It started as a test.
It turned into a war.
Punches flew, dodges blurred, and the sheer speed of the fight made it look less like sparring and more like two metahumans fighting over the last slice of pizza.
Steve Rogers fought with the kind of precision that only came from decades of battlefield experience. He was a tactician, always a step ahead, always adapting. If Harry zigged, Steve zagged harder. If Harry threw a feint, Steve didn't just ignore it—he punished it.
And Harry?
He fought like someone who shouldn't win, but always did anyway.
There was no formal technique, no disciplined strategy—just an impossible mix of athleticism, street brawling, and sheer stubbornness. He was the Quidditch player who never fell, the kid who grew up dodging Dudley's gang, the Marauder who refused to lose.
Which is why it was infuriating that Steve kept catching his punches.
Harry ducked under a hook, twisted, and lashed out—only for Steve's stupid super-soldier reflexes to snatch his wrist mid-air.
"Nice try, kid," Steve said, annoyingly calm.
"Would have been a nice try if you let me hit you," Harry grumbled.
Steve grinned—then yanked Harry forward.
Most people would've gone flying.
Harry? He flipped midair, twisted on Steve's shoulders, and—because he had a flair for the dramatic—waved at the audience while upside down.
The audience in question consisted of his entire friend group, all of whom had wildly different reactions:
Jean had her arms crossed, eyes narrowed like a coach assessing a rookie player who might be worth training. (Or might be sent to Azkaban for being an idiot. It was hard to tell.)
Susan was biting her lip, half-worried, half-excited, and probably already writing Harry's obituary.
Cedric—being Cedric—looked effortlessly cool about the whole thing. "Well, that's new."
Luna was watching like she was seeing the future, nodding along as if this was all destined to happen. "The Snorcacks foretold this."
Hermione looked like she was debating whether to be impressed or yell at Harry for getting himself killed. (It was a daily struggle.)
Ron and Ginny were wide-eyed, mouths open, expressions screaming bloody hell, mate!
Fred and George were exchanging galleons—because of course they were betting on Harry's survival rate.
Daphne and Tracey looked like they'd just found their new favorite source of entertainment.
Hannah was trying (and failing) to hide a grin.
Neville was muttering something about how this was "just another Tuesday with Harry."
Percy, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to file paperwork about this.
Back in the fight, Steve finally processed the fact that Harry had parkoured onto his shoulders.
"Did you just—?"
Harry grinned. "Hi."
Then he yanked downward, trying to throw Captain America with his entire body weight.
Key word: trying.
Steve adjusted mid-air, landed perfectly, and then threw Harry instead.
Harry twisted, landed in a crouch, and looked up. "Okay. So you're heavy. That's fair."
Steve smirked. "Super soldier serum. Comes with the package."
Logan—who had been watching with all the enthusiasm of someone forced to babysit idiots—huffed from the sidelines. "What kinda moron fights Cap head-on?"
"This kind of moron," Harry answered, launching forward again.
Fists flew.
Dodges blurred.
And then Harry realized the problem.
Steve was adapting.
Every counter, every feint, every shift in Harry's fighting style—Steve was already adjusting. It was like fighting water; no matter what Harry did, Steve absorbed it, flowed around it, and came back harder.
Harry was fast? Steve got faster.
Harry was unpredictable? Steve started predicting him.
And the worst part?
Steve wasn't just testing him anymore.
He was pushing him.
Hard.
It was less training session and more trial by fire.
And that's when something inside Harry clicked.
The world shifted.
A glow flickered behind his eyes.
And suddenly, everything slowed down.
It wasn't just reflexes anymore.
He could see it.
The paths. The possibilities. The way Steve would move before he even moved.
A punch came for his face.
Harry wasn't there anymore.
Steve pivoted into a kick—
Harry was already dodging.
The fight changed.
Steve swung.
Harry moved before he did.
Steve adjusted—faster, sharper—but Harry knew what was coming.
For the first time, Steve frowned.
Harry grinned.
Then he attacked.
A blur of motion—
A flicker of gold behind his eyes—
A split-second where he was faster, sharper, just one step ahead—
His fist slammed into Steve's ribs.
The entire room froze.
Steve staggered—just slightly. Just enough.
Silence.
Then—
"Oh-ho-ho! He got you!" Fred whooped.
"Mate, you just punched Captain America!" Ron shouted.
"... Is he dead?" Ginny asked, half-impressed, half-concerned.
"I told you the Snorcacks foresaw this," Luna said serenely.
Steve stepped back, rolling his shoulder. His blue eyes locked onto Harry—not with annoyance.
With approval.
Logan snorted. "Kid's got moves."
Steve exhaled. "Not bad."
Harry grinned, shaking out his fist. "Not bad yourself, old man."
Steve chuckled, rubbing his ribs. "You just leveled up, kid."
Harry cracked his knuckles. "Good. Because I hate tutorials."
Logan huffed. "You two done with the pissing contest, or do I gotta step in and teach you both how to throw a punch?"
Harry and Steve exchanged a look.
Then, simultaneously—
"... One more round?"
Logan groaned. "Idiots."
—
Steve cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders as he studied the young wizard in front of him. "You sure about this, kid?"
Harry smirked, the kind of smirk that made people deeply regret their life choices. "You sure about this, old man?"
From the sidelines, Jean folded her arms and tilted her head, looking at them like they were two toddlers about to bash their heads into a wall. Again. "Oh, for Merlin's sake—someone knock them both out so we can go eat."
"They're enjoying themselves," Cedric said, leaning back with the easy confidence of a man who knew he looked good doing it.
"Fun?" Hermione repeated, crossing her arms so hard it was a miracle her ribs didn't cave in. "They're literally trying to kill each other."
"Oh, it's fine," Fred said.
"It's not like either of them can die," George added.
Logan, who had seen way too much of this nonsense in his life, let out a sigh that sounded like it had been building for decades. "I swear to God, if either of you idiots break a bone, I'm not patching you up."
Neither of them acknowledged him.
Because the fight had already begun.
And this time?
They weren't holding back.
The second Harry moved, he really moved. No hesitation, no testing the waters—just pure speed. One second he was standing still, the next he was gone, a blur of red and gold streaking toward Steve.
Steve met him head-on, his own enhanced reflexes kicking in as he braced for impact.
When they clashed, it was felt.
A shockwave pulsed through the room, knocking over an unfortunate stack of training mats in the corner. Fred and George immediately started making bets about how long the building would stay intact.
Harry twisted mid-air, sending a lightning-fast kick toward Steve's ribs—
Steve caught it. Twisted—
Harry flipped, landing in a crouch and immediately lunging again.
The room blurred as they moved—fists and feet flying, every attack dodged by mere inches. Harry fought with a reckless kind of precision, adjusting mid-strike in ways that defied physics.
Steve adapted.
Harry adapted faster.
But Steve?
Steve was tougher.
And this was when their audience completely lost their collective minds.
"Oh, this is bloody insane," Ron whispered, eyes wide.
"Bloody brilliant is what it is," Ginny countered, her grin sharper than a Beater's bat.
Susan had both hands over her mouth, eyes as wide as saucers. "Are they even human?"
"They're something," Daphne muttered, eyes flicking between the fighters like she was watching a particularly violent tennis match.
"They look like they're fighting the laws of physics," Tracey added, sounding equal parts horrified and impressed.
Fred and George had long since stopped betting. They were just watching, heads whipping back and forth as if they were at the most intense Quidditch match of their lives.
Neville, who usually tried to stay out of these things, simply shook his head. "They're gonna feel that in the morning."
Percy, looking vaguely like he wanted to file some kind of incident report, muttered, "There has to be a regulation against this."
Luna, completely unbothered, nodded sagely. "The Snorcacks did predict this."
Hermione, at her wit's end, pointed furiously at the chaos. "THIS is why we can't have nice things!"
And Logan?
Logan just groaned and dragged a hand down his face. "Idiots. Both of 'em."
Steve launched a brutal hook—Harry wasn't there anymore.
He saw it coming. His precognition flickered behind his eyes like a comic book panel, showing him the future a split second ahead. He dodged, countered, and—
Crack.
His fist slammed into Steve's ribs.
Harder than before.
Steve staggered. For all of half a second.
Then he grinned.
And moved twice as fast.
They were evenly matched.
Harry was faster—his reactions borderline supernatural, his instincts honed to perfection.
Steve was stronger—his experience spanning decades, his body a fortress of super-soldier durability.
And neither of them was backing down.
Steve lashed out—Harry dodged.
Harry struck—Steve blocked.
Steve adjusted—Harry adjusted faster.
It was a game of inches. A battle of skill.
And then—
Steve tricked him.
A fake left. An actual right.
Harry saw the feint.
Adjusted—
And walked straight into a kick to the chest.
He went flying.
Flipped mid-air, twisted, landed in a skid—
And grinned.
"Oh, you cheeky bastard."
Steve smirked. "Thought you saw that coming?"
"Did." Harry rolled his shoulders. "Didn't think you were that fast."
Steve tilted his head. "Want to stop?"
Harry cracked his neck.
And then he vanished.
Steve barely had time to react—
Before Harry was on him.
A flurry of blows—faster, sharper, relentless—
Steve barely blocked the first few.
Then one got through.
A solid hit to the ribs.
Then another.
Steve staggered, bracing—
But Harry wasn't done.
He blurred forward—
And Steve made a choice.
No more defense.
He lunged.
They collided.
A final shockwave rattled the walls—
And then—
Silence.
The dust settled.
Standing there, panting, bruised, grinning like absolute lunatics—
Harry.
And Steve.
The fight was over.
And they both knew it.
Steve exhaled, shaking his head.
Then extended his hand.
Harry took it.
Steve smirked. "You are gonna be a problem."
Harry grinned back. "You are gonna have bruises."
"Fair trade."
The audience?
Lost. Their. Minds.
"Did we just witness the greatest fight of all time?!" Fred demanded.
"Are either of them human?!" Susan practically shouted.
"I told you the Snorcacks saw this coming," Luna reminded everyone.
Ginny just grinned. "I knew he could keep up."
Ron whistled. "Mate, you just went toe-to-toe with Captain America."
Percy still looked like he was trying to process the laws that had been broken.
And Logan?
Logan just let out a long sigh, shaking his head like a disappointed father.
"Idiots. Both of 'em."
—
As the dust finally settled, Harry and Steve stood at the center of what could only be described as absolute battlefield carnage. Craters in the ground. Scorch marks on the walls. A few unlucky trees that had given up on life entirely.
Both combatants were panting, grinning like idiots, and looking like they had just gone twelve rounds with a tornado. Steve had a split lip. Harry had a bruise forming on his jaw. Their uniforms were scuffed, their muscles ached, and neither of them looked remotely ready to admit defeat.
Jean was the first to speak. Of course she was.
She clapped once, smirking. "So, are you two done measuring your—"
"Jean!" Hermione cut in, scandalized.
"What? I was going to say egos," Jean said, her expression the absolute picture of innocence. Then she smirked. "But if the shoe fits…"
Ron let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Blimey. That was like watching an unstoppable force meet an immovable object."
"Which one was which?" Neville asked.
"Yes," Tracey said dryly, arms crossed.
Hannah was still clutching Susan's arm like she'd just witnessed a live-action anime battle. "That was insane. I swear physics had a stroke halfway through."
"Physics saw Harry and Steve and decided it wasn't paid enough for this," Daphne muttered.
"Physics took one look at them and rage-quit," Tracey added.
"Physics went home, poured itself a drink, and started a new life in the countryside," Fred declared.
"It spends its days sipping tea and telling young laws of motion, Back in my day, we mattered," George finished.
Luna, who had been watching the whole thing with mild interest, tilted her head. "I knew this would happen, of course."
Susan gave her a wary look. "Because the Snorcacks told you?"
Luna blinked. "No, because when two beings of ultimate power fight, they can only grow stronger."
Ginny stared at her. "That is objectively the coolest thing you've ever said."
Cedric, still grinning like a man who had just gotten free front-row seats to the greatest fight of all time, crossed his arms. "Alright, but the real question is—who won?"
There was a pause.
Then everyone turned to look at Steve and Harry.
Both of them blinked.
Then looked at each other.
Then back at the group.
And in perfect, synchronized stubbornness, they said, "I did."
Logan let out a groan so long and deep it sounded like a death rattle. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttered something about "damn kids," and pulled out a cigar.
"Of course you did," he grumbled.
Ron threw his hands up. "Alright, fine, let's just agree that these two are apparently made of adamantium willpower and pure spite."
"Not to mention inhuman levels of durability," Neville added.
"You mean, like, 'Harry once broke the Time-Turner rules and survived' levels of durability?" Ginny asked.
"Like 'Steve got frozen for seventy years and woke up fine' levels of durability?" Hannah suggested.
"Like 'If Harry Potter lost at chess, the chessboard would apologize and reset itself' levels of durability?" Tracey countered.
"Like 'Captain America can punch a Nazi so hard that the Nazi's grandkids feel it' levels of durability?" Daphne added.
"Like 'Harry once sneezed and accidentally invented a new spell' levels of durability?" Susan said.
"Like 'Steve Rogers is the only person in history who can make the U.S. government look bad just by standing there' levels of durability?" Fred chimed in.
"Like 'Harry once scared Death into giving him a Hallows loyalty card' levels of durability?" George offered.
"Like 'Captain America doesn't need a parachute, because the ground knows better than to hit him' levels of durability?" Luna mused.
"Like 'Harry Potter once tripped over his own feet and accidentally won a war' levels of durability?" Jean quipped.
"Like 'Captain America could punch a meteor out of the sky, but chooses not to because it wouldn't be fair to the meteor' levels of durability?" Cedric said, grinning.
Percy, who had been standing to the side with his arms crossed, let out a long-suffering sigh. "This is all wildly exaggerated and highly irresponsible."
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
"Like 'Percy Weasley once tried to fine Captain America for property damage, and the fine self-destructed out of respect' levels of durability?" Fred said innocently.
Percy groaned. "I hate all of you."
"Understandable," Harry said, rolling his shoulders.
Steve exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "So, what now?"
Harry grinned, wiping some blood from his lip. "Rematch."
Steve smirked. "Thought you'd say that."
Logan?
Logan just took a long drag of his cigar, shook his head, and muttered, "I'm too damn old for this."
—
Food > Beating Each Other Senseless
Harry and Steve had barely exchanged two words before they both lunged forward, each wearing the "I'm about to do something dumb" face. Their fists were almost ready to fly, the tension so thick you could slice it with a spoon—if you had a spoon made out of pure stubbornness.
Then Jean stepped forward, her arms folded across her chest in the kind of pose that made you rethink every stupid thing you'd ever done. She was very good at this—especially with that "I'm not impressed, but I could totally obliterate you both" vibe.
"Alright, dumb and dumber, that's enough," Jean announced, her voice like smooth butter on a hot day. You knew she meant business because, well, when Jean Grey speaks, you listen.
Both men froze mid-punch, like a couple of dogs that'd just realized they were barking at the wrong tree.
Harry blinked at her. "Jean, this is important—"
"Is it, though?" Jean cut him off sweetly. "Because from where I'm standing, you two unbreakable dumbasses could go at this for hours just to prove who's slightly more indestructible." She arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And while you two can survive on pure spite and jaw-clenching, the rest of us need food."
There was a beat of silence. Then Steve, the world's greatest Boy Scout, immediately shrank back, looking sheepish. He didn't have an excuse for that one.
"She's got a point," he muttered.
Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to work out a particularly annoying knot. "Yeah, okay. Food first, rematch later."
Jean flashed him a smile so approving, Harry might've blushed—might've, if he wasn't so used to her throwing out praise like it was nothing.
"Good boy," she said, like she was talking to a particularly well-behaved puppy.
Harry straightened up, clearing his throat, and pretending he wasn't definitely not affected by the sudden warmth in his cheeks. "Alright, alright, I'll handle it." He raised his hands in a dramatic clap, like he was about to summon a legendary hero from the depths of the earth. "Dobby!"
CRACK!
And then, as if by magic (which, okay, fine, it was magic), a small, excitable blur of movement appeared out of thin air. Dobby.
For those who had never seen one before, the tiny elf looked like a hyperactive tennis ball with a sock obsession. His giant eyes were locked onto Harry, practically vibrating with energy.
"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby announced, bouncing on his little feet like a pinball. "Dobby is here, sir! What does the great and wonderful and powerful Harry Potter need?"
Steve, ever the soldier, immediately took a half-step back, eyes locked on Dobby with that same "I'm going to fight you if you so much as blink at me" look. Wolverine—who was already halfway to popping his claws—was staring too, but with a slightly more confused, "What the heck is that thing?" vibe.
"What in the name of Chuck Norris's beard is that?" Logan grunted, still eyeing Dobby like he was about to ask the little guy for his autograph.
Dobby blinked at Logan, his eyes wide. "Oh! Dobby is a house-elf, sir!" he squeaked, his whole body trembling with excitement. "Dobby is honored to meet the great Captain America and the mighty Wolverine! Dobby has heard many, many things!" He turned to Harry, still bouncing like a toddler on a sugar rush. "Dobby does not know what a 'Chuck Norris' is, but if he is important to Wolverine, then Dobby will find out immediately!"
Harry snorted, half laughing, half wondering if this was the weirdest thing he'd ever seen. "Don't worry about it, Dobby. Just, uh—could you bring us some food from the Hogwarts kitchens? Enough for everyone here?"
Dobby's entire body shivered with joy. "Of course, Harry Potter, sir! Dobby will bring the finest Hogwarts feast! Dobby will be back in one moment!"
CRACK! And just like that, Dobby was gone. Vanished without a trace.
Steve—ever the soldier, ever the rational one—was staring at the spot where Dobby had been, his face scrunched up in that classic "I don't get it, but I'm not going to show it" way. "…That was a house-elf?"
"That was a house-elf," Harry confirmed, smirking like he was in on a joke no one else got.
Steve exhaled slowly. "Huh."
Logan, who'd probably seen more weird shit than the rest of them put together, just grunted. "Kid, I've seen some weird stuff in my time, but that—that right there is something new."
"Yeah, well, welcome to the wonderful world of magic," Harry said, barely keeping it together. The sarcasm was thick in his voice, but his grin was still huge. "Don't worry, it'll grow on you. Maybe."
"You just summon him whenever you want?" Logan grumbled, raising an eyebrow.
"Yep," Harry said, popping the "p." "I call it the magic of having ridiculously good friends."
"Kid, this world is a trip." Logan shook his head, arms crossed, accepting the absurdity of it all, and clearly giving up on trying to understand it. "Fine. Fine, whatever. Let's just get the food. We're all gonna need it after watching that fight, anyway."
"Trust me," Hermione chimed in from the sidelines, clearly unimpressed with the fight in the first place. "You're handling it way better than most people would."
"Yeah," Ron added, giving a snort of laughter. "First time I saw Dobby pop in, I nearly choked on my pudding."
"To be fair, Ron, you choke on food a lot," Ginny pointed out, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.
Ron immediately opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, another CRACK interrupted him.
This time, Dobby arrived, and he didn't just appear with a tray or two. Oh no, this was a feast. Trays of food floated behind him like a well-practiced circus act—platter after platter of roast beef, mashed potatoes, steaming vegetables, and enough pudding to fill the entire room. And Dobby? He was grinning like he'd just won the magical equivalent of a Nobel Prize.
"Dobby has brought the feast!" Dobby declared, bowing dramatically. "Hogwarts' finest, all for Harry Potter and his great and powerful friends!"
Logan, who had seen a lot of things in his life, was momentarily speechless as he took in the sheer absurdity of what was happening. "Alright," he said finally, leaning back in his chair. "I might be starting to like this little guy."
"Yeah, good luck with that," Harry muttered under his breath, eyeing the mountain of food. "He'll be calling you sir next."
And just like that, with a snap of Dobby's fingers, food appeared. And for the first time in a while, everyone stopped fighting and just… ate.
—
The food Dobby brought in was enough to make even the most diehard gym-goer question their life choices. There were whole roasted chickens that could've fed an entire village—maybe even a small army, if that army was made up of people who ate like they hadn't seen food in a decade. The mashed potatoes? Pillowy clouds of perfection. The pudding? You could practically hear it whispering "You'll regret this" as you dove in with your spoon.
"Alright," Steve said, eyeing a particularly huge turkey leg, "I think magic might just be cheating at this point."
"Cheating?" Fred raised an eyebrow from across the table, already on his second plate of mashed potatoes. "Cap, buddy, magic's just the lazy way to do things." He reached for another biscuit. "You ever seen Harry conjure up a sandwich? It's basically like the sandwich is begging to be eaten. It practically falls into your mouth."
"Yeah, but that's probably because Harry's sandwich is too magical," George piped in with his trademark grin. "It might even be alive."
Hermione, who had been quietly filling her plate with vegetables (weird, right?), snorted. "Honestly, if I had a magical sandwich that wanted to be eaten, I'd let it. I've never seen bread so willing in my life."
"Right," Ron said, clearly delighted with himself as he loaded up on turkey. "Honestly, Harry could probably talk a sandwich into signing a waiver to let him eat it without any guilt."
"True," Harry smirked. "But that's only if it's legally permissible under wizarding laws. Don't want to end up in a wizard court, do I?"
"Please," Ron added, "I'm sure Harry's face alone would convince the sandwich it doesn't want to cause trouble."
Logan, who had been mostly grunting and stabbing a steak like it was a personal vendetta, raised his glass. "I don't care what kind of sandwich we're talking about. As long as it's not on my plate."
The conversation was just starting to get into full swing when Dobby, ever the enthusiastic and completely literal creature, piped up in his high-pitched, all-too-serious voice.
"Ah, yes, yes!" Dobby clapped his hands like he'd just discovered the meaning of life. "Harry Potter, sir, and Captain America—two heroes of incredible strength! Dobby has heard that Harry Potter can defeat an entire army of Death Eaters with only a whisper, and Captain America once punched through a mountain while carrying the weight of an entire nation!"
The table went quiet, everyone exchanging looks, except for Steve, who was trying not to choke on his water.
"Wait," Steve blinked at Dobby, trying to process. "Did I—did I really—punch through a mountain?"
"No, no!" Dobby was so passionate he was practically vibrating. "No, no, Dobby knows that Captain America punched the whole Rocky Mountains down while carrying the Statue of Liberty and a busload of orphans!"
At this point, everyone at the table was either biting their lip, choking on their food, or staring at Dobby like he was an abstract work of art. Steve, red-faced, slowly shook his head.
"Look, I've seen a lot of things in my life, but punching through a mountain? Nope. That's not me."
Harry, leaning back in his chair, raised an eyebrow and said, "Look, if Steve can't punch through a mountain, maybe he can politely ask it to fall down. That seems more his style."
"Hey, I'll have you know," Steve said with a mock-serious glare, "there's a lot of politeness in my punches."
"But, you know," Fred added, "if Harry were to punch a mountain, the mountain would probably just apologize for existing in the first place."
George snickered, reaching for some more pudding. "If Harry did punch a mountain, I bet the mountain would say, 'Sorry, sir. I'll move right out of your way, thank you very much.'"
"Thanks, George," Harry replied dryly, eyeing the pudding. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Logan leaned in, all gruff seriousness. "Forget mountains. If Harry punched a tree, the tree would just... surrender."
"Yeah," Harry said, popping a piece of turkey into his mouth. "I'd talk to the tree, and it'd just, you know, give up its branches."
Ron laughed, nearly choking on his food. "That's actually not a bad idea. You're telling me you could charm a tree into bending to your will just by asking it nicely?"
"Oh, totally," Harry grinned. "You just need to ask real sweet. And maybe use a little bit of my 'I'm the chosen one' charm." He paused for a second. "I'm actually more convincing when I'm in a good mood."
Dobby, not catching on to the sarcasm, nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes! Harry Potter, sir, is so powerful, even trees bow before him! Dobby has heard that Harry Potter once spoke to a tree in the Forbidden Forest and made it give up all its secrets, including where the best hiding spots were for the best wizarding snacks!"
"Dobby, mate, that's not true," Ron said, his mouth full of food. "But I would like to know where to find those snacks. You got a map or something?"
"Oh, it's true!" Dobby insisted. "And Captain America—he is the strongest of all! Dobby has heard it said that Captain America once swam across the ocean with his shield, beating the current with his sheer willpower, while carrying a mountain on his back!"
The table erupted into laughter. Steve's face was now completely red, and Harry had to wipe tears from his eyes.
"I'm sorry, but that definitely didn't happen," Steve said, trying to sound more serious than he actually was. "I think I'd remember carrying a mountain."
"And don't forget the orphans!" Dobby added. "The orphans were totally important."
"That's... new," Hermione chuckled, her tone pure mischief. "I suppose Captain America is also secretly Santa Claus now?"
"Oh, for sure," Harry said with a grin. "And on the weekends, he's known to wrestle bears for fun."
"Exactly!" Dobby said, nodding earnestly. "But only after saving the entire universe twice!"
Logan, shaking his head with a smirk, spoke up. "You know, I've seen Steve fight before. He'd probably just start a fight with a bear and then offer it a beer afterwards, right?"
"I prefer my fights less fuzzy," Steve replied with a grin. "And without the bear asking for autographs."
"Good idea," Harry said, leaning back in his chair. "Alright, enough of that. Let's just enjoy the food and let the legends speak for themselves."
"Right!" Fred raised his glass. "I think we can all agree—nobody is better at punching mountains than Harry Potter and Captain America combined."
"Absolutely," George added. "And if we're being honest, the world's lucky they don't team up to punch reality into submission."
As the table went back to eating, Dobby nodded along, satisfied with himself for keeping everyone's spirits high. And while the jokes flew and the laughter rang out, one thing was for sure—this wasn't just any ordinary feast. This was a feast with legends, real and imagined, thrown together into a magical, hilarious, and completely ridiculous mix of the best kinds of people.
And Harry? He was pretty sure he'd just made history. Again.
---
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