God Of Death.

Alvis entered the room, greeted the people present, and sat at the table, placing his crutches beside him. The Committee across from him observed him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Dumbledore smiled at him and spoke: "Welcome, Lord Black, and thank you for coming to this interview."

"It's no trouble, Headmaster Dumbledore."

Dumbledore introduced the other members of the ICW before diving into the main topic. "We've reviewed your file and have just a few additional questions before deciding whether or not to reinstate your diplomatic immunity."

"I'm listening." He smiled, gesturing for the MACUSA representative to speak.

"Lord Black, in the memories you've provided, several of our counterparts have referred to you, and I quote, as a 'professional troublemaker.' Could you clarify that?"

He gave an amused smile, guessing that this remark had caught their attention. "Of course. My job requires me to travel frequently, which is normal for a curse breaker. However, I also seem to have a knack for getting into trouble without meaning to. For instance, I could be in the middle of nowhere in Guatemala, searching for ruins, and stumble upon magical creature traffickers. Or I might go to buy bread in the nearest village to the site I'm working at and end up in the middle of a hostage situation. Then there's the time in the U.S. when I went to report my presence in the country to the Aurors and found myself dealing with a dark wizard trying to break the wards around the Magical Congress, which would've caused a cascading collapse and leveled New York.

Whenever I find myself in such situations, I intervene. My best friend often tells me I have a hero complex and that it's going to get me killed someday. On the other hand, I blame the English sheep for conditioning me to be their savior because of a prophecy."

The French representative raised an eyebrow at his wording and asked, sounding almost amused: "Sheep?"

"You know, those who refuse to think for themselves, always following the loudest bleater, whether they're right or wrong, and changing their minds as often as their shirts? The lead sheep right now is Headmaster Dumbledore."

"You have an interesting opinion of your own community," The same man remarked.

"Let's just say there are very good reasons why I've submitted a citizenship request to MACUSA."

Dumbledore cleared his throat before the conversation could veer further off-topic. "Ladies and gentlemen, let's refocus a bit."

"You're right, my apologies."

The Chinese representative nodded and asked: "Could we view memories of some of these incidents?"

"Of course."

Dumbledore tapped the table with his wand, and a Pensieve emerged from its center. Alvis placed several memories into it, and the representatives viewed them in groups. When they had all finished, more than one of them stared at him with a mixture of incredulity and horrified admiration.

Dumbledore was among them and was the one to murmur: "You absorbed the magical backlash from a cascading collapse that should have destroyed New York and its surroundings—and you survived. How?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. I often joke that my specialty as a curse breaker is survival, but in that case, I think it was just a miracle."

They took a moment to process what they had seen before the MACUSA representative resumed the line of questioning: "So, they call you a professional troublemaker because you have a habit of accidentally stopping every criminal you encounter?"

"Yes. That, and I have an unfortunate tendency to creatively curse people who irritate me far too much—with enchantments or curses that everyone else has long forgotten. Though I generally stick to things that are embarrassing or inconvenient rather than dangerous."

There was a brief silence at that, and Dumbledore asked: "And you've never had legal trouble for that before receiving immunity?"

"No."

"How? Did you bribe the local authorities?"

"Oh no, not even. I got away with it on the simple technicality that no one thought they had anyone capable of stopping me. And later, there were no prisons that could hold me. Hence the agreement with the ICW. I have diplomatic immunity, provided I notify the local authorities when I'm in the area, agree to help with difficult-to-capture criminals, and don't become a dark wizard. According to them, if I went after someone, it was because they deserved it and had it coming."

They exchanged glances before Dumbledore spoke again: "If we restore your immunity, what do you plan to do?"

"The same as before. Travel for work and get into the trouble I'll inevitably stumble upon. Well, for the next ten years, I intend to live peacefully in the U.S. with my double. I don't want to take unnecessary risks until he's of age."

"Does that mean you would refuse to help during those ten years?"

"Yes. Unless the threat is global and no one else can handle it, I'd prefer to stay on leave. I don't plan to seek trouble, though I know it'll find me eventually."

They exchanged glances again, and some began taking notes before the next question came: "In the memory, you were described as a double-S level threat. Why is that? Based on the dates, you were only twenty years old and not yet a high-level veteran curse breaker."

He winced and scratched his cheek, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Ah, right. That. Did I mention that I ended the second blood war against Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"I might have forgotten to specify my methods."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, curious, and asked: "And what methods were those?"

Alvis sighed, straightened up, and fixed him with a serious look. Suddenly, he was no longer the laid-back, socially awkward curse breaker they'd been talking to but a war general.

"Understand this, Headmaster: I am not a pacifist like you, and I don't believe in second chances. For context, Voldemort returned at the end of my fourth year, spent a year gathering his forces while the government buried its head in the sand and refused to acknowledge his return, and then the war truly began at the end of my fifth year. The government was useless, the Order of the Phoenix accomplished next to nothing practical, and most adults expected me to deal with the problem because of a prophecy. In April 1997, I learned Voldemort's secret to survival from you, Headmaster."

He was already hunting the artifacts anchoring him to the living world, and the protections around one of them mortally wounded him. Although he managed to slow the curse's progression to survive until the end of the school year, he ordered his spy to kill him publicly to solidify his position.

I left school that April to do the logical thing: hire curse breakers to track down the artifacts. Killing Voldemort and ending the war was more important than finishing my studies.

In my fifth year, I also started two clandestine defense clubs since the Ministry assigned us, someone who refused to teach us anything, convinced that Dumbledore was building an army of students for a coup.

The first club was for those who just wanted to pass their exams. The second was for those who wanted to learn to fight and participate in the war.

When I left, I entrusted the school's and the students' protection to those still there and gathered the adults who had graduated to help me. By the time the Ministry fell, we already had bases prepared and a list of Muggle-borns. We were ready to act and immediately began a massive evacuation."

He took a deep breath, pulled a bottle of water from his bag, and took a sip before continuing: "Once again, the adults and the Order of the Phoenix were useless. They continued to follow Dumbledore's doctrine of prioritizing capture. My group had a different policy. When Voldemort reinstated the taboo on his name, we exploited it. We triggered it in secure locations, captured anyone who showed up and dosed them with Veritaserum to determine if they were willing followers or not.

The innocents were sent to one of our bases, and their families were secured whenever possible. The willing Death Eaters were hanged after we extracted all the information they had.

Dumbledore's spy eventually connected us with another spy—a Death Eater who wanted to escape with his family. With their information, we were able to capture many more of Voldemort's supporters. In the end, they provided us with the date, time, and location of a general meeting of all the remaining forces. We waited until the family evacuated with their hostages before collapsing the wards in a cascading explosion. It killed Voldemort for good, along with what was left of his men."

He took another sip of water, observing their reactions.

Dumbledore looked saddened and horrified, but many seemed to approve of his methods. The purpose of a war wasn't to die for one's ideals and country. It was to make the other side die for theirs.

"Of course, it didn't end there. When the adults and governments are so cowardly, incompetent, and corrupt that untrained children have to end their war, they really shouldn't be surprised when those same children decide to seize power, tear everything down, and rebuild from scratch to ensure such things don't happen again anytime soon.

A whole part of my group was dedicated to post-war planning: which laws to keep, which to abolish, what kind of government to establish—that sort of thing. I'm not a politician or a diplomat. However, it was decided that I would lead the post-war government if only to discourage rebellion. I stayed in power for a year and a half before handing the reins to someone I trusted and deemed competent.

Then, I left to become a curse breaker, telling them not to give me a reason to get involved in their politics again."

He took one last sip, put away his bottle, and continued to stare at Dumbledore, who looked as though he had aged several more years in just moments.

"I've only had to go back once in twenty years, and all it took was me sitting in my seat at the Wizengamot for the proposed law to be abandoned immediately. And that is why I'm considered a double-S rank threat."

He gave a sardonic smile and relaxed in his chair before adding: "Of course, I'm completely harmless, as long as no one touches my family or those under my protection. Just... a curse breaker and professional troublemaker."

There was another moment of silence before someone asked: "Do you plan to attack anyone in England?"

"No, I plan to leave and leave politics to my cousin. I've already made sure Voldemort is dead for good, so there shouldn'tbe any issues—at least not until the next idiot decides to seize power to push their racist agenda. As for what happens to the English sheep? Not my problem. As long as my family isn't targeted, I couldn't care less. I did my duty once, and I won't do it again."

His answer seemed to satisfy them.

Dumbledore merely looked sad, as though someone had just killed his puppy in front of him. Still, he recovered with a forced smile: "Thank you for these clarifications, Lord Black. If there are no further questions?" No one spoke, and he nodded. "In that case, you may go. We will send our decision by owl."

"Thank you for hearing me out. I wish you all a good day."

They exchanged farewells, and he left. It hadn't gone too badly, and he thought he had scored some good points with his memories. With any luck, they would reach the same decision as their counterparts.

He adjusted his tie nervously. It wasn't every day that one met the Queen to find out whether they'd be knighted for war crimes committed in another dimension.

For the occasion, he wore a Muggle suit, though he had kept his bag, boots, and gloves. The royal wizard who had escorted him kept throwing suspicious glances his way as if expecting him to attack everyone in sight. Perhaps sending them memories detailing the entire course of the war, to provide them with the most complete context possible, had been a bit much? Still, they had requested detailed memories to judge whether he was worthy of being knighted.

Finally, he was led into the royal office. The Queen sat at her desk, with two wizards standing guard nearby. Alvis walked forward, stopping in front of her desk, and bowed respectfully.

"Your Majesty."

"Lord Potter-Black-Peverell." She gestured toward one of the visitor chairs. "Please, have a seat."

He complied, leaning his crutches against the desk. He couldn't wait to stop needing them. According to Andy, he had another two or three days before the potions finished healing the damaged tissue around his knee. Someone brought in a tea service and poured it for both of them. Alvis accepted his cup with thanks and took a sip, after a wandless spell to check for any potions.

"I must admit, your letter surprised me. It's not every day I'm contacted by someone from another world similar to ours. May I ask how you found yourself in such a situation?"

"Yes, ma'am. I was working on a site where one of the warnings translated to 'intruders will be banished from reality,'and I got hit by a spell in the back while dismantling a barrier. It blew up in my face, and I woke up in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts."

She nodded and sipped her tea. "I see. That must not have been easy for you."

"No, indeed, ma'am. However, I've been too busy these past few days to really dwell on it. I do not doubt that I'll collapse at some point, but not just yet."

He was still relying on Occlumency to compartmentalize his emotions and past. He knew it wasn't a good idea, but there was too much to do for him to stop now.

"I understand that reaffirming your knighthood is among the tasks you seek to complete?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Why do you wish to be re-knighted?"

He took a sip of tea and carefully set his cup down before replying: "I sacrificed my childhood to save the English magical community, fulfilling the duty they thrust upon me. Being knighted for my victory in the Second Blood War was a surprise, but it was the reward the Queen chose to grant me. I know it wasn't here, but it's something I earned through my efforts, by my means. It's a title I could be proud of, unlike the ones wizards have given me over the years. It's not something I inherited or was forced upon me without asking for or deserving. This title is mine."

He had never liked the nicknames given to him by the magical sheep. Their opinions shifted as quickly as their moods—hero one day, dark wizard the next, tyrant the day after. But Sir Harry Potter, Knight of Her Majesty? That was his, a title he could take pride in because he had earned it through his efforts during the war.

The Queen remained silent for a moment before asking: "Is there any chance that Tom Riddle might regain a body here?"

"No, ma'am. The first thing I did upon arriving was to destroy his anchors to the mortal world. He's dead for good."

"Good. My Chief Mage and I have reviewed the memories you sent. I have no desire to see my country fall into civil war again. You have my thanks for permanently ridding us of that dark wizard."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"What do you plan to do now?"

"I plan to move to the U.S. with my double and give him the life he deserves, ensuring he doesn't end up like me. I'mafraid that after the war, I've developed a certain disdain for the English magical community. As such, I prefer not to live here. When Harry is an adult, I think I'll return to curse-breaking."

"Do you have no intention of involving yourself in your community's politics?"

"No, ma'am. I'm neither a politician nor a diplomat. I'm a soldier and a general. I'll leave politics to my cousin, Andromeda; she's far more capable. If you wish to see changes in the magical community, you'll have to rely on her, as my methods would be far more... drastic."

She nodded, then gestured to one of her men.

The man left the room without a word.

"Very well, I accept your stance on the matter. Your memories have inspired me to take a closer look at what the Ministry of Magic is doing. However, I do not believe an armed change is necessary—at least, for now. I will only call upon you as a last resort."

"Thank you, ma'am."

The man returned, carrying a long lacquered wooden box.

Alvis smiled as he realized what was about to happen.

The Queen rose, and the man presented her with the open box, revealing a ceremonial sword.

"Kneel, Lord Potter Black Peverell."

He obeyed, silently hoping Andy wouldn't hold it against him for kneeling without her permission. After all, one did not disobey the Queen. The ceremony unfolded exactly as he remembered it. She praised his service to the Crown, touching the sword to his shoulders and head. When he rose, he was presented with his cloak, medallion, cross, and medal, all of which he had returned with his request for revalidation.

He was now officially a Knight Grand Cross of the Crown once more. He couldn't help but grin broadly. If there was one title he wished to keep, one he was truly proud of, it was this one.

He parked his motorcycle in front of the school, glad to finally be rid of his crutches. He was dressed in jeans, a red T-shirt, a normal leather jacket, and his usual boots and gloves. His GBE cross hung visibly from his belt whenever his jacket was open.

Dismounting, he joined the other parents waiting for classes to end. Glancing at his pocket watch, he nodded to himself—there were still a few minutes left before the children were dismissed. He sat on the railing separating the parking lot from the school, ignoring the curious and wary looks cast his way by the other adults.

Until now, Andy or Ted had been the ones to pick up Harry, as Alvis hadn't been able to drive. But now that he was finally free of all medical restrictions, he intended to fully assume his role as guardian.

He pulled a history book from his bag and started reading while waiting for his nephew. He still found small historical differences between this world and his own, enjoying the comparisons while catching up on local history. After all, half the work of finding magical sites involved studying the area's history. Even when he chose his next destination by throwing a dart at a world map, he always did his research. It was good to have a general idea of what he might encounter.

"Hello."

He looked up from his book to see a couple approaching him.

"Hello."

"This is the first time we've seen you around. Are you new?"

"Yes. My nephew started at this school two weeks ago."

Deciding to be polite, he closed his book and extended his hand.

"Alvis Peverell."

That was the name he had chosen to use in the Muggle world, the one under which all his non-magical paperwork was filed—including the American citizenship papers that had arrived that very morning, along with Harry's.

The MACUSA representative at the ICW had convinced her government to accept them after showing a memory of the cascading collapse. Alvis was just relieved to have regained his global diplomatic immunity and secured a promise that he wouldn't be contacted—except in the event of a global catastrophe—until Harry reached adulthood.

"Dan Granger, and this is my wife, Emma. Pleased to meet you."

Alvis was surprised to encounter the Grangers here. He had chosen this school because it was close by and had a solid anti-bullying policy. He had left the decision to Harry—whether to finish the year at his previous school or transfer—and the boy had chosen to start fresh.

"What's your nephew's name?"

"Harry Potter. He's six years old."

"Oh! Our daughter, Hermione, has mentioned him. Her teacher, Mrs. Campbell, asked her to help him settle in."

"Ah, so you're the parents of the famous Hermione. Harry's told me a little about her—she sounds like a very intelligent young girl."

Harry had indeed mentioned Hermione, but Alvis had chalked it up to coincidence. The name wasn't common, but surely there were a few Hermiones in the country. He needed to stop forcing himself to believe in coincidences.

The couple smiled, clearly proud of their daughter. "Yes, she's at the top of her class. But if you don't mind us asking, until now, it's been another couple picking up Harry."

Alvis nodded, understanding the wariness of a rugged-looking man hanging around a school.

"My cousin Andy and her husband, yes. I injured my leg recently and only got permission to ditch the crutches today, so they were helping me with Harry."

"Nothing serious, I hope?"

"No, don't worry about it."

The school bell rang, and they all turned toward the building as the noise of excited children spilling out filled the air.

"Looks like they're coming out," Alvis murmured.

"Indeed. Hermione should be with Harry."

He nodded but stayed perched on the railing, calmly stowing his book while he waited. A stream of children soon poured out of the school, and he scanned the crowd for his nephew.

Harry finally emerged, being led by a miniature version of his old friend Hermione. Alvis smiled, feeling a wave of nostalgia. It had been so long since he'd last seen Hermione in person, aside from their mirror calls.

When Harry spotted him, his face lit up, and he sprinted over.

"Uncle Al!"

Alvis' smile widened at the nickname—it had taken a week to convince Harry to use the shortened form. He hopped off the railing to catch the boy and lifted him onto his hip.

"Hey, champ. How was your day?"

"Great! I didn't know you were coming! You're not using crutches any more?"

"Nope, officially free of all medical restrictions."

Harry nodded enthusiastically, grinning ear to ear, before pointing toward Hermione, who had joined her parents and was watching them curiously.

"That's Hermione. She's a bit of a stickler for rules, but she's cool otherwise."

Alvis set Harry down and extended a hand toward the girl, his smile warm.

"Pleased to meet you, Hermione. I'm Harry's guardian, Alvis Peverell. He's told me a lot about you."

Hermione shyly shook his hand, her gaze still curious. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Peverell. Harry talks about you all the time—he says you're his hero."

Alvis ruffled Harry's hair, deliberately slowing the movement to make his intentions clear—a subtle gesture not lost on the Granger parents.

"Really, champ?"

"Of course! You're even a knight, like in the stories!" Alvis chuckled at Harry's boundless enthusiasm.

"I'm not sure I believe these stories about knights," Hermione said, crossing her arms. "I read that you have to be trulyexceptional to be knighted."

"But Uncle Al is! He's got the cross and the medal and everything!"

Alvis smirked, noticing the skeptical look Hermione was giving him. He reached to his belt and unclipped the cross, lifting it into view. The Grangers' eyes widened in surprise, and Dan carefully took the medal to examine it.

"Services rendered to the Crown," Alvis said simply.

He could tell he'd just scored major points with the Grangers—and with the other parents discreetly eavesdropping nearby. Suspicion of a scarred, rugged man lurking near children was one thing; accusing a knight was something else entirely.

Shortly after, they parted ways, with Harry eagerly hopping into the sidecar. He grumbled about the full-face helmet Alvis insisted he wear but quickly cheered up when they took off at full throttle. It was clear the boy loved speed as much as he did.

He was enjoying the fresh air at a quiet park when the ground suddenly gave way beneath him. Before he could react, he plunged into an unfamiliar room. He landed smoothly, crouched low, a spell already glowing in his hand as he scanned his surroundings.

Red tiled floors with black squares. Low wooden furniture, aged but sturdy. The room's architecture resembled Nepalese temples, a person.

A woman—bald, robed in Shaolin-style garments, radiating power. Her eyes held an ancient wisdom, and a table with tea sat between them.

"You are exceptionally difficult to track down, Mr. Peverell," She said calmly.

Straightening cautiously, he responded, his voice guarded: "That's because I made sure I couldn't be tracked. Who are you, and what do you want?"

"I am called the Ancient One," She said, moving to sit by the tea table. "Would you like some tea? I only wish to talk."

He hesitated, but her demeanor was polite for now. Keeping his wariness in check, he lowered himself into a cross-legged position and accepted the tea she offered. Testing the cup out of habit—earning an amused look from the woman—he took a small sip, then placed it down.

"What do you want? And how did you bring me here?"

Her method of transportation intrigued him. It wasn't nauseating, nor had it left him in a heap on the ground. Where could he sign up for that? If these portals allowed global travel, it would certainly make bouncing between Andy's home and his future house in the U.S. far easier.

"I lead an order of sorcerers who practice the mystical arts rather than the conventional magic you are familiar with," She began. "Our role is to protect Earth from threats originating from other dimensions. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Ah. This is about my dimensional shift, isn't it?"

"It is," She confirmed. "As well as the ripples it has caused in the fabric of reality and our timeline."

"Oops?" Alvis ventured, raising a brow.

Creating ripples in reality and the timeline was exceptionally difficult—and rarely a good sign.

"In my defense, it was an accident, and I don't have any malicious intent?" Alvis offered with a half-smile.

The Ancient One tilted her head slightly, her piercing gaze never leaving him.

"Since your arrival, I can no longer see the future of this world. Everything is shrouded, and I cannot determine if this is a blessing or a curse."

He groaned softly. "Please, tell me you're not one of those seers who believes the future they see is the only acceptable one and who will do whatever it takes to ensure it happens—regardless of how many lives are ruined in the process."

"No, I am not," She replied evenly. "I still perceive multiple possible futures. And though I may occasionally nudge events toward a specific outcome, I strive to avoid unnecessary intervention. Should I infer that you have a particular grievance with prophets?"

Alvis's face darkened. "A prophecy ruined my childhood and forced me to become a general in a war when I was seventeen. If I hadn't ended up here, it would have ruined my nephew's life, too—all because two old men clung to it like gospel."

"You have my sympathies, Mr. Peverell," She said sincerely. "Children of prophecy, such as yourself, rarely lead easy lives."

He inclined his head, appreciating her words. She wasn't pitying him, and for that, he was grateful.

"Are you planning to do something about my presence here?" He asked.

"That depends on your intentions in this world."

"To raise my nephew and give him the life I never had. After that, who knows? Probably return to my work as a curse-breaker."

"I see. In that case, I find no reason to intervene."

Alvis smiled, taking another sip of tea. "Good. Because I really want to learn how to make those portals."

She raised an eyebrow. "Do you not already have magical methods of transportation?"

"I do, and I hate all of them—except brooms. These portals are incredible. Besides, if your magic is different from mine, I'd love to learn it. I've always been fascinated by discovering new forms of magic."

The Ancient One's expression remained composed. "The mystic arts rely on the manipulation of external energies. Most of us are what your kind call 'Muggles.' Are you capable of keeping our Order's existence secret from the magical communities?"

"Of course! Well... I can't make any promises about my family, but I'll ensure they understand the importance of discretion."

She scrutinized him for a long moment as if weighing his sincerity. Alvis put on his best puppy-dog look, fully committed to convincing her. He really wanted those portals.

At last, she set her teacup down and rose gracefully. "Very well. I will tell you where to find the London Sanctum and how to reach the main temple from there. You may join the novices tomorrow morning."

Alvis stood quickly, following her as she led him through the temple's corridors. They passed a courtyard where disciples practiced both magic and martial arts.

"You teach martial arts, too?"

"Indeed. We believe in training the body as well as the mind."

"Cool. I've always thought I should learn how to properly use my sword, but I never seem to have the time. Oh, and I'mplanning to move to the U.S. at the end of the school year."

"In that case, I hope you master the art of portals before you leave. However, we also have a Sanctum in New York, should you need it."

"Duly noted."

She led him to a room containing ornate mirrors that served as gateways. Alvis studied them with open fascination, his fingers twitching with the urge to examine them more closely.

"These are amazing! Can I take a closer look?"

"Perhaps one day, when you are ready."

"You know, I am a master enchanter," He pointed out.

"Not in our mystic arts, you are not," She countered with a slight smile. "However, I have no doubt you will rise quickly through the ranks—so exercise a bit of patience."

He nodded, saluted her with mock seriousness, and stepped through the portal to London.

Alvis returned home in exceptionally high spirits.

New magic to learn! He couldn't wait to get started.

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