MARVEL-THE MULTIVERSE TRADER

Lily looked at the man before her — the one calling himself The Trader, a man cloaked in black, his silver hair catching the soft, unnatural light of her restored mindscape, those crystal-red eyes unblinking, ancient, and terribly calm. Someone who claimed to travel between three different worlds. It sounded impossible, insane even… but something in his presence made her believe it.

The truth was, she had no sense of time. Only endless darkness, pain, and that final desperate scream for her son. Now, the storm had quieted. And in the stillness, a single, tentative question rose from her throat.

"How long has it been since… that night?"

Her voice trembled as she spoke it. As if saying it might summon the pain again.

The Trader gave her a small, almost respectful smile.

"It's been thirteen years since the attack on Potter Cottage."

Thirteen.

The number struck her like a hammer blow to the chest.

The Trader continued smoothly, "Your son, Harry Potter, has completed his third year at Hogwarts and will soon begin his fourth this coming September."

Lily's breath hitched, emerald eyes widening.

"Thirteen… he's… he's alive?"

"Very much so," The Trader confirmed gently. "Though he may not live for much longer."

Lily frowned," Why???"

Trader smiled," You should know that hiers of a bloodline, can claim their heirship ring at age of thirteen right?"

Seeing Lily nod, he continued," At his thirteenth birthday he took over the heirship ring of house of Potter and Heirship ring of the house of Black."

Lily's brow furrowed,"Black? Did… did Sirius—"

"It seems," the Trader shrugged with a small nod, " His godfather left everything to his godson. Titles, vaults, properties… and the Black heirship. He did it for Harry's protection, though it's drawn dangerous eyes."

Lily's breath caught. "Then why did you say… he might not live much longer?"

The Trader's expression darkened slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Because Lucius Malfoy was promised that heirship — or, at least, expected it for his son. Narcissa Malfoy nee Black is Draco's mother, after all."

He let the words hang in the air for a beat before continuing.

"When Draco Malfoy saw Harry wearing the Black Heir ring at school, he recognized it instantly and owled his father. And Lucius…"

The Trader's smile turned humorless, his crimson eyes glinting faintly in the dim mindscape.

"He's the sort who handles problems swiftly and quietly. If something threatens what he believes belongs to him or his bloodline… he'll have it removed."

Lily's face went pale, emerald eyes gleaming with fury. "An assassin."

"Most likely," the Trader confirmed. "Harry's standing in the way of what Lucius planned for his son. And men like him don't leave obstacles lying around. If Harry dies, the title passes to the next eligible candidate. And unless there are other candidates, the heirship would be Draco Malfoy's."

He paused, voice lowering.

"Your son's holding a position that others would kill for. And if he keeps it… he'll be hunted sooner or later."

Lily's hands trembled at her sides, her soul projection flickering faintly with a storm of emotion — grief, fury, and a fierce, unyielding protectiveness that not even thirteen years of torment could extinguish.

"No… I won't let them. Not after everything James died for. Not after Sirius… not after this. I will not let anyone lay a hand on my son," she whispered hoarsely, her emerald gaze hardening like glass about to shatter.

But the Trader's reply was calm — and mercilessly honest.

"And yet, you're confined here, within the ruins of your own mind," he said quietly, crimson eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light of her soulscape. "I've healed your soul, yes… but the damage to your body — to your nerves, to your consciousness in the waking world — remains. The curses they used on you weren't kind."

His voice lowered, edged with a brutal truth. "The Cruciatus Curse leaves wounds that magic can't easily mend, not in flesh. Your healed mind will see, and hear, and understand… but your broken body? It won't rise from that bed to shield your son."

The words struck like a hammer blow, and Lily swayed, her flickering soul form tightening as grief, desperation, and raw maternal instinct surged through her like wildfire.

For a moment, there was only silence in the dim mindscape — then she turned, emerald eyes gleaming with fierce, desperate hope, and locked onto the Trader's crimson gaze.

"If you could heal my soul," she whispered, voice trembling but determined, "then you can heal my body too… can't you?"

The Trader's lips curled into a slow, almost predatory smile, crimson eyes gleaming brighter.

"Indeed," he admitted, inclining his head. "I can heal your body — revert it to how it was thirteen years ago. Strong, whole, unmarred by curse damage. I could even make it several times stronger than the strongest of your kind."

He let the promise hang in the air like a tempting lure, but his next words darkened the light of that hope.

"Healing your soul… that was a courtesy. A freebie, as I said."

Lily's expression hardened. A lifetime spent amidst Pureblood politics — and thirteen years of madness — had not dulled her instincts. She drew a long, steady breath, her gaze sharp and unflinching.

"You're not doing this out of kindness," she said evenly. "You healed my mind. You led the conversation to Harry… to danger, to assassins, to heirship. You have a motive, Trader. You want something from me."

The Trader's smile widened approvingly, as though pleased by her clarity.

"Very good," he said softly, voice like velvet over steel. "No more pretenses, then. You're sharper than most in your position."

He took a step closer, the grimoire beside him fluttering faintly, and his crimson eyes gleamed like twin coals in the gloom.

"Yes, Lily Potter. I have something I want from you. And you, in turn, have something no one else in this world can give me. Shall we discuss the terms?"

---

The Trader extended a pale, gloved hand, and with a shimmer of dark emerald light, a parchment scroll appeared — aged and marked in crimson ink that shimmered faintly in the half-light of the mindscape.

"I believe in being transparent," he said with a thin smile, offering it to her. "Everything clearly stated. No tricks, no riddles. Read it."

Lily snatched it from him, her fingers curling tight as her emerald eyes scanned the contents. And with every line, her expression darkened.

This was no contract.

It was chains.

Flowery language couldn't disguise the truth — a cleverly dressed enslavement. The forfeiture of her freedom, binding of her soul, and ceding authority over her magic, will, and body. An illusion of choice wrapped around cold domination.

By the time she reached the final clause, her soul projection was visibly trembling with fury.

"You bastard."

Her voice was low, dangerous, and trembling with suppressed rage. "You call this a trade? This is ownership."

The Trader didn't so much as blink. Instead, his smile widened — cold, amused, as if this reaction had been expected.

"I hoped you'd see it for what it was," he said softly, with a voice smooth as silk. "It means you're still sharp, Lily Potter. That you still have fire left."

And with a flick of his fingers, the parchment burst into harmless green flame and vanished.

"That one wasn't for signing. It was a test."

His crimson eyes gleamed faintly. "You passed."

A second scroll appeared in his palm — this one pristine, its ink a dark sapphire blue, its aura gentler, though no less binding in its own way.

"Now, this is the offer I meant to give."

Lily narrowed her eyes. "What's the catch?"

x------x

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