If there was one thing Team Lokison had learned by now, it was that life wasn't just unpredictable—it was actively out to mess with them.
Case in point: their quiet little camping trip had already derailed into something resembling a rejected Deadpool script, starring Harry as the long-suffering protagonist, Jim the staff as the put-upon best friend, and whatever cosmic forces kept throwing nonsense his way as the chaotic directors behind the scenes.
And, as if on cue—because of course it was—fate decided that midnight was the perfect time for another round of Let's Ruin Harry's Night!
Meanwhile, Back at the Black Family Seaside Cabin
At precisely 12:01 AM, Sirius Black—who had perfected the art of looking both dashing and guilty at the same time—was sprawled across an absurdly comfortable Black family couch, boots on the table, firewhiskey in hand, and the distinct expression of a man plotting something really stupid.
Kreacher had already smacked his feet twice, but Sirius, being Sirius, had simply responded with, "Good effort, little guy, but I am immune to house-elf judgment."
Across from him, Remus Lupin—the designated adult of the group, a title he deeply resented—sat beside Marlene McKinnon-Black, both watching Sirius like tired parents waiting for their toddler to announce he'd swallowed a marble.
"I don't know what's worse," Remus muttered, running a hand through his hair. "The fact that it's only been two hours since we last saw Harry, or the fact that we both know something completely insane is about to happen."
Marlene took a slow sip of wine, eyes on Sirius, who was attempting to balance his wand on his nose. "It's Harry's birthday. Something crazy always happens."
Right on cue, the air shimmered like heat waves on pavement, and then—
BOOM.
A flash of gold and green light split the room as a portal ripped open right in the middle of the Black family living room.
Out stepped none other than Loki of Asgard and Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt. Or, as they were once known in a past life—James and Lily Potter.
Following them, because subtlety was for lesser beings, came Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three, looking less like diplomatic visitors and more like they were about to challenge everyone in a 20-mile radius to a cage match.
And because this night wasn't nearly chaotic enough, a second portal burst open, showering the room in silver moonlight as Hermes and Apollo strolled in from Olympus—because, apparently, reality had just stopped pretending to have rules.
"SURPRISE!" Apollo grinned, flinging a handful of glowing golden confetti into the air like an overenthusiastic wedding DJ. "Did somebody say birthday boy?"
Loki let out the long-suffering sigh of a man who had tried to have a dignified entrance but had clearly lost that battle before it even started. "We didn't say that, but of course, you arrived anyway."
"You love me," Apollo shot back with a wink.
Artemis smacked him upside the head.
Sirius, who had very nearly fallen off the couch, pointed wildly between all of them. "OKAY, FIRST OF ALL—WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?"
Loki smirked, tilting his head in amusement. "You act surprised, Padfoot."
"You just arrived from Asgard—WITH Thor and company—and I'm supposed to be casual about that?" Sirius flailed a little, then whirled on Artemis. "AND YOU? Olympus? Is there a godly parents visiting their kids discount at the travel agency tonight?"
Artemis, because she had once been Lily Potter and therefore had infinite patience for Sirius Black's nonsense, simply gave him a knowing smile. "It's Harry's birthday. Did you honestly think we'd miss it?"
Marlene, who had lived through several of Harry's birthdays and was therefore unimpressed by reality-breaking entrances, shrugged. "Fair point."
Remus, who had given up on reality entirely, pinched the bridge of his nose. "So… are we expecting more guests, or are we stopping at two entire pantheons?"
Hermes grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, don't worry, Moony. It's just us."
Sif, standing beside Thor with an expression that suggested she had expected this nonsense, muttered, "For now."
Apollo, who had absolutely zero concept of an indoor voice, turned back to Loki. "So, are we all heading to Camp Team Lokison, or are we throwing the party here? Because I gotta say, this place has vibes."
Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. "We are not staying here."
"Oh, good," Sirius muttered, still looking like he wasn't entirely sure this wasn't some elaborate prank. "Because that would just make too much sense."
Apollo snapped his fingers, grinning. "HAIKU TIME!"
Remus groaned. "Oh, gods."
Apollo cleared his throat dramatically.
"Onward to the beach,
Where nephews and mischief lie,
Uncles must compete."
There was a beat of silence.
Then, Thor—who had been entirely too quiet—threw his head back and bellowed, "I ACCEPT THIS CHALLENGE!"
Sirius frowned. "Wait—challenge?"
"Indeed, Sirius Black," Thor boomed, clapping him on the back so hard that Sirius almost dropped his firewhiskey. "For young Harry is in need of a favored uncle, and we must prove ourselves worthy!"
Apollo crossed his arms, smirking. "I knew you were my greatest rival, Thor."
"Do not flatter yourself, Son of Zeus," Thor said, still grinning. "This battle shall be won with feats of strength!"
Apollo scoffed. "Ugh, classic Asgardian. We both know being the best uncle requires style. And gifts. MANY gifts."
Hermes, already invested in the chaos, leaned in. "How about a competition? Best uncle wins."
Thor nodded gravely. "Agreed."
Sirius, who had finally caught up, pointed dramatically between them. "OH, YOU ARE ON. I was his godfather first!"
Apollo waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah, and how's that working out for you?"
Sirius scowled. "I refuse to be outdone by a guy who composes haikus on demand."
Remus sighed. "We are never going to hear the end of this, are we?"
Marlene just downed the rest of her wine. "Nope."
Loki turned to Artemis, who looked entirely too entertained by all of this. "I regret everything."
Artemis smirked. "Oh, I know."
With that, the group finally portaled away—straight into the heart of whatever fresh nonsense awaited them at Camp Team Lokison.
Harry was going to need a bigger tent.
—
Half an hour after the complete disaster that was Deadpool meeting Jim (don't ask, seriously, just don't), Team Lokison was finally winding down. The fire crackled, the marshmallows were slowly turning into sad, slightly burnt lumps, and the general vibe was "Okay, maybe we won't all die tonight." That's when the universe, as always, decided to intervene.
Harry, sitting on a log and trying to remind himself that he did, in fact, enjoy his life, let out a long, exaggerated sigh. Thalia, lounging against a nearby tree like she owned the whole beach, caught his eye and smirked. The Stoll brothers? They were definitely scheming something behind the shadows, probably planning a heist or a prank. Annabeth and Luke were locked in a deep, whispered conversation about… well, probably strategies. Because that's what they do when they're together: strategize or make out—one of the two.
Then there was Beckendorf, who was trying—key word trying—to roast marshmallows without turning them into fireballs, Silena keeping an eye on him like a proud mother, and Katie just staring at the chaos like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And just when the night seemed to settle into a tolerable rhythm—
FLASH.
A swirling green portal ripped open above them, sending a gust of wind and magic that knocked over half of the roasting marshmallows. The team jumped back in alarm, all of them reflexively reaching for weapons—until, of course, a second portal immediately followed, this one shimmering silver and probably from Olympus or some equally obnoxious godly vacation spot.
Out of the green portal came Loki, Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three—looking like they had just stepped off the set of a Viking reality show. And following them, because apparently they needed more chaos, were Artemis, Hermes, and Apollo—Apollo, who had probably just come from his "Look At Me, I'm Awesome" photo shoot.
Harry's face fell. "Oh, for Merlin's saggy left—"
Deadpool was on his feet faster than you could say "birthday catastrophe." He jumped up, a wide, maniacal grin plastered on his face. "Oh-ho-ho! Well, well, well, look who showed up late to the party. The Big Guns have arrived!" He threw his arms wide, gesturing dramatically at Loki and Artemis like they were the coolest band at Coachella. "Mom! Dad! You guys are looking fabulous tonight. Look at that leather, Loki! Very Met Gala. And Artemis!" He made a big show of squinting at her. "You are literally killing it with that bow. Like, if anyone else had it, I'd be worried, but you, babe, you make it fashion."
Artemis sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. "I should've shot you when I had the chance."
Deadpool put a hand over his heart. "Ah, always a bridesmaid, never a bullet wound to the chest." He shook his head, smirking. "I hear that a lot. Must be my charm."
Harry groaned audibly. "I should've left when I had the chance," he muttered, burying his face in his hands.
Thalia, clearly not taking the situation seriously—and still managing to look like she was about to slay a dragon—gave Harry a playful nudge. "Happy Birthday, Harry. Hope you like chaos, because it's like your birthday presents came in a deluxe edition this year."
Loki—James—strode over, casually ruffling Harry's hair like they were best buds. "You didn't really think we'd miss it, did you, son?"
Harry glared at him. "I was hoping."
"Ah, well, sucks to be you," Hermes said, flashing a grin that could've been classified as a crime in five different realms. "Family reunions? Non-negotiable. You don't get to skip out on those, especially not when you're a god. Or... half a god. Or whatever it is you are, kid."
Apollo raised both hands like he was presenting the most expensive bottle of wine. "Let's get this party started! Who wants ambrosia shots? I've got the good stuff—straight from the ambrosia fountain. No one's walking for the next week!" He glanced around, only to find Deadpool already raising a hand so fast, Harry thought it might snap off.
"I do!" Deadpool shouted, practically vibrating with excitement. "Just pour 'em straight into my mask hole. I promise, I won't die. Well, I mean, I'm already dead—obviously, but I won't die die." He gave a two-thumbs-up like he was auditioning for a role in a Fast & Furious movie.
Annabeth, forever the voice of reason (or at least the closest thing they had to it), pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's debatable," she muttered under her breath, then turned to Luke, who had apparently tuned out the entire scene and was trying to look for anything resembling logic in this madness.
Sif, standing next to Thor, just sighed. "You know, for once, I'd like to come somewhere and not have things explode."
Thor laughed heartily, his massive chest shaking with the force of it. "I find that hard to believe, Lady Sif. Have you met our family?"
"Yeah," Deadpool added, putting his arm around the giant Asgardian. "Who needs enemies when you have that guy around?"
Loki threw up his hands in exasperation. "The only thing I need is a strong drink."
The Stoll brothers were trying to subtly grab the nearest bottle of whatever was closest, whispering to each other and clearly plotting to turn the night into one big prank. Silena, who had been roasting marshmallows the entire time like this was actually a normal camping trip, raised an eyebrow and asked, "Should we be worried?"
Katie, who had yet to leave her comfortable seat by the fire, gave a small shrug. "Only if you're not used to things going completely off the rails."
Beckendorf, ever the calm one, looked at Harry and gave a slow nod. "Happy Birthday, man. I'm guessing this is what you expected?"
Harry, giving the chaotic circus around him a tired look, exhaled and smiled. "Yeah, sure. You know what? It wouldn't be my birthday without it."
And with that, the night officially went full-on disaster mode, and Harry couldn't have been prouder.
—
The air crackled with enough tension and magic to make a thunderstorm jealous. The gods and demigods gathered around Harry's birthday bonfire were as chaotic as a circus on fire. And when I say that, I mean it in the best way possible—because let's be honest, a birthday with this much madness? Chef's kiss. Just another Tuesday in the multiverse.
Deadpool was already off to his usual nonsense, sidling up to Loki like they were old pals. "Hey, Pops! Still got that whole 'make-everything-explode-with-a-wink' thing going? Or was that your evil twin? Because, seriously, you should keep that one around. The crowd loves it."
Loki—who really, really needed a nap after being around this much energy—gave him a look that screamed "I could destroy you with my bare hands, but I won't, because I'm feeling generous." He smirked, lips curving like a cat playing with its prey. "You should be grateful, Wade. If you keep talking, I might turn you into a frog. And I'm talking one of those ugly frogs, too. The kind that's permanently stuck in a reality show about swamp life."
Deadpool's eyes went wide in mock horror. "A frog? Oh, come on, Pops, that's a low blow. I mean, come on, I've got better things to do than croak under your thumb. Seriously. Have you seen my aesthetic? I'm like... an avocado on a skateboard. Cool, dangerous, and kind of hard to understand."
Before Loki could respond, Hermes—who was looking like the lovechild of a Greek god and a Miami beach bum—chimed in with a laugh. "Honestly, I wouldn't mind seeing that. Wade, you'd make a great frog. Kind of cute, in an 'I'm-constantly-judging-you' way."
Deadpool pointed a finger at Hermes, slapping his chest dramatically. "Ah, a compliment from the sandal-wearing sage himself. I must be doing something right."
Thalia, standing off to the side with her arms crossed like she was preparing for the next big sarcastic remark, gave Deadpool a look that could cut through metal. "You know, I think you're the only one here who could make being turned into a frog sound like a compliment. Ugh. Do you even have a filter?"
"Filter?" Deadpool tilted his head like a confused puppy. "I don't need no stinkin' filter, kid. Filters are for people who take themselves too seriously. And I'm way too busy being awesome to waste my time on filters."
Harry, who had been observing this circus of chaos from his place by the bonfire, leaned over to Hermione, who was silently analyzing the situation like she was plotting an escape route. "So... how bad do you think this is going to get?"
Hermione, never one to sugarcoat things, didn't even look up from her book. "Bad. Really bad. But then again, when you have a birthday party with gods, mercenaries, and a talking staff that insists on calling itself 'Jim,' you can't expect peaceful."
Harry couldn't help but grin. "Right. Just another normal birthday for me."
"I swear, your life should come with a disclaimer," Hermione muttered. "Something like: 'Warning: May cause spontaneous chaos, occasional fire hazards, and excessive sarcasm.'"
"Yeah, sounds about right," Harry said, nodding sagely. "I'm just waiting for Thor to start a real fire. Maybe it'll have ambiance."
Sure enough, Thor—who, let's be honest, was the most likely person here to light something on fire just for kicks—clapped his hands with the kind of enthusiasm you'd expect from someone who thought "spontaneous combustion" was a sport. The ground erupted in flames, and before anyone could blink, a bonfire was blazing in the center of their little circle, sending marshmallows flying like flaming projectiles.
"Oops," Thor said with a grin that could have melted glaciers. "I thought you all needed some extra light. It's getting dark, and you know what they say: the party doesn't start until the god of thunder sets something on fire."
"Thor, seriously?" Thalia glared at him. "Your idea of ambiance is arson?"
"Arson is just... aggressive lighting," Thor said, with the kind of smugness that only someone who could summon lightning could pull off. He patted the nearest tree like it was his loyal sidekick. "Besides, this is much better than those sad little sparklers."
Deadpool clapped his hands, practically vibrating with excitement. "Yes! Exactly! Forget normal marshmallow roasting. Let's just set everything on fire! That's the birthday spirit!"
"Just keep it contained," Hermione muttered, turning her eyes to the sky like she was praying for a calm wind to blow through. "We don't need a forest fire on top of everything else."
Meanwhile, Luke and the Stolls were already in full-on marshmallow-heist mode. Travis Stoll, holding a long stick like it was a spear, grinned as he jabbed it into the flaming bonfire. "Best marshmallow ever," he said, pulling out a stick with a marshmallow that was practically glowing with heat. "I think we're going to call this the 'Crispy Critter' special."
Connor, who'd been standing back, looking bored, joined in with a devil-may-care attitude. "You know, if we keep this up, the place might just implode. And I wouldn't even be mad about it. Can you imagine the epic story we'd get out of that?"
Harry rubbed his temples, looking at the wreckage of his birthday party, but he couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, seems like we're one fireball away from complete destruction. But hey, it's my birthday. What's the worst that could happen?"
Just as the words left his mouth, a giant BANG split the air. And before anyone could react, a cannon—yes, a cannon—shot out from behind a tree, sending a spray of confetti and fireworks into the sky. The whole thing was so ridiculous, even the gods had to stop and blink.
Jim, the talking staff, cackled from behind the cannon, his voice a booming, caffeinated mess of excitement. "OH, FANTASTIC! We've got gods, mercenaries, and fire! Let's add some cannons to the mix! This is what I call a party! Let's blow some stuff up!"
"Jim," Harry yelled, holding up a hand like he was trying to flag down a runaway train. "Please don't bring out the cannon."
But Jim was already off to the races, completely ignoring Harry and launching another round of confetti explosions into the air.
And just like that, Harry's chaotic, god-infused birthday bash was officially underway.
—
The Black Family Seaside Cabin was under siege.
Not from the enemy—no, Team Lokison was still outside, probably lounging on the beach like smug, overpowered jerks—but from the sheer chaos brewing inside. Maps were sprawled across the coffee table like someone had tried (and failed) to understand cartography. Empty snack bowls had been repurposed as makeshift war plans (read: crumpled napkins labeled "AMBUSH?" and "FRED & GEORGE = CATASTROPHE"). The furniture had been rearranged for "tactical" purposes, which really meant someone had stacked three chairs on top of each other to form an unnecessary but dramatic throne.
And perched on that throne of madness, surveying his so-called army, was Sirius Black—Supreme General, Self-Appointed Tactical Genius, and All-Around Disaster Human.
He had the stance—one foot planted firmly on the armrest, hands on his hips, chin tilted at an angle that screamed I'm too cool for this but also taking it way too seriously. His black leather jacket flared dramatically as he turned to face his troops. He looked like he should be leading a Viking invasion instead of what was essentially a glorified water balloon fight.
"Alright, listen up, you magnificent band of rebels, misfits, and accidental heroes," he declared, voice booming with the intensity of a man who absolutely did not deserve this much authority. "Today, we take the fight to Team Lokison. Today, we reclaim our honor. Today, we remind those smug demigods, gods, and whatever Deadpool is supposed to be that we will not be outmatched in the fine art of beach warfare!"
The room responded with various levels of enthusiasm.
Fred and George were all in. Obviously.
"Does this mean we finally get to use the catapults?" Fred asked, bouncing on his toes like an overexcited golden retriever.
"I thought we agreed that was overkill," Percy interjected, arms crossed, face twisted into that classic disappointed prefect expression.
"Says the guy who suggested diplomatic negotiations," George muttered.
"I simply said that a truce should be considered before resorting to barbarism—"
"Percy," Sirius cut in, deadpan. "This is war. There are no truces. There is only victory or utter humiliation."
"Or jail time," Remus Lupin added from the armchair, not even looking up from Beach Warfare for Dummies.
"Semantics, Moony," Sirius waved him off. "The point is, we have one chance to strike before Team Lokison gets too cocky. Harry is their commander. My own godson. A prodigy. A strategist. A menace to our way of life—"
"That's a bit dramatic," Ginny cut in, raising an eyebrow.
"A master of psychological warfare," Sirius continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Raised under my very roof, absorbing my greatest and most unhinged tactics."
"You mean the ones that got you banned from the Quidditch World Cup?" Tonks reminded him, twirling a strand of bubblegum pink hair around her wand.
Sirius ignored her too. "But no more! Today, we rise to the occasion! Today, we march to battle! Today—"
"Daaaaaad," a small voice cut in.
The entire room turned.
Standing at Sirius' feet, seven-year-old Lyra Black, arms crossed, scowled up at her father with the perfected patience of a child who had witnessed this exact nonsense way too many times.
"Yes, my darling, perfect, terrifying daughter?" Sirius crouched down like he was negotiating with a tiny warlord.
Lyra's stormy blue eyes narrowed. "Are we actually going to fight, or are you just going to talk about it for another hour? Because Harry's team is already on the beach, and I bet they've stolen all the good water balloons."
Silence.
Then, Fred gasped. "The water balloons?!"
"UNFORGIVABLE!" George declared, clutching his chest like he'd just been stabbed.
Susan Bones, perched on the couch, folded her arms and nodded gravely. "That's it. That's the line. They've crossed it. We retaliate."
Neville Longbottom, rolling up his sleeves like a seasoned war veteran, muttered, "We should've seen this coming."
Hannah Abbott leaned in. "Okay, but… what's our plan?"
Sirius leapt to his feet. "THAT'S IT! WE MARCH!"
Remus sighed, closing his book with the exhaustion of a man who had seen this happen a thousand times. "Here we go."
"Alright, troops!" Sirius boomed. "Grab your weapons, grab your battle gear, and meet me at the door! This is our moment!"
The room erupted into motion.
Fred and George vanished in a blur, presumably to grab their questionable homemade ammunition. Ginny and Ron were already strategizing takedown maneuvers. Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis—cool, calculating, and definitely the ones keeping this disaster from imploding—were double-checking spell options. Susan was flexing her fingers like she was getting ready for a duel at high noon. Lee Jordan was already narrating.
"Oh, you can feel the tension in the air, folks. Team Black is mobilizing. The stakes? Bragging rights, honor, and possibly Sirius Black's sanity. Will they triumph, or will they—"
"SOMEONE GRAB LEE!" Sirius shouted.
Marlene McKinnon shoved Lee forward. "Less talking, more moving!"
Neville cracked his knuckles. "This is going to be a bloodbath."
Tonks grinned, her hair flashing neon purple. "Oh, hell yeah."
As the troops surged toward the door, Sirius dramatically pointed forward.
"TO VICTORY!" he bellowed.
And just like that, Team Black stormed outside—ready to bring the fight to Team Lokison.
—
Team Black had barely made it out the door of the cabin when they were hit with the what the actual hell moment of the day.
Right in front of them—no, looming over them like some massive, technicolor nightmare—was a circus tent. A huge circus tent, with more red, white, and blue stripes than a Fourth of July parade, puffing up against the horizon like it was always supposed to be there. And here's the kicker: this thing wasn't there ten minutes ago. Nope. Not even a glimpse.
Sirius froze mid-stride. "This... is some kind of sick joke, right?"
"No," Ginny said slowly, her hand already on her wand. "That's not right. That definitely wasn't there before. So, what is it?"
Percy, who'd been staring at the monstrosity like it might sprout legs and start chasing them, squinted. "That thing's gotta be bigger than Hagrid's hut. I mean, that's practically an army base in there."
"And it wasn't there when we came out. Ten minutes ago," Neville added, scratching his head. "I mean... is that even possible?"
"Looks like the kind of magic we don't want to mess with," Tonks muttered, eyes narrowed, looking like she was already ready to dodge an explosion.
Sirius, however, looked more excited than alarmed. "Okay. Fine. It's a trap. Whatever." He raised an eyebrow. "This is going to be a circus, then. Let's just get this over with."
"Right, a trap." Tracey rolled her eyes. "And I suppose you'll lead us straight into it?"
Sirius gave a heroic, and entirely too dramatic, shrug. "I have a lot of experience with traps. Maybe you should listen to me."
And just as he was getting into his I'm the hero, let me lead the charge routine, the tent flaps exploded open.
Cue: Deadpool.
And not just any Deadpool. This was Deadpool going full Hugh Jackman channeling PT Barnum.
Yes, that PT Barnum. The dude with the top hat. The bow tie so wide it probably needed its own area code. And the 'stache. Oh, the mustache. It was so glorious, it practically had its own ZIP code, too.
And as if all that wasn't weird enough, Deadpool was holding—wait for it—Harry's freaking staff. But it wasn't just standing there like some overpowered magical artifact. No, no. Deadpool had transformed it into a cane. Like some Victorian gentleman who just rolled up to tea time.
Deadpool twirled it—like really twirled it. He was practically auditioning for a Broadway show.
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls!" Deadpool yelled, suddenly all showman and flair. "The circus is in town! Step right up! Come closer and see the greatest spectacle on the beach!"
"Is that... Harry's staff?" Fred asked, gaping like he'd just seen a flying pig.
"Did Deadpool... steal it?" George added, not even acknowledging the fact that a circus tent was suddenly on the beach in front of them.
"Guys, I'm just as confused as you are," Ron said, his voice shaking like a leaf. "Deadpool, what the hell is going on here?"
"Oh, this?" Deadpool asked, doing a mock-casual shrug while Jim—the Riyu Jingu Bang—whipped around in his hands like an overly caffeinated snake. "This is my new act! Deadpool: The Greatest Showman Edition!" He then leaned in close, as if sharing the best-kept secret. "I may or may not have taken a few artistic liberties with the whole 'showman' vibe, but hey—who doesn't like a good twist, right?"
"You're insane," Sirius muttered, already taking a threatening step forward. His fingers twitched for his wand. "Enough with the circus."
"Oh, but that's the fun part!" Deadpool interrupted, waving Jim like he was summoning a magical creature. "You see, I'm offering you two choices, my dear, dear friends. You can join me under the Big Top and become part of the greatest circus ever to grace this beach—or I can make you the main attraction." He paused dramatically. "Guess which one's more fun?"
Sirius was having none of it. "You're the main attraction, Wade. Now hand over the staff."
Deadpool dramatically pointed his cane at Sirius. "Bingo! You got it! I'm the star! But you—you could be part of the show, too. But for now, let's just say you're... auditioning for a role." He suddenly glanced around and added, "Now, roll the music!"
And at the snap of his fingers, circus music blared from seemingly nowhere—an obnoxiously festive tune that could've come straight out of a 90s kids' movie. You know, the kind that makes you want to scream "Please, for the love of sanity, make it stop."
And as if on cue, the tent began to vomit out a parade of performers that could only be described as completely nuts. There were clowns juggling firecrackers, an overly muscular strongman whose biceps were bigger than Remus's entire body (no offense, Remus), and—this was the best part—a fortune teller wearing a corset that looked like it was inspired by a goth rock band from the '90s.
"Okay, okay," Sirius muttered under his breath. "This is a distraction. No way in hell we're going to get sucked into this insanity."
"Don't worry, mate," Neville said, cracking his knuckles. "We're going to fight the circus."
"Yeah," Ginny said with a grin. "Not the first time I've had to punch some clown in the face."
"Oh, sweetie, you don't punch in my circus," Deadpool said, doing his best dramatic turn and waving Jim around like a hyperactive fan. "No, no! Here in my circus, you become the show!"
The entire troupe started to act like someone had released them from their cages. Firecrackers were popping off, the strongman was flexing unnecessarily, and the fortune teller—who by the way, wasn't even trying to read the future anymore—was just cackling like a maniac.
Sirius sighed. "Well, I guess this is it. First rule of being a Black: fight the insanity, no matter how weird it gets." He then cracked his knuckles. "Let's take down this circus."
And with that, the great beach battle officially turned into something so absurd, even Deadpool had to break the fourth wall to look at the reader and say, "I told you it was going to get weird."
Then, it was on.
---
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