Before Abel, lay his black notebook, open to a fresh page. He wrote down everything that needed attention, everything that needed planning. His life was accelerating, complications were multiplying, and without organization, everything would spiral into chaos.
At the top of the list: Step Two - Tony Stark Collaboration
Getting the palladium poisoning cure prepared was critical. He had roughly six months before Tony's condition would become critical. In that timeframe, Abel needed to develop and perfect a potion that could counteract the toxic effects of the palladium-core arc reactor. It was possible—he had enough knowledge of potions, enough understanding of chemical interactions. But it would require time, resources, and potentially assistance from Kamar-Taj.
Second item: Unmarkable Expansion Charm
Abel's magical materials had grown exponentially. Research notes filled entire folders. Potion ingredients, spell components, wand materials—all of it needed organization and storage. He couldn't hide everything under his bed like some amateur. He needed a proper laboratory, a dedicated space that only he could access.
The Unmarkable Expansion Charm was perfect for this. A standard charm in the magical world, it allowed the internal volume of any container to expand dramatically without any visible external change. A small box could contain an entire library. A briefcase could hold a workshop.
But Abel had ambitions beyond a simple expanded container. He wanted something more—something like what he'd read about in his previous life. Newt Scamander's briefcase from the famous magical creature texts: an entire pocket dimension, a small world contained within leather and latches. A space that was simultaneously invisible to Muggle inspection and vast beyond measure.
If Abel could master that—if he could create his own portable magical laboratory—he would have the privacy and resources he needed for serious research work.
Third item: Magic Power - CRITICAL
Abel underlined this one twice.
His fight with Stan in the Iron Monger armor had exposed a fundamental limitation. Most of the offensive magic he'd learned in his previous life was designed for human targets. Cutting curses worked on flesh. Stunning spells worked on nervous systems. Levitation worked on biological mass. But when facing an armored opponent—a suit of military-grade steel and reinforced mechanics—his magical arsenal was severely limited.
Transfiguration could theoretically solve this problem. Transform the armor, reshape it, render it useless. But transfiguration required two critical things: enormous amounts of magical power, and deep understanding of what you were transforming.
Abel knew nothing about how the Iron Monger suit actually functioned. He didn't know what metals comprised it, what internal mechanisms powered its joints, what energy systems kept it operational. Without that knowledge, his magic would have to compensate—exponentially increasing the magical output required to force a transformation on something he didn't understand.
The armor was incredibly complex, far beyond his current knowledge base. Attempting to transmute something like that would require him to essentially brute-force the transformation through raw magical power alone, and the amount needed would far exceed what he could currently generate.
Even if he had the power reserves, the effort wouldn't even guarantee success. In fact, it would almost certainly result in an incomplete or twisted transformation—creating something that might be more dangerous than the original suit.
The fundamental problem remained unchanged: magical power. In his previous life's understanding, magical power was mostly innate—determined at birth, slowly increasing with age. There were spells that claimed to boost magical reserves, but they were rare and minimally effective. The only method that had ever truly worked was something Abel refused to even consider: Horcruxes.
Splitting the soul, anchoring pieces of yourself in objects, gaining immortality and unprecedented magical power. But the price was corruption. The brilliant strategic mind of Tom Riddle had become the bloodthirsty, arrogant monster of Voldemort. Power gained at the cost of intelligence, sanity, and humanity.
Abel would never take that path.
But this world was different. Magic operated under slightly different rules here. Spells that had worked one way in his previous life sometimes worked differently now. And most importantly, Kamar-Taj existed in this world—a tradition of sorcery that had developed completely independently of the magical world he'd known before.
Kamar-Taj's sorcerers could absorb dimensional energy, draw power from alternate realities, supplement their own reserves with external sources. It was theoretically possible to learn those techniques. To ask for that knowledge in exchange for something of value.
The slow reveal, he thought. Like with Tony. You couldn't reveal everything at once. You had to build toward trust, build toward mutual benefit.
Abel was writing notes, lost in thought, when he heard the sound of the front door opening.
He quickly gathered his notes and set them aside, then walked out of his room toward the living room. His mind was already making the transition from strategic planning to social interaction, calibrating his expression to something natural, something unsuspecting.
He stopped short.
Theresa was in the living room, but she wasn't alone. Sharon was with her—Sharon, who was their cousin but also could very clearly be working for some branch of government operations. Sharon, whose presence here at this hour made no sense.
Abel's instincts immediately flagged something as wrong.
He kept his expression neutral. "Hi mom! Do we have a guest for tonight ? "
Theresa smiled warmly. "Sharon came to the city for business. She had some matters to deal with, but it got late, so she called me asking if she could stay over for the night. I was worried about leaving her alone outside, so when I got off work, I picked her up on the way."
The explanation was reasonable. Theresa's concern for family was genuine and well-known. Sharon was family, after all. Distant, but family.
But something about it felt off.
"I see," Abel said, keeping his tone casual. "Let me boil some water for coffee. You must be tired."
"That would be wonderful, thank you," Sharon said, her smile polite and professional.
Abel moved to the kitchen and set about preparing coffee. As the water heated, his mind was working in parallel—social interaction on the surface, deeper analysis running underneath. Why would Sharon come to New York on short notice? Why call Theresa specifically? And why arrive at this particular time, after his encounter with Tony and SHIELD?
Was it coincidence?
Abel didn't believe in coincidence.
Over the past months, he'd noticed that Sharon and their family seemed unusually close. Visits that seemed to come for no particular reason. Questions about his activities that were subtly phrased but clearly fishing for information. Theresa loved Sharon—that was genuine—but Abel had started to wonder if Sharon's affection went both ways, or if it was more... professional.
The thought made him deeply uncomfortable.
As the coffee brewed, Abel considered his options. If Sharon was here as SHIELD surveillance, she would be looking for evidence. Looking for anything unusual in his room. Looking for signs that he was involved in something beyond his normal teenage life.
Which meant he needed to be very careful about what she found.
Abel prepared two cups of coffee and carried them back to the living room, setting one each before Theresa and Sharon. "I should get back to my homework," he said casually. "But let me know if you need anything else."
"Thank you, Abel," Sharon said, her smile somehow both warm and calculating. "You're a good host."
He nodded and retreated to his room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Sitting at his desk, Abel's fingers began tapping against the wooden surface—a nervous habit he usually controlled but now let happen. He was thinking through scenarios. If Sharon was surveillance, what would she find if she searched his room? His notes were in his black notebook, his potion ingredients were stored in various magical containers. His wand was in his waistband. Most of his magical equipment was either hidden or disguised as normal chemistry supplies.
But the risk remained.
Abel made a decision.
He deliberately took his notes from the desk and placed them where they would be easily visible if someone searched his room. Not hidden. Not obvious. Just... there. Available to find.
The notes contained nothing incriminating. Just thoughts about potions, magic theory, some sketches of wandwork techniques. Nothing that would directly connect him to the Iron Man battle or to anything SHIELD would find suspicious. Just the work of a teenage student interested in chemistry and physics.
It was a trap, in its own way. If Sharon found them and reported them, it would confirm she was searching his room. And if she didn't find them—if the visit was genuinely innocent—then nothing would be lost.
Abel stood up and walked to the bathroom, leaving his door open behind him. The message was clear: I have nothing to hide. My room is open. My life is normal.
END CHAPTER 24