The Elder Wand felt different in Harry's grasp.
Not just because it had finally chosen him over Voldemort—though the Dark Lord's lifeless body sprawled across the rubble-strewn Great Hall like a rejected mannequin was proof enough of that particular career change. No, this was something that made the ancient wood hum against his palm like a live wire, each pulse resonating through his bones with the intensity of a cathedral bell struck at midnight.
Harry stood amidst the wreckage of Hogwarts, watching survivors embrace, weep, and collapse in the boneless exhaustion that followed mortal terror. The great windows were shattered, letting in dawn light that painted everything gold and crimson. Ron and Hermione flanked him like particularly devoted bodyguards, their faces streaked with dirt, blood, and the kind of exhaustion that went soul-deep. Around them, the wizarding world celebrated the impossible—they had won.
Harry wasn't celebrating. He was listening to the symphony in his bones.
The Wand pulsed again, stronger this time, and he felt an answering vibration from the Resurrection Stone in his pocket and the Invisibility Cloak draped across his shoulders. The three Deathly Hallows, united at last in the hands of their true master. Just like the fairy tale said they should be, except fairy tales weren't supposed to make your skeleton ring like struck crystal.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice was sharp with worry, her brown eyes scanning his face with the intensity of someone reading a particularly difficult tome. "You've gone very pale. Well, paler than usual. And you're usually quite pale."
"Brilliant observation, Hermione," Harry drawled, his voice carrying that particular brand of dry wit that had gotten him through seven years of attempted murder. "Next you'll be telling me the castle's seen better days."
Ron snorted, but his blue eyes were worried. "Mate, you're looking a bit... I dunno. Like you've seen a ghost. More than usual, I mean. We do live in a castle full of them."
"Just processing the fact that I'm not dead," Harry replied, but the quip died in his throat as symbols began to flare into existence before him. They hung in the air like burning calligraphy, silver-bright and utterly alien. Not English, not Latin, not runes, not hieroglyphs—something that predated human language entirely. And the truly disturbing part was that Harry understood every flowing character as if he'd been reading them his entire life.
*GENETIC LOCK RECOGNIZED. BLOODLINE CONFIRMED. HOUSE PEVERELL AUTHENTICATED.*
*INITIATING CODEX PROTOCOL. PREPARING TRANSPORT.*
Harry blinked hard, hoping the words would disappear. They didn't. If anything, they burned brighter. "Right. Well, this is new. And deeply concerning."
"What's new?" Ron demanded, spinning to look where Harry was staring. "What are you looking at?"
"You can't see them?" Harry asked, gesturing at the floating text that now pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Hermione frowned, following his gaze. "See what, Harry?"
"The glowing alien writing that's apparently giving me a performance review," Harry said with the kind of calm that preceded either enlightenment or complete mental breakdown. "According to this cosmic report card, I've passed some sort of genetic test and I'm about to be transported somewhere. Which is just fantastic, really. Because what I really needed after defeating the darkest wizard in history was an impromptu field trip to—"
The Great Hall vanished.
Reality unraveled like poorly knitted wool, dissolving into threads of silver light that pulled him through dimensions with all the gentleness of a hurricane. He heard Ron shout his name, caught a glimpse of Hermione lunging forward, but they were already fading into memory as he tumbled through space that wasn't space, past stars that arranged themselves in patterns no earthly astronomer had ever catalogued.
The Hallows blazed against him—Wand, Stone, and Cloak transforming from mere artifacts into something far more sophisticated. Components of a machine built by minds that thought in concepts humans had no words for.
Then, with a sensation like diving into warm honey, the journey ended.
Harry staggered, his knees nearly buckling as solid ground reasserted itself beneath his feet. The surface was smooth crystal, shot through with veins of silver light that pulsed like captured lightning. The chamber around him was vast—cathedral-vast—its walls carved from what looked like crystallized starlight. Patterns flowed across every surface, geometric designs that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them, creating the illusion that the walls themselves were alive and dreaming.
The air was different here. Cleaner, somehow, with a metallic tang that made his lungs feel more efficient, as if each breath was doing the work of three. Gravity felt lighter, or perhaps he felt stronger. Everything hummed with a frequency just below hearing, a bass note that resonated in his chest.
"Well," Harry said aloud, his voice echoing strangely in the crystal space, "this is either the most elaborate fever dream I've ever had, or I've just been teleported to the interior decorator's wet dream of what space looks like."
He turned in a slow circle, taking in the impossible architecture. "Though I have to admit, it's got style. Very 'ancient civilization meets modern art gallery.' Bit much on the glowing crystal front, but then again, I live in a castle with moving staircases and talking portraits, so perhaps I shouldn't judge."
"Welcome, young heir."
The voice rolled across the chamber like distant thunder made of velvet and starlight. It came from everywhere and nowhere, resonating through the crystal walls with such depth that Harry felt it in his bones. He spun, Elder Wand rising instinctively—though some part of him suspected it would be about as useful here as a butter knife against a dragon.
The figure approaching him was, quite simply, magnificent in a way that made Harry's brain struggle to process what he was seeing. Seven feet tall, broad-shouldered but lean, moving with the kind of fluid grace that suggested either centuries of practice or simply being built differently than ordinary mortals. His hair was dark and swept back from a face that belonged in Renaissance paintings—all sharp angles and classical proportions, the kind of features sculptors spent lifetimes trying to capture.
But it was the eyes that stopped Harry cold. They glowed with soft silver radiance, ancient and kind and impossibly wise. Eyes that had seen the birth and death of worlds, that held the weight of civilizations in their depths.
The man wore robes that seemed to shift between pitch black and rich crimson, cut in a style that was both timelessly elegant and utterly alien. And there, emblazoned on his chest, was a symbol that wasn't quite the Deathly Hallows but shared its elegance—something that spoke of hope in a language Harry was only beginning to understand.
But beneath all the otherworldly majesty, Harry could see something that made his breath catch. The same stubborn jawline that stared back at him from mirrors. The same unruly dark hair that refused to behave regardless of magical intervention. And the same green eyes, though these burned with an inner fire that put his own to shame.
Harry lowered his wand slightly, tilted his head, and delivered his assessment with the kind of bone-dry wit that had gotten him through seven years of mortal peril: "Right. So you're either my long-lost alien grandfather, a very elaborate hallucination brought on by too much stress and not enough sleep, or Death himself has decided to cosplay as a space prince. Given my luck, I'm going with option one."
The magnificent being smiled—actually smiled, warm and genuinely amused. "Your deductive skills are impressive. I am indeed Pev-Rell, founder of your bloodline."
"Of course you are," Harry said with the kind of calm that came from having one's world turned upside down so many times that rightside up had become a foreign concept. "And let me guess—you've been waiting centuries for me to unite the Hallows so you could whisk me away to your crystal palace for a heart-to-heart about my heritage. Probably involving some sort of cosmic destiny and a great deal of glowing."
Pev's smile widened, and for a moment he looked less like an otherworldly being and more like a fond grandfather watching a particularly clever grandchild work through a puzzle. "You have your ancestor's wit. Eira always said our descendants would inherit both her temper and her sharp tongue."
"Eira?" Harry's eyebrow arched in the particular way that suggested either interest or incoming sarcasm. "Let me guess—beautiful, brilliant, probably hexed you the first time you met?"
"She cursed me, actually," Pev said with obvious fondness. "A rather creative jinx that turned my hair blue for a month. Then, three days later, she kissed me in the middle of the Great Hall at Hogwarts."
Harry stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head with something between admiration and exasperation. "So I'm descended from a woman who flirted via hostile magic and an alien who thought that was charming. That explains absolutely everything about my dating life."
Pev's laugh was warm and rich, echoing through the crystal chamber like music. "She would have liked you immensely. You have her spirit."
"Lucky me," Harry said dryly, but his expression had softened slightly. "So what are you, exactly? Besides impossibly tall, criminally attractive, and apparently immortal?"
"I am Kryptonian," Pev said simply, and the word carried weight like planets falling. "The last son of a world that died among distant stars. I came to Earth seeking knowledge of other forms of power—your magic fascinated my people. I intended to study and return home." His expression grew distant, touched with ancient sorrow. "But Krypton died while I walked among wizards, and Earth became my home. Your ancestor became my heart."
Harry absorbed this, his sharp mind already working through implications. "Right. So you're an alien refugee with a thing for magic and a weakness for dangerous women. Got it. But that doesn't explain why I'm here, or why I feel like I've been plugged into the mains."
"Because the Codex sleeps no longer in your blood," Pev said, stepping closer. His presence radiated warmth and power, like standing near a star that had learned to be gentle. "Can you feel it, Harry? The change beginning in your cells? Your heart beats stronger now. Your senses are sharpening. The very air carries more information than it did before."
And Harry could feel it. His heartbeat was different—deeper, steadier, like a drum made of something stronger than flesh. The crystal walls around him pulsed in perfect rhythm with it, and when he looked at Pev-Rell, he could see light blazing beneath the man's skin like captured sunfire. Every breath brought a flood of sensation—he could smell rain from miles away, hear conversations in the village below Hogwarts, feel the magnetic field of the planet itself humming beneath his feet.
"Bloody hell," he breathed, then caught himself. "Sorry. I meant, 'Good Lord, this is quite extraordinary.' Wouldn't want to offend my alien heritage with poor language."
Pev's eyes twinkled with mirth. "I have spent a thousand years among humans, young heir. I am quite familiar with your colorful expressions. Your mother had a particularly creative vocabulary when she was frustrated."
"My mother?" Harry's voice sharpened with sudden hunger. "You knew my mother?"
"Lily Potter was brilliant," Pev said warmly. "Brilliant and fierce and kind to her very core. She came seeking knowledge of ancient magic, found references to the Peverell line in my carefully hidden records. We spoke often in her final years. She suspected what you might become, though she never lived to see it."
Harry's throat tightened unexpectedly. "She knew? About this? About me?"
"She knew you were special beyond even what the wizarding world recognized," Pev said gently. "She knew that one day, when you were ready, when you had proven yourself worthy through trial and sacrifice, the blood of Krypton would wake in your veins and you would become something more than either human or Kryptonian alone."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, processing this revelation. When he spoke again, his voice was softer but no less sharp. "So the Hallows weren't really about mastering death, were they? They were alien technology disguised as magical artifacts. Very sneaky of you."
"The Hallows are both," Pev replied. "Magic and science are not opposites, Harry. They are different languages describing the same fundamental forces. The Hallows are memory crystals, yes, encoded with the genetic legacy of House Rell. But they are also exactly what your legends claim—artifacts of immense magical power. Your magic and my science, working in harmony."
"Right," Harry said, though his tone suggested he was still working through the implications. "And now I'm what, exactly? The last son of Krypton? Chosen one, take two? Because I have to tell you, the first round of being a prophesied savior was quite enough, thank you very much."
Pev's expression grew serious, though warmth still glinted in his silver eyes. "You are the heir to two worlds, Harry Potter. The bridge between magic and science, between Earth and the stars. What you do with that legacy is entirely your choice."
Harry regarded him steadily, green eyes sharp with intelligence and more than a little wariness. "And if I choose to go back to London, open a pub, and pretend this conversation never happened?"
"Then you would return to London with my blessing," Pev said without hesitation. "I will not make the mistakes others have made with you, young heir. I offer knowledge, not commands. Guidance, not control. The choice of who you become has always been, and will always be, entirely your own."
Something in Harry's posture relaxed at that, though his expression remained characteristically wry. "Well, that's refreshingly direct. Though I have to ask—do I get a cape with this cosmic inheritance? Because if I'm going to be flying around as Earth's newest alien protector, I'd rather like to look the part."
Pev's smile was radiant. "The cape, young heir, is entirely optional."
"Good," Harry said with satisfaction. "Because let's be honest—I look great in dramatic fashion statements. The whole 'mysterious and brooding' look has always worked for me."
"Yes," Pev agreed, eyes dancing with amusement, "but 'devastatingly handsome with excellent bone structure' certainly does."
Harry paused, blinked, then grinned with genuine humor. "Did my immortal alien ancestor just call me pretty?"
"I called you devastatingly handsome," Pev corrected with mock solemnity. "There is a difference."
"Right, well, good to know vanity runs in the family," Harry said, but he was smiling now, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. "So what happens now? Training montage? Costume fitting? Dramatic speech about responsibility and power?"
"Now," Pev said, "you learn what it truly means to be the son of two worlds. If you're willing."
Harry Potter—The Boy Who Lived, Master of Death, and now heir to a civilization that spanned stars—looked around the crystal chamber that hummed with alien power, felt the strength building in his bones and the vast potential unfolding in his blood.
Then he smiled, and it was sharp and bright and entirely, unmistakably human.
"Well," he said, settling the Elder Wand more comfortably in his grip, "when you put it like that, how could I possibly refuse? Though I do hope there's tea somewhere in this fortress of yours. Because cosmic awakening or not, I'm still British, and there are some things that simply cannot be faced without proper refreshment."
Pev-Rell threw back his head and laughed, the sound ringing through the crystal chamber like bells made of starlight.
"My dear boy," he said, eyes bright with centuries of accumulated joy, "I have been waiting a thousand years to hear you say that."
—
Pev-Rell led Harry deeper into the Fortress, through corridors that held architectural logic in absolute contempt. Walls curved upward like crystalline waterfalls frozen in reverse, while staircases that had clearly never heard of structural engineering drifted gracefully into the void. Gravity seemed to operate on the honor system, and the ambient crystals hummed with harmonics that resonated through Harry's bones like the world's most sophisticated tuning fork.
Harry paused to appreciate a particularly impossible spiral that somehow managed to curve both inward and outward simultaneously. "Right then," he said, his voice carrying that particular brand of droll appreciation that had gotten him through seven years of magical nonsense. "I have to ask—did you design this place during a fever dream, or is this what passes for sensible architecture on Krypton?"
"The Fortress responds to the inhabitant's subconscious preferences," Pev-Rell explained, his deep voice carrying amusement that echoed musically through the living walls. "I'm afraid a millennium of solitude has made my aesthetic tastes rather... baroque."
"Baroque," Harry repeated, running his fingers along a wall that rippled like liquid starlight at his touch. "That's certainly one word for it. I was leaning toward 'what happens when M.C. Escher has a psychotic break and gets hold of alien technology,' but baroque works too."
Pev's laugh was warm and rich, carrying genuine delight. "Your wit is extraordinary, young heir. Eira used to say that sarcasm was the highest form of intelligence. She once described the Grand Citadel of Krypton as 'a cathedral designed by someone who'd been drinking liquid mathematics.'"
Harry's grin was sharp and appreciative. "Your wife sounds like she had excellent taste in both husbands and architectural criticism. I can see where I get my charming personality from."
They passed through an archway that definitely hadn't been there a moment before, emerging into a chamber so vast that Harry's enhanced senses couldn't find the ceiling. Constellations hung in the darkness above like someone had stolen pieces of the night sky and pinned them to the roof for decoration. The walls curved away into impossible distances, covered in geometric patterns that seemed to shift and flow when observed peripherally.
But it was the structure at the chamber's heart that commanded attention.
The hibernation pod rose from the crystalline floor like a work of art carved from shadows and fire. Black crystal so perfect it seemed to drink light, shot through with veins of crimson that pulsed with their own inner radiance. The thing was clearly alien in origin, but there was something oddly organic about its curves—as if it had grown rather than been constructed.
Harry circled it slowly, his movements carrying the unconscious grace of someone accustomed to life-or-death situations. Each step was measured, predatory almost, green eyes cataloguing details with the intensity of a born survivor. "Well," he said finally, voice carrying that particular tone of dry resignation, "when you said 'educational experience,' I was rather hoping for something involving books and comfortable chairs. Possibly tea. This looks suspiciously like the sort of thing that either grants cosmic enlightenment or turns people into alien breakfast cereal."
Pev-Rell approached the pod with reverent care, running his hands along its surface. "A hibernation chamber," he said gently. "Here, your cells will absorb concentrated yellow sun radiation while the Codex completes its integration with your physiology. Think of it as..."
"An educational cocoon," Harry interrupted, his tone suggesting he'd heard this explanation before and found it wanting. "Yes, you mentioned. Though I have to say, your definition of 'education' is rather more hands-on than what I experienced at Hogwarts. And that's saying something, considering my Defense Against the Dark Arts professors had a tendency toward homicidal mania."
"The process is entirely painless," Pev assured him, silver eyes twinkling with amusement. "Far more pleasant than your typical British educational experience, I promise. No cruel headmasters, no impossible examinations, no detentions scrubbing cauldrons."
Harry's eyebrow arched in that particular way that suggested incoming wit of the razor-sharp variety. "Just twenty-eight days locked in an alien sarcophagus while cosmic forces rewrite my genetic code. Brilliant. Absolutely what every young man dreams of when he's told he's special. 'Congratulations, Potter, you're the Chosen One. Now climb into this glowing coffin and try not to think about all the ways this could go spectacularly wrong.'"
Pev's smile was indulgent and genuinely fond. "Your skepticism is healthy. It will serve you well in the years to come."
"My skepticism has kept me alive for the better part of two decades," Harry replied, still circling the pod with predatory grace. "Along with an alarming amount of luck and friends who are considerably more clever than I am." He paused, running his fingers along the crimson veins that pulsed beneath the crystal surface. "Though I have to admit, this thing does have style. Very 'ancient alien technology meets modern art installation.' If I'm going to be transformed into something inhuman, at least it's happening in aesthetically pleasing surroundings."
"When you emerge," Pev said, watching Harry's examination with approval, "you will be more than human, yes. But you will still be yourself. Still Harry Potter. Still the young man who chose love over power, who walked into the Forbidden Forest to die for his friends."
Harry's expression softened slightly at that, though his voice remained characteristically dry. "And I'll also be Har-Rell, last son of House Rell, heir to cosmic destiny and probably a great deal of paperwork. Lovely. Just what I always wanted—two identities, twice the existential crisis."
"The name will feel natural," Pev promised. "As will the knowledge, the power, the responsibility that comes with both. But Harry—" His voice grew serious, silver eyes holding weight that spoke of centuries. "You asked about the educational aspect. What exactly do you think I'll be teaching you during those twenty-eight days?"
Harry's smile turned sharp and dangerous. "Oh, I imagine it's more than just 'how to lift heavy objects and see through walls.' You've got that look, Pev. That 'I'm about to drop another cosmic revelation on you' look. I know it well—spent seven years watching Dumbledore wear the exact same expression every time he was about to tell me something that would fundamentally alter my understanding of reality."
Pev laughed, the sound echoing through the vast chamber like distant thunder made of starlight. "You see far too much, young heir."
"Occupational hazard of growing up with people who thought 'need to know' was more of a guideline than an actual policy," Harry replied, settling into that particular stance that suggested he was prepared for anything from tea and biscuits to interdimensional warfare. "Come on then, let's have it. What's the other shoe that's about to drop? Because there's always another shoe. There's probably an entire shoe store somewhere, just waiting to drop on my head."
With a gesture that belonged in classical sculpture, Pev summoned a three-dimensional star map into existence. Constellations bloomed in the air between them, connected by lines of force that pulsed with their own inner light. The display was beautiful, elegant, and absolutely terrifying in its implications.
"You are not the only Kryptonian child on Earth," Pev said quietly.
Harry went very still. When he spoke, his voice carried that particular quality of calm that preceded either brilliant insights or spectacular violence. "Come again?"
"House of El," Pev explained, touching a particularly brilliant star in the projection. "Where House Rell pursued mysticism and the deep magics of the universe, they were scientists and builders. Logic where we offered intuition. Reason where we provided wonder. When Krypton fell, I was not the only survivor to ensure our people's continuation."
The star map shifted, zooming inward until Harry could clearly see Earth's solar system. A trajectory appeared, bright and unmistakable, ending in the planet's central landmass.
"Eighteen years ago—your year of birth, as it happens—a Kryptonian vessel entered Earth's atmosphere. The ship carried a child. The last son of El."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, processing this information with the calculating intensity of someone accustomed to having his world turned upside down on a regular basis. When he finally spoke, his voice carried resignation and dark humor in equal measure.
"Of course there is. Somewhere in America—Kansas, probably, knowing my luck—there's a farm boy discovering he's bulletproof and can bench press tractors. Absolutely perfect. Just what the world needs." He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture of long-suffering patience. "Tell me, are we meant to be best friends or mortal enemies? Because honestly, my track record with fate-mandated relationships is tragically inconsistent. Last time prophecy got involved, I had to die to sort things out properly."
Pev's expression grew gentle, understanding. "That choice will be entirely yours to make. But know this, Har-Rell—House Rell and House El were never enemies. We were complementary halves of a greater whole. Science and magic, logic and intuition working in harmony."
"Yin and yang," Harry mused, "but with more flying and considerably less inner peace." His smile turned sardonic. "So he's the scientist and I'm the magician. He gets to be Superman, I get to be... what exactly? The Wizard of Oz?"
"You underestimate yourself," Pev said firmly. "The son of El will indeed be powerful beyond imagining once his abilities fully manifest. He may possess the strength to move mountains, the speed to outrace light itself. But he will still be bound by the fundamental laws of physics, limited by what is scientifically possible."
Harry's eyes glinted with sudden understanding. "Ah. But magic doesn't care about scientific possibility, does it?"
"Precisely." Pev's smile was proud. "Where he might move a mountain with raw strength, you could convince it to move itself. Where he might fly faster than light, you might simply step between dimensions. You will not be more powerful than the son of El—you will be differently powerful. And sometimes, young heir, different is exactly what the world needs."
Harry absorbed this, pacing slowly around the pod. His reflection caught in the black crystal, distorted and multiplied by the crimson veins that ran through its structure like captured lightning. "Black and crimson," he observed. "House colors, I take it?"
"House Rell colors," Pev confirmed. "When you emerge from the hibernation chamber, your robes will carry those shades. Not as a uniform or symbol of authority—simply as a reminder of what you are and what you represent."
"And what exactly do I represent?" Harry asked, though his tone suggested he suspected he wouldn't entirely like the answer.
Pev's voice grew soft with ancient hope. "Possibility. The proof that two worlds—Earth and Krypton, magic and science, human heart and alien heritage—need not be opposed. You are living evidence that the best of both peoples can coexist in one person."
Harry let out a low whistle. "That's rather a lot of symbolism to dump on someone who barely passed Arithmancy. Though I suppose being a symbol is better than being a target. Had quite enough of that, thank you very much."
"You've been preparing for this role your entire life," Pev said gently. "Every choice you made, every sacrifice you were willing to make for others—all of it led here. To this moment, this decision."
Harry studied the pod for a long moment, green eyes reflecting the crimson light that pulsed through its crystalline heart. When he looked up at Pev, his expression was characteristically wry but determined. "Right then. If I'm going to do this—and let's be honest, cosmic destiny rarely accepts 'no thank you' as an answer—I have conditions."
Pev folded his arms, clearly amused. "I'm listening."
"First," Harry said, counting off on his fingers, "when I wake up from my month-long nap in the magic tanning bed, you're going to give me the complete technical manual on this magic-plus-Kryptonian-science hybrid system. None of this mystical destiny waffle. I want equations, I want Arithmancy matrices, I want theoretical frameworks and practical applications. If I'm going to be a magical alien super-wizard, I bloody well intend to understand exactly how the whole thing works."
"Agreed," Pev said without hesitation.
"Second," Harry continued, "I want everything you know about this son of El. Everything. Name, location, current status, power levels, psychological profile, favorite color—the works. If there's another confused superpowered young man stumbling around the American Midwest, I want to find him before he accidentally levels Topeka or gets kidnapped by government scientists with more enthusiasm than sense."
"Also agreed."
Harry's smile turned absolutely wicked. "And third—when all this cosmic transformation business is finished, when I've mastered my new abilities and learned to juggle planets or whatever it is I'll be able to do—I'm going straight back to London to surprise Ron and Hermione."
Pev raised an eyebrow. "That seems... relatively straightforward."
"Oh, it's not the going back part that's going to be fun," Harry said, eyes dancing with mischief. "It's the bit where I casually demonstrate my new abilities. Maybe levitate the Burrow while commenting on the weather. Or light a cigarette with heat vision while discussing Quidditch statistics. They've saved my life more times than I can count—I think I owe them the chance to watch their best friend become genuinely, spectacularly impossible."
Pev-Rell threw back his head and laughed, the sound ringing through the crystal chamber like bells made of pure joy. "My dear boy," he said, silver eyes bright with centuries of accumulated mirth, "I believe I am going to enjoy having a descendant more than I ever dared hope."
"Just wait until you see what I do with a thousand years of magical knowledge and alien superpowers," Harry replied cheerfully, approaching the pod as it began to unfold like some impossible flower. The interior glowed with gentle golden light, lined with what looked like crystallized comfort. "I'm planning to be absolutely insufferable about it."
He paused at the threshold, looking back at Pev with sudden seriousness. "You'll be here when I wake up?"
"I have waited a thousand years to see what you become, Har-Rell," Pev said softly. "I'm certainly not going to miss the finale."
Harry nodded, then grinned with the kind of reckless confidence that had gotten him through seven years of supernatural crisis management. "Brilliant. Because when I crawl out of this thing as Earth's newest magical alien superhero, I'm going to have questions. Lots of questions. And probably some very strong opinions about interior decorating."
He settled into the pod with fluid grace, the crystal walls adjusting to cradle him perfectly. "You know," he said conversationally as the lid began to close, "this is either going to be the most brilliant thing I've ever done, or it's going to kill me in the most spectacularly stupid fashion imaginable. Given my luck with life-altering decisions, I'd say the odds are roughly fifty-fifty."
The pod sealed with a sound like distant music, crimson light flooding the chamber as the transformation began. Through the crystal, Pev-Rell could see Harry's face, peaceful in the beginning of his metamorphosis, while golden energy played across his skin like captured sunlight.
"Sleep well, young heir," Pev whispered, settling into his vigil. "When you wake, the universe will have a new guardian. And I suspect it will never be quite the same."
In the hibernation pod, Harry Potter began the journey toward becoming something unprecedented—the first Kryptonian Mage in a thousand years, heir to two worlds, and quite possibly the most dangerous wizard the universe had ever seen.
The crystals sang a lullaby of transformation, and time flowed onward toward an impossible future.
---
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