When I get home, I'm going to talk to Harry and see if he'll stake me some money. We're basically brothers—he should say yes… right?" Peter muttered, not entirely sure of himself.
The girl he'd been chatting with let out a regretful sigh. She'd been one step too slow; at this point there was no way she could squeeze her way to Harry.
But after hearing what the boy she'd just been casually flirting with had said, she suddenly yelped, "What did you just say? What's your relationship with the new Stark Industries shareholder?"
Peter jumped at her shout. "We're brothers. He's the kid my aunt took in."
The girl's whole demeanor flipped in an instant. She became warm and enthusiastic, throwing herself against Peter's arm so suddenly that his face turned bright red.
"I think we were getting along really well just now," she cooed. "Maybe we should… get to know each other a little better."
Around Harry, the crowd turned into a solid wall of bodies. Poor Coulson had been about to reach him when the stampede of people shoved him aside.
Even with all his professional training and conditioning, he was no match for a mob of excited girls and celebrities.
Coulson sighed helplessly. "Looks like I'm working overtime tonight…"
He decided to wait until the crowd calmed down before trying to talk to Harry again.
Just from Tony Stark transferring five percent of Stark Industries' shares to Harry, Coulson was already certain Harry had played a critical role in Tony's escape.
If it had just been a simple debt of gratitude, Tony would at most have paid him a fortune in cash. He would never casually hand over shares—much less five percent. That was worth hundreds of billions of dollars.
Coulson also suspected that Harry was special in his own right—that he possessed powers beyond ordinary humans, maybe something on the level of the Hulk.
The share transfer, in his mind, wasn't just to repay a life debt; it was also Tony's way of cementing a relationship.
As a Level 8 agent of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, Coulson's instincts were razor sharp. From a handful of clues, his guesses were already brushing up against the truth.
He sat there alone for two and a half hours.
In that time, he watched the kid named Harry glide through the crowd, handling toasts and small talk with a poise that didn't lose out to Tony Stark's.
He also watched the enthusiastic girls looking at Harry with shining eyes, constantly trying to sneak a touch—just like greasy old men trying to cop a feel off a pretty girl.
What Coulson envied most, though, was Harry's thick, luxurious hair.
He ran a hand over his own ever-retreating hairline and let out a long, heartfelt sigh. The gap between one person and another was bigger than the gap between a person and a dog.
He was already in his forties, still unmarried. He'd just bought a house and blown through all his savings, leaving himself with a thirty-year mortgage. Aside from his ever-shinier forehead, he basically had nothing.
Meanwhile, that young man named Harry had become worth hundreds of billions the moment he reached adulthood—and had a whole crowd of women desperate to throw themselves at him.
And that hair… thick and full, exactly the kind Coulson dreamed of.
He felt like this mission was nothing but torture.
At last, under his hopeful gaze, the crowd thinned, and his target came back into view.
Coulson seized the moment, hurried over, and called out loudly, "Mr Potter, may I have a word?"
After spending two and a half hours fending off everyone around him, Harry was feeling a little worn out.
He wasn't physically tired; he was mentally exhausted.
Damn Tony had just dumped him here alone and gone off to play with the girls, dressing it up as "training." Apparently there would be plenty more situations like this in the future.
Given the choice, Harry would rather solo an abyssal demon.
Just then, he saw a kindly looking bald man heading his way, clearly intent on talking to him.
Harry had noticed the bald man before. Even though he blended in quite well, Harry's senses were sensitive enough to pick out how out of place he was in this decadent environment.
It didn't feel like the bald man had come to enjoy the party; it felt like he was here specifically for Harry.
For the past several hours, his attention had never really left Harry. At one point he'd even spoken into an earpiece, presumably to colleagues.
Harry hadn't caught what was said—the distance had been too great—but he guessed the man was from the government. He looked like something straight out of a spy movie.
Harry didn't turn him away. He wanted to know what the bald man was after. "Of course. And you are…?"
Coulson showed his credentials and gave him a warm, friendly smile. "I'm Agent Phil Coulson. I work for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."
"That's a really complicated name. Maybe you guys should shorten it," Harry couldn't help commenting.
Coulson grimaced. "You're not the first person to say that. Miss Potts mentioned it this afternoon too. We're working on it."
"All right. So what do you need from me?"
"We heard you played a very important role in Mr Stark's escape," Coulson said. "We'd like you to describe what happened in detail."
Harry's attitude was very polite, but Coulson didn't dare let his guard down. The boy in front of him, barely out of his teens, might be a superhuman on par with the Hulk.
What surprised Coulson was that Harry didn't try to hide anything.
"Of course. It was probably an accidental spatial teleportation," Harry said. "I ended up in the cave where Mr Stark was being held, killed all the Ten Rings members there with magic, and rescued him and Yinsen."
"Wait…" Coulson's face grew serious. "Did you just say spatial teleportation—and magic?"
Harry had once asked the Sorcerer Supreme whether Kamar-Taj could reveal itself to official agencies. She hadn't objected; she'd only told him, gently, that she would always stand behind him.
With the Sorcerer Supreme at his back, Harry had nothing to fear. He gave Coulson a mysterious smile.
"That's right. Maybe this is a good time for a proper introduction. You've probably already investigated my mundane identity—but there are things you can't touch, like magic.
"I'm Harry Potter, a fully accredited sorcerer of Kamar-Taj; disciple and designated heir of the Sorcerer Supreme; platinum VIP member of the Crossroads Dimension; shareholder of Stark Industries; and the Master of Chaos."
Coulson: "???"
He'd only been fishing with a casual question; he hadn't expected to get anything truly solid. He definitely hadn't expected Harry to just lay everything out like that.
And what Harry said went far beyond anything he'd imagined.
A sorcerer?
Kamar-Taj?
The Sorcerer Supreme's disciple?
A platinum VIP of the… Crossroads Dimension?
What on earth were all these things?
Compared to the rest of it, being a Stark Industries shareholder suddenly sounded like the cheapest, most ordinary part of his identity.
What Coulson focused on most was that last title—Master of Chaos. Just hearing it gave him a vague, oppressive sense of power.
Even with his training, he felt himself getting nervous. He'd just gone from being a simple field agent to the point man in the first contact between two major forces.
Coulson weighed his words carefully, thought them over again, and finally said, "It's an honor to meet you, Mr Potter. Would you… mind explaining in more detail? A lot of the terms you just used are completely beyond my understanding."
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