Marvel's Hogwarts Professor

New York, The Thutus Hotel, Room 702

The curtains were suddenly flung open with a swish, allowing the golden morning sunlight to pour into the room. Johnny Blaze stood at the window, bathed in the warm glow, but he didn't bask in it like an ordinary person. Instead, he frowned, a trace of discomfort crossing his face.

Daylight. It was a time when he felt least powerful, a reminder that his abilities only surfaced in the shadows. During the day, he was just Johnny Blaze, a man of flesh and bone, vulnerable and ordinary. Only when night fell did the darkness allow his true nature to emerge.

With a sigh, Johnny stretched, his muscles flexing as he shook off the stiffness of sleep. He rubbed his face, trying to wake himself up and shake off the remnants of the previous night. Tonight, he had a performance—a motorcycle stunt show at the grand opening of Rand Commercial Plaza. Yet, as he looked out at the cityscape, it wasn't the show on his mind.

Mephisto.

He muttered the name under his breath, his gaze hardening as he fiddled with the black card in his hand. It was sleek and glossy, with intricate silver patterns and faintly glowing lines. In the center, embossed in golden letters, were the words Vientiane World, flanked by two tiny golden dragons that seemed to shift under the sunlight, swimming across the card's surface like living creatures.

The craftsmanship was exquisite, each detail meticulously placed as if the card held more than it appeared.

"Don't worry, I'll go," Johnny murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But I've got business to take care of first."

He spoke as if addressing someone, yet he was alone in the room. His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed a fierce determination. "I know Mephisto is your enemy, as much as he is mine," he continued, his tone turning serious. "You need me, and I need you. But if either of us loses control, we're both doomed."

For a moment, Johnny's expression twisted, his face contorting as his eyes flickered with a fiery glow. Thin trails of smoke curled from his nostrils, and his breathing became ragged. The spirit of Zarathos, the ancient demon bound to him, stirred within him, agitated at the mention of Mephisto's name. His inner fire surged, barely contained, as Zarathos's anger tried to seize control.

But the sunlight streaming into the room seemed to weaken the spirit's influence, and Zarathos's presence receded reluctantly. Johnny's face softened as his features returned to normal, though a shadow of frustration lingered in his gaze.

Zarathos was powerful, but his anger always blinded him, Johnny mused. No wonder he fell to Mephisto. Brains over brawn—that's the game Mephisto plays.

After a brief internal struggle, Johnny took a steadying breath, feeling Zarathos retreat into silence. He cast another glance at the black card, searching for any hidden details or clues. Finding none, he tossed it casually onto the desk, letting it rest next to his laptop.

Settling into the chair, Johnny booted up his computer and pulled up a map of New York. Recalling fragments of the previous night, he carefully traced a circle with the mouse, centering it on the area where he'd encountered the man in the black robe. If Gilderoy Lockhart were to see the circle, he would recognize it as the location of a spatial passage to Vientiane World—a portal available to extraordinary individuals and certain organizations like SHIELD that lacked spatial magic of their own.

Just then, a sudden knock echoed through the room, followed by a familiar voice calling from outside. "Mr. Blaze, the reporter from the New York Daily News is here for the interview you scheduled."

Johnny blinked, momentarily surprised before remembering his obligation. The Rand Plaza event had drawn significant media attention, and as a headline performer, he was expected to give interviews to help promote the show.

"Right," he muttered, quickly closing the laptop. This kind of publicity will do me good, he thought. With fame came money, and with money came the freedom to hunt down Mephisto without restrictions. His mind made up, Johnny called out, "Give me a sec! I'll be right there!"

Taking a quick glance around, he ensured the room was presentable before moving to the door. He opened it to find his assistant, Serena, standing beside a stunning blonde woman with a strikingly delicate face and a professional air about her.

"Hello," she said, her voice smooth and polished. "I'm Irena, a reporter for the New York Daily News." She extended a hand, flashing a warm smile. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me."

Johnny's eyes lingered on her face, a hint of surprise in his gaze as he reached out to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you, Miss Irena. Call me Johnny." He flashed a roguish grin, stepping aside and gesturing for her to enter. "Come in, make yourself comfortable. No need for a pretty lady like you to stand out in the hall."

Natasha—the Black Widow in disguise as the charming reporter "Irena"—offered him a gracious smile as she stepped inside. This will be easier than I thought, she mused, noting his apparent susceptibility to her charms. With her disarming smile, she glided into the room, taking in her surroundings with a quick, calculated glance.

The room was tidy, perhaps unusually so. The bathroom appeared untouched, the bed neatly made, yet signs of use lingered here and there. Her eyes moved discreetly across the desk, her gaze landing on the sleek black card lying next to Johnny's laptop.

Vientiane World's magic card, she recognized instantly, though she kept her expression neutral. She casually walked toward the desk, sitting down as if to settle into the conversation, and cast Johnny a quick look. "Johnny, do you mind if I use your computer to pull up my notes?"

Johnny shrugged, waving off the request with an easy smile. "Of course, make yourself at home." He noticed the black card on the desk and, without a second thought, picked it up, sliding it into his pocket.

Natasha's eyes flickered with interest at his casual handling of the card, but she merely smiled, a hint of curiosity in her voice. "That card—it's quite unique. Where did you get it?"

Johnny's response was flippant, almost dismissive. "Oh, that? It's just some VIP card I got when I had my motorcycle customized."

With a polite nod, Natasha let the topic drop. She turned her attention to the laptop, pulling up a webpage that displayed Top 10 Motorcycle Stunts! emblazoned across the top. Johnny's name topped the list, his stunts highlighted with impressive photos that spoke to his skill and daring.

"Quite the reputation you have," Natasha remarked, her tone laced with admiration. "Shall we begin the interview, then?"

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