Stephen bites back a smirk, even while the cloak puffs itself up behind him, obviously pleased at having been mentioned. "They don't appreciate redecorating here. I should know. Tinsel and pine trees and mistletoe at Christmas was highly frowned upon."

The Sanctum was a beautiful building — hardwood floors, ornate windows, antique furniture, four-poster beds — but you could practically feel the weight of all that accumulated time and history as you entered the place. The front entrance was especially built to impress, and had done so for centuries. The upper floors were roiling with ancient artefacts and magical bits-and-bobs, gathered from sorcerers over the ages. (The basement, on the other hand, was a mess. Don't go into the basement.)

"And truly, if you're worried about making a mess in general, don't be. Odds are good I've already done worse."

He wasn't the Sorcerer Supreme any of his colleagues would have chosen, and he'd practically tripped and landed facefirst into the role, and had to improvise on the fly and make the best of it under desperate circumstances. And then he'd gone and accidentally ripped open the multiverse while trying to help a kid. He and Wanda both knew a bit about making a mess.