Marvel's Hogwarts Professor

New York, Lockhart's Study

Golden sunlight streamed through the windows, casting warm beams across the desk, floor, and shelves laden with books. Lockhart leaned back in his chair, basking in the sunlight with a faint, contented smile on his face. His gaze rested on a small bronze token on the desk before him.

The token appeared unremarkable—worn and somewhat shabby. Most wizards would have walked by without a second glance, sensing no trace of magic. But as Lockhart's fingers brushed the metal, he channeled a touch of magic into it.

Immediately, dark green lines began to crawl across the token's surface, forming an intricate pattern of symbols. The shapes shifted, flashing in various languages—English, Russian, French—before finally settling into simplified characters Lockhart recognized: Search Warrant.

The search warrant was a rare symbol of authority within Kamar Taj. Although Kamar Taj's ranks were few, its structure was thorough, with departments for everything from combat and divination to internal security. The search warrant allowed its bearer to investigate potential traitors—a role now assigned to Lockhart, who found himself surprised by the Ancient One's trust.

Yet he knew better than to question the Sorcerer Supreme's motives. His own purpose was clear: to reduce the internal dangers before the inevitable clash. Starting with Master David and his questionable alliances, he thought. His recent dive into memories had revealed more than enough to warrant an official investigation.

S.H.I.E.L.D. - Director's Office

Nick Fury slammed a report down on his desk, looking up at Coulson with an intense stare. "What's the status on those ghostly apparitions?"

Coulson's expression was grim. "I'm afraid we haven't been able to slow their progress. They're still moving westward."

Nick Fury let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples. "And what about Pierce? Do we have any news on him yet?" His tone hardened, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. "You understand the potential fallout if this gets out?"

Coulson simply shook his head, his silence a testament to the complexity of the problem.

Just the day before, S.H.I.E.L.D. had detected a bizarre anomaly online: transparent, ghost-like figures drifting westward, oblivious to everything around them. Cameras had captured one of these figures, and the footage had been uploaded to the internet before S.H.I.E.L.D.'s information division managed to scrub it from public view.

Despite their best efforts, S.H.I.E.L.D. had found that nothing, not even their advanced technology, could slow or stop these apparitions. They passed through physical barriers—walls, equipment, even people—untouched and undeterred.

At first, the situation seemed strange but manageable, a peculiar phenomenon requiring some cleanup. But as the numbers grew, it became clear they were all moving toward a singular location. Worse, one of the apparitions was disturbingly familiar.

It was none other than Alexander Pierce, their former director.

Nick Fury clenched his fists at the thought. News of Pierce's ghostly apparition was currently contained, but if S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't handle it, the repercussions would be catastrophic.

"Still no contact with Lockhart?" Fury asked, trying to mask his frustration. In his experience, when technology failed, magic might succeed. Lockhart would have been the ideal solution.

But for reasons unknown, Lockhart was unreachable. The black card Fury held, which had previously allowed him entry to the Vientiane Book Café, was now inactive.

"We've tried every method," Coulson replied, sounding equally frustrated. "No response. If nothing else, we could approach Tony. He's been researching magic lately—perhaps he could design a weapon specifically to deal with these… ghosts."

Fury nodded reluctantly. "Fine. Reach out to him. And keep me updated on Pierce's status."

"Yes, sir," Coulson said, hesitating before continuing. "We're still investigating the origins of these apparitions, but so far, the only identity we've confirmed is Director Pierce. As for the others, we haven't had any luck identifying them."

Fury scowled, his jaw clenched. "Coulson, you have three days. I don't care how you do it, but these ghosts need to be dealt with. Otherwise…" He let his words hang, his tone enough to remind Coulson of the consequences.

Wilderness Area, United States

In a remote stretch of wilderness, a translucent figure floated steadily westward. The ghost's face was vacant, its eyes glowing a dim red as it glided at the speed of a moving pickup truck.

Nearby, two black pickups kept pace with the apparition. In the back of each truck, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in tactical gear and white-coated researchers observed the specter, their equipment humming with attempted scans and tests.

"Micro-energy particle scan complete. No anomalies detected," one researcher reported, his voice laced with frustration.

"Laser shot number 78, increasing frequency and energy," another intoned. "Target unaffected."

The researchers exchanged glances, both puzzled and excited. Despite dozens of tests, the apparition registered no radiation, energy, or substance—essentially nothingness. Without the visual confirmation, their instruments would have detected nothing at all. The scientific possibilities were boundless, and their eyes gleamed with the fervor of discovery.

Overhead, a familiar voice crackled through their earpieces.

"Jarvis, match the flight speed to that of the ghost," Tony Stark said, his Iron Man suit gliding beside the apparition with ease. "This thing's got my curiosity piqued. Time to start investigating."

"Understood, Mr. Stark," Jarvis replied smoothly. "However, I must report that initial scans have detected no trace of the apparition."

Tony scoffed. "A void? Really?" He scrolled through the data on his display, a mix of frustration and astonishment coloring his tone. "This is ridiculous."

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