Proteus

The three figures - Albus Dumbledore, Charles Xavier, and the Ancient One - huddled together in the dimly lit room, faces grim and full of concern. The air was tense, their usual jovial banter replaced with an eerie silence. The aura of worry hanging over them was palpable, even to an outsider, and their ordinarily vibrant eyes were clouded with distress.

"It's my fault," Charles whispered, his usually strong and serene voice shaking slightly. His fingers were tightly wrapped around the armrests of his wheelchair, knuckles white from the pressure. "I should have seen this coming...should have been more vigilant."

"No, Charles," Dumbledore replied, his voice weary yet comforting, "We all agreed on the course of action. To not actively monitor Harry using our powers was a unanimous decision. A decision we made with the best of intentions."

The Ancient One, usually impassive and unreadable, wore a visible scowl. Her usual calm was replaced with a wave of deep-seated anger, though her voice remained tranquil. "Our intentions, Albus, don't change the outcome. We left Harry vulnerable, unguarded, and now he's been taken by someone far less noble than us."

Her eyes, ageless and wise, darted around the room, finally resting on a spot on the wall as though she was looking beyond the confines of the room. "We had a chance to protect him, and we failed."

"But it was necessary," Charles interjected, "To interfere too much would have shifted the course of events and disrupted the natural balance of things. We agreed on that."

The Ancient One nodded, a shadow crossing her face. "Yes, we did. But that doesn't make this situation any less frustrating. And now, we are forced to act."

Charles gazed into the night, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on his face. "I had just started training Harry. Harry let me in all the way; there was someone or something else within him."

Charles leaned forward, hands folded on the tabletop; his gaze was steady as he shared his revelations, "During our interaction, the Entity - the cosmic power within Harry - it... communicated with me. It's aware, sentient, and deeply entwined with Harry's consciousness."

The Ancient One nodded, her eyes gleaming with caution and curiosity, "A consciousness within a consciousness... two beings sharing a single existence. That explains the profound energy fluctuations we sensed from him."

"Yes," Charles affirmed, "But it goes beyond that. The Entity mentioned a merging process. A point in time where Harry and it would become one."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, "Are you suggesting that Harry's magic and cosmic power are in the process of becoming a single entity?"

Charles nodded solemnly, "It seems so. But it's not just about their powers becoming one; it's about them - their consciousness, their identity. The Entity sees Harry not just as a vessel but as a partner. It speaks of a future where they exist not as Harry and the cosmic power but as a single entity."

"And what would that mean for Harry?" The Ancient One asked, her voice calm, but the concern in her eyes was evident. "How would such a merge affect him?"

Charles sighed heavily, the weight of his words hanging in the air, "That, I'm afraid, I don't know. The implications of such a union are far beyond what we can currently comprehend. But we must prepare for it. We must find a way to guide Harry through this."

"And Magneto?" Dumbledore interjected, "He's seen something in Harry, something he believes he can exploit. We must find a way to protect Harry, guide him... without pushing this merging process to happen prematurely."

Charles resolutely met Dumbledore's gaze, "I agree, Albus. Harry's safety is our priority. But this changes everything... We're dealing with forces that transcend our understanding. We need to tread carefully, and we need to act fast."

The Ancient One's expression was enigmatic, her eyes staring into the vast abyss of her thoughts. Silence surrounded them, amplifying the clock's tick on the wall as if to remind them of the relentless passage of time. Charles, noticing her tranquil demeanor, turned to her, his voice low and filled with concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked, studying her.

The Ancient One sighed, her gaze never leaving the emptiness she seemed fixated on. "I have little time left, Charles," she finally said, her voice steady but carrying an edge of melancholy. "And in these remaining moments, I find myself alone, with no one to confide in."

"Your wisdom, your spirit... they are invaluable to us," Charles began, attempting to offer some comfort. "We are all here for you..."

She raised a hand, gently silencing him. "It's not that simple, Charles. Things have shifted, realities have been disturbed... and I am responsible for it." Her eyes seemed to bear the weight of countless worlds as she confessed.

"I felt a surge of power, an essence of the Dark Dimension, not emanating from Dormammu, but eerily similar, a kind of doppelganger energy signature. It originated in Manhattan. I planned to confront it, but your summons, Charles, took precedence."

Charles' expression turned grim. "Voldemort... Are you certain?"

The Ancient One nodded, her solemn gaze meeting him. "I am. It was his essence, intertwined with the Dark Dimension's energy traces. Somehow, he's harnessed that power and has used it to resurrect himself here, on Earth." The words hung heavily in the room; the implications were far-reaching and terrifying. Dumbledore's hand tightened around his wand, his brow furrowed in contemplation. Charles blinked, processing the magnitude of the news.

"There's more to it," the Ancient One broke the heavy silence, her tone carrying a distinctive edge. "Voldemort did not return of his own volition. Something, or rather someone, resurrected him."

Dumbledore's blue eyes flickered with a familiar dread. He knew Voldemort's dark ambition all too well; combining it with the cosmic powers of the Dark Dimension was a terrifying prospect. His grip on his wand tightened imperceptibly. The danger Voldemort posed was beyond anything they had faced before.

"I apologize for diverting your attention from this matter," Charles said sincerely. "I didn't realize the gravity of the situation. But now that we're aware, we need to work together, confront this new threat."

"But who would dare to do that? And why now?" Charles probed, his brows furrowing in concern.

"That's what we need to find out," she answered simply, her gaze steady. "As to why now, it's clear that whoever did this is ready for their move, and they seem to believe that the chaos Voldemort can wreak will serve their plans."

A cold shiver ran down Dumbledore's spine. The thought of Voldemort back among the living, empowered with cosmic energy, was terrifying enough. But to consider there was someone else, even more powerful, pulling the strings behind the scenes added a new, ominous dimension to their predicament.

"As if dealing with Voldemort isn't complicated enough," he muttered, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the contours of his wand.

"Indeed, Albus," Charles said, his tone somber. "It seems we have our work cut out for us."

A moment of silence fell among them, each lost in their thoughts.

"I reached out to an old friend who works with S.H.I.E.L.D.," Charles said, his face thoughtful. He turned his gaze towards Dumbledore, who looked at him with a puzzled frown.

"S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Dumbledore questioned the unfamiliar term hanging awkwardly on his tongue.

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division," Charles elucidated, his lips curling slightly at the confused expression on Dumbledore's face. "It's a covert organization that deals with extranormal and paranormal threats based here on Earth."

"Much like the Department of Mysteries, but more....militarized," the Ancient One added, giving Dumbledore a nod of understanding.

Charles continued, "Yes, indeed. They're quite resourceful and have been dealing with threats of this nature for some time. I reached out to Nick Fury, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D."

"And?" the Ancient One asked, her brow raised slightly in anticipation.

"He expressed his concerns, but unfortunately, they are already dealing with crises. Their resources are stretched thin," Charles replied with a sigh. "So, it's up to the X-Men to deal with the Magneto situation."

"Indeed," the Ancient One agreed, her voice steady. "However, we must remember that our strength lies in unity. Together, we have dealt with greater threats. We will find a way through this as well."

"I have made multiple attempts to locate Harry using Cerebro," Charles confessed, his hands clasped in his lap as he stared at the space between him and the others. "But each time, I've found nothing. It's as if he's been obscured from me, hidden behind some magical or psionic barrier. His mind is a vibrant star in the mindscape. For it to be hidden... It's unheard of."

Dumbledore nodded, looking thoughtful. "Such magic is known to us in the Wizarding world. It's not easy nor ethical to conjure, but it can be done. It would seem that Magneto has found a way."

"Indeed," Charles agreed, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair in silent contemplation.

"Karl Mordo and Kaecilius, two of my brightest pupils, have also been deployed," The Ancient One revealed, her gaze stern yet laden with worry. "They are leading a sorcerer team to investigate the Manhattan disturbance. We hope to uncover whether this unusual surge of power relates to Harry's disappearance."

"Mordo and Kaecilius," Dumbledore echoed, his eyes showing recognition. "I remember you mentioned them during our last meeting. They are skilled sorcerers, indeed."

"Yes, their abilities and resolve have been honed over the years. The Dark Arts they dabble in often challenge the boundary of their morality, but their allegiance to our cause is steadfast." The Ancient One nodded, her voice laced with pride and fondness. "I have full faith in their capabilities. They will leave no stone unturned in Manhattan."

"Meanwhile," Charles picked up, "the X-Men are preparing to launch a full-scale search for Harry, beginning with the site of his disappearance. We can coordinate our efforts with your team, Ancient One, and the Ministry. We must cover as much ground as possible."

"I agree," Dumbledore said, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns on the table's surface. "We must use our combined resources wisely and efficiently. Our unity is our strength."

"And time," The Ancient One added, "time is our enemy. With every passing moment, the situation grows more volatile. We must act swiftly, with unwavering determination. For Harry, for our world."

Their united front, their unyielding resolve to find Harry and restore balance, served as the beacon in the tumultuous storm they found themselves in.

"I see you're awake," Magneto's voice rang out, smooth as a calm stream yet cold as winter's night. He stood on the other side of the cell's barrier, a silhouette crafted by the electric blue lights of the corridor beyond.

Harry instinctively called on his magic with a rising storm of defiance, the familiar currents of his cosmic power responding to his call. However, an agonizing wave of pain ricocheted through his skull before he could fully harness it. He doubled over, gasping as the pain continued to lance through him like a rogue lightning strike.

Magneto merely watched, an almost amused glint dancing in his eyes. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he chided lightly. "See that band around your head?" He motioned to a thin, metallic band circling Harry's forehead. "It's designed to counter any attempt to use magic or cosmic power. The moment you try," he paused, the grin on his face widening, "well, you've just experienced it yourself."

His gaze bore into Harry's, icy and detached. "And that's not all it does," he added ominously. "I've had it configured to modify the usual flow of your brain waves. It makes your mind... susceptible, more open to my commands."

Harry's heart pounded in his chest at the revelation. He straightened slowly, his every instinct screaming at him to fight back, to resist. But the band was cold against his skin, a chilling reminder of Magneto's claim. If what he said was true...

Magneto's gaze never wavered, the smile never leaving his lips. "Now, Harry," he continued as if discussing a mundane topic rather than the sinister alteration of Harry's mind, "we have much to discuss."

A chill ran down Harry's spine at Magneto's words, the reality of his situation sinking in.

Driven by sheer determination, Harry took a deep breath and again reached for his power. The energy that generally surged beneath his skin, ever ready to respond to his call, felt distant and suppressed. He struggled against the crippling force the band imposed, trying to mold his magic and cosmic power into something he could use, something that could protect him.

A low, ominous chuckle echoed in the cell. "Persistence is admirable but futile in this situation, Harry," Magneto admonished, folding his arms over his chest. "Every time you call upon your powers, the band's countermeasure will react, causing you more pain."

Yet, Harry pressed on, his young face scrunched in concentration and effort. The pain was a searing flame in his head, eating at the edges of his consciousness, but he pushed past it, stubbornly reaching out to the core of his power.

Suddenly, the metallic band around his head buzzed to life. A fresh wave of pain surged, sharper and more intense than before. He gritted his teeth, a guttural cry escaping his lips. The pain was blinding, akin to a thousand needles piercing his mind simultaneously.

Despite the excruciating pain, Harry stubbornly clung to his resolve. He knew he was trapped, knew he was at Magneto's mercy. But Harry Potter was no stranger to impossible situations. He had fought battles far more daunting than this and had always come out on top.

Gathering every ounce of strength and willpower left within him, he tried to tap into the ocean of his cosmic powers again. He could faintly sense the warm flow of his magic, his lifeline amidst the storm of pain, but it remained frustratingly out of his grasp.

Magneto gestured with an outstretched hand, and the solid cell door slid open without a sound. The movement was swift and effortless. It was a subtle yet practical demonstration of his powers.

"Come, Harry," Magneto said, his voice taking on a surprisingly gentle tone. "I have a lot to show you."

Cautiously, Harry emerged from his cell, his gaze flitting over the expansive facility. The cold sterility of it was unsettling, all sharp angles and chrome, and a contrast to the comforting warmth of the Xavier Institute. The imposing structure stood in the middle of the room, large and menacing - the Amplifier.

As they walked, Magneto began to unfold his plan. His vision was for a world where mutants wouldn't have to hide and could live without fear or persecution. A world molded by his hands.

"The device you see before you," Magneto gestured at the monstrous Amplifier, "is more than a mere machine. It's a beacon of hope for our kind."

He detailed the intricacies of the Amplifier, of how it would use Harry's unique blend of magic and cosmic power to create an energy pulse strong enough to awaken latent mutant genes in all people worldwide. Though horrifying to Harry, the prospect was conveyed with such conviction by Magneto that it was clear he truly believed this was the right path.

Magneto spoke of a world where mutants wouldn't have to hide and wouldn't need to mask their abilities out of fear. It was a world molded by him for them. "We can force evolution's hand, Harry," Magneto said, gazing at the Amplifier. "Create a world where we are no longer the minority, no longer persecuted for who we are."

But Harry, while listening to Magneto's words, saw the picture from a different angle. Forced mutations, chaos, fear - this wasn't a path to harmony but a recipe for disaster. "And what of the people who don't survive the mutation? Those who can't handle the change?" Harry asked, his voice echoing in the large room.

Magneto simply turned to him, a sad smile playing on his lips. "In every revolution, there are casualties," he said. "It's the price of progress, Harry. But once it's done, there'll be no going back."

The magnitude of Magneto's plan washed over Harry. It was a grand, terrible design that could forever change the face of the world as they knew it. And he was at the center of it all.

Magneto paused before a metallic console; myriad buttons and screens flickered with a strange, intimidating glow. From a hidden pocket, he produced a small, circular device.

"This," he said, holding it up for Harry to see, "is the nexus of our Amplifier's brainwashing functionality."

The term' brainwashing' sounded far too clinical for the device's design. It wasn't so much about wiping clean or overwriting a person's thoughts and beliefs; it was subtler, more insidious than that.

Magneto explained how the device worked on a deep, subliminal level. It harnessed the vast power of Harry's cosmic energies and magnified them, creating a telepathic echo that could infiltrate the subconscious mind.

"In your case, Harry," he continued, "the echo will act as a seed planted deep within your psyche. It will germinate and grow as a small voice inside your head."

"And over time," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "this voice will begin to shape your perceptions, gently nudging you towards acceptance of the new world order we are trying to create."

The thought sent a chill down Harry's spine. It was deeply unsettling that his mind could be used against him and that his thoughts and beliefs could be subtly warped without his realizing it.

"But..." Harry swallowed, gathering his courage, "What if I resist? What if I fight it?"

Magneto just chuckled, a soft, humorless sound. "You're welcome to try, Harry," he said. "But this isn't a battle of wills. It's a slow, relentless tide. And in time, even the strongest rocks are worn away by the ocean's waves."

A cold dread settled in Harry's chest. He felt like he was standing at the edge of an abyss, staring into its unfathomable depths.

Days turned into weeks, and Harry's surroundings blurred into an indistinct haze. The metal cell, the towering machines, and Magneto's persistent presence were all parts of his new, twisted reality. Within him, a silent war was waged. A whispering voice that sounded much like his own gently swayed him toward Magneto's cause, reshaping his perceptions and grinding away at his resistance.

Harry sometimes found himself walking along the corridors of the lair, led by Magneto or Mystique. His eyes would scan the walls and machinery around him with a growing sense of familiarity, of understanding.

"We are not villains, Harry," Magneto would say during these walks, his voice soft and persuasive. "We are merely individuals caught in a conflict much larger than ourselves. We aim to create a world where mutants, wizards, and all beings with extraordinary gifts can exist without fear."

There were times when Harry found himself nodding, feeling a strange resonance with Magneto's words. They made sense in a twisted sort of way. After all, he had known what it felt like to be ostracized and feared for something he was born with.

Yet, there were also moments of clarity when the veil of influence would thin, and he would remember his real friends and mentors. He'd remember Charles, Kitty, Pitrov, Jean, and Sirius. He would remember their shared laughter, steadfast resolve, and the love that bound them. In these moments, he was Harry Potter, not some pawn in Magneto's game.

But these moments were fleeting. The persistent, incessant voice within Harry would return, washing over his resistance like an unstoppable wave. It would speak of unity, the end of oppression, and a world where he needn't hide his powers or identity.

He would feel the transformation, his mind aligning with the whispers. Harry Potter would fade into the background, replaced by the compliant, understanding version of himself that Magneto desired.

The change wasn't immediate, nor was it complete. But with each passing day, he could feel himself succumbing to the Amplifier's influence, his defiance ebbing away like sand slipping through his fingers. The war was silent, but its toll was significant, and Harry could feel himself losing ground. The abyss was beckoning, and he was inching closer to its edge, his resistance crumbling under the relentless whispers in his mind.

Over the following weeks, Harry fell deeper into the sway of Magneto's influence. The words of the whispering voice became his thoughts, the vision of a mutant-dominant world, his dream. Every argument of resistance in his mind had been quelled, and every memory of his old life blurred into irrelevance. Harry Potter had become an echo, his identity consumed by the psychological manipulation of the Amplifier.

One day, Magneto came to his cell, a strange look of satisfaction etched across his weathered face. He opened the door and stood before Harry, his piercing gaze meeting Harry's vacant stare.

"Harry," he began, his voice clear and composed, "Do you understand why we are here? Why must we do what we are doing?"

Harry's response was swift and assured. "We are here to create a world where people like us do not need to hide, where our gifts are not feared or despised," he recited, echoing the insidious whispers that had reshaped his thoughts.

Magneto nodded, a grim smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "That's correct, Harry. We are not the villains here. We are the visionaries who dare to dream of a better world. A world where you, a boy with incredible power, can live without fear, without the need to hide."

Harry nodded, his eyes reflecting a disturbing calmness. His transformation was complete. The echo of Harry Potter was silenced, and in its place stood a disciple of Magneto, a pawn maneuvered with terrifying precision. His innocence and defiance had been stripped away, replaced by a cold acceptance of Magneto's ideology.

As Magneto led Harry out of his cell and into the lair's heart, the situation's chilling finality was evident.

With Harry's transformation complete, Magneto found a certain satisfaction in the silence that had once housed Harry's defiant spirit.

He led Harry into a spacious chamber, his figure framed by the cold, industrial glow of the room. The hum of machines and the quiet murmur of distant conversations filled the space, echoing off the steel walls.

"Harry," Magneto began, his voice resonating with authority with no room for question. His eyes, piercing in their intensity, bored into the blank slate that Harry had become. "Do you comprehend the importance of our cause?"

"Yes," Harry responded, his voice void of its former vivaciousness, replaced by a chilling monotone. "We are creating a sanctuary, a world where those blessed with gifts like ours are no longer forced to exist in the shadows."

Magneto nodded, his features hardening with approval. "Excellent, Harry. But it's more than just a sanctuary. It's a revolution. We're not merely setting ourselves free but demonstrating our dominance, reminding the world that we are not the anomalies they think us to be."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Magneto's face as he looked at Harry. He had come to view the boy as a trophy of sorts – a testament to his plan's success and the Amplifier's power. The feeling of triumph, however, was tinged with a bitter aftertaste. Harry, the boy with the piercing green eyes and fire in his soul, had been reduced to a mere pawn in his hands.

The despair that had once radiated from Harry's eyes was gone, replaced by an eerie calm that only underscored the depth of his transformation. His gaze, once filled with determination and defiance, was now empty - a chilling reflection of the influence of Magneto's ideology.

"Your defiance, Harry," Magneto continued, his voice taking on a gentler tone, "was a sign of your strength. But strength isn't enough. The application of that strength, its direction and purpose, truly matters. I've given you that direction. You are no longer a threat to our cause but a beacon of hope."

With that, Magneto turned away, leaving Harry alone amidst the steel and shadows.

Magneto, in one swift, mechanical motion, detached the controlling device. A soft clinking sound echoed through the room as the metal construct was placed on a nearby table. Harry's expression remained blank, the lingering resonance of Magneto's manipulation.

Magneto turned, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture towards the ample, open space before them. Standing within the cool, metallic confines of the room were the other members of his faction. Each one is a testament to the allure of Magneto's vision - men and women of all ages, their powers as varied as the expressions on their faces.

"Harry," Magneto began, reverberating throughout the space, "I want you to meet your new family."

One by one, he introduced the members of his team. Mystique, her skin a mesmerizing blue, eyes sharp and calculating. Sabretooth, the feral intensity in his eyes belying the calm with which he stood. And a handful more, each unique and powerful in their own right, and Toad.

"This is our revolution," Magneto continued, his voice strong and resonant. "We are not aberrations to be hidden away. We are the future of this world. And you, Harry, are instrumental in our plan."

His hand gestured to a large contraption in the middle of the room. It was an imposing structure, a mass of coiled wires, gleaming metal, and flickering lights. A steady hum of power permeated the air around it, the energy it exuded almost tangible.

"This," he said, a glimmer of excitement lighting his eyes, "is the Amplifier. A tool powered by your cosmic energy that will bring about the change we desire. It will enhance our abilities and amplify them to a degree that the world has never seen."

Harry, obedient and silent, simply nodded. His clear green eyes held no sign of the confusion or fear they once did. All that remained was a disturbing calm, a cold reflection of the ruthless machinery of Magneto's indoctrination.

"As long as you follow our cause," Magneto concluded, "we shall stand strong. With you, Harry, we are not just powerful. We are invincible."

Magneto guided Harry to the window, his fingers leaving cool imprints on the boy's shoulder. Their gaze traveled over the cityscape, dominated by the colossal form of the Statue of Liberty standing tall amidst the shimmering water.

"Tomorrow night," Magneto began, his voice a low rumble against the soft hum of the city, "we shall take our stand at the heart of this city, within the very symbol of their freedom, the Statue of Liberty."

He traced the silhouette of the statue in the air, the cold metal of his suit humming with his powers. "The Amplifier will be installed within the statue itself. Its torch, a beacon of hope and freedom, will serve as the epicenter of our revolution."

Magneto turned to Harry, his gaze intense. "We'll require the fusion of your magic and cosmic power to charge the Amplifier. It will release a wave of energy covering the city and, with time, the world. Our brethren will be awakened, their powers magnified. The world will not just acknowledge us; they will revere us."

As Magneto painted the vision of the new world, Harry merely stared at him, his eyes glassy yet focused. A chilling agreement settled in his gaze, accepting the ruthless path Magneto laid out before him without question.

"And what of the people?" Harry asked, his voice void of emotion.

"They will be our witnesses," Magneto replied, a cruel smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "It is their world that's about to change. It is only fair they are present for the birth of a new era."

The room fell silent, every breath seemingly trapped within the metallic walls. As Harry nodded, acceptance stamped across his face, the severity of the impending events seemed to manifest physically, a dark shadow looming over the future.

Harry returned to his cell. The metal door slid shut with an eerie quietness that did nothing to dispel the weight of the words he'd heard. He laid down on the cold, steel bed, his mind a whirlwind of manipulated thoughts layered with unwavering acceptance.

The door frame filled with a new presence. Mystique stepped in, her blue skin vivid against the metallic grey of the room. She stood there, watching Harry as he stared blankly at the ceiling, her yellow eyes reflecting myriad thoughts and emotions.

"You're just a kid, Harry," she started, her voice surprisingly soft, the usual edge of malice missing.

Harry turned his head, his vivid green eyes meeting her gaze, a mirror to his soul and manipulated consciousness. "That's what they always say," he replied, his voice flat, devoid of inflection.

Mystique moved closer, her form casting an intimidating shadow over him. She sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her arms, her gaze never leaving his. "I've seen things, Harry. Done things. They've all been for survival, for the freedom of our kind. But this... this feels different."

His eyes flickered with a shadow of curiosity, the only sign that he was paying attention. Mystique noticed it, continuing, "I've seen the fear in the eyes of those we scare, the hatred in the eyes of those who fear us. It's a never-ending cycle. But what Erik plans... It will only amplify that fear, that hatred."

"Careful, Mystique," he warned, his voice carrying a firmness that seemed incongruous with his young age. He slowly rose, his green eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light. "Your words... they seem dangerously close to dissent."

Mystique froze, turning to him. She was taken aback by his tone, his words. This was someone else, someone crafted by Erik's manipulative schemes. She met his gaze, her own eyes flashing with defiance.

"Faith," Harry continued, walking towards her, "is built on belief, Mystique. Why are you here if you don't believe in what we are doing? Are you not a part of this mission? Or is your loyalty wavering?"

Mystique was silent, her stare never faltering. There was a challenge in his words, a challenge she knew she needed to address, but not here, not now.

Harry continued, "If you don't trust our leader's decisions, maybe it's time for a change. Maybe it's time for someone else to stand by Erik's side. Maybe someone like me."

Mystique's laughter shattered the tense silence, ricocheting off the cold, metallic walls of the cell. She looked at Harry, her icy-blue eyes full of mirth. "Oh, you're just a boy, Harry. What can you possibly do?"

Harry's emerald eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint appearing in their depths. He used his cosmic powers with a swift, almost imperceptible flick of his hand. A sudden force lifted Mystique off the ground, suspending her in mid-air.

Shock painted itself across Mystique's face as she was held captive by Harry's power. Struggling was futile; she was at the mercy of a power beyond her understanding.

Harry stepped towards her, his voice colder than the metal surrounding them. "This, Mystique," he said, motioning to her floating form, "this is what I can do. I don't just have control. I have more control than I've ever had before. More than you. More than Erik."

His eyes held hers, and she saw a frightening echo of Magneto's cold determination in them. The boy had vanished, replaced by this new, formidable being.

With a snap of his fingers, he released her. Mystique fell to the ground, landing with a soft thud, her breath rushing out of her lungs. Harry looked down at her, his face an expressionless mask.

"Do you think Erik will choose someone who doubts him? Or someone who embraces his cause with unwavering loyalty? Who do you think he'll choose to lead his battles, Mystique?"

His words hung heavy in the air, a potent reminder of their current realities. As Harry left her to her thoughts, Mystique was left with the undeniable truth. Harry was not just a boy anymore; he was a force to be reckoned with, one that could change the course of their mission, for better or worse.

Once alone, Harry moved to the cell's solitary window, looking into the night. His mind was a tumult of thoughts. He was no longer the boy who had lived under the stairs, the Chosen One. He had become something else, something far more powerful.

Harry's hand raised, the pale skin illuminated by the moonlight streaming in. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the energy that coursed through him. Erik's cause, once an alien concept, had become his own. The world had made monsters out of mutants and wizards, and it was time for a reckoning.

He thought of Erik - Magneto. A man whose journey mirrored his own in more ways than one. Both were powerful outcasts and ready to stand up against the world that sought to oppress them.

As Harry reflected on his transformation, he felt a newfound kinship with Erik. He had once been Harry Potter, and now he was something else entirely.

Just then, the door to his cell opened, and Erik entered. He held Harry's gaze, his eyes full of understanding and resolve. "Harry," he began, his voice laced with an intensity that demanded Harry's full attention. "You are no longer the boy you were. You've embraced our cause and shown your loyalty and power. It's time for a new identity to match your new allegiance."

Erik paused, his gaze unflinching. "From now on, you'll be known as Proteus, a symbol of change and transformation. A force that'll reshape the world."

Harry felt a sense of rightness as he took in his new identity. He wasn't Harry Potter anymore, the victim of circumstances. He was Proteus, the shaper of his own destiny. A symbol of the upcoming revolution. And for the first time in his life, Harry - no, Proteus - felt entirely in control. The future was his to shape, and he was ready.

Now Proteus embarked on a journey to his cosmic hideaway. This would be his first visit since his transformation under Magneto's influence. A power pulse surged through him, opening the pathway to the cosmic realm.

Once a place of radiant color and life, the cosmic hideaway had transformed in tandem with its master. The ethereal vibrancy had now faded to monochrome shades of black and white, an uncanny reflection of the drastic shift in Harry's nature.

Walking along the pathway, which once shimmered with iridescent blues and greens, Proteus felt a stark contrast. The once lush and colorful vegetation was now barren, as if life had retreated from it, leaving behind an eerie stillness that resonated with his current state of mind.

Looking up, the cosmos that once danced with innumerable hues now painted the skies with a haunting palette of grayscale. It was as if the realm had responded to his transformation, absorbing his inner turmoil, his new perspective on the world, and reflecting it back at him.

A hollow silence had fallen upon the place, broken only by Proteus's footsteps echoing across the expansive landscape. It was devoid of the ethereal creatures that had once roamed there, mirroring his isolation from his old life.

The stars above no longer twinkled with warmth, their light cold and distant, much like his emotions under brainwashing. An oppressive, ominous energy hung heavy, a palpable manifestation of the power that Proteus now held within his grasp.

Pausing at the heart of his hideaway, Proteus looked around. He felt a twisted sense of satisfaction. Once teeming with magic and life, this desolate landscape was now a testament to his transformation - cold, distant, powerful, and most importantly, under his absolute control.

As Proteus studied the changed landscape of his cosmic sanctuary, a sudden fluctuation of energy pulsed through the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure materializing, a spectral presence that seemed out of place in this world, stripped of life and color. It was the Entity, an echo of his former self.

In contrast to Proteus, the Entity seemed to emanate a soft, golden light, a stark reminder of who Harry Potter once was. Its form, an ethereal projection of a young, bespectacled boy, was painful to behold, a mirror to the innocence lost.

"Why have you done this, Proteus?" it asked, its voice resonating with a mixture of pain and pleading. "This is not who you are. This is not what you were meant to become."

Proteus turned towards it, his face devoid of any warmth or sympathy. The sight of the Entity filled him not with guilt or nostalgia but with profound disdain.

"Is it a weakness that brings you here, pleading before me?" Proteus asked, his voice a low growl. "I am not Harry Potter anymore. I am Proteus now."

The Entity tried to protest, its transparent hands reaching out in a futile attempt to connect, to bring him back to his former self. But Proteus had no interest in reconciliation or redemption.

With a swift motion of his hand, a wave of cosmic power surged out, wrapping around the Entity. Its eyes widened in surprise, but it was too late. The cosmic energy pulsated, then contracted, drawing the Entity closer to Proteus until it was absorbed into him. The sanctuary shuddered under the influx of energy, echoes of the Entity's desperate pleas lingering in the air before being drowned out by the overwhelming silence.

Proteus revealed the newfound power, a dark smile playing on his lips. The Entity, a vestige of his past, was now trapped, relegated to a forgotten corner of his consciousness. The echoes of Harry Potter were growing fainter, and Proteus stood more potent than ever before, the dominion of the cosmic sanctuary unchallenged and absolute.