love you, but you have the constitution of a delicate flower when it comes to moving vehicles."

"Portkey travel can indeed cause nausea," McGonagall acknowledged with the kind of practical understanding that came from years of dealing with student transportation logistics. "We have remedies available if needed."

"What kind of remedies?" Madeline Watson asked with maternal concern that was perfectly reasonable given that they were discussing magical space travel for their children.

"Magical anti-nausea draughts that are considerably more effective than non-magical alternatives," Aurora replied reassuringly. "Though in my experience, the disorientation is usually brief."

"Usually?" Phillip repeated with his tendency to focus on the qualifying words that suggested potential complications.

"Always brief for properly calibrated Portkeys," McGonagall clarified with crisp authority. "Which this one certainly is."

Harry, who had been unusually quiet during this official briefing, suddenly spoke up with that particular directness that characterized all his most important questions.

"Professor McGonagall, when we get to Hogwarts, will we be able to see everything? Like, all the places Peter and MJ and the others are going to be living and studying?"

His voice carried that particular quality of a nine-year-old trying to process the fact that his family was about to scatter across an ocean, mixed with genuine excitement about seeing a magical castle.

McGonagall's expression warmed considerably as she focused on Harry's concern, her Scottish accent softening with genuine kindness.

"Harry, Professor Dumbledore has planned a comprehensive tour that will show your family and friends every part of the castle that will be important to their daily lives. You'll see the dormitories, the common rooms, the Great Hall, the classrooms, the library, and quite a few other interesting locations."

"What about the secret passages?" Harry asked with nine-year-old hopefulness that made several adults smile. "Every old castle has secret passages, right?"

"Well," McGonagall replied with what might have been the ghost of a smile, "those wouldn't be secret if we showed them to everyone during official tours, would they?"

"That's fair," Harry agreed solemnly, then brightened with the kind of logical leap that characterized his approach to problem-solving. "But Peter can find some on his own and tell me about them in letters, right?"

"I suspect," McGonagall said with evident amusement, "that Peter and his friends will discover quite a few interesting features of Hogwarts that aren't included in the standard curriculum."

Peter grinned at this, his nervous energy shifting toward excitement for the first time that morning. The enthusiasm was starting to override the anxiety as he contemplated the possibilities.

"How much trouble are we allowed to get into while we're exploring?" he asked with the kind of carefully calculated innocence that both Ben and May recognized as a warning sign.

"Peter Benjamin Parker," May said with that particular combination of affection and maternal warning, "did you just ask a Hogwarts professor for permission to cause trouble?"

"I asked about acceptable parameters for exploratory activities," Peter replied with the kind of technical precision that fooled absolutely no one. "That's completely different."

"That depends entirely," McGonagall replied with crisp authority, "on whether your exploration is motivated by curiosity and learning, or by a desire to cause mischief."

"Definitely curiosity and learning," Peter replied immediately, with such obvious sincerity that several adults laughed.

"He really means that," Ben added with warmth, "but with Peter, curiosity and learning have a tendency to lead to... interesting situations."

"Like the time you were 'curious' about whether you could improve the efficiency of the school's ventilation system and accidentally triggered three fire alarms," MJ added with fond exasperation.

"That was one time!" Peter protested. "And I did improve the efficiency!"

"The fire department was very impressed," Harry said with the kind of deadpan delivery that suggested he'd heard this story multiple times. "Especially with your explanation of airflow dynamics."

"Then I suspect you'll find that Hogwarts is quite accommodating to curious students," McGonagall said. "Though I do recommend discussing your exploration plans with your Head of House before venturing into areas that might be... challenging."

"Challenging how?" MJ asked with immediate interest, because MJ had never met a challenge she didn't want to understand better. Her artist's instincts were clearly triggered by anything that sounded mysterious and potentially dangerous.

"Some parts of Hogwarts are more dangerous than others," McGonagall explained matter-of-factly. "Moving staircases, protective enchantments, areas restricted for safety reasons, and the occasional magical creature that has taken up residence in unused rooms."

"Moving staircases?" Gwen asked with fascination. "Like, they physically relocate themselves?"

"Frequently and without warning," McGonagall confirmed. "Part of the castle's charm, though it can be frustrating when you're late for class."

"Magical creatures living in the school?" Ned asked with obvious Jacob Batalon excitement. "What kind of magical creatures?"

"Nothing dangerous," McGonagall assured the parents, who were looking slightly alarmed. "Mostly things like house-elves, portraits that have developed personalities, and the occasional stray creature from Care of Magical Creatures classes."

"House-elves?" Helen Leeds asked with  practical curiosity. "Like, magical housekeeping staff?"

"Essentially, yes, though considerably more complex than simple housekeeping," McGonagall replied. "They maintain the castle, prepare meals, and generally ensure that everything runs smoothly."

"Portraits with personalities?" Felicia asked with fascination. "Like, they can talk and everything?"

"Indeed. Some of them are quite chatty, actually. You'll find them very helpful for directions, though I should warn you that a few of them have rather strong opinions about proper student behavior."

"Strong opinions how?" George Stacy asked with wariness, because in his experience, authority figures with strong opinions about behavior usually meant trouble for teenagers.

"They may lecture you about study habits, proper corridor etiquette, or the importance of maintaining house pride," McGonagall replied with dry humor. "Nothing more threatening than mild disapproval and occasional nagging."

"So basically like having extra teachers everywhere," Walter Hardy said with understanding.

"More like having very opinionated grandparents everywhere," McGonagall corrected with what might have been amusement.

Aurora, who had been checking an ornate pocket watch during this conversation, looked up with that particular Meryl Streep combination of professional efficiency and theatrical timing.

"Two minutes until activation," she announced. "Everyone needs to position themselves around the Portkey now. Each person should maintain physical contact with both the Portkey and at least one other person in your group."

The next few minutes involved the kind of logistical complexity that only occurred when eleven people tried to arrange themselves around a small object while maintaining multiple points of contact. There was considerable discussion about optimal positioning, careful maneuvering around luggage, and the inevitable parental concerns about whether everyone was holding on properly.

"Okay, this is like the world's most complicated group hug," May said as she tried to maintain contact with both the boot and Peter while not stepping on anyone's luggage. "And I've organized Parker family reunions, so I know complicated group logistics."

"Physics suggests this shouldn't work," Phillip Watson said with fascination as he examined their human chain formation. "The spatial relationships here are, uh, they're really quite improbable."

"Dad, we're about to be transported by magic boot," MJ pointed out with logic. "I think we've moved past conventional physics."

"Actually, that's exactly why I'm interested in the physics," Phillip replied with characteristic enthusiasm. "The intersection of magical theory and spatial mechanics is, you know, it's really quite fascinating from a theoretical perspective."

"Phil," Madeline said with gentle amusement, "maybe save the theoretical analysis for after we survive the magical transportation?"

Harry positioned himself between Peter and Ben, gripping Peter's hand with the fierce protectiveness of a little brother who was about to watch his family disappear into an unknown world.

"Remember everything," he whispered to Peter with that particular intensity that made simple statements sound like vital missions. "Take pictures if you can. Write down anything interesting. And if anything scary happens, remember that you're brave and smart and you have good friends."

"I will," Peter promised quietly, squeezing Harry's hand. The sincerity in his voice carried all the weight of a sacred vow. "And I'll write you a letter tonight about everything that happens today."

"Every detail?"

"Every detail I can remember."

"Even the boring stuff?"

"Especially the boring stuff, because knowing you, the boring stuff will be the parts you find most interesting."

MJ, positioned on Peter's other side with her free hand clutching her father's arm, looked around at the circle of nervous, excited faces and grinned with sudden delight.

"This is actually happening," she said with wonder that made her sound younger than her fifteen years. "We're actually about to do magic travel to a magic castle in Scotland."

"I still can't quite believe it," Ned added with amazement. "Like, yesterday I was worried about chemistry homework, and now I'm holding hands with everyone while we wait to be launched through space by magical footwear."

"The homework is still going to be there when we get back," Gwen pointed out with practicality, though her voice carried excitement that suggested she wasn't particularly concerned about mundane academic obligations at the moment.

"Thirty seconds," Aurora announced, consulting her watch with professional precision.

The Portkey began to emit a soft blue glow that pulsed with increasing frequency, like a magical heartbeat building toward something significant.

"Oh," Felicia said with fascination as she stared at the glowing boot, "that's actually really beautiful. It's like... like a little star or something."

"A star that's about to launch us across an ocean," Walter Hardy said with dry humor, though his grip on his daughter's hand was gentle and protective.

Professor McGonagall's voice carried clearly over the mounting magical energy, her Scottish accent lending authority to the instructions. "Remember, the sensation is sudden and quite intense, but it's over quickly. Try to stay relaxed and maintain your grip on both the Portkey and each other."

"Define relaxed," George Leeds said with practical concern. "Because I'm not sure relaxed is a realistic expectation under these circumstances."

"Just don't let go," Helen Leeds added with maternal authority. "Whatever happens, nobody lets go of anybody."

"Fifteen seconds."

The blue glow intensified, and everyone could feel the magical energy building around them like pressure in the air before a thunderstorm.

Ben looked around the circle at his family and their friends, all connected by touch and shared purpose and the absolute trust that came with facing the unknown together. His steadiness anchored the group as he spoke with quiet confidence.

"Here we go," he said, his voice carrying the steady reassurance that had guided his family through every previous adventure and challenge. "Whatever happens next, we're doing it together."

"Ten seconds."

"I love you all," May said with warmth that somehow reached everyone in the circle, "and I'm proud of you, and if anyone gets motion sick, try not to aim for the shoes."

"Aunt May!" Peter protested, but he was laughing despite his nervousness.

"Five seconds."

The boot was now glowing so brightly that it was difficult to look at directly, and the magical energy felt like electricity in the air around them.

Harry squeezed Peter's hand tighter, his expression serious with the weight of saying goodbye and excited with the anticipation of adventure.

"Three... two... one..."

The world dissolved.

One moment they were standing in the familiar warmth of the Parker living room, surrounded by the comfortable chaos of home and family and everything safe and known. The scent of May's coffee, the morning sunlight through their kitchen window, the sound of ordinary Tuesday morning traffic outside—all of it suddenly, completely gone.

The next moment they were being yanked forward and up and impossibly sideways through space that folded and twisted in ways that made no geometric sense. The sensation was exactly as advertised—like being grabbed behind the navel by an invisible hook and dragged through reality at tremendous speed while the world became a blur of colors and sensations that human perception wasn't designed to process.

Wind that couldn't be felt roared in their ears. Light that had no source streamed past them in ribbons of impossible brightness. The very concept of up and down became meaningless as they tumbled through magical space that operated according to principles that had nothing to do with physics.

It lasted exactly thirty seconds, though it felt both like an eternity and like no time at all.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

They tumbled onto solid ground in a heap of arms and legs and trunks and family members, everyone slightly dizzy and disoriented but essentially intact. The morning light was different here—crisper somehow, with the particular quality of northern sunlight that suggested they were much farther north than they had been moments before.

"Everyone alright?" McGonagall asked briskly, straightening her robes with the efficiency of someone who made international Portkey trips regularly. "No one left behind? No one missing any important body parts?"

A chorus of groans, nervous laughter, and confirmations filled the Scottish morning air as eleven people slowly untangled themselves and took their first look around.

"That was..." Phillip Watson began with characteristic thoughtfulness, then paused, apparently unable to find adequate words for the experience, his hands gesturing helplessly.

"Horrible," Helen Leeds finished with feeling. "That was absolutely horrible."

"But fast," George Stacy added with philosophical acceptance of unpleasant but necessary procedures. "Definitely fast."

"I think I left my stomach somewhere over the Atlantic," Madeline Watson said weakly, but she was smiling as she helped MJ to her feet with maternal grace.

Walter Hardy, who was checking to make sure Felicia was steady, looked around with that particular combination of professional assessment and paternal concern.

"Where exactly are we?" he asked, taking in the landscape with careful attention.

And that was when they all looked up and saw it.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry rose before them like something out of a dream or a fairy tale or the kind of illustration that belonged in the most magnificent children's book ever written. The castle seemed to grow out of the landscape itself, its towers and turrets reaching toward the Scottish sky with impossible grace and architectural audacity.

It was massive and ancient and beautiful in ways that made ordinary buildings seem like rough sketches by comparison. Towers spiraled upward with mathematical precision that somehow managed to look organic rather than calculated. Bridges connected different sections of the castle in graceful arcs that seemed to ignore the practical limitations of engineering. Windows caught the morning sunlight and threw it back in patterns that suggested the building itself was alive and aware.

The lake stretched out below the castle like a mirror reflecting sky and stone, with mountains rising beyond it in dramatic silhouette. The entire landscape looked like it had been arranged by someone with an artist's eye for perfect composition and a poet's understanding of how beauty could take your breath away.

"Oh my God," MJ breathed, her artist's eye taking in the architectural impossibilities with wonder and delight. "It's beautiful. It's absolutely beautiful."

"It's enormous," Ned added with awe, his voice carrying that particular reverence that came with seeing something that exceeded all possible expectations. "How does anyone find their way around something that big?"

"Very carefully," McGonagall replied with what might have been humor. "And with considerable help from the portraits, the ghosts, and the older students who remember what it was like to be lost for the first few weeks."

"There are really ghosts?" Gwen asked with immediate interest, because Gwen had never encountered a mystery she didn't want to investigate. "Like, actual transparent floating people ghosts?"

"Several. Most of them are quite helpful, though Sir Nicholas can be rather chatty, and the Bloody Baron is somewhat... intense."

Peter was staring at the castle with an expression that combined scientific fascination with aesthetic appreciation and the kind of wonder that came with seeing something that challenged everything he thought he understood about how the world worked.

"Professor McGonagall," he said slowly, his voice carrying the careful tone of someone trying to process architectural and magical impossibilities simultaneously, "how does the structural engineering work? I mean, those towers shouldn't be able to support themselves at those angles, and some of those bridges seem to be connecting to... nothing."

McGonagall's expression showed definite approval for the question, her Scottish accent warming slightly.

"Magic, Mr. Parker," she replied with a slight smile. "The answer to most of your architectural questions will be magic."

"But that's not really an answer," Peter protested with good-natured scientific frustration, his curiosity overriding any concern about challenging a professor. "Magic has to follow some kind of principles, some kind of rules. There has to be magical physics or magical engineering or something that explains how those bridges don't just fall into the lake."

"And that, Mr. Parker," McGonagall said with evident satisfaction, "is exactly the kind of curiosity that will serve you well in your studies. You'll find that magical theory can be quite as complex and systematic as any non-magical science."

"Really?" Peter asked with immediate excitement. "So there are actual magical laws of physics? Like, mathematical principles that govern how magic interacts with matter and energy and structural engineering?"

"Extensive ones," McGonagall confirmed. "You'll be learning several of them in your first year alone."

Harry, who had been unusually quiet during this exchange, was staring at the castle with an expression of wonder mixed with something that looked almost like recognition. His eyes focused on the ancient stones with an absorption that was unusual even for him.

"It looks like home," he said softly, so quietly that only Peter and Ben, standing closest to him, could hear. "I don't know why, but it looks like home."

Ben looked down at Harry with gentle understanding, recognizing the complex emotions that came with seeing a place that represented both tremendous possibility and inevitable separation.

"That's because it's going to be home for Peter and his friends," Ben said quietly. "And someday, it's going to be home for you too."

"Promise?" Harry asked with nine-year-old seriousness.

"Promise," Ben replied with the kind of quiet certainty that made promises feel like sacred vows.

Aurora, who had been allowing the family group time to absorb their first impression of Hogwarts, stepped forward with that particular combination of professional efficiency and dramatic timing.

"Now then," she said warmly, "shall we proceed to the castle? Professor Dumbledore is waiting to give you your tour, and we have quite a full day planned before this evening's shopping expedition to Diagon Alley."

"Shopping expedition?" May asked with interest, because May Parker had never met a shopping expedition she couldn't organize efficiently. "What kind of shopping? School supplies? Magical equipment? Please tell me it's not just books, because I've seen Peter's approach to textbook preservation."

"Hey!" Peter protested with wounded dignity. "I take good care of my books!"

"Honey, your chemistry textbook looks like it survived a small explosion," May replied with fond maternal ruthlessness. "Which, knowing you, it probably did."

"That was one time!" Peter said, while MJ, Ned, Gwen, and Felicia all exchanged looks that suggested it had been significantly more than one time.

As they gathered their luggage and followed McGonagall up the winding path toward the castle, the five American students naturally fell into the protective group formation that had become second nature over the past two years. Peter and MJ flanked Harry protectively, while Ned, Gwen, and Felicia formed a loose circle around them, all unconsciously coordinating their movements with the kind of intuitive teamwork that came from genuine friendship and shared experience.

"This is really happening," Felicia said with wonder as they walked toward the massive front doors. "We're really walking up to a magic castle in Scotland."

"I keep waiting to wake up," Ned agreed with Jacob Batalon amazement. "Like, this has to be the most elaborate dream ever."

"If this is a dream," Gwen said with practical consideration, "it's remarkably consistent with the laws of physics. Except for the magical parts, obviously."

Behind them, their parents walked with the careful steps of people navigating entirely new territory, but their faces showed wonder rather than worry as they took in the magnificent impossibility of the magical world their children were entering.

"You know," George Leeds said to his wife with thoughtful observation, "when they said 'magic school,' I was thinking something more like... I don't know, a slightly unusual building with some interesting special effects."

"Not a castle that looks like it was designed by architects who had very strong opinions about defying gravity," Helen agreed with practical amazement.

And ahead of them, Hogwarts waited—ancient and beautiful and full of secrets yet to be discovered, adventures yet to be had, and magic yet to be learned.

The massive front doors were easily three times the height of normal doors, made of dark wood that had been polished by centuries of use and carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift slightly when viewed from different angles. They stood open in welcome, revealing a glimpse of the Great Hall beyond—vaulted ceilings that disappeared into shadow, floating candles that provided warm light without any visible means of support, and the sense of vast space filled with history and possibility.

"Welcome," said a warm, familiar voice from the doorway, "to Hogwarts."

Professor Dumbledore stood framed in the enormous entrance, his robes a deep blue that seemed to complement the Scottish sky, his beard neat and his eyes twinkling with the particular satisfaction of someone who had been looking forward to this moment for a very long time. There was something about his presence that suggested gravitas mixed with genuine delight—the kind of authority that came from wisdom rather than position, and the kind of warmth that made strangers feel like welcome guests.

"Professor Dumbledore," Ben said with respectful recognition, stepping forward with the kind of steady confidence that suggested he understood he was meeting someone genuinely important. "Thank you for welcoming us to your school."

"The pleasure is entirely mine, Mr. Parker," Dumbledore replied with warm formality. "Though I suspect that before this day is over, you may find that Hogwarts is as much yours as it is mine."